This chapter is a bit shorter than the last few have been, but I suppose that isn't a problem, is it?

I might post a new chapter soon, though I'm not sure. Next week I have quite some tests, my job as a tutor and an exhange with Germany. So I'll be busy! But I have a longer weekend after that (bless King's Day) so I will definitely post the next chapter then.

Crossfire, thanks for the review!

I wasn't too sure what to do with the Scotland situation. Even before I posted the last chapter, I had a few ideas on what to do in this one. But I decided to go with my original idea, after all.

Oh, and of course this fic won't be too focused on France and Wales. It's Trouble. It's main focus is, and will remain, the Troubles, both internationally and within the family. So don't worry!

I hope you'll like this chapter!

The doorbell rang. Exhausted as he was after staying up nearly all night, Northern Ireland's hart began to race and his muscles tensed. Ireland was here. After nearly a year, he would see his older brother again, or his father, or whatever he was. Would Ireland say anything to him? Or would he be focused more on Scotland, like he had been last night? North had not a clue, and he was terrified not knowing. Nervously, he made his way to the door, aware of Scotland saying something to him but not catching what he was saying. He slowly approached the door, or at least, it seemed slow. He was probably moving at a normal pace, but it felt like ages. His fingers trembled as he reached for the door, and he took a deep breath. Would Ireland be angry at him for running away like he had? Would he be sad, remembering how North had claimed to hate him and never wanting to see him again? No, he was here for Scotland. Surely that would be all he'd come for.
He then exhaled, opening the door. The first thing that came to mind as he looked at Ireland was, strange enough, that the older nation seemed shorter somehow, although just a bit. North hadn't even noticed he'd grown a few centimeters again until he saw himself in comparison to Ireland like this. Why was that the first thing he thought about? Didn't he have better things to think?

"Hi, Coineach," Ireland said calmly, acting as though the past year had never happened, though something flashed in his eyes as he looked down at the boy, and his fingers twitched before he folded his hands into loose fists. "I hope everything's been okay last night? I mean, there weren't any problems after you called, I hope?"

North shook his head, relieved that Ireland was straight to the point and did not attempt to talk to him about... it and then. "He breathed well once he slept," he explained. "And his fever's gone, so I suppose it will pass soon." Ireland narrowed his eyes at this, hummed something too soft for Northern Ireland to hear, then gave a short nod. "Alright. Well, I'll just see if there's anything I can do, then. But it sounds as if he'll be okay." North then stepped aside, allowing Ireland to come inside, and the boy closed the door behind them as the older nation already went into the livingroom, where Scotland was reading the newspaper. His breathing was still shallower than it should be, and the occassional cough showed he wasn't quite healed yet, but he was doing far better than the night before. Just as North walked in, Ireland and the Scot exhanged a brief greeting, and Ireland asked how he was doing, to which the younger nation just shrugged. Ireland then turned to North, and said softly, "Coineach, why don't you go upstairs, sleep for a bit? You look exhausted, lad." Northern Ireland nodded. He'd stayed awake most of the night, nodded off for about an hour then stayed awake again. First because he wanted to watch Scotland, then the second time because he couldn't sleep knowing Ireland would come. He was still very uncomfortable about the older nation being here, but he was so tired, he'd fall asleep as soon as he closed his eyes, most likely. Mumbling a soft goodbye to the two of them, he went upstairs, crashed down onto his bed fully dressed and fell asleep like that.

When Northern Ireland's footsteps faded up the stairs, Ireland turned to Scotland with a hard stare, narrowing his eyes. "What are you playing at, Allistair?" he demanded, his voice cold, and Scotland just returned the stare, remaining silent. "The last time you caught a human virus and it was serious was fourty years ago at least. Coineach wouldn't remember it, at least, it was that long ago. And besides, it could never be this bad! There's hardly any damage left to your lungs, mild scarring at most. Even the worst case of pneumonia, if it was a human virus, could never be this bad. So I'll ask it again: what the fucking hell are you playing at?"

Scotland sighed and shrugged. He breathed normally again, and his voice was as strong as it had ever been when he spoke. "Getting ye and Coineach to talk again, obviously," he answered flatly. "Something had t'happen, Cearul, and I figured this was the easiest way to go 'bout it." He remained as relaxed as ever when Ireland clenched his jaws and fists in sheer anger, and added, "And for the record, I did catch something, though I guess't was no worse than a cold. There's only so much one can fake, after all, though ye'd be surprised. The fever was real enough, and after that trip through yesterday's storm, it was high enough to... well, I was pretty out of it, near the end of the evening. That wasn't my original plan. But it worked splendidly: Coineach was willing enough to talk to ye, wasn't he? And now yer here..." He gave a short nod, approving of his achievement. "I don't like lying, Cearul, but sometimes 'tis necessary. And when I woke up with a cold yesterday, I knew exactly what to do. And it worked."

"You manipulated Coineach's feelings to..." Ireland muttered, voice barely audible as he sent his younger brother death glares. "You manipulated him, Allistair, just so he would talk to me? You do know how horrible that is, right?" Scotland said nothing, though a flash in his eyes told Ireland that he knew exactly how horrible it was. But that hadn't stopped him from doing it. "If I hadn't been driving for hours just to get here, I would've left right now," Ireland grumbled, looking away, clearly enraged. "I'll have no part in this bullshit. The moment that lad wakes up, I -no, you- will tell him exactly what you did, understand?" Scotland nodded, though reluctantly. What he'd done was wrong, he knew that very well, but hopefully Ireland would see that the outcome had been positive once his anger cooled down a bit. After all, it was, wasn't it?

Wales stared at England wide-eyed, gaping a bit. England just stared at him, confused, and blinked a few times before sighing and asking, "Okay, Dylan, what is so fascinating about me that you just can't keep your eyes off me? This is getting creepy."
"I-it's just... well, you see... I... wow," Wales stammered, and England was really getting freaked out by him now. "You just... I never thought I'd see you wearing a T-shirt instead of normal shirts, you being... you."

"They're comfortable!" England protested immediately. "And what's wrong with that, anyway? It's just a piece of clothing." Wales nodded, still not used to seeing his little brother in something so... so casual. England had a habbit of dressing up like the gentleman he, well, tried to be, at least. And to wear something as casual as this, especially today... "But we're heading to the airport in an hour," Wales argued, still not getting it. "We're going to see plenty of other nations there, for sure. And government officials. And you're okay with being seen like that?" England didn't answer, only rolled his eyes and continued packing his suitcase. They'd been here for just over a week, and he was glad to be going home again. And no, he didn't care one bit about being seen 'like this'. He didn't understand why Wales was making such a big deal about his little brother's clothing, when it was perfectly acceptable what he was wearing.

But at the same time, Wales just didn't understand his little brother anymore. England seemed to be getting more casual and easygoing with the month, not just in clothing, but his entire personality. Maybe he was just trying to be a bit more relaxed after the chaotic first half of this century, but Wales still found it strange. It wasn't like England at all. But he just shook his head and went to a different topic. "So, ehm... are you looking forward to seeing Peter again after so long?"

Wrong topic. "Well, you know..." England sighed, not looking up from what he was doing. "He still hates my guts, and that makes it a bit hard for me to like him. I try, and I have to admit that I do care about him, but..." He trailed off for a moment, turning to look at his older brother, guilt clearly visible in his eyes. "Is it wrong that I didn't miss him? At all?" Wales blinked, surprised, and couldn't help blurting out, "Wrong? Artie, 'wrong' doesn't even come close! He's your kid, for Heaven's sake!" England just blinked, sadness flashing in his eyes for a moment as he answered in a whisper, "I know." Then he closed his suitcase and turned to Wales. "You pack your stuff now, brother. We'll be leaving soon." But then a smile returned to his face, and he added, "Do you think everything went as alright at home as it did here? Knowing Allistair, Coineach must be cheered up by now, hm? I bet he took him hiking first chance he got." Wales then smiled again as well, nodding. Knowing Scotland, that was exactly what the two had been doing.

Northern Ireland was staring at Scotland, eyes narrowed in dibelief and rage. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Even you?" he asked, voice a whisper. Scotland just blinked, confused by those words, but said nothing. "Even you?" North repeated, subconsciously clenching his hands into fists. "Even you, Allistair, are lying to me now...?" But North remained strangely calm now, not a trace of fiery hatred he'd shown when Ireland told him it. But the anger was definitely there, and the fact he remained so calm through it was perhaps the scariest thing. But it wasn't. The scariest thing came a few seconds later, when the young nation suddenly burst out laughing. "But of course!" he choked out between the laughter. "Of course you do -everyone lies to me! My entire life is based on your lies, how could I expect anything else?!" He kept laughing for a moment longer, then silenced himself again, a tiny smile still on his lips as he looked at Scotland. "Get out of my house, asshole."

Scotland nodded and got up slowly, looking at the boy before he would leave. "For the record, laddie, I am sorry," he said softly. "I really am. But something had to be done, an' ye were just so stubborn..."

"Get out."

"I will. Just let me say a proper apology first, lad. I didn't want to see this as lying to ye, an' that was my mistake -I wanted to believe I was helping ye with this. An' though the method was as wrong as it gets, I hope it wasn't for nothing, Coineach."

"GET OUT!"

Scotland blinked, startled by the boy's anger but hardly showing it, then nodding and turning around. "I hope ye'll talk to Cearul, Coineach," he said as he walked away. "An' I hope ye'll feel better after ye have." Then he left quickly, before North could yell at him again. Only when he heard the door open and close again did North draw in a shaky breath and sighed, relaxing his shoulders and hands again, gaze on the floor. "Coineach," came Ireland's voice softly, careful and gentle. "Are you alright?"

"Don't talk to me," Northern Ireland snapped at him, but then forced himself to relax again. "Did you know about this?" he demanded then. "When I called you last night, I mean. Did you know about this then?"
Ireland just shook his head. "I thought something was strange only this morning," he explained calmly. "Yesterday, I was too caught up in the moment, like you. You sounded so scared, Coineach... I honestly thought something was wrong, just like you did. I began thinking while halfway on my way here, and when you said to me he seemed pretty much alright again now... that was all I needed."

"The fucking bastard scared me half to death yesterday!" North said, raising his voice again, though his voice was quivering. "I had figured out something was off early in the afternoon already, but it went wrong so fast when he went after me... I thought- I was terrified, and now he's telling me it was to help me? The stupid asshole!" He kicked the table, and clearly regretted it as he pulled his foot back again, putting less pressure on it than before, but he'd managed to knock over a glass that was on it, the water spilling over the table. Ireland took a deep breath and sighed, wanting to interfere but knowing better than to do so. He was just silently waiting for North to kick him out as well, knowing it would come soon. But for now, the boy seemed content to be ranting about what an inconsiderate bastard Scotland was. "I don't know how he managed to fake a fever," he said, close to a yell, eyes closed. "I don't want to know how he faked throwing up his guts! But -but how could he?! Has he no consideration at all?"

"He does," Ireland said softly, knowing this wasn't the best thing to say now, but he felt he had to defend his younger brother, not in this, but in general. "But there's some things going on, Coineach, that bother him a lot. He doesn't want to show it, but he's really been hurting a lot lately... He might not think too clearly about others' feelings because of that, or he doesn't care at times. To him, I guess, we're the inconsiderate bastards sometimes." When he saw the look North gave him, the older nation quickly added, "I don't want to justify what he did, Coineach, I just want to say that he didn't want to hurt you. Not deliberately." Northern Ireland stared at him for a moment longer, holding his breath again for a moment, remembering what happened two days before. For Scotland to cry in front of his little brother for the first time ever, there must really be a lot of bottled up pain inside him. But it didn't justify lying to Northern Ireland like this. "I won't be quick to forgive him for this," the child muttered, not looking at Ireland as he spoke. "But I'll see about talking to him in a few days. Just give me some time." He then turned to Ireland, and to the older nation's relief, he seemed to have calmed down again. "He shouldn't have tried to make me talk to you," he said then, and Ireland just listened silently. "I would have talked to you of my own accord. Not yet, but... I would have. I swear I would have. Before the end of this year, maybe." He sighed and flopped down onto a chair behind him, not looking at Ireland as he whispered, "I missed you, Cearul."

Ireland blinked in surprise, smiling warmly. "I missed you, too, Coineach."

"But I still think you're insane."
At this, Ireland laughed softly before answering, "Perhaps a little! Comes with the age, I guess. Senile old fool, hm?" But Northern Ireland didn't smile or laugh, and Ireland's smile faded again within seconds as well. The young nation shrugged uncomfortably as he said, "It wasn't a joke, Cearul."
"I know," Ireland answered more softly, shaking his head. Didn't North see it hadn't been a laugh of joy at all? Probably not, with all the crap he was feeling himself at that moment. "But what else should I do, Coineach? Scream? Cry?" Ireland felt his fingers beginning to tremble, and the rest of his hands soon followed. That feeling of concrete in his chest he'd felt a year ago was back. Now that it was about the two of them, it was a lot harder to talk to Northern Ireland than it had been when Scotland had been the topic. "It's better to laugh, lad, even at our own misery, than to drown ourselves in it."

"I'd rather see you cry," Northern Ireland answered, still not looking at Ireland. "Then, at least, I'd know you really care." He then turned back to the older nation, seeing how his hands were trembling a bit, his gaze downcast and tears actually shimmering in the corners of his eyes. His heart beat a bit faster at this, and he quickly said, "No, Cearul, I- I didn't mean-!"

"I know," Ireland interrupted him softly, quickly wiping away the small tears that had welled up. "I know, and I'm sorry, Coineach. It's just... we haven't spoken in so long, and now that we're finally talking again..." He trailed off, taking a deep breath and simply looking North in the eyes for a moment. "I really missed you so much, Coineach. But I'd rather you had a chance to take your time before we saw each other again. I've had fourty-seven years longer to adjust to this than you, after all. But I do, I have to admit, wish you'd have spoken to me sooner. We could've solved this a long time ago if you had."
"Don't blame me, Cearul!" Northern Ireland answered, raising his voice again a bit, some of the anger clearly rekindled. "There wouldn't be anything to solve, if only you had told me the truth right from the beginning!"

"The truth..." Ireland echoed, getting hopeful. "That I'm your father?"
"That you being my father is an option," North muttered back, averting his gaze once again, frowning. Ireland nodded, looking away as well as he softly concluded, "You still don't believe it."

"I don't believe I ever will," was North's only answer before he got up, one hand to his forehead and his eyes half-closed. "I'll just go and get some painkillers -you were right, having your people divided like this is hell- and you... you can stay here for tonight, Cearul, if you want. You've traveled a long way today already, and I'm not sending you away. However," he added, sounding a lot more serious and a lot colder as he glanced at Ireland, and the older nation almost flinched as he caught sight of the boy's eyes. He felt almost as if he were looking at an adult instead of a twelve- or thirteen-year-old at that moment. "I don't want to talk about any of this anymore today, got it? I'm only letting you stay because you've traveled a lot already." Ireland just nodded with a soft 'of course', and watched as the boy left the room. Wrong as his methods had been, Ireland realised, Scotland's plan had worked. Though he wondered for how long it would last.

...

Yeah, perhaps that was a bit cliche there. But every story has a few cliches. When the entire story becomes a cliche, that's a problem, at least in my opinion, but one or two... nah.

Al is just... not really himself lately. A bit depressed, maybe, but only a little. And as for Artie, just guess what I'm slowly working toward~

As I wrote two chapters ago, the thunder came in 1968. But the hurrican is still yet to come (smirk)

Well, I hope you liked the chapter, thank you for reading, and please leave a review, even if it's a little one!