Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.

A/N: I apologize for the delayed update; this past week has been unceasingly crazy. Thankfully, I managed to steal a handful of minutes to update. With that, I hope you enjoy chapter three of A Priceless Gift.

Dedication: This story is now officially dedicated to FrUKisLove. After a recent car accident took one of my fellow student's lives, and put another in the hospital with critical injuries... I had hit a sort of slump in writing this; nothing made me want to continue writing it. However~~your review inspired me to keep working on it. A Priceless Gift is now dedicated to you, for returning my passion of writing this story to me. I truly hope you enjoy it. Thank you.

"Letting Go"

Arthur's headache had subsided when he awoke several hours later, but had not completely disappeared. The subtle motion of the room as he rose from his mattress left the sea captain with a string of sailor's curses. There is a reason I swore I'd never drink again… Fucking headache. Blasted Alfred and his damned mess. This is all his fault. With a steadying breath, Arthur regained his sea legs; living on these waters over the years had trained him well in the art of recovering from hangover dizziness.

The moment he had regained his balance, he closed his eyes and forced several deep breaths from his lungs. The broken glass from the bottle could not remain on his floor forever. Not only would the thought of it likely drive him crazy, but he'd probably step on a glass shard and have to waste time he didn't have in the surgeon's quarters, ensuring that his foot was not infected. No. This mess must be cleaned up and disposed of. Immediately.

With a sigh of exasperation, Arthur moved with heavy steps toward the broken ship and bottle. He knelt beside it, cautious to avoid kneeling in the shattered glass. Looking at the mess, it was harder to carry out his plans to clear his floor of the litter. Arthur shook his head, ridding his mind of the image of him. I can do this. With a last determined sigh of irritation, he set to his work.

It took Arthur nearly an hour to completely clean up the mess. He could not simply sweep up the pieces and throw them away; the task was more complex than that. Arthur had to emotionally detach himself from each individual shard as he disposed of it. He had to be sure that when the bottle was no longer shattered on his floor, he would no longer remember what it originally stood for. Arthur had to be sure that the memories meant nothing to him when he was finished disposing of the broken glass.

The sea captain knew that repressing memories was not always the best solution; however, he felt there was nothing else to do in this situation. If he could forget what the ship had stood for, forget that it ever existed, forget him… Arthur would be okay. Anything less would be unbearable.

When Arthur had placed all of the broken pieces in an old box, he found that he could not bring himself to lay them to a watery grave on the open sea as he had originally intended. Despite his mind chastising him for his weakness, Arthur deposited the box at the bottom of a chest in the far corner of his quarters. Perhaps he could get away with not obliterating the shattered ship…perhaps if he merely hid them in the dark, smothered them with blankets and other useless junk he would never use…perhaps he could forget they were truly there, just as he intended to disregard the memories attached to the broken pieces.

Arthur shut the spacious chest, took a step back, and then signed in relief. There. It is done. A pain swelled momentarily in his heart, but the captain quickly reinforced his mental and emotional barrier, thus blocking images of him. I will get over this—over him. The pain will dull; I will not allow myself to fall victim to it.

Arthur took one last deep breath before turning from the chest to make himself presentable for his crew. He changed into a fresh shirt and trousers, tugging his boots back on with a sense of urgency. When his clothes were set in place, Arthur hardened his features. He no longer needed to check the mirror to know that he looked like a fearless leader, affected and influenced by nothing. Arthur knew the face he wore was one of a merciless pirate: strong, firm, and proud. This was the face of Captain Kirkland, and Arthur had mastered it long ago.

With a curt nod, the captain turned on his heel and abandoned his cabin for the main deck. He would think no more of the previous night: it would make him weak. His men needed him—needed him strong and fierce as he had always been before them. He would stand before his crew—the crew of the famed Wicked Thorn—as he always had: an undefeatable man, capable of taking down the world. It would be as if nothing had ever happened to unsettle the status quo. Today was just another day at sea: nothing more, nothing less.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed chapter three. It took me awhile to finish... but I'm fairly content with how it turned out. Thank you once again to everyone who has read, subscribed, favorited, and reviewed this story. Thank you for staying with me this far for this story. I know that not much has happened yet... again... I apologize! However, I promise that in... a couple of chapters, I will be introducing Francis further into the plot. I encourage everyone to review and let me know what you think~~ xo