America and England have such problems with communication, ne~

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CHAPTER SEVEN: That Night, Pt 2

Winter, AD 1769

America would have carried England across the world that evening if he'd had to. He burst through the front door, England cold and limp in his arms. He cast his eyes about wildly for a few moments before settling them on the stone fireplace in the drawing room. He laid England on the rug in front of the fireplace, then fetched a pillow and a heavy blanket from his bedroom. He gently lifted England's head, slid the pillow underneath and then covered him with the blanket. That done, he applied himself to lighting a fire as quickly and possible, adding as much wood as he could without stifling the flame. The room began to heat up and America's attention returned to England.

England's wet hair was stuck to his forehead and left water spots on the pillow. America realized, with a jolt, that his companion was still clad in his sodden, cold clothing. The water would halt the warming of England's body; the clothes must come off. Studying his task, America decided that a towel was needed and so fetched one.

The blanket was removed and the towel applied to England's head in an attempt to dry his hair as thoroughly as possible. Once that was finished, his hands crept shakily to down to the soaked jacket and shirt. The jacket was dispensed with quickly, but America hesitated before unbuttoning England's coarse green shirt, revealing milky skin underneath. In all the years America had been with England, he'd never once seen the European country shirtless. It just did not happen. A fine, fair sprinkling of hair existed between England's pectoral muscles and the sight of it stopped America cold.

What other secrets didn't he know? After all this time, he thought he had come to know England quite well. A little line of hair and a shiny white scar down England's ribs changed all of that. Where did the scar come from? Did it still hurt?

England's trousers gave America considerably more trouble. He unbuttoned them with fumbling fingers while trying not to look. For modesty's sake, he left the undergarments as they were. America surveyed his work awkwardly, then rubbed the towel wherever drops of icy water still lingered on England's flesh.

Once perfectly dry, England was wrapped in multiple quilts and placed close to the fireplace. Time passed, but England remained cold and his lips blue. His core temperature had dropped so low that he was not giving enough heat to warm the quilts covering him. America had been dreading this, but knew what he needed to do. He uncomfortably removed his own heavy clothing and slipped under the quilts, gasping slightly when his skin met England's icy body. Slowly he adjusted to the shock and gradually pulled England closer and closer to himself, using his own body heat to warm the space under the covers.

Darkness fell outside and the realization of how close and slim England was hit America hard. With all the layers of clothing he usually wore, he looked pretty sturdy. Now, vulnerable, it was obvious that he was more delicate that he wished to admit,. A fidgety ache arose in America's chest. He wanted to protect this…handsome country. He did not want to be England's "little brother." If he was a little brother, or any brother at all, he and England could never…well, their relationship would always be the way it was now.

Lying, holding England, America considered the enormous implications of what he was suggesting in his own mind. Breaking brotherhood ties with England…proving himself an equal…this road of thought led to only one place. A rebellion. War. Muskets, bayonets. Blood. His heart contorted with pain as he looked at England's sleeping face and understood for the first time what he would have to do. Someone would get hurt. People would die. If he succeeded, if he won a place as a country and as an equal…where would his relationship with England be once the dust settled? These traitorous thoughts would change things in ways America did not even know of yet.

Moisture clouded his eyes and he reached out a hand to smooth the hair off of England's forehead, savoring the slightly coarse texture of the blonde strands. At this gentle touch, England's eyes fluttered open. "A-Alfred? What happened? I'm so cold.."

America shushed him and hugged him tighter. "You fell through the ice. It's okay, though, I'm taking care of you."

"I'm sorry, Alfie."

"Hush, Arthur. Go back to sleep." America stroked the country's cheek until his eyes closed again and he was out. America laid with him for another hour until his temperature had risen significantly, at which point he transferred him to his own bed, then crawled in beside him again. "I'm so sorry, Arthur. For what I'm going to do to you. I never want to hurt you…but I think I'm going to have to. For me. For us. I…I don't think you'll understand for a long time. That's alright, though," he whispered, tightening his arms around England's waist. "I'll wait for you. No matter how long."

Immature love makes immature promises, but America immediately began to plan. He had grown stronger than most colonies, but he did not rival the major countries. I need to be stronger. Smarter. More resourceful. I'm going to have to outmaneuver them. He needed to chart a course of action. It could take years of training to get him ready to make his move. For now, he snuggled into England's side for what may be the last time.

oOoOo

England awoke the next morning to find America standing next to the bed, holding a bowl of hot soup and glowering at him. "Blimey…I feel awful," England groaned, reaching for the soup.

America held if out of his reach. "You scared me, England." England looked confused. "I told you not to skate on that ice, that it was thin. You almost died. I was terrified."

Blood sprang into England's cheeks. "I…I know. I'm sorry. I really am."

"You need to start listening to me," America said stonily.

England chuckled. "Alright, alright."

America moved closer, angrily. "I'm serious, England!"

England frowned and stopped laughing. "What's with this 'England' rubbish? You're my little brother. You call me by my human name.

If he'd been paying attention, he would have seen America flinch. "No," he said slowly. "I'm not."

"…not what?"

"Your little brother. I'm not your little brother."

England stared at America, trying to understand what he was saying. Was it just him or had America grown even taller overnight? "Of course you are," he snapped. "Don't be a dolt, Alfred."

"I'm America. All these beautiful lands around us…this is me. America."

Cold that had nothing to do with last night seeped through England's veins. "What are you on about?" He whispered weakly.

Setting the bowl of soup down, America sat on the side of England's bed and took his hand. "I've realized something. You, England, are the most precious person in the world to me and I would do anything for you. Anything."

"Of course," England said. "You're my brother."

America stood up and pulled himself to his full height. "No, I'm not. I am America. These lands are me."

Green eyes narrowed angrily and bushy eyebrows contracted. "You are having delusions of grandeur. You are my brother. You are MY colony."

Eyes still locked, America backed up towards the door. An unspoken "not for long" hung in the air between them.

"You're bleeding, by the way," England pointed out. "You should wash that wound. Where did you get it?"

America put his hand to his head and felt a mass of clotted, dried blood covering his forehead and matting his hair. "I must have hit my head on the ice when I jumped in after you."

England's expression softened with guilt. "Alfred…come crawl in bed here and just rest." He held out a conciliatory hand.

"America," America corrected, bring angry color back to England's cheeks. "And I'm old enough to sleep in my own bed now." He turned and walked towards the door, then stopped. "I love you, England," He blurted, then ran off.

England sat back against his pillows. Of course America loved him. They were brothers, for heaven's sake. Weren't they? Alfred wouldn't…no. No. Alfred would never do anything to change that. This was a phase. Just a phase.

oOoOo

The next day England found America outside, lifting weights. "Al-, er, America, what are you doing?" He was perplexed. His colony usually got his exercise by roaming the hills.

"You know, working out and stuff," America replied cheerfully. "Gotta stay in shape!"

England smiled but lingered to see his colony add heavier and heavier weights. He wasn't just staying fit. He was building muscle. England turned away and the first ghost of fear of the Revolutionary War flitted across his face.

oOoOo

Back to Present Day

"That was your 'obvious' signal? That wasn't obvious at all, you git!" England yelled.

America shrugged. "I thought it was. You know, my eyesight has never been the same since I hit my head on that ice. It took me a while to realize I needed glasses, though.

The frown on England's face diminished and he leaned closer to America in the darkness. "I never said thank you. So thank you for saving me."

America kissed him with a smack. "Bah. I'm happier about it than you are! But really…do you understand it now?"

"Understand what?"

"Why…why it happened. The war." America and England hadn't spoken about the Revolutionary War since it ended. To speak of it now was strange.

Sadness still washed into England's heart at its mention, but the feeling was hugely lightened by the events of the night. "I think so. You knew I considered you a brother, not a love interest."

"Sort of." America replied. "I knew that I had to be bigger and better than just a colony in order to be worthy of you. You're more amazing than you realize. I had to make my own name. I couldn't force you to love me, but maybe if I loved you long enough you'd eventually catch on." He was silent for a minute. "We were meant for each other, you know."

England did not know what to say, so he leaned in and gave America a long, tender kiss. Damn git was probably right. England had never been attracted to anyone, male or female, except America. He had always gotten jealous over America spending time with other countries, though he did not know why. Something drew him to this loud, active nation. Something beyond words…something you could only identify by feel.

As he pulled away from the kiss, America sighed. He patted the bed next to himself, inviting England to snuggle under the covers. "This is gonna be the best sleep I've had in a long time. I've dreamed about this night." He grabbed England's hand and closed his eyes.

England stayed awake for a while after America drifted off to sleep. He was still processing the information of the night. Stuck between denial and elation, his heart thumped like the footfalls of a runner. Despite the nagging doubts, everything about what was going on seemed right, natural. Watching America sleep, his chest rising and falling like the sun, his lips parted slightly…it was warm and familiar, like a pleasant dream England had dreamt as a child. He could, if he wanted, reach out and touch America, reassure himself that it was real. He could wake him up and see blue eyes smiling at him. He could kiss him…feel the fullness of his lips and taste the slight saltiness of his tongue.

He could do more, if he wanted. The thought made him blush and look away. Still, his gaze returned to America's face, like it always would. America sighed in his sleep and England took that as his cue to curl into America's arms and close his eyes.

Though he still kind of wanted to know what he'd texted the other Allied countries…

oOoOo

Don't worry. This isn't the end. There will be at least one more chapter!

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