Well, here's the final chapter! I hope you enjoy it as well; it's rather short. I send a big thank you to all my readers. And, another thanks to my beta Jami-bunny. I really appreciate all the reviews and follows and favorites. This has been my most popular story so far.

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Chapter 10

Arthur let his fingers trace back over the cuts and bruises that marred Alfred's face. Already, the bruises were fading to purples and greens. "I gave Alfred his title of great for my people, you know," he whispered, breath ticking the American's ear. "But you are quite a great nation. Alfred…" He ghosted his lips over the worst of Alfred's bruises, the one on his jaw. "You are no king, but you are still a great Alfred. Not my people's Alfred. You are my Alfred, my hero."

Alfred's breath caught in his throat. "A-Arthur."

The older man kissed his cheek, attending to the other injuries peppering his face. It tickled and Alfred giggled. Hands dropped down to caress his shoulders and then down to his arms. Arthur leaned in to kiss Alfred hard on the mouth, and his hands gripped firm biceps. Pain swelled anew through his upper arms and down into his forearms, sharp and insulting the warm feeling that had built in his stomach.

"Arthur! Ow! Dammit! That hurts!"

England's eyes widened in concern. "I'm so sorry, love."

"I'm still sore there."

"Let me go get something to clean those."

"Yeah, all right."

He leapt from the window seat and dashed out the library doors.

Alfred, curious of the extent of his injuries, shrugged out of his bomber jacket with a wince; he hadn't paid attention to how much it hurt to move his arms. The adrenaline rush from the fight had faded slowly. He felt it now, acute and throbbing. Denmark must have hit a few places on his arms several times in rapid succession and broken the skin, leaving bloodstained dots on his dress shirt.

Or…maybe that was from hitting the table leg? If he had been a human, he would surely have gotten a concussion from the impact. He unbuttoned his shirt slowly, not wanting to discover the extent of the damage to his arms. His knuckles ached. Denmark sure did pack a punch. He had to pause in the middle of pulling off his shirt. Had he been expecting the attack, he would not have amassed half of the injuries on his chest and shoulders. He could feel the tickling itch of healing through his upper body and face, but wouldn't be back to normal until he got a good night's sleep—or two. He swallowed a groan and let his shirt fall off his arms just as Arthur returned.

Arthur stopped in his tracks a few steps away, as Alfred let his shirt fall to the floor. "Bloody hell. You're a mess!"

"Heh, no kidding. Did worse damage to Denmark with the punches I got in. Critical ones. I'm pretty sure I broke ribs."

"Be that as it may, I wish it hadn't happened at all." He sighed and set down a tray as he sat. "Here, take these." Arthur handed him some pills and a glass of water. He moved his fingers along the back of the younger man's skull.

America winced. "I don't think I have a concussion. Just a headache."

"Still, follow my fingers." Alfred rolled his eyes, but did as requested. England waved his hand back and forth, then around America's field of vision. "You seem fine. I'm sorry for the whack I gave you earlier, though you have quite the hard head." Arthur smiled and offered a soft peck on the lips.

Alfred hooked his arms around Arthur's waist and leaned in to increase the pressure on his lips. "Ow! Dammit!" He sighed and flopped back onto the plush cushions of the window seat, putting his hand to his lip.

"I'm sorry." Arthur brushed the hair from the American's forehead. "Relax and I'll take care of you."

He reached over to a small bowl and pulled out a cloth; Alfred closed his eyes, listening to the water trickle back into the bowl as Arthur wrung out the excess. He first blotted at his black eye.

Alfred hissed. "What's in that?!"

"Just a home remedy to take away the sting."

"Well, it stings!"

"Are you acting like a child on purpose?"

"No! But, being taken care of is kinda nice." He pouted. "Just don't poison me with that concoction you mixed up."

"It's not like I cooked, twit. It's just a few herbs. Nothing magical."

"All right."

"Stay still. It will only sting for a moment. I should have warned you."

"'S all right," he whispered, and took Arthur's other hand to stroke his fingertips across his knuckles.

Arthur tended the rest of Alfred's wounds, washing them with water and peppering them with delicate kisses that left him squirming as the he ventured down to the ones on his chest. Alfred grumbled at the pressure applied to his arms. He paid particular attention to the gash on Alfred's left arm. "Where did that come from?"

"Table," he muttered when he saw England's scowl. "I think."

"I knew I didn't like that fall you took. I should have brought plasters with me."

"Just clean it, babe. I'll heal up fine." Alfred took the older man's hand again and kissed his fingers, chuckling when his cheeks pinked.

"I won't be getting anything done if you don't stop that."

"Stop what?" He fanned out Arthur's fingers and kissed each of his fingertips, and then his knuckles.

"Very funny." Arthur wet the cloth again and brushed it over the bruises on his chest. He dipped it back into the water and brought it up to the American's split lip, pressing and holding it there.

Alfred winced and flailed, pushing away the offending cloth. "Owie!" He pouted, and turned away.

"Aw, don't be that way, my dear."

"I hurt all over protecting our honor!"

"True. My apologies." Arthur hummed. "Let me make it up to you."

Alfred settled back into the cushions with a slight wiggle of his hips, tugging him close.

Unprepared for the jostling and firm grip, Arthur pitched to the side and bumped the tray. "Wait, wait." He gathered up the bowl and other supplies and set them on the floor out of the way. "I rang up, oh, what's his name? Your brother. Oh, yes! Canada." He fumbled opening a drawer and started rummaging through it. "I told him not to expect us back at the meeting this afternoon. We won't have to deal with the aftermath today."

"'Kay." Alfred smiled.

"I thought that we could just have a lazy day instead." His voice sounded funny, possibly from the way his body contorted over the side of the window seat.

"Sounds nice." He let his hand rest, motionless, on Arthur's thigh, to feel the man's warmth and make sure he didn't topple over the edge.

"I thought so." Arthur swung his torso back up hauling a blanket along with him. He had unbuttoned his shirt while out of Alfred's line of vision. The American gazed up at him, reached a hand up, and pulled it off his shoulders with a firm slide of fingers over creamy flesh. "Thank you, darling."

Arthur lifted himself up and over to Alfred's other side, careful not to disturb any abrasions or contusions, pulling the blanket over them both as he moved. He settled into the deep, soft cushioning nearest to the window and cuddled up against Alfred's side.

"Mhmm." The America snuggled closer, resting his head on Arthur's arm. "Hey, Artie?"

He heaved a sigh in halfhearted annoyance at the nickname. "Yes, precious?"

He nuzzled his nose against Arthur's neck. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He kissed the top of Alfred's head. "My Alfred the Great."

Well, that's all folks! The End. I hope you like it still.

I suppose I could have combined this with the previous chapter, but it just didn't seem right, and it was nice to have an even 10 chapters. I'm just a little OCD.

Endings are so sad. So, I'll have to start on another story soon, so I can have a new one to work on. I have others to share.

Thanks again to everyone who has taken time to read my story, and those who have reviewed. I love your reviews!