Author: Ugh, sorry for not updating for awhile. I wish a college would just accept me already. I hate doing supplements, grrr!

This is my first USUK fic so I'm being really slow and careful and editing a lot. I want to make it plotty… D;

And If You Don't Love Me

Chapter 1: Two Americas

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"America. I believe that answers both questions."

"Such treachery. There is only one America, and that's me."

"Ah yes, I see how this can be confusing."

"Tell me, who are you, and why do you look—"

"Like you? My face. Does this not prove that I'm America? That there are two Americas? But do not fret, Alfred Jones. There won't be two Americas for long."

"Damn it, damn it, damn it all!"

Alfred pounded his fists against the wall of his office, his body quivering from trepidation and doom. First South Caroline, now Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, Texas…What to they think they're doing? They'll tear the country apart!

The secession of South Carolina had unleashed a plague of rebellion as the Southern states withdrew one by one, falling like dominos. No matter how much Alfred strived for peace and compromise, war between the North and South became imminent, and it will end in devastation as all civil struggles do. Alfred rested his forehead against the wall, forcing a bitter smile to his lips. What a twist of fate. It wasn't supposed to happen. America wasn't supposed to end up like this.

"My, my, Jones." A familiar sardonic voice cut through the stony silence of the dimly lit office. "You really are inept at what you do."

"You come at the worst time possible, you realize that?" Alfred groaned, and turned to face the speaker, who sat loftily in his armchair, legs crossed, eyes half-lidded, and lips curved into a mocking sneer.

"I do apologize."

"Why—" Alfred sighed wearily, directing his exasperation more towards thin air than the man before him. "–are you here?"

"Well." The other pointed a gloved finger to himself. "I'm America."

Never before had Alfred found his own complexion so irksome, as he stared down at the man whose visage mirrored his own—the man who evidently found great enjoyment in his misery. "You are not America. I refuse to recognize a hallucination as America."

"A hallucination?" The imposter feigned a frown. "How insulting. Is this anyway to treat a kin? We are practically kin, don't you think?"

"Actually…" Alfred dragged himself to his desk and slumped into the chair, face buried in his hands. "I shouldn't even be talking to you, a hallucination." His grievances were slightly muffled, but he paid no regard. He was talking to himself basically, which was nothing out of the ordinary. Alfred was perfectly sane, thank you very much. In fact, the only thing that could possibly be deemed insane was this physical manifestation of stress and anxiety sitting smugly before him, appearing very much alive and solid, and not to mention, chatty.

Alfred groaned again. He should have expected something like this to happen. It was typical for nations in distress to fall ill. Some developed high fevers, others intense chest pains or severe flu symptoms, but not America. America was special, exceptional, unique—in fact, so unique that he became the single distinctive nation to experience not only physical discomfort but also mental degradation. Alfred groaned for the third time, eyeing his carbon copy with contempt before finally deciding to humor himself with the evidence of his own madness.

"So which one are you?" Alfred sighed. "The radical North? The conservative South?"

"Neither, Jones," said the other rather nonchalantly, "I'm very much like you, actually. I only want what's best for America—unification, prosperity, influence, respect." He tilted his head and smiled with ambiguous sincerity. "However, I'm afraid America is doing quite poorly in the listed criteria at the moment…"

"So you are here to take my job." Alfred cocked an eyebrow.

"Why must you think the worst of me?" The other America heaved a sigh, although more out of humor than exasperation. "I'm simply here to offer a second opinion, one that's not so bent on hopeful heroism but more on pragmatism and necessity. My intentions are pure, I promise. I want America to thrive just as much as you do."

"Maybe I do need a second opinion," Alfred laughed, "but certainly not from you, a hallucination." He attempted to mirror the other's smug facade and deemed his effort a success. They shared the same face, after all.

The hallucination frowned again but this time with clear antagonism. "I expected such a thoughtless response from you, Jones. Every decision you've made thus far is a blatant display of thoughtlessness, and even now is no exception. The evidence is plainly visible in the dismal state of your country."

Alfred threw his head back. "Great, I'm being lectured by a hallucination."

"You may brush me off as a hallucination," the other America continued, his words fluid yet biting, "but that does not make my assertions any less true. Only the most unstable of countries fall into civil war, and that is America. "

Alfred stared at his ceiling peevishly, lamenting the fact he hadn't been blessed with the ability to turn his ears off, but his defiance only seemed to encourage the other in his endless scorn.

"You have failed time and again to make a lasting decision on all that could possibly be a threat to a nation's welfare—slavery, tariffs, and even an interpretation of that constitution you hold such high regard for. You are the reason for such aggression within the nation. You are the reason why America is crumbling—"

"I don't need you to tell me about any of this!" Losing the battle of legendary patience, Alfred slammed his palm against the fine mahogany surface of his desk, anger flickering behind his usually blithe blue eyes. "I tried all I can to prevent the war, I really did! But, the people—what can I do when the people are split into such polar extremes? There was nothing I could do—ever since the beginning—nothing! If war must happen, then so be it. Everything will settle in the end. America will get through!"

"Such hopeful foolishness," the other continued, eyes hard with reproach. "Are you planning to jump into civil war without the tiniest modicum thought, just like you had done with the fight for independence? Your victory was sheer luck, if nothing else. Had it not been for England's psychological frailty, you would now be six feet below the earth with a bullet through your remarkably thick skull. Miracles rarely happen twice, Jones, and nobody will take pity on you this time when you are fighting amongst yourself."

"I don't need anyone to take pity on me!" Alfred flared from both angry exasperation and emerging guilt. "I don't need anyone's help! I'm a nation, and this is civil war. No one else belongs here! This is something I have to overcome on my own!" His eyes darkened, and his voice lowered to a somber whisper, barely comprehensible. "And don't mention England. You don't know anything about England."

"England does not matter now." The other America softened his tone as well. "Europe does not matter. No one else belongs here, I agree. I am America too. What you feel, I feel. What you desire, I desire. You are raw—inexperienced, Jones. Allow me to help you."

"You—how can you expect—"Alfred breathed out weakly, burying his face into his hands, his mind exhausted. "How can you expect me to agree to such—You can't help me. You're just part of my head—the part that's losing it. What can you possibly tell me that I don't already—"

"Mr. Jones…" There was a faint knock on the door before a woman appeared behind it. "I'm sorry to disrupt you, but the president would like to see you now…" Her voice trailed off in skeptical revelation. "Mr. Jones…weren't you discussing something with someone just now?"

Alfred was almost as surprised as she was upon realizing the vacancy of armchair before him. "I-I…I," Alfred flushed and stammered, "N-No, no I wasn't—Thank you for telling me. I will go see him right away."

Alfred rose from his chair and walked past the woman, ignoring her perplexed expression. He did not attempt to explain to her his previous shouting match with an empty chair. The last thing he needed was for his budding insanity to be publicized, and unless it had reached the point of absolute severity, Alfred would like it to remain buried forever. He closed his door quietly behind him and sighed; he was going to have a long talk with the president.

Alfred calmed himself, listening to the rhythmic patter of horse hooves on dirt road as he rested leisurely at the head of the carriage. He gripped loosely on the reigns, only using them occasionally to steer. He did not rush his horse, paying no regard to the slow dallying pace at which they were moving. As long as he reached his destination, he did not mind lingering on the way.

Alfred reminisced over the events that occurred earlier that day, his withdrawal from the white house. He had decided to take an indefinite leave of absence due to his peculiar health issue, although he never actually admitted to being delirious. He did not want the president to worry, or send him to an asylum, not that it would be of any benefit. Sicknesses induced by civil strife could only heal once civil strife was over—history had taught him that—and therefore, Alfred must deal with this burden alone.

Nevertheless, his health was not the only reason for him to shy away from the battlefield. If it were any other war with any other country, Alfred would have jumped into the battlefield alongside his men without hesitation. But this was civil war and both sides were his. Allying with one would mean abandoning the other, and Alfred could not possibly do so. The president was no doubt disappointed to hear of Alfred's departure; how would the people react? He needed not to worry, Alfred believed, for he had great generals, such as the headstrong Ulysses S. Grant, by his side, and there was really no need for Alfred to be there. The Union would cope without.

Alfred sighed into the soft summer air, the golden sunlight warm against his skin. He smiled wistfully at the idle sky, musing at nature's failure to foreshadow the devastation and bloodshed that would soon sweep over this beautiful land. He felt guilt building steadily in the pit of his stomach, though he believed it shouldn't. After all, this trip was far from a vacation; he had his own troubles to deal with, and unless his condition remedied, he would be completely useless to either side.

"Where are you taking us, Jones?"

Alfred flinched at the sudden inquiry, desperately attempting to suppress his shock before any notable sounds escaped from his treacherous vocal chords. He gave a disdainful glance towards the unwanted visitor who now sat at his side, watching with determined eyes. "Okay, this is why you're a hallucination."

"What are you talking about?" The other furrowed his brows.

"You sure weren't in the carriage when I left the white house!"

The hallucination had the decency to laugh. "By that logic, I might as well be a ghost."

Alfred swallowed, turning away from the other's pretentious smile. It had never occurred to him that the other could actually be a ghost. Alfred had always imagined ghosts to be morbidly pale, skeletal, hideous, and terrifying, but the other America did not appear that way. He looked like Alfred, and Alfred was anything but the descriptions listed.

"You are afraid of ghosts. I cannot believe you are!" The other America laughed, thoroughly amused.

Alfred scowled, trying his best to ignore the other's presence and finding such task to be impossibly difficult.

"Do not fret," the other America continued, "I am no ghost. I am very alive and very real. Now tell me, where are we going?"

Alfred responded irately, keeping his eyes steadily on the road ahead. "I cannot participate in the war because I am sick—very sick—and until I get better, I will be a danger to myself and to the ones around me. Therefore, I'm going home to rest."

The perpetual grin plastered on the other's face quickly dissipated to angry contortion. "How can you rest during such a crucial time? Do you not care what becomes of your country? Turn the carriage around this instant, Jones!"

"Turn around?" Alfred said with stubborn defiance, "And do what? There is nothing I can do. I'm America, and I can't fight with myself."

The hallucination lowered his tone—dark, vehement, and very much like the voice of Hell. "You may fool some with this pretense of neutrality, but you know as well as I that a nation can only stand strong when united. As a country that previously emerged from revolution, you may feel some sympathy towards the South, but ask yourself, who would want their nation to be split into two? You may not willingly admit it, but your mind is already allied with the North, the side that is striving for unification. Therefore this act of neutrality not the noble gesture you would like to believe, but a blatant display of indecisive cowardliness."

Alfred paid no heed to the other's angry assertions, retorting coldly, "Like I said, I am very sick, and I am of little use until I get better. But you are welcomed to get off my carriage. In fact, that would do wonders to the progression of my health. So, please, whenever you feel ready."

The hallucination remained thankfully silent for the rest of the trip, although the tension between the two was as thick as humid midsummer air. Alfred groaned inwardly to himself as he felt the daggers of the other's eyes bearing into his skin, and fought the urge to squirm under the pressure. He needed to rest, to regain his composure, and to pick up the tiny fragments of his mind that were still functional before all was lost, but he doubted he would achieve any peace of mind at home. Home would be a whole new battlefield, a war between him and his disillusioned self, and winning would be everything, because losing this war would mean losing his sanity.

Author: Good beginning for a possibly, plotty longfic? Yes? No?

I'm a slow writer and I apologize OTL

Tell me if I made grammar errors :3