Ah this took a long time again... I don't know why but this story if hard for me to write. Bollocks.

Once Alfred finally comes to his senses his fingers are starting to prune. He's no closer to figuring out how to get out of his current predicament but he definitely knows what his next movie project is going to be when he gets home. Slipping out of the tub, Alfred shakes a bit like a dog and dries in front of the fireplace for a while once he notices that England hasn't left anything for him to dry himself off with.

Still feeling a bit grungy but cleaner than he had after first waking up, Alfred dresses quickly. He tucks the pocket watch in his pocket, giving it a frustrated shake for good measure.

Now what? Perhaps lounge about, warm England's slippers and welcome him home wearing nothing more than a saucy smile and an apron. Pft as if. Not in the history of ever. He's getting out of here. It's a split second decision but he's not going to wait around this house like a little wife longing for her husband. He won't necessarily leave altogether, he still has some things to figure out, but he might as well check out the city some more.

After thinking about it he decides he better take his things with him. If England does come home and finds he's not here he might go through his stuff. And he certainly doesn't want him finding his modern clothes. He'd probably explode the future if he let that happen. Dashing up to England's room he grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. With that he's ready for an adventure.

America makes his way from the house and towards the heart of London. Now that he has his bearings he feels a little more comfortable just taking in the sights. The smell is still bad but doesn't bother him as much either.

Although he doesn't have any money on him Alfred checks out some shops, even trying some of the sketchier looking ones just to see if they might boast magical items for some unexplainable reason. Get a second opinion. It could happen. Wherever such shops exist, they are not where Alfred looks. He's not completely sure but a woman might have cursed him maybe two hours into his search. It's the closest he gets to anything 'magical'. All this walking around sure is making him hungry though...

Alfred begins to look at shops and booths that put food on display. He stands outside of one such bakery salivating longingly over the bread like a starving puppy. As much as it irks him he finds himself thinking of going back to England's house just so he can eat. Man he's lame, he really must steal some food next time he does something like this. 'Thinking ahead, do it Alfred F. Jones!'

"Well, well, what an unexpected delight! I did not expect to see you again my brash lily."

Is that France's voice? It is. Alfred turns to face the perverted nation, who smirks at him. Frowning slightly, America crosses his arms and looks him over. Who is he calling a lily? "Oh, it's you."

France gives him a hurt look. "Oh please do not speak so dismissively about me! It breaks my heart. Is that dreadful Angleterre around?"

France's eyes dart around quickly but Alfred shakes his head. "Nah, not here. He's reading some lame sonnet he wrote to the Queen or something."

France laughs, relaxing. "Sounds like something he would do. I am amazed he would let you wander around on your own."

America bristles. "I'll have you know I can do as I please! That guy can't tell me to do anything."

"Mm, that must be what he finds appealing about you," France murmurs with a slight smirk.

"Eh?" America gives him a blank look.

With another small laugh France waves his hand dismissively. "Oh nothing~ Tell me, are you hungry mon petite? I will be glad to treat you in exchange for your company."

Well goddamn, France has redeemed himself after all. "Yeah! Bring on the food!"

A pleased smile snakes its way across France's face. "Very well. As impossible as it is in this hideous excuse for a country, let us try to find something actually edible. I do believe up that way a bit there is an establishment where the food will not kill one upon placing it on the tongue."

"Sounds good to me!" Honestly Alfred will eat a raw cow at this point. He never has been picky, though he supposes that really does make Arthur's cooking pretty hellacious if even he notices when it sucks.

With his usual vigor restored, Alfred quickly takes the lead and hurries forward with only the vaguest of instructions on where he's even going. France follows closely, mostly amused by his observations of the energetic youth. There is no mistaking that slight limp no matter how smooth Alfred attempts to appear in his stride. And when he is 'accidentally' pushed by the crowd into Alfred, his highly sensitive nose can detect the faint and so very tantalizing smell of sex. Oh yes, he is quite sure Arthur had as much fun as he did last night. Or rather, he would have if he was anywhere near as good a lover as Francis. Surely this poor boy was subjected to rough, crude prodding that in the eyebrow fiend's delusional mind equals sex.

As America tries to brazenly walk right past the tavern France has in mind, the older man reaches out and subtly caresses his arm as he urges him to stop. "Ah, you are so very eager! You have almost missed our stop."

"Eh? Oh well ya should have said something earlier!" Blissfully unaware of the other's thoughts or desires, America eagerly ducks into the building with nothing more than food on his mind.

France quickly catches up to America and leads him towards a back table. This place is still beneath his sensitive palate but at least the atmosphere is less volatile than most other places. France brushes America's cheek briefly. "It pains me to see that bruise left on your lovely cheek by that brute. Did he leave any other marks?"

The smirk that France's lips twitch into is missed as America quickly looks away, face flushing self-consciously. "N-no, not at all! I mean why would you ask that?"

France makes his voice syrupy with shallow concern. "Oh, he is just so rough. I simply wanted to make sure he did not hit you again."

"O-oh...Nah, he didn't hit me. I'm totally fine." Except the gajillion hickeys and bite marks and what not. France hardly needs to know about any of that. "So where did those two babes you were with go?"

Raising an eyebrow France speaks almost incredulously. "They were hardly that young! Oh yes their flesh was still firm and beautiful like that of virginal maidens but I would say they were no younger than yourself."

Oh right, babes, babies... Wrong time period for that slang. "Er, haha yeah just joking! Those two...ladies."

France looks wistfully at the air, almost obtaining a slight sparkle in his eyes. "We said heartfelt farewells to each other as we parted this morning. Where they may be now or where they shall go, it is alas not my fate to know."

So pretty much it was a one night stand and he probably didn't even know their names let alone care where they were now. America bites back a grin. "They were pretty. Didn't do too bad for yourself no matter what England was saying."

That encourages an arrogant little laugh from France. "Oh but of course! After all, it is me. I will not lie, I cannot say on this particular occasion I was not a little jealous of England and his companion for the night."

America sputters. "And just what makes you think-!"

The words are cut off sharply as a woman comes to serve them. France raises an eyebrow at him and he mutters that he'll take whatever she recommends so long as it's food. As if he really knows what kind of food they have available. Francis waves her away after giving her some very charming words that leave her bright red.

As she walks off America locks his glare back onto France, who laughs. "Oh my, excuse my assumptions. So, you are...employed we shall say, under Angleterre. Is the brute going to be...using you for anything in the near future?"

America in no way likes all the implied things in those pauses. Never mind, France is not forgiven. He's still a douche and America shall punch him in his future for his past wrongs. "No, he sure as hell is not. I can do as I please, like I told you already. Don't get weird thoughts in your head!"

France quickly puts his hands up. "I have no such thing! I was simply asking. Perhaps you can do some work for me instead? I am not sure where you are from but if you have not been to France you will surely enjoy it. The food is certainly superior."

Do some 'work' for him huh? America gives him a tight smile. "Nah, I dunno where I'm going or if I'm going anywhere but I don't really think you can do much for me."

A very mischievous smile comes to France's face, pervert meter off the charts. "I think you might be surprised. I certainly pleased my lady friends last night. Truly, how can you stand to be with that man for even a second? Like chewing thorns."

America leans his chin on his hand. That is certainly impossible to deny. "Well he is definitely an unbelievable bastard. I've been tempted to punch him no less than maybe ten times." Still, when he thought of him writing sonnets, trying to cook, and getting all flustered he couldn't help but smile a bit. "He's not the worst I guess. Still needs a good punching."

"My, my. You must have a will of steel to say such a thing. Or perhaps the patience of a saint."

Laughing loudly, America shakes his head. "Nah. I guess I just..."

It's hard to denounce England completely. No matter what he does or says. Awkward nagging gentleman or sadistic asshole pirate, both irritate the fuck out of America but he doesn't really hate either when he thinks about it. Weird. The smile fades into a distracted frown.

France silently fawns over the delicious spectrum of expressions that cross the youth's face until a plate of food is placed in front of Alfred along with a glass of ale. "Enjoy!"

Reaching over to take her hand, France gives her a winning smile. "Ah, but my lovely mademoiselle, how can he possibly enjoy it to the fullest when your bright face does not accompany it?"

A flattered, embarrassed giggle bursts from her lips and she reluctantly pulls her hand away. "Oh, listen to you! Remember sir, flattery does not pay the tab."

With that she walks away with a slight sway to her hips. As France watches her go America all but inhales his food. The ale turns his stomach a bit but its the only thing to wash the food down with. Have these people never heard of water?

America swallows his current mouthful of food and looks at France with vague curiosity. "So what are you doing here? Still got business with Arthur?"

If only those lips would speak his name with such familiarity! France sighs dramatically before answering the question. "Non, thankfully. I shall be departing from this filthy place tomorrow. Until then all I can do is take in some of the sights."

Which of course means find as many attractive individuals as possible and seduce them with romance while he is in the area. This boy makes a particularly appealing target not only because of his attractive face but because it means France is stealing him right from under England's nose. And how sweet that would be.

"Ah." America immediately loses interest, mind wandering to more useful things. Like what he should do from here on out. Definitely not going with France. Like that could ever be helpful. It would be nothing but an offensive sexual harassment storm. But England isn't really helping him out.

Then again maybe if he brings himself to admit that he needs magical help... It still sounds stupid. Might be his only chance though. And maybe it will distract England from his...other interests in America. There is no way his body is ready for a 'round two' of last night.

France finds himself growing weary of this bleak place, wanting to be somewhere with good lighting to better see his companion. "Are you quite finished?"

With a nod America stands, grabbing his bag and waiting for France to pay up. After throwing some coins on the table France puts a hand lightly on his back to guide him out. America arches away from the touch as best as he can and picks up the pace.

Once they're outside he stretches, feeling much better now that he's been fed. "Ah well... Thanks for the food."

America turns to leave and a hand grabs the back of his shirt in an iron grip. France laughs in a way that is probably supposed to sound light and breezy but just comes off sounding slightly menacing. "Oh but mon cher! Surely you are not going to leave me so soon. Come, enjoy a pleasant stroll with me!"

"Er..." What the hell?

Before he knows what is happening France has an arm around his shoulders and is walking down the road with him, a sunny smile on his face. "Really, how rude! And after I bought you something to eat. It would not kill you to waste some more time with me would it?"

Maybe. "I guess not..."

As France rambles on America spaces out. He'll give the idiot five minutes, ten tops then he's taking off. He has things to do. So what if he isn't quite sure what they are yet?

Where are they anyway? America suddenly realizes they're not on one of the main streets anymore but a crooked alleyway off to the side of one. France is suddenly pushing him up against a dirty wall, pressing in way too close for comfort. "Ah, my dear... You know, I never did quite catch your name. But such things are not important, oui? I am not sure what your arrangement with Angleterre is but I'll give you whatever your pretty little heart desires if you return with me to France."

"Personal space, have you heard of it? I have no interest in going to France! I told you, there's nothing you can do for me." And even if there was he's not sure he's willing to pay whatever price France might charge.

Much to America's disgust France suddenly presses their bodies together and brushes his lips against his ear. "Ah, but there is so very much I can and will do to you. And I guarantee you'll love every moment of it."

America is about to shove France violently away and even gets his hands on his shoulders when he feels something strange. "What the... It feels like there's something hot in my pants."

"Oh but of course there is, that is the natural reaction to moi!"

America crinkles his nose in disgust and gives France a hearty shove off of him. "Not you, idiot!"

The pocket watch... America shoves his hand in his pocket and wraps it around the watch. It has suddenly gotten very warm and it seems there's that faint pulsating like when it had first been activated. What's going on?

He starts to pull it out when France hauls himself up off his ass. "Heh, you are quite strong. But there is no need to be so coy with me! I shall treat you right. Give in to your desires!"

America clenches his fist to punch the approaching France when they are interrupted. "Well, well. What do we have here? I thought I didn't like the looks of this one."

America and France turn. Two of the England's men, ones whose asses America had thoroughly kicked, stood at the entrance of the alleyway. "'S right, thought he was mixed up with that France somehow."

France gives a very miffed groan. "You are interrupting something."

"I just bet we are. 'M sure the Captain will be very curious to hear about all this." Never before has a man looked so smug about a misunderstanding.

France reaches over and strokes America's jaw lightly. "Yes, I am sure he will find it riveting. You should go find him and tell him this moment."

America impatiently smacks his hand away. Right now he doesn't have time to worry about France or these two jackasses or even England at this point. The pulsing is getting stronger, the silver metal almost hot in his hand. Without a word he starts running the opposite way down the alley at top speed. He hears some shouting and the sound of pursuit behind him. No time, no time... What had activated the watch again? No time to think about that either.

America bursts into the crowded street and shoves his way rather rudely through people, trying to get away from his pursuers. He can feel the ticking getting stronger, though he has the feeling he's the only one who can hear it. He finally ducks into another side alleyway, hiding among the shadows as the two men pass.

Once they are gone he hurriedly pulls the watch out and clicks it open. Warm, soft blue light spills over him, momentarily blinding him. Squinting, he sees that the minute hand is perfectly aligned on the three. There's no more time to analyze it, the blue light growing stronger as once more he is pulled into that sensation of being enveloped by the sea, of falling through it...

And with that he is gone.

AN: The next chapter is NOT the last chapter but it will explain a lot. If you've felt the pacing was rather fast (or to some of you, rushed) in this story this is why. The story has been planned out in this way from the beginning and I have no regrets.

Also water used to be undrinkable, thus most people drank only ale or wine or things like that because it was clean.