Okay, I'm not sure but I think I may have misled some people in the last chapter. I said "bromance." Now, to me, bromance does not equal incest. It's just like . . . bros. So, I apologize to anyone who may have thought Matthew and Alfred would be getting it on. Cause they're not. (Not that I don't approve of USxCanada xP)

Yeah, sorry about that. This fic has no romance whatsoever. (Hence the "Friendship" theme.)

"Mm," Alfred said, smacking his lips. "Yum!"

Matthew said nothing. He didn't feel he had the energy to comment on the frozen treat he'd just finished, and he didn't feel his brother deserved a reply. They had been walking for what felt like ages, and Matthew was more than ready to get on the back of Alfred's stupid little motorcycle so he could get home already. Kumajirou would be missing him.

Or maybe not . . .

"Hey, Matt," Alfred said suddenly.

"What?" Matthew was careful to control his voice so as to conceal his annoyance.

"I'm still kind of hungry."

"Al, I'm sorry, but - "

"Let's hang out a little longer," Alfred insisted. "We never do this."

There's a reason for that, Matthew thought. He opened his mouth, lips poised to voice his honest opinion, but it was the same old problem. He had no sooner finished phrasing his speech in his mind than he inadvertently looked up into Alfred's eyes. The shining blue eyes may not have washed away the words, but the glint of affection he saw wore down Matthew's will to say them. No part of him was cruel. No part of him wished to attack his brother. "Only a little longer," he said weakly.

"Yay!" Alfred still hadn't lost that childlike excitement over small pleasures; the discovery of a dollar on the ground, or a surprise toy in a bag of food still reduced the powerful nation to giggles and triumphant fist-punching. "Okay, so I thought we could go to Central Park. It's really close - "

"Please, Al," Matthew said before he could stop himself. "Could we please ride? I can't walk any more."

"Oh," Alfred said. It was clear he'd thought they'd be walking. "Yeah, that's fine. But I was thinking we could get some food, and eat it in the park, and it'd be like a little picnic!"

"Sure, sure." The bike was in sight and Matthew clambered eagerly onto the back seat, pulling his helmet over his tousled, wavy blond hair.

They rode through the packed streets of late-afternoon Manhattan, swerving between taxicabs and pedestrians, running the occasional red light and flipping off the occasional driver (the latter was carried out by Alfred alone). The thick, exhaust-filled air beat down on them in the shadows of looming office structures, and Matthew was glad when they finally reached Central Park. He had been here only a few times before but he was fairly certain Alfred wasn't supposed to be driving the motorcycle on this path marked "NO VEHICLES," much less the expanse of grass peppered with beach blankets and small children and cooing couples and tired parents. Now alarmed cries were sounding from bystanders, and people were leaping out of their path in desperation. Matthew could hear his brother cackling in delight, and he held on for dear life as they skidded to a halt on an empty patch of grass. Dazed, Matthew tumbled off the seat and onto the ground.

"Al!" he gasped reproachfully when his breath had returned to him. "Al!"

Alfred was grinning as he propped the motorcycle up on its kickstand. "That was so sweet!"

"I have to disagree," Matthew said. He handed Alfred the helmet. "You're crazy."

"Ah, Matt," Alfred said with a wink, "that's why you love me."

"False," Matthew muttered.

"True," Alfred crowed.

"Whatever." Despite the ice cream he'd just eaten, Matthew felt his stomach growl discontentedly with hunger. "I thought we were going to eat something?"

"Oh, right. Lunch. Yeah, I'm on it." Alfred pulled a touch phone from his pocket and quickly dialed a number. "Hi . . . yeah. Yep! We're here. . . . Yeah. Okay, cool. See you in a few."

"Who was that?" Matthew asked.

"Oh, no one." Alfred settled himself on the ground beside his brother.

"So, we're not having food?"

"Oh, it's on its way. It's under control. So anyways, Matt. How's life? For real."

"Life's good." Matthew had the vague sense that they'd already had this conversation.

"You said that earlier!" So they had. "But I mean, for real. You always say the same thing, but you never really talk to me."

"That's because you can barely listen and you never hear," Matthew said bitterly. "No matter what I say or do, you just want to be better. And you already are."

Alfred stared at him, stunned for a moment. "Matt . . ."

"Sorry," Matthew mumbled quickly. "I didn't mean to actually say that out loud."

"Aw, Matt!" Alfred reached over to encircle his brother in a hug. "You really are cute. See, this is why we should talk more! How am I supposed to know you want to talk when you never say so?"

"You never let me say so." Matthew felt his cheeks flush. He was unaccustomed to speaking so freely, and a sense of liberation was filling his system. "But now that I can - "

"Oh, hey! Arthur!" Alfred called suddenly, and Matthew saw a disgruntled-looking Brit arrive with a picnic basket and several paper bags packed to the brim with food. "Thanks, man!"

"Don't expect this to happen again. Ever," Arthur warned as he handed off his load to Alfred.

"Sure, sure."

Arthur acknowledged Matthew briefly before turning abruptly and leaving.

"What was that all about?" Matthew asked as he opened the picnic basket and pulled out a cold cut deli sandwich.

"Oh, I called in a favor. Would've gotten Mexico or someone, but I thought England'd be funnier." He chuckled. "What a grouch."

". . . Funnier?"

"Yeah, sure. I mean, you have to admit. It's funny to see that guy come over with all the bags, like a delivery boy or something."

"Maybe," Matthew allowed with a smile, rummaging through one of the bags to find a drink. "Wow, you really got a lot of food for such short notice."

"It wasn't that short of notice," Alfred said, opening a container of caesar salad. "I planned this yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Matthew frowned. "As in, before you snuck into my house and left that note?"

"Yup. Oh, that reminds me! I also got something else done." He began searching through the paper bags, spilling packages of crackers, pretzels, and cookies all over the grass.

"Here we go!" Finally he pulled out a folded red garment, which looked suspiciously like Matthew's sweatshirt.

"Is that . . .?"

"So I had this done this morning," Alfred said. "And the reason is that you're always complaining that I'm trying to take away your culture, or your national identity, or something. And I still felt kind of bad about that whole flag-on-the-forehead incident, so, yeah. Here's this, and now you can't complain about looking like me anymore."

It was indeed Matthew's sweatshirt, but when unfolded it he saw that there was now a large white maple leaf pressed in the center of the chest. It was kind of stupid, but that maple leaf represented so much thought from his usually selfish brother that he felt a lump rise to his throat.

"Thanks, Al."

"No problem, Matt," Alfred said affectionately. He leaned over to give his brother a one-armed squeeze.

Matthew bit into his sandwich to suppress his tears.

Maybe this brother of his wasn't so bad after all.

The two of them lingered in the park until sunset, when Matthew insisted on going home. They packed the leftovers into the basket and attached it firmly to the back of Alfred's motorcycle before zooming off. Matthew still didn't feel comfortable with their driving over the park's grass, but despite their long talk, he knew nothing he could say would dissuade Alfred from doing it anyway.

As they headed north, Matthew mulled over in his mind what they'd discussed. They'd talked about trade, and politics. They'd talked about Matthew's culture. They'd talked about some of their old bosses. They'd talked about the future, which was as uncertain as ever, but the uncertainty was now tinted with a twinge of anticipation to see how the world would unfold. Matthew knew now without question that he would remain by America's side forever; they were brothers. He also knew that their disagreements would continue for a long time, probably forever; they were brothers, after all. They shared that irreplaceable bonds that brothers have, the understanding that they would be there for each other, and the feeling of closeness that no fight could destroy.

When they arrived at Matthew's house, Alfred pulled up right where he had earlier - on the flower bed. Matthew glared at him until he backed off, and then his expression softened into a smile and he waved the wildly grinning Alfred off before entering his home.

"I'm back," he called to Kumajirou.

The little bear came lumbering into the kitchen. "Who're you?" his glance seemed to say.

Matthew sighed. He had been dragged to a hockey game by his incorrigible brother. He had forged a renewed closeness with said brother. He was now wearing a sweatshirt with a maple leaf that marked him as undeniably Canadian.

But some things would never change.

He could have sworn Kumajirou was laughing.