Day 10- July 10th: Period Piece. Love clothing and culture from the past? This is for you. The fanworks in this theme must either take place before 1935 (right before the dawn of WWII), or be a throwback to that time period (i.e. them attending a Victorian costume ball in modern times). AU is of course welcome here (as it is in any theme). You can use any era pre-1935, no matter how far back.

Surprises were becoming a norm for England. He'd been having quite a month of them, from finding uniforms to seeing a beautiful backyard of roses. Today was proving not to be any different. He had been called down to America's basement. He scoffed at how disorganized it was, keeping his hands to himself as he maneuvered around the dusty antiques to where America was. America was rummaging through an old crate.

He came up holding a small, off-white nightgown covered in stains. "Look! It's my baby clothes!"

England stopped his mouth agape. Blush filled his face. He had to look away as nostalgia overtook him. America laughed at his reaction.

"Oh God," England mumbled into his hands now covering his mouth. "I haven't seen that in years…"

"Look what else is in here!" America pulled up child's size colonial clothing. "I wore this when I was like eight in human years!"

Again, England had to look away. The blush had reached his ears. Just imagining America, young and fresh to the world, frolicking in the fields once more was enough to drive England crazy. His chest hurt at the memories.

America glanced over, seeing England fading out into the past. Then, an idea hit him. He smiled and rushed to England, grabbed him by his shoulders.

"We should go to Williamsburg!" he exclaimed.

"What?" England asked flatly.

In retrospect, England should have just declined from the start because a "what" only made it seem that he was quite okay with America taking him to the colonial town. England had heard of these preserved sites and made a mental note to never go there. It would be too painful. Still, America was ruthless, and dragged England along.

They arrived in the early morning, but somehow England didn't think he was experiencing morning sickness. His stomach was so tight he could hardly breathe. He glared at America who happily strode into the side of a more modern building. England closed his eyes to block out anything he might see, and followed him inside.

"Alfred!" a girl exclaimed. She was in colonial attire, a beautiful blue dress with her hair up in a bun. Beside where she stood was a table with a bonnet, probably to go on her head. It looked as if she wasn't completely in costume yet as she jumped up to hug America.

"Abigail!" America scooped her up into his arms as he laughed. England rolled his eyes. Of course her name was Abigail. "You look beautiful, as always. But there's something different."

The blonde held up a ring on her finger. "I got married."

"NO WAY!" America picked her up and hugged her again. He had completely forgotten England was standing by the front door, awkwardly waiting until he was introduced, or better yet, taken home.

The two chattered away as England inspected the room. He noticed there was a list of rules hanging up on one of the walls. It had specific instructions to the actors to always remain in character, no matter who approached them. If anyone was to have a problem, they were to be escorted away, preferably to into a house where no prying eyes could see them. Overall, the actors were to keep the atmosphere of the colonies at all times.

That wasn't too hard for England to imagine. He was already having flashbacks. Quickly he looked around for a bathroom or some other escape route.

"And this is my pal, Arthur," America proclaimed. He looped an arm around England and tugged him over to meet Abigail. "He's from England."

"Oh, how cruel of you," Abigail said with a chuckle. She held out her hand to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Arthur. And welcome."

England took it, thankful for the distraction. No matter how nauseous he felt, he was a gentleman, first and foremost. "The pleasure is all mine. It's a lovely… outfit you're wearing."

Abigail looked down at her dress. "It tore yesterday. I was just fixing it up a little."

"Hey, do you think we could dress up too?" America asked suddenly.

England turned to snap at him, but Abigail was quicker. "Why sure! Let me get you both some outfits."

She turned to leave, but stopped. "Um, Arthur? Will you be wearing a colonist's attire or would you like that of English?"

England flushed. He almost wanted to say he would wear his old outfits from long past, but then he thought a moment. America had been doing a lot for him lately. That lovely afternoon in the rose garden came to his mind. And there was that evening in their military uniforms. He supposed he would play along, if only for a little while.

"I believe I will be a colonist," he replied, smiling. Abigail nodded, and left.

"Whoa, switchin' sides are ya?" America smiled, his hand on England's back. "You gotta get rid of your accent."

"You know I can." England was already starting to hide it under a terrible Boston accent. "I just…have to remember a good Virginian accent."

"It's not that hard." Of course it wasn't. America had slipped into one easily. "It's your accent that I can't master."

"Yours and my brother's." England had been referring to Scotland's. "You always sound atrocious when you do."

America sneered at him. "Better than when you try to do my Southern drawl."

England turned to retaliate, but Abigail had returned. She directed them to some changing rooms where they went to undress. America was first out. He took off his glasses, apologizing to Texas, and slipped them into his breast pocket. A moment later, England appeared. Somehow, the outfit made him look even smaller and younger.

"Nice," America commented. He stopped, though.

All the color from England's face was draining and he was shaking. He almost looked ready to vomit. His mind had traveled to the last time he had seen America wearing these clothes. He started coughing, grabbing at the clothes that suddenly felt two sizes too small.

Rushing quickly to his side, America grabbed England's face. He lifted his face up so that England looked into his eyes. He remained firm, but gentle as he tried to soothe him.

"Hey, hey, look at me. It's okay. Calm down. I'm right here. It's not that time anymore, okay?"

England shook his head violently. He was gasping for air and failing. "I know where this house is. I know where we are. P-please. I want to leave."

"Hey, sh. No, it'll be okay." America squished England's cheeks so his lips pursed out like a fish's. "Look, you're a fish now. You can't be upset when you look like that."

England closed his eyes. "America…"

For that, America moved in and gave him a quick kiss on the cheeks. He moved to whisper in his ear. "Don't think about that day, okay? We're together now. That's all that matters. Remember, I love you."

America could feel England relaxing in his hands. He was still tense, but no longer on the verge of hyper-ventilating. Usually he was so good at keeping his emotions in check. Sometimes he would cough or grow misty-eyed at the thought of the Revolution, but it had never gotten that bad before. It was probably because they were so close to something still so meaningful.

"Time to make some new memories!" America exclaimed. He dragged England back out to Abigail.

She was now wearing her bonnet and seemed ready to depart. The men followed her outside. England had to take a moment again to catch his breathe. America lied, saying England had asthma.

The sight had stunned him. They were just near the George Wythe house; a building both knew all too well for different reasons: England for wanting to burn it, and America for spending the night with George Washington before the battle of Yorktown. England had wanted to turn and run, but America held him firm. Abigail was taking them on a grand tour. At first, America was dancing in his own mind. He recalled all the days he had spent at the various houses still standing after all these years and battles.

England was mute the majority of the trip. He preferred to keep his own view of history out. For all Abigail knew, she thought he and America were normal human beings. If she did know who America really was, she certainly had no idea about who England was. And he'd like to keep it that way.

"Hey Arthur, look! It's William Robertson's house! You remember him!" America had pointed to a cherry wood house with an old canon sitting on the lawn. Abigail gave America a curious look. "Uh…from history class!"

England nodded. "Yes, I remember him. He was a good chap. I mean, boy."

Abigail laughed nervously. "William Robertson?"

"The original owner of this house, before John Randolph purchased it from him," England quickly explained.

"I didn't know you knew that," Abigail said. She looked surprised.

"I studied in America Colonial History. It was one of my…strong suits, I guess you could say." England looked to America for help, but he seemed preoccupied in touching the side of the house.

America wasn't one to dwell on the past, not like England. But sometimes it came on rather strongly. He would honor it, treasure it, learn from it. It was something that he loved the most about himself was his past and he was always interested in reliving it. That was why he kept the houses here when he could have done away with them. Why he let his Southern states continue their reenactments of the Civil War, despite how painful it was to him.

And why he brought England with him to see it.

"Abigail, could you give us a minute?" America asked. After she had left, America turned to England. "Walk with me?"

England was surprised by how distant America's voice sounded. He was becoming something else these past few days. Still, he agreed and took a walk with him.

They said nothing as tourists and actors wandered by. In the distance, England could hear a fife and drum playing. He saw smoke rising from chimneys. Outside one of the houses, a lady was churning butter, waving at guests walking around. Aside from some of the modern apparel on the people, it almost did feel like colonial times. He had to hand it to the services keeping it up.

America stopped suddenly. He was looking at the old capital building. The red bricks looked fresh as the day they were first laid. The building towered over them, a morning shadow cast on the cobbled ground before themIt was where the idea of his Independence had first been raised, this state being the first to shout for it. America had spent many days, sometimes nights, in the building. And England knew it.

He had spent just as many days in them, trying to run down the declarations. But it was no matter. Americans, just like their country, were too stubborn for what they wanted. Nothing, not even an Empire, could stand in their way. Which is how England found himself standing in front of the same building, over two hundred years later, wearing attire from that era that was not of his own. Because America had wanted it.

America then reached over and took England's hand. He smiled at him, but not in his usual bright way. He pulled England closer, not caring if now they looked rather out of character. People were too busy taking photographs to notice them.

"I'm sorry. We can go home now if you want," America said. "I just thought it would be fun."

England paused. He wasn't sure why, but he found he wasn't as ill as he thought he'd be. Sure he saw flashbacks of a young, baby America dancing before him on the very streets they walked. And a few times he swore he saw ghosts from citizens past that died for both of their sakes. Still, America always was an exception.

"No. I don't mind if we stay awhile longer." He gave a small squeeze before moving away. "I rather enjoy this fresh air and these old buildings. It's right up my alley, you know?"

America laughed. He relaxed as he playfully skipped beside England. Without his glasses he seemed more so of a boy again. "Yeah? Well then let's go look at some more old buildings. And get that American accent back, boy. You're in Virginia, not London."

"Of course. Forgive me." England chuckled.

It might not have healed all the wounds, but England did feel more at ease now about being there. He could just focus on America and he was now, not how he was then. Granted, he'd probably slip into a forgetful mind about it, either that or deny anything close to him liking the fact America left. But then he'd remember that despite that, he didn't run away.

Hoshiko2's cents: If you ever get the chance to go to Williamsburg or Jamestown, go. It's AMAZING! I loved Williamsburg 10 times more than Jamestown, but I still had tons of fun! Granted I was in the 8th grade and I can mainly remember the old ghost stories our tour guide told us to scare us. Still! It was awesome!