England said farewell to the two younger nations and watched the door close behind them. As soon as the taxi pulled out of the drive, a creak sounded behind him, Oliver slipping out from behind the white wood.
"Well, I was hoping to keep that hidden for at least another few days, but I suppose there isn't much I can do about it now." He sighed and closed the door unarmed, as far as England could tell. Armed or not, England put his hand on the knob to the front door, just about ready to run for what he could only assume was his life. Oliver sighed and sauntered away from the door. "Perhaps we could simply discuss this over a spot of tea? I am quite hungry. Understandable if you would rather just talk immediately."
"I think you've already said enough, now stand down or I'll-"
"Or you'll what? Call the police on a man who looks the same as you, has your DNA, and stowed away a bunch of organs in the freezer? They'd think you mad! No one would believe you, anything you could do at this point would frame you for murder. Just calm down and allow me to explain myself, Arthur." Oliver was right. He couldn't do anything, not now at least. He had missed his chance to plausibly correct this a fair while ago. His fingertips slid off the door knob. He watched the shoulders of the man drop ever so slightly. Had he been worried? His face certainly hadn't shown it. "Good, now shall we sit?" He walked into the living room, England slipping into the kitchen as soon as he was gone. His eyes hit the knife block and he quickly drew a small vegetable knife from within, grabbing a few spare snacks that had yet to be cleaned up as he tucked the blade into his waistband. He walked into the living room and saw Oliver sitting pleasantly in the armchair across from the couch, seated the furthest away from the door. He eyed the snacks as England set them down between the two of them.
"Now explain yourself." England stood, arms folded across from him, Oliver shook his head.
"It's awfully rude to impose yourself on someone like that when they're willing to have a civil conversation with you. Come now, sit." He reached over for a few crackers, downing them quite quickly. England slowly sat, crossing his legs and arms once more on the couch.
"Out with it." Oliver smiled at him, taking a quiet breath before taking a moment as if to contemplate the sequence of words he was about to use, rewriting it over and over in his mind. The silence was heavy, weighing down on England's body and mind. What was probably a brief moment began to drag on into eternity, his foot began to tap in an attempt to break the silence. He shifted his weight into the back of the chair, the cold steel of the blade warming against his waist. He was suddenly acutely aware of every aspect of the room, yet so isolated from everything else. Finally Oliver spoke.
"Are you content with your life?"
"That is not what we're here to-."
"Because I'm not." England paused. "You have no idea what I've been through to try and find a semblance of joy in my life. It changes a man, Arthur. What would you be willing to do to try and escape a chronic cycle of rejection, hatred, and bloodshed?" Oliver stared at him, the previously present joy was gone from his expression. Those blue slate eyes like ice on his skin. Inexorable, truly. Even when sitting, the man's presence was grand and almost domineering. "I know exactly how far you'd be willing to go. After all, I went there, and I still haven't left. So what do you think you're capable of?" Apparently the question wasn't rhetorical, as much as England would have wanted it to be. He knew he had a cruel streak, almost everyone did after all, but murder? If that's what we was implying, he couldn't possibly bring himself to harm an innocent person. Especially not one of his own. Not now. The thought itself was horrid, he couldn't possibly. What could have driven any version of himself into such a state. He didn't really want to know. "Well it appears you know just as well as I do. From what I understand, you've been trying to send me back to whatever hellscape you think I came from. Oh don't look at me like that, I'm not thick. You aren't exactly subtle in your approach. I've dealt with this several times over, Arthur. You never change, never."
"Have we met before? What on Earth are you talking about?"
"Well, I've only been here once before. I left fairly quickly. It was what? July to November of 1888? 1889? I can't quite remember the year, but it was the late 80's. It was a short visit, I didn't like it here very much, but returning I see that I was quite wrong." 1888. England remembered that year very well. The year a string of murders assaulted his city, only to have the murderer vanish as if in thin air. "I've read the archives, seems like quite the collection of people tried to pay homage if you will. Unfortunate, I had hoped it would have slipped under the radar." It appeared that Oliver had more than one alias.
"Why?" That's all England could think to say. What else could he do? Oliver had proven more than once to be capable of physically overpowering him, and his murder certainly didn't seem out of the question.
"You've read the tome, no? I think you know exactly what you need to send me home. I've already taken care of about twenty percent of the work. Just another four women to go and I can be on my way. Or, I can stay here and you can deal with me for the rest of your life. I wouldn't mind it, I feel like up until an hour ago we were getting on quite well! You're hardly as calloused as people seem to peg you as, truly." He reached down for another cracker and popped it in his mouth. "If you don't want to have me here however, that's fine. I'll just have to find another world to try my hand at, that's all. Of course, it'll come at a price."
"I'm not going to help you kill anyone, Oliver."
"Then I can stay here, you can continue to host me, and Elizabeth Swanson's life will have been for naught. It's really up to you. The pointless murder of an innocent and your comfort or just four more of sixty-six million for your life to go back to the way it was, and for her life not to be taken in vain. I mean, what else are you going to use her organs for?" He had a point. A point England would have rather taken arsenic than found justification for in that moment. Unfortunately, he was all out of arsenic. "I can see your hesitation, don't worry. It gets easier with every body. If you don't want to, I can always do it myself."
"What? No. There's not a bloody chance in hell I'm letting you roam around outside of this house." Oliver's eyes hooded as England said this, his impulse causing him to immediately interject.
"Well, then I suppose your only options are to deal with me, or those four other… Requirements. I'll give you time to think on it, should you need any help, just let me know." Oliver stood up and took the cracker plate with him, slipping out of the living room and into the basement before England could say anything more. The whole thing had left him with more questions than answers. Suddenly, he wanted the two younger nations to come back. The loud company of the conference seeming more than welcome to him. He sat there for a good while, his dilemma buzzing in his mind. Four innocents for his peace of mind? Would he ever be at peace again afterwards? It had been over fifty years since the last death sentence was ever given, and that was to a hardened criminal. Innocent young women didn't deserve it if the actual criminals of his nation didn't. Of course, he actually had a criminal in his basement at this very moment in time. In this case, it wasn't that it was illegal to institute the death penalty on the murderer, it was that he physically couldn't if he tried. Oliver was one step ahead of England as far he could tell, he had been played at his own game. He could live in either guilt or fear, he already had a lot of guilt. What could a little more hurt? No. He shoved the thought out of his mind with a shake of his head, standing up and going back to his room to grab the work he had thrown onto his bed. He brought it back into the kitchen and rearranged it back into the formation it was before he was interrupted. His eyes stared blankly at the papers, drawing over every line he had made in his translations and notes. He had hoped he would be able to use animal organs or something of the like. The butcher down from the grocer often didn't mind giving them up. From the looks of it however, it wasn't likely he could. What other option was there? Grave robbing? Almost as bad as the murder itself. He didn't have many options, did he? Even if things had gone as planned, and he had been able to gather everything without Oliver catching onto him, he still would have had to resort to murder. If anything, his discovery downstairs had in fact made his work a little easier. One less body on his hands. Of course, it was still five bodies on the streets no matter what. Perhaps the black market could help? Not that he welcomed the illegal trade in his country, but it could possibly help him in a pinch.
He pulled himself away from the books and into his bedroom, sitting at his oaken desk and pulling his laptop towards him. He had government protection in these matters, he could say it was for 'research'. He triple checked his firewall and turned on his VPN before plunging himself into the onion browser that was the deep web. He was hardly the only nation that browsed it. The amount of illegal activity that occurred needed to be monitored after all. £700,000 for a heart, £175,000 for a kidney… He may be rich, but he couldn't possibly afford the royal family noticing the balance. He did his best to keep his eyes off of the gruesome 'product displays', starting to regret his choice to browse for it. He quickly closed out the tabs and turned the laptop off, more than a little paranoid of what might lurk on the page awaiting his click. Truly, a dilemma. Oliver seemed to want to go home, but England had no way to do so. If he didn't do so, then Oliver would make his house his home, and he certainly didn't want that.
He slowly spun in his chair to face the rest of his bedroom. His cutlass remained neatly above his head board. His hands certainly weren't clean, were they? He had been around since well before 300 BC, there wasn't a number off the top of his head for the body count he and his people were responsible for. There probably never would be either. This would be a plausible four people of millions to be added to the count. Besides, keeping Oliver here would do far more harm than good, for everyone. He would be grasping at straws to find another solution. He could find a way to put up with him, he did seem capable of legislature and government responsibilities after all. If Oliver hadn't taken Elizabeth's life, perhaps he could have considered the option, but he had. His own preemptive stubbornness seemed to run in the both of them, so it seemed. Honestly without the murderous intent, he didn't seem like such a terrible person. He was lonely. So was England. How did this man continue to evoke his sympathy time and time again? It frustrated him, being toyed with. He needed time to think, his body was sore, tired, and honestly the hot dogs weren't cutting it. His bed invited him to lay down and he did so, his back practically sighing in relief. Late nights, early mornings, along with physical and mental trauma were not his cup of tea. He counted the continents of the acoustic finish of his ceiling. Maybe if he took his mind off of it entirely, he could look at it from a new perspective, instead of obsessing over it like he had been.
