Author's Note: Many thanks again to MunchyFox for the request! I apologize for the slow updates. If I'm ever falling behind, you can nag me on my tumblr blog, Mandelene Fics. Happy reading!
Pride and Humility:
England can be a difficult person to work with. He's capable of compromise and is generally a reasonable negotiator, but he's as stubborn as stubborn comes, and when he really doesn't like an idea, he lets you know it. He's got the blood of an old empire coursing through his veins, and he's not easily intimidated by anyone or anything. He's seen it all. He's lived through it all, and he knows better than to bend to someone's wishes.
This is the main reason why Japan gets anxious whenever the man comes around his place for business. England can talk his way through anything, and by anything, Japan really means anything. He could convince a person with lung cancer that smoking would cure their disease with enough oiled-up words and smooth political jargon. So whenever the nation does stop by for a session of long talks, Japan reminds himself to pick apart every contract and agreement with great care before going along with any schemes.
Japan considers himself to have a more subdued persona. Some might accuse him of being a stick in the mud, but really, he's glad to be the level-headed one in the group. Sometimes, it's better to say less than too much, and having the dignity to stand back every once in a while is what gives him a certain type of strength and insight that the others overlook.
Earlier this morning, he gave himself a little pep-talk in preparation for England's arrival. After all, he can be assertive too! He may not be as hardy as some of the other nations, but that doesn't mean he'll always let them get their way because of it. This time, he's going to be the stubborn one. He'll establish the conditions.
The jasmine tea has already been set out, along with some biscuits. If all goes well, this meeting won't be as long as some of the others in the past, and then he can go back to enjoying the solitude of his house.
At precisely one o'clock, the doorbell rings, and Japan heads into the foyer to greet his guest, pausing once or twice to rearrange some knickknacks into their rightful place. He pulls the door open and puts on a gentle smile, kind and welcoming despite the increasing feeling of apprehension in his gut.
"Hello, England."
Blond locks in disarray and tie skewed to one side, England is a comical sight. For someone always so spick-and-span and presentable, it's almost alarming to see him out of sorts for once. His green eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, and the color has been completely drained from his face, leaving him sallow and pale.
For a moment, Japan almost makes a noise of surprise, but he stops himself just in time. As much as England can be overbearing at times, he doesn't want to humiliate the nation, and it would be horribly rude to comment on his poor appearance.
England blinks painfully and clears his throat. He does his best to give Japan his full attention, but it's clear his mind is elsewhere. "Good day, Japan. How are you? Lovely weather today, isn't it? I saw the cherry blossoms growing in front of the house—they're wonderful."
"Thank you, and uhh—yes, it's very sunny. Please, come inside."
Japan guides him into the sitting room, makes sure he's settled in, and then goes about collecting the paperwork they need to take care of. They plan to reduce their carbon emissions by twenty percent in the next decade, and now they're working out the logistics of how they can make that possible.
He brings the pile of documents they need over to England and gets straight down to business. There's no need to draw this out, and considering the vibes England's been giving him thus far, he's sure the man would like to get this over with already as well. "As you can see, my people and I are switching mostly to solar energy. The panels are much cheaper now than—"
He stops when England winces and presses a hand to his temple. Really, has he been drinking before work again? Honestly… A hungover England is ten times worse than a sober one.
"Are you all right?" he asks the man before he can reconsider.
Embarrassed, England scratches at his left eye and nods, trying to pull himself together. A sip of tea seems to help calm him. "Yes, yes… I'm awfully sorry. Please, continue. "
Japan expected that answer. There's no way he's going to wrestle the truth out of him, so he might as well let the issue drop. He goes back to talking about all of the new, ecologically-friendly industry he's been propping up recently, and when he thinks he's said enough for the time being, he passes the weight of the conversation over to England, who seems to be having trouble with forming coherent thoughts.
Maybe he isn't hungover. No, this looks like something more serious, but it's not Japan's place to inquire about it. If he asks if England's okay again, he'll probably just frustrate the nation further, and then they'll never be able to get any work done civilly.
"Updates to our mass transit have—" England loses the other half of the sentence and grips the edge of the table they're seated at, feeling faint.
Japan reasons that this is a good opportunity to step in because etiquette has stopped applying to this situation now that England is on the verge of collapsing. He gets up and urges England to lower his head to his knees until his head clears.
Within seconds, England fights through the dizziness and tries to sit up again, but Japan firmly presses his head down again, amazed by his own courage.
"Stay still," Japan insists, frowning at the glazed-over look in England's eyes. "You shouldn't have come if you're ill. We could have rescheduled."
"I'm not ill," England grumbles in response, stuck in a fit of trembling chills. "I-It's just…"
"Just what?"
At that moment, England's phone chooses to vibrate in his pocket, signaling he's been sent a text message. Shakily, he lifts his head and reads it, and despite knowing better than to eavesdrop, Japan catches a glimpse of the sender's name.
Alfred F. Jones
Everything is clear. Even England has his weaknesses, then.
"You should go home to rest," Japan decides, a little uneasy at seeing England in such a vulnerable state. Truth be told, he isn't sure what to do. Any words of consolation will almost immediately be shrugged off, but if he doesn't at least try to say something, will England think less of him? Surely, pigs will fly before England accepts his help and sets aside his pride.
England shoves his phone back into his pocket and nods. "I suppose you're right. I apologize for all of the trouble."
"There's no need. Is there anything I can get you? Perhaps you should have something to eat before you go."
"Oh, thank you, but that's all right. I'll be fine."
He definitely doesn't look fine. Nearly two and a half centuries and he's still like this? Japan thought he would have patched things up with America by now. They are, after all, extremely close these days. Close but wounded, apparently.
America's birthday is in five days, and the only reason Japan remembers is because his flight is already booked for the party, and he finally got America's present yesterday. He hopes the boy hasn't played Robot Takeover Twelve yet.
"It's admirable," he says with a careful softness. "I did not know someone could care for another so much."
England jumps in surprise and hits his knee on the table with a hiss. Within seconds, he is standing upright and collecting his things, flustered and pink-cheeked. "Ahh, well, yes… In that case, I'll speak to you next week about arranging another meeting."
Well, it could have gone worse.
Lust and Chastity:
God, she's beautiful. How does she do it? The way her hair coils into loose ringlets behind her ear, the way she glides when she walks, the laugh lines peppering her smile, it's all so natural. There are few women in the world who can compare.
It's a damn travesty that she'll never spare him a second glance unless it's to toss a joke in his direction. He doesn't possess much that could be desired, and he hasn't exactly been the friendliest or kindest of individuals around her.
"Oh, Prussia, stop ogling. You're embarrassing yourself," France snorts as he brushes past him. "Though, Hungary is looking particularly nice today, isn't she?"
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. Is France trying to sidle up to her? That's against the bro code. If he tries to make a move on her, no matter how small, their bromance is over, no questions asked. That goes for Spain too. They can just keep walking because Hungary is taken. Well, not technically taken, but she may as well be.
"Don't you have some tacky showgirl waiting for you back at your hotel room?" he asks France, cold and unforgiving.
France grins teasingly at him and pouts. "Ouch, those are fighting words. I have a little self-restraint too, you know."
"Ja, I find that hard to believe," Prussia huffs, eyes still tracing over the length of Hungary's dress. Seeing any member of the opposite sex at a conference is exciting enough on its own, but when it's Hungary in particular, jeez. He remembers when they were both young and spunky, unafraid of what the world held for them. Things are a bit different now—they've both slowed down, and it's partly because they started acting in the way that's expected of them.
"As if you're a saint," France scoffs before pinching Prussia's cheek like a doting mother. "Don't worry, darling. I'm sure if you gawk and grovel at her feet long enough, she'll recognize your love for her."
France is really pushing it today. He must want a black eye. That can be arranged.
"Can you stop being a creeper for five minutes?"
He seems to get the hint because the irritating smile on his face finally disappears and is replaced with a thoughtful smirk instead.
"Mon Dieu, have you tried talking to her? I thought you were more daring than this."
"Just because I don't throw myself at every woman that comes my way doesn't mean I'm not daring," Prussia growls, longingly watching Hungary leave the conference room with Germany and Austria. "Besides, Hungary isn't like normal women."
"Ask her to lunch, you coward."
"Coward? Look who's talking."
"What are you afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid!"
"Then go up to her!"
"You don't know what it's like," Prussia adds, hating how lame he sounds. He can sense the tips of his ears growing red with shame. "It's not that simple."
France rolls his eyes and straightens his suit, a tad offended. "I've been in love before too, believe it or not."
"I thought all of your romances ended in one night stands."
"Ah, hitting below the belt today, I see. The worst thing that can happen is she'll decline. From my experience, the men who end up sad and alone are the ones who never take a chance, men like England," France reasons.
At the sound of his name, a shaggy head of blond hair shoots up from the end of the table and glares. "I heard that. Whatever it was, I heard it," England assures, ready for battle. Thankfully, he simmers down when France holds his hands up in a meager form of surrender.
Maybe France has a point, Prussia thinks. He really doesn't want to end up like England, and he doubts Hungary will stop verbally harassing him even if he does express his feelings of affection toward her. At worst, things will be awkward for a few days, but everything will eventually blow over.
He's an awesome guy. He can do this. The ladies can clearly see his awesomeness too, so why hold back?
Steeling himself, Prussia crosses the room and heads out into the corridor to track down the others, rehearsing what he's going to say when he sees Hungary. Should he compliment her first? No. He's not even sure he knows how to properly deliver a compliment after all of these years.
Meanwhile, France watches the action with barely contained amusement, wondering if he should record the ordeal for future blackmail purposes. He might let Prussia live it down this time. Love deserves a pass every now and then.
Maybe he'll call Spain instead so they can go and have drinks tonight to mourn the loss of a fellow bachelor.
They grow up so fast.
Greed and Charity:
"What do you think of this shirt?"
"It's a fine shirt."
"You're just saying that."
"No, I'm not."
Lithuania has been through this type of conversation with Poland before, and so he knows that it doesn't really matter what he says, as long as he says something and sounds vaguely interested in what's going on.
"I think it makes me look frumpy."
"Whatever you say. How's your economy doing?"
It's not the best transition, but Lithuania can't see any other way of getting through to the deeper matter at hand without being blunt.
Poland turns to the side to get a better look at himself in the mirror and frowns at his reflection in a rare show of sadness. "Why would you ask me that?"
"You know why. All of your people are emigrating to Germany and Britain."
"Not all of them," Poland hisses, shoulders tightening. He doesn't take personal inquiries very well, but someone has to prod him now and again, and Lithuania can see why it'll have to be him. "My economy is fine."
"If it is, then it isn't translating to your people."
"God, Lithuania, can't you ease up a bit? You're so negative all of the time. I'm doing better than I was when I basically disappeared off the map, if you're curious… How about this tie? Too bright?"
Lithuania sighs and wraps a hand around his stomach. All of this anxiety is making him sick. He doesn't know why he cares so much, but he does, and he really doesn't want to see Poland get into any more trouble.
"Over a million of your children are living in poverty. I gave a little boy five złoty just this morning on our way here."
"We're trying to raise wages," Poland reassures, sorting through all of the clothes he's brought into the fitting room with him. "Plus, you should look at your own economy before you nag me about mine."
Lithuania can't help but roll his eyes. It's so typical of Poland to try to redirect the conversation. He has been friends with the man for many, many, many years, and it's going to take more than a comment like that to get him to relent. "This isn't about me. We're talking about you right now. I need to tell you these things or you won't acknowledge them until everything collapses! At least I admit I have a problem."
"Well, what do you want me to do, Liet? Magically make money fall out of the sky?"
"No, I want you to start acting like you're at least going to try to fix this. Maybe you could start by doing a little less shopping."
Poland clicks his tongue and flourishes his hand angrily. "Whatever. Buying stuff is what stimulates the economy."
"But it also drains you of any savings you might have had," Lithuania counters. "Think about someone other than yourself for once! Think about your people. They need you, and you're letting them down by sitting around without a care in the world. How can you be so self-centered?"
"I do think about my people. I think about them all of the time, so don't accuse me of not caring!"
Clearly, they aren't going to get anywhere with this kind of back-and-forth squabbling. And granted, Lithuania has to give Poland some credit for getting his head out of the clouds every now and then. He can recall a few times when Poland has looked out for his wellbeing and gotten him out of some scrapes.
"I'm going home," Poland says after a minute, brows drawing down in frustration. He abandons the clothes he was trying on and storms out of the fitting room, barely avoiding a collision with a salesclerk.
And Lithuania knows he has to do something to quell the situation because if he doesn't, Poland is going to mope around for the next two weeks, and eventually they'll both be forced to exchange awkward apologies anyway, so they might as well get this over with now.
"Wait!" he shouts after him, scrambling to catch up. It isn't until he runs the entire length of two blocks before he's able to grab Poland's arm and yank him to a stop, panting and doubled-over from the effort. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"
"No… You're right," Poland sighs, turning his gaze toward the ringing church bells coming from the cathedral a short distance away. "But it's not that I don't care… It's just been hard, and I don't know what to do about it."
Economic slumps are hardly easy things to deal with, and sometimes, they just need to run their course. For the first time in about twenty years, Lithuania sees the glimmer of remorse in Poland's eyes. Perhaps it's always been there, but he's never noticed. He too remembers the long, grueling years of the communist regime—of rationing and poverty and waiting in twisting lines for milk and meat. It's not a time he likes to look back on, but it's there and branded into their histories.
He remembers the fear, the constant uncertainty, and the protests for solidarity. He remembers the rebels standing up to secure a better future for their children.
And he knows, as does Poland, that their lives have been far from simple.
"You'll get through it," he tells Poland. He is done chastising him.
"I know. It'll take a while. There's a Polish saying… 'Co było, nie wróci.'"
"What does it mean?"
"What was will never come back," Poland explains as the tolling of the church bells softens. "I think that's a good thing."
Lithuania nods, the ache in his belly receding. "I agree."
"I-I think I'm going to sit in on that mass."
"Do you want me to go with you?"
"No, I have to be alone for a while."
Lithuania smiles and pats Poland on the back, finally feeling at peace. "Take as long as you need."