By mutual understanding, both nations prompted to remove their hands off their back.

By instinct, the gun was fired. Bang

Few white petals flew in the process but the hand holding it kept its grasp as the holder staggered towards the shell-shocked man.

A gentle touch and the lethal weapon was removed, replaced by a single pure white rose.

"Una ofrenda de paz para mi papa."

It's too late to realize that the other has no ill intentions of coming all the way to meet him. Indeed, it's too late.

One hand revealed a loaded gun, the other a pure white rose.

The brit looked at the hole in his chest that the bullet caused and gave a knowing smile. He had anticipated it. His knees buckled unwillingly and he fell to the unmerciful grounds of the dead.

"A...rose?" was all the Latino could mutter as he held onto blood-stained rose with his now-trembling hand as if it is his life line

"s'war is silly" the other's pained whisper came be

"B-but you-…why?" He stumbled to find the right words but failed

"My promise, would you...r-reciprocate?" the blond requested, not wasting any more time

"if and when you get what you wanted, please take care of my beloved people" the man in question remembered clearly, but he was still too dumbfounded to answer. Silent tears made its way and a troubling question nagged at his heart.

'Is this what he wanted? He once believed he had always been right. He bore grudge against the devil... but this man before him, he's nothing but a man who has forgiven and is now dying without a fight'

The Latino dropped uncharacteristically on his knees and sobbed quietly as he pulled the brit to his chest. His passion of fury dissolved. His aggressiveness exhausted. His hatred forgotten and his love remembered.

Such is the cruelness of this world. How can a family be torn, a resolve be shredded and innocence be torn apart in just a short span of time? Why can't things just stay the same as it once had been? How can a puny disagreement lead to this bloodbath? What if there was no misunderstanding? What if no disagreement ever existed? What if the clock's hand be turned, would it pull the time along with it? If it be broken, would it stop time? How…why…what if….regrets.

A chuckle with hardly concealed pain brought him out of his intellectual strike. A soft slap and a gentle pull at the tan cheeks.

"Why are you making that stupid face? It's not like I wanted to burden you, but my people need help, too" A loving smile of a dying child. After all, he is still a child in heart. Willing to forgive, willing to forget.

"Arturo, I-I promise I'll take responsibility…" he grit his teeth in fear of bursting, but pool it did with his tears mingled with the springing blood.

The dying soul nodded in understanding, whispered a word of gratitude and left with a smile of contentment.

"Arturo, Mijo, Lo siento…Lo siento"* Antonio sobbed defeated as he cradled the murdered flesh of a beloved.

He doesn't know if anyone's around. He simply doesn't care. His pride lost, it's now or never. The brit has to know, "Te amo, mi hijo, Te amo"*

Arthur Kirkland died thinking, 'I have no regrets, Alfred. I know. This love…our love has and will stop the war.'

Bright emerald met hazy emerald and then none.

The curtain closes to stop one clock and begin another.

[A/N: If I am not mistaken, this has been prompted by a picture I saw at net where Iggy's holding a rose behind his back albeit Spain's hiding a gun or sth the like…baaah, I can't seem to find it though :'( and it saddens me, so please pm me if you know where to find it : …..my headcanon is that Spain once took care of Arthur who, once upon a time, called him "papa" but soon afterwards grew up and turned against him-PLUG: for papa spain –baby iggy, find ask-chibi-uke . tumblr. com ]

*Arthur, -mijo is my shortened term for the endearment, "mi hijo"- I'm sorry...I'm sorry

*I love you, my child, I love you