A sulky expression on his face, England sullenly sipped his tea and tried his best to ignore the Frenchman singing off key in his shower.
The two men had stumbled back to the hotel a few hours after midnight. Somehow, they'd managed to navigate their way to the elevator, up to England's floor, and into the hotel room before passing out.
England had managed to collapse onto the bed before blacking out, still wearing his suit jacket and dress shoes. His tie had yet to turn up which was starting to become a bit concerning. Northern Ireland had gifted it to him several decades ago for Christmas, and it was a favorite of his.
Meanwhile, France had ended up on the plush purple loveseat tucked against the wall near the window, his long legs half propped up against the high back of the couch and half dangling off the edge. He'd awoken with a nasty crick in his neck which apparently required that he wake England up immediately to complain about.
After a bitter argument, France had stormed off into the bathroom, locking himself inside while he took his time bathing and preening.
Left to suffer the sound of melodious French wafting through the door, England was forced to utilize the cursed, overly complicated coffee/hot drink machine tucked into the armoire next to a sickly goldfish swimming in sluggish circles to prepare his morning tea. He'd ordered a proper tea pot every day he'd been in the United States thus far, but he absolutely refused to let even one of the hotel staff know that France had ended up in his room overnight.
Fortunately, even the lackluster "English Breakfast" tea-in-a-pod thing he was drinking was slowly chipping away at the terrible pounding in his head. He might even be ready for a real pot of tea soon if this kept up.
The sound of running water cut-off suddenly and the glass door could be heard swinging open. Moments later, the bathroom door flew open and France appeared. He had one towel wrapped around his waist and another his head. "Angleterre," France declared, "you must go to my hotel room and fetch my toiletries and a change of clothing, très rapide." The door slammed shut once more behind France leaving England to stare after him.
"I am not your servant!" England sputtered. Slamming the mug of tea down onto the table, he stalked over and pounded on the door. "You'll go back to your room in your clothes from last night and be happy about it!"
The door opened just a crack, just enough to allow France to give England a withering look. "Don't be ridiculous," France scolded with a roll of his eyes. "If I leave in yesterday's suit, everyone will know I was here. If I had found another's company, we would have enjoyed our evening there. But since I was not so fortunate, it will be clear that I was, instead, with you. And you are so very concerned about that, non?"
England sputtered, knowing there was a hole in that logic . . . But with his head still aching, he couldn't find it. After several long moments of staring balefully back at France, England snarled and spun on his heel, stalking away from the bathroom.
Pretending not to hear the soft chuckle as the door slid shut, England angrily snatched up France's clothes from the loveseat and started roughly digging through the pockets for the Frog's wallet. Finally finding it in the elegant grey suit coat, he flipped the sleek leather billfold open, yanked out the slim plastic keycard, and dropped the wallet and coat back on the loveseat.
Then, employing the greatest stealth tactics used by MI-6, England made his way down the hallway and slipped unnoticed into his eternal neighbor's room. It was much the same as England's, the only differences lying in the different fabric used for the headboard and a much more energetic goldfish sitting on a table near the bed.
Grudgingly gathering up all the different lotions and pots and bottles in the bathroom, England dumped them along with a single change of clothes into the laundry bag hanging forgotten in the armoire. Casting one final annoyed glance around the room (and pausing briefly to pilfer the contents of the mini fridge) England hurried out of the room and back to the relative safety of his own.
"Frog!" he roared, the bag slipping from his hand as he saw France, naked as the day he was born, stretched out on the bed chatting away on England's mobile phone.
Instead of quaking with terror and begging England for forgiveness, France waved cheerfully at the green eyed nation and gestured towards the phone. "Dear Canada has invited us to dinner," he breezily explained. "He has even arranged a private room to apologize for his rudeness last night."
Explanation done, France turned his attention back to the conversation literally at hand. "We will be most pleased to dine with you tonight," France said into the phone. "I'm sure England will-"
With a strangled cry, England stomped forward and yanked the phone out of France's hands.
"Get your naked bum off my bed!" he snarled. "I'll have to get the staff up here to sanitize everything."Grumbling in frustration, he turned his back on the Frenchman and brought the phone up to his ear.
"Please don't kill France, England," Canada asked. His voice was tinny and England could hear a great deal of background noise - voices, the clatter of plates and dining utensils, and . . . Prussia?
"I make no promises," England vowed. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder then scowled when he saw that France was now stretched flat on the bed, hands propped up behind his head as he watched England with interest. "Where are you?" he demanded, turning away once more. "There's a frightful amount of noise. And is that Prussia I hear? What's that hooligan doing here?"
"Yes, that is Prussia. He flew in yesterday to come visit. We're at a small restaurant down the street past the Verizon Center having lunch. Um, do you want to join us?"
Dine with Prussia? In public? That would end poorly, England just knew it.
"No, no, we'll find our own sustenance." He froze. "I mean, I'll find something for lunch. France is on his own."
"If you're sure. Did France tell you about tonight? I was, eh, wanting to apologize for blowing up last night at both of you. The hotel has private rooms, so I thought we could dine together before you both flew out tomorrow?"
"Of course, lad." England beamed at the phone. "The Frog was light on details as always, but I am always happy to dine with you. When and where shall we meet you?"
"The hotel restaurant is called The Dirty Habit, as I'm sure you've noticed. I've asked for the use of the private dining room. We can meet there, at 5 o'clock this evening?"
"Lovely, we shall see you then. I hope you have a pleasant afternoon." England ended the call, then took a small step towards the nightstand. Bending down, he retrieved the charging cable from where it had fallen and plugged in his phone before setting it on the small table. He turned slightly to address his irksome "guest."
"Get dressed, Frog," he growled. "We need to figure out how to convince Canada he can't trust America."
Alfred took a deep breath as he got out of the small shuttle car, taking in the unusual mix of jet fuel, mechanics, salt water, and the distant smell of fragrant flowers. A small grin crossed his face. He loved Hawaii - so very much. And he didn't spend enough time here, not nearly enough. Perhaps he could arrange an event here.
"I've never been to Hawaii before," Italy suddenly said behind him.
Alfred turned and stepped to the side so the other Nation could climb out of the car.
"Ah, it's so pretty!" Italy went up onto tiptoes, craning his head around to try and catch all of the sights. "And this is just the airport! America, we have to come back here and go to the beach!" Clapping his hands together in excitement, Italy gave America a pleading look. "I want to see the hula dancers and drink out of coconuts and learn how to surf!"
"We will not have time," Germany corrected as he stepped around front of the car. "It will likely be best for you and I to fly directly home from Tokyo."
Italy's lower lip jutted out as a small pout appeared on his face.
Germany sighed. "But I'm sure we can arrange to take a vacation here sometime later this year," he added reluctantly.
"Just let me know! I'll be happy to play tour guide!" Alfred chuckled, flashing both Europeans a big grin. He then turned and joined the shuttle driver at the trunk of the car, helping him to pull the last of the bags from the vehicle.
The last item to emerge from the car was long, narrow, and tucked into a slender cloth sleeve. Alfred hefted the strange object then tossed it at Germany, who scrambled not to drop it.
"If you can get that, I can carry the bags," Alfred said by way of an explanation. He then tossed his large duffle over his shoulder and grabbed both Italy and Germany's bags, hefting them with apparent ease.
Germany frowned as he studied the item America had thrown him. He could be mistaken, but the item felt suspiciously like a sword. Unable to suppress his curiosity, he undid the ties at one end of the white linen sleeve and drew down the opened end.
As he had suspected, the item was a sword. He grasped the hilt partially drawing the blade back. The grip was black leather with gold accents. The brass guard was connected to the pommel with simple elegant branches and the steel blade and scabbard gleamed.
"Why . . . why are you bringing a sword on the plane?" Germany asked, staring dumbfounded at the weapon.
Alfred gave him an exasperated look. "Cause it's good manners to bring a gift to your host in Japan."
Germany gave him a blank look. Alfred resisted to urge to shuffle his feet and stare at the ground.
"Well, this is the first time I've gone to Japan. It's polite for the host gift to be personal and we're talking defense stuff so . . ." his voice trailed off. "I ran it by Canada," he added, suddenly finding himself second guessing his selection. "He said it would be okay."
Italy's eyes widened when he heard the hint of anxiety entering America's voice. It made perfect sense, he realized, for America to feel a bit self-conscious. He was taking a risk by selecting a more personal gift rather than something more generic. "I think he'll like it," Italy offered, wanting to wipe away the worry suddenly marring America's handsome face.
Germany gave himself a small shake and carefully sheathed the weapon then tucked it back into its protective wrapping. "I believe he will be pleased," Germany agreed. Holding the weapon by the sheath, he eyed America, who was laden with all of their luggage as well as his carry-on bag. "Please, let me help you," he offered stepping forward.
Alfred shook his head, feeling the tension from the last few moments draining away.
"I got this, dude," he responded, flashing him a reassuring smile. Reaching forward, he nudged Germany with one of the bags then nodded towards the waiting airplane. "Let's go! Our destiny awaits!"
Syd let out an annoyed huff. He thought an assignment in Hawaii was gonna be great. Surf, sand, babes, maybe a couple drinks that you sip out of coconuts. Wrong! Instead he'd spent the last hour sitting in an airplane hangar with no breeze and ninety-seven percent humidity and before that twelve hours stuck in a cramped motel room laying low, and now they'd be leaving any minute. This job sucked.
"Bobby, can we fucking go yet?" he whined.
"Shut the hell up, Syd. We've got a job to do. And the target car just pulled up, so shut your mouth and let me concentrate."
Bobby watched through high powered binoculars and grimy hangar window as Alfred Jones exited a black sedan and looked around. Dude looked just like the picture they'd been given. He was about to move away and radio in that they were going to be running on time with the package when another figure climbed out, followed by another. He hadn't been given photos of these two, but he'd seen them before in other briefings. He watched intently, waiting for others to show up. When none did, he watched as they chatted briefly, then began boarding the plane.
Lowering the binoculars, Bobby let a wicked grin cross his face. Turning, he locked eyes with Syd, "Call ahead. Let them know the target is inbound with two more of his kind."
Syd smiled back, reaching for the sat phone. "Three times the fun. The bosses are gonna love this."
"Yes, they most certainly are." Bobby quickly began gathering their equipment. They still had work to do. After all, they were responsible for making sure the packages arrived safely.