Lease on Life

by: LycanNoir

A/N: Thank you for the surprisingly fast, however small, reception to my prologue. I am currently not sure how I cam going to divide up my "Acts", but there is a reason for having them, if only for my own mental organization.

By the way, this fic is self-beta'd except for getting some feedback from my lovely au_hetalia friends, so if anyone wants to volunteer to be a beta, that would be more than welcome.

I'm not quite sure how to explain this, even though I think the story itself will eventually make some of this apparent, but in spite of the fact that they may have hints of memories, history as far back as World War II and even our present day is a bit fuzzy for the nations because of all the events that have transpired up to the point that this story takes place. This is particularly true for Germany, who has forgotten more than all of the others and isolated himself from the past because of memories he found shameful. But anyway, all of this will be explained, so I just wanted to let you know that there was a reason for the fact that they don't really refer to anything in the series as being fact unless it's explained... It did happen, it was just a long time ago...


Act I



Chapter One: The Simple Solution

New York City, New York

24 December 2314

Japan stared at the television set, but he wasn't really listening to it. He shallowly inhaled the steam of a tiny mug of green tea, closing his eyes. He was stretched out, leaning his back into the couch, his sock-feet propped on the coffee table. While he normally wouldn't have been so inconsiderate of the furniture, he was distracted and light-headed, as he found himself more and more lately. His body ached and he was much paler than usual, and yet he pressed on each day, still getting up and going to work, but calling in sick was becoming more and more frequent. If it hadn't been for America, he wouldn't have been able to pay rent at all, and as much as he usually loathed his dependence, for once he was actually thankful for it.

The rattling of keys escaped his notice as America unlocked the door. Alfred's arms were full of shopping and take-out bags, such that he had to kick the door open and wasn't able to properly close it until he put down the bags. Japan's eyes opened at the sound, but otherwise he didn't react or even look around to see America.

"Feeling any better?" America asked, his voice cheery as it usually was.

"A little," Japan replied before even really considering the question. Eventually he drew his legs up and turned around so his back rested against the arm of America's excessively plush sofa.

"I brought you some sushi," America explained as he began emptying the bags, putting some things in the refrigerator, some on the table, some in cupboards.

"I see," Japan said evenly, watching his roommate's frenetic movements. He would offer to help, but the fatigue he felt today was worse than usual. He knew that there must be something happening to his people once again, but he was afraid to turn his focus to the news to find out exactly what. If he were to concentrate he could feel it, but he was afraid, terribly afraid. It seemed it never ended lately, and until the summit was over he could only manage to hope so much. Instead, he faced each day with calm resignation, trying to believe that things would turn around before—

"...and some rice balls, and some sukiyaki, and ramen, and teriyaki, and..." America suddenly continued as he retrieved another bag from across the table and began opening and spreading out containers full of take-out.

Japan stared, dark eyes slightly brighter with something between horror and amusement at the copious amounts of food being spread out on the table. He suddenly felt almost guilty that he could never match America's ravenous appetite. It occurred to him that one of the ways Alfred liked to care for his friends was by feeding them when they were at a convenient distance. He hated to disappoint him, but his lean and small body just wasn't able to hold that much.

He finally stood and walked over to America and began to go behind him and organize the things that America haphazardly threw upon the shelves. A few moments later, they sat down to eat and Japan, as usual, made a comparatively small plate for himself and ate very quietly and slowly. He still insisted on using chopsticks most of the time, and it was by necessity a bit slower than America's rapid near-inhalation of food, but he had grown accustomed to his roommate's habits.

"Have you heard anything further about the summit?" Japan asked, fulfilling America's expectation of dinnertime chatter.

"No," America replied with his mouth full, swallowing after a moment. "But I feel good about it so far. Not everyone has shown up yet, so we still have time to be patient."

Japan knew that he was trying to sound reassuring, but America was always overly-confident and he just wasn't sure that it was as simple as his western ally made it sound. There was a lot of opposition to the simplest solutions to the growing problem of nuclear waste and pollution—not to mention a thousand other political interests invested in what was left of the fossil fuels.

A black, cordless phone on the wall began to light up, outlined in red with the rhythm of its ringing, breaking the brief and uncomfortable silence.

"I'll get it," America said before Japan could twitch to get up.

That was the way America treated him. He wasn't sure whether he thought it was considerate and kind or if it was presumptuous and rude. In trying to help him in his illness, America suddenly seemed to think that Japan should never make a single move without being aided in some way.

"Hello?"

Japan got up and began washing the dishes quietly, ever concerned with being polite. He didn't want to eavesdrop, and the temptation was further eased by the fact that he knew that America would tell him what the call had been about when he hung up anyway. Moments later and true to form, he felt his taller friend stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him and begin drying the dishes.

"That was Germany," Alfred explained. "He said he was sorry that he was running late. Something had come up. He sounded a little upset, but you know that's just--"

Japan made a small sound in his throat, something between acknowledgment and a distant little whimper as something flashed in his mind that he couldn't quite explain. He didn't know why, but for the last couple of decades it felt as though something important of the past had been lost and ignored. He wasn't sure what it was, but the painful nostalgia washed over him for a moment like a tidal wave, and then he was himself again.

"Japan? ...Kiku?" America asked in a low tone of voice.

"Yes?"

"Are you all okay? You look pale all of the sudden..."

"I'm fine, America-san. You were saying something about Germany-san."

"You don't have to call me that," America sighed, almost instinctively irritated with formality. "Anyway, yeah, he said that he'd be a bit late but that he'd be here. I still wonder why he sounded so upset, though..."

"There are many things going on in the world right now. Too many to keep track of, so perhaps his people need him."

"Maybe, but I think he was--"

A steady, rhythmic, almost playful knock was suddenly heard at the door. It was too solid and firm for a child, though. It gave Alfred a chill up his spine.

"That can't be him already," he said, swallowing the little lump of fear that welled in his throat.

Japan carefully removed his kitchen gloves and hung them up to dry and wiped his hands with a folded dishcloth.

"I'll answer it this time," Japan offered and took a few steps toward the door.

"N-No!" America said quickly, almost masking his stammer. He put his hand in front of Japan and stood up, straightening his shoulders a bit, always playing the hero as he stepped toward the door, ready to protect everyone from anything. He looked over his shoulder, trying to be the picture of confidence with his best winning smile. "I'll get it. Probably just some salesmen."

It was a silly comment, really, because salesmen would hardly be out so late in the evening, especially on Christmas Eve. Kiku resisted the urge to roll his eyes and remained calm save the slightly amused little smile on his face. Always the hero...

"Hi!" America started as he unlocked the door except for the chain. "Oh," he said, not quite so friendly. "Russia," he managed cordially. He closed the door without explaining that he was unlatching the chain. Let him sweat it, he thought. Then he opened the door and laxly held it open.

"I may come in?" Russia asked, his smile and scarf ever-present. With his question he stepped forward to stand on the threshold, not giving America much of a choice if he wanted peace.

"Fine," Alfred replied, turning his back to the door and walking into the kitchen toward the divide in the floor that went from vinyl-to-carpet and dining-to-living room. He kept his shoulders back, hands tucked casually into his pockets. He wanted to maintain his cool in front of Russia, to not appear the slightest bit intimidated. Leisurely he turned back to face his guest, sitting on the back of the sofa. He spared Japan a cursory glance and noticed that Kiku's eyes seemed suddenly red as if he were about to cry and, further, that he didn't turn around to greet Russia.

"What do you want?" Alfred eventually asked after he began to feel uncomfortable with the way Ivan's pale eyes were looking at Japan's back.

Russia turned his gaze to America's own blue eyes and his smile grew even bigger.

"You know very well why I am here, America. Why don't you join m—us, Japan?"

Japan tried to make a show of clattering the dishes rather loudly as he put the last of them away but sneezed into his sleeve before he could have much of a follow-through. Begrudgingly, he turned to face the nation, looking suspiciously with red-rimmed eyes at the heavy overcoat, the scarf, the not-so-neatly pressed buttoned shirt, and finally at Russia's eyes. His face was relatively serene and masked the emotions and the sickness he felt when standing in the same room with Russia. There was also a hint of fear in his stomach, but he did not let it show. He did not say anything, but this was America's apartment and he didn't have the right to be completely rude to someone Alfred allowed inside. Still, he had no intentions of speaking.

"Russia. You came here for a reason. Spit it out," America demanded.

Russia prolonged the pause for just a moment more, not allowing America to demand anything from him.

"As you both know the summit is tomorrow, and—ah, where is England?" he asked, suddenly aware of the other island nation's absence.

"He—He's..." America found himself faltering and glanced at Japan. The reasons England had left were not something that he ever really thought about much. He tried not to, and he and Japan hadn't spoken of it yet.

Japan saw his friend's eyes flick to him and swallowed hard, deciding to speak to show some solidarity with him.

"He's with my... brother."

"Ah, I see. I see. China, too, has been avoiding me. Do he and England have any plans for an official alliance?"

"How should I know?" America asked, a spark of rebellion—independence—rekindling and the thought of England's absence.

"So you've so quickly replaced him, have you?" Ivan asked Kiku.

Japan looked at him, his brow twitching with confusion, but his serenity wasn't easily broken before someone he was so wary of.

"I'm really not sure what you're talking about, but I hardly think you came here to see how America is getting along with his friends..."

Russia used his hands in his pockets to hold his overcoat more tightly around him, masking any sting that Japan's words might have had with the slight muscle tension, his smile never faltering, his gaze just as intent as ever.

"Of course, to business. As you know, my people, my boss, and several of my... friends... have come up with quite the simplest solution to all of our problems. Including yours, Japan."

"What does this have to do with him?" America asked, feeling that he might need to protect Japan. This feeling was bolstered by yet another sneeze from his roommate.

"It has to do with all of us. The whole world," Russia remarked, running a gloved hand over the edge of the kitchen counter, watching his own fingers. "You know that all of us, the entire world, are scrambling for answers. For power, for time, for life... And all of you keep on clinging to this notion of 'capitalism'. You want the world to be healthy and happy, and yet you insist upon letting the dog-eat-dog mentality continue. You know the only way out, America."

"To give up our freedom and to grovel to a faceless, nameless unity that would tear us apart even further," Alfred replied, every word dripping with bitter sarcasm. "I don't think so, Russia. We've got all the unity we need in our friendships, and we don't need your communist ideas forcing their way into our lives."

"You fight against the equality and justice you claim to promote!" Russia shouted, his face still calm, frighteningly calm, but his eyes teetering once again on the edge of a kind of madness. "You'll come to see it my way! All of you will! Every single one of you, including England, no matter how much he and his people decide to protest."

"Protest? If you knew what he was doing, why did you ask us, Russia?" Japan asked.

America couldn't help but glance rather suddenly at Japan. He hadn't used an honorific with Russia—he must be quite a bit more upset by Russia than his expression let on.

"I'm showing you that you have no unity! No 'friendships' and no alliances. You're capitalist dogs who won't take the only bone that will save you. If you don't stop him from making this mistake, all of you will regret it. You'll see!" With that he inhaled and was suddenly calm again. "You'll see," he repeated in a much calmer voice, quiet, serene and gentle. "It was nice seeing your faces again..."

And with that he turned and took his leave, gingerly closing the door behind him.

America continued sitting on the back of his sofa for a moment, then moved to lock the door. He turned to Japan who was still standing very still by the kitchen counter, the redness around his eyes and nose quickly fading.

"Need anything?" America asked.

"No, America-san," Japan replied, walking to the coffee table to retrieve a tissue.

America sat on the couch next to him and for a moment absently admired the fantastic array of colors produced by the lights adorning the Christmas tree in the corner. The stack of presents looked picturesque and inviting. He tried to avoid looking sadly at the small stack of green-wrapped presents in the corner, tried not to mourn the fact that England had decided to leave. He had his reasons, and America tried not to question them. After all, even if they weren't the real reasons, he knew that he'd make the same choices again. He grabbed for the remote and turned up the volume on the television and began changing the channels idly.

"Tomorrow is Christmas," Japan remarked softly.

"Yeah."

"You're usually more excited..."

"I am... it's just hard to be with all of this going on. My people are scared of the future—everyone is...so..."

"Yes, but this is you we're talking about, America-san," Japan replied with a small, wry smile and a sideways glance at America.

Alfred laughed more freely and kicked off his shoes, stretching out comfortably with his feet irreverently atop a stack of his own papers on the coffee table.

"I guess I really am getting old."

"That reminds me..." Japan said, trailing off and getting to his feet. He walked quickly and softly into his room and America could hear him rummaging around. When he returned he almost casually tossed a small gift box that hadn't been previously placed under the tree.

"What's this?"

"Open it when you want. It's just something I got for you. It doesn't have to be for Christmas. I'm just saying thank you."

"Oh," America replied, his cheeks coloring slightly as he looked at the obsessively neat little wrapped package. He decided to put it aside for the moment, in spite of the childlike curiosity that welled up in his chest. "I told you you didn't have to thank me. Not ever. Not for this..."

"I wanted to say thank you, America-san. The polite response is, 'You're welcome.'"

"Yeah, but you know me."

"Yes, I do," Kiku replied, again smiling more than he usually did, his dark eyes meeting his friend's. His tone of voice left it open to interpretation as to whether or not he thought it was a good thing, but in recent times America had learned to read his vague ally much better.

America sat up and untied his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the white tee-shirt beneath, before lying back and squirming. He was trying fervently not to let his nostalgia for the past or his trepidation toward the future put a damper on Japan's first Christmas Eve with him.

Japan flinched unnoticeably as America's larger shoulder brushed against his as Alfred squirmed to get comfortable. He swallowed his embarrassment, though, and decided that it wasn't so bad. In fact, he dared to think, it might even be nice. He didn't want to take for granted the fact that he had such a close ally—such a close friend—in this time when real friends or even any friends at all were so hard to find. He didn't know what he would have done without America's help since he had started to get sick.

"I wonder what's taking Germany so long," America said, looking at the clock.

"He told us he would be late. Maybe I should go find some sheets to put on the couch for him tonight?" Japan sighed as he continued, "I really don't like the fact that Germany-san won't take my bed for the night."

"You know it doesn't make a difference to him, and you're sick. Stay where you are. I'll make it up when he gets here."

Japan chuckled softly.

"It mustn't make a difference to him, then."

"Hey, what's that suppos--"

Kiku's tiny, sleek cellphone began to buzz on the coffee table and to play a soft little song. He leaned forward and reached for it, tilting it to check the caller-ID.

"Who is it?" America asked bluntly. Japan met his eyes and there was a subtle, old sadness in them that he couldn't quite place. Before Kiku could answer him, he knew, then.

"England-san," Japan replied, a hint of reluctance in his voice. He met America's eyes with his for a single moment, careful not to let pity show in them, only a twinge of the guilt he felt as he flipped open the phone, pressed it to his face and stood, walking into the next room to take the call.

America sat back with resignation. He tried to drown out his curiosity by feigning interest in his television until he found something he could actually pay attention to. Still, he couldn't help but let his mind wander. England hadn't called him for days, weeks—maybe it had even been a month or two. He tried not to let the jealousy, the lack of understanding sink in. He stared at the moving pictures on the screen, watched as they changed at the touch a button, and found that even his toys held less joy than they did before. The world was darker than it had been so long ago when he had been a child. He glanced back toward Japan's room and wondered what it must feel like for Japan. Still, no matter how many things he tried to distract himself with, there was the gnawing question, seated deep within his chest...

Why was it that when he was finally doing something he felt was right that England had decided to run away?