Hello~ How are you all? So its been around two months since I updated this story and suddenly I'm never going to finish it? Please give me more credit than that -laughs- I know I've been very slow about updating some of my stories but that doesn't mean they're doomed~ If you're ever worried just go to my profile and check what its status is writing wise. Trust me, I'd state next to the story if it was discontinued and I have no such plans for any of my current stories. So no worries, okay? Okay! Probably my last update of the year. Happy New Years everyone!
A low groan escapes America as he slowly opens his eyes. Where...? On a hard floor in the dark. He gropes around, his fingers brushing against his cellphone. He clicks it and the area is bathed in pale light. America sits up gingerly and looks around. He seems to be in the basement area from earlier.
For a moment America is puzzled. Had he just dreamed all of that? Tripped and hit his head a little too hard? But then he notices the bag that sits off to the side. When he pulls it closer, opening it up, and clicks his phone again he sees it is filled with his clothes. So he must be wearing the clothes he got from past England. So...he has been time traveling! What the hell? He needs to get somewhere he can see.
Grabbing the bag up America fumbles back up the stairs, cautiously opening the doorway. When he sees the coast is clear he sneaks out further and ducks into another room, closing the door firmly. Sure enough when he looks down at himself he looks like he's stepped out of a period piece film. How much time has passed? He looks at his phone again to check the date and time.
Much to his shock he sees not only is it still the same day but barely any time has passed. He desperately tries to remember the last time he actually paid attention to the time. When he has an idea he's shocked to realize that by his hunch only fifteen minutes have passed since he originally picked up the pocket watch. Where is it anyway? He pats his body and once again finds it tucked away safely on his person. He opens it, a little afraid it will have him hurtling through time again. Nothing happens, the face of the watch staring back at him innocently. The hour hand is pointed firmly at the twelve, the minute hand at where the three would be. Three... Fifteen minutes.
A theory begins to form in America's mind when he hears a sound and jumps. He has to get himself cleaned up before England sees him. Once again, with a sneakiness that England's spies would envy, America creeps into the hallway and hurries up to England's spare bathroom. A shower...He gets to take an actual shower!
It doesn't take America long to strip himself down to nothing. When he glances in the mirror he freezes and gapes at his body. Mouth dropping open he walks forward and stares at his reflection, slowly reaching up and gently touching the bruise on his cheek. He looks down. Holy shit! Well there's definitely no pretending he was dreaming with all these bruises and bite marks. Unless something in England's basement violated his body violently and dressed him in old English clothing. Even he can't swallow that one.
Frowning a bit he goes to the shower, turning on the water. As the water warms he sighs and lets it just run over him for a long time. God, how had he ever lived without heated water, available at a whim? It's heaven. Oh and it's clean! America grabs a bar of soap and almost has a sensual moment with it as he washes his body, enjoying the clean smell of it and just the feeling of it on his skin. Next he shampoos his hair until it is frothy, sighing with deep satisfaction at the slight tingle it causes along his scalp. Oh to be clean! Cleanliness is close to godliness, right? Not that he doesn't mind getting dirty from a hard day of something like working on a car or a week of camping but... it's just different coming home from the past where the option isn't available.
Squeaky clean, America rubs himself off and finds a spare toothbrush, not even caring who has used it before. Maybe it's England's? Well if that's the case the guy had his tongue all up in his mouth so it barely matters anymore. He brushes his teeth for what seems like five minutes then rinses his mouth. Now he feels good. He pulls out his clothes and dresses and puts his glasses back on feeling like a new man. He tucks the old clothes into his bag and leaves the bathroom, a spicy smell and steam wafting out after him.
The next thing is to hide the evidence. His version of this is to haphazardly toss the bag with the old time clothing and pocket watch down the basement stairs with all his might. Perfect. So what if he thinks he hears a small crash? No big deal, England probably never goes down there anyway.
America walks back into the room he had been waiting in before. No sign of England. Maybe he never even noticed? America takes off his glasses and starts to clean them. They're not pristine from their time hidden away from the world.
"There you are you stupid wanker!" A hand suddenly grabs his arm and he's spun around. England is giving him a very annoyed look. It suddenly melts into a stunned, perhaps slightly perturbed expression. Like he's suddenly seen a ghost.
America raises his eyebrows and slips Texas back on. Much to his surprise his face grows warm. It's more than a little weird seeing normal England so suddenly and he doesn't quite know what to do at first. "Er... something the matter?"
England blinks, seeming to snap out of it. He clears his throat quickly. "W-where have you been? And what on Earth has happened to your face? I've been..." England pauses again. His frown deepens and he leans in and tentatively sniffs at America's bomber jacket.
A deeper flush crosses America's cheeks. "What are you doing you creeper?"
England suddenly seems more aware of what he is doing and backs away, releasing America abruptly. "N-nothing! I was just...I thought I... Well I thought you smelt like something that...made me nostalgic. I must have been mistaken. All I can smell is soap."
"Oh well...everything makes you nostalgic. And yeah, I decided to take a shower...you know... while I was waiting. The whole time. And I accidentally hit my face against the doorway when I was walking in." Oh yeah America is a genius.
The annoyed look begins to return but it's tempered by something else and he seems to be carefully studying America's face. "I see...Sorry to keep you waiting for so long."
When England doesn't stop staring America begins to fidget. England isn't anything like he was in the past but something about the way he's looking at him kind of gives him a similar feeling. "Jeez, what is it? I got something on my face or something?"
"...Other than that bruise you mean?" England shakes his head again and finally looks away, expression becoming closer to what it's usually like. "For a moment on top of that smell I really thought you looked like someone I used to know. The resemblance was...very striking."
A shiver goes through America and he bursts into obnoxious nervous laughter. "O-oh really? So there was someone in the world who looked just as amazingly handsome as me huh? Who was it?"
All of a sudden England looks rather uncomfortable. "Oh. He was...an acquaintance of mine."
Oh is that what people are calling people they ruthlessly fucked nowadays? Still, it's interesting...so he obviously hasn't screwed anything up in the past if England remembers him without being aware of who he actually was. Admittedly he's pretty impressed England still remembers him at all after all this time. A part of him is curious to probe a little bit more into how much England actually remembers of him. It's an ego thing. "So... a close acquaintance or... I mean how did ya know him?"
For a moment England is just taken aback that America is interested at all. Usually he can't care less about things that have nothing to do with him. Maybe it's just because it's someone who looked like him. "Mm...well, I suppose you could say he was a very interesting individual. Sort of fell out of the sky and seemed to leave the same way. I never did learn much about him personally. He was infuriatingly charismatic though, if not a bit dull in some ways."
Dull? What an asshole. "Hmph, I'm sure it's just because you didn't know him well. And did this mysterious man have a name?"
"His name was..." England looks up and meets America's eyes. An odd feeling goes through him as their eyes meet. "...I don't remember."
Oh fuck him! They have the same name! Because duh, they're the same person! How can England not remember the incredible name Alfred? Ass. "Huh. Couldn't have been that close if you don't even remember his name."
Why does America sound so tart about it? "...It was a long time ago. And, hmmm. I suppose by most standards we weren't all that close but for our only ever having met four times he did leave quite a deep impression on me."
Wait, wait, hold the phone and the pickles, four times? America tries to speak and makes a somewhat idiotic sound. He tries to cover it with a cough. "Er, four times huh? You sure about that...being such an old man and all? Not confused?"
"Piss off! I'm not an old man and my memory is fine! It was definitely four times! It would be hard to completely forget someone who could be so frustrating. Among...other reasons." Like what a great shag he had been. Oh yes, England still remembers that well. But that isn't the main reason that man is seared into his memory, no.
Oh so now he's frustrating? But America is too shaken by the fact that England says they had met four times to bother getting too huffy over it. He needs to think things over. "Huh... Well whatever. I, uh, gotta go now, okay Arthur?"
As he turns to run off England desperately grabs the back of his coat. "Where are you rushing off to already?"
"I gotta go punch France in the face. And also start on a movie. Thanks for inviting me, I'll catch you later!" He starts to pull forward, trying to get out of England's grasp. He will seriously go punch France before doing anything else though.
"You rude little-!" England holds on tighter. They've barely spoken to one another! The bloody git can't leave yet, he barely ever sees him and when he finally does get him to come out he just runs off and- America's coat slips down, giving a perfect view of the hickey on the back of his neck. England's body stiffens and the coat slides through his fingers.
America is somewhat surprised to find himself suddenly freed. He goes forward a bit and pauses, turning to look at England. The other stares at him silently. Why does he looked so damn shell-shocked? Honestly, the past Arthur wouldn't have let him go, he'd have told him he was never leaving his clutches or something. They're nothing alike, not at all. "...See ya around."
America dashes out of the house. There's a lot for him to do, a lot for him to figure out. He doesn't have time for England in this century when he has to worry about his past self and their apparent other meetings.
England stands frozen in the middle of the room. A dry chuckle escapes him and he sits heavily in a chair, gently draping his fingers over his eyes. So it's like that, huh? Should he be surprised America has a lover? All traces of a smile disappear and he leans his head back. He really is pathetic. Doesn't even have the nerve to ask him who it is.
God he needs a drink. Feeling overwhelmingly bitter towards the world at large England gets up to pour himself a stiff scotch. How disappointing today is turning out to be, and how odd. For a moment America really had seemed to have a faint smell from the time of Elizabeth's reign. A unique smell he hadn't even really thought of for ages and yet had seemed so comfortably familiar. And his sudden resemblance to Alfred...
Yes, as odd as it was he did remember Alfred's name but he had thought it might come off as a little too uncanny and even more creepy to state America not only looks like a man he once knew but had the same name. There's no way they can look so similar, his memory must be playing a joke on him after all. It has been over four hundred years. Alfred... such an odd man, almost wise at times in his weird way. It suddenly strikes him as odd that a past conquest might so closely resemble his current infatuation if his memory isn't too bad.
For a moment England carefully tries to repaint Alfred's face in his mind but it keeps on coming out looking almost identical to America's. How foolish, he really must be remembering wrong. After all, Alfred's existence had slipped his mind for a while, as memories of people tend to. It wasn't until he had found a pocket watch at a dusty out of the way antique shop some years ago, perhaps the very same one Alfred had shown him, that his memory had been sparked anew.
England sighs and drinks down the scotch quickly, old guilt bubbling up to mingle bitterly with today's disappointment and hurt. Yes, he had liked Alfred very much in all honesty no matter how rocky things had started out. If only things could have been different, if only he hadn't been so stubborn and dangerously prideful back then. The poor boy wouldn't have had to meet such an awful fate.
~.
A deep sigh escapes France as he hears a knock at the door. And from the sound of it, the knock is not from the delicate hand of a gentle lady caller or even a gentleman. It is always irritating to be interrupted in the middle of his musings on romance and poetry but even more so when it is by someone rough or uncultured as this knock suggests. All contemplations of ignoring the sound are forgotten when it comes again, more instantly. "Oui, oui, I hear you!"
Quite annoyed, France makes his way to the door. He is admittedly surprised to see America standing there. "Oh, bonjour Amérique. To what do I owe this rare...pleasure?"
America grins at him then without any warning punches him in the face. France falls backward from the force, crying out. He holds his cheek in shock, giving America a stunned look. "What was that for you brute!"
America cracks his knuckles. Now that had felt good. "Oh you know, punishing the sins of your past with the pain of today. You damned pervert."
"What sins? I have done nothing!" This insolent brat! What is he going on about?
"Oh trust me, you have. You're lucky I'm leaving it at one punch and not throwing in some free castration. I gotta get going now, but you should maybe think twice about trying to molest the poor innocent, hungry souls of this world!" Justice served, America rushes off.
France pulls himself up to his feet, rubbing his now aching jaw. Even holding back America hits too hard for his own good! Oh sure he's molested people over the ages but it's nothing new! It's not like he's done anything to the American... he didn't quite dare risk getting his hand irreversibly broken. Oh so maybe he felt him up a little bit at the last New Years party but that had been such a minor thing! Surely not worth a punch.
Somewhat put out by the rude interruption of an otherwise pleasant afternoon, France closes his door and heads for his wine cellar. Honestly, he shouldn't have to put up with this.
~.
About two weeks pass and America thinks things over. He also writes out the basic outline for 'The Adventures of Burgerman', which will be totally awesome when it's finished. The more he thinks about it the more he realizes he needs to mess with that stupid pocket watch again. If England really has memories of meeting him four times simply as Alfred then he'll be messing things up if he doesn't fulfill these rendezvous. It is his heroic duty! Besides, now that he kind of gets what's going on he doesn't have to be so afraid. Not that he's ever afraid.
America has been coming up with a theory and the more he thinks about it the more certain he is. Of course he'll only know once he goes back and tests it out but... He's almost certain that he had been gone fifteen minutes exactly from the present and that the watch had tracked that. The fifteen minutes had equaled about twenty-four hours in the past. And if he was going into the past four times it was because he would spend fifteen minutes apiece present time each time until the minute hand made a full round around the clock. Then maybe the magic stopped working and that's why he never goes back. One hour altogether in the present, four days altogether in the past. Makes sense to him.
America decides it's time to test that theory, his adventurous side once more taking control.
~.
"Hey England, how's it going?" America grins at England as if it's perfectly normal to drop by unannounced at his house without some sort of ulterior motive. Which he totally has.
England stares at him in surprise, a pleased look brightening his expression before he quickly wipes it away. "Wh-what are you doing here?"
"Oh you know, I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. Mind if I come in?" Without waiting for a response America pushes his way into the house.
England sputters for a moment then glares at America, shutting the door. "Make yourself at home."
"Sorry about last time and how I had to run off." America starts to calculate how he should distract England for a while.
"...It's not like I care. I had a quiet afternoon to myself." He wonders a bit jealously if America's hickey has faded by now or if there are new ones to take its place. "Though I did have to hear about how you punched France 'like a total barbarian' for almost two hours."
America laughs loudly. "He's so lame, I just bet he did. He deserves to be punched a whole lot more than that."
England raises an eyebrow slowly. "Well...I suppose I can't argue with that."
An idea suddenly comes to America. "You know what sounds really good? Some of your fresh baked scones!"
America actually asking for his cooking? "Alfred, are you feeling quite well?"
"Yeah! Perfectly fine. So can you make some?" Giving him a charming little smile America throws his arm around England's shoulders. "You know you want to!"
England's constitution begins to crumble. "Oh alright, if you're going to be a pest about it I suppose I could."
"Woohoo!" America is a great actor but even he's impressed with how convincing he sounds.
England quickly turns to hide the slight flush of his cheeks. "Come along then."
They make their way to the kitchen, America merely biding his time. England begins to pull things out, glancing at America from time to time. The bloody git is just rocking back and forth against the counter, looking totally ridiculous. Why is he so attracted to him? It's a mystery.
"...Oi, Alfred, I was just wondering if...if you were seeing someo-"
America interrupts him, not even really paying attention to what he's saying. "Hey, I just remembered there's a call I need to make really fast! I'll be back in a few minutes!"
Without another word he rushes off. England glowers after him and begins banging around the kitchen. Air head, wanker, useless little-! Probably off to go call his new lover or something. It's not like England minds when America imposes on him, forces him to bake, then goes and runs off to call someone else and leaves him alone. Just fine with him!
Pretending to go towards England's living room, America cuts a sudden left and goes the long way around towards the basement area where England's evil witchcraft stuff is. He opens the door quietly, pulling out a small but very bright flashlight from his back pocket. Oh yes, he is very prepared this time. He even avoided bathing for a couple of days to fit in better. He can always take another long shower when he gets back.
After closing the door behind him he uses the flashlight to guide him down the stairs. It's easier to see than with his cellphone, that's for sure. Once he reaches the bottom he searches for the bag, finding it a surprising distance away from the foot of the stairs. It seems he had knocked something over when he tossed it down but it doesn't look broken to him.
Holding the flashlight in his mouth, America opens the bag and dumps everything out, careful not to touch the pocket watch. With a little bit of struggling America changes into the clothes past England had given him. This time around he doesn't want any extra and very dangerous baggage to carry around with him. All he'll have is the clothes on his back and the watch.
Carefully putting his things off to the side America reaches down and picks up the pocket watch. Once again he notices the odd warmth to it. Any other metal object would be cold from being down here. He turns off the flashlight and gropes around to place it on a shelf then clicks the watch open. For a moment nothing happens and America frowns. Is there something he's supposed to do?
Just as he's beginning to really have his doubts there is the faint blue light, the ticking that reminds him of pulsating... America takes a deep breath and clutches it, feeling a buzz of anticipation. This time he's not freaked out as the light and the ticking become stronger and he lets himself enjoy it. It's almost soothing, like being embraced by the sea. The sensations are all so sharp, so raw...
And with that America is once more slipping through time.