Yay! Now this section has been newly edited too! I added some things.

Umm. I'm as big a USUK/UKUS fan as anybody, it's just not that obvious in this fic. We discuss the FACE family in this chapter a bit (France, America, Canada, England for those who don't know), and I am of the school of thought that believes that although countries may be brothers, if they are independent from one another then they aren't brothers in the fraternal sense (so basically it might be "blood" but they don't feel any relationship like that). Get it? Kinda? Sorry if I made Canada slightly weird or OOC here. Oops. Oh well. No fucks given.

Allistor Kirkland is Scotland, the oldest out of the UK brothers.

Enjoy~

~Xsnow~stormX~

After uncovering the twelfth mangled limb, Matthew retched horribly, steam rising from his bile in the chilled morning air of Manhattan. Ground Zero, as it had come to be called, stank of fire, burnt flesh and death, and even the dogs required breaks lest they became so depressed they couldn't work.

"Hey," Alfred, full of concern, came up behind Matthew and laid a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You sure you're up to this?"

"Of course!" The other blonde replied indignantly, but his tone was still unconvincing.

Alfred shook his head. He motioned for one of the workers on site to come over, an NY/NJ port authority.

"Take him somewhere he can rest a while. He's been at this for three hours." Ignoring Matthew's complaints, the officer led him away.

Alfred, though, continued to dig through the rubble. He hadn't heard from his boss since the attack yesterday, but that was to be expected. He was off placating the press and the public, seeing to the Pentagon, and the wreckage that was flight 93. So Alfred wiped the sweat off his brow and straightened his glasses, and kept looking; every now and then finding distinctive jewelry that could be used to identify a body, or sometimes (if he was lucky enough) an actual body part. He ignored some responders' gasping and yelling behind him when he heard it. Alfred didn't have time to waste. It was great if they were getting all excited because they had procured another identifiable person, but people shouldn't stop and crowd around to look. They had to keep searching the debris.

Someone was approaching him. He could hear footsteps stumbling through the wreckage but he ignored it, vaguely hoping it wasn't that soft-hearted Canadian again. He means well, but he has a weak stomach.

"Alfred."

Said man whipped around, and immediately the other nation flung his arms around his neck. Alfred was stunned. He had no idea… no idea that he was coming all that way… just for him.

"Artie…" his throat tightened.

Arthur dragged Alfred away to somewhere in the scene where none of the workers, or press, or even civilians could see them. Alfred hadn't felt like this for over two hundred years. Not even after Pearl Harbor was the Englishman there to hold him and let him cry himself to sleep. No. That was the luxury of a child—a colony. But all that mattered was that Arthur was here now. And he didn't even scold him for breaking down like a pathetic little baby.

The three of them sat around in a tent near Ground Zero. Alfred lay with his head in Arthur's lap, asleep. The Englishman looked down at him with concern marring his fair countenance, and his thick eyebrows nearly seemed to come together in the middle. He gently stroked the man's hair, which was almost identical to his own. He smiled softly at how Nantucket would spring up again every time he would pat it down. It had always done that.

"So… how did you get here before Alfred?" Arthur murmured. "He feels guilty that you got here before he did because this isn't even your country… not your responsibility." But he didn't say it in an accusatory way. His tone was unusually soft, as though Matthew might shatter like glass if he uttered a harsh word.

"Really?" Matthew looked shocked. "I had no idea, eh… I was just across the border at the time—in Novia Scotia, you know?—so I was really close… And I know Al would do the same for me…"

"Well of course he would." Arthur stated in a matter of fact way. "But even though he may not seem like he minds, it really bothers him that you got there first. Obviously, he doesn't blame you." Arthur quickly added the last part at Matthew's crest-fallen look. "He is probably very grateful. The one he blames is himself… For even letting this happen."

"Heh." Matthew laughed humorlessly. "I feel like, even though I see him and talk to him more, you know him better than I do, eh?"

Arthur shrugged. "I've never claimed to…" He paused, a wistful look falling onto him, and he said, "I used to think I knew him. But that adorable, spirited little brother I used to know is… Well, he's not even my little brother anymore is he?" Arthur sighed, running his hands through his messy, straw colored hair. "We call ourselves a family—you, Alfred, I, and—oh, bloody hell, even that blasted frog! We call ourselves a family, but really, are we? No. Not anymore. I haven't been Alfred's brother since…"

"Arthur…"

He sighed, and then put on a smile. "Oh, don't mind me. You shouldn't have to listen to old men prattle on about nonsense."

Matthew laughed softly, tossing back his soft curls. "You're hardly old. I believe Mr. Wang is much older? And what of the eldest Kirkland, eh?" Matthew grinned.

Arthur raised his dense eyebrows. "Talking of world affairs, now, are we? What a big boy you've become." He scoffed. "Yao is a gentleman, certainly, and his tea is exquisite! You can't tell his age until he starts talking. And the way he nags Mr. Honda and the rest of his family is—"

"Just how you nag Alfred?"

"I would prefer to think I'm a bit better than that!" Arthur spluttered. "But Allistor…" His expression turned suddenly grim.

"Aww, is the big bad skirt wearing ginger bullying you again?"

"Oh, belt up, you git! Only I can insult my brothers like that!"

Alfred shifted and sniffed softly in Arthur's lap. The two currently awake exchanged a look with each other, both agreeing that they had become too loud.

"The bloody twit hasn't slept since yesterday… Hasn't even tried…" Arthur whispered softly, the concern in his voice belying his annoyed words.

They were silent for a while, listening to Alfred's sleep-breathing. Matthew shuffled around and found his cell phone. Eventually he crawled onto one of the cots that had been brought around for the workers.

Finally, Arthur said, "I have to leave tomorrow."

"So soon, eh?" Matthew asked, surprised.

"I barely got away from Her Majesty the Queen as it was… I must return tomorrow." The reluctance to leave, though, was evident.

"I see."

The two blondes fell silent again. Matthew sighed, taking off his glasses. One curly lock bounced gently into his face.

"We should be getting to sleep, eh? I mean, I have a lot of work to do tomorrow and you're leaving…"

"Yes…" Arthur gently shifted Alfred off of him.

"This time…" Matthew trailed off.

Arthur looked at him expectantly. Matthew wrung his hands, and did not look at the Englishman.

"Come now, Mattie, spit it out."

"Just—don't leave without saying goodbye to Alfred again!"

Arthur sighed and looked at Alfred guiltily.

"Yes, Matthew. I know."

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