Author: I wish I wrote this while I was still taking World or US History. I had to brush up on some history lessons, but I'm still not convinced that everything here is historically accurate, so please bear with me OTL

And thank you for the support. I will try to continue this.

Disclaimer: Everything Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya, "War is over" belongs to John Lennon


And If You Don't Love Me

Prologue II

"'This accession of territory affirms forever the power of the United States, and I have given England a maritime rival who sooner or later will humble his pride.'"

A dark-haired man, clad in the navy blue and gold uniform of the Spanish Armada, gave a throaty laugh. "You gave America the Louisiana Territory, did you, France? That's like an insult to injury. I almost feel bad for that England!"

The Frenchman lifted his gaze from the parchment. "England is strong no doubt, but his excessive pride and mounting recklessness will make him a danger to himself and an enemy to the world. It is time for someone to put him in check."

"And wouldn't that be your place?

"If Bonaparte lives up to his name…Either way, I have planted my seeds in America."

"You really do live to defy England." Spain leaned back into the cushion of the sofa, with his legs crossed and arms behind his head.

"That is our history."

"Tell me. How is England coping with the loss of America?"

France, sitting across from Spain, rested his elbow on the armrest of the chair, contemplating. "He schools himself well, exhibiting nearly the same power and determination on the battlefield as he did before. However, he has lost some life—vigor—as it seems. There is a dull glow in his eyes."

Spain gave out a little chuckle "Who knew underneath all the wine and glitter, you truly are a conniving, heartless bastard. You really could have broken England, you know?"

"What he experiences is nothing new," France said indifferently, "I lost Canada to him in 1760. And are you so quick to forget South Italy?"

Spain's features darkened immediately.

"America wanted independence, I'm sure of it. He was the one who came to me." France pushed back a stray lock of blond hair behind his ear. "I played a relatively small part in his Revolutionary War."

"So America and England. They detest each other?" Spain inquired, seemingly recovered from France's last statement.

"Their relationship is definitely strained. Although, I'm afraid it is much more complicated than simple hatred."

"Then, are you so sure to pit the two against each other?"

"No," France rose from his armchair, slightly brushing off the creases from his maroon jacket. "But America is headstrong and arrogant, and he cherishes his independence. He will never willingly succumb to England's influence again, as he did when he was a colony. America will not be a threat to us, at least not for the time being."

France walked to the door with swift, graceful strides, motioning for Spain to follow. "Come," he said as his hand reached the doorknob, "War in Europe commences."


Alfred considered himself fortunate. The great Atlantic was enough to shield him from the bloodshed that plagued Europe, allowing him to prosper while Europe fell apart. Although his new leader had established a policy of isolationism, Alfred could not help but be tempted to involve himself with the war. He found the mornings to be the most exciting time, as he eagerly flipped through the newspaper to see if any new advances were made since the day before.

The British is blockading the French coast, huh? Alfred chewed on his bottom lip. This gives Arthur the upper hand…

Alfred shook his head to rid himself of the thought. He was to remain neutral throughout this war, as he had promised. After all, America had just achieved independence and was far too weak to be involved in the clash between world powers. Moreover, how can he choose between France, who sacrificed so much in order to aid him in his fight for freedom, and England…Arthur...

Alfred had not forgotten about Arthur, even though years had passed since the Revolution. Every moment of the day, every action he made, Alfred had Arthur in mind. He realized, throughout the years, that the only way to earn the acknowledgment of great nations, such as England, was to exhibit equal power and influence. Alfred had always envied France in a sense; although he and Arthur quarreled ever since the beginning of their existence, France still had every morsel Arthur's attention in his grasp. Countless times had Arthur unexpectedly shortened his stay with Alfred in order to deal with French advances in Europe. Nothing could be worse than being nameless, Alfred concluded. Only by earning Arthur's acknowledgment and respect can he possibly hope to gain anything more.

I guess it is for the best. Alfred closed the newspaper. My place is here, for now.

Alfred stepped outside and leaned against the white banister of his front porch, bathing in the warmth of the bright morning sun. The fresh scent of grass, newly soaked with April showers, filled his lungs, as the whimsical notes of song birds echoed in his ears. Light winds rustled among the leaves and carried idle clouds across the clear blue skies.

It was a beautiful day in America.


War is over, if you want it.

War is over, now…


War in Europe came to an end, and despite the debris that filled the city streets, England remained the leading world power. Ironically, everything, from the skies to the seas, was amazingly still, as if death and devastation had finally brought silent peace. And Alfred, after decades, landed his foot on England's shore, with his heart fixed ever so tightly in his throat. His long anticipated moment had come at last; he was going to confront Arthur.

Alfred stood before a delicately-carved mahogany door, the entrance to a large English mansion—Arthur's mansion. He had dressed himself in his best, a dark navy-blue jacket, a gray waistcoat, and white breeches. He even combed his hair, although a stubborn strand remained erect in the front. As he reached up to flatten the rebellious lock, his fingers brushed against the frames of his glasses, reminding him of how he had chosen to sport eyewear. Glasses made him appear more mature and more intelligent; they also helped him read fine print. He did not regret his decision.

After dawdling for nearly half an hour, Alfred finally braced himself, taking in a deep breath of air as he lifted a shaky hand to the door. Just as he thought his heart would burst out of his chest, a familiar nonchalant voice behind him asked:

"Can I help you with something?"

Alfred felt as if he had jumped up a foot, although he hoped he hadn't. He turned around without even attempting to school his flustered appearance.

"A-Arthur!"

"America?" The Englishman's eyes widened for a brief moment before skepticism washed over his features. "What are you doing here, America?"

"Arthur, I-I…," Alfred swallowed. "I…uh…wanted to see how you were…s-so can I…?" Alfred motioned to the door, wincing at his failure at speech.

Arthur made no reply, but reached for his keys. That was invitation enough for Alfred, as he followed the Englishman inside, furtively glancing at every direction of the mansion's interior. Nothing had changed, Alfred mused. The floor was the same dark marble, and the same velvet green curtains and portraits of English nobility adorned the walls. Arthur never changes.

"All I have is tea," Arthur placed a tea set onto the table with a clink. "I know you do not like tea, but I was not expecting company this afternoon. Otherwise, I would have prepared something else."

"No, no, tea is fine." Alfred took his teacup with a smile. He could not help but to stare at Arthur from head to heel. Arthur was still the same, as compelling as ever with his graceful strides and poised hand gestures every time he poured tea. Although, perhaps not everything remained unchanged as Alfred noticed how much thinner and paler Arthur looked in his black overcoat. And his eyes—his once dazzling green eyes—were dulled with worry and fatigue, a tell-tale sign of a war-torn nation.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Did you want to discuss something, America?"

The tea, despite its bland bitterness, soothed Alfred's unsettling stomach, and Alfred was thankful, replying with calm articulation, "I wanted to see how you were, that's all. It's been decades."

Arthur arched one of his prominent eyebrows. "I just emerged from a war, and I'm in the midst of recovery. Needless to say, my country is not in its optimal state. Thus, I am very busy, so perhaps this is not the best time for a casual visit."

"Oh!" Alfred showed more enthusiasm than he intended, "This is not just a casual visit. I want to form an alliance…with you. I want to help…"

Arthur narrowed his eyes, replying with restrained irritation, "Such careless words, America. Have you forgotten your policy of isolation already?"

"I-I…no." Apparently the tired, irritable, war-torn Arthur was much more difficult to converse with, and Alfred hadn't felt this uneasy since declaring independence. "Not an alliance between the nations. I wanted to form one with…just us. Alfred and Arthur..."

By the furrow in his brows and the scowl on his face, Arthur was not convinced. Alfred took a deep breath, recited a quick prayer in his head, and continued. "I can stay here for a little while. I finished all my paperwork before coming here. I know that you're busy and all, but I can help. I can prepare meals or do some household chores for you. I-I just want to catch up...It's been decades, Arthur…"

Arthur exhaled a quiet bitter laugh, almost scathing. "As much as I appreciate the offer, I'm afraid I must decline. It will take much longer than decades before I can even consider such a proposal from you."

The aloofness and ridicule in Arthur's remark were enough to snap every fiber of hopeful optimism in Alfred's being. With rage building steadily inside, Alfred rose from his chair and stalked towards the seated Englishman. Momentary shock swept across Arthur's face before a mask of indifference concealed all visible emotion.

"I might not have the history or influence of great European powers such as yourself," Alfred said resentfully, tone rising, "but I am still an independent nation, and I deserve at least some degree of respect from you. I offered my hand out of genuine sincerity, Arthur, so why do you treat me so coldly? Is it because I'm too young, too unrefined? Or is it because of your excessive pride?"

Arthur had the audacity to laugh again. "After everything that has happened, is this all you've managed to conclude?"

"Then, why, Arthur?" Alfred yelled out with angry exasperation, "Tell me, why do you treat me like I'm not worth shit."

"I do not want you close to me because seeing you makes me miserable." Arthur scoffed after a long pause, clearly irritated. "My decision has nothing to do with your youth or my pride. I simply do not want to be reminded of the time when my so-called younger brother betrayed me and humiliated me in front of the world. Your face reminds me of only that, and I do not want to see it. Now, please, leave my country."

"Is that why? A-Arthur!" Rage was replaced with desperation, as all of Alfred's expectations seemed to fall apart before him. "That's why I came back today. I want to make everything better. I didn't mean to hurt you. I—"

"You are an insufferable idealist," Arthur spat, "if you think a broken relationship can be mended by something as simple as a visit and a gesture. I am wounded and bitter, and I am not generous with forgiveness."

"I-I know, but…Arthur! I had to do what I did. I needed you to acknowledge me, to treat me as an equal."

"What do you have to complain about the way I treated you? I treated you better than I've treated anyone else!"

"But you've never taken me seriously," Alfred was flustered and yelling by this point. "You never had the time of day for me during the war, and you never allowed me to help. I was just a colony, I wasn't worth anything. You told me to wait, and I waited, but all of your time and energy were spent on other nations! That's why I became a nation, Arthur. Because of you! I love you, Arthur! I still love you! I—"

"You're doing this because of me? You love me?" Arthur began to laugh, bitterly and hysterically. "This is golden, this really is! Tell me America, when did I ever ask for you to sever our bond as brothers and form a pact with a country whom I detest?" Arthur smiled a bitter, scornful smile, and each word he articulated was a dagger aimed at Alfred's heart. "I loved you back then, I really did. I loved you as a brother, but you did not love me. You would not have caused me so much pain if you did. And you do not love me now. Frankly, you do not know what love is."

"That's not true." Alfred said darkly as he towered above Arthur, gripping tightly onto his shoulders and pushing him back into the cushions of the armchair. "I love you, Arthur. I've always loved you. Just not in the same way."

"Oh, not this nonsense agai—" Alfred covered Arthur's lips before he could finish the sentence. Arthur promptly began to push and kick, but with no avail. Alfred had grown since his colonial days, and never before had Arthur seem so small and breakable. "For the love of God, unhand me, America!"

"Don't call me 'America.'" Alfred continued with soft licks and nips. "My name is Alfred. Call me Alfred."

"I-I refuse." Arthur gasped as Alfred traced his tongue on the shell of his ear.

"Then, I refuse to stop." Alfred unbuttoned Arthur's coat with an ungentle hand, and carelessly pulled at Arthur's white linen shirt.

"Let go, I-idiot! I said, let go! Damnit! Let go!"

Smack!

A pair glasses lay on the dark marble floor, lenses cracked. Arthur stared gravely at his now reddening hand, refusing to look up. Alfred separated himself from the English nation, gingerly touching the cheek that was stuck.

"I...I guess it's time for me to leave." Alfred smiled woefully, realizing the hopelessness of the situation. "I'm sorry for intruding on you like this…" He took out a small, carefully wrapped package from his coat and placed it lightly onto the table. "A gift I made. I hope you will accept."

Arthur said nothing, but stared at Alfred with angry tears threatening to spill from his emerald green eyes. Why does he look like he's about to cry? Alfred mused. I was the one who got hit. I should be the one who feels like shit.

He straightened himself, wiping the creases off of his jacket and running a hand through his now tousled hair. "Good-bye, Arthur. I hope you will forgive me someday."

Alfred led himself to the exit. Although he did not look back, he could feel Arthur's gaze bearing down on the back of his head. He stepped outside into Arthur's garden, softly closing the front door behind him. The garden was lovely, with its arched rose bushes, bird baths, and statues of angels. Alfred strolled leisurely from the house to the front gate, admiring the intricacy of the patio furniture and garden ornaments. His bruised cheek was finally starting to sting, but that was the least on his mind.

All in all, he had miscalculated, and his mission ended in failure. Although discouraged, Alfred refrained himself from sinking into despair, for Arthur meant too much to him to give up so willingly. Time was all they needed, Alfred concluded. Only time would allow Arthur to forgive their past and open his mind to the slight possibility of letting Alfred back into his life again. There will be plenty of time, plenty of chances for him to confront Arthur, he needn't worry. After all, he was going to become a splendid nation. He was going to live forever.


Author: And when I wrote "Either way, I have planted my seeds in America," no sexual innuendo intended…but then again, it's France…

Why are all my characters so…serious? War is serious D;

And did my writing style change since the last chapter? O.o

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