Happy Valentines (or Single Awareness) Day to all my viewers. I hope this can act as my gift to you all, in order to show my love for all your support. Thank you so much for all the kind reviews/comments. I hope to receive more in the future for they make my day golden. Even if I have an AP Macroeconomics test.

Hey. Hey you. Flamer. You read this? You read this story? Oh, you don't like it. Well you see that X up in the top right corner? That makes it go away, NOT nasty comments.

Harder than it seems Ch.8

As it was, America was not granted any leave time until the baby actually arrived. On the one hand, England was grateful for the time alone he got when America was called away for a few hours. The time spent unperturbed by the American's pre-baby antics was the highlight of the nation's week. It also allowed England to par-take in considerably less gentlemanly practices, which had managed to make themselves common habits in the Englishman's routine; namely journeying to the refrigerator and chugging down some form of liquid straight from the container out of mere laziness.

Moving slowly into the living room, England sighed as he sat down on the couch and rubbed his stomach comfortingly. The child inside him tossed and turned with reckless abandon, so much so that England was beginning to wish America had taken the day off in order to help. He always had been able to calm their child down just as easily as he could excite it; a feat which had actually become harder the farther into his pregnancy he ventured. Still, whenever the small being decided to make itself known, it seemed as though England had never gotten a break.

"You're going to take after him, aren't you?" England mused out loud yet fondly. "Not that I mind. I'm glad you're like your daddy. Ha! Well, your younger daddy anyway. I suppose we'll have to talk about who gets called what some more, now won't we?" England continued to stroke his stomach until a sharp kick struck his bladder. "How rude! Well now I need to use the loo. I hope you're proud of yourself." England pushed himself off of the couch and groaned as a sudden throbbing began to spread across his stomach. He finished in the bathroom and was pleased to hear the sound of America calling from the front door.

"Arthur! I'm back! Sorry, I took so long, but Pierce called and wanted me to drop by. Gotta make sure everything is ready for the big day, right?"

"That's all well and good. Now come over here and comfort this restless minion of yours. They've been moving about all day long and it is starting to tire me out." America laughed and knelt down by the round stomach.

"Hey baby, you be good to your mom in there. He's gotta keep his strength up for your birthday."

"America, PLEASE stop calling me that." America rubbed England's stomach affectionately as he laughed again. As he laughed, England felt a pain, much more potent than a simple kick from his child, and he gasped.

"You ok, Artie?" America asked brows furrowing.

"I think so. Just...probably kicked me in some vital organ, cheeky thing." He sighed in an attempt to slow his breathing; however the light throbbing did not go away. America led England back to the couch and helped massage the obviously excited stomach.

"Hehe. Whatever's goin' on in there must be pretty crazy, huh?" England locked eyes with America and stopped breathing completely for a moment. Without saying a word to the confused nation beside him, he began unbuttoning the bottom half of his large shirt in order to reveal his stomach. The lower half of his skin was a dark purple, not unlike a bad bruise. "Whoa! Shit, Artie, what the fuck?" England's panting increased, though he tried to keep his voice steady.

"I think...my water's broken. I need to go to the hospital now!" England tried to stand on his own, but his stomach hurt too much. It was as if for the first time, his body was noticing the presence of a foreign object within it. America assisted him and ran to grab the large coat England used whenever he had to leave the apartment. "Don't forget your cell. Or your wallet! Bugger, are you sure the room is finished? I wanted to check the crib again. I think one screw is loose-"

"England! You gotta calm down. Everything's fine. We've got everything. I don't think an apartment has ever been baby-proofed as fast as we did it. Let's just get you on the road, alright?" America began gnawing on his bottom lip as he called Dr. Pierce.

"Pierce here." The doctor answered casually. It was his private line, and he had seen it was Jones, but they had spoken less than half an hour ago. What could the trouble be?

"Pierce! Dude, we think that Artie's water broke. Like seriously for real man, we need to get him to the hospital!" The doctor immediately stood and paged his surgery team.

"I understand Alfred. I need you to keep Arthur calm and breathing steadily. How does his stomach look?" America looked down, remembered the large coat the Englishman was wearing and huffed at his lack of direct vision.

"Last time I looked it was getting pretty purple. Is that a good thing?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, his water has definitely broken. The purple you see is all the fluids that would normally be expelled, only..."

America looked back at his British counterpart worriedly. "Only there is nowhere for them to go..."

"Just get Arthur to the hospital. We'll be there to meet you at the emergency entrance." With that the call was disconnected. America turned back to England who was now clutching his stomach with one arm and bracing himself against the wall with the other.

"Whoa, babe, you ok?" England was flushed and panting. He looked up at America and groaned at what he could only assume was his body's version of a contraction; a sudden pain which spread across his churning stomach.

"Al...Fuck it, I'm going to be sick." England quickly maneuvered himself to the bathroom sink and vomited harshly. Unfortunately for England's body, that was not going to rid it of the implant it had been growing. America rubbed along England's back comfortingly, but as soon as his mouth was rinsed out, he knew they had to go.

"Come on, Artie. We need to go dude. Baby's comin'." England shuddered as he groaned in pain and felt himself grow faint.

"America, shut up. Do you have any idea what I'm going through right now? Oh Godsdoes that hurt." They managed to get out the door and into the elevator before England's eye lids began to droop. America knew this could not be a good sign.

"Oh shit- Arthur! England! Stay with me, babe. You gotta stay awake. You're gonna be awesome man, I mean come on. You're the fucking United Kingdom. Arthur!" The slightly shorter blond attempted to shake his senses awake as the doors opened and America looped one of his arms around smaller man's waist in order to help support him. England was mostly conscious as they made it into a hailed taxi cab, but throughout the ride, continued to deteriorate. He had to fight to keep his eyes open and his complexion was going pale. America tried to keep his smile strong and his conversation bright, despite the fact that he was terrified for his lover, friend, not to mention his unborn child. When the taxi finally pulled into the hospital's emergency lane, America threw the driver a large roll of cash, not caring in the slightest how much he actually owed the man. England could no longer move on his own, so America picked him up bridal style and carried him towards the small group of doctors waiting for them with Dr. Pierce and a gurney. Pierce began working as soon as the half-conscious nation was in front of him.

"Double check that the O.R. is prepped and get me one- scratch that, two I.V. stands. Start moving him!" The gurney began to roll through the hospital; Pierce, America, and a couple other doctors and nurses right beside it. As they moved down the corridors, nurses began to strip England of his layers. At first America was nervous someone would see exactly what it was the doctors were working on, but he soon decided that with the speed they were traveling down the surgery specific halls, no one was going to bother. Right before they came to the O.R., an unfamiliar doctor questioned America's presence, but Pierce smartly saved the man's life by stating that America (and England for that matter) would be better off comforting the pained green-eyed nation. America shed his own jacket to the floor before following his partner through the doors of the O.R. and into some of the most organized chaos he'd seen in a long time. He leaned over England's top half while they began getting his lower half ready.

"England. England, can you look at me?" Dim emeralds locked with bright but frightened sapphires.

"Am-..merica,...Is...Is the baby...?"

"Everyone's ok Arthur. You, me, and the baby are gonna be just fine. You just gotta stay with me, alright?" America could feel his worry reach a breaking point as the doctor's began cutting and England screamed loudly from the pain. There was so much blood. Pierce eventually shouted,

"His vitals aren't lookin' good. Can we get BBC or... something on the monitor?" A nurse tuned into the proper channel, where a quick news caster reported accounts of sudden and potentially dangerous storms covering nearly the entire island nation. "Well, England, you picked a hell of a day to have a baby I can say that much." America blinked back a few tears as he turned his gaze from the screen and back to his lover. England's panting had slowed and his eyes were closing.

"Fuck- Doc!" America called before leaning in closer. "Arthur. Don't do this baby, you're almost done." He grasped England's hand and sobbed once as his partner's head fell to the side, completely unconscious. America brushed the thickly layered blond hair from England's sweaty brow before he heard Pierce pronounce the baby free. America wanted to turn and inspect his child, but he was too preoccupied with his nearly coding counterpart. Another doctor came over and began attending to England's I.V. stands, adding a blood transfusion as well, as they cleared out all the extra remaining liquid, adjusted his altered organ layout, and sewed him back up. From the opposite end of the room, America could hear the first few sharp cries of life erupting from his baby's lungs and he felt more conflicted about where he wanted to direct his attention than he could ever remember.

They wheeled England out of the O.R. and into the Intensive Care Unit. He was hooked up to a couple more machines, one of which being a hefty supply of oxygen. His vital signs were weak at times and incredibly high at others, switching randomly between the two extremes. For the next hour, America merely sat in a chair next to his partner's bed with his hands crossed in front of his face, just watching over him. A nurse came in and flipped on the television to the same channel as was on in the O.R. America was glad that there was a noise he could use to drown out the deafening sound of England's heart monitor. Before the third hour of America's vigil had past, Pierce and another nurse entered the room to check up on their priority patient.

"No progress, I assume?" Pierce asked, placing his hands in his jacket pockets with a sigh. America shook his head, but did not tear his gaze away from England. "Listen, Alfred. I know that this is hard, but you need to take a step back and breathe. If you let yourself get too wound up from this, it won't be good for anybody. Especially now." America still didn't want to look anywhere else but England, but he heard the door open again and heard a few nurses cooing over something they called 'cute', 'precious', and 'adorable'. America sat up and turned to face the door. A small, hard, plastic bassinet had been wheeled in and America could see the swaddled bundle within it. He would never admit it to anyone, but he was a little anxious and nervous to get up and introduce himself to the current object of the nurses adoration. Pierce patted his shoulder reassuringly and gave the blond nation an encouraging shove up out of his seat.

As America neared the bassinet, he had to hold back a gasp as he spied the tiny babe resting inside it. This was the life he had created with England, completely by accident. He fidgeted with his own hands for a quick moment before running them awkwardly down his shirt. Before he was prompted (or forced, as Pierce was almost sure he'd have to be), America bent down and carefully lifted the child into his arms. The connection he felt with the baby was much stronger than it had been while England was still carrying it. He allowed a smile to slowly unearth itself as the furrowed contours of his features softened.

"Hey sweetness...How are ya?" He asked quietly, in only just above a whisper. The baby responded only by moving slightly, restrained in the soft cotton blanket.

"It's a girl, since I'm sure you are curious. There are some papers I need you to fill out as well, but I can leave you all alone for just a moment." The doctors and nurses left the new family alone in the room, America still locked on to his new daughter. He sat down on the bed as he inspected her closer.

"You are pretty adorable, but your size probably has something to do with that. Guess you got that from Arthur..." He looked back up to his unconscious lover and, since he knew he was free from the doctors' sights, allowed the first few tears to make their way down his face. "God, Artie. Why won't you wake up? You need to be here." He brushed a hand on the smaller nation's leg before gently holding their new baby closer and crying just a little harder.

"According to British weather reports the heavy fog, which appeared three days ago after the quick but devastating storm across the island, has decreased by approximately 45%." The television in his room was the first noise that the British nation heard as he slowly began to regain his senses. He didn't want to try to open his eyes yet, as he could still tell how weak he was, and even the smallest bit of light was sure to be a painful experience. It was not until he heard a small gurgling and then light, high-pitched, cry that he even tried to move (i.e., furrowing his brows slightly). He then heard the creak of a nearby chair and soft 'shushes' being uttered by a voice he could never not recognize.

"Hey, now. It's ok. Shh. Le'mme getchya a bottle, kay?" A few more audible shifts later, England could hear America walk around the room with... whatever he had. "There ya go. Man, aren't you something. The minute your mommy wakes up, he's gonna be all over you. Should be soon though... I hope. You can never tell with us countries." At the mention of the title, 'Mommy', England opened his eyes slightly and groaned in protest before coughing lightly.

"Holy mother of-! Arthur?" America set the bundle he had been carting to and fro around the room into a small bassinet at the side of the bed, closing in on the frail nation. He held up a small cup of water and prompted England to take a sip. It was possibly the most refreshing drink of water he'd ever had. As he finished his third and fourth sips, England opened his eyes once more and took in the sight of the tired, yet ecstatic American next to him.

"Alfred."

"Hey, beautiful. How ya feelin'?" England didn't bother to care about America's lack of rhetorical skill at the moment. He was more focused on how the American was himself, as well as the contents of the bassinet.

"Like someone ran me over with a bloomin' freight train...Yourself?"

"Hehe. I've been worse. Been keeping busy, so ya know, that helps."

"How long was I out?" England was nearly afraid of the answer.

"Three days. The first day, your vitals were going crazy, but by the second day you were stable. The P.M. came by yesterday to check in, which was cool of him. God, I'm so glad you're ok..." America pressed a light kiss to England's forehead before traveling all across his face. England sank into the kisses and tried to move closer, but even the slightest strain on his stomach hurt more than little. He hissed in pain and America quickly pulled away in order to make sure he was comfortable. "Sorry Artie. Looks like you're still sore from your surgery. Oh! Speaking of..." America's smile grew even brighter as he turned to the bassinet and dipped down to retrieve the small lump of blanket. England's heart began to beat faster as America drew closer. Before he realized it, his arms were outstretched in a silent plea to hold whatever it was America had.

"Is that...?"

"What did you expect, dude? A puppy?"

"Well, after all that had happened I didn't know if..." America smiled sadly and gently handed England the bundle wrapped in lightly colored fabric.

"Nah, dude. I told you: everybody is just fine." The infant was not large, 7 pounds and 5 ounces and only 17 inches long, but as England looked at his new child's face for the first time, all he could think about was one question.

"What is it?" America smiled and sat down close by on the bed.

"A girl. Go figure, right? Some of the two most macho men in the freakin' world and we get a baby girl. She sure is gorgeous though, huh?" England wasn't sure about gorgeous, after all, she was born only three days previously. And yet, every fiber of his being screamed at him to love and protect the child in his arms with every asset he had at his disposal; be it his military, his magic, or his own life. England smiled lovingly as the tiny girl, practically glowing with the feeling of 'America', cooed quietly and struggled futilely within the confines of her blanket wrap.

"Have you named her?" England asked on a whim as he adjusted his hold slightly.

"Well, actually I did. You were out cold and all the doctors and nurses, not to mention the President, were all pressing me for stuff, and I had her...so ya." England turned his gaze from the infant in his arms to her rambling father.

"Go on then. What did you call her?" With every passing second, England became more worried about the outcome of his first biological child's name. He needn't have worried though.

"Alice Joan Kirkland." America answered, a small blush forming on his cheeks. "I, uh, picked Joan for the middle name, since it is kinda like a girl version of my last name, and then gave her your last name. I mean you did all the hard work and I automatically have her as a citizen by birth, so I thought it was fair."

"What about her first name? Why did you pick that?" America thought for another moment before answering.

"Ya know, I think I just liked it. It seemed to fit, ya know?" England's smile grew ever so slightly as he repeated his daughter's name over and over again in his head. He really did like the name Alice. It reminded him of his dearly beloved fiction character above anything else, but in general the name rolled off the tongue nicely. He nodded in agreement before placing a firm and loving kiss on the tiny head he supported.

"I like it. Very nice job, love. Now I suppose you'll need to phone the nurses and let them know their comatose patient is awake and speaking, oughtn't you?" America laughed and kissed England once more on the lips.

"I think they can think you're unconscious long enough for you to finish feedin' 'er." America handed England the warm bottle of formula before brushing Alice's head with his fingers. She wore a small hat in order to keep her head warm from the chill in the air, and over all did not seem to notice the fingers brushing across; she being far too eager to attempt inspecting the new person holding her. With dignified ease, England helped Alice latch on to the bottle nipple and kissed her again. America smiled and held England close to his side.

"You did good Arthur. Congrats." The British nation's gaze was completely locked on to the infant in his arms, so he whispered his response without looking at his partner.

"I love you Alfred, but do shut up for a while. After all, she deserves her peace. She's managed to help you nearly forget about Christmas this year." America could have screamed as he recalled the date. His daughter had been born on December 15, only ten days before one of the most celebratory days in his entire country. Now Christmas was only a week away and America had done nothing to prepare. But suddenly he stopped and laughed. He leaned his head on top of the Englishman's, completely wrapped in the joy he felt at that moment.

"Babe, she is enough of a Christmas for me right now. I can just use the left over stuff in storage after we get home." England nodded and was content to feed his child in silence as a nurse came in, rightfully shocked to see him awake.

And then there was a baby! I hope every one is pleased. I'll go ahead and mention that YES, I KNOW that EVERYONE picks babies to be girls. BUT no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get (this particular infant) to sound good as a boy. Alice was too far etched into my subconscious. I hope the APH mpreg anti-girl community (is there such a thing?) will forgive me and try to love Alice. For everyone else, HUZZAH FOR A CUTE BABY!