"To lose one parent may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness."
– Oscar Wilde
"Are you sure you need the whole weekend?" England asked, giving America a worried look as he helped him carry his suitcase to the ground floor.
"The tests could take a while. Don't worry, babe. I'll be fine!" America leaned over and gave England a peck on the cheek. He liked England's constant mother-henning when it meant that he didn't have to lift a finger to do laundry or other chores, but the clinginess made it a little difficult to execute his plan to create a new micronation. "I'd love to bring you with me, but you know how Tony gets."
"I know." England sighed. "Well, I suppose I could use the chance to go back to London to do some work. And I can set up our other nursery while I'm there. Take care, love."
"Love you too, sweetheart! I'll call you every day," America promised as he waved goodbye and headed out the door. He bounced with excitement as he drove himself to the airport. If England was so deliriously happy just at the thought of a child, he couldn't wait to see England's face when his boyfriend finally had a chance to hold their baby in his arms.
From this point on, America's plan was simple. Although he didn't use it much, he had a high ranking government authorization. It would be more than enough to transfer some federal land over to the man behind the micronation (the self-declared Earl of Rum). And he had already set up a meeting with the Earl. The only hard part would be convincing the man to actually accept the land and money, but how hard could it be to give away free land? America had given away plenty of free land back in the day and it had worked out just fine.
After landing in Florida, America checked his voicemail messages from England. Unsurprisingly, his lover wanted him to call right away to let him know that he had arrived safely. It was cute to hear the worry in England's voice over a simple three-hour flight. While he was checking the last of the voicemails, he saw an incoming call from England.
America smiled. "Hey, babe! No need to worry, I'm here and still safe."
"I wasn't worried," England protested unconvincingly. "I just missed you."
"Aww, me too, sweetheart. Are you on your way to London yet?"
"Not quite. Still cleaning up a bit before I leave. You forgot your laptop, by the way."
"I did?" America felt a rush of worry as he remembered all of the notes he had been keeping on his laptop. "You haven't been using it, have you?"
"No. Why? Is there a problem?"
"No! It's just... you know how you are with technology."
England harrumphed on the other end of the line. "Excuse you. I am hardly a luddite."
"Yeah? What about that time you tried to set the alarm?"
"You're the one who smashed it to bits."
"Because it was trying to wake me up at 3am in Swahili!" America looked around and noticed that he was getting strange looks from the other customers waiting in line for their rental cars. He also noticed that he was now at the front of the line. "Sorry, babe. Gotta go! I'll talk to you later. Love you!"
"We've got your car ready for you, Mr. Jones," the service agent said after checking through America's paperwork.
"Awesome! Hey, can I get a child's car seat too?"
She gave him a look that said aren't-you-little-young-to-have-a-kid, but America just kept grinning. Sure, he looked 19, but he was plenty old enough, and anyway, the customer was always right.
America tossed the car seat into the back of his sporty red rental car and turned the volume up as high as it would go as he drove to the McDonald's in Pensacola where he had arranged to meet the Earl of Rum. Like a proper spy, he wore a pair of sunglasses and a big floppy hat to disguise his identity. Too late, he realized that he looked like every other tourist in Florida. Fortunately, the Earl found him anyways, since America had told him that he would be the person eating 'a mountain of burgers'.
"So... you're the one who asked about the Dominion of British West Florida?" the man asked after he slid into the booth across from America. He had to lean to the side to see America past the pile of burgers that covered the table.
"Yep. I've got something for you." America glanced from side to side and slipped a packet under the table. It contained a trust account and a deed to some land that had formerly been part of the national seashore near Pensacola. The official government transfer was set to happen the next day. The Earl of Rum flipped through the papers with a look of surprise, trying to figure out America's motives.
"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously.
America grinned. "Don't ask."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Really don't ask."
"Is this a trick of some sort?"
America shook his head. "Let's just say that I want to help you make British West Florida a reality," he replied, filling his voice with complete sincerity.
With a careful nod, the other man thanked him and accepted the trust account and property in the name of the Dominion of British West Florida. America resisted the urge to jump up on the table and shout in excitement, but he did grin like a maniac as he finished his burgers. He couldn't wait to call England and give him the good news. They were going to have a baby very soon!
As soon as America returned to the privacy of his car, he called England, but his smile slowly disappeared as the phone rang straight to voicemail. He hung up and stared at his phone in confusion. Why wasn't England answering the phone? The answer clicked a moment later and America kicked himself for worrying. England obviously had his phone turned off because he was on a plane headed to London. He called again and this time left a message.
"England, it's going to happen soon!" America shouted excitedly. "Apparently alien technology works way faster than I expected. Come back as soon as you can. I miss you."
The next few hours were filled with increasingly painful suspense as America waited for a phone call that never came. He browsed the news, checking to make sure that there hadn't been any problems with transatlantic flights. Maybe England had forgotten to check his messages before going to bed. Jetlag always hit him hard. Or maybe he had accidentally reprogrammed his phone to Swahili. There were plenty of rational reasons why England wasn't calling, but none of them stopped America from worrying.
As the clock ticked closer to midnight, America grabbed his jacket and his keys. No matter what was going on with England, the land transfer would take effect at the stroke of midnight, and that meant that he had a micronation to find. Fortunately, it wouldn't be much trouble to find him or her. Nations could only appear in their own land and the Dominion of British West Florida now consisted of a piece of land the size of four basketball courts.
He began to wonder what British West Florida would look like. He felt fairly confident in predicting blond hair, but would she have dimples? Would he have freckles? Would the child's skin be British pale or covered in a Floridian tan? America was eager to find out, and he couldn't wait to see the smile on England's face when he finally held the child in his arms. England was going to be over the moon.
America parked his car on the side of the road and walked past the sign informing him that Pensacola Beach was only open from dawn to dusk. Fortunately, he was a free country and could do whatever he wanted. He climbed over the fence and walked down to the beach, pausing on the way to admire the brilliant stars overhead.
He walked along the dunes looking for a tiny figure in the rustling knee-high grasses. The sand beneath his feet gleamed white in the moonlight as he tried to figure out the precise borders of British West Florida. As he crested one of the dunes, he stood still and simply listened. Young nations tended to be skittish, but they were also very curious about the world around them. If he waited patiently, he knew that West Florida would come to him.
With a patient sigh, America sat down on the soft sand and crossed his legs. He waited and listened, spending the time wistfully imagining how happy England was going to be to see cute little Alexander or Rosemary in the nursery they had lovingly prepared for him or her. And beyond making England happy, America was also starting to realize that he really wanted a child himself. He wanted someone to love and care for, especially when England had to be in England. Despite the difficulties of long distance parenthood, he swore to himself that he was going to give his kid the best childhood ever. And when the time came, he would add more land to West Florida, letting his child grow older as the centuries progressed. And perhaps, when he or she was ready, one day his child would become the Republic of West Florida. And on that day, America could say, 'My baby is all grown up and declaring independence!'
Returning to the present, America smiled when he finally heard footsteps softly approaching. He turned his head to see a small child toddling closer. Like all newborn nations, she wore a simple white gown. Pale hair framed her face, except for one small tuft that pointed to the sky.
"Hi, there," America said softly as he tried not to make any sudden movements.
She smiled back and whispered hello with a faint English accent. Her eyes gleamed in the moonlight. America couldn't see the color, but he knew instantly that they were green. Green like the Everglades. Green like the lily pads in the wetlands. Green like England.
"Who aw you?" she asked, head tilted to the side in curiosity.
"I'm America, but you can call me Alfred. I'm gonna take you home so you can meet Arthur. Would you like that, Rosemary?"
She blinked. "Wosemawy?"
"That's you." America stretched out his hand. "You're British West Florida. And my little Rosie."
"West Flowida. Wosie," she said, testing out the names with her adorable lisp. She smiled and placed her tiny hand in his. America lifted the little girl into his arms and cradled her against his chest as he stood up. Lulled by the gentle motion, her eyes fluttered closed and she started to breath evenly, fast asleep in the time it took America to walk back to his car.
He buckled the micronation into the car seat and sang her a lullaby that he remembered from long, long ago as he returned to the airport. It took all of his strength to wait to call England, but there was no way he was going to use a cellphone while driving with his brand new daughter.
The call went straight to voicemail again. "She's a girl," America said softly, taking care not to wake the child. "Your eyes. She's beautiful, England. Call me soon, sweetie."
They took an early flight and America enjoyed the delighted coos from the women sitting next as they admired his adorable little girl. She was definitely England's child; remarkably well behaved and very clever, she picked up new words as quickly as a sponge. America would have to remember not to swear in front of her. He didn't want to see the look on England's face when his little angel started cussing.
As they landed in D.C., America was thrilled to see that he'd received a voicemail from England during the flight, but he was disappointed to discover that England's message said nothing more than, "Call me when you get home, America. We need to talk."
He drove home at a very safe and responsible speed, but he felt his worries grow as he neared his home. Was England having second thoughts about parenthood? America wasn't sure he was ready to become a single father!
Rushing into his house, he lowered Rosemary into her crib and called England as soon as she fell asleep. "Hey, England. I got your message, babe. Is everything okay?"
"I'm not stupid, you know." England sounded pissed. Both British pissed and American pissed.
"What?" America asked, desperately hoping for the best.
"Quote, nothing scares a man more than finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, unquote. Did you really think that would work?" England demanded harshly. "Or was the scary part supposed to be how long you were willing to keep lying to me?"
America froze as he tried to comprehend the heartbroken anger in England's voice. It was obvious that his boyfriend had looked at his laptop. America wished he could say that England was wrong, but the most he could say in his defense was, "I just wanted to make you happy."
"Oh, yes. Of course. Nothing makes me happier than having to call up all of the other nations I invited to the baby shower and let them know that I'm a fool and my ex-boyfriend is a bloody liar."
"Please, England! I know it started off wrong, but I really did find a way to have a child. I wasn't lying about that, I swear! Just come and see her," America pleaded. If only he could convince England to see Rosemary, he knew his boyfriend would forgive him and they could be a happy family. "It wasn't that hard, actually. I found this guy on the internet—"
"—we're over, America. There is no us." England's broken sob was the last thing America heard before the call ended.
"England..." America felt tears well up in his own eyes as he stared at the smiling photo of England on his phone. It had been so hard to capture that photo, it had taken so many years to build up his relationship with England to the point where they could be lovers, and now he was afraid he would never see England's smile again except on his phone and in his memories. The wonderful happiness he had felt bubbling in his chest ever since the first moment he held Rosemary in his arms vanished in the blink of an eye. "No, we're not over," America insisted to himself.
He just needed a way to show England that he had been telling the truth about their child. In a desperate bid to win back England's affections, he took a picture of Rosemary as she slept curled up in her beautiful crib and he sent it to England. Maybe if England could just see her, he would believe America. Moments later, the phone rang and England's smiling face on the contact photo appeared, giving America a fleeting sense of hope.
"This has gone too far!" the Englishman hissed. "Return that poor girl to her parents. Her real parents. Right now."
"W-what?"
England growled, "Don't play that American idiot game with me. I know you didn't use alien technology. You came up with a list of ways to get a child and the only one you could have accomplished in this amount of time is abduction. So return her this instant!"
"I can't return her!" America protested. "She's ours."
"Stop lying, America. Just, stop it." It sounded like England was crying, but he hung up again before America had a chance to explain himself. The American stared at his phone in dismay. A small voice in his head told him that this was what he deserved for lying to England. He had lied to England and now they would never be a happy family and it was all his fault.
"Daddy, aw you okay?" Rosemary asked drowsily.
America wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled down at her. It was a fake smile, but it would have to do. "Don't worry, Rosie. I'm fine. Everything is going to be just fine," he said, trying to reassure himself as he gently touched her soft golden hair. Her accented voice served as a reminder: He was fighting for more than just his own relationship with England. Now he had a daughter who needed both parents in her life. Even if England didn't forgive him, Rosemary didn't deserve to suffer because of America's lies. He waited until she fell asleep and began Operation Make England Meet His Daughter.
Unfortunately, all of America's phone calls went to voicemail. No one responded to his emails. His letters were returned unread. Even worse, in a surprising display of international solidarity, the other nations adamantly refused to help him get in contact with England. His own boss called up a week later asking why the special relationship was on ice, and America knew that he had seriously screwed up.
All the while, he did his best to take care of Rosemary on his own. He cooked for her and took her outside to play and gave her regular baths. It was wonderful spending time with the sweet little girl, but it was hard to look at her bright green eyes without thinking of England. And she broke his heart each time she asked when she was going to meet Arthur and he had to admit that he didn't know.
The worst moment came when he tried to book a flight to London and discovered that his passport had been rejected. In all of their fights over the years, England had never revoked his right to travel to the British Isles.
America grimaced. He was left with no other choice but to wait for the next World Meeting. Fortunately for him, it was scheduled to take place in Montreal, so at least he would be on somewhat friendly territory. It wasn't like they could stop him, the world's sole superpower, from attending.
But, apparently, they could try.
America carried Rosemary into the Canadian hotel, holding her with one arm as he pulled his luggage behind him with the second. He smiled at the woman behind the front desk and tried to pick up the keys to his room.
"I don't see you in the system, Mr. Jones. Are you sure your reservation is for this week?" she asked, giving him an apologetic smile.
"I'm positive," America insisted. "Look again."
Her brows knitted together in concentration as she stared at the screen. "Oh! It looks like we did have a reservation for you, but you called to cancel last week."
"What? I didn't cancel my reservation!"
"Oh, no. I'm so sorry, sir! I don't know how that mistake could have happened." She bit her lip as she tapped on the keyboard. "The hotel is all booked up for a conference. Would you like me to call the nearby hotels to see if they have an available room? We'll comp your rate, of course."
America sighed and shook his head. "Can you just call up and see if you can get Arthur Kirkland on the phone?" Maybe if he talked to England, they could resolve their problems and he could share England's room. Having his room suddenly cancelled on him could work in his favor.
The receptionist punched her keyboard a few times and shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir. We have a few Kirklands in the system, but none named Arthur. Would you like to talk to Alistair?"
America raised his eyebrows in surprise. England's brothers normally didn't bother coming to the world conferences since England represented the United Kingdom on their behalf. Given what England had been telling the world about his lies, he wasn't sure he wanted to stay in the same hotel as them. He thanked the woman for her help and carried Rosemary back to the car. America needed someone to give him warm food and good advice. And that meant it was time to go visit his brother.
Canada's house in Montreal was in a quaint neighborhood not far from downtown. It had the most confusing set of parking signs America had ever seen; the Canadians felt they needed to describe the system in both English and French, leaving them with not enough room to actually explain it in either language. He parked anyway and decided he would just risk the ticket.
"Mattie, let me in!" America called, ringing the doorbell repeatedly.
A few moments later Canada opened the door with a sigh. "Oh, Al, you really shouldn't have come here." Behind him stood two of England's brothers.
America smiled and waved, trying to remember their names. "Hey, Scotland. Ireland," he said. "What's up?"
"Northern Ireland," the shorter nation corrected. "And I'm going to beat you up just for that."
"I'm Wales, not that you ever remember," a third voice said. America turned around to see England's third brother standing behind him on the path to Canada's house, blocking his exit.
Scotland glared. "Allow us tae remind you that we are the only ones allowed to make England's life miserable."
"Daddy? Who aw they?" Rosemary asked, drawing the attention of the gathered nations for the first time. They looked confused at her presence and her accent.
"This is Uncle Mattie, Uncle Scottie, Uncle Ireland, and Uncle Wales," America said, pointing out each in turn. "Mattie's the best. He'll make you pancakes!"
"Northern Ireland!"
"Do I have any aunts?" she asked, tilting her heard to the side.
"I dunno. I guess I'll have to introduce you to New Zealand, and you can decide for yourself!" America joked as he stepped inside, still carrying Rosemary. He plopped down on the couch, and warmed up in front of the fire. Despite what people said, he wasn't stupid. He knew that England's brothers were unhappy with him and he could guess that they were responsible for his cancelled hotel reservation. He could also guess that they wanted to do more than just chat. "Rosemary, why don't you help your uncle Mattie make some hot cocoa," America suggested.
"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Al," Canada murmured warningly, glancing between America and the U.K. brothers.
"Nah, it's fine," America insisted.
"Pwease Uncle Mattie? I want hot cocoa!"
"Okay, okay. Just... yell if you need me," Canada replied meaningfully. With a backward glance, he scooped up the micronation and carried her into the kitchen.
America focused his attention on the U.K. brothers who looked back at him with varying levels of confusion and anger. Whatever else they had been expecting, they clearly hadn't planned on him arriving at Canada's house with a child in tow. Did that mean England hadn't spread his kidnapping accusation? America hoped not. It would be much easier dealing with everyone if they didn't suspect him of abducting a young British citizen.
"Did you see her eyes?" Wales murmured.
"Normal eyebrows, though," Scotland noted.
"I say we beat him up just for leaving out the North in my name."
Scotland punched his arm. "North, nobody cares about your name!"
After just a few minutes of watching them argue, America was starting to understand why England hadn't invited his brothers to the baby shower. Seeing that it would be a while before the UK brothers reached a decision, he kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the coffee table. Sure, Canada would yell at him for dirtying the furniture, but Canada wasn't in the room.
"She looks like a toddler! There's no way she could be their child," Northern Ireland retorted, rubbing his shoulder as he glared at Scotland. "I'm pretty sure that's not how kids work."
Wales shook his head. He had the softest face of the group and America thought of him as the Canada of the UK, at least, when America thought of him at all. "But young nations aren't the same as human children. And something about her feels... almost like a nation."
Canada smiled in relief as he stepped into the room with three cups of hot cocoa, undoubtedly pleased to see that his living room hadn't turned into a war zone in his absence. America could tell he had been genuinely worried because he didn't even yell at him for putting his feet up on the furniture.
"Daddy, daddy! I twied maple syrup and it's yummy!" Rosemary shouted as she climbed into America's lap. She nearly spilled her cup, but he caught it in time and held it steady. The tension in the room eased as the UK brothers shared a silent look. Whatever they had planned for America, they would wait until he wasn't holding a small child in his lap.
"Oh my, look at the time. It's getting a bit late, eh?" Canada said, glancing at the door meaningfully.
"This isn't over," Scotland warned America as the UK brothers took their leave. "See you at the meeting tomorrow."
3 of 6
Author's Notes
My headcanon is that nations are usually about three or so when they're "born". They can walk and talk and generally are a lot better than humans at living on their own. I apologize if anyone was looking forward to bottle feeding and changing diapers. But let's be honest, America isn't a very good parent, so it's probably for the best ;)