Chapter Nine: A Series of Love Notes Lost
*Sand? Why is there sand beneath me? Where's my ship?* England cracks his eyes open, looking around, thoroughly befuddled. He is on an island, a seemingly deserted island, lying on a crescent shaped beach beside a half buried wine barrel. His body is covered in rope burns where his clothing has worn away. He wears one shoe, the other lost and its whereabouts unknown. A deep gash above is eyebrow brings immediate attention, and when he raises his hand to it, it comes back caked in dark maroon blood. *What happened?* He asks himself, his memory can only tell him that he had been drinking, drinking a lot. Then, his head hurt and everything went dark. England shakes his head, too tired to try to find answers right now. He stands and turns his back to the ocean, staring at the tall palms which border the beach. There's a rustling in the trees, and his hand automatically falls to his side in search of his sword, which, thankfully is still attached to his belt. He draws it cautiously, bending his knees in a protective stance. The commotion is the forest stops, and a deadly silence fallows. He stands at the ready, poised for attack, until the quiet is broken by the distant call of some bird. A warm breeze blows, carrying the scent of blossoms from the eastern part of the island. England begins walking in the direction of the sweet aroma, pulling off his other shoe and tossing it behind him. It lands with a thud on the white sand.
*No sense wearing one boot when the other is missing.*
The sun has traveled high into the sky before he reaches the eastern side of the island; the soft sand has given way to jagged rocks that scrape the soles of his feet. He leaves a bloody trail behind him and soon has to limp up to the tree line where the rocks end and coarse grass begins. England collapses under a large palm tree whose canopy leaves give much needed shade over his overheated body. He needs water, and fast, before the effects of dehydration kick in.
*I- I wonder where I am. How far away am I from Kiku? How the bloody hell did I get here in the first place?* he asks himself again. His brain is feeling generous, and gifts him with another memory, heavily blurred by the quantity of rum he had consumed, but still a memory. He had been talking with his Boss… then a man… no a boy… had asked him if he wanted another bottle of rum. What happened after that? There was someone carrying him… no, more than one person. There was a splash, water? He was tied to a barrel and thrown in the ocean by his crew!
*The bloody bastards betrayed me! No, it wasn't them… it was my Boss!* he grips the hilt of his sword, turning is knuckles white, *My Boss tried to have me killed! That was his plan wasn't it! Get me out onto the ocean, make me drunk, and feed me to the fishes!*
"You never were a beneficial country…"
The words bounce around in his skull, hitting his brain. They trigger his emotions, making him cry loudly in anger, a deep throated monstrous scream. A flock of birds behind him starts squawking as they fly away in a flurry of brightly colored feathers.
"… You unexpected death…"
"Unexpected my ASS!" England yells to no one in particular. *What will Kiku think when he hears of my 'death'? He would cry surely… he would be heartbroken…*
England jumps up, his will to get of the island refueled. He wipes the sweat from his brow, and treks through the trees in search of water or anything that could help him get off the island.
~Five Days Later~ The birds chirp harmoniously outside Japan's hospital room window. He opens his eyes and smiles when he sees the blue animals perched upon a tree right outside. He sits up, resting his hand on his chest where his stitches are. They're throbbing, but not painful, just enough sensation to remind him he's alive. A nurse comes in to check his stitches; she peels back the gauze that covers them.
"They look like they're healing well," the nurse smiles after she changes the bandaging, "though you may want to stay here for a couple more days, in case you have another attack. If you do you may rip the stitching and damage your heart again, you might not be so lucky this time."
Japan nods, he knew this. The doctor even replaced his needle of medication with pills that he now takes every morning after breakfast. The nurse leaves, Japan leans back in his bed, resting his head on his pillow with a sigh. There has been no news of England, nothing to say whether the feelings Japan had the other day had been justified. He twirls his ring around on his finger, a nervous habit he has developed. There comes a rapping at Japan's doorframe, he turns to look at whoever would find it good to make such an annoying noise so early.
It's England's Boss.
Japan sits up quickly and tightens his grip on his bedcovers. England's Boss comes to sit in the chair at Japan's bedside; he crosses his legs and frowns.
"Ohayou-gozaimasu," Japan dips his head respectfully, he had never met with his fiancé's Boss face to face before. This situation was strange on many levels.
"Yes, but I believe that it is not a very good morning, for both of us," England's Boss frowns again.
Japan cocks his head to the side, "Nani? What do you mean?" his thoughts turn to England, "What has happened? Where is England-san? Is he alright?" *Please let him be alright…*
England's Boss shakes his head, "I'm afraid that Arthur Kirkland is not alright. In fact… I'm not quite sure how to say this… he's not with us anymore."
Japan's eyes widen, his heart rate skyrockets, sending the monitors that he's hooked up to crazy, "You mean… Arthur-kun is… dead? But that can't be, there must be some mistake. If he is dead then how are you here? Aren't you supposed to be on the ship with him?"
"We were with him, the crew and myself, but we were attacked. The battle was long and bloody, I lost many good men that day, and a good country. Mr. Kirkland was killed in battle and buried at sea like an honorable Captain…" England's Boss finishes his story with a heavy sigh, "The remnants of the crew and I sailed back to port soon afterwards, we just made it back this morn."
*Arthur-kun… is… dead? But-but, how could this have happened? He was a good swordsman and an even better strategist, how could he have been killed so easily?* A million thoughts go through Japan's mind, colliding with each other and creating even more thoughts. He had heard stories long ago, of the infamous pirate Captain Kirkland. The ruthless vagabond who gave no mercy to his prisoners, killing and burning their ships while laughing like a mad man.
England's Boss stands, coughing into his fist he says, "I thought that it would be prudent that you should be told by me, and not by anyone else who may twist the story. I was so looking forward to your wedding Mr. Honda, I'm quite positive that it would have been a grand event. Terribly sorry for your loss." He dips his head at Japan, and then leaves the room without another word.
Japan stares at everything and nothing. In shock from the most recent news, he wanted to know of his love, but not this way. His fingers are trembling, so are his shoulders, he shocks himself when the realization hits him that he's crying. When did he start crying? Who cares? Not him he can assure you, he cared about nothing at the moment. Nothing that is, including his pills that are in a plastic cup on his bedside table. They sit there, forgotten as he holds his head in his hands, rocking back and forth slowly.
Back and forth.
Back… and… forth.
His sobs become louder, but nobody comes to check on him. England's Boss must have told them not to go in right away, given them fair warning to the fiasco that would happen. His chest hurts, the stitches and his heart, just adding to the pain he feels inside, making him cry harder. He leans forward, putting his head between his knees, wrapping his arms around his head. He doesn't want to see the birds that have begun to sing again, doesn't want to see the bright blue sky dotted with puffy cotton-like clouds that look oh so soft to the touch. Soft, like England's words when he whispered them to Japan lovingly, soothingly, now never to be heard again. His breathing comes in short gasps after the sudden memory of that night a little over a week ago. Could it have truly been a week? It felt like an eternity. The night England had proposed, the words shared between them then, never again.
Never again, never ever, ever again!
"Arthur- hugh- kun… wha- why… sob… WHY!" Japan yells. This is the first time he could ever remember yelling like this. The first time he had ever felt this way before. He doesn't like it, he can't breathe right, and when he tries he coughs loudly. His cries become moans when his throat turns raw. He's shaking all over, shivering, he's spent physically. Japan's body can't take anymore, but his emotions are still fresh, willing to come forth and knock him down into the pit of despair. Japan is almost there, he's on the edge, and if he just takes one step backwards he will be there. Something pushes him forward however, away from the sinking hole of depression, a memory, a promise.
'…promise me, that you will never hurt yourself, that no matter the reason or time that you'll come to me. That you will tell me.'
*How am I supposes to tell you when you're not here? If I were to go to you, that would be breaking my promise to you.* Japan thinks.
It takes an hour for Japan to calm down enough to be able to breathe normally. He's still shaky, but it's not terrible. His eyes are still watery, but the tears do not spill over. He gets out of bed, forgoing his wheelchair, and walks out of his room. He walks down the halls where sounds of happiness and joy leak out into the hospital. He stops at the door that leads to the garden, hesitating before opening it. Outside the wind blows fiercely, blowing Japan's soft pink hospital gown up around his thighs. He steps onto the stone pathway, the rocks warm on his bare feet, and starts towards the willow whose tendrils dance in the air. Japan sits on the bench under it, hidden from the nurses who would surely be searching for him soon. A fallen flower floats to Japan's feet from a nearby bush. He bends to pick it up, careful not to damage the petals. It's a lilac, its scent is calming, soothing. Japan gives a small smile at the flower, cupping it in his hands; holding it close to his heart. The ring on his finger glistens in the sunlight, and Japan closes his eyes. He reminisces in the fond memories he shared with England, the first meeting, the open-air bath, when he had woken to his presence. Each is sweet, but also brings tears to his eyes. They trickle down his cheeks slowly, increasing with each past reflection until Japan is doubled over on the bench. The lilac still carefully clutched at his heart.
~England falls to the ground again, lying there this time, too weak to get up. He has been on the island for almost a week. The only water he has found resides in the juice from the fruit he has found on the trees, no rivers, ponds, or even puddles. He hasn't reached the other side of the island however; therefore there is a good chance that he will find fresh water, if he can survive that long. Each day he becomes weaker, traveling less and less. The sun raises high over the faint country, shining brightly in his eyes. England tries standing, his hand shooting out to grasp a vine for balance. His breath comes in short pants, quickly turning to gasps when he starts trudging through the forest again.
"D-don't worry Kiku luv," he whispers breathlessly, "I'm coming… I'll get to you. I promise…"
The bottoms of his feet are covered in scars and scrapes, leaving the grass behind them dampened by scarlet blood drops. That, and his fever, is reason enough for him to continue searching for water. His vision becomes blurry and England barely misses running into a large tree.
*There must be fresh water on this island somewhere… those animals need to drink as well* England think when he spots a bird perched in a tree. The bird looks at him and spreads its wings wide, it calls loudly, swooping down and past England, its claws inches from tearing off his ear. England ducks, rolling onto the ground and landing in soft mud. He lies there, unmoving. The mud seeps between his fingers, covering his hands.
*Mud… how lovely…* England thinks sarcastically. He never enjoyed mud, the way it dirtied his clothing, making it wet and disgusting.
Wet…
Mud…
Wet…
*WATER!* the realization jars England out of his stupor of mud hating. He flips over and starts crawling on his hands and knees through the mud. It becomes wetter the farther he crawls until his hand slips and he's face first in the muck. He feels around with his hand, his fingers dip into a substance that is neither solid nor gas. He pries his face out of the ground and sees it, his salvation.
It's a small spring surrounded by bushes and fed by a waterfall that reflects England's astounded facial expression. He pulls his entire body into the water, floating on the top, letting the coolness rejuvenate him. England dives under the surface, cleaning the dirt and grime from his body. When he surfaces he pulls off his belt and shirt, draping them over the limbs of a nearby tree. He dunks his head under, swallowing mouthfuls of water. His blonde hair is plastered to his head and his damp, muscular torso glints in the sunlight. His emerald eyes are filled with life, determination. All he needs now is a way to get off this cursed isle.
~End Chapter~
Authors note: -_- tears… I got into character in this chapter; I became Japan and acted out how I wanted him to react to England's Boss. Speaking of Boss's… I am officially starting an angry mob that is hell bent of killing Japan and England's Bosses (my fanfiction bosses only :P). I and one of my fans are making plans to kill them with Russia's help and rusty lead pipes. Thank you UnifiedNations!
