"Consider me independent!"

England's face falls, and he lowers his head, but I can't take what I said back.

I envelope him in a hug, hoping to get the message I'm about to say across to my stubborn little brother.

"I love you, lad. Don't you ever forget that."

I walk off after that only to be blockaded at the wooden doors of the meeting room.

"Dude, you can't leave him like that."

"Oui, I know you better than that, mon cher. This isn't like you, to leave him. I know last time I encouraged it, but now-"

My eyes darken and I glare at the both of them.

"Shut. Up."

I glance at America first, "You're just a lil' brat, aren't ya? I can leave him."

I pause on my words; do I want to let my feelings out for them to see? I can't break that image of the burly strong emotionless man they've set for me. But I need them to realize their importance. What they can do for Albion.

"I can leave him because he has you and the Frog."

France growls and loud steps jerk me out of what I'm saying to America, as he tugs me around to say something:

"Seriously Scotland, how can't you see this? He needs you! What place is more important than one by his side?" France's eyes are a cold blue, and as I see myself reflected in them I wonder why he doesn''t understand my reasons for leaving., do I even know my reasons? "Did you not see Amerique make the same mistake you're making?"

"M-my people's side…"

It's more of a question than an answer because I don't know. My people aren't my family—the ones I've been with for centuries—but their will tugs at my heart, pulling me further from England.

Francis stops after that, he takes a deep breath and looks at me, and I remember laughing drunkenly with him, right after we signed the alliance.

"You still care about him, don't you?"

The question he asked me that night, somehow he words it exactly the same as he did that night and my heart twists because it should be obvious; how I broke off the alliance, how I stood for too long by his side, and how I kissed away his tears and cursed at all the fae and magical entities when America yelled the words I had just said to my brother.

"The answer hasn't changed, no matter how many centuries go by …ya know that France." I turn to walk away, but he grabs my wrist, nails sinking into my skin.

"Then you can't just leave him! You-"

"I can do nothing now. I'm passing that job to you."

I easily tug my wrist out of his grip, leaving.

Before the Entente Cordiale

England and I are drinking tea together, at least that's what he believes (mixed into my drink is scotch I poured into the tea when he went to get his scones.) My haggis tastes better, but France still refuses to eat both.

"I listened to your suggestion, to ally ourselves with France."

He leaves out the fact Russia will also be part of it, but when I look up to see the wee lad's face a faint red, it probably was because he forgot about him.

"Do- do you still love him, Alba?"

I take a sip of my 'tea', rolling my eyes at my brother.

"The real question is do ya love him? I had my chance, Albion …but I'm done with love."

I couldn't say that. To me, family always came first and I saw how England looked at the Frog. I also couldn't say that my love for him had dispersed over the years… I didn't want to love; I saw what it had done to me, to England, and countless others. I preferred just drinking at a nice pub with my mates. It was better that way.

"Why should I answer that, Scotland?"

The wee lad was getting cocky, eyebrows raised in question, but I let it pass. I had too much to deal with to worry over my brother's attitude.

"Ya don't hav' ta. I already know."

England laughs then, and I relish it. During World War I, I was certain I'd never hear that laugh again, and I still can't imagine a world without my brother.

"Like I know you're pouring scotch into your tea." I freeze while he scoffs, "alcoholic…"

After the Meeting

I enter my house, shaky legs allowing myself to collapse onto my living room couch. I hate election days, my temperature spikes as my government changes and politician views change my personality slightly.

"I'm- I'm leaving him. I'm finally independent."

I laugh softly, because I can't cry, won't cry. Not even with the knowledge that my brother most likely hates me.

"Alba, Albaaa, what's wrong?"

I glance up; it's Ireland, probably here believing that I'd be ready to celebrate my leave from the United Kingdom.

"Ire, can you help me? I need my whiskey…"

A couple cabinets open and I hear Ireland shuffling around. "Ummm, there isn't any…"

"Shit."

I groan, and the weight shifts on the couch, Ireland sitting on it with me. "How bad do you feel?"

I look at him, his unruly orange hair barely brushing his shoulders as he leans down, glancing at me with olive-green eyes.

"I mean shouldn't you be celebrating? You just became free of the stick in the mud, ya know?"

I roll my eyes "There ain't any whiskey for me ta' drink."

Ireland wouldn't understand my views on all of this; he hated England, while I still cared too deeply.

"There are pubs for a reason: to celebrate leaving assholes."

My eyes snap open, Ireland grating on my nerves too much for my liking.

"Get out, Ireland."

Ireland hisses, as if he'd just been stung, unaffected when I growl in retaliation.

"You still can't take it when someone insults the jerk. You're too sensitive, Alba. Aren't you the one who taught me to act like a man, and not the girl? You definitely are under that 'tough guy' act."

"I said GET OUT!"

Ireland smirks "Make me."

I pounce then, and we're wrestling, biting, punching, kicking, and the next thing I know is we've managed to get to my front door. Ireland grabs at my hair, pulling me outside and my head hits the side of the house.

It takes a couple seconds to recuperate and by then I'm drowning and inwardly cursing Wales for suggesting I install a fish pond in my front yard.

My heads yanked back and I cough up water, while elbowing Ireland in the gut, forcing him to release his grip on my hair.

I turn pushing Ireland, hitting his back on the house's wall, spitting in his face.

"WHOA!"

My collar's tugged on, and I choke, stumbling backwards. I see France restraining Ireland, as America restrains me from behind.

"Dude, what the hell? Why are you fighting Uncle Ireland?"

"'Cause your Uncle Scottie's being sensitive."

I laugh, as Ireland acts smug, not realizing he's being held back by a weak Frenchman.

It took a superpower to hold me back.

Footsteps bring all of us to hush and I watch as Ireland's face pales, losing his cockiness for pure fear. Only one can create that face on Ireland, one he avoids like the plague itself, England.

"He doesn't seem sensitive to me, leaving without giving me a chance to speak to him seems pretty insensitive. …But then you're just the same, Northern Ireland. How long has it been since I saw you last?"

England stands between us, eyeing us as he manages to get a wince out of us both. Then he turns to me, studying me with dimmed emerald eyes.

"I- …I think I understand it this time, Alba. You aren't the only one I've had to recognize as independent, but it doesn't make it any easier. It's not like I cared, but it seems like now you're leaving the U.K."

I chuckle and grin, "Exactly, Albion: I'm leaving the Union, I'm not leaving ya."

1 year later

"SCOTLAND!"

I glance up from my spot next to the fireplace in my house, where I had been reading. Nothing very serious, but it was better than doing paperwork.

Angered feet stomped though my house, and I was soon faced with my angry brother.

"What did you do?!"

He points to his eyebrows, glaring as I blankly stare for a couple seconds, before bursting into a loud laugh.

"H-how'd ya do that?!"

England's eyes widen, his purple eyebrows rising, making me laugh harder at my red-faced brother,who was getting madder every second.

"I thought you could explain!"

I honestly don't know the reason for my little brother's purple eyebrows, but I stand up and take his hand; we're heading to the basement.

"Nae, but it doesn't mean I can't fix it."

A couple minutes later I've created something nasty with the consistency of mayonnaise.

"Okay, hold still."

Grabbing England's face I start to put the greasy concoction I've created on his eyebrows, trying to change his eyebrows back to normal.

"Now let that sit for a bit, or your eyebrows will be a light purple color 'stead of, …well, whatever color eyebrows are."

England groans "I hate waiting, but…thanks. I would of done it myself, but—"

"It's a good thing you didn't; with your skills you'd turn your 'brows rainbow." We both chuckle, and I realize, that even after so long free of the United Kingdom, nothing has really changed…