A/N Listen guys, I really DON'T have an excuse for taking what? Several months to update? And I apologize profusely for that! I hope you can forgive your friendly neighborhood fanfic writer...after I finish this (and I WILL finish it!) I think I'll just stick to oneshots, because multi-chaptered fics just aren't my forte.
Again, I'm REALLY sorry.
"Yes America-san, there is a meeting. And it's in the same place as it always is in your country," Japan stated. The Western nation could be a ditz, but to forget a meeting in your own home?
"Hey, is Artie there?"
"Yes. I assumed you were with him, because he was driving your car."
"D'you think you could...delay the meeting till I get there? I need to find a ride."
"Erm, I do not think-"
"Great! See ya in a bit!" Japan closed his cell, turning and facing the other nations present, fidgeting nervously under Germany's cold glare.
"Well?" the towering country asked, raising his eyebrows expectantly.
"Er, he is on his way," Japan said to the floor.
Alfred was running around his house, grabbing a tie and hastily putting it on as he shoved his feet into his shoes. Damn Artie, damn him to hell. He thought savagely as he furiously pulled on his suit jacket. He snatched his briefcase and yanked open the garage door, flicking on the light to illuminate a 1957 Harley-Davidson Sportster.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it Lucy?" he asked to vehicle, reverently running his hand across its glossy surface. Alfred kicked the bike into gear, revving it impatiently as he waited for the door to open. Once it was, he bolted out-making a sharp right- and sped off to the meeting.
"We've been waiting twenty fucking minutes, we'll have to start the meeting without him!" England roared above the bickering voices of the other nations.
"But England, it's your fault he's not here to begin with!" Japan said frantically, trying stall for time.
"I don't know what you're bloody talking about!" England shouted back.
"You are the one who stole his car," Japan stated, acutely aware that the others had fallen silent, listening in on the impending fight.
"Well I wasn't about to wait for his fat arse to wake up! I wasn't going to be late because of him!" England hissed vehemently. It was all the stupid American's fault!
"We were both up in plenty of time!" Everyone swiveled around to face America, who stood in the doorway, his hair a mess and his clothes more ruffled than usual. And he looked livid. He stomped past England on his way to his seat. "Sorry I'm late, now let's get started," he barked.
It was a very unusual meeting, to say the least. They actually crossed several things off their agendas; nothing major, but it was something, for a change. And for once, America didn't argue with anyone, and he didn't spew any of his hero nonsense as well. What was more, he refused to even acknowledge England. The meeting breaked for lunch after a couple of hours, the nations dispersing in different directions. England trailed behind America-who was nestled in between France and Spain- and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Er, here're your keys," he mumbled.
"Whaddya expect me to do, drive the Ford and Luce back home?"
"I assumed you took the bus," England muttered to his shoes.
"Well you assumed wrong," America said coldly, "If you would, could you drop it back at my place after the meeting?"
"Erm, alright," the shorter male said, eyes trained on the floor, "I'm sorry!" he blurted out.
"That's great to know, thanks," America said dismissively, leaving England to rejoin France and Spain. England stood there, numbed by the dismissal. He turned to head back to his seat in the meeting room, preferring to eat alone. To his intrigue, there was a hastily written note waiting for him on his seat.
We need to talk.
England flipped the note over, but there was nothing more. He recognized the sloppy handwriting as America's, and he wondered just when the stupid git had left it. But no matter, they were going to talk things out, and maybe go back to a normal relationship. England almost felt giddy at the prospect.
Almost.
It was well into the night before the meeting finally ended; spurred on by the day's earlier successes, Germany had kept them all there several hours later than usual. Everyone filed out, separating into groups of three and four, on their ways to separate hotels. England dawdled while leaving, hoping to catch America on his own, but no, the bumbling idiot was the first one out the door. The island nation sighed, switching the light off as he left.
He ignited the engine of America's car, suddenly feeling awkward as he did so, much unlike earlier when he relished the fact. Guilt wormed its way inside him. Oh, he'd went and done it now, hadn't he? He was being so immature, just because he didn't want to confront something...
He killed the engine as he reached the two-story building that was Alfred's house. It was pitch black. Arthur got out of the car, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Why was he so nervous, this was only his ex-charge's house! His sense of foreboding increased as he opened the door; it was unlocked. Had something happened to the blubbering idiot? Arthur tried to shake the feeling off as he entered the room, blindly searching for a light switch.
Suddenly, the whole place was bathed in a harsh, bright white. Stars popped up in Arthur's vision from the transition of pure dark to glaring light.
"Jesus Christ, you're acting like you just looked at the sun. It's not that bad."
"Alfred, I can explai-"
"Arthur. Don't. Let me talk-"
"Alfred, I'm sorry!"
"Don't apologize."
Alfred's words struck Arthur as odd. Shouldn't he apologize? It was all his fault, wasn't it? "But-"
"No. Artie, listen. I should be the one apologizing," Alfred began, baby blue eyes burning into emerald ones. Alfred took Arthur's silence as a means to continue. "I was an idiot, bringing up stuff from the past, and I'm sorry for that."
"Alfred, don't take all the blame," Arthur said gently. "It's my fault too, I-I overreacted."
A glimmer of hope passed through Alfred's eyes. "You really aren't mad at me, Artie?"
Arthur broke out into a nervous smile. "Of course I'm not, you bleeding idiot!" he paused. "And for the last, fucking time, don't call me Artie!"
A/N Numero dos: And I'm sorry it's physically impossible for me to write nice, long chapters! ;A;
