Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Julio's Tortilla Chips. Or Doritos.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Women's Suffrage in Texas: they were able to vote in primaries by 1918 and were given full suffrage rights in 1919. They were the 9th state to ratify the 19th Amendment and the first of three previously 'Confederate' states to do so. Meanwhile, Virginia women didn't get suffrage until 1920 after the 19th Amendment was made into law (3/4ths of states rules or in other words: Tennessee FTW)...and if that wasn't embarrassing enough...its General Assembly didn't ratify it officially until 1952! And Mississippi was dead last in 1984! Yikes! Poking fun at bathrooms. Family drama, angst, fluff, etc. Unflattering Flashback for 1812 Alfred...the spoiled brat, lol. Texas vs. Hawaii over trip. Helicopter Parent Spain.
AN: Hey everybody! I've officially got my BA in English with a minor in History...and I'm back from a deeply needed vacation...where I walked in sunlight and talked to people. Yay :D And then I finished this chap. Thank you for your reviews!
Chapter 36: I Can Be The Bad Cop
Alfred sat on the bathroom vanity counter with his stuffed animal, Hop, watching as Tex brushed his teeth before bed.
Alfred twisted one of the cloth rabbit's ears fretfully, "But it's democracy."
Tex spat, "Well, technically, there were only three bona fide citizens there so…"
"Tex, Puerto Rico's vote should count in-"
"Nope. None of 'em count. I count. You count. Hawaii counts." He gave Alfred a side-eye and elbowed him. "We just had to be advocates of women's suffrage."
Alfred glared. "Tex."
"I'm joking. Heck, I put it into practice before you did. I-"
"Texxxxx."
"Hey, if you want me to, I can be the bad cop. Over breakfast I'll tell them that it's just us. No ifs, ands, or buts about it."
Alfred sighed and leaned back against the mirror, "No, don't do that." He fiddled with Hop's bow—twirling the ribbon between his fingers. "Look, if we play hardball it would establish a precedent that could be used against us later when we're the guests and they're the hosts."
"No."
"Yes."
"No, cuz we have the nuclear option. Doritos, Now! Or I press the button," Tex grinned.
"Yeah," Alfred rolled his eyes, "cuz that's how adults decide things."
"Do you want your way or not?"
"If I'm a real poor sport about it, then they'll know something's off," Alfred sighed. "I just dunno how we're gonna pull this off."
"You leave it to me, I'll figure something out," Tex assured before he filled a glass with water to gargle with.
Alfred evened out the tails of Hop's bow. "I mean, we can pretend we're up to a Blair Witch film thing. You know, to explain why we need to wander off? And that we need to only have, like, two people in order for it to stay creepy. Large cast equals slasher. Small cast and you've got horror."
Tex spat again. "Ugh. I hate shaky cam flicks-"
"Bro, we wouldn't really be-"
"We'll just go hiking...a lot...alone. Say we're trying to remember how to navigate by the stars. Old school stuff. They're geezers, they'll respect that."
Alfred started to snicker, "We can hardly ditch my dad and he's got a bum ankle. You really think you can shake Spain? Especially, considering how long it's been since you've gone cold turkey off technology? He'll ask you a question and you'll answer wrong and he'll freak out and invite himself along. You can't think it's gonna go right without any hitch at all?"
"...yeah."
"..."
"Maybe."
"Tex…"
"Maybe we can just go on a Bigfoot hunt and post him somewhere to keep watch?"
"You really think Bigfoot's the way to go on this?"
"Well, we can't go the alien route, Al. I mean, Tony's our on-again off-again roommate. I can't act all surprised now that there's life out in the beyond. I already know that there is. And it steals the last slice of pizza and uses my deodorant...which is just wrong."
"That's why you go for the aerosol option; nothing touches. Anyway, I think I might have one trick up my sleeve."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, a while ago Rhys was instructing Dad on how to shield his thoughts and stuff and…"
By a lucky turn of fate, Alistair hadn't been around to foil his eavesdropping.
The corner of Tex's mouth quirked, "And?"
Alfred smiled with more than a hint of triumphant mischief. "I think I've got it down."
Because privacy was important.
"So he's not gonna be crashing our room anymore?" Tex grinned.
Alfred nodded, "And then we'll be able to make our master plan without any more disruptions."
"Woohoo, best news tonight. And I ain't gonna lie, I needed some."
Shelving England a bit was...necessary…
America deserved to have secrets...to have space…to choose what he shared.
He was a capable, upright, composed nation who…
He reflexively fixed the cuffs on his pajama shirt and checked the buttons.
He blinked.
There was something...nostalgic about thinking like...that…
"Al?"
"Yup," he smiled brightly, "we're...we're definitely gonna figure it all out."
"O'course!"
"Of course," he echoed faintly, wondering why he felt guilty at his brother's full faith in him.
His stomach abruptly plummeted. Quite suddenly he was scrabbling for self-confidence and it made him feel like he was sinking.
He hopped down from the counter and made his way down the hall. He just needed a good night's rest.
That would shake this...whatever it was...off.
Alfred dreamt of the past. Of dim lantern lighting and the musty smell of taverns and gunpowder.
"So you have a Mrs. Weatherby, now. That's wonderful, Samuel. It's probably the first bit of good news I've heard upon my return," Alfred replied with real cheer. And wasn't it good to feel a bit of real gladness?
The young man smiled bashfully and readjusted the modest wedding ring on his finger. "I've a modest salary but a promotion or two should see us living comfortably."
Alfred raised his tankard to that and Samuel clinked them together.
Each took a deep sip of ale. It was cheap and a tad bitter, and it was a small annoyance for he could've afforded better what with his own salary and the generous sum Father had left him (or he thought Father had left him, the man never returned for it...so Father must've intended him to have it. If it was his to use while he'd been a colony, it was his to use as a nation) but he was trying very hard to be considerate of Samuel.
He'd make a point to create a charm for his friend and his household. His father and uncles would probably be better at it, but he'd do what he could to ensure good luck and prosperity for his friend and his new bride. The trick was blending the design into something innocuous.
Given the man's almost fervent devotion to church service, Alfred was more than a little leery of confessing his leanings towards witchcraft...lest another Salem-like spectacle break out.
And perhaps he was also fearful of a demand for a demonstration, given his weakening ties to the craft.
Arthur had promised to help him restore his Sight. But considering the tension between them following the Revolution and now the overture of this war...it was becoming increasingly likely that England would be glad to see him depowered.
He'd be less of a threat.
It sent a chill down his spine...thinking like that...thinking of the hexes his family could send his way. He'd be at their mercy.
No!
No...Father wouldn't allow it...would he?
He stared down into his ale.
Arthur had always seemed so genuinely happy at the prospect of instructing him personally in the occult. As a result, Alfred had dawdled quite a bit (waiting for him to return) and only delved in very mild spellcasting. Though...self-preservation also had a hand in it; when he overexerted himself, he found his Sight and...well, even his hearing to be affected.
The tankard in hand was cheap and the tin was slightly misshapen.
Father would say it was 'Poor craftsmanship' and likely wouldn't handle it at all.
It was why he had to go to such lengths to ensure high quality.
Another chandelier for the estate would be arriving the next week; he'd made the order ages ago. He liked to think that if he could just have a moment alone with Arthur, they could reconcile. He could take him to the house and…
And…
He blew out a frustrated breath; Father's ire couldn't possibly win out against the painstaking care he'd taken in designing the manor.
His reflection rippled as he set the tankard down.
His ire couldn't hold...Father adored him.
He remembered meadows and flower crowns and smiling green eyes...
Declarations and actions that proved the man's affections...
Yes.
Father adored him.
Could barely level a musket at his chest even with all of America's men (traitors no doubt in England's eyes) watching...expecting the veteran soldier not to bend.
And he sunk to his knees in the mud, overcome with emotion.
Couldn't do it.
Could never do it.
Would never harm him...because...
Father adored him.
Yes, he hadn't gotten the reception needed to deliver the key...but he could mail it if need be. Though it would rob him of seeing the other's response.
He'd also lose the chance to address the uncivil treatment he'd been receiving. Father would probably be angry that Mathieu and his uncles were treating him so roughly. Reilley had hit him hard enough for him to still have bruises.
He ought to write Father about that, he mused petulantly.
He thought of the portrait he'd hung in Father's room; just because their countries were separated didn't mean their bonds needed to be fully torn asunder.
His first war made sense; he had to claim his independence. This one, though. This one was so hard for him to understand. He knew he was being insulted and he had to act to assert himself...his sovereignty...but…
It was difficult to dedicate himself to service. His heart just wasn't quite in it. He just wanted Father to see him...as the upright, capable nation he was. And maybe get Canada to join him.
Surely, his brother uniting with him was the best possible case. The sort of liberty America was promoting could only make his brother's lands a better place. And it wasn't like there wasn't a precedent for such actions. England was united with his brothers in an alliance. America would do the same. They'd be a North American empire!
O think of that!
And he'd let Mathieu choose which bedroom he wanted in the manor; one facing the north or maybe he'd prefer the one further down—he sometimes complained at the volume of noise Alfred could make as he paced his room for ideas. Yes, he just needed his brother on his side. The Canadian was better with words anyway and once they were together, they'd be able to negotiate with the United Kingdom.
He straightened the cufflinks on his uniform. He looked the part, didn't he? Upright? Capable? Composed?
His uniform was always pressed, his boots polished to a high shine.
He loved catching his reflection in all things that gleamed.
Father should be proud to claim him under his legacy.
The scene changed to dark woods under a cloudy sky.
And he was racing through the woods with a scared and swearing Samuel behind him.
Perhaps it was the absurdity of his plan.
The everlingering desperation that dogged his steps.
Perhaps it was the apathy growing in his breast which seemed every bit as poisonous as the bouts of fury which kept eating at him at inopportune moments.
He wouldn't be able to keep up a charade of adulthood if he succumbed to tantrums. God, it was difficult.
Part of him kept wanting to storm Canada's border again and demand a family meeting, force an apology, get answers, ask them how they could take advantage of him like this?
To...to trick him into thinking that they...that they really...when they didn't…
Manipulated.
But he didn't think he could take it if they started laughing at him.
And he didn't want to weep like a child.
Like a pitiful child.
Children didn't win wars.
And winning was paramount.
He'd give everything to win.
Everything.
And he did.
Alfred woke with a start. He sat up, shivering. The room seemed awfully dark and the lavalamp wasn't enough to illuminate it.
He padded through the house to the kitchen, more than half-terrified of all the shadows, and turned all the lights on in there (even grabbing a stepladder to switch on the overhead stove lights). Then he scrambled to find cookies and warm up some milk and-and anything that could soften remembering. Though he knew could never make it as good as—
"Alfred?"
He jumped and stirred the milk so vigorously that some sloshed over the side and hissed as it hit the burner.
Arthur appeared, shuffling into view in his house robe and slippers. He had glasses on and judging from the way they were slightly askew it looked like he'd fallen asleep while reading. He slipped a hand under the lens to rub sleep from his eyes. "You alright, pet? It felt like you had a nightmare. I went to your room but-"
"Y-yes. I-I did but-"
Arthur snapped to alertness at his tone and the smell of burnt milk.
Alfred looked at the ruined potfull and swore softly.
"It's alright," Arthur rushed forward and moved Alfred off the stepladder. "You sit, I'll...manage this."
He transferred the pot to the sink and poured what he could down the drain.
"You had a bad dream?" he prompted.
"..."
He then went about making a new batch in a fresh pot—going through the cupboards for ingredients. "I always add a little vanilla and honey for you. Australia likes it with a touch of cinnamon, you know? Not you though. You've always liked honey being added to everything. I like honey, too."
Alfred stood there shivering until Arthur draped his house robe on his shoulders and gave him a firm but gentle push toward the table.
"Now, I think tomorrow, or rather later today, we'll need to start drawing up plans on what provisions to pack for the trip as well as dividing expenses. I'll make sure Alistair pays his share, I assure you. So if he tries to bully you with that 'favorite uncles needn't pay' nonsense, you come to me, dearheart." He counted out several drops of vanilla extract into the milk. "Yes...I'll set him to rights."
Go on, Alfred. Disinvite them. He could use 1812 as a reason. Say that they kept dragging up the ghosts of his past and insist he needed downtime. For peace of mind.
He'd already done a lot. Given them tons of leeway.
It was huge that Alfred was willing to make so many accommodations for them since they'd barreled back into his life following the wendigo fiasco. Right?
He didn't owe them more than that.
If he'd followed Tex's plan without dragging his feet, it'd probably have already been done and over with.
He'd probably be wrestling with pneumonia from Hell but the gate would be located, maybe even opened, and the prickling sense of dread hanging over their May Day trip wouldn't be there.
"What's wrong, love?" Arthur asked as he stirred the pot. "Was it a dream or a memory?"
He'd forgotten to shield off his turbulent feelings.
Arthur filled a mug of warm milk and set it down before Alfred before taking a seat beside him—moving the chair close.
He selected three small cookies for Alfred and one for himself.
What was safe to share?
"I had a chandelier coming from Italy. I'd ordered it years earlier. Special. Cost extra. The…the...not the cup but the part under...the…I had them shaped like roses."
"Ah, the bobeche. I know the one. In my room. I cleaned that chandelier." Arthur smiled. "It's lovely."
"You always liked English roses best." And that had always hurt him that Arthur never seemed to find his native roses as beautiful as his own.
"You had a bad memory about a chandelier? Import costs?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Taxes?"
And the flippancy there.
The familiarity of that…lurking sneer...
Of countless arguments where that bored, slightly sardonic tone made him feel so stupid...
It abruptly triggered his temper in such a spike, he wasn't even thinking anymore—his mouth was just moving: "The Italian chandelier was coming and Samuel was married and the war had just started. And why couldn't you just see me? I was a lieutenant! My uniform was crisp and my buttons were polished and I was everything I ever wanted to be. Everything you should have been proud of," he hissed, "Why couldn't you be with me then? Why do you have to be here now after I was ruined?!"
Green eyes went wide, effectively stunned at the vehemence of the response.
And Alfred's chest was heaving with barely restrained passionate fury. And there was no ice in his soul to deaden it down.
Arthur very carefully reached over to Alfred to thumb several tears away. "To the first, I don't have a good answer. I was petty? Arrogant? Ignorant? Maybe I felt threatened? I don't know. To the second, I didn't know you still needed me. Again, a stupid conclusion, but your newfound independence and successes seemed to confirm it to me. You didn't need me anymore. Not like you used to. I've...I've never been terribly graceful in accepting changes. I am proud of you. I never needed you in a uniform for me to feel that way. As for the last, you are not, nor have you ever been, ruined. I've been alive far longer than you and am no stranger to the sight. I am not making light of what you've endured. I've seen 'ruined,' you're not it."
He couldn't make him see! "...I wasn't America the...Beautiful...anymore…"
Even the UnSeelie's evil mirror had understood that.
"Pish posh."
So freaking dense!
"You don't understand. You didn't see what happened to me!" Grief choked him. He'd had to cover all the mirrors. Had to beg Uncle Al and Uncle Reilley to swear they would keep quiet about it. Spare him the indignity of his slow-healing injuries being discussed over tea time in the Empire's presence. It was hard enough to have been brought so low on his own father's orders, but the least he could do was not allow him further satisfaction over it!
Except...a little voice reminded him...Father didn't order such a thing...
Arthur didn't blink and he didn't back down. Instead, he turned Alfred's chair toward him and said levelly, "You're my America and you've always been beautiful-"
"No!" he spat. Remembering the stares and gasps. "I lost it after-"
"Never. You could never lose it. It was never in your skin."
"..."
"You were always more than that. I'm sorry I never made that clear before now."
Rhys awoke early and put on a pot of tea before doing his morning stretches in the room next to the kitchen.
"Yeh know you just look ridiculous," Alistair noted, leaning against the wall, already dressed for the day.
"It's yoga."
"Well, it's not for you. It's for ladies."
"I disagree. As would India, who instructed me." Rhys frowned as he stretched his arms in vrksasana pose. "Why are you here, Alba?"
"God, Gwalia. You're just determined to be annoyed with me."
"You shouldn't have butted into their plans last night. They're going to resent us if they're not given any room for independence."
"Didn't stop yeh from voting 'yea.'"
"..."
Alistair frowned and sighed at baseboards across from him. "Hawaii herself knows they're up to something, remember? We gotta stick close or they'll be out like a shot and we'll be trailin' after them as the clean up crew."
"..."
Grey eyes focused back on him. "Now, what's the real reason you're being so short with me?"
Rhys looked away to move into trikonasana pose. He addressed the ceiling. "You flagrantly abuse Alfred's fondness for you. I can't believe you actually refer to yourself as his 'favorite' uncle. One day you're going to say it, and he's going to correct you, and you're-"
"Ack, you're jealous. You're actually jealous...that I got clout and you-" He choked off at the sight of Rhys's flat expression. "...you...yeh really are…?"
Rhys frowned; his brother was shamelessly using his soft spot in the boy's heart. Rhys had never done that back when…
Alistair shook his head. "Oi, yeh gave the spot up when yeh let war get your panties in a bunch."
Rhys felt a flash of real fury at that.
Alistair scratched an ear. "Yeah, he injured yeh. And I won't mince words, I raged over that. Trust me, I didn't pull several of my punches. But then ya know, we sacked his capital, and I found him and he was ugh...ya saw him after, and…"
"You didn't see fit to inform me that I'd been forgo-"
"You didn't stay. You weren't around and yeh didn't want to be. You were jus' like Arthur. He didn't fit your perfect idear of him anymore. He didn't stick to the script o' 'Happy family' and you both wrote him out."
Rhys straightened up, offended at the implication, and shrewdly aware of how that could play out in his brother's favor. "So you saw your opportunity?"
"Ack, I tripped into a vacuum. You were gone. Arthur was...gone. Still! Yeh got to be the favorite of America AND Canada for all of before. Eire got a lot of the ones after. I got Al...lil' Al...and only after you were done and washin' your hands of him."
"I thought...I thought he hated me."
"Aye, well, you shoulda made sure of it."
"Yes, I suppose I should have," he lowered his voice as anger made it shake. "Since I couldn't count on you to clear up such misunderstandings-"
"Wait a minute," Alistair crossed his arms. "Dunno when I became the family's peacekeeper-"
"Because you were there! Twpsyn!"
The Scotsman gave him a blank look.
Hazel eyes narrowed, "I would hope, but I clearly I can't, that my brother would argue on my behalf to those who doubted, especially a nephew! that I was a good man! Loving-"
Alistair flushed and looked uncomfortable and put out defensively, "Reilley was there, too."
"Llwfrgi."
Alistair glared.
"If you couldn't say that. Then reasonable. You could've told him I could be reasoned with. And I could've mended our bond myself."
Alistair ran a hand through his hair and looked away. "All I knew...was you were both my kin and I could either be with one of yeh one at a time or try to force yeh together and..." he shrugged.
"Well, what about now?"
"Huh?"
"What. About. Now?"
A large red eyebrow rose.
"Brawd, what are you doing to help us, now?"
"Us?"
"Me and Alfred. Or-or, for god's sake, Alfred and Arthur. He's probably the only one you've harmed worse than me with your silence."
"..."
"You had every opportunity to bring them together and you-"
"You're here now, the two of yeh, I don't have to do anything. You can...do...things...now...for yourselves. Kettle's whistling." He passed by him to go to the kitchen.
Tex frowned as he looked up from the map he'd been marking—deciding what route he wanted them to take up for the road trip to Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania. He'd already had to call back to the campground and change their number of guests yet again—first, when he was just banking on Alfred and himself, then when the May Day trip got sprung wrong, and then again with the latest turn of the coerced-kumbaya-camping quest.
"Are you trying to avoid tolls?" Hawaii asked trying to peer over his shoulder. "Honey, there's enough of us. I'm sure we can divvy-"
"I get to choose the route," Tex insisted through gritted teeth.
She rolled her eyes at him and moved away to take a seat on the couch.
Hawaii was just trying to be difficult. It was one thing to have all the guys along for the camping trip, he could piss them off and abandon them in the woods and they'd get over it, but the fact that she wanted to tag along too…
He was gonna have to add mall and shopping center stops.
Plus, if he and Al cut out on the traveling band...he'd feel bad if they left her in the middle of nowhere. Especially, because she'd be left with said 'pissed off' guys.
And she never let stuff go.
He knew she was still testy over her whole...entry... into the United States as a territory. Sooo...there was a coup d'etat involved; it made her story more...adventurous?
He just didn't get it. When it became clear that Mexico was never gonna take her claws off him, he was glad to join America, who drove her off.
From his viewpoint in the 1800s, America had a good thing going and he'd wanted in on that.
He frowned. And now of all things she wanted in on this. THIS. Why this?
She normally didn't want in on dude stuff, like racing and wrestling and dining in hole-in-the-wall dives.
"If you're going to have an attitude, maybe I should invite Alaska and Molossia?" Hawaii shrugged.
She knew that Al always wanted him on his best behavior when those two were around because Al was always a little in awe of Alaska and his quiet warrior ways. And because Molossia was still super young and Tex and Al were supposed to be good role models for him.
"Tch."
Maybe he could dissuade her from coming by going the full chauvinist route?
He jumped over the couch and landed beside her—an action he knew she hated and was rewarded with an irate look.
"You're lucky I wasn't painting my nails," she grumbled.
"Right. So...I was thinking, you don't wanna come along for this trip. It's not your style. I got fancy spa retreats and boutiques all throughout my state and Americat would love your company."
She crossed her arms, "I'm not rescinding my vote, Baby."
"But...but-but...you're...a girl," Tex pointed out like it explained everything.
"And?"
"You're a giiirl. It changes the...ya know...it changes the dynamic. The atmosphere."
"Soooo, there's less cursing and farting, you mean?" Hawaii studied her nails.
Puerto Rico choked on his sip of Coke as he sniggered in appreciation.
Texas glared at his brother. "Shut up, Rico." And then looked back at her. "There's gonna be lots of stuff that we can't talk about cuz you'll be there. And it changes the brother-at-arms-men-in-the-wilderness vibe. It just does."
She stared.
"Now, we're gonna have to find places with...ya know, not scary bathrooms."
"And that's a problem?"
"Yeah, when we're driving. You're not gonna be cool with a bush and the roll of TP I got in the glove compartment."
"Baby, is this really that big a thing? Stopping at a few extra gas stations?"
"The ladies' room always takes forever. Add it all together and we'll be losing hours as we drive up whenever nature calls for you-"
"Tex-"
"And you don't like the motels I pick. And you're not that crazy about camping unless we're waiting on you hand and foot and-"
"I will not—I haven't acted like that in ages. Alfred?" she turned to beseech him.
His poor baby brother had just entered the room with a bag of Julio's Corn Tortilla chips, that Tex was determined to get a handful of, and an expression of 'What, now?'
Tex felt kinda bad, his little brother had been in low spirits all morning and hadn't fessed up to what was bothering him yet.
"Alfred?" Hawaii repeated.
"Yes," he responded cautiously.
Hawaii batted her eyes. "Alfred, think about all the good things I bring to the table. Waitstaff and cashiers love me. I Febreeze things. I always have quarters for those little rides and games you like. And you're little enough now, you can choose which bathroom to go in as long as I'm with you."
"Oh my god," Alfred murmured, struck by that realization. "I am young enough to choose as long as I have a female chaperone to negotiate with the gatekeepers of-"
Tex gaped. "What? No, you are-"
Momilani grinned as she sensed victory and reached into the bag for a chip.
Tex glowered. "Momilani, don't confuse him! No, Al, you're on Team Testosterone. You don't get to-"
"I've heard legends of how all the doors on the stalls lock and there are no TP stalactites hanging from the ceiling."
She nodded sagely. "The classy ones have potpourri and leather upholstered sitting areas, classical music, flowers with porcelain vases, and fine art."
"A bathroom parlor…and it doesn't require attendants..." Alfred murmured whimsically. "Do the mirrors have ornate framework and no cracks? Heck, is there always soap from at least one dispenser?"
"You'll have to have a woman along to find out."
Tex pointed an accusing finger. "Nononono. NOPE. Al, you're not allowed in there. I forbid it."
"You heard her, I bet even the regular ones smell better."
"FORBID it."
"Tch. The smell enforces why we must be fast. You don't wanna breathe that in. Get in. Get out. That's how it's supposed to be," Puerto Rico threw in as his two cents.
Tex high-fived him. Rico grinned, looking pleased with himself.
"This is a non issue," Mathieu muttered from the other end of the couch.
"No!" Tex insisted looking over at Al who looked equally uncomfortable. "We, well, we...suddenly care a lot about bathrooms and who goes where."
Rico sighed and took the bag of chips altogether. "If only you could care half as much about me or Guam or-"
Alfred sighed, "I hate to admit it. But these sort of obsessions always crop up whenever there's a bunch of legislation regarding-"
"Care about the gaps," Reilley grumbled, "In the door. It makes it hard to concentrate."
"But Uncle Reilley, that helps you prepare for movie-style thriller-esque attacks!" Alfred insisted, though it earned him multiple looks. "And so janitors can clean towards one center drain in the floor."
"But the gaps along the door seam!" Reilley argued.
Tex and Alfred glanced at each other and shrugged.
Yeah, they weren't exactly sure how to argue that one.
"We're not perverts, if that's what you're fixin' to insinuate," Tex put out there, trying to keep the speculation clean.
Only...
Alfred slapped his forehead and Rico howled with laughter and Texas knew he hadn't handled that suavely.
España fidgeted. He crossed one leg over the other as he sat on the porch's deck beside Puerto Rico, but he couldn't quite stop it from bouncing nervously.
He was not made for waiting on the sidelines.
His son offered him some alcapurria from the plateful he'd made. He shook his hand in a 'no' gesture but patted the boy's back in gratitude for his courtesy. Such a good boy.
And he was nice and safe, seated on Papi's right on the swing chair; the absence on his left side felt very conspicuous.
He winced as Escocia delivered another hard elbow into Tejas' side.
His face scrunched in severe disapproval. It was not a fair fight by any capacity.
Tejas had assured him that this was some sort of training exercise, but he was armed only with a small knife while Escocia had a claymore.
His hands itched for his battle axe to even the score; that was a weapon better suited for this skirmish.
It was after another brief scuffle, that ended with Tejas being tossed out of the dirt "ring" they'd all helped make earlier (before España realized they were not outlining an area for roasting marshmallows and it was for fighting), that España stood up and marched over.
"This is not good," he declared without preamble.
Tejas flushed and scrambled to his feet. "Papi-"
Antonio pointed at Alistair. "You are a bad teacher. Es imperdonable. You are doing this all wrong-"
"O really, and how, Daddy-dearest, would you start off the laddie for training?" Escocia smirked nastily.
'"With strength-training," España sneered back. "Of course."
"Papi, stop it. You are embarrassing me!"
España's mouth twisted, "I do not mean to."
"No, hermanito!" Rico called from the sidelines, grinning from ear to ear. "Do not take offense. He is just saying you are not strong and tough. Not a real homb-"
España choked. "Rico! No! Nonono, Tejas. Mijo..." He straightened his son's shirt and dusted some dirt off of it. "I am just saying that muscles for running and shooting and that kind of combat...er...I...I am saying…uh...that they're are different muscles for this kind of fighting. This is older kind of...siege fighting—Papi will show you." He righted the boy's glasses from where they were sitting crooked on the bridge of his cute little nose. "I can train you-"
"No, Papi, I need him to-"
Antonio felt a strong flare of annoyance at the resistance. "But he is just trying to beat you up! I will give you exercises to do. And then we can spar and I can get you to a level where it's...not like this. And you can fight him."
His son gave him an indignant look. "I know how to fight."
Antonio held in a long suffering sigh. "I know, mijo."
His son had a bad case of talking a big game about fighting and having no skill that justified it.
Lovi did that, he thought fondly. But Lovino at least had the good sense to run when the situation escalated. Particularly, if Antonio wasn't there to protect him.
Meanwhile, Tejas stayed and took the beating.
Maybe that was why there were so many tombstones...
From what he'd seen, his Tejas had already come out the worse in a number of scuffles with the U.K. clan over the past year.
He was still angry that Inglaterra had laid violent hands on his pequeño twice.
Tejas' brown eyes were glaring at him.
España sighed.
He understood his son's sense of honor but...he'd always thought of him as being more sensible than this.
"You are very light. I mean, just look at your narrow shoulders-"
"Dammit, Spain!" his young son hissed. "I've had just about en-"
"I mean, part of it is your age. Papi did not always look like this." He flexed an impressive bicep.
Tejas turned red and got flustered. "Gah, I hate you so much right now, you-"
"-But I am certain with good diet and exercise, we can get you-"
"I have plenty of upper body strength! I do roping and wrangling-"
España struggled with himself. He didn't want to be the bad guy in this but…
He wrapped an arm around his son and pulled him in. "You are lean. You are toned. But Toni, if you are going to compete against him. You need muscle. You need weight."
"I do not! I'm plenty-"
Antonio tightened his hold and with one arm was able to lift his son off the ground before immediately setting him back down.
Because he wasn't trying to hurt his feelings, he just needed to make a point.
In a fight without bullets...just brawn...his boy needed more on him if he was going to hold off a larger, heavier, more experienced opponent.
"That don't prove nuthin' why...Al can lift me easy, too!"
Tejas shooed him away and he reluctantly returned to the swing chair.
He was just trying to help but it seemed like he only succeeded in making his son more nervous.
He was making more mistakes.
And worse, he was now hesitating to the point of missing opportunities where he would've at least landed light strikes before.
He was getting increasingly uncomfortable as his child performed poorly.
Antonio was good with weapons, he could instruct his son.
Puerto Rico grimaced as his brother took a hard hit near the kidneys and it only added to España's determination to intervene before Tejas was seriously injured.
He'd already witnessed several hits that would leave bruises.
The screen door clanged loudly.
"Geez, Tex. Been watching from the window and...I'm disappointed," America declared coldly as he carried out a collapsible fabric storage cube.
Tejas flinched in a way España knew too well. He'd done that when he was small and Antonio scolded him too harshly or moved too suddenly and frightened him.
The fact that his son could still make such a vulnerable expression when he so often exuded over-the-top confidence...hurt him to see.
"Al..." his son mumbled with a clear note of hurt that broke Antonio's heart.
"What an insult to Alistair," the boy drawled icily.
Tejas held his hands up placatingly. "No, Ally, I-"
"Then you must be really out of shape," the American's voice was uncharacteristically sharp and cold.
España gnashed his teeth; mijo would not appreciate him swearing at America and America wouldn't comprehend what he was saying.
But he wasn't about to take this sitting down.
Feathers thoroughly ruffled, he stormed over.
Alfred made no notice of seeing Antonio and set the storage cube in his arms down on the porch step and sat down beside it. "I mean, wow, you're not prepped at all. You're wearing your specs. You're still in dress boots. You're even wearing your hat. I mean, I got why you sucked at Kirkland Manor. You've never been good in snow. But here? On your home turf and you can't hold your own? What the hell?"
Tejas scuffed a toe in the gritty dirt and mumbled, "He's your favorite uncle-"
"You're my favorite brother," Alfred's eyes narrowed, "...kick his ass."
Alistair stopped and gaped.
Tejas nodded determinedly and threw his knife into the ground where the blade sunk and made it stand. He then took his hat off, and tossed it to Alfred who caught it with one hand.
He walked purposefully over and exchanged his glasses for a pair of military styled goggles, slid off his western boots in favor of combat ones, and pulled on a pair of half-finger, military grade tactical gloves.
He returned to the dirt ring, took up an actual fighting stance with his knife, and gave a predatory grin that España had never known.
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