A/N: Rewritten version of Chapter 3. I only rewrote the first half, though. The rest was okay to me.
News Feed
Chapter 3
Parental Fussing
London City (UTC +1) 9:37 a.m
"Online media is being incredibly quick to share this-as we know the leak happened not too long ago, however, despite the explosion of retweets and posts to the east, which has reached even mainstream media, there was not a single peep from the CIA-"
England froze and narrowed his eyes at the door in front of him, not exactly seeing it as he focused on the radio chatter. He twisted the keys to lock the door and pulled it out, exhaling sharply. 'What is that brat doing...?!' He snapped to himself, hand going inside his suit to grab his phone, which he was using to listen to the morning news.
He glared at it for a few seconds as anger built up.
He was just about to leave his house and head to the Parliament building, as he usually takes walks outside instead of just Hopping everywhere – unlike a certain American – only for the radio to interrupt him with this… wonderful revelation.
A leak from America's Central Intelligence – although England would often say his 'intelligence' has been 'leaking' for years, and now, it seems he suddenly decided to perform a lobotomy on himself, because that is most likely the only explanation to how the blasted brat managed to do such an incredibly stupid thing!
England gritted his teeth, hand clutching the keys before shoving them in his trousers' pocket.
He lowered his head, glaring at the ground, ruffling his hair in frustration, then turned off the radio and put it back in his suit, the wireless earpiece connected to it going silent. What he needed to do was to go and talk with his own Intelligence.
MI6 first, to figure out what the bloody hell actually happened, and MI5 later, to make sure whatever happened with America's agency wouldn't happen to his.
"You look angry, England." A cat waltzed into his field of view, rubbing on his legs and purring. She was a beautiful black cat that visits him from time to time, and he often feeds her, too.
England turned and looked around, seeing a scarce number of people of this neighborhood he chose to live in for a few years, no one paying any attention to him whatsoever. Good, it means the information would be somewhat contained until noon, at best. He then glanced at the cat. "You would be angry too, in my position, Liz." He muttered, turning around and taking a few steps towards the ornamented mailbox by the gate.
"Well, I'm just a cat."
"Indeed." He observed the few people outside. It could be considered a completely normal day… "Not a care in the world, huh…?"
Liz jumped and perched herself on the mailbox, licking her paws while England patted her head. She stopped and glanced at him with clear blue eyes, her tail up and swinging lazily. "That fellah with the gold fuzzy fur was here just earlier, by the way."
England blinked at the feline, raising an eyebrow. "What-Really? Doesn't that man ever give up…?" He mumbled as he opened the mailbox, confirming his suspicions. There was yet another letter, along with a familiar pamphlet.
Byron, his lovely city's mayor, seemed very... passionate about this particular issue. England rolled his eyes and letting his thoughts wander away from the current problem his entire kind was facing.
It's not that he didn't understand where this Party was coming from, he thought as he spun the papers around to see the back. The Independence Party… He was dragged into the EU kicking and screaming by his leaders back then, literally, so he's always had a bit of a soft spot for the Ukip.
With it, he understood America's plight a bit better – that brat's tantrum was still unforgivable, though...
This whole referendum issue had a lot of considerable and irritating facets. His bankers liked bigger economies, and people who belonged to other Nations were living in the UK. What would he do with them? Would the other Nations demand them back? Should he kick them out? On the other hand…
He didn't like having men his people didn't elect dictating what to do with his country from the top of the EU, that on its own trumps all the other reasons, but there are all the immigrants as well…
England narrowed his eyes and tilted his head, his senses not catching the presence of any prominent politicians who thought they could follow him. They have tried such things before, in an attempt to walk with him to work so they could throw their ideas at him in hopes something would stick… But there was no one, so England walked back to his home with a tired deadpan.
Liz tilted her head. "No food?"
England's expression softened and he smiled slightly as he opened the door again. "Sorry, but not now. I'm sure you'll find something else, though." Lucky animals, able to just ignore the politics of the world. Liz didn't seem to care, just licked her paws indifferently.
The events of this morning seemed to be divinely architected to aggravate him, with the worst grievances making a stand. He'd barely left his house and is now back inside, way to go. He left the keys in a little bowl on the small table near the front door, along with the letter and remaining mail. He would read those later.
Now, back to this. He had yet another issue to deal with.
The secret was out...
A couple of decades ago, snuffing out something like this was easy, just throw some people in prison and have some religious campaigns, but now? England narrowed his eyes at the thought as he crossed his arms, fingers nudging his chin. The space shifted and he was inside the SIS, in front of MI6's Minister's office, Hammond's office, the man running his Secret Intelligence at the moment.
They needed to have a quick chat.
England cranked his neck a little, then pushed the door open with little elegance or care. "Alright, what the bloody hell happened?" He droned with a no-nonsense expression. There would be no small talk, he needed answers.
There were two others with the Minister inside the brightly illuminated room, but he paid them no mind, and went straight to Hammond, waving a hand in an attempt to clear out the cigarette smoke. Couldn't even open the windows, huh? England himself didn't smoke unless it was a stressful situation.
Honestly, he hates the bloody smell...
"Mr. Kirkland, England." Hammond stopped typing on the computer and nodded to him, one hand taking the cigarette from his lips, the other patting the documents inside a heavy blue folder, then he looked at the other two agents organizing cabinets, waving them out. They shuffled out wordlessly and quickly, closing the door behind them with a soft click.
Once alone, his eyes were back on England.
"It seems it was a spy within the American agency who released documents indicating your existence online around an hour ago, with your name and a few others here and there, but no pictures." That made England relax minutely. "It's spreading unusually quickly, though. Someone must be directing it."
England nodded, pacing with his hands on his waist. "No chance of blocking it, somehow?"
"It's far too gone now. Very efficient..." The man praised with morbid amusement. "Also... there were some scientific studies done in... 1964,"
Just a year after the assassination of one of America's favorite presidents, Kennedy, England noted with narrowed eyes.
"and a list of casualties with it." He reported almost bored in tone as he read over a paper, although England could see the man's eyes narrowing as he read it, sensing some cautious curiosity and interest from the man.
England frowned, tilting his head. "...Scientific studies...? Casualties?" He could feel his heart skipping a beat. Was this what he thought it was...? He shook his head. "Nevermind. We're having a checkup right now. I'll read those later. I'll check MI5 later as well." He peeked at his watch under his sleeve, grumbling. "Then I'm calling America."
"He's getting sloppy." Hammond commented.
"Agreed. Let's close down for now, let whoever in and let me know who they are when I get back, but no one comes out. Block the servers until I'm done. Just a precaution."
"Will do." No time for chit-chat, so England nodded and walked out, while Hammond typed on his computer as he grabbed the phone to get the orders out. The door was closed before he could hear anything.
England huffed in frustration, adjusting his suit and suddenly constricting tie – all black and white nowadays, and part of England missed the colored garments of the past – then continued to walk, keeping his senses sharp and alert. He just needed one look to know.
A loyal citizen felt just right, they had the right to be there. However, while tourists and visitors were just visible and easily tolerable, seeing a spy gave him that gut feeling, like seeing something so out of place or awkward, that made you feel somewhat violated by the invasive presence alone.
All very uncomfortable, but also impossible to miss.
America, despite being powerful, was still much younger than him, and there are some things that you can only grasp with time and experience. He would probably need to focus on an individual to determine whether they're trouble or not, which costs time, a few extra seconds that you sometimes can't afford to spare.
'Speaking of the git...' England had stopped by the elevator, deciding to use a normal route to catch as many people as possible within his line of sight. He would start from the bottom, and go up from there. England sighed in frustration as he pushed the button.
He wasn't sure whether he should be worried or not – not that he would ever admit thinking about it – however, Hammond mentioned 'scientific studies', and while England knew that boy was a big fan of all things science, he was hoping America wouldn't have let them... do anything harsh...
Humans, from the poorest man to the holiest of religious saints, could be incredibly uncaring and empty sometimes. England knew from experience.
The doors opened, he was inside and quickly going down, checking everyone who walked in, some of them raising a questioning eyebrow but remaining quiet, while others flinched when seeing him, awkwardly shuffling on the spot like a scolded child. Did they know what he was walking around for? Still, he paid little mind once he determined they were clean, no hidden agendas or anything.
They were just confused about his presence there at this hour. Or his aggravated mood might be the cause of their nervousness, influencing them through proximity...
On his way out, England was still running into a few people, agents going to and from their destinations and tasks, and he was keeping a close watch, eyes going from one side to the other carefully, but at the same time, his worries were gnawing at him.
This caring-thing... was awkward even in his thoughts. Especially when America was in the picture. It's been like this since the Second Great War.
He ignored the younger agents looking at him as if seeing some kind of bizarre relic, and England only gave them a quick cursory glance before continuing – they always pretended they weren't looking, as if England couldn't tell.
He didn't find anything wrong yet, but he was far from done.
But anyhow... What if America did let them try? Let them take his blood, test things, try to figure out how beings like him worked? What would that mean to everyone else if they did find something?
Well, England has yet to hear about a cure for cancer, or a rejuvenating medicine – as if they would just hand that out to the public – or any secret super-human initiative for the American Military – which America jokingly considered to be viable since that Superhero movie came out – so it was safe to assume they couldn't figure it out...
Which brought him to the next issue.
Did they find something else entirely? If so, was it related to the list of casualties? He would have to ask America, but England doubted he would admit anything. America, much like a bratty teenager, really enjoyed his secrecy and privacy.
That didn't stop England from worrying, as parents never stop worrying – even when the kids are ungrateful paranoid twats with way too much power.
When England hesitantly stopped walking, he was in the middle of the SIS's lobby, which was surprisingly empty at this point. "...What were you doing, lad...?" He mumbled to himself, ruffling his hair, feeling a headache coming soon. This would be a long week of mind-numbing damage-control and awkward questioning.
They're in some pretty hot water now... Just another drivel to add to their growing list of predicaments.
A/N: So England can speak to animals, too? Hm. I'm avoiding the fairies and mystical stuff, mostly because it would cause WAY too much trouble, and it can easily be used as a deus ex, I didn't feel like giving England that advantage. So I changed a few things. Not all Nations can talk to the animals in their land, but England and Canada can. Although England has a few other tricks, other abilities under his sleeve that make him special.
Anyway, I'm going with the father-son dynamic for England and America in this fic, because it's very special to me and I just hate them as a pairing because of this.
In this chapter, I mentioned the Ukip and the referendum, which will happen 'next year' in this fic (I'll get there someday) and Boris Johnson was still the mayor of London City, the city inside London (duh) at this point too. Can't wait to have these guys interacting.
I also mentioned the JFK assassination. Now... I don't intend to go full conspiracy theorist here, but I'll go over the nuances because there's more to that than and it can make a very interesting story. I won't point fingers, I'll only write what makes this story more interesting. Read at your discretion.
I also mentioned MI6 and MI5, in case someone doesn't know what they are exactly, they're the UK's Secret Intelligence. The MI6 is international intelligence, while MI5 is homeland intelligence.
So by the way, the other chapters all have huge Author's Notes... I feel bad, because it looks like I'm being deceptive with the word count, but what can I do? They're important to explain things!
Well, anyway, that's it for rewritten stuff. ;)
