There's a field near the dream

I watched it grow with brightest eyes

I watched us all reach out and leave

For the strength as we touched the sky

If you hear a distant sound

That's my footsteps by your side

If you feel like coming 'round

I will take you for a ride

---

America saw his life as a field.

It was not a straight line, or a sidewalk, or some sort of blanket woven by the Fates. If anything, America's life was a circle. He certainly felt like he was going around in circles half his life. And he knew as well as any other country that his life would continue as a circle until someone came and cut it.

So, a round field then.

His field constantly grew, with flowers and plants from all over the world, because that's what he was. He was made up of people from all over the world. It was always spring in his field, because everyone would always have the opportunity to better themselves, whether they took that opportunity or not.

The field was a beautiful green anywhere where there wasn't a bright flower. There was a stream running through the field, and the soil soaked up the water well enough that, under normal conditions, no human would ever need to water the field.

Sometimes there were droughts, though. Sometimes the field needed help to grow. But the flowers would always come back. America's field would spring back up, just like him.

Recently, there had always been a person in his field. He couldn't imagine his field without England anymore. England caring for the flowers, England walking, England sitting, England England England. He'd never admit to it, even though they'd been together for years. He suspected England already knew how much America thought about him, how hopelessly in love he was.

America was always happy and eccentric, not just to get attention from the whole world, but to get England's attention, more than anyone else's. He reflected that in his field; when England went near the flowers, they all turned to him, like sunflowers to the sun, and he looked back. England was the center of his world, the center of his field.

England would always be the one watering his field during the droughts – whether England helped America through depressions or not, he would always be there. He would still lift America up, even if he had to drag him out of bed, pulling Nantucket until America couldn't feel his headache anymore.

The grass of the field was the green of England's eyes, watched over by the sky blue of America's. He wondered if his dream England realized the symbolism of that. England, in America's dreams of the field, would seem to love being near the stream. All of the newest flowers would come in that way, and spread from there. England seemed to like to watch the spread of life, watch the constantly moving water and the fish swimming happily within.

America loved his diverse culture. It was part of who he was. But he always felt a special attachment to what he had gained from England. Maybe he was biased – no, he definitely was. But America didn't care. If his supposed-to-be-objective news reporters could be biased (and they always were) then he could be a little biased without regrets.

America didn't mind going around in circles with his life if he could do it with England. As long as it never had to end.

"Alfred? What are you thinking about?"

"Hm? Who says I'm thinking about anything?"

"I smelled something burning."

"I think that's your cooking."

Arthur turned red with irritation. Alfred laughed; he would have to work that color into his field. It had been a while since he had added any new roses; maybe he could find some English breed in that color…

"Answer my question, Alfred." Arthur crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently.

Alfred just smiled and looked out at the water. He had rented a boat and taken Arthur out around the Jersey Shore. Prior to the trip Alfred had told Arthur to forget anything he had heard on TV about New Jersey, not because it wasn't true (because a lot of it was), but because there were some pretty OK things about the state. Like, for one, being on a boat, out at sea, under the stars, with his favorite person in the world.

Arthur huffed and went to the front of the boat. He sat down and looked out at the sparkling water. Alfred smiled fondly, watching Arthur from behind, then went and joined him.

He sat down and wrapped his arms around Arthur, then rested his own head on top of his. They stayed like that for a few moments, then Arthur turned around and hugged Alfred back, sighing.

"I was thinking about you," Alfred finally responded.

Arthur nodded. "I know. You were staring at me the whole time."

"I love you."

Arthur nodded and leaned into Alfred, resting his head against the American's broad chest. He squeezed Alfred tightly, as if he never wanted to let go. "I love you too."

--

Notes: None this time.