I'm sure you're wondering why I gathered you all here today...

Because I actually finished up this bad boy yesterday after working on it for over four weeks. Yes, the sixth chapter is here. No tricks, no gimmicks. Anyway, this is an especially long chapter because a whole lot of crap is explained here and I didn't feel like splitting it into two separate chapters, so here you are. Finals had been eating me away all frigging week, and now that I'm finally free and actually passing my classes, I'll hopefully have a few more chapters up before going back in January. Also, I'm working on another quick fic about Alfred in Vietnam, so hopefully that'll be up and running soon.

So here's the sixth chapter, have fun!

-M. Rykov


Alfred had called Ludwig back and demanded that they group for an emergency meeting immediately.

There has never been an issue like this in history, at least not while Alfred was involved in it. He had never heard of a country obtaining a territory and then running into the problem that they don't exist to the government.

After calling Ludwig, Alfred dialed the house.

"Hello?"

Her voice was so sweet he almost broke himself down completely and told her everything. But he knew he couldn't. For her sake, this was something he had to keep secret, at least for now.

"Hey Liv, sorry to spring this on you last minute, but I gotta go to a world meeting."

"Oh, okay. Let me pack."

"No, no." It physically pained Alfred to say this. "This is something I have to go to on my own."

There was a thick silence over the phone.

"Alfred, what's wrong?"

Alfred flinched. Of course she knew something was wrong.

"Nothing's wrong," he lied. "I just gotta go, Ludwig's been hassling me. Can you get Phillips to send me some clothes? I might be in Austria for a few days."

"You're going to Austria?" Livia sounded incredulous. "Why the hell are you going all the way to Austria?"

"Because the meeting's there," Alfred explained half-heartedly. He was so tempted to tell her everything it nearly broke him.

"Alfred, tell me why you're going to Austria without me."

He wanted to. She had no idea how much he wanted to tell her. How much he wanted to scream it at her, how wrong and how worried he felt.

"Livia, just tell Phillips to send me some stuff, please. I never really liked the stuffy dress clothes Roderich lets me borrow." He tried to play it off casually, but he knew she could see right through him.

"Tell me what the meeting's about, Alfred," Livia urged, a strange panicky edge creeping into her voice. Alfred had to dig his nails into his palms.

"I'll tell you when I get back, Liv. Sorry."

He heard Livia sigh, the panic ebbing away almost immediately and instead morphing into something darker. "Does this have something to do with the meeting you had with Phillips? Al? Alfred, please tell me what's wrong. I know something's wrong, so don't you dare act like everything's fine."

Alfred's armor fissured. He couldn't help it. "Livia... I-I can't tell you. Not right now, but I will when I get back, I swear. I'm so sorry, but I'll explain everything when I get back, kid. I promise. Just please do me a favor and tell Phillips about sending over my stuff, please."

There was another heavy silence, this one longer than the last. Alfred waited anxiously, gripping his phone tightly.

"Livia, say something."

She exhaled heavily on the other line, clearly irritated. When she spoke again, her voice was taut and bitter.

"Alfred…"

He waited for her to say something. After a few seconds, he heard a click, then the dead beat of the dial tone.

.

Alfred arrived at Grand Hotel Wien in the early dews of the night, exhausted and jet-lagged. He still felt a bit dizzy from the flight. He thanked the driver and tipped him generously.

"Keep the change."

The driver smiled graciously. "Danke."

Alfred groaned to himself as the taxi driver sped off. At least he was able to make one person happy today.

He bumbled up to the hotel, stumbling drowsily to the front desk, the impeccably shiny lobby tiles clacking against the soles of his feet. He was given an exclusive room on one of the top floors, equipped with everything he needed to make it into a plausible one-bedroom apartment. The only thing missing was a kitchen, but Alfred was sure someone could live here if they wanted to. Upon entering the spacious room, he crossed the massive carpet to the windows, nearly tripping over the ornate glass coffee table before drawing the sweeping curtains close to block out the flickering night lights of the Viennese streets below.

Ludwig had told him that since the nations were in Vienna anyway, holding the emergency meeting there was the only practical solution. He told Alfred that the meeting would begin at nine-thirty the following day, so he better not be late. Alfred set his alarm for the time before tossing it on the glossed cherry wood nightstand and sprawling over the wide plush bed. He was thankful that it didn't come with a deluge of pillows—the Parisian hotels were a nightmare with their feathered pillows, supported by overwhelming body pillows and stacked with lumbars and white goose downs that supposedly did wonders for your neck and back. It was ridiculous how many pillows there were in a five-star French hotel.

This, though. This was much nicer, much more relaxing. Granted, Alfred would have preferred a regular suite above this exclusive one, but Roderich never stifled his formalities half-way down the road. He'd thank him for it tomorrow, especially on such short notice.

Alfred closed his eyes—then almost immediately snapped them open to the sound of his alarm. He bolted up in bed to shut off the annoying sound and swiped it over to snooze, calculating that he had five minutes before he really had to get ready.

He pressed his face against the flat pillow, relishing in the few moments before had had to rise with earnest. Once his alarm went off for the second time, he rose to find a black duffle bag full of his own clothes and toiletries on the paisley sofa. A maid must have left it early in the morning.

Alfred felt himself straighten slightly. So Livia had actually taken the liberty to tell Phillips to send over his stuff after all. The thought comforted him slightly, even if a cold stone settled in his gut at the thought of her. She wasn't willing to deprive him of necessities, so that said something, right?

He splashed his face with icy water and combed his hair, slapping on a few pats of cologne before dressing into a dark blue suit. He had learned before that no matter what kind of meeting—whether it be emergency or customary—it was always expected to dress formally. Otherwise, Ludwig would have a field day.

Ludwig had told him they were meeting in the first salon in the hotel's first basement. Alfred took the grand elevators in a groggy daze and was on a steady descent until the third floor button lit up, a silvery gold brightness that eclipsed the rest of the gem-like push buttons. The doors opened to reveal Kiku, neatly groomed and as stoic as Alfred always remembered. He offered a humble smile and bowed to Alfred before entering.

"Good morning, Alfred."

Alfred bowed back hurriedly. "Hey, Kiku. How're you doing?"

The doors closed and the elevator hummed downwards again.

"Very well, thank you. And yourself?"

Alfred shrugged tiredly, uncertain of how to answer. "I'm... I'm fine, I guess."

Kiku nodded once, his face unsurprisingly impassive. "You called an emergency meeting." It wasn't a question. "Are you sure everything's fine?"

Alfred bit the swell of his lip and resisted the urge to run his hand through his hair. "Um... No—well... Things could be worse."

Kiku nodded again. He never had much of an opinion when it came to things like this; he was too impartial for that. It's actually what Alfred liked most about him. Sometimes it was nice when someone just listened.

"Much worse," Kiku agreed quietly. A pitched ring sang off and the doors opened to the first basement. They made their way down the hall and to the first salon, a small and professional space with delicate lights placed in all angles above their heads that swam across the walls, casting the entire room in an illustrious and fluid pale light. The table in the center was oblong and about as elegant as everything else in the hotel, edged with ten black swivel chairs Alfred knew he couldn't wait to spin around in once this day was over.

Ludwig, of course, was already there, as was Roderich. Yao was also settled, but he looked like he was falling asleep.

"Good morning, men," Ludwig greeted before they politely returned his address.

Kiku took his seat next to an uninterested Yao while Alfred sat directly across from Ludwig. Roderich turned to face him, his violet eyes fixed tersely behind the stainless glass of his spectacles.

"I hope your flight was adequate?"

Alfred offered a weak smile. He was suddenly so weary he could barely muster the energy to speak normally.

"Yeah, it was great, thank you." He took the complimentary glass of water in front of him and gulped down the whole thing. The icy thrill shot down his spine like lightening, waking him slightly from his foggy haze. A sharp pain suddenly closed about his throat, tightened by the sudden shot of cold water, and now he was struggling to choke back a cough.

"Ludwig," Alfred said in a strained voice, "Thanks... Thanks for letting me call the meeting."

Ludwig nodded once, taking a sip of his own water. "It was no trouble. Everyone was here, so might as well."

More people began to trickle into the room. Francis and Feliciano came stumbling in hiccupping giggles as Ludwig glared coldly at them.

"I trust you two had a good time at the ball room last night?"

Feliciano beamed, and Alfred felt a little jealous at how carefree he seemed. "Oh, it was such a fun time, Ludwig! Why didn't you come with us?"

Francis snickered. "I don't think the hulking German likes to associate himself with a good time. It tarnishes the stone-cold reputation."

Of course, Ludwig had a very well-trained patience and wasn't falling so easily for Francis's bait. "I don't think it's my reputation that you need to fret over, Herr Francis."

Francis scowled and sat down. "You're always so bitter about life, mon ami. Honestly, I think sometimes you are worse than that pesky Englishman we call a nation."

"Said the pot to the kettle." Arthur sauntered into the room and took his seat dutifully beside Alfred. "Besides, Francis, you were being quite intolerable yesterday, and that's certainly giving a strong message considering you're always intolerable."

Francis rolled his eyes. "I was not being intolerable, black sheep."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You were dancing on top of the bar and obnoxiously screaming 'Killer Queen' entirely in French. And I don't even think you were plastered yet."

Feliciano giggled as Francis gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "As if that bothered you; that drivel sounds better in French anyway."

"Oh, how dare you!" Arthur raised his voice. "Freddie Mercury is a bloody legend that could never be matched by the likes of you or your damn language. What do you even know about musical masterpieces, Francis? The only thing close to music I have ever heard from your country is you screeching in terror like a little girl."

"I have plenty of musical masterpieces from my country, thank you very much!"

"Oh, really?" Arthur arched an eyebrow. "Name one."

"Edith Piaf, Maurice Chevalier, Olivier Messiaen, Josephine Baker—"

Arthur slammed his hands down on the table exasperatedly. "I said one, you insufferable twat. And Josephine Baker was American, she was born in Missouri!"

Francis looked positively insulted. "She became a French citizen in 1937 and was fluent in my language, ergo she was French. So there!"

"That's not—that doesn't—that doesn't even count, you mangy bastard!"

Francis let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, and I suppose now you're going to say Freddie Mercury was born in Britain?"

Arthur was livid. "He was, you blithering idiot! He was born in the British protectorate of Sultanate of Zanzibar in East Africa, ergo, he was British!"

"Can you two go on for one minute without arguing?" Ludwig shouted. "It's not even noon, for pity's sake!"

"Then tell the frog he can evaporate," Arthur groused, crossing his arms and sitting back in his chair like a petulant child. It almost made Alfred laugh.

"And tell the black sheep of Europe to look at a decent map for once."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Oh, goodness, enough!" Roderich said. "Honestly, you two bicker like an old married couple."

Francis chuckled suggestively. "Only in his dreams."

Before Arthur could respond, Roderich turned a deadly glare in Francis's direction, pointing a stern finger at him as he hissed in a lethal whisper, "Don't. Start."

Alfred thought he heard Yao mutter, "Crazy white people" under his breath, but he couldn't be entirely sure. It was then that he noticed that every seat in the room was occupied but two. Counting off the people in the room, Alfred knew exactly who was missing, and the thought made his skin crawl.

"Is Ivan coming along?"

Ludwig shrugged. "I notified everyone. If he doesn't show up, it's no fault of mine."

Arthur asked for the pitcher of water next to Alfred glass and poured his cupful. "How was your flight, Alfred?"

"Pretty smooth. Yours?"

Arthur shrugged. "It was two days ago and I fell asleep, I can't remember." He glanced around the room as he drank from his glass. "Hmm. That's strange."

"What?" Alfred asked.

"I know Ivan's still missing, but there's another chair that's still empty. Who else is coming?"

"That would be my brother," Ludwig answered stiffly. "That is if he can be bothered to get out of bed today."

Arthur nearly choked on his water. "Gilbert's coming? Since when does Gilbert come to emergency meetings?"

"Since he asked for him." Ludwig gestured to Alfred. The entire room turned to stare at him. Even Francis, who was a very close friend of Gilbert, seemed shocked to hear the news.

"I didn't see him yesterday," Francis said, seemingly to himself. "He didn't even mention that he was here."

"He caught a late flight and I told him not to say anything," Ludwig answered.

Francis was in disbelief. "And since when does Gilbert listen to you?"

Ludwig threw him a sharp glare. "Since I told him it was urgent."

The room lapsed into a mounting silence. Yao and Kiku still had their eyes fixed on Alfred as Francis and Feliciano went on seeming terribly confused.

"Alfred?" Arthur spoke softly so Alfred had to strain to hear him. "Alfred, where's Livia?"

Hearing her name caught everyone's attention. Alfred could feel their eyes boring into him, his face feeling a bit warmer than before. The knot in his throat worsened and he nearly choked on his water as he gulped it down. A dull pain began to thrum behind his eyes.

"Livia's in D.C." It was meant to be the end of the conversation, but no one looked satisfied. Alfred finally sighed, roughly coughing into his fist in an attempt to loosen the pain in his throat.

He thought he might as well just say it. "I called the meeting because of Livia, so I told her not to come."

Feliciano nearly sprang to his feet. "Is she okay? Is she sick? Is she hurt?"

"No, she's not sick," Alfred answered. "It's just... Something strange came up about her, and I kinda wanted to wait until everyone got here to explain."

"Well, then, we wait," Ludwig settled, glancing at his watch. "It's three minutes to nine-thirty anyway."

And wait they did. They sat and steamed in absolute silence, the only sound in the room being the faint, tinny chorus of watches ticking away the seconds as they slowly breezed by. Alfred felt his ears become hot, his right hand suddenly tensing and trembling. He clenched the hand in his lap to stop it from shaking, but something in him had been disturbed, an upsetting balance had been tipped.

His thoughts overwhelmed themselves with Livia, and he couldn't think about anything else. He was itching to spit out the news, bursting at the seams to ask his questions and put an end to this whole little nightmare, but the morning in Vienna seemed to slouch on uncaringly. It was one minute to nine-thirty and neither Gilbert nor Ivan had made their way to the door.

Then, as quickly as it had come, the minute was up.

Ludwig groaned frustratedly. "I'll have Gilbert's head for this. Alright, let's get started." He stood up from his seat and addressed the rest of the seven people in the room in a stately manner. "Today, Tuesday the eighth of May in 2007, Alfred F. Jones, the National Representative of the United States of America, has called for an emergency meeting that has commenced at nine-thirty in the morning at the Grand Hotel Wien in Vienna, Austria. Ivan Braginski, the National Representative of the Russian Federation, and Gilbert Beilschmidt, the former Representative of Prussia, have failed to attend. I now turn the issue of this emergency meeting to America."

So now the formalities have started. Alfred never liked this type of severity at meetings, but at least now he could let loose some of the tension that had been gathering in his shoulders.

"Thanks, Lud—I mean Germany." Alfred stood up as Ludwig sat down. "Well, today I called—"

The doors to the salon suddenly crashed open and all Alfred could see was the blurring movement of a platinum blond head and a guttural voice shouting, "Sorry, sorry, sorry! Alarms don't work, damn Viennese clocks are slow! All fucking Roderich's fault."

Gilbert had stumbled into the room in a heaping mess, his tie crooked and his silver hair mussed with only half of his dress shirt tucked into his trousers. He literally looked like he just got out of bed.

"Gilbert," Ludwig gnarred between clenched teeth. "So nice of you to show up. Late."

Gilbert scoffed at Ludwig's murderous glower. It seemed as if he was the only person who could get away with reacting so apathetically. "Relax, West. I'm only a few seconds late. The world isn't going to collapse in on itself." He threw a friendly jut of the chin at Francis. "My Bruder from another Mutter, I felt as if it's been ages!"

"It has, mon ami, it really has." Francis and Gilbert embraced, momentarily breaking the rigid rules and regulations before Gilbert took his seat between Francis and Roderich.

Ludwig rolled his eyes. "I apologize for my brother's tardiness. Now it's only Ivan Braginski who has failed to make an appearance."

"Good," Gilbert griped, attempting to discreetly tuck his wrinkled shirt into his trousers. "I don't need to see that psychotic axe-murderer more than twice a century."

"Gilbert, can you please shut up?" Roderich snapped. Gilbert stuck his tongue out at him.

"Don't be mad at me because I'm a little late, Specs. Your fancy dipshit clocks suck balls."

"If we can get back to the meeting." Ludwig said irately. Gilbert looked over to where Alfred was standing, seeming to notice him for the first time.

"Hey, Alfred, how's it going?"

Alfred was about to answer when Ludwig whirled angrily at his brother.

"Would you let him speak? He's about to explain."

Gilbert conspicuously gave Ludwig the finger, to which Francis had to snort back a flood of laughter. Ludwig closed his eyes, trying to find the physical will to remain calm, and gestured slowly to Alfred.

"Can you start again?"

"Um... Yeah, sure." Alfred fidgeted slightly and the tremble in his right hand had become uncontrollable. He clenched it into a fist before he resumed his speech. "Well, um, today I called an emergency meeting concerning a problem with my recently acquired... um, territory, Livia Galloway."

"You got a new territory?" Gilbert piped up. He leaned over to Ludwig, who looked like he was a man being driven to murder. "West, why didn't you tell me America got a new territory?"

"You didn't ask," Ludwig barked. Gilbert leaned back unfazed and nodded at Alfred approvingly.

"Good for you, man."

"Uh, thanks." Alfred loosened his collar and continued before anyone else said anything. "Anyway, there's a slight problem with this. I attended a meeting with my advisor Jonathan E. Phillips back in Washington, D.C. on Monday and it was brought to my attention that... according to different government agencies and newly updated maps... there appears to be no new landmass to accompany Livia Galloway's title as an unincorporated territory to the United States, therefore claiming her to be a 'nonexistent entity,' as official documents seem to put it."

Alfred looked around the room and no one seemed to understand that he had finished, seeing as how Ludwig still looked like he was about to shoot the next person who spoke up.

Alfred sunk down to his seat. "That's it. That's the problem."

The only one who immediately reacted was Arthur. "What do you mean a 'nonexistent entity'?"

"I mean exactly as it sounds," Alfred answered. "According to my government, Livia doesn't exist."

The weight of the announcement seemed to immerse itself around the room, and now everyone seemed terribly perplexed. Even Gilbert, who hasn't been an official country for decades, understood the sudden gravity of the situation.

"But there was a document that was signed," Francis argued. "All of the G8 members were there, our bosses, everyone was there. How can your government not acknowledge that?"

Alfred shrugged in defeat. "I really don't know. I'm as stumped as all of you. Apparently, since there's no landmass that's popped up on her arrival, then she's not really... I guess, she's not really much of a territory to me."

"No, I don't think that's true," Arthur interjected. "It wouldn't make sense. She's not human, we can all agree on that, her growth in the past five years has been proof enough. And while it may be a bit odd that she happened to appear out of thin air, it's not entirely unusual. I found you that way, after all."

"Yeah, but when you found me you were visiting a huge piece of undiscovered land. I can't remember finding a new land cropping up anywhere when I found Livia."

"Does she know this?" Francis asked. "Any of this? Have you told her?"

Alfred's heart sank. "No, I didn't think I should. And, well," he ducked his head, "she's kinda mad at me for it. I tell her everything and I didn't tell her why I was coming here, so..."

Alfred felt Arthur's hand on his arm, something so uncharacteristic of the man that the feeling nearly made him jump. Arthur quickly pulled away and settled to give Alfred an apologetic smile.

"I'm sure she'll understand eventually. You did the right thing."

Francis scoffed. "I think you should tell her, Amérique. It's no good to keep secrets from those closest to you."

"I'm sure you're one to talk," Ludwig retorted sharply. "At any rate, this is an issue that needs to be dealt with. Your president sought to gain economic and militaristic benefits from obtaining Livia as a territory, am I right?"

Alfred nodded and Ludwig continued. "Then he must be very upset at the outcome that this may bring him."

"I don't know what he's gonna do if I don't somehow explain why there's no actual territory to Livia." There. Alfred said it. He had finally voiced his deepest concern for this entire setting. What was going to happen to Livia if his boss didn't find any of Alfred's explanations suitable?

"He might force you to reverse the process," Yao said abruptly. Alfred went rigid, his blood running cold as the words hit him. The tremor in his hand worsened.

"What?" he breathed, stunned.

"I doubt Bush would make him do such a thing," Arthur quickly protested in an attempt to soothe Alfred. "After five years of her presence? I don't think he underestimates her, I think he's just confused as to where Livia fits in the world. Humans are erratic that way—they question things too much."

Yao shrugged. "It's been done before. Things happen."

"Well, can I ask a quick question?" Gilbert interrupted brashly. "Why am I here? You—" He pointed to Alfred. "—You specifically asked West to drag me here, what is it that you want me for? I didn't even know you had a new territory to take care of until now."

Alfred drank his water, hoping it would soothe his nerves. "I was going to ask how you and your brother ruled an entire landmass as two people. I was wondering if this might be a possible explanation, that maybe Livia is... you know, maybe she's actually supposed to be my actual sister and represent the country with me. Like how Matt's my actual brother even though he has his own place."

Gilbert seemed to break off in thought, but Roderich was quick to voice his opinion before the former could gather his thoughts.

"I highly doubt that. For one thing, her last name is Galloway. Yours is Jones."

"Yeah, but Matt's last name is Williams and he's still my brother."

"Hold on, Matthew's last name isn't Jones?" Gilbert asked. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, imbécile!" Francis reproached. "It's Williams. For God's sake, man, you've met the boy about a hundred times!"

Gilbert was appalled. "Really? Williams? I haven't seen the kid in years and this whole time I kept thinking his last name was Jones, holy shit! I've been living a lie!"

"If we can please move on," Ludwig said agitatedly. "... I do have to agree with you, America. That can be a possible explanation as to why there's no land to accompany Livia. My brother and I represented Germany as a single entity for a while, but... he was eventually abolished and revoked of his title, leaving that mass of land to me and me alone. I'm sure that's not the answer you want to hear, but that is the realistic outcome if that theory was to be true."

"Okay," Alfred acquiesced, "Gilbert may not be a country anymore, but he's still here, isn't he? He still lives with you and everything, doesn't he? So he has to have some sort of importance to the country."

Ludwig shook his head. "No, he doesn't. There's no significance in his existence."

"Ouch, thanks a lot, bro," Gilbert rejoined grimly.

Ludwig sighed, clearly annoyed. "I meant as a country, Gilbert. As a country."

"Uh-huh, suuure..."

"Why are you being so difficult today?"

Gilbert scowled at his younger brother. "Let me call you at three o'clock in the morning to get on the first available flight to Vienna, of all the damndest places, and see how you feel afterward."

"It's an hour flight," Ludwig defended. "And mein Gott, America had a longer flight than you and I don't hear him complaining."

"He's got an existential crisis going on with one of his territories; of course he's not going to complain about a fifteen hour flight!"

"Nine hours, actually," Alfred corrected.

Ludwig put his head in his head and groaned like he was in pain. He lifted his head wearily and looked at Alfred knowingly.

"Sometimes, America, it may be better not to have another sibling."

Gilbert raised a hand. "I'm sitting right here, West."

"What if that's it, then?" Arthur said, steering the conversation away from the two bickering brothers. "What if she's meant to succeed you after you're gone?"

Alfred furrowed his brow. "What, you mean she represents America after I'm dead?"

Arthur visibly cringed at the last word. "Not dead, per say, don't be so bleak. I meant once your time has come to give up the title as the National Representative of the United States, perhaps she's intended to take it out of your hands."

Francis laughed loudly at that. "Oui, and then you two can live happily-ever-after like Gilbert and his lovely little brother, with you living in her basement and eating her food."

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "That basement is actually very comfortable in the summer."

Francis snorted. "Of course it is, it's the only time you're not actually freezing to death!"

Alfred took a brief pause to think it over. If Livia was truly meant to succeed him, what did her appearance five years ago say about the direction his country was heading in? What would happen in Afghanistan that could lead to him being an inefficient National Representative? Did her rapid growth indicate something much darker about his country's future? He was suddenly gripped with a worry so strong it made him nauseous.

"So you think that's it?" Alfred asked hesitantly. "You guys think she's meant to take over for me?"

Ludwig shrugged. "That seems to be a definite possibility."

"Now wait just a minute," Arthur said. "How could that possibly be? America is perfectly healthy and capable of running the country—yes, this bloody war in Afghanistan has put him against a considerable amount of strain, but America's been in wars before and—"

"I'm sure you understand," Ludwig said rigidly, "that Afghanistan is not going to be an easy war. It doesn't look like its coming to an end any time soon, and America needs all the help he can get."

"I'm helping him," Arthur replied defensively. "And so are you and Feliciano, along with a few others who aren't here at the moment. He has more than enough help from Europe."

"Yes, but what about the home front?"

This made Arthur fall silent.

"You of all people should know, England, if there's no help at home, there's very little chance a country can remain strong at war," Ludwig said. "While Afghanistan may affect most of us in this room, it takes its particular toll on America. Those planes did hit his Towers, after all."

Alfred couldn't ignore the sting in his gut. That day was a day of unrecognized proportions; that blinding smoke, the suffocating ash. It flooded the streets, rolling over the city like a black, crumbling wave. In those surreal moments, he couldn't help but remember Roosevelt back in 1941, rising to the ranks in his forthright stature on that December morning, and gave history one of the most favored lines of the century: A day that would live in infamy. Alfred blinked hard at the memory.

"Livia may not have an official title just yet," Ludwig went on, effectively interrupting Alfred's recollections, "but she does have an importance. Her growth in the past years has proven that." Ludwig organized his papers and looked to Alfred. "I would advise you not to worry. Everything will happen accordingly, and all for good reason. Besides..." He took a sip of his water, clearing his throat, "... Livia is loyal to you. She's a trustworthy candidate, and she'd be good for the war if she were to gain any more strength."

"Whoa, whoa, hold on!" Alfred waved his hands around frenetically. "Who said she was gonna get involved in the war?"

Ludwig blinked at him incredulously. "America, you can't be serious."

"No," Alfred spurned immediately. "No. Absolutely not. She's not getting involved with Afghanistan."

"You have to be open to options, America." Ludwig folded his hands respectively. "She's at your disposal, why not take advantage?"

Alfred laughed humorlessly. "I don't think so; there's no way she's getting involved with any of that."

"I think you underestimate her," Yao said sagely. "I know this is not my war, but I have fought in many before most of you capitalist pigs were even born, and I know that in war you need everyone at your side." Yao glanced pointedly at Alfred. "That includes the people closest to you."

But Alfred was stubborn. "No. Livia is not—"

"America."

To Alfred's utter shock, Arthur seemed to be in total agreement with Ludwig and Yao.

"Maybe you shouldn't dismiss that idea so hastily. You do have to admit that you'll need all the help you can get in Afghanistan, and this would be good for Livia to—"

"I can't believe you," Alfred emitted in a dangerously low whisper. "I can't believe you. You, of all people, telling me to let her fight?"

Arthur turned cold at the statement. "Yes, America. Me. Because I know that a country is stronger with their closest allies at hand, no matter how young they might be."

Alfred's resolve hardened, his jaw gritted. "I would rather shoot myself than let Livia anywhere near Afghanistan. And that's the end of this conversation."

Arthur visibly softened. He sighed tiredly. "America, I don't mean let her fight at this instant. If she happens to grow anymore in these few years, it might be a worth the consideration."

Yao and Ludwig nodded in agreement, attempting gentle persuasion. Alfred remained fixed in his decision, and Arthur could clearly see this. He raised the boy, after all.

"I understand why you're so against it," Arthur said, albeit a bit impatiently. "But you're going to have to think about this sooner or later."

Alfred shook his head petulantly. "I'll still say no."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, why don't we put down the subject for now and return to this whole no-landmass business?"

Arthur looked pointedly to Ludwig across the way, a silent adjure. Ludwig seemed hesitant, but settled to move the conversation nonetheless. He adjusted his glasses.

"I'm afraid that I'm still unsure of how to conclude that issue. It seems that we'll have to wait and see—"

"My boss is going to keep bugging me about it until I give him an answer," Alfred burst hastily. "What am I supposed to tell him?"

Ludwig shrugged. "Tell him the truth. We're uncertain of what Livia's existence means. All we can do is wait."

"That won't be good enough for him." Alfred's heart was racing, the dull throb behind his burning eyes coiling painfully. "If I don't get back to him soon he'll keep pestering me about it, and then what'll I do? We need to come to some kind of conclusion today."

Alfred had no idea why he felt so frantic, but the sudden idea of leaving Vienna without any answers was terrifying. He couldn't go back to Washington and face Livia without knowing what was going on. He couldn't.

He needed an answer.

Ludwig, however, remained relaxed and unruffled. "We will get to the issue while you remain in Vienna, of that I can assure you."

"Yes, and didn't you tell me you were going to be here a few days?" Roderich asked.

Alfred swallowed, feeling more and more disgruntled with every passing minute, and nodded.

"Then we have plenty of time to discuss the issue before you return home," Roderich concluded, correcting his glasses and smoothing over his starched lapels. "Is this meeting adjourned then?"

"Not adjourned," Ludwig answered. "The issue is postponed until further notice. We'll reconvene about this in the next few days. I think we all have a bit of thinking to do when it comes to Fräulein Livia."

Everyone nodded their head in agreement.

Gilbert then raised his hand, looking entirely bored.

"So does this mean I still can't go home?"

.

Dinner passed by mutely once again. Alfred could hardly taste the meat in his mouth, and the drink was acidic in its sweetness. The stress he had felt back home regarding Afghanistan followed him everywhere. It lugged in his step, darkened in his eyes, dulled his laugh. Arthur had glanced at him concernedly from time to time.

Alfred had initially pretended not to notice, but he couldn't help feeling like he was an injured animal on watch. "Why don't you just take a picture, it'll last longer."

Arthur screwed his lips in ill-masked concern, ignoring Alfred's jab. "Are you sure you're all right, lad?"

Alfred shut his eyes and exhaled heavily through his nose, rubbing his eyes and knocking his glasses askew.

"I don't know, Artie…" he gruffed.

Arthur cocked his head. He couldn't help but notice how hoarse Alfred's voice had gotten over the past two days, how much paler and thinner he seemed. Since his arrival in Vienna, the boy's health seemed to pitch into a sudden decline. It troubled Arthur to see the usually energetic man so passive and sullen.

"Oh, Alfred…" He leaned across the table, that pliant look of comfort in his eyes. Alfred looked up at him expectantly. "… It's Arthur."

Alfred deflated almost immediately.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, old man."

Arthur cracked a sardonic grin. "What's gotten into you?" He took a sip of his drink—some elaborate spirit Alfred couldn't be bothered to remember the name of.

"Nothing, nothing… Just the war, that's all."

Arthur raised his eyebrows in question. "I doubt this war's got you so shook up. You've been in wars before and none of them have compromised your attitude to such an extent."

Alfred looked up at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, please take no offense to this, Alfred." Arthur's eyes darted quickly over him. "But you look bloody awful."

Alfred almost laughed. "Yeah, no shit. I feel it."

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, his chest rattling as he elicited a hacking cough. Arthur squinted at him disdainfully.

Alfred rolled his eyes under Arthur's stare and wiped at his mouth.

"I know, I know. I disgust you…"

"No, it's not that at all." Arthur leaned forward and looked over Alfred's face carefully, examining his paling skin and waxen eyes. "I'd have your advisor make an appointment with your doctor. I don't really like the sound of that cough."

Alfred cleared his throat. "It's nothing, just some phlegm."

It was at this point he proceeded to cough up his insides. Awful, sickening pulls of breath tore through his throat and squeezed from his lungs, churning his stomach and pulsing against his temples. He groaned and laid his head down on the table once the attack passed aside and he could breathe properly again.

Arthur nodded, unmoved. "Yes. Just a bit of phlegm, I suppose."

"Shut up," Alfred groaned.

"My, my. Someone's in a mood today."

Alfred ignored him and checked his phone half-heartedly. He didn't know why he kept bothering himself this way, but he mulishly snagged at any hope that Livia may have called him in the past few moments that he hadn't checked his phone.

To him, the possibilities were endless: Perhaps she texted him while he was asleep, maybe she called him while he was in the shower, maybe he didn't hear his phone…

But with every swipe of his thumb, every tap of his finger, his hopes sank. There was nothing.

He hadn't spoke to her in two days, and despite a few attempts at their answering machine, she made no attempt to return his calls.

He gave a fitful growl and rested his head against his hand, nearly tossing his phone off the table in his annoyance. Arthur instantly made the connection, a useful trait Alfred always despised.

"Nothing from Livia?"

Alfred shook his head. "She's really pissed at me this time, Artie."

"Hm. I don't see why she should be."

"Really?" Alfred asked.

"Yes, of course." Arthur sipped at his spirit. "If you were to ask my personal opinion, I'd say she's being a bit overdramatic."

"She's been acting like this a lot recently," Alfred mulled over sullenly. "I don't know if it's just because she's a teenager or if it's something else, but whatever it is, it's annoying."

Arthur chuckled dryly. "Oh, how the tables have turned. I recall those days quite clearly."

Alfred furiously shook his head. "No, no. I wasn't as bad as Livia's being right now."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that, Alfred." Arthur peered up at him impenitently through his eyelashes. "You did throw my tea into the harbor, after all."

"Okay, first of all, that was to make a statement!" Alfred defended. "And second, I did it because you were being a jerk."

"Oh, dear," Arthur sighed sarcastically. "I repealed your Stamp Act and gave you affordable tea. Forgive me for being a contemptuous twat."

Alfred huffed shortly.

"You did a lot more crap after that, though," he said. "You're no saint."

Arthur gave a grimly impish smirk. "At least we're able to agree on that without much argument."

Alfred fiddled with his silverware, gently rapping it against his plate. Intent on changing the subject he said, "Arthur, can I ask you a question?"

The man straightened slightly.

"Well, considering you finally said my name correctly, I would say you may."

Alfred ignored the jibe and continued. "Back then, before the Revolution… Did I ever get really mad at you?"

Arthur blinked, furrowing his brow in thought. "Of course you did. We argued about plenty of things; our relationship wasn't a bed of roses, Alfred—"

"No, I don't mean mad over some stupid argument," Alfred corrected himself, trying to find the right words. "I mean… I mean, have I ever gotten really, really mad. Like… furious? Like I looked like I-wanted-to-kill-you-mad?"

Now Arthur seemed confused. "Before the Revolution?"

Alfred nodded.

Arthur's tilted his head, bemused. "No, Alfred… At least not any time I can recall. The angriest you were with me before that time was when George raised your taxes, but even so, I don't think you wanted to kill me just yet."

Alfred held back a rising cough and spoke in a hoarse whisper. "I never wanted to kill you, Artie."

"Yes, keep trying to convince yourself," Arthur drawled, uninterested.

"I mean it, though!" Alfred insisted. "I never wanted to kill you. No matter how much it looked like I wanted to wring your neck, trust me, I could never do that to you. Even back then."

Arthur looked up at him in question, something cautious behind his gaze, as if he didn't want to believe what Alfred was saying but couldn't resist hoping that it might be true.

Alfred humored him further. "I mean it, Artie."

Arthur scowled. "Oh, shut it, you bloody sap."

Alfred gave a weak laugh that turned into a small cough. Maybe he should get that checked…

"Why are you asking me this?" Arthur said finally. "Is Livia giving you trouble?"

"No, it's just—"

"Because I could help you to discipline her. An extra authority figure would never hurt—"

"God, no, Artie! You're technically her cool uncle, how about we keep it at that, yeah?"

Arthur snorted. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, lad." He took a mouthful of his spirit. "But tell me honestly, is she giving you any sort of trouble?"

Alfred paused to think about this for a moment. Maybe opening up to Arthur wasn't the best idea, but all the frustration and anxiety that had been bubbling up inside him pushed him to his limits. He couldn't keep it to himself anymore—he had to tell someone.

"She just get so angry, Arthur," Alfred said mournfully, afraid of speaking too loudly in fear that his voice would falter. "I feel like I can't say anything anymore without her trying to bite my head off." He sighed sadly. "She never used to be like that, I don't know what happened."

Arthur nodded understandingly. "She's growing up, Alfred. You knew this would happen when you took her in, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but I expected normal teenage angst, not this I'm-going-to-burn-you-and-everything-you-love type of angst."

"Oh, stop exaggerating. She's just being a teenager, Alfred. No one's pleasant when they're a teenager."

"And no one is psychotically angry as a teenager, either," Alfred challenged. Arthur sucked at his teeth.

"Don't be so sure. As my memory would have it, Ivan wasn't the most stable teenager in the woods."

Alfred's gut clenched. "Please tell me you're not comparing Livia to him."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Oh come off it, Alfred. You know Livia is not a thing like Ivan. All I'm suggesting is that you give her time and you give her space. From what you told me, you weren't coming from a wrong light. She just needs time to cool off, is all. Adding on to the fact that you just made her into a major part of your country, she could be just a little intimidated."

Alfred removed his glasses to clean them with the edge of his sleeve. "Hm. I hope you're right…"

"Of course I'm right," Arthur answered conversationally. "You've done nothing wrong, Alfred. I know I'm right, not just because I think you've made a surprisingly exceptional caregiver, but because I raised you." Arthur gulped down the rest of his spirit in a greedy swallow, his voice further deepened by the alcohol. "And look who you are now: the most powerful country in the world."

.

"Phillips, why didn't you tell me this before?" Alfred nearly screamed down the phone. He was pacing frantically in his room, the tremor in his hands worsening as he tore at his hair.

"I barely received the reports this morning. I'm very sorry, Mr. Jones—"

"How could you not have told me that one-hundred-and-twenty of my Marines were asked to leave Afghanistan two months ago? Were the reports lagging from Shinwar?"

"No, but—"

"Then why is this barely reaching me now? Why are you barely telling me that one-hundred-and-twenty of my Marines killed nineteen civilians and injured fifty more? Do you have any idea what this does in relation to the forces in Afghanistan? Do you have any clue how the president is going to react after we killed nineteen of his innocent civilians? He's gonna be pissed off, Phillips!"

"Mr. Jones, I'm very sorry these reports were received so late, but I had no idea of the attack. And in the American's defense, they thought that those that were fleeing had planted the bomb—"

"And do these Marines have trouble distinguishing innocent people from legit military targets? Are they unaware that civilians don't have the special intelligence to plant the damn thing in a convoy, or were they just never trained in that area? "

"There was a considerable amount of confusion regarding the attack, Mr. Jones. It was reported that a minivan laden with explosives had driven into one of the vehicles and that the attackers had opened fire. The Marines are now being sent out of the country so the issue could be further investigated and cleared up."

Alfred nearly threw his glasses down onto the table as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed roughly, his eyes heavy and his limbs aching as his mind whirled. He couldn't believe that Bush would keep something so vital from him for so long—two months in a war made all the difference, and Bush might has well have thrown Alfred into the dark. It wasn't much of a secret that Alfred disagreed with a lot of Bush's policies when it came to the war—no matter how much Alfred wanted to hunt down the ones responsible for the September attacks, he wasn't willing to tear apart a whole country for it; he wasn't willing to kill innocents to get what he wanted. Violence would lead to more violence, and the cycle would continue for hundreds of years.

And Alfred was not looking forward to being at war for the next century.

He wanted to hurl the phone across the hotel room and smash the pretty Austrian décor to pieces, but Alfred couldn't afford to lose any more allies, no matter how questionable they might be. The war was heating up, drawing him deeper into the hellish waste, and there was no turning back. Not now. Not for a very long time.

"So how are we going to respond?" Alfred asked at last, his voice rough with latent frustration.

He heard Phillips sigh heavily on the other end. "I'm not sure yet. Do you want me to ask for a status report from Bush?"

"Yes," Alfred said vehemently. "And can you add something like, 'Why the hell didn't you tell me this the day it happened, you selfish prick'?"

Phillips didn't laugh. "I'll try my best to do your poetry justice, Mr. Jones."

"Thanks, Phillips." He stared around the blurred room, colors melding together in bobbles of color, taking in the gold and honeyed hues of the Viennese afternoon as the light filtered against the blond scenery, glittering and glistening like coins in the dense brightness.

"Phillips?"

"Yes, Mr. Jones?"

"Um… I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm just—I'm a bit on edge over here right now."

"It's perfectly understandable, sir. I'll let you know as soon as I get that status report from Bush."

Alfred snorted. "That'd be great if he ever decides to tell me anything."

"I'm sure he'll report back soon."

Soft static crackled into Alfred's ear as Phillips fell silent, probably rifling through more of those flooding documents spilling over his crowded desk. Alfred almost felt sorry for him, this man having to conform to the demands of both his mortal president and his immortal nation. It must not be an easy task for a human; the years speed by too quickly, every day another breath gone, and it must be hard to keep up with so much at once.

It was at this moment Alfred felt incredibly grateful for Phillips. He couldn't imagine being in his place, serving his home with such much tireless ambition and unremitting work ethic. It was those very things that sucked the life out of humans much faster, taking away their years like an hourglass spun on its head. No matter how much it upset him to see his advisors grow old and pass away, Alfred never forgot their services. He saluted them with as much respect as the men who fought alongside him in the Revolution or the Second World War. He would be forever thankful for their years.

"Hey, one more question, Phillips…"

"Yes, sir?" Phillips sounded distracted, like he was reading something and only partially listening to Alfred.

"Has… Has Livia called?"

Phillips sighed again. Alfred knew how exhausted he must be. "No, Mr. Jones. I haven't heard from her."

Alfred felt his stomach drop. "Oh."

Phillips surely heard the disappointment in Alfred's voice, since he hurried to lighten the situation. "I'm sure you'll hear from her soon. If she contacts me, I'll let you know right away."

Alfred nodded. "Okay, thank you… And Phillips?"

"Yes?"

"What time is it over there?"

A pause.

"It's 11:23."

Alfred whistled.

"For the love of god, get some sleep. Isn't the wife waiting for you?"

"I'm not married, Mr. Jones. I'll clock out when I submitted your report request to Bush—"

"C'mon, man. I'm sorry, that can wait 'till morning. Get some rest, will you?"

He could almost imagine Phillips shaking his head.

"Thank you, Mr. Jones. But I have my job and you have yours. Have a good rest of your stay in Vienna."

Phillips clicked out and Alfred held the phone to his ear a moment longer. The drone of the dial tone moaned on, leaving his chest a bit emptier than before.

.

"You know, smoking isn't going to help with your cough." Arthur joined Alfred out at the hotel's front entrance after the world meeting.

The sun from earlier had dwindled and faltered, cowering in an iridescent orb behind thin gray clouds.

Alfred shrugged indifferently and took another drag of his shortening cigarette. "It calms me down. I've been feeling kinda jittery lately."

Arthur looked him over, and even though he said nothing, Alfred could tell he disapproved.

"I thought you quit back in the '80s." Arthur brought out his own light and cigarette. He clicked on the lighter's gold latch until a small flame sprung free. He lit the cigarette with practiced ease.

"Like I said…" Alfred looked back up at the sky. "It calms me down."

Arthur leaned his head back as he exhaled out a stream of smoke, mingling with the frosting air. "Ah, well. What's cigarette smoke to creatures like us?"

Alfred didn't have the heart to respond, his ashes dropping off into swirling dust. Arthur glimpsed over to him, crossing his arms.

"I know you're worried about Livia, lad, but you can't kill yourself over it."

Alfred bristled. "Who said I was killing myself over it?"

Arthur rolled his eyes and scoffed. "My god, you're so obvious it's almost pitiful. You were practically chewing off your nails in the meeting."

"I was waiting for someone to bring it up," Alfred said sharply, harsher than he intended. He puffed out a slim cluster of smoke. "Besides, with all of the shit going on in Afghanistan now, Livia may not be on everyone's mind."

Arthur turned to him concernedly. "What's happened in Afghanistan?"

Alfred hadn't bothered to tell anyone. He had primarily made up his mind for it to be a centering topic at the meeting, but something stopped him. Knowing Bush, he wouldn't receive a status report until after the issue had been resolved, and until then, American Marines were not necessarily on good terms with local anti-Taliban governments. He brought the cigarette to his lips in a thoughtful manner; Arthur and Ludwig would find out about it soon, probably before the day was over. It wasn't any use to complain about it now, even if all Alfred wanted to do was complain.

"It doesn't matter." He gave a weak cough before taking another drag of the cigarette. "You'll find out soon."

Arthur was adamant. "Right, but I'd like to find out now."

"Your advisor should be the one to tell you," Alfred said curtly.

"Alfred, I'd like to know now."

"Damn it, Arthur, quit harassing me!" Alfred had been at the end of his tether all day, and while he knew Arthur didn't deserve to be at the brunt of his temper, he was the closest target. "I told you, your advisor will let you know. So quit bugging me about it."

Alfred didn't look at him as he leaned against the wall and brought his shaking hand up to his mouth. The outburst had unnerved him and he suddenly felt nauseous. The lingering taste of smoke in his mouth didn't help, but with another drag of the cigarette, he felt his hand steady.

He chanced a glance at Arthur. He didn't look angry, but then again Arthur was always unbearably patient when the situation called for it. He put a hand in his coat and rummaged through his pocket, fishing out his packet of cigarettes and offering one to Alfred.

"Your cigarette is fast becoming a cylindrical ash."

Alfred realized he was right and flicked it aside, crushing the thing under his shoe before taking Arthur's offer.

"Thanks."

Taking out his lighter, he sheltered the tip around his hands until a lick of flame lit the ember to life and brought the smoke back into his mouth. He clicked his tongue at the taste.

"Is this menthol?"

Arthur's lips quirked in a small, crooked grin. He took one final inhale of his own cigarette before putting it out. "I know Afghanistan is troubling you. It's troubling the lot of us."

Alfred knew that was true, but he couldn't help feeling a bit bitter. Everything about the war felt so personal, as if anything that went wrong was a special vendetta against him, a quiet uproar against his judgment, an outright challenge to his authority as a nation. His people were still angry—after six years they were still fuming, still mourning. He felt their fury thrumming through his blood, cracking his skull. There was no escape for him.

And seeing Ludwig, Arthur, and Feliciano so calm about the war was infuriating. Alfred was very thankful that they were helping him at this crucial time, but sometimes when he watched them, he couldn't help that sickening jealousy that closed about his throat.

"Yeah," Alfred grunted. "Yeah, I know. It's war."

"Precisely." Arthur looked over at him with piercing eyes. "But you mustn't let it control you. I know that's easier said than done, but it's critical that you keep a good head about this."

Alfred sighed. "Okay, okay. I just—it's a lot to handle, that's all."

"Of course it is," Arthur agreed. "It's as you said, its war. But just because it's war, that doesn't mean you should lose yourself to it." Arthur smiled weakly at him, his eyes becoming solemn and knowing. "Take it from an Old World nation who's always been terrible at following his own advice, and don't let it control you."

He pushed off from his place on the wall next to Alfred and began sauntering away, his hands in his coat pockets. He stopped and turned abruptly.

"And I know you and Livia are going to be just fine."

Alfred offered a small smile at him before he turned away in earnest and wandered back into the hotel lobby. Arthur was a sympathetic man, even if he never wanted to admit it. He always had a very special place in Alfred's heart; he raised him, after all. He taught him everything he knew, and now, Alfred was reprising the role on his own with Livia as his beloved disciple.

He knew Livia wouldn't be angry with him forever, but for her to be angry with him at all did terrible things to Alfred's nerve. He had placed his heart in her hands, and it seemed to be out of his control whether or not he would ever own his own mind again. She had changed him, and though he didn't want to think about it, he knew that no matter what she would do, he would always follow her.

For her tantrums, her anger, her bizarre little tendencies and infuriating philosophies, he would always forgive her. He loved her too much to consider otherwise.

.

It was almost midnight when Alfred thought that maybe it was time to get some sleep.

His throat had been bothering him all day, and the nausea that came in the afternoon had lingered to an extent that he had to slip away from the dining area before anyone could pester him to eat something. A dull headache began to bloom at the back of his skull, pulsing and unpleasant. He pushed away the files that Phillips had sent to him, all about Livia and her existential status.

So far no land has been procured. Livia as a mass still did not exist.

Alfred was further frustrated by the fact that the issue seemed to be pushed back from everyone else's mind, and leaving Vienna with a coherent explanation seemed like a pipe dream as the hours slipped away and nothing was found. Theories had been thrown about over breakfast, but theories would hardly help Alfred. What he needed was facts.

The day had seemed to drag by, and honestly, Alfred was miserable. He couldn't remember feeling so tired, so angry and so nervous. It was a feeling he hated, a lingering fear that surrounded him when the war in Afghanistan first broke out, when Vietnam had been launched, when World War I had grabbed him by the collar and lugged him overseas. The gnawing in his gut did not help his headache, and all he wanted to do was sleep.

Alfred dressed into his pajamas and washed his face, feeling the muscles in his jaw loosen at the cold water. He nestled between the fresh sheets of his enormous hotel bed and placed his glasses on the nightstand, shutting off the light and plopping his head against the feathery down of the pillow.

Not a minute later, an aggressive buzzing noise hummed piercingly in the dark room.

Startled, Alfred nearly flew off the bed, making a quick and messy grab for his glasses before jamming them haphazardly to his face. His phone vibrated incessantly, its cutting white light too bright for Alfred's sleep-drawn eyes.

He answered without looking, suspecting that it was Phillips with his status report from Bush.

"Hullo?" he grumbled, his mouth thick like cotton.

"Hi, Al."

His body jolted and his heart stopped. "Livia?"

"Yeah, hi…"

Alfred couldn't help the giddiness in his chest, how light his heart suddenly felt, how weightless his shoulders seemed. There was a part of him that knew he shouldn't be so happy, but God, to hear her voice again was so wonderful.

"Hey... Hey, Liv. What's up? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing's wrong." She sounded small and unsure. "Just wondering how stuff was going in Vienna."

Alfred rushed to answer. "Things are good, they're great. How're—how're things back home?"

"Fine, they're good."

A long silence followed. Alfred wasn't sure what to say, and he wasn't sure where to start.

"Al, you still there?"

"Yeah, Livia. I'm still here."

She sighed heavily into the phone. "Alfred, I'm sorry."

The words were spoken so fast that at first Alfred couldn't register them. But before long, he felt a knot swelling in his throat and he had to speak quickly in an effort to sound steady. "For what?"

"I'm so sorry, Alfred. I'm sorry I hung up on you like that, I'm sorry I've been so snappy, I'm sorry for being so—so—bitchy. There really is no other word for it, but I'm sorry."

"Livia—"

"Also, I'm sorry for calling you so late. I know it's the middle of the night over there, but I had to call you, I couldn't wait." She breathed out shortly, sounding satisfied. "Okay, what were you gonna say?"

"Livia, it's okay…" Alfred shut his heavy eyes, feeling a grave burden lift off his shoulders. "It's all okay."

"No it's not, Alfred. It's not okay; I shouldn't be acting like this in the first place—"

"I just made you into a major part of my country," Alfred placated. "It's okay if you're a bit nervous or intimidated or whatever. I get it, I was there once."

Livia harrumphed. "I bet you weren't such an irritable grouch."

"True, but just ask Arthur. He'll clue you in on all my faults."

His attempt at humor was well-met. He heard her soft chuckle, and suddenly the world fell into place. Everything clicked; everything was good and whole again.

"I really am sorry, Al." Her voice was gentle, quiet and sincere, much more so than Alfred could ever remember hearing it. "So sorry."

"I know, I know," Alfred responded softly. "We all have our things, kid. No big deal."

"I won't do it again," Livia promised hastily. "I won't be impatient like that again, I swear."

"You don't have to swear anything to me, Liv," Alfred assured.

"I just don't want you to hate me."

The veritable frailty in her voice broke his heart. She sounded so vulnerable that it suddenly infuriated him that they were an ocean apart; the fact that he couldn't rush to her, hold her close and comfort her, utterly exasperated him. Before he knew it, he was completely putty in her hands.

"Livia, you listen to me." He lowered his voice, putting as much conviction as he could into it. "I could never hate you. You hear me? Under any circumstance, I could never hate you, do you understand?"

There was a hissing pause, so he went on.

"You are the most important thing in my life, Livia. You're the reason I get up, the reason I smile, the reason I feel like I'm worth something in this crazy world. I would do anything for you; there is not a thing in this world that could possibly make me hate you. I… I love you, Liv. I know I don't say it often, but I really do. And I know I'm rambling on and on like an idiot, but I mean it. I really mean it. I love you. I can't… I can't really tell you how much because it can't be measured. In fact, it's immeasurable and nothing can ever take that away from me. No matter what you do, I will never hate you. No matter what you say, I will always forgive you. Okay? You are everything to me, and if you question that, then… then I guess there's nothing left to say."

She still didn't respond. A terrible fear gripped him. Perhaps he had been too intense? Too forward? Did he overwhelm her? He knew he could have a way with words if he put his mind to it, but there wasn't a time where Livia couldn't match his wit—

"Thank you, Alfred…" she whispered finally. "I… I love you, too."

His heart soared. To hear it from her was to hear it from another world, the gorgeous unraveling of an endlessly terrifying dream—the war drums faded, the panic dimmed, and she was all that remained. No feeling matched this elation, this joy. Not his independence, not his black and white victories, not his imperial wealth and dominion… Nothing could match her. Nothing at all.

A somewhat teasing tone crept back into her voice when she said, "So you'll always forgive me then?"

Alfred positively beamed as a childish glee overtook him, making him jumpy with delight.

"Like I said, kid. There's nothing left to say."


Forgive your enemies, but never forget their names.

John F. Kennedy


So, a quick clarification:

Shinwar was a thing that actually happened. It was labeled the Shinwar Massacre of 2007 and refers to the killing of a number of Afghan civilians by US Marines who were fleeing the scene of a bomb attack in the Shinwar District of the Nangarhar Province of Afghanistan on March 4, 2007. According to some reports, as many as 19 civilians were killed and 50 injured in the shootings. However the casualty figures are still faulty to this day. 2007 was definitely not a good year for the U.S. in Afghanistan, so be prepared for some more Afghan facts and events as the story goes on. I made a massive error in this chapter (I thought Shinwar happened in May 2007, the time this portion of the fic is taking place, instead of it's correct date in March 2007) so I had to make adjustments in letting Alfred's ignorance about the issue drag on for two months instead of what I thought was five days. Even so, still infuriating that governments don't let anyone know anything. I feel your pain, Al.

And secondly! I sincerely hope I'm not offending anyone with these little tidbits-people can be very sensitive about their histories. I'm aware that the war in Afghanistan is not a thing to play around with; it's serious and people are dying everyday there, so if you are in any way offended by these fictionalized portrayals of events, then I deeply apologize. Believe me, it is not my intention to affront anyone. I hope you enjoy reading the rest!