Narrator:
America laughed awkwardly at the unwanted attention in the form of screeches and curious stares. Canada walked slowly forward from his seat, ironically unnoticed by the frightened nations. Canada was the closest thing there was to a ghost, but no one even saw him. Canada took even steps toward his brother, he was shocked and numb, floating toward the brother who he knew to be dead. He placed a hand gently on his brother's arm and studied him closely before nestling himself into the larger man's chest. He cried quietly, sobbing with shaky breaths with his hands holding tight to his brother's lapel.
England asked again, "If you've been alive all this bloody long… Where the fuck were you? Wot happened?" As England asked this, motion by the door caught America's eye and he looked over Canada to see Russia standing in the doorway, studying him. The violet eyes didn't contain fear, or malice like he would have expected; the only thing the American could feel from the other's stare was warmth, so much so that it made him shift with discomfort. He tore his eyes away from the other and smiled down at England apologetically.
"It's complicated." England stared at him for a moment, his mouth open and gasping for air like a fish out of water.
"Wa… Waa… wot! It's complicated? That doesn't explain anything!" England shouted furiously, his eyebrows significantly furrowed.
America hugged Canada tightly before stepping back and walking over to where his seat once sat. He ran his fingers over the glossy wooden surface of the table and glanced at England with a tired, but mischievous smile.
"I don't get a seat?" England's mouth just opened further and continued flapping. France studied America and then sighed, leaving to get a chair. Before he stepped out of the room, he closed the British man's mouth.
"He's okay now. He's not going to tell us anything so the best we can do is make him feel welcome." England continued to stare at the American, eying the new scars and sickly tinge. His insides were tearing inside of him thinking about all the things which might have happened, but took his seat, realizing the truth in what France had told him. France returned soon after with the young nation's chair and Germany took this as his cue to begin the meeting.
"As of last Friday, a majority of the suspected leaders of the terrorist organization were captured in Switzerland. We intend to try the suspects by the end of the month so we need…"
Germany continued his lecture explaining the action plan for the world nations in response to the crises. America sat in his newly retrieved chair and focused on the lecture until he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he noticed Russia staring at him. He turned away quickly to study his handouts. The meetings were intended to answer significant questions, but America felt his churning inside of him, utterly unanswered.
The meeting lingered on, and America tried to ignore the occasional stares of the other nations and the unending focus of the Russian. Something was wrong with that man… wrong in a way that he hadn't been before, and he had always been plenty wrong. America tried to convince himself that he hadn't a clue of what the other nation may be thinking, but the way the other's lips had lingered on his told a different story. His eyes cast quickly downward, remembering the kiss and he bushed, his fingers instinctively touching his lips as he remembered the feel of the other man. That other man watched him carefully, his heart racing as he deciphered what the other was thinking. America's eyes glanced toward Russia and he stared for a moment, deep in thought, before he noticed the other smiling back. He turned away sharply, completely flushed and praying to God that no one had seen him staring beside the creepy Russian.
Unfortunately for him, a certain nation had been carefully watching, studying the two. His eyebrows scrunched together quizzically.
"France? Something wrong?" England whispered.
"Hunh? …oh, no, nothing." He spoke, quickly turning back to his notes.