Since he had been in Texas (for whatever reason), it took close to no time for America to fly into Guatemala's country. None of the villagers had seen a jet before, so when the sleek black plane landed in the middle of the square, it was chaos.

"Señorita! Señorita Guatemala! Aliens, aliens are attacking!" a woman called frantically, scrambling onto Guatemala's porch with a tiny child clutched to her chest. Guatemala chuckled under her breath, staring wide-eyed at her friend's contraption. She'd seen jets before, yes, but never in person.

"Oh, no, it's not aliens… It's mi amigo America, see," she explained distantly. The panic seeped out of the woman's face, though she raised an eyebrow and sighed silently.

"That's about the same thing," she murmured. She began rocking the child in her arms as she stomped off the steps, assuring everyone she passed that the high-tech intruder was simply an obnoxious foreigner. Some of the people returned to their everyday business, most changed their expressions of fear to that of curiosity and/or glares, while others hastily began to straighten up their shops in hopes of drawing in a customer.

Absently wrapping her heart shaped hair curl around her finger, Guatemala gingerly stepped out onto her lawn. She bent down to scratch the ears of the stray cat that was often on her property before trotting down the dirt path to the place where America's jet had caused a disturbance. The young man jumped out of his vehicle, blue eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "Guatemala! YO!"

With a brief giggle, Guatemala grasped America's gloved hand in hers. She then stood on her toes in order to give him a light peck on the cheek. America blushed; he wasn't used to Guatemalan customs. "So, we're going?" Guatemala confirmed. America nodded so enthusiastically that he probably gave himself a mild concussion.

"Hellz yeah! C'mon!" He grabbed her by her bony wrist and dragged her onto the jet before she could even advise everyone that she'd be gone for a while. The image of fires, animals on the loose, and gang fights breaking out played through her head as she hesitantly buckled herself in.

The jet landed in the backyard of one of America's homes. The second America stood up, Guatemala squirmed free of her restraints and threw herself down the stairs. Her knuckles were so white and face was so flushed that her complexion could barely be considered Guatemalan. She got down on hands and knees and kissed the ground like a crazy person. "I've seen my country suffer through poverty. I've seen women give birth. I've seen ancient Mayan monsters. I've been a member of a vicious gang. I've watched animals be slaughtered and homes be burnt down. Yet I have never, ever been that scared in mi life," she growled. America just laughed and patted her roughly on the back.

"You just need a drink, is all!" he exclaimed. Groaning, Guatemala climbed to her feet and rubbed her temples.

"Si… Si, I suppose you're right," she sighed. "Now hurry up, I need one SOON!" she huffed, yanking America into his mansion. He laughed again and quickly increased his pace so that he was in the lead instead.

Once inside, Guatemala barely was given the chance to observe her friend's home at the speed they rushed through it. Soon enough, she found herself in a room containing only a bar, stools, a fridge, and shelves lined with countless colorful bottles. The very thought of all the alcohol made Guatemala's mind go numb.

"Well, darlin', what d'you think you want? I think a margarita would suit you well…" America suggested, placing his hands on his hips and staring at the array of liquor with utmost pride. Guatemala shrugged slightly.

"As long as it tastes good and gets me high….."

It wasn't long before America was pouring the greenish slushy-like drink into a special glass, and grabbing himself a Bud Light. He popped the cap and sat down heavily on a stool next to Guatemala. "Now, my homey, you've got to take it niiice and slow… Take it a sip at a time and savor it," he explained airily with closed eyes, gradually bringing his bottle up to his lips. Groaning with pleasure, he peeked out of one eye at his companion… and spit his drink out all over the counter. "Whoa, whoa, calm it down Silv! How the hell did you drink that whole thing already?"

Guatemala rolled her eyes, absently shaking her glass side to side. "It was a small glass. Refill, por favor?"

Opening and closing his mouth like a landed fish, America leisurely stood, took Guatemala's glass, and slid over to the blender to pour more of the beverage for her. "How about you take this one slower?"

Guatemala scoffed. "Yeah, that'll happen."

6 glasses later, Guatemala was still doing considerably fine except for the fact that she was becoming more and more irritable. When America insisted she couldn't handle another one, and reasoned that he was out of margarita mix, she smacked her glass to the ground and smirked partially as it shattered. America jabbed a finger in her face. "You are a little bitch."

"Lo siento, lo siento, I'm just pissed off, Al! I can't believe I can't even pick my own damn husband! Life sucks muy much sometimes…" She planted her face against the counter. "Then again…" She propped her face upright on her chin, ready for a rant that contained half cold hard truth, half drunken rambling. "I might love Romano, I don't even know! Spain made it like I know him sooo well, but I've only met the bastard like 5 times! He is kind of cute though… And we'd complement each other well, y'know? I bet we've got more in common than just our mutual relations to Spain…. He'll probably think I'm hot, I mean, check me out! I'll bet he's bien in bed, I mean, he's all feisty, not to mention dicks like him have to have grande, well, dicks!"

Draining the last few drops of his bottle, America giggled. "You're a crazy little whore, is what you are!"

Guatemala pushed herself upright, her head rolling, and glared at him through squinted eyes. "You think so? Well you know what, you think that's a turn on, don't you?" Very drunk, America gave a thumbs-up. Guatemala smirked deviously and scooted her stool dangerously close to America's. "Hey… Since I'm engaged now, I'd say I deserve a little bachelorette party."

"Well let me be the life of that party," America crooned. Alcohol clouding her conscience and confusing feelings for Romano, Guatemala grabbed America by the tie and amorously pressed her lips against his. The blondish country immediately wrapped his arms around Guatemala's thin waist, kissing her shamelessly.

The next half hour or so was… strange. It involved Guatemala stealing and wearing America's glasses, tossing them aside when she didn't like how distorted it made the world look; Guatemala caressing Nantucket; America yanking gently on Guatemala's hair curl, resulting in a high-pitched moan of sick pleasure from the young woman; odd snuggling, half of which was done on the floor since they'd fallen off of their stools; kisses that were aimed for each other's mouths but ended up on their cheeks, chins, and even ears.

Eventually, Guatemala awoke to blurry vision and a headache so powerful she feared her brain would shatter her skull. Groaning, she pushed herself up against the wall with much effort. The sleeve of her dress was half removed, obviously not naturally. There was a gross taste in her mouth; now she seriously regretted attempting to suck on the lime in her margarita. She glanced down to find America had his head in her lap, snoring loudly. His glasses lay on his neck.

At first, anger rapidly bubbled up inside of Guatemala. What had they done? Soon enough, though, the bitter feelings died down. She bit her lip gently, a blush sweeping across her cheeks as she ran her fingers over America's forehead. What a lie it had been when she said she might love Romano… All those things Spain discussed in his letter were true, yes, but each one of them had occurred over a course of no more than 3 days. Since those few interactions in their childhood, Guatemala and Romano had only seen each other in person a handful of times. Even then, they'd barely spoken to one another. Guatemala heard lots of things about Romano from Spain and eavesdropping on other countries, and based any feelings she had toward the Italian man mainly on those.

So when she said she might love Romano… In truth, she only wanted to feel fondly about him so she wouldn't be in a loveless marriage. There were other men who were candidates for her affection, and one of them was currently in the room with her.

"Hey. Wake up, estupido," she muttered, shaking America's shoulder. All the country did was halt his snoring. With a silent sigh, Guatemala forcefully brought the back of her hand against America's cheek. He sat up with a start, crying out in pain as the abrupt movement sent painful dizziness spiraling around his brain. Guatemala chuckled under her breath and placed America's glasses on his nose.

"Yo, man, what happened?" America moaned.

"We got drunk," Guatemala told him simply. She climbed to her feet and straightened out her dress. "I've got to make sure my country isn't in rubble… Could one of your servants take me home?"

America blinked, dazed. "Oh, sure, yeah…. I'll uh… How about you just walk around until you find someone, tell them I said to take you back home," he instructed. The very moment Guatemala said "Adios" and walked out the door, America was out cold again.

Forget about it. Just forget, all that was nothing but getting high with your best friend because you're worried about your engagement, Guatemala told herself the entire way back home, clinging to her seatbelt for dear life. She knew, however, that she'd never be able to forget about kissing America, even if the memory was clouded by alcohol. Guatemala closed her eyes tightly. How many problematic situations could she possibly get herself into?