This is becoming a usual thing in my author's notes but: I'm sorry for not updating again. This chapter was half finished in my folder for the longest time as I couldn't really find time to sit down and work on it. College is a tough transition, yeah? The past few weeks have been cram packed for me, and anyone who's been following me on tumblr has probably noticed my inactivity there too. Hopefully things start to die down a bit.

Chapter 11

Alfred blinked awake Monday morning with a sense of dread settled heavy in his gut. Was this really the last day? He could hardly believe it. It seemed like he'd been in this country forever trying to help diffuse the situation, and yet, after five days in North Korea, it didn't seem like anything had been accomplished. Aside from North's word that he and Alfred were going to "start over," what had been achieved? Mr. Richardson and the others had spent their mornings negotiating and pouring out suggestions to the North Koreans only to receive unclear answers and we'll-think-about-its. At this point, it was hard to tell what might happen. Despite wanting to remain optimistic, Alfred had a sinking feeling about what might happen after the South Koreans started their drills. After a few minutes of lying in bed staring at the ceiling and trying to ward away the sick feeling in his stomach, he got up to get dressed.

After breakfast, the group assembled outside the hotel and loaded into the two white minivans. Alfred again sat next to Mr. Blitzer, who was filming out the window with his handheld camera.

It was a surprisingly clear morning, the sun glistening on the now days-old snow, but Alfred could see wispy clouds drifting along in the distance. After a few minutes of driving through downtown Pyongyang, the group arrived at the People's Assembly, a huge majestic structure of white granite and marble. As they pulled into the parking lot, Alfred noted how empty it was. There were just a few cars, most of them small, surprisingly similar looking black or white four-doors. It was somehow fitting, Alfred thought.

North waited for them on the steps, as usual.

Alfred approached him, but before he could even ask, North was already updating him on the transportation situation.

"I couldn't do any better," he confessed, though Alfred didn't think the Korean seemed very apologetic. Getting a bunch of Americans out of his country was probably the least of North's problems at the moment. "I can arrange for four to go to the border with China. The rest will have to wait."

It wasn't the news Alfred wanted to hear, but with any luck, all of them would be flying out that evening anyway. "How long does it take to get to China?" he asked.

"Six to eight hours," North answered, though he paused for a moment to make a face. "With the snow, longer, maybe."

Alfred sighed. It was difficult to hide his disappointment, but hopefully, they wouldn't be needing any of this anyway. "I guess we'll just have to wait for the plane. Was there any sign of the South Koreans starting their drills?" He figured it was a question North might know the answer to.

"They've actually looked ready for days," North said, frowning. "Everything is in place. But they haven't done anything yet."

"So you can't tell if they might start today?"

"No."

"Well, if they do, just remember what we've been telling you all week. Hold back, okay?"

"We'll do what we deem best for the country."

Alfred resisted showing signs of frustration. That was almost the exact same answer they'd been given by every official they'd spoken to this week! Now, on the steps of the People's Assembly, Alfred was sure they were going to get the exact same answer from North Korea's Vice President during the meeting today.

On the inside, the People's Assembly was nearly as impressive as it was on the outside. Spotlessly gleaming marble floors and huge, patriotic murals greeted them at every turn. It was pleasantly warm inside, but Alfred got the feeling that only the parts of the building that would be in use had been heated today.

North led them down the huge, high-ceilinged hallway to the meeting room. When they arrived, the Vice President and what must have been his entire board of advisors waited for them. When the American delegation entered, they all rose to greet them. North went to stand with his comrades.

"I'm very happy to meet my old friend," the Vice President said—in English—as he shook Mr. Richardson's hand. Mr. Blitzer, camera rolling, was there to record the diplomatic moment.

"I'm very happy to meet you as well," Mr. Richardson replied, smiling, before reaching into his bag and pulling out five slim DVD cases. "I know your Dear Leader likes movies," he said, holding them out for the Vice President to take. "These were all made in New Mexico—where I'm from. I hope you'll share them with him."

"Thank you very much," the Vice President smiled, taking the DVDs and giving a little bow. Alfred hoped the gift would set a good tone for the meeting ahead. This was probably the highest official they were going to meet, as well as their last chance to make a difference.

After Mr. Blitzer was ushered out, the meeting began.

The Koreans, who must not have wanted to accidentally misunderstand anything, reverted back to Korean and the translator stepped in.

Mr. Richardson started off with a question: "Have you heard anything from the South Koreans?"

After a moment, the Vice President said through the translator: "Nothing."

That answer was troubling to Alfred. North had said the South Koreans looked ready to start their drills at any time, hadn't they? And yet, had they really said nothing to the North Koreans? No wonder they were so on edge. They had no idea what to expect, and the South Koreans weren't talking to them. Now getting that hotline up and running seemed absolutely imperative.

Mr. Richardson, as though he'd heard Alfred's thoughts, followed up with the same proposal he'd given in nearly every meeting they'd had this week—the hotline.

"That reminds me," Mr. Richardson began, "of something I discussed with some of your comrades earlier this week." He paused the make sure the Koreans were listening, then went on. "What I think we should do is set up a military hotline between you and the South. That way, in the future, you don't have to be in the dark about these kinds of things."

He went on to explain in more detail. Thought the Vice President listened intently as the translator relayed all the information back in Korean, Alfred had to wonder what the point was in re-explaining it all. Surely the Vice President would have heard this information by now from the officials they'd spoken to previously. The guy probably knew every detail before the meeting even began. When Mr. Richardson was done explaining, the Koreans took turns asking questions. To Alfred's surprise, they were a bit different than the ones they'd been asked about the hotline previously. Will the South Koreans actually use it? Who's going to pay for it? Can it only be accessed from one location? Have the South Koreans agreed to this?

This led to more discussion, and after a while:

"I think it would be a good idea."

It wasn't an outright yes, but it was closer to a yes than they'd gotten in any other meeting. Maybe, Alfred thought, this was a sign that the Dear Leader was listening and maybe even taking some of these proposals seriously when they finally got to his ears.

Mr. Richardson was clearly pleased, but he didn't push any farther, probably concerned that the Koreans still wouldn't be able to officially say yes. Instead he simply moved on to the next topic.

The morning was still young. The meeting had lasted only about an hour and a half. It was quite short, but it seemed like they'd gotten at least some vaguely positive responses. It was a good sign—it meant maybe the Koreans had been discussing among themselves what had been said during the meetings. Maybe it meant they were starting to listen. Maybe it meant they weren't going to respond violently to the South's drills whenever they started. Maybe it meant nothing at all and the peninsula was going to descend into war as soon as someone made a wrong move. It was a hard call, and the thought of the South Korean drills starting still made Alfred feel sick to his stomach.

For the remainder of the morning, Mr. Richardson was set to have another—private—meeting with the Vice Minister of Foreign Affairs. The rest of the group was set for another day of sightseeing. Alfred went looking for North.

He found the Korean leaning against a wall down a side hallway, facing away from him. Alfred looked closely and saw that North was on the phone. Though he strained his ears to listen, his found to his dismay that North's Korean was spoken too fast and quiet for him to understand even a word. But just the fact that North seemed to be trying to keep his voice down told him that it must be an important call. Maybe it was straight from Kim Jong Il himself, but Alfred would probably never know for sure. Wary of getting caught eavesdropping and what the consequences might be, he ducked back out into the main hallway to wait for North.

A few minutes later, North emerged from the side hall. Alfred examined his face, but nothing about the Korean suggested that he was nervous or stressed. If something was going on, he was very good at keeping a straight face.

"Will you still be with us today?" Alfred asked as North approached him. He thought, if nothing else, whether or not North would be able to stay with them might tell him a bit about the situation. If North had to go somewhere else, Alfred could guess that something serious was happening.

But North's answer was a simple, "Of course," and he motioned for Alfred to follow him. It didn't seem like whatever he was on the phone about was important enough to take him away from touring with the rest of the group. North led Alfred along in silence.

"Where are we going?" Alfred asked after a moment, eager to try and make some small talk with the Korean, who didn't seem inclined to start a conversation on his own.

"Today, we're taking you to see the Pyongyang Metro…and also, the factory where they make the finest silk thread in Asia."

Alfred wasn't sure he really believed that part about it being the finest in all of Asia, but he didn't argue. They'd caught up with the rest of the group in the lobby.

"Are we going to wait for Mr. Richardson?" Alfred asked North as the group was herded into the minivans waiting outside.

"He'll join us at lunch," North answered as he took his seat. It looked like he'd be sitting next to Alfred today. "Maybe earlier. It depends how long his meeting goes."

Alfred waited a moment, but North said nothing more. Though Alfred wanted to continue to hold a conversation with him, he was hesitant to do so with the others in the van. So, they rode along in silence.

After only a few minutes of driving, the vans parked along the curb of what seemed to be a very average street in downtown Pyongyang. The buildings were all the same, similar gray blocks, except for a mural of some soldiers that had been painted across the side of one. Ki Young, who seemed to be their guide for the day, led them down a set of stairs. After crossing a short, level platform, they boarded an escalator going down.

It was so long that Alfred realized he couldn't see the bottom from the top. It seemed like they were riding forever before the end was finally in sight.

But despite the wait, the station did not disappoint. It was quite possibly the most impressive station Alfred had ever set eyes on, with its spotless floors and high ceiling, which arched above their heads gracefully. Amazingly, chandeliers had been installed in the station. Murals similar to those above ground had been painted anywhere where intricate engravings in the stone walls were not enough to make jaws drop. It was quite simply an incredible subway station.

"This is called Prosperity Station," North said to Alfred, no doubt proud of how prosperous the station looked on its own. "Opened in 1973. It's one of the deepest subway systems in the world—and also doubles as a bomb shelter."

Alfred stared.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Is this what you were on the phone about?"

It was North's turn to stare. "Were you spying on me?"

Alfred huffed and tugged the Korean to the side as Ki Young went to work showing the rest of the group around the station. "Yeah, whatever, I was spying. I saw you on your phone. Did something happen? Are the drills starting soon? Is that why—"

"Be quiet," North hissed tersely, cutting him off. "No. This is purely coincidence."

"Is that sarcasm?" Alfred asked, really, legitimately unsure. "It doesn't seem like coincidence."

"It's coincidence," North assured him. "Everyone sees the station. This was scheduled from the beginning."

"For today?"

"Yes," North hissed through his teeth, clearly annoyed. "Stop worrying. Even if something happened, you couldn't ask to be in a safer place."

"Yes, I could," Alfred retorted, pulling North closer so passersby couldn't hear. "I could ask to not be on a peninsula that's at the brink of war. I could ask to live in a world where inter-Korean relations aren't a problem. That way, none of us would be here in the first place."

"Stop," North grunted quietly, trying to keep his voice down. "You're making a scene."

"You're ignoring the problem!" Alfred insisted. "If you would just stop playing this game of brinkmanship—of seeing how far you can push people—you wouldn't need to have a bomb shelter in a subway station in the first place!"

North was silent for a moment, quietly seething behind those dark eyes of his. He seemed to consider for a moment whether or not this was a fight worth having in the middle of a subway station. Then, he pulled Alfred farther off to the side, away from the crowds, before turning to him again, his anger visible.

"Whatever happens now is as much out of your hands as it is out of mine," North growled, still gripping the American's arm—tightly enough for it to be uncomfortable. "Stop acting like I have control over everything. I can't control whether or not South wants to bomb me."

"He doesn't want to bomb you! They're just drills!"

"How do you know?" North snapped. "How do you know? Have you ever stood on the brink, wondering whether or not a devastating attack might come?"

"Yes!" Alfred said, exasperated. "Yes, I have, North! For the entire fucking Cold War! I woke up every day wondering if Russia was going to nuke me."

North wrinkled his nose, seeming to concede this point. "But has it ever been so personal for you?" North asked. "Has it ever been your own brother standing on the other side—with his finger on the trigger, threatening to wipe you off the map? Has it ever been your own brother telling you that you shouldn't exist, or that you're unfit to be a nation?"

Alfred was silent for a moment. He couldn't claim to have felt an equivalent. The closest he could come to that feeling was staring down the barrel of Arthur's gun during the Revolutionary War. But that had been near the end of the war, when Alfred's victory was all but assured. Even if he had lost, America was a body far and separate from the British Isles, with a people and culture all its own. There was little chance he would have disappeared. Korea was another case. They had once been one nation, one people. No one was sure what would happen when or if the two reunified. One of them disappearing was a very real possibility.

Deciding he couldn't claim an equivalent, he simply said, "I seriously doubt Yong Soo ever said those things to you."

"Of course you do," North said, finally loosening his grip on Alfred's arm. "You don't know that side of him."

Then, North let him go, lingering to glare at him for a moment longer before going to rejoin the group.

Alfred followed along grudgingly. If only he'd kept his big mouth shut and let North brag about his subway…

They rode the subway only to the next stop before getting off. This station, called Glory Station, was even more magnificent than the first, with a higher ceiling and more intricate carvings decorating its support columns. Ki Young told the group more about the history of the subway and its construction before finally leading them towards a set of escalators that would take them back to the surface.

When they were safely above ground once more, they found that their drivers had driven the minivans to the subway stop to pick them up. While they loaded up, they were each given a small container with their lunch—rice and grilled squid—to-go. Mr. Richardson, they were told, would be meeting them at their next stop—the silk factory.

The silk factory was entirely female-run. All women. No men. Workers were everywhere, spinning away or dying fresh silk threads with extravagant colors, or tending to the thousands and thousands of silk worms that spent their days happily living out their life cycle before meeting an untimely end in a vat of boiling water, used to remove the silk threads from their cocoons. A young lady, dressed elegantly in a dress no doubt made proudly from the factory's silk, lead the group through the process from silk worm to silk fabric, then made a big show of presenting some sample fabric swatches made from the factory's silk.

As the swatches were being passed around, Alfred decided to try and lighten the mood a little—or at least his own, anyway. When a particularly girly looking swatch spun from white and pink threads reached him, he turned to North, smirking, and held it against the olive drab of the other's military jacket.

"You wear that military stuff all the time," Alfred said, still smiling. "I think you need a change of style. This one suits you."

At first, North glared, and Alfred was sure North was going to blow up at him again. Fantastic! Right when he's trying to lighten the mood, he screws it up and makes things worse again. After his previous conversation with North, he really should have expected this.

But to his surprise, the Korean just rolled his eyes and shoved the swatch back at him. "It suits you better."

Alfred was silent for a moment, almost stupidly happy at the mild response. "Nah. Too girly," Alfred replied, happy, at least, that North hadn't bitten his head off over the little joke. "I need something really sharp and heroic—like a suit made of gold and white silk. I'd look like a god!"

"You'd look like an idiot."

"I'd look awesome in that!"

"You look like an idiot all the time," North sneered. "Nothing you can put on is going to change that."

Alfred huffed, insulted, but after insinuating that North was a girl, he should have expected an answer like that. "Okay, then, what color would you choose?"

North paused for a moment, looking through the swatches, before reaching for a red swatch with a tint that made it look like a fine wine. "This one. For me, not you. There's no hope for you."

"Red?" Alfred asked, trying to imagine the Korean wearing something so vibrant in place of the dull military jackets he usually wore. "Like that commie blood of yours?"

"If it were any other color," North hummed, "I would be concerned."

Mr. Richardson, who had rejoined them shortly before their departure from the factory, looked concerned.

"Look at the sky," he said as the group walked from the factory doors to the waiting vans. "All this rolled in in the past few hours."

Indeed, the sky, which had been relatively clear for most of the morning, had clouded over during their tour of the silk factory. Thick, blanketing stratus clouds seemed to float by almost low enough to be touched. A moist wind was blowing in from the west.

"I hope this doesn't affect our flight out," someone said.

Sure enough, shortly after they'd arrived back at the hotel to pick up their things, Ki Young got a call. Thick banks of fog had rolled in at the airport. Their adventure in Korea wasn't over yet. They wouldn't be leaving tonight after all.

"Your flight's been rescheduled to the morning," Ki Young told them.

Well, they'd made it this long without the Korean Peninsula descending into war, Alfred thought…surely they could make it through the night. Then it would just be a matter of leaving the country. With any luck, the North Koreans would just listen to what the American delegation had been telling them all week and not respond to the drills at all, whenever they took place.

Alfred looked around for North—wanting, at least, to urge him one last time not to retaliate in case he didn't see him in the morning—but the Korean seemed to have already slipped away. The rest of the group had been invited down to the karaoke bar—something to take their minds off the circumstances—but Alfred politely declined. How much influence the Americans were having on the North Koreans' decision was really up in the air, but Alfred couldn't help feeling that if the Koreans went to war, it would be partially his fault for not doing a better job at talking to North. No amount of karaoke was going to take his mind off that.

Instead, he dragged himself back to his room, thought about turning on the TV, and then decided against it. It wasn't like anything on would be worth watching anyway. What did that leave for him to do? He didn't have a phone, computer, or even a book to keep himself entertained, so he simply laid back on his bed and stared at the ceiling, running through the whole trip in his mind—the things he'd done, the things he'd said—everything. Maybe if he hadn't made a joke here, or hadn't said that thing there, North would have been more open to the things he'd been telling him. Or maybe he should've told more jokes and tried to talk to North more like a friend. Or maybe he should've just talked less overall. Maybe nothing he'd said to North would mean anything in the end. Maybe it would mean everything. Alfred didn't know, and he didn't want to think about the possible outcomes, but he couldn't help it. As a nation, if he could stop a war by talking with another nation, he felt like it was his responsibility to do so. What if he'd just screwed it all up?

He sat like that for hours, trying to convince himself that everything was going to be okay, before falling into a fitful sleep.

The fog burned off a few hours after sunrise the next morning. Alfred, who had found himself unable to sleep much after sunrise anyway, had spent those hours packing his things and was ready to go as soon as the white minivans pulled up in the hotel parking lot.

He was very stressed, he realized. Priority number one was getting his own citizens out of the danger zone. Priority number two was making sure he'd done everything within his small power to prevent a war before he left. After that, it was out of his hands. He wouldn't be okay, he realized, until his citizens were home and the drills were over and done with, assuming nothing else happened after that. It was the suspense that was killing him.

After everyone had their things loaded up, they left for the airport.

When they arrived, to Alfred's great relief, North was waiting for them. As everyone else got their things unloaded, he wasted no time in going to talk to the Korean.

"Good morning, American," North said flatly as he approached, showing no particular delight or remorse at Alfred's pending departure.

"Good morning," Alfred replied hurriedly, wanting to get to the point. "Anything on the South Koreans?"

"I don't know," North said, shaking his head. "I can't monitor them from here."

"What about on your end?"

North made a face. "What do you mean?"

"Are you still…planning on striking back?"

"That's none of your business."

"That's all of my business!" Alfred said, exasperated. Here they were on the brink of a war Alfred was doing everything within his power to prevent while North dodged his questions and acted like nothing he was saying even mattered! After everything that had happened! After North saying it was him who'd requested Alfred's presence, after North agreed to start over with him! It was so frustrating, feeling like there was so little he could do but doing everything he could anyway while the North Koreans just dragged their feet. "We've spent days trying to tell you why that's a bad idea!"

"We'll do what we deem best for the country," North said flatly—the same answer as always.

That was just about the last straw. Even through all the frustration, Alfred's stomach felt toxic with anticipation. This was his last chance to make a difference, and with the way this conversation was going, it didn't feel like he was making much of one at all. Whatever he said next, it had better be good. "I'll tell you right now," he said, "that war is not it. Think about your people. Do you want to put them through that? Over drills that aren't even a real threat to you? These people are your responsibility. Why don't you start acting like you actually care about them?"

As soon as the words had left his mouth, he knew he'd gone too far. North narrowed his eyes, glaring back at Alfred dangerously. "You worry about yours. I'll worry about mine."

The rest of the group had finished unloading their baggage and were regrouping off to the side. There were two dull thuds as the backs of the vans were closed. And then, a distant third.

Alfred paused.

For a moment, there was silence, and then—

Boom.

The rest of the group froze.

Boom.

Alfred glanced at North, who had fixed his hollow gaze southward.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Mr. Richardson and Mr. Namkung exchanged a look. Mr. Blitzer seemed to be debating between whether or not to switch on his camera. The two guides hovered uncomfortably between the group and the airport entrance. Everyone knew what was going on.

Suddenly, North's phone rang.