June 1777

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

America liked him well enough, the Marquis de Lafayette. He was young, only nineteen, and was genial enough with everyone. He was clever. Best of all, he was willing to bring his own fortune to bear on the cause. Some of the other foreigners who had been knocking on Washington's door offering battle expertise had been desirous of lofty ranks and big pensions, all things that America couldn't give them. Surely, Gilbert du Motier had designs on being a general, but he seemed truly sincere in his passion for liberty.

If America was honest, it was France's presence that he wasn't so sure about. He had been avoiding him for days, not really sure what to say to him considering that his last words over twenty years ago hadn't exactly been courteous. He hovered near the sitting room door, wanting to catch a glimpse of France, but not wanting to approach him. He turned, startled when he saw George Washington giving him a look. With a tilt of his head he commanded America to follow him and, sheepishly, America followed him into the empty dining room.

"America, you must make an effort. France can offer us the supplies we need to win this war." Washington said as soon as the door was closed. "Do not make a fool of yourself."

America knew Washington had his best interests at heart, but the order was difficult. America couldn't help but feel that France was teasing him. He would send money and make overtures about how much he admired his ideals. So far, nothing had come of it except a few substandard weapons and pompous French noblemen wanting to play at war. "Washington... he and I were enemies the last time we saw each other."

"And now we might be allies."

"Fine. I'll try to be nice." replied America, frowning. He respected Washington, but he couldn't figure out how the man always maintained his calm gentlemanly manner. He'd seen Washington lose his temper a few times, but it was more righteous anger than anything else.

"Do more than try. We all may not like it, but France has an interest in us, in you."

"Dr. Franklin said it was beneath my dignity to go about courting."

"And yet he is in Paris this very moment finding munitions and supplies on your behalf. An actual treaty would do more for your cause. Do your utmost to get an alliance from him." Washington opened the door and waited until America went through it. Sensing that he was being watched by the general he walked towards the sitting room. Pausing at the door, he took a deep breath. He straightened his jacket and stepped through the door.

"France, I'm sorry to keep you waiting, I have been engaged these last few days." he said, trying to sound more grown up than he felt. France stood at the window, his back to the door. He seemed so much smaller now, than he'd been when they'd stood in England's tent so many years ago.

He turned at America's voice, face twitching for a moment in surprise before turning into a friendly smile. "Amerique, you have grown."

"I must have since you seem much smaller." For a moment America feared he had said the wrong thing, but France laughed. He stepped closer and America offered a hand to shake. France took it, but pulled him close into an embrace.

"Independence has taken to you." France said, close to America's ear. The younger nation didn't want to pull away in rudeness, but the embrace was too familiar. From France it just seemed wrong. He held as still as possible, France brushing past him towards the center of the room.

"Thank you." America said once he'd been released. He drew himself up tall and cleared his throat. "Speaking of independence I am obliged to ask-" France held up a hand, cutting him off.

"I am simply here to deliver that dear, headstrong boy who you've so greatly inspired. I have been personally threatened by England should I make any promises of support."

America looked down at his shoes, the annoyance floating to the surface. "Why can't you just say what you mean? Are you going to help me or not?"

France patted America on the shoulder. "Do not look so disheartened, America, your former big brother does not frighten me. Come, let us drink and catch up." He started to steer America towards the sitting couch and chairs arranged near the fire.

"France, I really don't have time to... er... well, I am in a war if you haven't noticed. I can't spend all my time-"

"You have a lot to learn. Sit down with me, America." France dropped down into one of the chairs, crossing one leg elegantly over the other. America sat down opposite from him, perched on the edge of his seat. France tilted his head, examining him. "It's a shame you've only ever had England as an example."

"He only did what he thought was right." America said, not sure where the need to defend England came from.

"Is that what he is doing right now? What he has been doing over the last twenty years?" Heat flared across America's face.

"He's wrong about this, about me."

"Believe me, America, I understand. You've been taught our histories, you know how many times he and I have been at war. We've each gotten in good strikes." France turned away and looked towards the wall, his eyes focused on nothing in particular. Whatever memory had struck France caused his proud and confident mask to slip. He looked ancient and sad. Uncomfortable, America shifted in his seat, pulling his knees up to his chest.

"Is that why you're here? To get another chance to strike him?"

France pinned him with his gaze. "If that were the case, would it bother you?"

America thought about this for a moment. Would he mind? Was that how things worked? It didn't really seem right, to let France join him just because he wanted to hurt England. However, at the same time, he was going to run out of military supplies if England maintained control over the ocean. He had a few ships, but it was hardly a navy. "I don't know." he said, deciding the honest answer was probably best.

"You are so direct, America, but I must admit I admire it about you. You could do with a few lessons in diplomacy, however. I must say, though, your man Benjamin Franklin is quite enjoyable at Versailles. My people are quite taken with him."

"He's accomplished."

"Yes, discovering a way to tame electricity, quite fascinating. Some of your other envoys though, dreadful personalities."

"They aren't technically envoys."

"America, you and I both know why they are there."

"England knows too doesn't he?"

"Of course, he does." France stood up. "Anyhow, I am off to New Orleans."

America stood up as well. "You came all the way here just to tell me I need to work on my diplomacy?"

"And to get a good look at what you've become." The way France looked him up and down made America shift on his feet and cross his arms across his chest. What was he looking for?

"Why?"

Walking past him, France paused near the door, turning back. He was close and America realized he was just a hair taller and France had to look up to meet his eye. "I'll let you in on something America, we may exist on our own, but until we are recognized we have limited influence and power. Do you intend to be a great nation?"

This answer was easy. "Yes."

"Then when the time comes I will be among the first to recognize you. However, you have to prove yourself first."

"Prove myself how? I've won several battles and drove England back into New York."

"I'm not talking about battles. Adieu, Amerique." France stepped forward and kissed him on the forehead. He'd done that before when America had been very small, but it felt strange now, too personal. America couldn't even think of anything to say as France stepped into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him. For several minutes he stared at the oak door, contemplating going after him.

Prove yourself.

What else had he been trying to do but prove himself? He sat back down on the sofa and wondered about what else he could try and do.

He sat next to Washington at dinner and told him, "He wants something more, I think, before he'll recognize me. He didn't tell me what he was waiting for though."

"Then, we will have to find the thing that will inspire him to commit."

America nodded. "I will do my best, General Washington."

He passed the dinner trying to think of a way to get France on his side. England had never taught him how to get allies and America had never thought to ask since he'd thought he would always have England. That was England's job, to find allies. I should have asked, he thought.

It was after dinner that he was jolted out of his thoughts. "We have something for you." said Mrs. Betsy Ross, a woman from the community. She pointed to a box on the sideboard. "There was a great deal of discussion about it, but we think you will like it." America looked curiously around at the faces of the officers and some of the high ranking members of Philadelphia who milled about in conversation. Several of the women smiled at him.

"Congress has approved it." said one of the women, smiling. "It may not be your birthday until next month, but you can open it if you would like."

Everyone watched him as he stood up and went over to the box. It was simple enough, and didn't seem to be too extravagant. Lifting the lid up and pulling aside the white linen that was wrapped around the item he first saw the blue square of fabric, stitched with thirteen stars in a circle. They were different than some of the drawings he'd seen of George Washington's suggesting what his flag should look like. Slowly, he picked it up, unfurling the flag between his hands the thirteen stripes in red and white spread out.

"It's beautiful, Mrs. Ross." he said to the woman, nodding to all of the ladies.

"It's the Stars and Stripes and it is now the official flag of the United States of America." said Washington, "We thought it would be a fitting change to the old one."

No more Union Jack, America thought, No trace of England left, except the colors themselves. He gathered the cloth close to his chest, holding it to him. It was a special thing to have a flag and he was proud to have something to hold above his armies as they faced England and told him they were something different. Turning to the crowd of people waiting on his reaction he smiled.

"Thank you."

July 7th, 1777

Near Fort Ticonderoga, British America

Sucking on his teeth, Arthur did not even bother with the meal that was presented to him that evening. As of late everything tasted of ashes, the only reason he took drink was the heady feeling it presented him in lieu of it all. Digging his heel into the grass beneath his temporary desk he heaved a sigh as he flicked over documents. Spies had been sent forward the previous evening and had returned with little to no information to his annoyance. He had originally planned to set up atop of Sugar Loaf height, it conveniently looked over Ticonderoga and Independence but the blasted rebels had been in the way at first. Tapping his quill against the corner of the current dispatch he heaved another sigh. Fingers rubbing at his eyes was a futile attempt to rid them of tiredness. Reading by oil lamp often gave him an arduous headache, though he was certain the events of the previous day's contributed. The second of July had begun in a wash of embarrassment.

The American forces led by a man named Arthur St. Clair had come face to face with his own troops who were led by General John Burgoyne who had set forth with his advance guard. According to the report it seemed that at first there were to be no shots exchanged. But of course the American soldiers, if one could call that rag tag group of farmers soldiers, had fired a shot dropping one of his British Regulars to the ground. Burgoyne's troops had fled and when they returned they found the fallen soldier with a captured loyalist. Though the fallen soldier was not fallen in the sense of injury, the damn fool reeked of heavy spirits! He had been drunk! The next day they had taken Sugar Loaf over with no resistance as the rebel forces had left the area. Things had been looking up.

Rubbing at his sore neck Arthur mulled over the fourth. The blasted bloody fourth. He had woken that morning ill to the stomach and hot with sweats. For the life of him he could not figure out the sudden onslaught of his affliction.

Temporarily the English nation's thoughts were developed by an exchange of French just outside of his tent. Reaching for his knife he tensed instinctively. England only released the carved hilt when the logical side of his mind pointed out the accent. That wasn't French, that was the peculiar version that Canada spoke. His logic was confirmed when Matthew, decked in military garb, entered the tent with two plates in hand. For a brief moment, Arthur caught the face of the private stationed outside. It was the one that he had screamed at just last night. Briefly Arthur allowed himself to revisit two days ago

Three days earlier... July 4, 1777

"And then I want to completely cover the north slope and send in the second party here." England slid his finger along the map, running the battle plans in his mind. He much preferred doing this out on the open seas to fighting overland.

"But M'Lord what if they send up a group along the south side of the height?" John Burgoyne pointed out.

"Good point Generals….Send a small group there, one of them specifically being a runner. The rebels will be expecting us to come from the south but it is good not to leave anything unattended," he nodded, "we shall station a standing group just in case of such an event."

Touching his stomach, England breathed through his nose. He had been nauseous since yesterday morning, and a spy had revealed to him why. July fourth was a disgusting day and even in the midst of a bloody war, America and his traitorous colonists seemed hell bent on rubbing it in his face. Apparently, while his troops sat atop of Sugarloaf, the traitorous rebels had been holding their own sort of little celebration.

They were celebrating the fourth and their success in rebelling against their mother country. England felt a brief surge of guilt. The poor runner that had delivered such news to him had received quite an unwelcome response. He lost it and started screaming at the poor lad. And when he had questioned the man if anyone to by America's description had been seen amongst the drinking and the celebration the man had looked as if he was about to pee himself. Looking back, England was glad that Canada had arrived when he did. Everyone had gotten out of the range of his rage and the only thing that suffered any damage had been the briefing table. Which was currently making for a good pile of kindling for the fires around camp.

"M'Lord are you alright?" The question brought England out of his unpleasant memories. The men around the table were all looking at him. Some with concern and others with uneasy expressions, as if they were worried he was going to fly off the handle once more.

"Yes, I'm fine" waving a dismissive hand his discounted their concerns "I have just been feeling a tad under the weather you know. The cold and all."

July 7, 1777

The cold and all. That's what he had been blaming his sour attitude on since the fourth. That had been three days ago. It was now the evening of the seventh and he had yet been able to shake the dour mood that he had been in.

"Thank you, Matthew." He thanked the younger country who handed him a plate and sat across from him at his small writing desk. Gathering up missives and other such papers England tucked them away for safety. Glancing once more towards the tent flap he made a mental note to track down that soldier and make a formal apology to the man. He really hadn't deserved such anger.

"You know I was expecting you to be in much higher moods due to the fact that we won that little battle. I mean your troops did hold the fort without having to take a single shot." Canada added on, peering with some concern at the food that was supposed to be stew in his bowl. "I mean God certainly had us in his favor in regards to those rebels leaving the cannons on Hubbardton road...I mean really...drunk at that time in the morning. All in our favor, I guess, eh?" The blond nation shrugged.

"Yes, all in our favour." England rolled the drink around in his mug. "However, I just cannot seem to shake the feeling that something is off. That I am missing something. I mean half this blasted rebellion has been that way. They technically are still my colonists, so not only am I so busy taking care of the Loyalists from America's damn traitors, but now I've got Hessians in my troops. Then, on top of everything else, these savages are in my troops technically all belonging to me." He swallowed thickly before continuing, "It's a lot to process all at once. Civil wars never do sit well with a nation's stomach." He grinned weakly. "Never have one Matthew. They are absolute rubbish and neither women nor drink can take the taste from your mouth completely." he sighed before adding on, "Especially not women. Not good. Understood." He raised a finger in admonishment.

"Of course, Mr. England." Matthew said softly. England could see it in Canada's face, he wasn't quite taking him seriously. Heavens, England thought, What could he have been up to over here by himself with France's influence so young? I suppose he was populated by whores at first... Canada was staring at him, so he broke off the train of thought and tried to turn back to the matter at hand. Stirring the stew half heartedly he lifted a scoop to his mouth to please Canada who was watching him. Something felt off, something was not going well.