It was easy for the President of the United States to ignore the light tapping at his bedroom door at 4 o'clock in the morning at first. He simply groaned, buried his head under his pillow, and scooted closer to his wife. Problem solved.

It was only after the tapping evolved into knocking, and then again into full force beating, that his wife kicked him beneath the blankets and he was forced to drag himself out of bed and rip the door open.

"World War III had better just have started, because that is the only reason you have to be waking me up this early."

The bookish looking man in the doorway shrunk back nervously and cleared his throat. "W-well, sir, n-no it hasn't…but it might…Soon."

This definitely got his attention. "And what do you mean by that?"

The other man shakily handed a manila folder over to the head of state, pursing his lips and sighing apologetically. "These pictures were taken this morning. Special Services are already at the scene, but we're afraid that tens of thousands have already become aware…"

"Become aware of wha-" The President froze as his eyes landed on the picture inside of the folder.

The bookish looking man squirmed. "A-and under that, sir, is a transcript from a phone call from the British Prime Minister at approximately three this morning, so around eight a.m. over there…He's on his way over here now…and he's not happy."

The president's hands curled into fists, crumpling the folder in his grasp as well. The other man winced, fiddling with his hands nervously.

"S-sir?"

"Tell Special Services to do what they can to keep as many civilians from seeing this as they can," he said simply. "And tell the Prime Minister to come to my office as soon as he gets in." Throwing on his green striped bathrobe and fuzzy white slippers, he strode out of the bedroom angrily, ignoring his wife's imploring calls.

The other man followed behind him frantically, straining to catch the folder as the President tossed it aside. "Sir? Where are you going?"

His gaze hardened. "To make a phone call."

Talk about déjà vu.

America and England sat, once again, on the hard, wooden chairs in front of the large oval office desk, and once again, their superiors stood in front of them menacingly, each sporting a scowl on his face.

The Prime Minister was the first to speak, crossing his arms. "'Ello gentleman."

"Sir."

"Hello, sir."

"Do either of you know why you were asked to come to my office today?" The President asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"I have a hunch?" America grinned weakly.

"And you, Arthur?"

England bit his lip, but stubbornly held his head high. "I may have a slight familiarity of your intention."

The President and Prime Minister exchanged looks. With a nod, the Prime Minister took a picture from his pocket and held it to his chest. "Perhaps, Arthur, you could inform the rest of the room as to why Mr. Jones and yourself have been forcibly removed from the G8 meeting in Ottawa, as well as the reason for my eight hour flight to Washington DC this morning before I was even spared the chance for my morning cup of tea and scone?"

America scoffed. "You should be thanking us for stopping you from eating one of those things."

The President thumped him in the back of his head with a searing glare. "Alfred."

"Sorry, sorry."

England cleared his throat, eyeing the back of the picture with caution. "Well, uh…t-that is to say-"

"Or perhaps, the Statue of Liberty should tell us all herself?"

America's eyes widened as he turned to England in alarm. "What did you do to Lady Liberty?"

"Well…I-"

Honestly, England never understood America's ridiculous obsession with that damn statue. The thing was a bloody gift from France of all people to basically celebrate England getting his ass kicked, and America fucking put the thing out in ocean for anyone coming to the country to see, pasted it over every post card and t-shirt in production, and even made costumes of the thing for Halloween.

Ungrateful little bastard.

He regretted nothing.

With a heavy sigh, the Prime Minister held the picture out in front of him. America grabbed at it hungrily. "This, Alfred, is what he did to her."

America gaped in shock at the picture that sat mockingly in his trembling hands. For where his once proud and beautiful stature stood majestically, there now stood…something complete different.

"What the FUCK England? Who the fuck is this ugly chick and why the fuck is she fucking naked?"

"Hey!" England snapped, ripping the picture out of his hands protectively. "Susan Boyle is a lovely woman with an angelic singing voice and is loved all around the world!"

America scoffed. "No. That is an ugly, ugly woman who is very, very naked and- Oh my god! Children! There are children who can see that right now, England! What the fuck, man?" He turned desperately towards his boss, mourning his vandalized family values. "Please tell me that thing is covered up. Please tell me no one has seen this."

The President rubbed the back of his neck. "They are estimating a bit over a hundred-thousand at this point…Not counting those who have seen her on the internet."

"Hundred-thous-?" He gasped. "Those poor people! My poor Lady Liberty!" His depressed features melted abruptly into one of anger as he turned suddenly to face England. The older nation jumped back slightly. "You. You ruined my Lady Liberty! Change her back, right now!"

"Alfred." The President said crossly, drawing the irate nation away from attacking the other. "The Statue of Liberty wasn't the only feminine national icon to be tampered with last night, you know."

America blushed, sitting back in his seat with straight posture and a guilty flash in his eyes. England regarded him attentively out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow.

"What on earth do you mean by that?" He asked.

America whistled nonchalantly.

"America you twat, what is he talking about?"

"Alfred." The President crossed his arms. "You wouldn't by any chance know the whereabouts of the Queen, now would you?"

…

"YOU KIDNAPPED THE BLOODY QUEEN?"

America smiled sheepishly. "Technically, 'abducted' would probably be a better term…"

"YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" And suddenly, England was on top of America, and the two were involved in a vicious boxing match as their bosses watched in shock, amusement, and concern (but only a little for that last one).

"Ow! Hey! What are you getting so mad at me for? She is being perfectly taken care of!"

"You mean by that fucking alien of yours? It's insane! Lord knows what he's done to her by now!"

"Don't you dare insult Tony! At least he exists! Which is more than I can say about you're little friends!"

"If you are implying that my fairies are indeed fictional, I implore you as to how your beloved statue received her makeover in the first place, you git."

America paused pulling on England's hair for a second before resuming his pursuit. "That is completely beside the point!"

Finally the President stepped between the nations, pulling them apart and pushing them back into their chairs. "Okay, okay, that's enough, gentlemen."

With one last glare, England and America turned their attention back to their bosses, straightening their clothes and fixing their hair as they tried to catch their breath. The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow. "Are you quite finished?"

America punched England in the arm and grinned. "Now I am."

"Why you little-!"

"Gentlemen!"

Both nations snapped to attention, England flicking America's ear once more for good measure. The Prime Minister rolled his eyes. "Mr. President and I talked it over, and we believe we've come to a decision on an appropriate punishment for your actions."

"Punishment?" America gasped, England following suit.

"Sir! That Statue of Liberty rubbish wasn't even my idea!"

"Yeah!" America agreed. "Neither was abducting the Queen!"

"Oh?" The President asked, obviously skeptical, "Then whose ideas were they?" England fiddled with his thumbs while America rubbed the back of his neck. They each took a breath and replied together.

"Prussia."

The President sighed. "Oh Jesus Christ."

"That certainly explains a lot," the Prime Minister agreed, rubbing his temples. "But ignoring your terrible lack in judgment, you both deliberately ignored our orders of keeping these childish pranks to yourselves."

The President nodded, picking up a key ring from the top of his desk and walking slowly to the door. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for the others to follow. "We didn't want it to come to this, but you leave us no choice."

America bit his lip as he lifted himself from his chair. "W-where are we going?"

"I hope you boys got plenty of sleep while you were at the conference." The President replied with an almost malicious smile. "Because tonight, you're staying with your old pal Abe Lincoln."

America shrieked, turned white, and fainted. With a sigh, England helped drag him from the room.

"Let us out! LET US OUT!"

"Bloody hell, you twat, that hasn't worked for the past ten minutes, what makes you think it's going to work now?"

America shot his head towards the other nation hastily. "I have to try!" He resumed pounding his fists on the door's hard wooden surface. "I can't stay in here! I can't! I won't even walk by this stupid room at night, let alone spend the night in it!"

England rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall with a huff. "So we have to sleep in Lincoln's bedroom. What's the ruckus all about? Seems perfectly satisfactory to me."

"Perfectly satisfactory until Honest Abe himself comes out of the wall and starts terrorizing us in our sleep."

England scoffed. "Oh, that is such rubbish. Have you ever even seen this supposed ghost?"

"No," America pouted, "but I know tons of people who have! And think of Abe, you met him! You guys were all talking about that creepy cult stuff you were both into. He was totally the kind of guy to come back as a ghost." His voice dropped to a whisper. "His wife even told me he dreamt about his own death before it happened."

"Well," England replied simply, slipping off his loafers and pulling the sheets down on the bed, "if you see him, give him a rowdy 'ello for me, I'm bloody knackered, so I'm going to sleep."

"DON'T YOU DARE!" America screamed, leaping from the door to the bed in a single motion, landing atop the startled nation as he attempted to climb under the covers.

"Oi! Sod off!"

"No!"

"America!"

"England!"

Glares were exchanged, each nation refusing to back down. England cursed himself for the small pink tinge he could feel creeping up to his cheeks from being pressed to the bed by America; he was doing so well ignoring his feelings today, too.

"Kindly get your large, gelatinous body off of me, you oaf, before you crush my ribcage."

America pouted. "I am not gelatinous."

England raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know what gelatinous means?"

"…It's like a tropical fish, right?"

"Just get the fuck off!" With a hard, albeit halfhearted shove, England managed to free himself from under America, which to be completely honest, wasn't something he ever imagined himself being happy to do.

The younger nation was whimpering, and had taken to wrapping himself around a large pillow in pursuit of security. England rolled his eyes, while the sight was actually a little enduring, it was more then a little pathetic, and he would be damned if he had to deal with that all night.

"Oh belt up, it's just a room."

Whimper.

"Honestly America, it's no different then any other room in this house."

Whimper.

"For the love of- Lincoln is your old boss, I'm sure he would be perfectly kind if he saw you again."

LOUD whimper.

Okay, this was getting fucking ridiculous.

"Well, what do you want me to do? This is your house, you git!"

Blue eyes peeked up from behind the pillow. "Sleep with me?"

"…I beg your pardon?"

America unraveled himself from the pillow, and England felt his heart flutter at the tiny streak of red across his nose. "Not like, the good kind. Gross." England rolled his eyes. "The keep-me-safe kind. Like when I was little."

Oh, curse that boy and his powers of nostalgia.

"I must be completely mental."

With a (totally manly) squeal of excitement, America dove under the covers, leaving just enough room for England to squeeze himself in as well. England regarded the space apprehensively; there was no way he would be able to keep himself from touching America somewhere. Touching, rubbing... feather light caressing across his skin…

Oh bugger, it was going to be a long night.

SURPRISE! J/k about that whole this-is-the-last-chapter thing. It started to get too long, and I was getting really anxious and annoyed by how long it was taking to get things really going, so I cut it off here and decided to give you all one more chapter!

All that stuff about Lincoln is true by the way. I found it out when I was making sure it was his bedroom that was the famously haunted one. I feel he and England would have gotten along quite well!

Soooo I just discovered the forum option on here...might make one. Keep checking up on that. Anyway! Till next time! The REAL end! Haha!