Hi, here I am again with a new chapter. Again, later than I originally promised. And, it's shorter than usual.
Title : Let Her Go
Chapter 10
England wakes up and cannot move, waist wrapped in a vice, pajama top twisted and tight around the shoulders. Wait, no. They fit. Perfectly.
The room is still dark, but England is too lazy to turn over to check the alarm clock. Sometime in the middle of the night is a close enough approximation. Too early to stir. Too early to think.
Besides, sluggish achy muscles encourage laziness. It won't hurt to sleep in until, oh, whenever. Might as well get cozy.
With a shift, England realizes that America's grip is quite firm, but warm, so England shifts only slightly to get more comfortable. Their chests brush.
England's chest is not cushiony as it was when he fell asleep.
He shifts. Yes, everything, everything, is back as it should be.
He is male again.
An incredible peace envelops him, instead of the exhilaration and excitement he had anticipated when the reversion would come, the revelation calms him; he relaxes and sinks back to sleep with quiet acceptance.
A few winks later, England's eyes open to the glow of mid-morning sunlight and the sound of America's heavy breathing. He stretches his muscles, takes a brief moment to explore, take anatomical inventory, and is reminded anew that his body has returned to normal. He feels the sparks of familiarity from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair to the penis between his thighs. It feels like home.
Wasting time lazing in bed no longer holds the same fascination, but he does not have the heart to wake America. Holding his breath, England eases from the grip firmly binding him to the bed. He pauses at a short, startled snort. Nothing comes of it. Alfred still sleeps soundly; he must be dreaming, England decides, and elects once again to let him sleep. There will be plenty of time for celebration later. Finally, he extricates himself from America's grip, covers the sleeping nation, and slinks out of bed.
He starts getting ready to face the day, a new man, and looks upon his face the mirror with joy at needing to shave. He hesitates, razor in hand, and decides to let the reddish scruff remain, a telltale vestige of family relations; welcome now, though usually a personal bane as it paints him with three different hair shades: blonde, red, and brunet. Ridiculous sight, is what it is. Oh that gloriously infernal ginger stubble! He cocks an dark eyebrow at his reflection, scratches his fingers along the scruff at his jawline. He looks like a right mess. Much as he did as a pirate. He grins.
There is a missed call and voice message on his mobile from Ireland, he discovers, when he settles on the sofa with a cup of tea. It is a reminder that Northern Ireland will be flying into London on her way home from visiting friends, and she wants him to collect her from the airport. So, he throws on a coat and dashes out the door.
England picks Northern Ireland up from the airport and they stop at a café on the way back home, scratching the toe of his shoe along the back of his black trousers, fingering the shirt under his jacket, shuffling his feet from the heaviness of his shoes. Thankfully, she does not notice. He hadn't expected to have become unused to his own skin, while so happy to be in it. He grunts out a sigh to rid himself of the thought.
Instead, he turns his attention to Northern Ireland. Despite her make up, she looks pale, and slumps as though she cannot wrap her coat tightly enough to keep out the chill that is completely absent so far inside the cafe, away from the wind and rain. He debates if ordering tea would be the best plan, and decides against it.
"What's that strawberry tart all over your chin?" she grouses at him, her voice little more than a murmur.
"Couldn't be arsed to shave." He rubs at the stubble.
"Do you fancy yourself Scotland now? You look like a right mess, Art."
"Why thank you." He smiles. "But I resent that remark."
He had looked forward to their familial bantering, but she merely groans in response, and the conversation crumbles as she leans heavily against the table. Watching her fold in on herself, he realizes what's wrong.
"Why on earth are you traveling right now, Kitty?" he asks, a worried frown furrowing his eyebrows.
She sighs and shrugs, and then tenses just afterward as though movement is painful. "Had it planned already."
"You should have said something."
He heaves a deep sigh.
"Maybe I didn't want to," she says reluctantly, her tone full of the regret she cannot express.
"I would have understood," he stresses.
"I know. Not every man does."
He makes note of her word choice, but does not comment.
"You're not mad?"
He sighs, thinking of Alfred and the past tumultuous month and loathsome week. What may come of it all? Who can guess. But, suddenly, is all that much eager to return to Alfred. "Well." Of course, he is still upset by the whole ordeal and still feels strange in his own skin. His brothers and some of the other nations will, no doubt, tease him from now until eternity. Oh, how he wishes to give her another piece of of his mind. But, now is not the time to reprimand with red rimming her eyes.
"I am truly sorry, Arthur."
"I know. We'll not speak of it now, though. Come, Kitty." He takes her hand, "It's cold in here. I'd rather make my own tea anyway. We'll stop for some biscuits."
She hesitates, regards him with a curious eye, as though asking if he's being patronizing. His eyes remain soft and he offers tender, warm smile. A small smile curls her lips. "Chocolate?"
"Yes, of course, chocolate." He grins. "None other."
"It's not a problem for me to stay with you a while?"
"None at all."
She then lets him pull her up, his hand resting firmly, but gently, against her back as they walk to his car. "Thank you," she whispers.
"Think nothing of it." She's not going to get those chocolate biscuits when they get back to his home. No. He silently plans to send her straight to bed with a cup of broth.
"Alfred?" England casts repeated glances at the opposite end of the couch where America is curled up, arms and legs tucked close to his torso. Both wear the clothing they slept in the night before, Arthur still goes without the matching pair of pajama bottoms.
America nods and his eyes shift a moment in his direction, but he gives no further response.
"Alfred?" England repeats more firmly. "Talk to me."
"Nufin'" he mumbles through teeth and lips, he is biting his lip.
"In intelligible phrases, please, darling."
Alfred swallows audibly at that, and seems to curl in on himself further.
"Alfred? What is it?" he pushes.
America glances at the space between them.
Of all the times for Alfred to be quiet, it is when Arthur most needs to know what's going in his head; it's never typically such a secret.
He looks almost... Arthur pauses. Alfred looks scared.
"What's wrong?" He closes the distance between them and holds Alfred by his shoulders. He doesn't move, but he does flinch. Arthur is not deterred, and hugs him tightly.
"What?" Alfred mutters, and squirms in the grip. "Why?"
He pulls back, to stare into wary, watery blue eyes. He cannot think of an appropriate answer.
When England had awakened a male that morning, he was happy. Of course he was. But, now, upon seeing Alfred's reticence, he was not as relieved as he thought he would be for them to be together. There were questions scritching and scratching at his mind the night before he changed back. He had pushed them away as he did the bedding that morning. Alfred had slept undisturbed, and rather than wake him and share the news of his transformation, he ventured downstairs for his morning cup of tea, and then fled the house to leave him to awaken alone and woefully ignorant.
England realizes now that he should have awakened Alfred when the initial discovery was made.
They should have talked.
Who knows what the younger nation things now. A young man of fearful conspiracy theories and the ill will of half the world, and England leaves him to his own devices and rapid-fire thoughts pinballing through his own self-doubt.
Arthur realizes that he is the biggest fool in history.
Since the moment America came down stairs an hour ago, he had skirted around England, avoided the casual touches that had come to be so familiar during the time he was a woman, despite his every attempt to be loving and affectionate and understanding. Could the time for Alfred's understanding be past?
Alfred attempts to pull away from his embrace again. "I didn't...I didn't think you'd want..." he stutters.
"That I wouldn't want what, love? I don't understand." England brushes the sleep-wild hair from America's forehead. "What are you saying?"
"You changed back."
England smiles. "Yes, I did."
"Yeah, and when you did. And when you weren't there. I didn't think you'd want me to...to."
"Wouldn't want you to what?" His brow furrows.
"To do this." Alfred gestures down with his chin at their arms.
"What? Hug you?"
"You didn't much before."
"What? Oh. Oh!" The realization comes to England suddenly. And, sometimes Alfred's problems are so simple when they are revealed. "I thought we came to an understanding."
"I just didn't...didn't want to assume. You know?" He moves slightly as though to hug him tighter, but stops himself and tenses.
"Oh Alfred." England pulls Alfred closer, and then rests his back on the sofa arm, holding him as he had been held the night before, head tucked under chin. "Answer this then. What are your feelings now? After all we've been through during the past month. After all that. Now that I'm myself again. What do you think of things now?"
"You were you before."
"I'm glad you acknowledge that. But, please, answer the question."
"I feel the same."
"As do I."
"What does this mean now?"
"Well, that's something we both have to think about, hm?"
"Heh, heh, yeah."
They lay together in companionable silence for a while; Arthur combs his fingers through Alfred's hair, and Alfred nuzzles his cheek against Arthur's shoulder.
"Hey Arthur," Alfred sighs, after some time.
"Yes, my darling?"
"You still look good in that shirt."
"You plonker!"
"You do." Alfred hugs him tighter. "And Arthur?"
"Yes?"
"Your cheeks are all scruffy."
"Oh! You!" Arthur swats him on the bottom. Alfred laughs. And, he thinks this is nice; it's comfortable. "Thank you, Alfred." He whispers into his hair.
"You're welcome, Arthur," Alfred whispers back. Both drift back to sleep, nestled in each others arms, the morning light casting shadows over them.
Author's Note:
To my Guest reviewer, the next/ next to last chapter. Finally. :)
India: Thank you for kind review. I hope this chapter was worth the wait as well. I'm so glad you like my writing style.
My dears readers, I'm sorry this is so late. I hope you are satisfied with this ending. I will be including a bonus chapter a bit later on.
OMG! I got stuck and didn't like the ending as it was, so I had to redo several bits of it. But, that's a really bad excuse for taking so long. This fic really became a lot more than I intended when originally started. I really enjoyed writing this, even though it took a a long time to finish it. I've actually discovered a lot about myself in the process, from the positive feedback and the not-so-nice comments as well. I've also sought medical help recently, because writing about my symptoms was really alarming. And, explaining them to my new doctor was a really disturbing, scary experience.
Let me know what you think. I appreciate all feedback.
Also, I have been issued a wish by a few people to continue with this particular plot, and I have plans tickling in my mind for it. I also want to write something entirely different. I'm ready to move on to other things for a bit. But, I'm definitely going to explore other aspects of the curse... that might or might not actually be resolved. *shifty eyes*
Song/Chapter list for BMCBP:
Chapter 1: "Turn and Face the Strange" - from "Changes", by David Bowie
Chapter 2: "If I Seem Edgy" - from "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood," by The Animals
Chapter 3: "Like You Wanna Be Someone Else" - from "Treasure," by Bruno Mars
Chapter 4: "Dancing Through the Fire" - from "Roar," by Katy Perry
Chapter 5: "All I Do Is Dream of You" - title, explained in chapter, but two other good versions are by Emilie-Claire Barlow and Dean Martin
Chapter 6: "How Did You Pick Me Up Again?" - from "Mercy, by One Republic
Chapter 7: "I Didn't Know I Was Lost" - from "Wake Me Up" by Mike Einziger, Aloe Blacc and Avicii. If you haven't heard this song unplugged, head to YouTube and check it out. It's worth it.
Chapter 8: "Got My Head Spinning" - from "All of Me" by John Legend. I love this song!
Chapter 9: "Don't Worry, Baby" - title, by The Beach Boys.
Chapter 10: "Let Her Go" - title, from Passenger. I kept it from a version of this chapter that was written from America's POV, but I could cover more from England's POV. I loved the song so much I just had to keep the chapter title as is.
A few of these are my personal feel good songs that I put on to pick myself up. And, some of them I put on repeat for their respective chapters.