A Matter of Time

By: Dr. Cultural Studies

Chapter Twenty-Three: Disaster

"In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares. The older have learned to ever expect it." – Abraham Lincoln (December 23, 1862)

I was nineteen when a natural disaster struck my hometown. It was the end of my freshman year. All of the stress was reaching its peak with finals quickly approaching. It seemed that the stress couldn't possibly get any worse. At the time, I was straddling the A-B divide—89.3, and the professor never rounded grades up. All of my hard work from the semester depended upon my final exam. The tension was building in my chest. Consequently, I withdrew from all social activities. Hell, I barely even called my mother in that time. I was determined to achieve perfection. Such was my determination to achieve my infallible 4.0 that I even stopped paying attention to Facebook and the internet. It wasn't until that calculus final ended at half-past four on May 3rd that I learned of what drama was unfolding back home.

Momma told me that I didn't need to worry. She said that the house was fine and that the family was safe. She said that the water was rising pretty quick, but it seemed like everything would be alright in the end. She said that most of our family and friend's houses were safe from the rising waters. Still, I wanted to rush home. I wanted to climb into my little Mazda and speed down I-40 until I could hug my mother.

She told me to stay in Knoxville.

She said it was safer.

It was a "thousand year flood," which meant that it was the biggest flood in one thousand years. Pretty straight-forward meaning, but that didn't account for the way society had grown in that amount of time. The amount of water was staggering and, as I watched with bated breath from my dorm room, I saw the murky brown waters inundate my hometown. It was single biggest disaster to strike middle Tennessee since the Civil War—the largest flood since 1937. Yet, there was little news coverage of the extensive damage. The cable networks mentioned it once or twice, but instead focused on other unfolding issues—the oil spill in the gulf and the newest attempt at terrorism in Times Square.

And I understood immediately why that was the case.

Since I was young, I was taught not to push my problems on others—to avoid talking about my issues with other people. It was the way my grandparents taught my mother and father. It was the way my mother and father taught me and my siblings. Even when my dad was sick, I never spoke about it. I never confided in anyone. Never really told my friends. I kept it to myself, kept the pain to myself. Like always. I could handle it.

There were boats floating down West End. There were houses floating in the ever-growing depths. Livestock was killed. The water filled our arena. It ruined the Grand Ole Opry. The water was dirty, backing up sewage lines. It was littered with debris. Even so, you never heard all that much about it. People kept quiet, kept their problems to themselves. The community handled itself, just like how I had been taught. Just like Mom was doing as she told me everything was fine. Just like I learned that Grandpa waited until the last minute to leave and nearly lost his life in the process.

And after two days of sitting on my hands, I threw my bag into my car, slipped on my ridiculously audacious rain boots, and drove home.

Eventually, as they always do, the flood waters receded. They left disaster and heartache in their wake. They left mud. They left death. They took away many lives—young and old. They left changes and pain. Even so, the waters left something else: strength. Each person connected to that disaster was affected in some way or another. That experience would never leave me, nor would it ever fade from my memory. It was just another in a long strain of life experiences that shaped me.

After all, we are each a culmination of our past experiences.

I always tried to teach my kids that.

My kids.

I missed teaching…

"Michelle?" America's voice broke me from my thoughts. The moonlight was barely enough to see him standing in the doorway. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. "You're…You're crying."

Surprised, I quickly grabbed a corner of the blue knit blanket and dragged it unceremoniously across my eyes. It scratched my cheeks, which burned with embarrassment. How could I face him like this? Sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I looked over to him to find him still frozen in place. "Yes?"

"I just wanted—I wanted to make sure you were okay. I know that this all has to be rough for you. You know, without me making it difficult." At least he knew that I wasn't exactly comfortable with his blatant disapproval. It was showing his own self-awareness at the very least. My Nation wasn't a fool. He had proven that time and time again. "Sweetheart, you don't have to do this. You know, I've got it all worked out." He stepped further inside and pressed the door shut with a light 'click.' Alfred turned and leaned on the closed door and crossed his arms.

"Got what all planned? This is the only way for me to get home."

"That's not what I mean," he huffed. "I mean, yeah…With my plan you'd have to stay here, but is that really so bad?"

"That's not why I'm leaving and you know it." America was trying to make this a simplistic personal matter when it was really an international glitch in the system. "My mere presence in this world is changing the timeline. If I stay, you might lose the war."

"Oh please. Have a little more faith in me. I'm the hero, after all. I won't lose."

"Even heroes have weaknesses, America." He looked so stunned at my words that I had to sigh. "America, you wanted to talk seriously, so act serious. There's no need for the mask with me. You've taken it off too many times to put it back on again."

America considered me for a moment before pushing off the door. His military boots thumped against the wooden floors as he walked over to the window. He assumed a very authoritative stance, an at-ease position for the military. For a moment, I could see another image there. Britain taking the same stance. I blinked and the image was gone. "Get serious, huh? Chyeah, maybe I should. The time's a-comin' anyway. No avoiding that train, looks like." I raised my brows. "Japan really is gonna attack soon, isn't he?"

I jerked and tried to control my nervous energy by wringing the blanket corner in my fingers. Then, I realized that: of course he knew. They had been listening in on the conversation when I spoke with New York. Alfred was able to put two-and-two together. "He mentioned Hawaii—Lakona— on purpose. New York did. He knew you were listening."

"Duh. And I've already talked to you about this. The decision is the same. Ultimately, we have no idea when the attack might happen. We're flyin' blind." He reached and placed a hand on the window sill and leaned forward. "Michelle, my plan is pretty simple. You could have a really good life here. A safe life. I could promise it, ensure it. Just...don't do this. The risk of you dying is too high. Way too damn high."

When I began to speak, he turned around and threw out his hands.

"A small house in Kansas City! That's what you wanted right? I know a guy. Well, he's a State. Charlie—" Were all States named after their governors? "He's more than willing to take you in for a while. You can rest there. I can get you out right now if you want. New York's onboard. All you have to do is say: America, get me out of here. I'll keep everyone away from you. I can keep you safe. I can." He was pleading with me, begging me. And it was breaking my heart to see him so desperate.

America truly did care for me. Deeply. I could tell by the shake of his voice. I glanced away, unable to look him in the eye.

"Shelly, please. I've lost too many people. I don't want to lose another one! I don't want to lose another friend. I can't—I can't handle it anymore!"

Taking in a calming breath, I tried to keep my tears at bay. His words and promises were tempting. I wouldn't be human if I didn't consider running away. This was my chance to do so. I had no doubt that America could and would follow through with every single promise. I could settle down like I wanted. I could remove myself from this war. I could hope that all ended for the best. I could hope and do nothing. I grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around my shoulders before slipping out of bed. There was no need to bother with my cane. Only a few uneven steps and I was standing in front of my Nation.

"America—you need to look at me." Reaching up, I placed a hand on the side of his face and turned his head toward mine. My eyes caught his after a moment of seeking. "I won't lie to you. I'm tempted to run away." I shook my head and smiled. "I wish I could rest. I wish I could just leave everything up to chance, throw my hands up and hope for the best. I wish I could, but…I can't. I won't." His eyes closed and he held his breath, right hand rising to rest on my own.

"I can't tell you," America murmured with his eyes still shut. He let out the breath he was holding. "I can't tell you how many times I've heard that."

How many times had he heard something similar? I knew I couldn't equate myself to those people. I was just in some extraordinary circumstances, nothing more than that. I was doing what anyone would in my situation. I had to protect the man in front of me and the nation he represented. I had to protect my friends. "It'll all be okay. The good guys always win, right?" It was meant to be reassuring, meant to strengthen his resolve, but it only made him open his eyes. "Everything will be fine."

America had me in a hug in the next second, pulling me to him. Once more, I felt like I was home. My eyes closed and I allowed a few tears to fall into his uniform. His hand rose and rested atop my head in a gesture that I felt symbolized our relationship—that of family. How had I come to this point? When I first arrived in this world, America was just a familiar stranger. "Shelly, I…Don't you dare die, okay? Don't do anything stupid. Anything, alright? And don't be a hero. You keep your head down and don't piss them off."

"Don't be a hero? Are you serious?" As if I could be a hero in any ridiculous capacity in the first place! "America—"

"It's cool if I'm the hero because I am the hero. You should just…play it safe. Play the helpless damsel. Act like you're weak. Act like you're vulnerable. Act like you're feeble-minded. When they capture you, give them just enough to keep them interested. String them along. Play 'em. How long can you hold your breath?" He pushed me back by my shoulders. "How long, Shell?"

"America, he's not going to waterboard me." I was confident that I wasn't going to suffer any physical torture this time. It would all be mental. "Germany's not evil. He's just desperate. Besides, he wouldn't risk the political ramifications within his own ranks if he did something that violent. The infection was a mistake, an oversight that he likely regrets to this day. Somehow I gained the favor of a few rebellious Axis. I intend to make good use of those connections while I'm being held captive. They could use the help with their anti-Nazi movements."

"Right, I forgot that you probably have this whole thing planned out."

"I have backup plans for my backup plans," I responded comfortingly.

It was a total lie.

I didn't have a clue what the hell I was going to actually do upon arriving in Germany.

Just that I had to survive long enough to use Norway to get home.

Just that I had to wait long enough for the Allies to get me out alive.

I held onto America a little tighter and tried to memorize the feeling. This was something I was certain would never happen again. Tension was creeping into my shoulders. The time would soon come when I would not be able to hug him like this again. I'd leave him just like everyone else had. I would be another of those numbers that America had lost to his immortality. My heart ached for that. It was his curse to bear and there was nothing I could do to ease that pain. So I just held him tighter, willing him to be strong when all else failed him. America had accepted my plan, but had planted a seed of what-if within me.

What if I just ran away?

What if I just gave up? Would I live alone?

Would I survive survive the war in peace? Would I teach again?

Those possibilities didn't exist anymore.

0525 Friday October 31, 1941

For a few moments, I couldn't differentiate the screaming. Screams were sounding in my dream. The monster had appeared at the door of the room and there was clearly no escape. France fell to the brute strength first, quickly followed by a bloody Canada. I felt my heart thundering my chest as I tried to keep my emotions in check. Matthew's lifeless blue eyes stared up at me. His last words told me to run. After him, China and Prussia fell with cracked skulls. Then Britain sacrificed his life to save America.

Germany. It happened so quickly that I only saw him cough up blood afterward. He fell to the side and went still. Italy screamed, shrieking for Ludwig—calling for him with such emotion that I was distracted for a single moment. That was all it took.

In a blink, the monster was upon me.

There was no time to move.

And then America was screaming.

There was blood everywhere.

I saw him fall.

His blood on my hands and torn clothes.

I heard him scream.

Scream.

As if his very soul were on fire.

Screaming.

Gasping in a breath, I sat up and heard the wailing sound of someone's voice echoing through the house. My frantically shaking hands threw the covers from my legs and I tumbled out of bed, clumsily catching myself as I stumbled for the door. The pained yowls continued and I could hear others yelling over the noise. Britain's baritone was barking out orders, questioning what was going on. That's when I recognized the voice—the scream. Just like I had heard barely a week before and then again in my nightmares.

America.

I reached forward to grasp the handle of my bedroom and turned.

Yet it wouldn't turn.

Or open.

Locked.

The door was locked.

Heart leaping into my throat, I spun around and slammed my back into the door. My gaze skittered around the darkened room, looking for any sign of an intruder. Behind my back, my hand continued to jiggle the handle, hoping that this was somehow due to my lack of rest. No, the door was locked. It was locked and I was trapped.

Trapped.

America let out another pained scream and tears sprung in my eyes. He was hurting. Somewhere in this house, he was hurting. I had to—I jerked the handle a little harder as I continued to pinpoint the other presence in the room.

"If you hurt him," I breathed out. Someone was there. They had to be. "If you hurt him, I swear—"

"Swear what?" An accented voice spoke up from the bathroom. "That you'll split a skull? That pansy-ass Spain is still complaining about your swing." Prussia stepped into the moonlight and his hair seemed to shine. I sucked in a breath and shifted myself a step to the side. My right hand remained draped on the door handle, but I no longer tried to open it.

Another scream. I flinched. "What did you do?"

Prussia looked offended. "Why does everyone always blame me? It was not me! I did nothing. I am the awesome Prussia, not some noob who screws up every mission he's placed on! Maybe that wuss America is just having a scary dream. Ever think about that?" His hands waved around and he gestured vaguely toward me. "You got skinnier!" My chin rose in defiance and I said nothing in return, wincing just slightly when another scream sounded. It seemed to echo around me, reverberating. There was nothing I could do to help him. Nothing at all. "It is lucky for them that they are tending America right now. I won't have to bother beating them to a bloody pulp."

As if he could take Canada, America, Britain, and Russia at the same time. One more scream rang out and I pushed my panic away. I needed to keep calm, keep collected. I needed to stick to the plan. My eyes skittered to the bathroom in which the former Nation had been hiding. "Just how long were you in there?"

"Five minutes or so," Prussia snorted. "Wussy America started screaming almost as soon as I stepped inside your window. This house is really easy to break into." I tensed, wanting to defend Britain at that shot. Prussia was in direct violation of what appeared to be Nation code. Poor Britain was likely downstairs or in the annex fretting over America. "I assume you are going to come peacefully."

"Peacefully…" I moved slightly and removed my hand from the door handle. "You expect me to come peacefully?"

He shrugged, "I don't really care. I was just ordered to get you and I will complete my mission whether it ends with you unconscious or not." Prussia gave a melodramatic yawn and rolled his shoulders back. I could hear shouting from somewhere else in the house. It seemed that all of the Nations had congregated in the annex, leaving me alone with the Prussian albino. "No big deal to me either way."

My exhale quivered as I moved around to the bed again, slipping my feet into a pair of slippers that rested there. Before, when I had been kidnapped, I had not been conscious enough to have any sort of shoe on when running from the house. This time, I was not going to be so unconscious of my surroundings. It seemed that the situation was being handled completely different from before. With only Prussia sent to abduct me, this entire operation was likely being kept 'in-house' and Germany was keeping it quiet. This made sense as Hungary and Greece would likely aid in my second escape. My mind worked in overdrive, trying to figure out the best course of action.

Going too easily would look suspicious.

Fighting back too much would gain the Nations' attention, regardless of America's state of distress.

On the nightstand of my bed lay my only weapon. As soon as it caught my eye, I knew what I had to do. My hand darted out and I grabbed it, wrenching the sheath from the blade in a quick movement. I poised the dagger in the way that Egypt had taught me, ready to shove the blade under any set of ribs. This was the same military-grade dagger that Egypt had given me for self-defense. I always kept something of him close—be it the knife or the scarf or the books. As a reminder of what the cost was.

"You're going to fight me? With a little blade?" He let out a strain of crazed laughter, though it was somewhat muted as he didn't want to gain the other Nations' attention. "You're crazy!"

"Probably," I agreed immediately.

And he pulled out his pistol with a pleased smirk.

It wasn't that I didn't expect him to have a gun, but seeing it had caused my fear to skyrocket. Flashes of memories rushed through my mind. Memories that I had buried for months. The crack of a gunshot and the fall of a limp body. Delaware's eyes as he stared up at me. Blood. Blood on my hands. I let out a quivering breath and took a couple steps backwards, hitting the wall beside my nightstand. Just then, I realized that this was all very real. I was about to be taken again. I would have yet another near-death experience. What were the chances that this time, I would actually die? Growing exponentially by the second. The knife remained aloft, shaking just slightly.

Gilbert shook his head. "I could just shoot you and be done with this whole problem. Do you know that? One shot. Through your forehead. I could end all this. As the awesome Prussia, I could do it. I am an awesome shot." What? How could he—It was the first mention any of the Nations had ever made about actually killing me outright. China only hinted at it. "It would be efficient, ja? Why waste this time?"

"You're all about efficiency, aren't you?" I questioned in a low tone. He stiffened. "Averaging about six thousand at least a day. Ruthless, terrible efficiency." Provoking him was a poor choice, it seemed. Provoking Prussia was usually a bad choice, one that I seemed to always make. He didn't fire his gun, but instead crossed the room in a few angry strides until he was towering over me. He was far taller than I remembered. "How many innocents, Prussia? How many in Ludwig's land alone?"

A hand was at my throat and, in my surprise, I dropped the knife. "Shut up, you stupid bitch."

Panic glanced through me at the loss of my weapon. Still, I was no soldier. I wouldn't have stabbed him fingers weren't tight, but it was meant to be a threat. "So Germany does take after you. He did the same to me not too long ago." His hand loosened a bit more as I stared up into his crimson red eyes. A chill ran down my spine.

This was a military man standing before me—a long-standing empire that was suffering through torturous conditions. He was watching his brother being forced to murder his own citizens and the citizens of his friends. I couldn't think of anything more terrifying for an older sibling than to watch your younger brother or sister being forced into something that they didn't want to do or to watch them go through any hardships at all. He was trying to protect Germany at this moment. I could see that clear as day.

I would kill to protect Corey and Donna.

"You want to end it here? End it here." My voice was calm, accepting.

His hand tightened and he leaned forward in an effort to intimidate me. Inside, it was working. I was terrified that he might actually go through with it. He was desperate enough, that much was clear in the way he held himself. His own front—the Russian front—wasn't going as well as he had thought it would. It was his problems with that battle that made my knowledge so essential. To him, I represented his failures. When my vision began to blur a bit, then my horror truly skyrocketed and my hand rose to scratch at his fingers.

Worse.

I've had endured worse.

Far worse than this.

I had to stay strong.

Darkness.

No fear.

Spots danced into the moonlight. This wasn't going as I had planned. Murdering me had never entered my field of vision. I always expected that my knowledge would keep me alive in this world. I always thought it made me valuable to all the Nations. There was so much to lose, I always thought that my value was placed upon that.

The only thing was: Prussia had nothing left to lose.

My attempts to breath were hungry gasps and I felt myself starting to slip into unconsciousness.

No! No!

I can't.

I can't!

This wasn't the way it was meant to go. I didn't want to die. Not like this. Not by the hands of Prussia. Not without doing something right. Not without seeing my family again. I didn't want to die. My nails stopped ripping through Gilbert's skin as the world darkened. There was no fighting it.

Everything had gone wrong.

This was…

"Stop," a calm voice interrupted the ringing in my ears. The hand grew tighter, not showing any signs of relenting. The voice came again in the mists, swirling that smoky substance about. I could see Prussia's determination. He wanted to remove the threat. He wanted to spare his brother from any of the ramifications that followed me. I could see it. How could I not have predicted this? Oh, my mind began to slip away, because I was only thinking of him as a tool and not a living being. My mistake. Fatal mistake. "Stop now. Release her. Release her!"

Then, suddenly, the hand was gone and I could breathe again.

Gasping in a breath of air, I started to fall to the floor only to be caught by a pair of strong arms. They hoisted me up, sweeping beneath my knees and shoulders. I was quickly placed on the edge of the bed as I collected myself. I could barely see, my lack of oxygen making the dark room seem even darker.

"Whatever," Prussia muttered. "If I wanted to kill her, I would have just shot her."

Something was draped over my shoulders and I reached up to wrap the blanket around. My shoulders and chest continued to heavily rise and fall as I gulped in greedy breathes of air. It wasn't until almost a minute later that I was able to see clearly again. The other person had stepped back by that time to stand a few feet away. I could see his shoes in the moonlight.

It was like I was being choked again.

I couldn't draw a breath. My chest began to tingle.

No...

My wide-eyed gaze trailed upward. Up the bandaged calves to the khaki pants. Further up to the khaki shirt and finally his face. He stared back at me, façade of calmness flickering. No, he could see my fear. He could sense it. My mouth opened, but I could find no words. I couldn't find the strength. All of my fight left me. Forgoing all of my vows to remain collected, heat gathered in my eyes.

Why? Why was—

Why would he do this? Why would Germany do this?

To him? To me?

Bile entered my throat when I realized just what this meant.

Throat beginning to burn, I tried to keep a reign on my emotions. I failed.

In so many ways, I failed.

"I have come to collect you, Michelle, by orders of Germany." He said the words with such malice and hate that I flinched. That anger though was not directed at me, it was directed at the man who had forced him to perform this task— knowing that he could not disobey. He was not one to show emotions, but such was his rage that he looked incensed. His arms were crossed and his face was scrunched into a piercing scowl. "Please, I beg of you: come peacefully. Michelle, come peacefully. I do not want…I do not want to harm you. Never you."

My eyes blinked rapidly, forcing tears to spill down my cheeks. I could see him wince at the sight of them, a grimace pulling at his face. There was once a time when he would have been the one comforting me. I wanted so much to reach for him. To tell him how much I worried for his safety. To tell him how much I loved him and missed him. To tell him that I was sorry. Sorry for everything, the pain I caused him and his people.

Instead, I just breathed his name out like a prayer and a curse. He was standing before me, but…the Egyptian sun was no longer shining as warm as it had before. His eyes were cold with forced distance and I let out a strangled sob.

"Egypt."