England wasn't surprised when America chose somewhere other than McDonald's for lunch. They pulled into a parking lot filled with pick-up trucks and America waved to the other regulars as they grabbed a small seat near the back. The decorations weren't much to look at, but the scents wafting from the kitchen smelled heavenly.

"Hey, Al! It's been a while, hun," the waitress greeted them cheerfully. "What can I get you and your friend?"

America smiled back and ordered for both of them. "And can we start with the hushpuppies?" he asked eagerly. He turned his smile to England once the waitress left with their order. "They've got the third best hushpuppies in the whole United States."

"Only the third best?" England asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Yeah, I know. You deserve the best, but New Orleans is a long road trip."

"I... I doubt I'd like the city anyway," England replied, surprised by America's good mood and flattery. "Too French."

"Well, let me know if you ever change your mind. The French Quarter is actually the best part," America teased. "That's where they have gay Mardi Gras."

England blinked. He decided that America couldn't possibly be implying what England thought he was implying. "Well, I suppose I should start at the beginning of the weekend," he said, preparing to give America a brief synopsis of their time together (leaving out, for the moment, details such as the frequency of kisses).

America waved away his explanation. "You don't need to. They left letters in my room, so I think I have the gist."

"They did?" England gasped, wondering if the letters were what Al and the other America meant when they said they would help him.

"Yep. Two letters and a crayon drawing. One of the letters said Al and the other just said America. I guess he was too lazy to come up with his own name," America said, trailing off when the waitress arrived with the hushpuppies. The fried cornmeal balls were tasty distractions; savory and warm, the chewy center contrasted nicely with the crunch of the outer layer. But England found it difficult to focus on food when America had just given him an intriguing morsel of information.

"So did they write anything... interesting?" he asked carefully between bites, half-curious and half-worried about what exactly the other Americas had said.

America leaned closer, and a grin slowly spread across his face. "Do you really want to know, England? 'Cause one of 'em had a pretty extensive list of tips, if you know what I mean," he added with a wink.

England gaped. He had assumed that America was in a good mood because of the food, but this was more than just food-based happiness. America was undeniably flirting with him. In fact, it reminded England of... "Al?" he asked.

"You can call me whatever you want," America said with another wink. The shameless flirting continued as their sandwiches arrived, and England found himself dealing with burning questions and flame-red cheeks. America was definitely not back to normal, although England enjoyed the cheesy one-liners a little more than he cared to admit. Especially when America started making dirty jokes about southern hospitality. By the time they had polished off their sandwiches, America was even willing to share a few salacious details about the letter from Al.

"...and he said to always let you lead the way on horse rides because there's a better view from the rear," America finished as he paid the check. He even held the door for England as they left the diner, leaving the poor Englishman shocked speechless at the surfeit of gentlemanly behavior. "Oh, and he said there was a present for you in the nightstand," America added as he skipped happily to the car.

England cleared his throat. "Ah, I think I know what that is."

"I'm ready for nap time," America said as he opened the driver's side door and stood next to it. He gave England a confused look as England headed for the passenger's side. "Wait... you're letting me drive?" he asked eagerly.

"Why wouldn't I? It's your car."

"Oh, boy! Don't worry, England. I'm really good at Mario Kart!" America said as he jumped in and revved the engine.

"What does that have to do with..." England began to reply as he buckled his own seatbelt. "Good lord, America! Slow down, this isn't a racing game!" he cried, bracing himself as the SUV lurched onto the highway, weaving in and out of traffic at breakneck speeds.

"Zrrom, zrrom, zrroooom!" America yelled, his foot heavy on the gas.

"My god, watch out!" England shouted as they narrowly dodged a car merging onto the highway on their right. The ride back was a terrifying blur. Even though it took half the time, it felt like a terrifying eternity. "Hit the brake! Hit the brake!" England cried as they sped up America's long driveway at a breakneck speed.

"Where's the brake?!" America shouted back. A second later, the SUV skidded to a screeching stop as they plunged into the garage door. England jerked forward, his tight seatbelt squeezing all of the air out of his lungs. He landed back against his seat in recoil and tried to gasp for breath. The last thing he heard before everything went black was America saying cheerfully, "Oh, that one's the brake."

ߛ ߛ ߛ

As England slowly regained consciousness, he first noticed a warm piece of cloth firmly pressed against his cheek. It felt like it was moving. "Mhuh?" he asked groggily.

"Don't worry, I've got you," America replied, his voice coming from just above England's head. England felt strong arms tightening under his knees and around his back. He was being carried up the stairs like a bride, or a princess, or maybe a princess bride.

"Put me down," England demanded, trying to wriggle out of America's grasp as they reached the top of the stairs. "I can walk."

"Ah, it's just a few more steps. Come on, let me be your hero." England stopped wiggling and looked up at America in shock. Now he understood why America wasn't back to normal; he was in one body again, but his personalities hadn't merged! He should have realized once America started flirting with him at the diner. Oblivious to England's whirling thoughts, America took advantage of the sudden silence to kick open the door to the guest room and he laid him, surprisingly gently, on the bed. The bed dipped as America sat next to England, looking subdued and apologetic. "So, is there anything I can get you? Some painkillers? An ice pack?"

"A cup of tea wouldn't go amiss," England said, more out of habit than anything else. America nodded and left him to sort out his thoughts in silence.

England stared at the ceiling and contemplated what to do next. He was a little tempted to sneak into America's room and read the letters from Al, Freddie, and the other America, but he resisted the urge. As England thought about the letters he frowned, pondering why the United States hadn't written anything to his alter ego. Did the U.S. not want them together after all? Or perhaps the U.S. had a slightly different plan. England sat upright and began to search through his room, remembering the way the teen had acted guilty when England caught him sneaking around in his bedroom. Maybe the U.S. had decided to write his letter to England.

After ransacking his luggage and the shelves, England finally spotted a wayward piece of paper sticking out of the corner of his book. He grabbed the letter, knocking the book to the floor in his haste. He unfolded the letter and read it eagerly. The handwriting was as messy as usual, but the careful wording reminded England that America had many fine writers, even if he didn't admire them properly.

My dearest England,

The others and I have not been honest with you.

My first confession: I stepped into the machine fully aware of what it could do. The reasons for my actions are difficult to admit, though I believe you deserve to know why. For a long time, I was satisfied that we were friends and scared to upset what had taken us so long to rebuild. But as much as I yearned for something more, I could see that my presence often annoyed you. And so I thought that I could separate out the parts of me that were driving us apart. Unfortunately, the result was not as clean as I hoped.

After you called, the others agreed on a plan. They wanted to test your reaction to each of us, in hopes of identifying the one you loved most. I thought it was a stupid plan and told them so. Truly, I was afraid because I knew the winner would not be me.

You surprised us. We realized that none of us was the one you really wanted. Despite all of his faults, I think you truly love America.

I have written you this letter in case America does not tell you the truth after he returns. I don't think he will. There is a great vulnerability in admitting your feelings and although he values bravery, I think he's too scared of losing you to say anything. As much as it hurts to admit it, I suppose I have the advantage in that regard. There's nothing to fear when you know you've already lost.

With all my heart,
Alfred

England's vision blurred slightly as he folded the letter and picked his book off the floor. He was still standing there, holding the book in one hand, when America returned with the tea. "Holy smokes, what happened in here?" America demanded, setting the tea cup on the nightstand as he gaped at the room's disheveled state.

"I found the fourth letter," England replied, a lump still in his throat.

America looked concerned. "Hey, he didn't say anything bad, did he? Because I can go back into that machine and kick his ass if you want."

"No." England shook his head and smiled at America. "No, actually, he told me something very important. And there's something important that I should tell you."

"Is it about that time―" America shut up quickly when England stepped close enough to press a finger against his lips.

"Alfred, let me finish or I might never work up the courage to tell you this again," he said softly, earning him a surprised stare and America's full attention. "The parts of you that annoy me are also some of your best traits. Yes, you can be childish and immature, but you're also innocent and sweet. And although I get sick of hearing hero-this and hero-that, I admire your earnest dedication to doing what you think is right. I'll admit that the whole world is a little tired of listening to you talk about how great you think you are, but your confidence is also very, well, it's quite attractive. I don't love you despite your flaws. I love you because of them."

America gaped. "You love me?"

"Every little bit of you," England replied, as he grabbed America's shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. He felt America's shocked inhale of breath and then America was wrapping arms around his waist and kissing him back. The kiss was hungry and sweet and everything he had ever wanted from America. In an instant, the world clicked into place.

When the kiss finally ended because they both needed oxygen, America stared back at him with sparkling eyes, his grin bright enough to light up the room. "I remember now! I remember!" he cried happily as he pulled England into a comfortable hug. "We had quite the weekend, huh?"

"It was lovely," England sighed happily as he rested his head against America's shoulder. It all seemed clear in retrospect. Sufficiently advanced technology was indistinguishable from magic, and everyone knew that a kiss could break any spell. Kissing each of the four Americas had started the process, but it took a single kiss to return everything to normal. Better than normal, actually.

"Hey, if your kisses can give me my memory back, do you think they can give me superpowers?" America asked eagerly. "Because that would be awesome."

It was hardly the most romantic proposition in the history of the world, but England felt too giddy to care. He smiled back. "Only one way to find out..."

ߛ ߛ ߛ

An hour later, when England realized that his tea had gone cold, he didn't even mind.