The clock struck 12; a Goshawk soared across the blue sky casting a shadow across the blanket of sunlight that coated the gardens in front of the marble building. The building itself looked like a cross somewhere between Buckingham palace, the White house and the Leaning Tower of Pisa, with it's white columns and solid architecture. The gardens in front were in full bloom of lush grass whilst the trickle of the water clock from the Japanese gardens was the only sound that filled the air.

Sudden footsteps broke the silence. A young man, early 20's, tall and lean sauntered across the lawn. His face was unearthly handsome, in an outlandish rugged way. His shocking flame red hair was matched with his sparkling keen emerald eyes which hung above a perfectly straight nose, supported upon a square jaw on which was displayed a slight mouth which loosely held a smoking cigarette. The young man surveyed the grand house, running his bright eyes over its white marble structure, glinting windows and draped curtains. He paused a moment staring thoughtfully at the house. One toned arm hung loosely at his sided whilst the other sat astride his hip, making him lean slightly to his right. He stared lazily up at the sky, watching the Goshawk as it circled round the grounds; its shadow briefly overcasting the young man's remote eyes. Upon its passing, the young man once again looked at the house. Raising his lose arm, he clasped he cigarette end, drawing it slowly from his mouth, which upon release sent a thick unfurling fog into the sky. As the mist curled across the front of the house the man gazed thoughtfully at its marble walls. With a sigh, he spoke into the white mist residue that lingered in front of him. When he spoke, it came out with a slight highland twang-

"Soon," he murmured "Soon…"

"Yo, Brittan!" Alfred's bomber jacket flew out cape like as he raced after the retreating figure. The young man's bright blue eyes were covered slight rimmed glasses which in turn were partially covered by a lock of his sandy fringe. Despite his zany shouts, his older brother continued purposefully to his target-the houses tea room. Alfred sprinted down the red carpeted halls, passing the oil framed pictures that adored the walls, some depicting famous battle scenes including waterloo, the American Revolution and the Spanish Amarna. Grabbing his brother's shoulder, Alfred tugged him so that he had to spin round to face him.

"Hey bro, I said WAIT!" Alfred bellowed at his companion, glaring him in the eye arms planted on hips. His normally cheerful face was replaced by a scowl as he continued on his rant. "Don't pretend you didn't hear me when I know that you can hear me perfectly well what are you deaf as well as stupid and ugly man I don't get why I even bother with you country of courtesy and manners yeah right you can't even acknowledged your little bro how on earth are you meant to…" His words trailed off and the steam frizzled as Alfred finally noticed the withdrawn melancholy look in Arthur's dull green eyes. His shoulders were slumped making their height difference even more obvious than usual. His golden hair hung round his head, overshadowing the already dark and absent look on his normally stern proud face.

"Hey man, you feeling ok?"

It was the first time Alfred had ever seen Arthur look so… so... crestfallen.

"Woah man, cheer up your scaring me." Alfred placed his hand behind his head laughing too loudly in an effort to break the awkward and uncomfortable silence. "Seriously I don't know what's gotten into you these days. Where's that Great insufferable Britain we all love to hate".

He cocked his head to one side, still smiling too brightly, laughing too cheerfully. The young man looked up, his eye haunted with the dark red bruise underneath that glistened slightly. "Great…I ain't great. Everyone thinks I'm great, but I'm not. It just goes to prove how little you all know me." Arthur's monotone low voice made even Alfred's cheerful grin falter and fall as he studied his stricken bro. Arthur turned so that he faced the door to his personal tea suit, his hand already on the handle. "You need to stop calling me Britain." he whispered, his eyes glancing sadly at a thoughtful Alfred.

He gave a slight sigh as he pushed the door open, walking with his head downcast into the room. He glanced back at Alfred, who now had concern written all over his face. "My name is Arthur." His voice was barley a whisper…

Alfred's eyes trailed after Arthur's (a.k.a Britain/England's) back as he shambled into the gloom of a poorly it room. The wooden door slammed, jilting the gold plated "Britain's Tea Room-Keep Out Ruffians" sign that swung from a nail. Sighing deeply, Alfred gazed longingly at the thin oaken door that was all which stood between him and Arthur. How he longed to shove it open, race in to the ridiculously expensively furnished tea room, knock that dam scone out of a startled Arthur's hand and sweep him up into a passionate embrace of hot bodies and cool kisses…

But alas, Alfred knew that his fantasy would never come to pass-Arthur had never shown any feelings but brotherly love towards Alfred- now and always. Taking another deep sigh and shaking his head of the heavy thoughts that clouded his normally air-headed ness, Alfred took a deep breath and marched purposefully up to the oaken door. "Just you wait Britain!" He bellowed so loudly that Kiku (aka Japan) who was passing by in conversation with Yao (aka China) looked up startled to see who was being murdered. "Just you wait man," He continued, pointing an accusing finger at the oaken door, "I'm gonna find out why you've been so depressed lately and make sure to rub your God-dam idiotic problem in your face!"

With his speech delivered, Alfred turned on his heels and charged back down the corridor to work on a strategy to uncover Arthur's secret. "I fear bad things abode for our company" Kiku remarked to his companion. "Yeah, these Westerners are always stirring up trouble amongst themselves" Yao agreed, linking arms with Kiku as they headed off to study the gardens together for the fourth time that morning. "It's no use worrying, their conflicts never affect us." How wrong he was about to be.

Arthur listened unphased by Alfred's proclamation of war on his secret, reacting only by taking another sip of his earl grey tea as the later stomped his noisy way down the corridor. "Ruffian." he murmured into his tea, too lost in his own thoughts to notice the sting of the boiled water on his lips and tongue. Settling back down his saucer and cup, Arthur stood and arched his back stretching the tender muscles. His scar ached too, a thin white line that trickled down the base of his spine, stopping just short of his trouser lining. It seemed to have been flaring up more recently. Lost in his memories, Arthur reached back, running a delicate finger over the raised line that marked his skin. It was a reminder of what he had lost-and what he had survived. Even now, in the quiet sanctuary of his private tea room, Arthur's body shivered at the recollection of the biting cold, screaming of muscles too bashed and bruised to move. But most of all, it shivered at the ghost of a pair of hands that had once roamed free and unyielding across his chest and neck, traveling down his spine, caressing him as they went. "No!" he thought. "No, no, no. I shall not dwell on such horrors again".

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Arthur retrieved his army uniform jacket from where he had slung it over the chair, sliding the back so that it perfectly covered the scar. Gazing up at the unicorn shaped clock that sat chiming on the far wall, Arthur smiled mischievously to himself. It was time to go disturb fancy pants Francis's cooking again.