Author's Note: The update is a little late this week because I'm on vacation and got caught up with other things.
England walked about the deck, Spain at his side. They agreed to the fact that England could walk about as long as Spain was there to charade the fact that he was a prisoner to the others to keep some order on the ship. At least then, England wouldn't be getting the angry glares of Spain's crew. The Atlantic Sea was all around them, in its beautiful radiance under the sun. For whatever the reason, England always thought that it looked more splendent in the New World.
"You've been quiet today," Spain noted.
"What, do I have to be talkative?"
"No, it's just that I'm not used to you being this quiet. Something on your mind?"
"Plenty." Over the past few days, England could feel his mind slipping. His head felt foggy all the time, and no amount of sleep was clearing it. "I feel like my mind is spinning more and more out of control…"
"I know what you mean. I've been feeling it too."
They stare out at the ocean for a time. "We should be getting to port in a few days' time," Spain says, "If you want, we can explore a little bit when we land. It would clear up that mind of yours."
England shook his head. "I prefer to be on the sea. I feel safer out here."
"Up to you. Personally, I want to be back on dry land."
England smirked. "Landlubber."
"And proud to be!" Spain beat his fist on his heart in a dignified manner. "If I had a choice, I'd stay at home gardening."
"Really?" England was surprised. Gardening seemed very quiet for Spain to do.
"Si, I grow tomatoes… ahhhh," Spain ruffled up his own hair, slightly cringing, "Right now, I'm missing the harvest. I'm going to get an earful from Lovino when I get back…" he stopped, and shows a confused face.
"Lovino?" England asked out loud. He had heard the name before, but wasn't sure from where.
"Romano. Southern Italy," Spain clarified, "He's a little guy with a lot of punch. He's stubborn and a bit of a pain at times, but he's really sweet once you get past all that. Though, he'll never admit he has that side. He likes to pretend he's all tough."
England chuckled a little, "America is a bit like that too. He's always trying to prove how strong he is, even though he is still really young. And once he's made his mind up about something, there is no changing it…" England's smile slowly fell, as he remembered his parting with America. It was one of the worst partings…
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England had gotten America, Canada, and Australia together in his office, which was an impressive feat of its own. Canada was easy enough; he was a good boy and usually spent his time reading in this one corner of the house. Australia was the exact opposite. That child was always running every which way and causing havoc, even when standing still. And then there was America. Recently, he had been getting more moody and questioning every single thing England said.
"I'm going to be going away again," England told the three of them.
"For how long?" America asked annoyed.
"A month or so. I'm hoping to be back in three weeks, but with the seas being as they are this time of year, it might be longer."
"Yeah, sure, blame it on the sea," America grumbled. He stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him. The other room occupants stared at the closed door in slight shock.
"When do you leave?" Canada asked, turning back to England.
"Tomorrow, but early in the morning," England said, "I would have told you all sooner, but my boss only told me just today."
Canada nodded, but looked disappointed, a look England was noticing come over the Canadian's face more and more.
Australia raised his hand, "Can I come with you?"
"Not this time. It's important business, and I can't keep an eye on you."
Australia pouted. "You always say that. When can I come with you? I want to see the world. I want to see my land again."
England inwardly groaned, pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes. Their lands… their homes… their people… They kept asking and asking. Why did they all want to go?
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"You mentioned you wanted to spar," Spain said out of the blue.
England snapped out of his vivid daydream. "Is this an invitation?"
"I would like to show my crew how their boss fights. They believe I'm too much of a pacifist."
"Prepare for humiliation then," England said, grinning, "I don't lose easily."
"We shall see about that."
Spain tossed England a sword. They distanced themselves so that they were ten steps apart. Already the crew was gathering around ready to see the spectacle. 'And that is exactly what they are going to get,' England thought.
"Whenever you are ready," Spain called out.
"Three, two, one."
They charged at each other, swords in striking position. The vibration of the clash made England feel alive. It had been an age since he had a good old fashioned sword fight. No guns, no tasers, just a fast eye and a good wit. 'Wait… taser?' England thought for a second. He narrowly dodged an attack from his left by Spain's sword. 'What the bloody hell is a taser?'
Spain came at him again, flicking his wrist so that the sword was coming down on England. England blocked it by knocking Spain's sword off course. 'This isn't the time to think about imaginary objects,' England thought as he brought his sword close the body in a defensive stance.
Spain came over to the right. England cut him off. England tried to come from above, but that left his body vulnerable, which Spain took advantage of. So England quickly withdrew his sword and used it as a shield.
"Very defensive, Inglaterra," Spain noted, "Can you not attack?"
"Watch me, Spain." England led attacks so that he and Spain were close to the mast of the ship. Taking this to his advantage, England swung around the mast, gaining momentum and came in for a strong blow which Spain met with ease.
"See?" England said, "I can attack."
"Please, I could have done that."
Clash, clash, clash. The swords kept coming into contact, to the left, right, up top, blocking maneuvers and blows that were quite skillful. Clearly, they were at perfect odds with each other. A stalemate if you will.
"This is getting nowhere," Spain pointed out as the two of them pushed against the other's sword.
"Draw?" England offered jokingly.
"Do you want my ship to end in anarchy?" Spain asked with an eyebrow raised, but smiling. "There has to be a clear winner. I say, since this is my ship, you should let me win."
"No chance in hell. I still have my pride."
At the exact moment, the ship suddenly lunged to the side, catching the swordsmen off guard and tossing them to the ground.
"Now what in bloody blazes…" England looked up to where the wheel of the ship was. Spain's first mate was there, hands steadying the wheel.
"I'm sorry, senior," the first mate said, "But here was a rock we had to avoid. Unless you want to abandon the Asunción and swim the rest of the way."
"Gracias, no gracias, Capitán García," Spain said, standing up and putting his sword away.
"That ends that then," England said, disappointed.
The two nations looked at each other, then looked out at sea. They didn't find any rocks poking from out of the ocean waiting for unsuspecting ships to destroy. They looked back at each other again, and started laughing hard.