Summary: Outside, rain kept falling over the city of London. The sky was grey, dark. But it was always like that. The Londoners didn't realize the air became a bit colder, and that the wind grew a bit stronger. They didn't realize their country was suffering, but then again: no one did. And would someone before it was too late?
Rate: M
Warning: Future slash (malexmale relationship), depression, self harm, eating disorder and maybe a few others.
Pairing: ScotEng.
A/N: Hey guys! So, this is half a chapter. "Why not the whole chapter, author-san?!" Simple! This half is AMERICA. And I couldn't put other characters without thinking it turned out weird. Also, I wrote it all today~! And do not have the second half yet, although I think I will have it either later on today or, max, tomorrow. YAY! :DD
Before I forget: SORRY TO EVERYONE THAT READES CONFRAGOSA ITER (IT'S NOT GONNA BE ESAY), BUT I AM GOING TO DELETE IT. SORRY, BUT I CAN'T SEEM TO WORK ON IT ANYMORE.
Enjoy the chapter~!
Warnings: None.
Word Count: 2000
(oOo)
He fidgeted slightly on the cushy armchair he sat, trying to put as much distance between himself and the obviously ticked-off red-head on his left. America knew better than to try and get near Scotland when he was like this, Canada had told him enough stories about how explosive the man's temper could be. And he wasn't eager to see how much truth his brother's words held.
Prim and proper, however, the woman in front of them, with light-blue suit on, perfectly combed gray hair and glasses resting on the tip of her nose, took the brunt of the Scot's glare in stride. America was, without doubt, impressed. He, however, couldn't help but think of what – or more exactly who – was the reason they were here. And consequently also was the reason behind Scotland's foul mood and the woman's tinning lips (America wondered if that meant she was also getting pissed).
"Alistair-" She begun, shoulders squared and rigid posture, an icy blue glare directed towards the Scot "I assure you nothing more happened. That is all that transpired this afternoon. I do not have reasons to lie."
"And I do not recall ever giving your permission to barge into my office and talk not only nonsense, but also accuse me of doing such a thing."
With the corner of his eyes, America saw the red-head wince, but Scotland did not back down. His green eyes narrowed further and pinned down on the old lady. And how he could act like that with his Queen was something America couldn't understand. Admittedly, it took some time for the American to grasp the concept that the United Kingdom was not one (Iggy), but four. And Iggy's Queen wasn't just his, but his brother's as well. Confusing, but he understood. And knowing how Iggy gushed about her and his eyes would come alight when in her vicinity - he assumed it was the same for his brothers.
Apparently not.
"Well, Your Majesty," Scotland all but spat the honorific out, as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. "I ask that you forgive me if I can't believe Arthur would just drop for tea-"
"Enough!" She exclaimed, and America was sure that if looks could kill Scotland would have been six-feet under - Or maybe twelve. "Alistair, you will show the minimum of respect and decorum. This is not your house. And if I tell you that Arthur only dropped by to have tea with me and Kate than you better believe it."
Yeah, America could see that the Queen and England's brother didn't have the best of the relationships. He wondered if that was one of the reasons England was the one chosen to represent the United Kingdom. Looking at the old Monarch, America felt a pang of anger. Why couldn't she understand that they were worried? Why-
With anxious and slightly wide eyes he saw Scotland get up abruptly, the chair he had sat upon making a squeaking noise as the older nation got up and screeching as he pushed it behind. With one last disgruntled look in the Queen's direction, the red-head left. Before he closed the door behind him though, just as America was getting up to follow, Scotland sent him a significant look. America assumed it was something along 'Talk to her! Get some bloody information!'. So he let his body fall heavily once again on the quite comfy chair.
Sky blue eyes met ice blue ones.
Sighing, the Queen removed her glasses and stared at him with tired eyes. "Why are you still here?"
Twisting his lips, the American tried to smile, to appear like he wanted nothing at all. When her eyes narrowed and he knew his attempts had been not only futile but not appreciated, he shrugged. "Iggy disappeared."
"And I already informed Alistair – And you as well by default Alfred – That I have no idea where he could be," She answered sourly, clearly fed up with the discussion.
"And there is a reason I wouldn't know. Also, for the same reason I wouldn't tell you. Would you like to know what it is, Alfred?" She asked quietly, her eyes distant – lost in memories. America was painfully reminded of Arthur; he always had this look on his face.
He quickly nodded, then averted his gaze when pain marred every line of her face and it became too much for the blond to look at. There was too much pain, even for him. Embarrassment and guilt flooded his being, it was a personal question. Obviously. But he had to know: it could be important. It could be one of the reasons behind Iggy's state of mind.
It was silent before she finally spoke up; her voice was soft and very low, barely above a whisper. "I betrayed him once, not long ago."
If America was shocked, he did not shown, but he felt the blood draining from his face. She smiled sadly towards him before continuing. "I failed him, Alfred, I was weak."
"Because of this he still doesn't trust me completely. And because of this I feel that, even if he told me where he hid, I wouldn't tell his location." She said, letting her body relax on her seat.
"He is a strong nation, Alfred," She stated, her eyes boring into him, willing the American to agree with her. "He may need help, yes, but… If he ran, he had a motivation. He must have something he has to do before he can trust the two of you."
America truly wanted to believe her. That Iggy was strong he knew. In his eyes there were few who were strong like his friend. Friend? Blinking slowly, he tested the word with his tongue. He liked it, he did. And, smiling softly, he looked at the monarch.
"Er- Your Majesty… I know Iggy is strong. I know. But even he needs help. And I am going to be his clutches if he needs help to walk. His punching bag if he needs to release pent up frustration. I will be his friend. I will led my shoulder for him to cry, my ears for his complains, my tongue for him to test his awful cooking," America claimed, chuckling at the last one, his gaze never wavering, never leaving the steadily wider blue eyes of the Queen. "I will be his best-friend."
"But first I gotta find him. I gotta find him and apologize, and say how stupid I was. And mend centuries of unresolved issues. And say so much more. But first… I gotta find him, Ma'am. So, please," And here he truly considered throwing himself at her feet. "Please tell me where he is or, at least, where you think he might be. You know him better than most. Please."
Her eyes flicked over to the door and then to him. America though she would say no, he really did. But then she said something that made him grin, the widest grin so far in the last few days.
"There is a couple of places he mentioned while he was here, and two more I know he is fond of. He might have dropped the names to simply play with you two – well, three – but I will pass the names to you." She conceded, shoulders falling a bit before she recomposed herself.
"And, Alistair, you might want to stop eavesdropping and get in."
Snickering, the American looked behind himself in time to see Scotland open the door and stroll in as if nothing had happened. A lit cigarette between his teeth and a small smirk on his lips - the man was pleased with the outcome, America could tell. But he still sent an annoyed glare towards the Queen when she looked at him straight in the eyes and said: "One would expect a nation with a long line of Kings and Queens to have acquired some manners over the time."
America really started to wonder if part of England's personality had rubbed off on his Queen.
The quirked lips as she looked at the frustrated Scot certainly suggested so.
(oOo)
They had separated; Scotland with two names, two more had been sent by message to Canada and only one had been left to America, under the excuse the American didn't know England that well. And even though it was a valid excuse, America still found it unfair. He was the Hero.
Nibbling at his bottom lip, the American looked at the scrap of paper he had wrote the address on and then glanced around one more time. It was weird neighborhood, he had to admit. Not that he hadn't he fair sure of weird back home, but he had never seen so many punks and rockers and Goths together, and he was pretty sure some dudes were giving him the evil eye.
Why, though, he didn't know. Hadn't the 'faintest', as they said here.
As he watched, with the corner of his eyes, a group of five men slowly coming his way, and looking none too happy or friendly, he quickly ducked to the left. A startled cry alerted him to the fact that, yeah, they were coming after him. But he neither was in the mood to find out nor did he have time to deal with them.
Huffing, America pulled his jacket tighter around himself and to run as fast as he could, giving strong impulses when his feet connected to the asphalted street. "Damn it."
Screaming and threats, as well as some quite colorful curse-words, followed his wake.
As he got farther and farther away from the crowded areas, the buildings became more and more run-down, to the point the American suspected that only desperate people would dare live here; it was an abandoned area. He slowed down to a simple jog as he took in his surroundings once again.
Maybe, he thought, a few decades ago this had been thriving. Especially during the punkish era that shook the country. And he couldn't help but choke when he remembered a green-haired England. That had been fun.
Shaking his head to come back to the problem at hand, the American looked at the number of one of the old structures. And his mouth opened in a 'o'. 1209. He put his hands in his pockets and begun a mad search for the scrap – He was sure the address was not only a four digit number, but that 12 were the first two numbers. So it wasn't hard to put two and two and realize the building was near.
Grinning at the crumbled piece of paper and almost unrecognizable chicken scrawl that was his words, the American whistled happily as he made his way towards number 1226. Blue eyes twinkled happily at his accomplishment, and he could only hope that England was here. It would be easier.
And he could be the Hero and save him.
And, maybe, they could talk.
Suddenly, America didn't feel so happy, not even excited. But anxious and fearful.
Was England in here? Would he be ok?
Would he want to talk? Would he lash out?
As America pushed the door open and looked at the old staircase. Whimpering, the American didn't know if he blessed his luck or cursed it. On one hand England could be here, on the other… This place looked like a horror house!
"Well-," He whispered, fingers curling around the gun he kept on him at all times. "It's now or never."
(oOo)
OHH! I'm addicted to KHR (Katekyo Hitman Reborn)! It's so much fun~ And there are some AWESOME fanfics out there! Reason why my writing suffered recently (College is also to blame). Oh well. Do any of you awesome readers like it?
~ Can you guys suggest some Arthur/England centered fanfics for me? Please~? I'm out of reading material...
