"I can't believe you fucking glued me to a bloody chair."

"Karma. You ruin my pants, I ruin yours."

"A bloody chair! And what am I left to do? Why, walk back to the hotel in my undergarments because my trousers are glued to a fucking chair, that's what I am left to do. Stupid wanker."

"Trust me, the poor citizens of Ottawa got a nice view of the ol' stars and stripes this morning, why not throw in the freaking Union Jack too? Cute boxers by the way, though I always saw you as more of a whitey-tightie man, myself."

"Piss off."

"Took care of that enough last night, Rashy."

The bickering pair of nations tore through the hotel lobby, America sporting the large hole in the seat of his pants, and England completely missing his. Various other hotel gusts regarded them attentively; protective parents guiding amused children from the room… just in case.

Swiping the key card in the door, the men threw their paperwork on the table and started taking off their shoes, grateful the cleaning staff had taken care of things and the room no longer smelled of urine, but fresh evergreens.

"Honestly," England grumbled, tossing his loafers and jacket aside and ripping through his drawer to find a replacement pair of slacks. "Pulling an immature prank like that in the middle of work, America? Though I don't now why I'm surprised."

America rolled his eyes, pulling off his suit coat and tie. "Well, maybe if I had been raised better…"

Oh he did not.

England bit the side of his cheek, attempting to keep his anger in check. "Or, you know, if you weren't such a sodding idiot. But if you prefer placing blame on everyone but yourself, then have at it." With a frown, he pulled a green, argyle sweater vest over his head and pulled on a pair of khaki's, zipping and buttoning them up.

Ignoring the comment, America set to putting on a proper pair of jeans, and with a woeful sigh, tossed his ruined pair of suit pants into the garbage. His lower lip protruding slightly, he began unbuttoning his dress shirt. "Those were nice pants too. Totally got them on sale."

"Well, maybe you'll think twice before you pull a stunk like- Oh holy hell." England's face turned a florescent shade of red as he turned around to face a now completely shirtless America.

"What?"

England was not staring. Definitely not staring. Not staring at America's toned arms and perfectly chiseled chest and abdomen as he glowed in the setting sunlight cascading over him from the window and- oh bloody hell.

"P-put some clothes on, you git!" He exclaimed, spinning around to keep America from noticing his reddening cheeks.

America raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Dude, you used to bathe me. What's the big deal? It's not like I have anything you don't."

"Th-that is hardly the same!" England exclaimed. "You were a child, and not nearly as…" Attractive? Hot? Sexy? "Old! We are business associates now, and that kind of dress is not acceptable in the presence of-"

America laughed heartily. "Chill old man, chill! I'll put a shirt on!" He threw on a t-shirt and held his arms out at his side, circling once. "There? All better? Can the prude go on in life now that I am no longer whoreing myself out to piercing gaze the bedroom furniture?"

No, England thought despite himself, take it off again. "Oh shut it." He crossed his arms, stubbornly refusing to let the younger nation see his blush.

America chuckled and shook his head in amusement; England was such a silly little guy. Slipping on his shoes, he slid his wallet into his back pocket and threw his bomber jacket over his shoulder. "So, you coming with me or not?"

"Coming with you where?"

"The store. Thanks to a certain British chap, I am out my only pair of nice pants for the rest of the week. I figured that since you are pantless as well, you might want to come with."

England shot him a questioning look, finally allowing himself to face the younger nation now that his face had cooled down. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice do I? Certainly can't leave you alone, god knows what you'll glue my arse to next. Yes, America I will come with you." He slipped on his dark gray peacoat and strode past America, out the door. "But were stopping for supper; if you remember, I spent my lunch break freeing my hindquarters from a blasted office chair."

America smiled, shutting off the lights and following the shorter man to the elevator. "Deal. But I get to pick the place."

England ran his hand over a fetching sweater discarded on the rack outside of the dressing room and glanced impatiently at his watch. He had found his replacement pair of pants long before, but of course, America insisted on trying on just about every single pair of suit pants the small department store had to offer.

He let out an irritated groan as his empty stomach made itself known once again. "Hurry up, you prat, I'm bloody starving!"

The changing room door burst open, America gliding out to once again admiring himself in the large mirrors. "What about these?" He turned around, placing his hand on his chin. "Do you think they make my butt look big? I think they make my butt look big."

"Fucking huge. Just buy them so we can get some fucking food."

America frowned. "Seriously, Eng-Arthur." He quickly corrected himself, remembering they were in public. "I think I've been putting on a little weight lately and-"

"Just," he exclaimed. "Buy the pants."

"Yeah, but-"

"Alfred. For the love of the Queen, buy the fucking pants," England grumbled, his aching hunger and patience weighting on his last nerve. "You look fucking fantastic, so buy the bloody things before I eat them and take care of both our problems."

America glanced shyly back in the mirror, cocking his head to one side. "You really think I look good?"

England blushed, clearing his throat and turning around to fiddle with the sweater once again. "Beautiful," he grumbled sarcastically. "Now take them off so we can pay and get the hell out of here."

After leaving the department store, America and England hailed a cab, America giving the driver the name of a restaurant. "Mattie suggested it," He explained to England as the driver put the car into drive. "He says they got the best pancakes in Ottawa!"

"Well, Matthew would know I suppose." England nodded.

As the cab pulled over to the side of the road in front of a cozy looking diner, America handed him the money and hopped out, holding the door open for England who simply rolled his eyes and strolled inside.

After a short incident involving England, a whoopee cushion, and a very amused America, the two nations enjoyed pleasant conversation as they ordered and waited for their pancakes. Discussion wavered from the economy to global warming, to how cool the special effects were in Avatar (Though England claimed he hadn't seen it, he had. Six times).

Their waitress, a friendly looking middle aged woman, delivered their pancakes and the hungry nations dug in, their conversation coming to a quick hiatus. As he ate, America couldn't help but smile to himself. He was actually kind of having fun hanging out with England like this, not that he would ever tell him that, but it was true.

As their short stacks turned to crumbs, England dabbed his lips with his napkin and placed it on his plate. "Excuse me, America. I must use the restroom."

"Okay! Don't fall in!"

England shook his head, and once he was positive America was no longer in eyesight, took a quick turn and slid back to the young hostess who sat them at their table.

"Can I help you sir?" She asked, smiling brightly.

"Yes," England replied, glancing quickly over his shoulder to make sure America wasn't watching. "I'm afraid I have some business to attend to, but my associate will be taking care of the check." He smiled as properly as he could. "Just didn't want you to think I was skipping out, or some rubbish like that."

The hostess nodded in understanding. "Of course not sir, I'll make sure your waitress knows. Have a pleasant evening!"

England smirked. "You as well, love."

England was in the middle of a rather complicated cross-stitch when the door to the hotel room swung open and America marched in, a surprisingly amused look present on his face. "You little stinker! You know, I was wondering why you ordered so much." He crossed his arms, standing at the foot of England's bed, eyebrow raised.

England smirked back up at him, continuing on his needlework blindly but flawlessly. "You owed me anyway for making me miss my lunch, brat."

"But did you really need to order like, thirty pancakes?" He held up a Styrofoam box. "I took your leftovers. I'm not paying for thirty pancakes when you only ate four." He held the box to his chest. "And I'm eating them for breakfast tomorrow, so there."

England chuckled and turned back to his work. "I thought you were gaining weight."

"Shut up. After this conference I'm going to the gym every day."

"Of course you are."

After a while of watching TV and working on needlework, America finally announced he was going to take a shower. "And you better leave my pants alone….And my shirts. Just don't touch my shit."

England scoffed. "Honestly, I'm far too classy to repeat something I did only this morning."

"I don't trust you."

Once the door was shut and locked, England let the smirk he had been holding in since America's return creep it's way onto his face. Oh yes, this would be brilliant, soon the water would start running, and-

"Aw, Jesus Christ! What the FUCK?!"

The water promptly stopped and the shower certain was thrown back with such force, England could hear it from his place on his bed. He smirked and placed down his work, smiling expectantly as the bathroom door swung open.

"England," America seethed, stepping out from the bathroom with a towel around his waist.

"Yes, dear boy?" England replied cheerily.

"Why the fuck am I purple and smell like a grape?"

"Actually, it is grape-lemonade. PurpleSaurus Rex, if we are going to be exact. It was a toss up between that and Mountainberry Punch, but I went with this because the name is quite adorable, don't you agree?"

America's purple stained face turned to one of shock and he held out his arm in front of him to inspect it. "This is Kool-Aid?! But how did you-?"

He smirked. "I simply put one of those disgusting little packages right in the shower head. Really America, is drinking plain water that painful for you? Anyway, don't worry, the color should wear off in two to three days, maximum."

"Three days?!"

"Unless you want to spend the next twenty-four hours in the shower." England shrugged. "Win/win for me, really."

America pointed his mauve index finger in the older nation's face and adjusted his towel roughly. "You better watch yourself," He threatened, walking backwards back into the bathroom with his eyes narrowed. "I know where you sleep, and I can stay up aaaall night, motherfucker. All night." SLAM.

England simply smiled and returned to his needlework.

America waited until four o'clock in the morning before England finally fell asleep. The two shared glares and insults into the early morning as they lay in their beds, before the older nation finally gave in to the blissful world of unconsciousness.

Swinging his legs out of the bed, America crept to the bathroom to retrieve his arsenal. Sparing a woeful glance at his grape (grape-lemonade, he corrected himself bitterly) exterior in the bathroom mirror, he grabbed his supplies and snuck back out to the bedroom.

Looming over England's sleeping form, America grinned evilly and set to work.

Canada fiddled with his papers as he sat quietly at the head of the table. Today was his time to shine! He flipped through his things, making sure it was all accounted for: graphs, charts, statistics, memos, overviews, pictures, essays; it was all there. He took a deep sigh and folded his hands, waiting for Germany to finish the introductions for the day.

Not surprisingly, America and England were not yet in attendance, but after the last day's chair incident, the slightly saner group of nations came to the executive decision to go on with the meeting despite whatever those two were up to.

"-And if attendance is…for the most part, taken care of, we will move on." Germany pulled off his glasses and set them on the table as he sat down. "Today's first topic is the growing obesity rate, and seeing as America has yet to arrive, I believe uh…"

"…Canada."

"Right, Canada. I believe Canada has a presentation ready?"

Italy clapped his hands excitedly as Canada shyly took the head of the table. "Vee~ Go America!"

"I-it's Canada," Canada sighed, plugging his flash drive into the computer. Once his PowerPoint appeared on the screen, he took a deep breath and turned back to the table, opening his mouth to speak.

"You know bloody well that this isn't even remotely the same thing, you tosser!"

"Oh please! You're acting like it's permanent!"

"It's a lot more fucking permanent than what I did to you!"

"They'll grow back! Probably even bigger and more frightening than they were before, if that's even possible."

"Why you little-!"

The door to the room busted open, and America and England pushed their way inside together, neither letting the other get in first. Once untangled, they sent each other venom filled glares, until they noticed the rest of the G8 gawking at them in surprise and amusement.

France was the first to get over his shock, busting into deep and powerful laughter, his index finger pointed firmly at the nations. "Sacrebleu!" He exclaimed, tears welling in his eyes. "Look at what the cat has dragged in! Tell me Angleterre, where are your eyebrows?"

Russia giggled and clapped his hands together happily. "They look funny, da?!"

"Vee~! Germany! Germany! Look at America and England! Look! Don't they look silly, Germany?!"

Germany rubbed his temples. "Hilarious."

Japan stifled a chuckle and smiled apologetically. "What on earth have you done to yourselves?"

England fumed. "I didn't do a fucking thing to myself! This bastard shaved my eyebrows off in my sleep!"

"Angleterre!" France managed to gasp between laughter. "You seem to have misplaced your best amis! I cannot seem to locate them on your face, which is usually a very simple task to do!"

Russia grinned. "America looks like Barney!"

"I do not look like fucking Barney, you commie bastard!"

"That is enough!" Germany finally exclaimed. "England has no eyebrows and America looks like a grape, this is all very amusing, but we have some serious problems we need to address today!"

"Grape-lemonade, actually."

"Whatever!"

Italy grinned. Germany raised an eyebrow

"What?" He asked.

"Germany is so smart!"

He rolled his eyes. "Can we please just continue?"

America's beamed, seeing Canada's title page on the screen. "Oh, the obesity thing! Yeah, I have my presentation right here!" Grinning, he successfully kicked Canada out of the way and plugged his own flash drive into the computer, bringing up his PowerPoint. "So! As you know, I've had some troubles in this area, but I've got this awesome idea!"

Canada sighed; picking up his papers and sulking sadly back to his seat. "Maple."

England's eyes shifted from side to side as he pulled a small bottle from his briefcase. Luckily for him, everyone was all too involved with America's speech ("America, turning drive thru's into 'walk thru's' at fast food restaurants to encourage physical activity is completely missing the point.") to notice his devious work.

With an evil chuckle, he poured a little of the contents of the bottle into America's coffee, capped it and placed it back in his briefcase. Smiling contently, he crossed his hands and waited for the American to finish his rambling.

There you go! I'm so glad I got this chapter done! I can work on my portfolio that is due tomorrow now! BUT once that is all turned in, I'm FREE!! Which means I'll hopefully get this done soon!

Hope you all enjoyed that chapter! Have a good day!