When last we met our heroes…

The next morning dawned bright and clear. It was the kind of morning that made you want to go outside and spend all day somewhere quiet in nature. Ironic, then, that California and Texas were stuck in the confines of the house and garden. They had woken up early to start on breakfast. Texas settled on bacon and eggs, while California went for a more dignified fruit parfait. As they cooked they also began to plan their way out.

This planning went the usual way, in that soon after they started they began to have an argument. It was pointless and did nothing to help the situation. It had begun about where they would run to, when they would run, and how they would effectively escape recapture, but ended up about which breakfast was better.

This argument continued on for quite some time. They only stopped when they noticed that the bacon was burning on the stove.

"Fuck," snarled Texas, "Look what you've done."

"I've done?!" gasped California, indignant, "I'm not the one cooking bacon. I haven't touched it once."

"Buenos Dias." interrupted Mexico, coming into the kitchen. "What is the breakfast today?"

"Eggs, fruit, and bacon," replied California, suddenly civil.

Texas grunted and left the room, giving Mexico a stink eye on the way out. Mexico turned and made as if to follow him, but sat down at the table and ate breakfast instead.

Breakfast having been finished, Mexico left the room after giving instructions on what to do that day.

"Well, hermano, thanks for the breakfast. If you could clean the kitchen again, and prepare lunch and dinner that would be bien. And please find Tejas and bring him back. Past that, you are free to do what you want so long as you don't leave the property. I'll be working in town, but I'll be back for dinner, most likely." With that said, Mexico left.

As soon as Mexico left the kitchen, California slumped against the table, letting out an exhausted sigh. He didn't mind Mexico, but he did not want to be reunited with him through a kidnapping. He would have much rather gone to meet him on his own terms, although he supposed that this whole ordeal would bring to light many things about America of which the international community was unaware. He loved Alfred (in a very platonic sort of way, America was his surrogate father, and the states were his family), but he kept too many secrets to be healthy.

Standing he began to prepare some more breakfast. Texas hadn't eaten yet and was known for having a large appetite. Eggs and bacon went on the plate first. That was the food Texas had been preparing before he left, and was the best bet for what he would eat. After those had been dished up he began a bowl of fruit.

Grabbing a knife California began to slice oranges and pears. As he was slicing the second orange his knife slipped and cut his palm.

"Argh, Fuck. Oh, God damn it." snarled California, clutching his palm. He quickly wiped the knife clean of blood and wrapped his hand with a rag before putting his gloves back on to better cover up his injury.

After all of the blood had been somewhat washed away, and his hand had been bandaged California gathered the remains of the breakfast and went out to find Texas.

"Tejas, I've got food," called California, "And Mexico's gone now. You really ought to eat something."

No one answered for a solid 5 minutes. California, however, was somewhat patient and just sat on the block by the water pump waiting for Texas to come out and get the food. A crunch of the old gravel path caused California to look up as Texas' approached him.

Handing Texas the dish he said, "Breakfast, you damn reb."

~Meanwhile (Congress is fighting over where to put the capitol)~

Texas hated this whole situation. He didn't like Mexico. He didn't like being restricted. He didn't like being away from his home. Most importantly though, he didn't like being so close to California and having to refrain from causing bodily harm. Not that he wanted to hurt California, no, he just didn't want anyone to know, especially California, that he didn't really hate him all that much. Or at all.

He quickly made his way to the back of the garden, where no one would see him. Hiding in a corner is not very brave, but he had no other viable options at the moment.

Once he had deemed himself well hidden, he began to think through his options. He could leave now, run away and never look back till he crossed the border. That was what he did right before he declared himself independent. That wouldn't work now, however. He had made a promise to California to help him, so he couldn't leave alone. He might be able to get his things back and run out in a blaze of glory. That might give California a chance to escape. But really, what could he do? He was stuck. He was unable to get himself out, and he was unable to get California out.

California's voice startled him out of his revery. "Tejas, I've got food. And Mexico's gone now. You really ought to eat something."

Texas' stomach growled in response, he hadn't eaten at all that day. However, his pride stopped him from immediately receiving the food. California had prepared it, so it was probably good, but it would be odd to receive anything from someone he professed to hate without questioning the circumstances before.

California. He was something else. As soon as you thought you had him figured out, he went and changed. He used to be such a sweet little kid. He grew into a determined, strong, and prideful being. Holding his own in the Civil War and WWI. Slowly, throughout the twenties, California had slowly become more than a fellow state. He had become someone to care for. Texas began to do his best for that end, sending him any spare change he could scrounge up during the Great Depression. Volunteering for the more dangerous missions and jobs in WWII. After WWII, they continued to fight and argue but for him it was more of a show, to make sure that if Cali didn't feel the same he wouldn't be rejected.

Sighing Texas stood up, breaking his ruminations and deciding to get the food, he was hungry anyway.

California looked up as he approached, a slight smirk overlaying a slight grimace of pain, "Breakfast, you damn reb." he smiled, handing him the platter of eggs, slightly overcooked bacon and oranges.

"Thanks," grumbled Texas, quickly grabbing the food and wolfing it down. After he had finished he looked more closely at California. He was curled around his left hand slightly. His gloves were on, and he seemed to be in pain.

"Hey," began Texas, "what's with your hand?"

California jerked his head up quickly, surprise and a wary defense present in his features for a brief moment before he composed himself into a cool neutrality.

"My hand? Nothing, it's perfectly fine," he said, looking away.

Texas sighed, "No, it's not, you're lying. I've known you long enough to tell that much."

"Fuck off. Whether it's hurt or not is none of your business. And I'm fine." snapped California in response.

Texas didn't believe him for a second, but let it go. They had other things to do anyway.

~~Time Skip~~

They had cleaned the casa twice over and made a decent dinner by the time Mexico returned from where he had been. They had also planned an escape and retrieved all of their effects that Mexico had taken from them upon their arrival at the old casa. That night they slept with a sense of purpose. Tomorrow they would be leaving Mexico. Tomorrow they would be returning to the Union.

Hopefully.