Act III: Opposite Day

Saturday. Three days before Christmas.

Sealand didn't understand what had gone wrong. He checked through the videos and there was absolutely no blackmail material—at least nothing to use against England. He thought that he had captured film of England seducing that one country (what was his name again?) but as he watched the videos he could only see England. England reciting Shakespearean love poetry to himself was mildly embarrassing, but not good enough for independence.

Engrossed in watching the videos, Sealand didn't notice England approaching behind him. He didn't notice England staring over his shoulder as he watched one of the recordings of France's stuttering courtship attempts. He didn't notice when England's glance chanced upon the empty love potion bottle in Sealand's rubbish bin.

He certainly didn't notice the sudden look of comprehension that flashed across England's face, followed even more quickly by anger.

"You put a love potion in our drinks, you little brat," England muttered darkly. Startled, Sealand dropped the video camera. It landed on the carpet with a dull thump, the only sound in the angry silence.

Sealand panicked. He ran out of the room, but England caught him by the back of his shirt before the micronation had gone more than 10 feet. For an old man, England moved surprisingly fast. Sealand pouted and crossed his arms, annoyed that he was probably going to be double-grounded. He really needed independence if he ever wanted to leave the house again.

"Your stupid love potion didn't work anyway," he whined. It wasn't fair being punished for a plan that didn't work!

"I'm sure you just didn't use it properly," England replied wearily. Now he finally knew the cause of last evening's peculiar behavior. He should have known that magic was involved.

"I did too!" Sealand protested. "I totally put some in your drink and America's drink and it did nothing. Your stupid magic sucks."

England froze. "What? When was this?"

He listened as Sealand recounted the story and then absent-mindedly agreed that there probably had been something wrong with the potion. It wouldn't do to let Sealand suspect the real reason. England's thoughts churned at a furious rate. If this meant what he thought it meant, then England needed to find a way to talk with America. England instantly imagined the scenario in his head.


England arrives at America's doorstep. It's as if he's seeing America for the first time, since he now knows the American loves him back. Blue birds suddenly appear and the background music swells. England notices America's puzzled expression and begins to explain, "Alfred, I've realized you're in love with me, and I think it's time we drop the charade."

The American continues to look confused. He can be rather slow on the uptake, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. "What?" he asks.

England tries to explain the love potion and his subsequent epiphany, but America just laughs. "Love potions aren't real!" he says. Or perhaps, "You're crazy, old man."

His derisive comments anger England. "You're the one who tried to create a ray gun to turn your enemies gay!" he retorts. America calls it the 'gay gun' and thinks himself clever.

"That's technology, not stupid magic."

And England's attempt to confess degrades into shouted insults about magic and technology.


England frowned. Perhaps his initial plan of simply explaining the situation was doomed to failure. Maybe he needed to confess his own affections and trust that America would reciprocate, once given the chance.


Same scene, but this time England begins by saying, "I'm in love with you, Alfred." Maybe he arrives with a dozen roses.

"What?" America asks in disbelief. "Dude, April Fool's isn't for another four months."

No matter how much England tries to explain, he can't shake America's doubt. They'd spent too long swapping insults to suddenly trade tender endearments. America thinks it's a prank, or payback for some imagined insult, or suggests that England has been brainwashed by aliens. The conversation ends in a dispute over the existence of aliens.


No, that wouldn't work either. England had to find a way to make America realize his own feelings and confess to him. He needed a strategy. Anything that involved discussion of magic or love potions would be tricky, unless he appealed to America's belief in Disney magic. America had always loved fairy tales and happily-ever-afters. England nodded to himself as an idea began to form in his head.

England locked the micronation in his room, confiscated Sealand's camera, and perused the footage. France's stuttering attempts at romance would make excellent blackmail material. England would never ask France for assistance, but he might be willing to blackmail the other nation into helping him.


Washington, D.C. Tuesday. Christmas Day.

Canada told the taxi driver to stop in front of the house that was "lit up like the Fourth of July." When the driver spotted it, he realized exactly what the Canadian meant. The house practically glowed. Christmas lights decorated the fence, the tree, the bushes, the windows, and the eaves. But not just any Christmas lights: red, white, and blue lights. America thought that every holiday was a good opportunity to show off his patriotism. And boy howdy did he have a lot of patriotism.

Canada and Prussia walked up the driveway as sounds of music and happy laughter filled the air. America might not be able to find most nations on a map, but he was amazing at guilt-tripping even the most introverted nation into attending his party.

America greeted his brother with an enthusiastic bear hug. Canada enjoyed the hug, since recent restrictions on international flights meant that he'd left Kumajiro at home. No one had believed his 'seeing-eye bear' excuse. Even though they normally exchanged presents at the end of the night, America insisted on giving Canada his gift early.

"You'll see why." America explained with a grin. He disappeared into one of his many rooms and then returned with two large boxes. Canada didn't know where America had found patriotic Christmas wrapping paper, but he had somehow. He handed one to Canada, who began to carefully unwrap his box. Canada undid the tape and lifted the paper without ripping it.

America shifted from foot to foot impatiently. "Come on, just rip it, bro! I got tons more wrapping paper."

"Some of us recycle," Canada calmly replied.

America grinned. "You're gonna use my patriotic paper?"

Canada stared for a moment. Realizing that America had made a shockingly good point, he ripped the paper and opened the box. Inside, he found a red sweater. He lifted it up. America pressed a button near the hem and the word CANADA began to flash with white and red LED lights on the front.

"Now no one will forget your name, 'cause it's right there on your chest!" America proudly explained. He'd ordered the presents after he promised Canada that he'd find a way to make other nations notice him. Heroes kept their promises.

"Kesesese, you should get one for Ukraine," Prussia suggested with a smirk. America laughed and handed him the other box. Prussia tore the paper off in seconds and revealed a black sweater with PRUSSIA in red and yellow lights.

Canada hugged his brother tightly and thanked him for the gifts. He didn't know if the shirt would work (he had actually tried something similar at the London Olympics without success), and Prussia's gift was only going to exacerbate the albino nation's narcissistic tendencies, but he was thrilled that his brother had remembered. Some years America forgot to get him a gift at all. America's smile softened. "Hey, now I know how much it sucks to be ignored."

Prussia slipped on his sweater and then faced the room. "The party can start!" he yelled. "The awesome me has arrived!" He pumped his fists in the air and jumped into the dance floor.

Germany planted his face in his hands. The other nations rolled their eyes, except Canada, who understood Prussia's need for constant attention better than anyone else.

"Non, I'm afraid the party cannot start until we've arrived," Francis declared as he and Spain walked through the door carrying several bottles of wine. It wasn't a real party without a liquid form of holiday cheer.

The wine flowed freely, the music pounded loudly, and the nations partied the night away. America decided that the Christmas celebration was almost perfect. But for some reason, his heart didn't feel merry and light.


When they weren't pulling pranks or getting drunk, the Bad Friends Trio (or so they called themselves, every other nation thought 'Bad Touch Trio' was more apt) were terrible gossips. Other nations falling in and out of relationships was their favorite topic, although they carefully avoided any story involving Austria or Hungary because no one liked it when Prussia started unconvincingly ranting about how he was better off alone. Least of all Canada, who then had to bring out the maple-flavored beer to cheer him up. Maple syrup could cure any type of sadness.

As the party continued, the three nations noticed the conspicuous absence of a certain Brit. England complained, and he grouched, and he grumbled, but he always came to America's Christmas parties. His absence was very suspicious, leading the nations to each create their own theories.

Prussia insisted that the real reason was that America had finally realized England's food was poison. Obviously, anything that could harm the awesome Prussia was deadly to less awesome creatures (i.e. everyone else).

Spain thought that England was at the party—he had seen Sealand running around. But every time he tried to approach the micronation, the child ran away.

France smiled his Mona Lisa smile, making Canada narrow his eyes suspiciously. "France? Do you know something?"

"Ne t'inquiète pas, mon chéri. Papa France has a plan."

Canada couldn't decide whether to be reassured or even more worried.


America knew the true meaning of Christmas: the Coca-Cola bear and Santa had invented the holiday in the 1930s when people were feeling depressed so that shopping malls could play the same song on repeat, people could eat tons of cookies, and families could browbeat their children into behaving with the threat of coal lumps. Gosh, America loved Christmas. Its materialistic excess—the piles of presents, strings of gaudy decorations and heaps of food—were all of the things he loved most about his country. Especially the presents.

He tore through his presents, laughing happily and thanking everyone for their great gifts. He effusively praised Japan's new horror video games, happily munched the maple candy from Canada, and promptly lost the personal organizer from Germany.

After America finished with the pile of presents, he noticed France approaching with a leer on his face. He didn't remember a present from France, which seemed like a bad sign. France usually liked to give him coupons for "Un nuit avec moi." America didn't understand French, but he had a pretty good idea what they meant given the condom taped to the back. At least France gave XL condoms, unlike that communist jerk Russia. (It didn't occur to America that France intended the condoms for his own use.)

"Cher Amérique, I have a special gift waiting in your bedroom," France purred.

America groaned. "Geez France, I already told you I'm not interested in that kind of stuff."

"Oh, I think you'll love this one," France replied mysteriously.

America sighed, but followed. Whatever it was, he was going to have to get it out of his bedroom eventually. France's gifts could be… messy. And how did France even get into his bedroom? America remembered locking his bedroom door to keep out unwanted party guests (he's started the practice after finding Denmark and Norway making out on his bed), but it seemed like France had some sort of super bedroom unlocking secret powers. France stepped to the side and gestured to the door with a grin, inviting America to push it open. America gripped the knob with resolve and pushed, mentally preparing for the worst.

He opened the door…

…and found that France had set up a curtain to block the view of the actual gift. America pouted, annoyed that he had built up a moment of dramatic tension for nothing. He tried to build the drama again, but the moment had passed, so he just pulled aside the curtain to reveal a life-sized statue of Arthur dressed up like the Statue of Liberty

"You liked my original gift so much, I thought I would design you another," France explained from the doorway.

America rolled his eyes. He knew the whole world thought he was an idiot, but this was taking it a little too far. "France, that's obviously just England in a bad Lady Liberty costume."

He had to admit, he was impressed by England's ability to hold a steady pose. His time as a Buckingham Palace guard had given him incredible patience and posing skills. America was a little tempted to see what crazy stunts he could do before England would react. He bet England would start blushing if America undressed in front of him.

"What? No it isn't. Madame Tussaud is so skilled she can make a wax statue seem completely real," France replied with his best persuasive abilities. He was very good, after years of honing his craft with flowers, chocolates, and promises he didn't intend to keep.

But America refused to be fooled. "He just blinked."

France dismissed the statement with an elegant wave of his hand. "Animatronics," he blithely replied. He stepped closer.

"Uh… France? What are you doing?"

"Isn't he beautiful?" France murmured, slowly tracing his fingers across the statue's cheek. "Why, he's so lifelike that I get the sense he'll awaken with merely the lightest brush of one's lips…"

France leaned forward to complete the kiss, but America suddenly grabbed him from behind and pushed him out of the room. "Thanksforthegift!" America shouted in a rush as he slammed the door behind France.

"Geez, did you really think this would fool anyone?" America asked with a sour expression. "If you wanted to come to my party that badly, you shoulda just said."

He crossed his arms and frowned. England was really taking this whole pretending-to-be-a-statue thing too far. "Come on England, talk to me here."

"Strange, I had the impression that you weren't talking to me," a British voice announced from the far side of the room. America spun around to see England standing at the closet door. He turned back to look at the statue. It was still there. He looked back and forth a few more times. Yep, there were definitely two Englands in his bedroom. Huh.

England ignored America's confusion and carefully circled the statue. "Madame Tussaud is rather good, isn't she? Amazing work for a rush job. There's a reason I let a Frenchwoman keep a location in London."

America frowned. This was definitely the weirdest gift France had ever given him. It was even weirder than the chocolate dildo present he had received for the last Fourth of July. In France's defense, the chocolate had been top notch.

He didn't want to ask, because England was just going to act superior and pretend like the reason was obvious, but America couldn't stand not knowing. "So what's up with the statue?" he finally asked.

England refused to look at him. "I thought you'd like to know how the story ended. You never did like when I left a tale unfinished."

America snorted. "Dude, I already checked wikipedia. The shepherdess is actually the lost princess, she marries the prince, and it turns out one of the servants has been hiding the Queen the whole time. The final scene is a 'statue' of the queen coming to life with stage trickery. You didn't need to make a statue to show me the end of the play." America sighed. England could be ridiculously obsessive when it came to Shakespeare.

"That wasn't the story I meant," England replied. "I'm thinking of one that starts with a mischievous boy who finds a love potion. He decides it would be amusing to make his older brother fall in love with his arch rival. But he makes a mistake and both the brother and his rival fall in love with someone else, which makes a fourth person jealous. Finally, the little brother gives the love potion to his older brother and that jealous person."

England casually leaned against the statue and waited patiently. It seemed like he wasn't planning to finish the story without a little prompting.

America tilted his head to the side. He couldn't help it, he always wanted to know how a story ended. It was the only reason he finished the Twilight books. "What happened next?" he asked eagerly.

England leaned forward, as if ready to impart a great secret. "Nothing," he whispered.

"…nothing?"

"Correct. The two characters continue their normal bickering."

"So the love potion didn't work?"

"It worked."

America frowned. "But you just said it did nothing," he complained. England needed to get his story straight. A love potion wasn't supposed to just stop working. Normally he liked arguing with England. In fact, it was usually super fun to irritate the island nation, since England could get worked up over the most insignificant details (like the difference between 'may' and 'can'). But it just didn't seem as fun anymore and he didn't understand why.

"I never said the potion didn't work. I told you that the two characters continued to bicker and argue. They had a huge row and one stopped talking to the other."

"Geez England, did you set up this elaborate statue prank so you could tell me a dumb story?" America sat down heavily on his bed. "Why are you here, England?" he asked.

England sat down next to him and for a long time, America thought he wasn't going to answer. "I need you to tell me how the story ends," the island nation softly replied.

"I don't know how it ends."

"Then at least tell me why you're jealous."

America laughed. "I'm not jealous! Why would I be jelly?" The blond nation had a foolproof system for dealing with inconvenient truths: he refused to think about them. La-la-la-la-la. He had nearly pushed the uncomfortable thought out of his head when he made the mistake of looking at England. America couldn't tear his gaze away from England's piercing green eyes. His breath hitched. Something had been wrong with his stomach ever since England's puppet party and being in England's presence was making it worse. Normally, he would have blamed England's food, but they had eaten take-out.

"Why would I be jealous?" America asked again, trying to understand the tight, unhappy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

England's expression softened, as if he understood America's inner turmoil. "That is the question. And I think if you know the answer, you'll know the ending. But you don't have to tell me right now, I can wait."

America nodded, still confused. "Okay, yeah, that's good. I should, uh, I should get back to the party. You can come if you want," he offered awkwardly.

"No, that's alright. You'll know where to find me when you're ready." England stood up and walked into the closet.

America couldn't help but laugh. He knew England sometimes had a bad sense of direction, but this was ridiculous. "Uh, dude, the exit is the other door." He opened the closet to show England the way out, only to find that the closet contained nothing more than America's incredible collection of jeans and nerdy t-shirts. He gaped in shock.

"What the hell?"

There was only one possible answer: he had a portal to Narnia in his closet.


France was enjoying himself immensely. Spain had the buttocks of a god and seemed to be luxuriating in the extremely lower back massage France was giving him for Christmas. The best part was Romano's glares. Jealousy was such a beautiful emotion in other people.

"Would you like to join us, mon petit frère?" France asked the angry Italian. He made a groping motion with one hand. "I have two hands!"

"Yes, join! It is very relaxing!" Spain cheerfully agreed.

Romano turned as red as a tomato and stomped away. Unfortunately, Spain insisted on following the foul-mouthed nation, leaving France to his own devices. He contemplated the odds that Prussia and Canada would be interested in a three-some (conclusion: quand les poules auront des dents), and then spotted America drifting around the room in an extremely distracted mood.

He decided to check up on his little love plan. "Amérique! You seem to be deep in thought. Perhaps I can help?"

America glanced up at him. "Oh hey, France. Sorry, what didya say?"

France laughed. "I noticed that you were pondering a difficult question, and I wanted to offer my assistance."

"Well, I guess you might know something about it. I mean, you do kinda spend a lot of time making out in closets. Okay, so here goes: how do you know if a closet leads to Narnia?"

France frowned. "Huh?"

"I mean, do you need to spot a satyr? 'Cause I haven't exactly seen Mr. Tumnus hanging around lately."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

America sighed. "Gee, thanks for nothing France."

"I thought you had a question about l'amour! Not stupid children's tales."

"Hey! Kid's stories are all about love. True love and soulmates and that's how you know…" America gaped as it suddenly clicked. "Oh shit, he was talking about us!"

Ditching France, America pushed through the crowd of nations until he found the blinking red lights. His gift really was an awesome idea. "Mattie, you're in charge of the party!" he yelled to his brother, before racing out of the room.

"Eh?"

Prussia punched his fist in the air. "Awesome! Let's drink all his booze!" He opened America's fridge, only to discover that all that was left was beer and wine, and even those drinks were nearly gone. America had learned his lesson from earlier parties and no longer stocked hard liquor.

After examining the near-empty fridge, the trio agreed it was time to take the party to an actual bar. Like the Three Musketeers, they gathered together to shout their group motto:

"Alcohol!"

"Alcool!"

"Alkohol!"

The other nations took that as their cue to join the fun-loving countries for drinks, or to get out the hell out of the United States before the trio invaded the streets.

Finland quickly dropped off the last of his presents and picked up a sleeping Sealand. He sputtered in surprise as Sweden promptly lifted them both up into his arms and carried them out of the house.

Denmark attempted to pick up Norway in the same manner, earning himself an immediate punch in the gut. Iceland trailed behind the fighting couple, pretending that he didn't know either of them.

Canada locked the door as the last of the nations left America's house. He felt a buzz in his pocket and checked his phone to see a text from Prussia.

U comin birdie?

Canada glanced up and saw Prussia grinning from the sidewalk. He remembered! Canada smiled and ran to catch up.


With France's reminder, America suddenly made the connection between England's story and recent events. He finally understood why England had told him a love story. America knew that True Love's kiss was the most powerful force in the universe. And now he realized that he was the one who had broken the love potion's hold on England with a kiss. It explained why the kiss had felt so freaking magical.

The tight, unhappy feeling in his stomach disappeared, replaced by something warm and wonderful. England had been an important part of his life for so long, he'd never even realized it was love. And he'd certainly never dreamed that England loved him back. But now everything was right with the world. Like a hero, he needed to rescue the damsel in distress from the dragon of loneliness. With the power of true love's kiss, he would bring the England-statue to life. It always worked in the stories.

America found the statue just the way he had left it. As America leaned close, he started to feel a bit awkward with the statue staring at him in an unblinking manner. He grinned and lowered the eyelids with his fingertips. Then America moved in for the kiss.

It tasted like wax.

America jerked back as he heard a dry chuckle from the corner of the room.

He slowly turned to face a smirking England. "So Alfred, did you have something you wanted to tell me?"

America opened his mouth, but the words refused to come out. The room was suddenly a lot warmer than he remembered. Geez, confessing was harder than he'd ever realized. No wonder England had gone to such elaborate lengths to avoid a direct confession. America grinned as he realized the perfect way to solve his problem.

"I'm declaring it opposite day, starting now."

England blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Opposite day is when you don't say the opposite of what you mean."

"I don't understand."

"That sucks." America grinned happily. He took a deep breath and looked England straight in the eye. "Arthur, I hate you."

England's expression froze, but America could tell he was only seconds away from a torrent of anger. America had to act fast.

"Opposite day. That means you have to listen to what I say, and ignore what I do." And to prove his point, America strode forward and kissed the real England on the lips. It was even better than the first time and way better than stupid wax lips. England didn't react for the first few moments, but he quickly caught on, and responded enthusiastically.

England pulled back and smiled.

"I hate you, too."


Epilogue

London. Midsummer's Day.

Sweden and Finland always sent Sealand to stay with his England for the last two weeks of June. Finland explained that adults liked to have some 'alone time' for the midsommar festivities. They promised to explain when Sealand was older, which seemed particularly unfair since Sealand wasn't going to grow older until he finally gained independence.

He spent the first few days creating new plans for independence, but was quickly distracted when America came to visit London. They played video games, ate take-out, and spent an entire afternoon harassing the Buckingham Palace guards. (America declared that irritating stiff-necked Brits was his favorite hobby.) Sealand was so happy for the awesome company, he didn't even think to question the purpose of America's visit.

After a long day of awesomeness, Sealand fell asleep on the couch, the Nintendo DS still cradled in his hands. He felt arms gently lift him and carry him up the stairs. Dimly, he could hear England and America talking as they deposited him in his bedroom.

"I'm still sad you made me get rid of the statue."

"Oh, stop whingeing. I wear that ridiculous costume whenever you want."

"You like it, too."

"Shut up."

The door closed behind them and Sealand drifted into sleep, visions of independence dancing in his head. He dreamed that one day, one of his zany schemes would finally succeed. And eventually, one of them did. But that's a story for another day…


END OF ACT III.

AND THEY BICKERED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.


Author's Notes

Hurray for happy endings and clueless micronations! I like when England, America, and Sealand act like a family, because Sealand totally looks and acts like a USUK love-child.

I really enjoyed writing Sealand in this story. I tried to portray him as a typical 8 year-old, but I find that kids are hard to write. I've also discovered that I have no idea how to write Spain. He's cheerful and has a great ass, and that's basically the limits of my characterization. Oh, and he really likes cute children. Sorry, Spain, you totally come off as a creeper in this story. My bad.

On the plus side, I finally wrote the love potion fic I've been dying to write :)

Shakespeare References

The Winter's Tale ends with a scene where a 'statue' of the queen 'comes to life.' Usually, it's portrayed on stage by having the actor stand really still, and there are hints in the play that the queen has actually been hiding out for 16 years. So you can understand why America expected the statue to come to life. I decided to keep the hint of magic by having England disappear into the closet. You get to decide whether England is just good at hiding or if America really does have a portal to Narnia in his closet.

Other References

Opposite Day. Children in the U.S. celebrate 'opposite day' by saying the opposite of what they mean. Since America is very childlike, I decided that he would also enjoy playing the Opposite Day game.

Midsummer's Eve is an important holiday in both Finland and Sweden. It's traditionally associated with both sex (see: phallic maypoles) and magic. This gives you a hint why the play A Midsummer Night's Dream is all about sex. By my estimate, 50% of Shakespeare is about sex, which is something high school teachers tragically fail to mention :P


For aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth.

— Scene I, A Midsummer Night's Dream