Disclaimer: See previous six chapters….
A/N: There, here's a longer chapter. For my American readers, Paracetamol = acetaminophen = Tylenol. For my non-English, non-American readers… can't help you, sorry. By the way, I'm assuming they have aspirin and Alka-Seltzer in Britain. If I'm wrong, please correct me and tell me what British people use instead.
A/N 2: America's relationship with England kind of reminds me of the song "Perfect" by Simple Plan. If I liked songfics, I might write one to that song, but I really don't, so it just gets honorable mention. I kind of have this impression that although America is definitely an independent nation, he still kind of thinks of England as an older brother/father/whatever you want to call it.
A/N 3: I hope I've kept America reasonably in character for this story. He's been curbing his natural hyperactivity, noise, and general silliness on purpose. You'll probably notice he acts a bit more like himself in this chapter, now that he's feeling a bit more relaxed.
A/N 4: Sorry for the slight delay… this being the climax of the story, I wanted to make sure it was right.
OoOoOoO
Chapter 7: I'm Sorry
July 2, Morning (this day seems to be going on for a while…)
England woke up feeling wonderfully warm… though not entirely comfortable. He was sleeping on something unevenly hard and soft that shifted when he moved, and—bloody hell!—there was someone in his bed! His mind instantly filled with horrifying ideas, he sat up almost violently, wrenching himself out of the arms that were around him, and shouting, "What the bloody hell are you doing here, you damned frog? I swear if you so much as—!" before he saw who it was in the bed with him.
America, having woken up with a start, stared at him for a second, then started to laugh, and continued until he could barely breathe.
"It's… it's not funny," England said, flushing with embarrassment and breathless with relief. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
America finally managed to catch his breath. "Good morning to you, too," he gasped. "You told me not to leave."
England blinked. "I did?" He tried to remember. "I thought I told you to leave yesterday morning." Though come to think of it, he did remember America coming back. "No, wait…." The events of last night were very muddled, except that the raging headache that attacked him just then made him sure he must have gotten drunk. Very drunk. "Ah…" he groaned, putting his head in his hands.
"Mm, I thought so," America said, sounding sympathetic. "Let me go get you some aspirin and tea."
"No… aspirin makes it worse. Get the Paracetamol."
"Um, don't know what that is, but sure." America came back soon with medicine, water, and the largest pot of tea.
England took the Paracetamol almost greedily. He had to go slower with the tea, but he didn't really care whether his tongue got burned if his bloody headache would go away. "What happened?" he asked. He knew he could remember some if he tried, but remembering made the headache worse. "Speak… quietly."
"You went out and got drunk, got into a bar fight, and were arrested for disorderly conduct," America said, somehow managing to say this in a matter-of-fact, reporting-on-the-weather sort of voice. "The police called me, and I came and picked you up. Then you came back here, drank some tea, and we talked a little, and you…." America faltered. "…you said you'd give me a second chance, and told me I could stay. So I did. Then you went to bed, but you had a nightmare, and I came to wake you up… and we, um… talked again for a little while. Then you told me not to leave, so I stayed."
"You were holding me?"
"…you were crying."
Now that America had put it all so neatly, he did remember some of it.
"Do you… remember what we talked about?" America asked, sounding a bit hopeless.
England tried. From America's tone, he figured that conversation must have been important, and he did vaguely remember talking and feeling better about something. But nothing more than that. "Sorry," he said.
America gave a long sigh.
"Well, what were you doing talking to me when I was half asleep?"
America shrugged. "Oh, well. But you're not mad at me?"
"Angry," England corrected, feeling like he had made that same correction very recently. "Why would I be angry with you?"
America seemed about to say something, then stopped himself and smiled a little. "Guess you wouldn't be." He helped himself to a cup of tea, looking a bit tired. It suddenly occurred to England that America was probably having trouble with the time difference.
"Are you all right, love?" England hadn't actually meant to call America that. He hadn't called him "love" in over two hundred years. It was one of the things he'd trained himself not to do since America had left him. But somehow, it had just sort of slipped off the end of his tongue. "I… ah… well… that is to say… I mean, the time difference, of course, must be difficult, and you were up rather late last night." God, he sounded like an idiot.
America was smiling at him, looking a bit amused. "A little tired. But I'll manage. Do you know the tea you have here is like, really strong? Seriously… the tea we have in America doesn't even wake me up."
"That," England said, proudly "is because in the United Kingdom, we actually take tea seriously."
"Apparently," America said, raising his eyebrows. Then apparently unable to resist laughter, he choked out the words, "But your coffee sucks. I mean, seriously, man? Nescafé? What the heck is that supposed to be?"
"An alternative to buying a coffee maker. If you put your coffee in bags or balls like a sensible drink ought to be, we would have no need for instant coffee. And we do have brewed coffee."
"Yeah… at Starbucks. Which is kind of like an American Embassy, you know?"
"Oh, shut it, you git, we have perfectly good coffee in the United Kingdom that is not made by the United States, and you know it. And stop bloody arguing with me when I have a hangover." Somehow, though, this stupid argument had made him feel unexpectedly better, like tension had been released somehow. A spat over something ridiculous was familiar ground, which had been seriously lacking these last few days. England suddenly wondered if America had done that on purpose, and looked at him, cocking an eyebrow. America grinned, and England attempted to glare at him, but didn't think he succeeded very well. "Git."
America chuckled. "Hey…" he said presently, "do you think you'll be up for the play this afternoon? Or did you already invite someone else?"
"No… we can go, if my headache is gone by then. If not, you can probably take Canada, he likes Shakespeare."
"Your headache will be better," America said confidently. "I'll make it better, because I'm the hero! Be right back." He went downstairs, leaving a bemused England to realize, much to his surprise, that this was the first time America had talked about being the hero his entire visit. Moments later, America came back with his laptop and Google searched "hangover cure." He pulled up a website. "Oh, it says to avoid caffeine. Oops." He took the tea cup out of England's hand.
"Hey, I was bloody going to drink that. It's just one cup." He was going to have his bloody tea, whatever Google had to say about it.
"Fine, but just one." He handed it back. "Um, do you have any fruit juice?"
"I have squash." Though he wasn't really sure that counted.
America looked at him strangely. "Squash? You make juice out of that? How?"
"You just add water to it, you git."
"Uh…." America looked even more confused. "Should I like… skin it and cut it up first?"
"Not that kind of squash!" England said, putting a hand to his head. "Don't you Americans have bloody squash?"
"Um…." America clearly had no idea what he was talking about.
England almost pitied him. He didn't know what he was missing. "It's concentrated juice, you add water to it."
"Oh. Is it real juice?"
"No idea. Probably not."
"Then I'll go to the store and get you some real juice. It says taking a shower and switching between hot and cold might work. Um, or pickle juice."
"That sounds bloody disgusting."
"Well, I'll see what I can get for you. If you don't want to do anything else, at least sleep, they say that's good." America patted his shoulder with a smile. "Be back soon."
England sighed and lay back in bed. This didn't seem to be adding up anymore. Even if America did feel guilty, that hardly warranted this much attention and affection. Last night he vaguely remembered having come to the tentative realization that America missed him, but why would he?
"Don't worry," said a voice at his side. "He'll be back soon."
England smiled at the voice and turned to face one of his fairy friends. "Hello, there. Yes, I know."
"You've been thinking about him a lot lately, huh?"
England attempted a shrug while half sitting up. "Well, it would be difficult not to, wouldn't it? He's rather insistent on being noticed."
"You know he likes you, right?"
England looked away. "That's ridiculous," he said. "Why would he?"
"We all think so," said another fairy. "It's obvious, isn't it?"
"It's not a bit obvious," England replied.
The fairies laughed, then settled on England's bed, just a few feet from his face. "We'll always be your friends," the first one said. "But you need other friends, too. Friends like you."
England raised his eyebrows a little. His fairies were giving him relationship advice. What was this world coming to?
"Think about it," said the second fairy. "You should sleep now."
"Yes… thank you." England lay back down, and for some reason, the first thing he saw when he closed his eyes was America's face when he had come to the party last year, and how it had lit up. "Ah… you came." It was the first time England had come to his birthday. He hadn't seen America's expression when he left almost immediately. Had he been disappointed? "You know he likes you, right?"
England went back to sleep and didn't wake up again until he heard America come in. His headache was feeling slightly better, but only slightly. America was holding a bag of things, mostly different drinks. "Hey, I asked the lady what would be good for a hangover, and she gave me all of this," he said. He poured England a cup of fruit juice, which England drank. "Did you get some sleep?"
"Yes."
"Oh no… I didn't wake you, did I?"
"No… it's fine. Though… speak a bit more quietly, there's a love." Oh God, he'd done it again. Surprised at himself, England blinked away the rest of his drowsiness and looked at his companion. He was so pleased that America was back. Surely he hadn't missed the lad while he slept. Was that why the fairy had reassured him? Really, this was beginning to get worrisome. What was happening to him? America wasn't even being particularly quiet or polite anymore.
He considered America briefly over his cup of juice. He was always so full of life and laughter, even when he was worried about someone. He always had been. Once upon a time, England had loved that about him. He remembered spending time with America when America was a child, and how happy it had made him seeing his little brother laugh and play. He blinked. This memory… wasn't bitter. Had those days… come back, somehow? From your friend, America. Friend. It couldn't be true… could it?
"Are you feeling any better?" America asked.
The fruit juice was helping, as was the water with Alka-Seltzer America made him. "Yes."
"That's good." America sat beside him and put an arm around him, which surprised England, but somehow warmed him right through. When had America become so affectionate? Well… actually… he'd been very affectionate as a child. And an adult, before the war. Had he just been holding back or something?
England's face felt warm and he wasn't sure what made him do it, but he asked, "America… do you like me?"
America smiled. "Of course."
So simple and straightforward. At times this aspect of America's personality was irritating, but now it was wonderfully reassuring. And he felt it was high time for he, himself, to stop ducking around the bush and give America the chance he'd promised. He waited until America had let go of him to pour himself a glass of juice, then breathed deeply and sighed. "Why did you leave me?"
America's smile vanished, and he sighed. "Iggy…."
Bloody hell, he was actually starting to like that nickname. What was wrong with him? Well… he had liked being called "Engwand" when America was very small as well. England shook his head. "I'm not angry. I just… want to know."
America met his eyes, looking cautious, then blinked, like something had surprised him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and England had impression that America had prepared for this question, but was still nervous about his answer. "I…." He swallowed. "I… when I was your colony… you were always treating me like your kid. Even when it was troublesome for you, you always were protecting me and trying to teach me." He reached for his cup of juice, and England noticed his hand shaking.
"America…."
America started.
"Relax," England said. He gave America what he hoped was a reassuring pat on the hand. "I just want to talk with you."
"Yeah… sorry." There was just a bit of tremor in his voice. Clearly, he did not expect to be given a third chance if he messed this up. "Anyway… I… was grateful… and happy. I really admired you, and I felt safe when you were there. I wanted to spend time with you, and I wanted you to be proud of me." His voice broke just slightly on the word "proud." "I wanted to be your hero… like you were mine."
England's eyes widened slightly at that, but he didn't say anything.
"But after a while… I felt like… I was an adult now. You shouldn't have to keep taking care of me. And I kind of… I don't know. You wanted me to be so British, and I mean, I have nothing against being British… it works great for you. But for me… I don't know. It just didn't really fit. And sometimes it felt like… that was all you cared about. So I was kind of trying for a bit more independence… I wanted…."
He paused again. "I wanted you to see me. To… let me be my own person… and… and like me that way. But after a while, it felt like you really loved someone else. Someone more like you. And I realized… I could never be that person. I'd just keep disappointing you. So I thought… rather than be your disappointing colony… I could be my own country. And then maybe since I wasn't your charge anymore, you would stop worrying, and maybe we could get along… and you'd like me better." He sighed. "But… it didn't work out so well."
England drank his juice, listening. He really hadn't been a very good brother, had he? Perhaps when America was younger… but when he was older, every time he tried to be different from England, England would shut down the attempt, afraid of what it might mean. Really… raising a child was not about making a carbon copy of oneself. Still, he had had no idea what was going through America's mind. He had never tried to understand. America had even told him this, back then, in slightly different language, but effectively the same message. And he hadn't listened. He thought wryly that he did seem to respect America more now. He was listening, at least.
America looked at England to see how he was taking this explanation. His eyes widened slightly. He wasn't used to England listening to him. "Um… so… I was trying to do it peacefully… but you wouldn't let me. And France came and told me I might have to fight for it, but it would be better for everyone in the end, and he said he'd help me. He… he knew how I felt about you, but he said that even if you ended up getting hurt, it was okay, and normal… that parents and caretakers often had a hard time letting go of their children, but that you were being unreasonable, and eventually he was sure you'd realize that…." He sighed. "Maybe I shouldn't have listened. But you were mad at me, and I was still pretty young… and I really needed someone's advice. I didn't think of France as your replacement or anything like that… believe me. More like a… a temporary guidance counselor or something.
"Looking back on it, I think he probably didn't really care what happened to you… but I wasn't really thinking about that at the time, and I was frustrated… and stuff. And things got out of hand… my people got mad, and I got mad… I… I never meant for it to be a war. I didn't even want to be separated from you. I loved you, England… I still do." He had set down his cup and now he put his face in his hands. His voice had become shaky at the end, and England was stunned by the realization that the Revolution was a painful memory for America as well. "It all… turned out so badly. I became a country… but I lost you. And you wouldn't even talk to me for a while… and so I tried acting like I didn't care. I mean… I was a country, and I had to be strong for my people, so I took responsibility for myself, and I decided if I couldn't be your hero, at least I could be theirs. But… I couldn't just let you go. Even fighting with you was better than not seeing you at all. And I figured you'd probably never understand… so I might as well give up on that…"
He sighed again. "And see, Iggy… I thought… you had gotten over it. I didn't know I meant that much to you. I mean, afterwards, you were always annoyed at me, but you were like that when I was a colony too, so… and I thought, maybe… we'd reconciled a bit in the World Wars… which is why I started inviting you to my birthday. I… actually didn't realize until last year… how much I'd hurt you… and that you were still hurting." He shook his head, looking slightly disgusted for a moment. "So of course, being the hero that I am, I said something stupid and pushed you away the one time you were honest with me. I'm… always saying stupid things when I feel awkward." He smiled just a little. "Guess I got that from you."
England's lips twitched into a pout, but he still didn't say anything.
America was looking at his hands. "Iggy… my birthday is the day I miss you the most, and not just because you're special to me, though that's part of it. I was totally lying last year… I do remember old times… good and bad… and I miss you so much. I mean… I don't want to be your colony again. I want to be your friend, man to man. That's why… I want so much for you to forgive me. I'm really, really sorry."
England was silent. How had he misunderstood America so much? I want to be your friend. That's why…. "When you say… you want to be my friend… what do you mean?"
America looked up, looking confused. "Um…."
"Do you mean you just want to be on friendly terms?"
"No," America said, shaking his head. "I want to hang out with you… do stuff with you… we can help each other and talk together and stuff. I mean… I know we're busy with our countries and everything, but I'm sure we can find time. Our countries are both really great, and we can see things together, and share stuff, and…." His eyes and whole face had been getting brighter and brighter as he spoke, but now he stopped and looked worried again. "I-I mean… if that's something you'd want."
So full of life and laughter. So simple and straightforward. He was an obnoxious git so much of the time… but England loved him. And the full realization that America didn't hate him—had never hated him—made his eyes mist. America had hurt him badly and caused him so much trouble… but America loved him. And wanted him back. And really, if England had been even a little understanding back then, and a little more honest, this might never have happened. He could have helped America become his own country. He could imagine America, hesitantly taking France's advice because he had no one else to turn to, reluctantly fighting just to be recognized as his own person. France was a bastard… but America wasn't.
England sighed. This was still difficult. The only person England had ever given his heart to was America, and America had broken it, and now America was asking to be trusted with it again. And England wanted to. That was the scariest part. "It's been an awfully long time, America."
"I know." America's voice was little more than a whisper. He looked down at the bedcover, waiting.
England stared at the surface of juice, as if it were a reflecting pool in which he could see his past. He knew he had to respond to this somehow, but it was incredibly difficult. He had never felt comfortable talking about his feelings with anyone, though oddly he had shared much more with America than any other country, even after the Revolution. He supposed he could simply say he forgave America and have done, but he wasn't quite ready for that. But the thought of America going home and leaving him alone again was now so painful that not reconciling was out of the question.
"I don't like to be alone," he said quietly, speaking his thoughts out loud.
America looked up, looking a little surprised.
England shook his head. "I never did. I… I pretend I do. And I do need some solitude, but being alone regularly… was never something I wanted." He glanced at America to see if he was listening. He was. England ran his finger against the side of his juice cup. "But somehow… I always managed to be alone anyway… until I met you." Well, he supposed he had had the fairies, but there was so much they couldn't understand, and their ways of thinking were often so different from his own, that it was difficult to be truly friends with them. And besides, the last thing he wanted to do right now was bring up fairies and derail the whole discussion.
"I... I didn't think too much about it," he continued. "I'm not really one for moping, as a general rule." There was a bit of defensiveness in his voice. "Par… particularly not back then," he added, so he wouldn't be completely lying. Really, with America gone and no one else to keep him company, there was little to keep him occupied but his own generally morose thoughts. He was even secretly pleased now and again when France would come over and bother him. "So… I didn't even realize how lonely I was… until I started spending time with you and wasn't anymore."
England smiled a little, remembering. "You were so adorable, and so affectionate… and I thought as long as I had you by my side, I could be happy no matter what the rest of the world was like. So I swore I would protect you, and raise you properly, and give you more than you'd ever had before, even though at the time I didn't have much to give. And… I was right. I was happy… ridiculously happy. I didn't even know what to do with it, because I'd never been happy before. And then… you were growing up without me, and I couldn't be with you nearly as much as you wanted, or I wanted… and you became different from me, and I was afraid that if those differences became too strong… you would turn your back on me… and I would be alone all over again." He leaned his forehead against his fist. "So I convinced myself that all you needed was more guidance, and you would come around… and when you strained, I simply pulled back harder… I was so determined that we be together in everything… I brought about my own destruction."
"I'm sorry," America said. "I didn't know."
England shook his head, but didn't raise it from his hand. "I should have tried to understand. I should have talked with you, been honest with you… you were old enough. I should have let you be your own person. So… I'm sorry." He paused. Lack of honesty had brought about this problem to begin with, and he didn't want to make the same mistake again. "I'm… afraid now, as well. I find it hard to believe that after all this time, you would think of me with affection… even want to be my friend. Perhaps I am more likeable now that I'm not an empire, but I don't tend to like myself very much." England sighed. "I… I want to trust you, America." He did. He ached to. He looked at America, meeting azure blue eyes with forest green ones. "But… well… if I forgive you, what, if anything, would make you come back to me? Are you sure you don't merely like the idea of being friends? I… I don't think I could stand to lose you again."
"Hey, Iggy, it's me we're talking about. I'm the hero, and heroes never abandon their friends." He smiled, reached over, and gave England's hand a squeeze. "I haven't stopped liking you all this time. Why would I stop if we were friends?" His smile became gentler. "Seriously, England. I'm not going to leave you alone. I promise."
England tried to imagine America actually liking him all this time. He had always teased him rather mercilessly… but the teasing had never really been hostile, and America had always wanted to make up right away. He had tried to help England whenever he needed it, especially recently. And he had never—not once—abandoned the relationship, however England cursed him for it. In fact, in some ways… America really had never stopped acting like his little brother. And now he was coming to England like a man and asking to finally reconcile their differences. England was proud of him. And he believed him. "Then I forgive you," he said quietly.
America's eyes went wide. "Really?"
England felt a bit shaky, like he'd suddenly removed a large foundation of his life (which was pathetic, really). But he nodded. "Really. Can you forgive me?"
Instead of answering, America gave him a bone-crushing hug, nearly making him spill his juice. "I love you, Iggy." Suddenly, he seemed like a lad again, happy to be reconciled with his big brother. Well, after all, he was still very young. How long had he ached to be forgiven?
England smiled, set down his cup of juice with some difficulty, and held America close, the way he had when he was a child. He closed his eyes. God, he had missed this. "I love you too, America," he said. "And I always will." They hugged in silence for nearly a full minute before England spoke again. "Though I can't promise how good I'll be at being friends."
America laughed and let him go, rubbing his eyes a little. "Just don't make me eat any burnt scones, and we'll be fine."
"Why, you—" England was cut off by America playfully ruffling his hair. "Ouch… I still have a headache, you know."
"Oh, sorry."
But England was smiling as he smoothed down his hair. "Did you say you were making pancakes?"
They had a wonderful breakfast of pancakes, and by the end, England's headache was gone, so they were able to go to the Globe Theatre in time for the play. They ate a late lunch at McDonald's afterward (since America claimed to be going through withdrawal), and England made America laugh during their meal by quoting large parts of the play back to him, and complaining about how something or other on so-and-so's costume was not period appropriate.
America made curry rice for dinner, after which they finished watching Order of the Phoenix, and then England surprised him.
"You need to leave in the morning," he said.
"I do?"
"Of course. You need to make preparations for your party, don't you?"
"I think Canada said he would do most of it, since he knew I wanted to come here and make things right with you."
"Oh, yes, I was wondering about that… how planned was this exactly?"
"Um… I started talking to him about three weeks in advance. I mean… I wasn't trying to manipulate you or anything, but I thought… maybe staying a few days and trying to talk with you just might do something. So he taught me to make tea, and pancakes, and scones, and fish and chips, and curry rice, and stuff. Told me what things you like, and what things you don't. He said if I were quieter than usual, I'd probably be more likely to get you to listen to me."
Well, that last bit explained a lot. England shook his head. "Thank you. I had no idea you had been so thoughtful."
America smiled. "Yeah, well… it was totally worth it."
"But regardless of how much Canada is helping you, you should still go home."
America's smile faded. "But Iggy, he said I could stay with you until my birthday, and I didn't need to worry about anything."
England sighed. America was really being very difficult.
"Do you really want me to go?" America asked, looking hurt.
England rolled his eyes. "I want to get you a birthday present, you git. How am I supposed to do that if you're underfoot?"
"Oh." America blinked. "You… you mean you're…."
"Of course I'm coming, you idiot. We're friends, aren't we? Friends celebrate each other's birthdays. Ahh, America, can't you learn to hug people normally?" America had given him an enormous bear hug.
"Thank you!" America said "Thank you, thank you, thank you! And you'll stay, right? And have cake and ice cream and stuff?" He had let go, but was holding onto England's arms.
"Yes, of course."
"Yes!"
"Though if I go deaf because of your shouting, I don't know how I'll make it there."
America chuckled. "Sorry. Seriously, though, Iggy, you coming to my party and staying is the best gift ever; you don't need to get me anything."
"I want to," England replied. "And you need to give me time. I can stay for a few days at your place when I come, and you need to go and get the guest room ready."
"Really?"
"If you leave in the morning."
"Okay, but promise you'll stay."
"I promise."
"Great!"
"And you should call Canada. You promised to keep him posted, remember?"
"Oh… haha, you heard that? Okay, I will."
"Sounds good. I'm going to bed."
As he changed, he heard America cheerfully telling Canada about their day together, and he smiled. He was awfully glad to be back on good terms with America. He felt as though a weight he'd carried for so long, he'd nearly forgotten it existed, had suddenly been lifted off him. Why hadn't he had that conversation with America two centuries ago?
When he was sure America was asleep, he crept downstairs again and onto his computer. He had a bit of research to do if he wanted to have America's present ready by his birthday.
OoOoOoO
A/N: Some random culture notes (since you are, after all, a Hetalia fan):
1. British tea is seriously awesome, whether you are Iggy or just a college student trying to stay awake to cram for an exam. American tea has about as much caffeine as decaf coffee. British tea has about as much caffeine as fully caffeinated coffee, except it doesn't hit you or crash you as hard. Coffee, on the other hand, seems to be more of a New World thing, with instant coffee being more popular in Europe and Asia (Nescafé being probably the most common brand). European coffee (at least on continental Europe) tends to be very strong and (from what I've heard) not always very pleasant to the average American palette. (Think espresso shots.) By the way, I do like Nescafé, but many Americans consider it a pathetic excuse for the real thing… and even liking it, I can't really disagree. Oh, and Starbucks really is like an American Embassy (except in Japan, where all the cups mysteriously shrink).
2. The part about the squash is a personal joke… America's reaction is pretty much the same as mine was when I read about squash, the drink, in a British book. Unfortunately, I didn't have any Brits around to explain it to me, and this was before Wikipedia was in common use (oh my gosh, I feel so OLD!), so I remained confused for years until an Anglophile friend of mine introduced me to the drink, which is good, though not something I'm crazy about, personally (sorry, Iggy). It does have fruit in it, but also corn syrup. And to any British readers laughing up their sleeves—seriously, what kind of a name is "squash" anyway?
3. The part about Canada liking Shakespeare is a reference to Stratford, Ontario, which is modeled on England's Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespeare's hometown. Yes, I've been there, it's lovely. The Globe Theatre is in London, though. I have also been there, though I was unable to see any plays. (I travel a lot.)
