It was a fiercely hot day, with the sun glaring down at the American waiting expectantly on his friend's porch. "Oh, hello, America," Ho Chi Minh said upon opening the door. "Vietnam is out at the moment, but come in. A drink would be good in this weather, I think."

"I could use a coupla minutes off my feet. This war has me running all over the place," he said, grinning and removing his military cap as he stepped inside. He lit a cigarette and sprawled over Vietnam's couch.

Ho Chi Minh nodded in response as he went into the kitchen. "Vietnam is being overworked, too. It is hard to supply two major world forces."

"Hmm." America sucked at his cigarette, zoning out. He had not been able to visit in a while. Missing Kim felt like someone had scooped a hole out of his chest, but at the same time it felt like a weight on his torso. "Say, where exactly is Kim now?"

"Out on an errand. She is shopping at Haiphong harbor."

The cigarette drooped between America's lips. "Shit," he said, suddenly pale. "Oh, shit. Haiphong. There's a—there's a major bombing mission against it today. Of all the damn places. Viet's gonna get hurt!" He shoved back his chair and quickly snuffed out his cigarette. "Ho, you gotta find me a way to get to that harbor immediately."

"America, with all due respect, this is ridiculous. If you cannot get there in time, then why go and further endanger both of you?"

"I know the bombing plans, not you! Nations travel distances faster, and I think I got time. I promised that I wouldn't let anything happen to her."

Minutes later, Ho watched America clamber into a wagon, driven by one of Ho's young followers. "She has left not long ago. Best wishes," said the leader.

"I'll bring her back safe, Ho," America said—no smile, no light-hearted tone, just determination. The reins of the horse jumped, and they were off.

They could feel the ground tremble long before reaching the harbor.

"Stop here! Thank you," said America, hopping off the wagon when the seaside city was in sight. The planes swarmed the harbor like bees. One building was already on fire. America surveyed Haiphong, realized he had no plan, and surged forward. In the streets, he constantly bumped shoulders with terrified humans scrambling away from just-fallen bombs, looking for shelter. He and an elderly man hefting a heavy sack collided full-on, showering rice onto the sidewalk. The man scurried away before Alfred could apologize, but then he jerked with realization. Rice. That man was selling it, which meant—

Alfred sprinted in the direction the man was fleeing from, screaming Vietnam's name. The hopelessness of the situation seemed to choke him when he heard "America?" A faint but hopeful sound.

Alfred stopped and swiveled around wildly, and spotted her huddled up at the end of an alley. He broke through the current of people and dashed over to her. She reached out her hands, which, when he reached her, were enveloped in his larger ones. "We have to get out of here! There's no way this place is safe enough."

"We'll get blown up out there," Vietnam objected.

"No, you have to listen to me! Is there a bomb shelter nearby?"

"N-no!"

Yanking her arm, America pulled her to her feet and dashed back towards the street. He squeezed her hand so hard that it hurt.

"What are we supposed to do? Aren't we going to help?" Vietnam asked, turning to look at the desperate citizens around them while.

"We need to find shelter. If you get blown to bits, it could have extreme repercussions on your people."

At these words, Vietnam jerked to a stop. "America, then you should be far away from here!" she scolded.

Mistake. The world felt like a firmly shaken snow globe as the building towering beside Vietnam exploded with a plume of gray. She was knocked to the ground amid a shower of ash and concrete chunks. America pulled her back up; she clutched at his arms to steady herself. "Don't stop moving," he demanded. Vietnam nodded mutely, now trembling and sprinkled with soot.

They raced through the streets of Haiphong, veering away from exploding factories and clutching each other's hands. Suddenly, America came to a screeching halt; the seaside town ended abruptly at a clear strip of land, split by a single railroad track. Thick forest was on the other side.

"America?"

He reached up to seize a handful of hair. "Shit. We just need some good shelter. Either something with a strong cover or something underground. Shit," he said again.

Brown eyes widened. "I know a good place!" Vietnam exclaimed, and America's heart stopped as she ran towards the trees.

He never told her that bombers loved aiming for railroads.

"VIETNAM!"

A gray bomber roared overhead. America chased after Vietnam and tackled her. It was rough and unromantic — they collided with the ground harshly and, locking her within his strong arms, America started rolling away from the forest and tracks. That was when the air shattered and the earth shook from a fresh bomb. Vietnam gasped at the sound, but America kept rolling over and over until she could feel rough hot road under her skin. From the gap between America's chest and arm, Vietnam saw the smoldering tracks that she had foolishly run onto. She squeezed her eyes shut, hating herself. America noticed and decided to remain silent.

They stayed like that for a while—America's broad back shielding the small woman underneath. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his shirt. He also laid his fingers on her wrist, to stabilize himself and to reinforce the fact that she was scared but safe, through her quick pulse. In the minutes that felt like hours, the two listened to the explosions, the distant terror, and the breath of the other.

Finally, the hum of the planes receded.

"Viet. You alright?"

"Are you alright!?" She sounded breathless and panicked. "The bomb was right next to us, and you were shielding me, and you could've—"

He shushed her and told her to just breathe. Rolling off of her, America chuckled in relief. "Wasn't squishing you, was I?"

Vietnam shook her head.

"Great! Let's get home and take a long rest, alri—?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

It took all of America's strength to keep his smile from wavering. "I should've told you that railroads are eye candy for bombers," he fake-laughed.

"Do not make it your responsibility."

They walked back into the destroyed city, looking for a way home. Ash hovered over the ruins, along with an eerie silence. America had his arm around her, hoping to be a source of comfort.

"Some of these buildings are not Japanese," Vietnam stated quietly.

"I know. We miss sometimes. I'm sorry."

Her shoulders felt so stiff that he eventually withdrew from her. She seemed vacant—more than usual, anyway. It's her first close-up experience of bombing, America thought. Anyone would be in aftershock.

Well, there was more to it than he thought.

"Vietnam? Is anything wrong?" It was the question he has been asking for over a week.

And "everything's fine" was the two-word answer she used each time.

This time, the two were walking up the path to Vietnam's house—she had just finished farm work. He gave her a surprise-visit at the paddies, in an attempt to cheer her up, but she seemed as distant as ever. America frowned deeply. "You're mad at me. I just know it," he whined.

"Why would I be mad at you?"

"Is this seriously even a question?" When Vietnam said nothing, America said, "The bombings. After what happened at Haiphong, you can't even look at me. And, god, things were going so well between us. I swear—after this war I won't let a single bomb touch your land, alright? Not a single one. Jeez, Vietnam," he said, his voice becoming small. "I just…I wish I told you to stay home that day."

America's eyes were shining, and Vietnam knew that keeping him ignorant was cruelty. "Stop. Stop. America, you were only trying to win the war, which is what I want, too. For the last time, I am not angry with you, though you are right about things being...different."

America perked up slightly. "You're not mad? Oh, thank god! But…then what's changed?"

"Nothing changed, exactly. If anything, it is more like I want to change. I am grateful that you came and saved me that day, but you don't have to. You shouldn't have to. How can I want independence if I can't even take care of myself?" Vietnam scowled, tugging her hat over her eyes.

"Hey!" America ran in front of her and grabbed her shoulders. She jerked in surprise. "Don't think that. It was your first time in that kind of situation. Anyone woulda panicked."

A tsk left her lips as she took a step back. "You had to pull me away from danger multiple times. I ran onto train tracks. How stupid can I get? It made me realize that I am becoming dependent on somebody again. I can't live with that, especially since I'm trying to become a free country." Her jaw tensed in determination. "I have to prove to myself that I can stand on my own two feet. I have to."

"Which means...?"

"Which means I'm detaching myself from you," Vietnam explained, as America looked at her in horror. "It's nothing personal, or even major," she assured.

"It is to me!"

"Oh, America, don't be sad. We're still friends, after all. No, wait…"—She looked up at him, smiling, and America stopped breathing—"Acquaintances. I think that's a better word, for the moment."

As Vietnam walked onto the porch of her house, America stood in the front yard, completely flabbergasted, before running after her.

"Vietnam, you don't need to do this to prove your worth! I'm not letting our alliance go to waste, either. We've gotten too close for that."

"America, what's the matter? We're still allies," Vietnam said, tilting her head to the side. Her confusion was so adorable that America wanted to grab her face and kiss her senseless.

"But—I—gah!" He slammed his hands onto the kitchen table and hung his head for a moment. "I'm gonna say it," he said, raising it again, determination flashing behind his lenses. "I think you're amazing. You're tough. You're beautiful—see, you don't even realize it!" he interjected, when Vietnam's eyes went huge. "I want to be your hero."

"But… this can't be right," said Vietnam with a frown. "You said that we were just friends."

"What? No I didn't."

"Yes, you did!" she insisted. "After I rescued you from your plane crash. You told me that the kiss meant nothing…" She trailed off, her eyes and lips suddenly thinning. "Unless it did."

She took a step towards him, eyes murderous.

"It didn't!" America cried, backpedaling and showing his palms.

"Then what's this confession for?" she demanded.

America swallowed. "I mean, I wouldn't say that it meant nothing…OOF!" he shouted as Vietnam struck his side with her paddle.

"America! I cannot believe you! Ugh, this is so embarrassing," Vietnam groaned, covering her face with a hand as America cursed colorfully from the attack. "Why would you lie to me?" she seethed.

"This is all a misunderstanding, I swear. I said that I kissed you because I was delirious, but that doesn't mean—that doesn't mean I don't like you. A lot. I meant that I wanted our first kiss to be more special than that. You know…more mutual."

Vietnam's face turned bright red, and she looked away. "Forget it. Please. Just forget it."

"Vietnam, you don't even know…this isn't just something shallow. I want to be with you and protect you. You won't have to worry about a thing, ever again."

When she said nothing, he took her small hand; she drew back and looked at him rather fearfully. "I think we need a break," she said at last. "You have been sacrificing much time for me, and I appreciate it, but perhaps it would be best for you to focus more on the war elsewhere…like Europe, or something."

"You don't get it. Everything is focused on the war! The war swallowed up everything! These visits are the only times when I don't feel like – like...a fighting machine. You are my break."

Vietnam bit the inside of her cheek. "America, I think you're very sweet. But I don't want a relationship. I would be a terrible girlfriend, anyway."

"That's an opinion that I should form by myself," he said.

"America, please believe me. You will only hurt yourself otherwise."

Crossing his arms over his chest, the stubborn country pouted childishly. "We were close to something. I just know it," he insisted. "And now, what, you want us forget all that because of one stupid thing? Not in a million years, Viet. I can't leave you when it took this long to get this close to you! I've been playing subtle for far too long, but I can't be patient anymore."

"What are you going to do? Force me to date you?" Vietnam snorted.

"If I did that, it wouldn't really count. But what I can do, darling, is flirt with you until you realize your feelings for me."

Vietnam was so shocked and repulsed that she spluttered. "Until I realize my feelings for you!? You pretentious little—" She gave up on words and slapped him hard on the cheek. "How much do you like me now?" she demanded.

"I think that was the first time you slapped me, doll-face. What happened to the paddle-hits and punches? I think someone's denying feelings," America crooned, cupping his stinging cheek.

Vietnam threw her hands up in the air. "You're crazy!" she fumed, and she stormed off. Alfred trailed behind her, laughing and commenting on how cute she looked when she was angry.

A/N: Finally. After ten whole chapters. He confessed! *dies*