edit: 29/11/2021. Added chapter title.

Disclaimer: This being fan-fiction, I do not own Hetalia by Hidekaz Himaruya.

Warnings: f!Britain, mild sexual situations.

This wasn't supposed to be quite as depressing as it turned out, but after updating Libre and restarting the computer just so I could write this down I was a bit grumpier than I was when I woke up, haha. Early Cold War; post WWII, pre Suez Crisis.

You'd Better Go In Disguise

So I go insane like I always do

It had been her suggestion.

Britain had a point: America had been getting stressed, suddenly thrust into the spotlight in a way he had never known before, and Britain, ever the more experienced of the two, had enquired politely about when was the last time he had had a break.

"It doesn't have to be an extravagant romp in the sun," she had said. "You could come and visit me. Just for a few days."

So he had, and here he was.

She had rented an expensive cottage in the south of England, just the two of them in one of her many forests; a few other houses were clustered around a country road, where the other inhabitants, save for the pub landlord, had gone to the seaside for their holidays instead. Nice and quiet. Away from all the paperwork and the people and the Soviet Union.

No. He was on holiday. He'd worry about that issue next week.

.

The second day in, Britain had packed a picnic. America could see that she'd put effort in, The Full Monty: ham and cheese sandwiches and apples and salt-and-vinegar crisps, a Victoria sponge with strawberries and cream, a flask of tea. Of course. It might not have looked like much, but he could tell: she'd made the cake that morning while he was still in bed. He wasn't sure why she'd been so careful and considerate, unusually quiet. He didn't ask.

He offered to carry the food, and they'd set off, hand in hand into the woods on a trail. It was muddier than he'd though, having rained in the night, and he'd expected her to make fun of him for not wearing wellies like her, but she didn't. She just held on, not even squeezing his hand, and smiled serenely at the trees surrounding them. It was so strange, he was so used to the Britain who complained and drank and got into fights with everyone she met, but she'd tried to back off of some of her worse habits for him. She was trying to stop her hoarding and her bossiness, so America would try to stop his restlessness and paranoia.

The tips of his fingers were starting to get impatient, but he ignored them.

She was talking now: explaining the different types of trees, or flowers, America didn't know which, but her voice fit the sounds of birds tweeting and chirping, the rustling of the leaves. It was quiet here but not silent, a serenity now alien to him, and he suddenly felt lost, halfway across the world from where he should have been. She turned to him mid-sentence, more relaxed and calm than she had been before, but when she saw his expression she paused and asked a question instead.

"America?"

Instead of answering he picked her up and held her out in front of him, his hands above his head as they looked into each others eyes. She felt light, but then so did everyone these days. The smile had changed again, starting to take on a sadder tilt for the first time since he'd crossed the ocean. The temptation to shake her suddenly came over him, to rattle her in his arms until she'd start to protest and fight back, as if she could fight back, but he just put her down. Again, she did nothing, just looked at him, and he looked behind her at the damp woodland surrounding her. Everything glistened, whether the sunlight reached it through the leaves or not.

He grabbed her hand and lead her along the path until they passed by a grass clearing, and they'd trampled over the grass under the sun, where they laid out the blanket under them. Instead of unpacking the food they unpacked themselves, and America had tried to be gentle, really he had, but she was soft and compliant and wet like the land around them, so it was fine.

He'd tried to emulate the emotions from the night before D-Day, and it didn't work but it was fine. Everything was fine.

Special, yeah? The light didn't reach her eyes.