Quick Note:

I try to avoid commenting, but I'd like to thank everyone who is following my stories. It's really a great inspiration to keep writing when I receive messages of encouragement and suggestions. Comments are always greatly appreciated and are the only known cure for writer's block. I would also like to mention that I am holding a little contest to try to gain some attention as a FF writer. It's pretty painfully simple and the prize is a Hetalia fanfic of a pairing of your choice. The first person to comment a legitimate response to all three of my stories and PM me what they want, gets a story. I doubt anyone's terribly interested, but for anyone who is, free story. : P Thanks! Please be sure to comment!

America:

The plane landed stoutly, jerking me awake and I watched the runway pass by beneath me through blurry eyes. I pushed my glasses back up the bridge of my nose and rubbed my eyes awake. As soon as I could see with relative ease and accuracy, I began gathering my things. I had butterflies in my stomach as I did so, thinking about seeing everyone again, and how they might respond to my return. I hadn't informed anyone outside of my country about my intention to attend the meeting, but my hotel was booked and I was certain that there would be a proverbial place for me. …Relatively certain, anyhow. They never abandoned me in a time of war -not voluntarily. I had to believe that.

The businessman beside me stood immediately and nudged his way down the aisle after gathering his briefcase from the overhead compartments. Understandably, he wanted to be as far away from me as he could, as my clothing was bloodstained and probably reeked of vodka and vomit, but there were complaints from the people pushed aside, so I figured I would have to be patient. I waited until the people before me shuffled down the center, pausing again and again to gather forgotten things and to give me nervous glances, frustrating me to no end. It was unlike me to be this on edge. I was practically twitching with anticipation.

Finally, I left the plane and found my way to my hotel room. It was a modest room in London, England, with wide windows and a single bed. Upon the bed, someone had prepared some appropriate clothing for me to attend the meeting. Surely my nation didn't expect me to attend the meeting in rags, but they also didn't trust me to find my own clothes, apparently. I rolled my eyes, really very grateful for the gesture. I stripped the dirty rags I had left of my clothes and threw them away before stepping into the shower. The warmth was beyond heavenly and my muscles relaxed for the first time in months under the massaging spray.

Russia:

It was about six hours before the meeting and I was waiting in my hotel room before the first world conference in a great while. The plan was to discuss the world's affairs and how the nations ought to try the captured heads of the terrorist organization. The matters were serious, but something between the half bottle of vodka I was digesting and bitter memories kept me from caring about them. I sat slumped over the edge of the bed with the other half bottle in my hand and another bottle that I had picked up on the way in still in a paper bag on the bed. My mind was starting to fuzz a little and the chemicals took the edge off, allowing me a chance to think. Would Alfred attend the meeting? How exactly would he react? The world had no time to deal with violence between nations, and Alfred usually wasn't one to involve the world in private affairs. What did he plan to do now?

I drank deeply from the bottle in my hand as another thought hit me like a brick wall. I wasn't so concerned about punishment on the world stage for how I had treated Alfred, but I was concerned about how we left things between us. Or he did, I suppose I was beyond the chance for 'leaving' anything. I wanted him. Now that I had admitted that to myself, he was all I could think about. I wanted his lips on mine and his body spread beneath me. I wanted him to fuck me senseless and break me. I wanted him to tie me up and pass on to me all the suffering he had felt these past months. It was crazy and fucked up, but I just needed him.

Narrator:

Six hours passed quickly for both men as Russia fell asleep and America finished showering, dressed, and searched for something his body could handle digesting after his bout with malnutrition. He would have killed for a hamburger to ease his mind, but somehow he didn't think vomiting it across the sidewalk would ease him any further. He went to McDonald's anyway, purchasing only what he thought he had a prayer of digesting. When he was done, he had five large orders of fries and a large strawberry shake. He walked toward the UN headquarters in London, munching his fries.

By the time he had reached the regal building, his stomach was starting to ache and the food weighed down in his stomach like a brick. He threw away the wrappers and walked through the automatic doors toward the elevators. America had been to London many times before and knew many buildings by heart. He looked at the familiar red marble flooring and well-polished wooden walls. The building was very formal and professional, but also very uncomfortable, much like England himself. He smiled at the thought of seeing him again and adjusted his tie as the elevator's doors closed. When the elevator reached its destination, he strode down the familiar hallway and turned right after the fourth door. He opened the door slowly and stepped inside with slightly wavering steps. Inside sat China and Korea, arguing heatedly with each other as France and many of the other nations sat waiting in the same places they always did. America smiled at the thought and looked for his chair. Nothing had changed… except… He no longer had a spot. His seat had been removed.

He strode toward France who dropped his coffee unceremoniously once he noticed the younger. His eyes grew wide upon his paling face and he shuddered slightly.

"America…" he whispered.

"Hey, man," the American started, scratching the back of his head nervously, "where's England?"

"ENGLLAAANDD!"

"Wot?" The man entered the room causally with a frustrated glance toward the French man. France said nothing, his eyes shifting back to the thin, tired-looking America. England stopped in his tracked and studied his former charge.

"The…. The fucking 'ell you been?" England asked, striding toward America and studying him suspiciously. His voice awakened Italy who had been sleeping contentedly next to Germany in the back of the room. He blinked a couple times, and noticing the American shouted.

"GHOOOSTTT!" He screeched and climbed into Germany's lap. Germany was too startled to respond, staring unabashedly at the American as well. The room erupted in anxious murmurs.