Chapter Two: The Price


Nothing happened.

The breath rushed out of him in a broken sob, emerald eyes blinking too fast in an attempt to hold back the tears. "I'm sorry," he breathed, bending to press a kiss to Alfred's warm forehead. "I tried, I tried, I tried. I'm so sorry."

He sat up abruptly, brows creasing into a frown. Warm? He peered more closely, and saw the faint flush of colour that graced Alfred's cheeks. His eyelid fluttered and he slowly licked the last of the blood off his lips, tongue lingering uncertainly over the scarlet droplets.

And then, suddenly, he shot upright, coughing and spluttering, blinking and cross-eyed in a disgusted attempt to look at his own lips. "Ewww! That's just gross, man." He looked around, still blinking wildly, and seemed to notice Arthur for the first time. "Iggy, you've bled all over me! Not good, dude, not good!" He paused, wiping his mouth, and his eyes focused on Arthur as he looked at him, properly this time. "Arthur? Why- why're you crying?"

"I'm not!" he growled irritably, swiping at the glittering tears that lingered on his cheeks. "Git. That's some way to repay the person that's just saved your life, you moron!"
"My…" Alfred gawped at him. "Whaaa?"
"You fell down the stairs and broke- nearly broke your neck," said Arthur stiffly, finally regaining some of his composure and managing to catch his slip-of-the-tongue just in time. "You stopped breathing – gave your poor brother a right shock, I can tell you. I… I… gave you CPR. That's where the blood must have come from. I think I cut my hand or- or something."

He hated the feel of the lies as they slid off his tongue so readily, so easily – when did I get so good at this, at sitting here, looking him in the eye and lying? – but he knew it was necessary. The fuss that would result, should anyone learn the truth, would be more than he could bear. He wanted peace, and he knew that that, too, was selfish, but he didn't care.

A second later, he was enveloped in a bone-crushingly enthusiastic hug, and a fierce, "thank you," was whispered in his ear. Before he had the chance to overcome his shock and hug him back, to wrap his arms around Alfred and never,ever let go, to bury his face in Alfred's warm neck and whisper those damning words against his skin, Alfred had leant back, eyes wide, an almost comical look of disgust on his face.

"What now?" sighed Arthur exasperatedly, one eyebrow raised. For God's sake, the boy's only been alive two minutes and I'm already remembering why I usually wish he was dead.
"Wait… CPR? So you, like… kissed me?" He shook his head frantically, sticking his tongue out and scrubbing at it frantically with his fingers. "Ewww, Brit germs, Brit germs! I'm infected! First I'll start liking scones and then my eyebrows'll go all fluffy 'n-"

"Shut up, you git!" yelped Arthur, trying not to think about kissing Alfred and failing to suppress the heat spreading across his cheekbones. "CPR isn't kissing, you utter twat. And there most certainly aren't any tongues involved."

Alfred stopped his scrabbling and cocked his head on one side, tongue still sticking out and hindering his speech. "Plwomith?"
"Promise," said Arthur with a sigh, closing his eyes briefly and pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off the oncoming headache he could feel building, born from a combination of magical overexertion and being in the presence of Alfred F. Jones for more than five seconds.

Alfred retracted his tongue with a thoughtful expression. "Y'know," he said slowly, not looking at Arthur, expression unusually serious and a hint of pink along his cheekbones, "I actually wouldn't have min-"

"Maple!"

The smash of breaking china and the clatter of plastic accompanied the cry. Both Arthur and Alfred whipped around to see Mattie in the middle of the hallway, white-faced and trembling, standing in a pile of china fragments and a spreading pool of tea. A plastic tray lay at his feet, abandoned and forgotten. "W-wh- Alfr- Alfred?" he stuttered, voice barely above a choked whisper. "Eh, w-what…?"

"Hey Mattie!" Alfred gave a small wave and grinned sheepishly from his place on the floor. Arthur sighed, standing up and moving to help pick up the mess – before recoiling at the sudden and uncharacteristically ferocious glare that Matthew sent his way.

"W-what've you d-done, eh?" he gasped, staring at Arthur, his expression hovering somewhere between confusion and outright terror.

"Woah, woah, bro, calm-" soothed Alfred, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace, still grinning.
"No! I won't, eh! You- you were- he was dead, it's not-" He broke off, mouth working but no words coming out, only panicked, gasping breaths. His eyes were wide and gazing imploringly at Arthur, begging him to explain.

"He wasn't dead, he was nearly dead," lied Arthur smoothly, heart twisting in his chest at the look Matthew was giving him, at having to lie about something so big to his son's face.
"Yeah, that's right!" chipped in Alfred. "He gave me CPR. Look, Mattie, I'm fine! Honestly. "He spread his arms, apparently in a display of just how fine he was. "See? Fine. I'm real tough, s'gonna take more than a couple of stairs to dent me!" Mistaking Matthew's confused – and now slightly suspicious – expression for a face of disgust, he added, "Yeah, I know. It's like he kissed me. Blech."

Matthew gave Arthur a look that was one part anger and three parts pleading, one that clearly said, what game are you playing here?, and beckoned him over to help pick up the pieces of china. As they both bent to right the tray, Matthew whispered, "What happened?"
"I told you, CPR," hissed Arthur back, carefully piling the jagged-edged white chips on the tray. "You do know this stain is never going to come out? Alfred will have to replace the entire carpet."

Matthew forged ahead valiantly in the face of the attempted topic change. "But 'e was dead, eh!" he objected, accent slipping in his agitation. "He 'ad been dead for at least half an 'our, 'e-"
"He wasn't dead," said Arthur firmly. "There was a pulse. Faint, but there." After a moment's pause, he added, "Damned close to dead, though."

"Mais, papa!" persisted Matthew, making one last, useless attempt to assert himself. "I checked! I checked 'is breathing and 'is pulse plus de six fois, et il n'était pas là! 'E was dead."
"Well, we all make mistakes," murmured Arthur pensively, seemingly more to himself than his worried son. "And Matthew? Please stop speaking that abominable language. You know I don't understand a word of it." Then he picked up the tray, now piled with all the pieces, and stood up, effectively ending the conversation.

Liar, thought Matthew, inwardly glaring, outwardly keeping the same, neutrally passive expression he never seemed to be able to change fixed firmly on his face. You understand every word, I've seen the looks you give Papa when he insults you in it. He stood up, looking awkwardly at the floor as the silence lengthened and Arthur stared off into the middle distance; he looked almost like he was waiting for something. Alfred regarded them both with mixture of curiosity – he'd been unable to hear what they were saying, but it was obvious they'd been saying something – and amusement.

The moment was eventually broken by Alfred, who's gaze suddenly turned from pensive to horrified, eyes widening. "What the fuck is that?" he yelped, pointing to a spot behind the silently squabbling nations.

Both Arthur and Matthew whirled around, eyes wide, Arthur dropping the tray of china shards and Matthew raising his hands into something that could have approximated a fighting stance. Anything that could alarm America was bad news.

"…Um, there's, eh, nothing there, Alfred," said Matthew after a few awkward seconds of them all staring at empty air.

Or, at least, empty air for him. For Arthur and Alfred, it was filled by a girl- no, a woman- no, a female of somewhat indeterminate age. She stood perfectly still, blue-green eyes unblinking. Her floor-length green dress rippled slightly in the same, non-existent breeze that pushed long strands of white hair into gentle, swirling patterns. She was barefoot, skin a mid-toned sort of brown, just a shade darker than the colour gained by spending days on end in the sun. Despite her statue-like, imposing demeanour, there was something soft about her, a certain gentleness to the slight creases around her mouth and eyes.

"Who… who are you?" whispered Alfred softly, eyes wide, pushing himself to his feet but apparently not daring to try and move closer to her.

She gave him no response, eyes still not focused on anything particular, and Matthew's look of agitation increased. "Alfred… Al, there's- that's empty air you're talking to."
"Can't you see her?" demanded Alfred, not turning his head to look at his brother. "There's a- a goddamnned womanstanding in the middle of our hall, and- and- how the hell did she get in? Who are you?" he demanded, more angrily this time, and took a half-step forward.

"Who is the payment?"

Alfred froze. "W-what?"
Her voice was light, gentle, even as she repeated the question. "Who is the payment?"

Arthur stared at the pair of them, mouth dry, heart running at a hundred and sixty miles an hour, so loud that surely Alfred would hear, would turn and see the look of terrified guilt on his face and demand an answer, an explanation Arthur wasn't ready or able to give. But the other nation didn't so much as glance at him, even when he stepped forward in a quiet offering, and the woman's gaze focused on him.

"No," she murmured, eyes flicking up and down the length of him, finally coming to rest on his chest. "You are not ready, little one. I will not take those who have unfinished business. And you… you are still but half of a whole."

Her voice was so low Arthur doubted that Alfred could hear her. She took two steps forward, bringing her to stand directly in front of him, and gently rested one hand over his heart. "Come back when he knows. I will accept you then." She paused, and bent in closer, ignoring the fact that Arthur was very determinedly staring at a spot over her shoulder. "Be strong, my child."

And with that she stepped back, a small smile on her face, and turned to walk around the corner of the corridor.

Alfred, who had been looking wide-eyed at Arthur since the woman had approached him, finally managed to regain his senses, and sprinted around the corridor after her, returning after half a minute of echoing footsteps with wide eyes. "She's gone!" he said, almost reverently. "Like, completely and utterly just gone, dude! Vanished! Like a ghost or something…" He winced slightly at that thought.

"G-ghosts don't exist, eh!" Matthew marched up to his brother, alarm written across his face, and waved a hand in front of Alfred's eyes in a display of surprisingly aggressive irritation. "Alfred, there was no one there."
"But- but- Arthur saw her! Didn't you, Arthur? She talked to you and everything, and-" The look of excited hope on the younger nation's face died as Arthur shook his head slowly.
"Listen to your brother, Alfred, and stop being ridiculous," said Arthur, praying to god that they didn't hear the hoarse, dizzy quality his voice had suddenly taken on.

Alfred scowled. "She talked to you! And touched you! You must have seen her, don't even bother denying-"
"I said, I saw nothing," he snapped, voice sharper and more angry than he'd intended, and then let out a shaky breath at the look of hurt confusion on Alfred's face. "Look, you've been through considerable trauma today, it's no wonder your mind's a bit stressed. I'm- sure it's nothing a cup of tea and a good night's sleep won't cure." He forced a shaky smile onto his face. "Now, if you're both fine…"

"Je suis certainement pas bien," muttered Matthew under his breath, and Arthur's eyes darted in his direction, and then away again with an annoyed frown. Matthew felt a sudden, uncharacteristic surge of happiness at causing his father annoyance.

"Well, then," said Arthur, determinedly ignoring Matthew's French and Alfred's scowl, and concentrating on not letting his legs do what they wanted – which was buckle underneath him. "In that case, I have rather a lot of work to attend to. I'll see you both at the world meeting tomorrow? Good. In that case, I bid you farewell."

He would like to think he turned and walked out of the house in a slow and dignified manner. As it was, he exited at a pace only just slow enough not to be called a jog, fumbled with his car keys, and almost collapsed into the driver's seat, finally allowing his trembling knees to give way.

He spent five, long minutes just sitting there on Alfred's driveway, head tilted back against the headrest and taking slow, even breaths, thoughts rushing around inside his head like hornets – what just happened, how could America have seen her, why am I still alive, what did she mean, half of a whole, what am I supposed to do, oh god I can't remember how to breathe, I don't understand. It was only when he saw movement in the house (and realised that Matthew was probably coming out to ask him why he wasn't moving, and if he needed help) that he found the energy and self control to shut the door, shove the keys into the ignition and hit the accelerator.

It was proof of how shaken he was that he forgot to fasten his seatbelt.


Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Ooh la la, the plot thickens! I think I actually feel most sorry for Matthew in this chapter - Arthur knows what's going on, Alfred doesn't think anything that odd has gone on, and poor Mattie is left wondering if he's going insane. Awww. *hugs him* And if anyone manages to guess who the woman is, I will be very, very impressed. Or maybe it's obvious and I onlythink I'm being clever. Either way, I'd be interested to hear your guesses.

Translations:
...plus de six fois, et il n'était pas là! - ...more than six times, and it wasn't there!
Je suis certainement pas bien - I am certainly not fine.
(I do try to avoid using gratuitously random amounts of foreign languages, but there are some times when it just doesn't have the same feel otherwise. I'll try to keep the phrases short and will offer translations for everything other than basic stuff like 'merci'. If I get anything wrong, feel free to correct me!)