April, 1949
Despite the war tearing at his southern regions, America had been making a point of inviting his allies to special occasions- 'points of light in his weary gray existence' he had said at one point, 'without which, I wouldn't have anything to look forward to.'
(England refused to correct his grammar on that occasion, and could not find it in himself to blame the younger nation for not wanting to be alone. Perhaps it was guilt, or indulgence, but all the same.)
There were ugly rumors floating around the nations about just what was behind Mexico's continued aggression- rumors that involved a former friend, and the madness that had overtaken the largest country on Earth.
Washington DC was beautiful, however.
Kiku's old gift of cherry trees were in full blossom. Japan had managed to make more of an attempt to be America's ally during those years before war had torn the world apart, and now that first gift was softly snowing petals down on the small group that walked among them.
Kiku and Matthew chatting animatedly about technology in the forefront, followed by Francis, who had one arm linked in Alfred's.. As Arthur watched, the elder nation leaned over to murmur something in tones far too softly for him to hear from his position at the back of the group.
France was very... touchy. His free hand was patting the shoulder, ruffling golden hair, and generally free with contact. Not that America was doing much more than occasionally blushing at the whispers.
England watched the light flush staining the far too pale skin, trying to ignore the hint of something that couldn't possibly be jealousy.
Despite the ferocious hugs that Alfred greeted him with every time they met, Arthur could not quite bring himself to be so free with the young man he'd sentenced to a life of darkness. Even if the young man had forgiven him, he could not quite forgive himself.
England contented himself with being allowed within the circle of allies that were always invited to share whatever joys that America had to offer.
An arm suddenly slung over his shoulders brought him out of his musings, the contact automatically jerking himself up straight and flailing.
A low whisper buzzed against his ear- which made him scowl, and consciously try to remove that arm.
Francis.
"Mon cher, Angleterre, why are you lagging behind so?" Alert, he let his gaze search ahead- surely Francis would not have left Alfred alone to harass him- but no, there was America, between Japan and Canada, linking arms with both, as they laughed about something. Waiting beneath the largest of the trees.
"I'm not lagging behind," England denied, forcefully, trying to shrug the arm off again, and failing. "You're walking too bloody fast."
"We are not covering ground that swiftly," Francis' tone was chiding. "It is as though you are reluctant to come too close to them."
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"And isolating yourself in a world of your own thoughts, rather than enjoying the company of your dear host, and his delightful brother. Mattheiu looks much happier these days."
"I can enjoy his company without molesting him, thank you very much." England scowled at France, but caught an unamused frown on the taller man's face. "What?"
"Angleterre," France said quietly, "Arthur. Our little America is blind-"
"Like I could forget that, Frog."
"Hush, Arthur." Francis was still frowning, "He cannot see you, and you refuse to touch him except for the briefest of greetings. To him, it is difficult to know that you are really present. You have been keeping him at arm's length since Tokyo."
"Just because I act as a gentleman, and not a pervert-"
"Is it gentlemanly to hurt one who would be your friend?" Before Arthur could respond, Francis went on, "He enjoys your company, for dieu only knows what reason- the conversations I have seen you hold could just as easily be telephone calls from the safety of your own little house. When you deferred to me to be his walking companion today, I could see the disappointment in his face. He hides it well enough, but I fear those brief embraces are not going to be enough to sustain him."
"He's- he's done well so far," England offered, "I don't see-"
"Close your eyes." The demand cut him off, "Close them."
Reluctantly, England obeyed, hoping whatever foolishness France was perpetrating would not end up in a random groping.
The arm slid off his shoulders silently, leaving them light, and cold.
"All right then," Arthur frowned at the silence. "What now?"
"Tell me, Angleterre," France's voice came from his other side now. "Does the sound of my voice warm you? Make you feel as though you are not completely alone on this lovely spring day? Am I frowning, or angry- or just happy to be next to you?"
"This is pointless, Frog." A hand gently brushed his arm, "Don't-"
"You were close before he grew up and decided to take wing." Francis's hand remained on his arm, a point of warmth in the red-haze of the day from behind closed eyes. "Do you not miss that, at least?"
"I shouldn't—"
"You see how he interacts with his brother, with his friends— he has become very tactile- and yet you manage to avoid all but absolutely necessary physical contact. Arthur, mon cher. You may not believe you deserve his affection, however you need to ask yourself, does he deserve such coldness from you?"
The answer was obvious. England didn't even have to think about it. Of course not. And his own reluctance- his hesitation might be something that could weaken his ally. Hurt his friend- something that he'd never thought was a possibility- they had a past, yes, but if he could get over America's rebellion- get over the fact that his own people had left a mark on the promising young nation-
Arthur opened his eyes to the brilliant daylight, and an anxious face trained in his direction.
Matthew and Kiku were still chattering, however Alfred had unlinked himself from between them. He had taken a few steps back the way they'd come, and stood alone. If Arthur hadn't known that he was blind, he would've said that the young man was watching for him, just as he had when he was a colony awaiting England's arrival.
Francis' hand slipped off of his arm, as Arthur jogged towards Alfred.
"Your strides were a bit too long." Arthur said, steeling himself, as he looked up into Alfred's wondering face. Obviously running wasn't exactly going to be a stealthy activity.
The look hopeful joy on the blind man's face as Arthur took his arm turned into a genuine smile, the likes of which he really hadn't seen from Alfred since he'd reunited with him in Tokyo.
Damned Frog- right again.
At least he wasn't gloating about it. Francis was linking arms with Matthew and Kiku, almost skipping towards the little gazebo at the end of their planned walk. England and America had made no move to join them- not just yet.
"Arthur?" His name was quietly spoken, "I-I'm glad you're here."
The boy's hand slipped into his in the old familiar way, still neatly fitting with his own despite the size difference. The hand was trembling.
Damn Francis for being right.
Damn himself for not figuring this out sooner.
"Of course I'm here." Arthur grumbled, "I'm- I'm sorry I took so long -"
"Don't worry about it," There was a brief shadow crossing the smiling face, "I'm just happy you're here now. No matter what happens in the end, we won't have to regret not having been together without arguing. I was afraid it would be."
"Would be- a regret?" The words sunk in slowly. It sounded a bit like- "Alfred?"
"I have a feeling." America said slowly, as they started walking towards the others. "Intelligence coming in is saying something about finding an 'old friend' at closed door meetings in Tenochtitlán who wears a scarf, even though the temperature is well over a hundred degrees. Mexico's soldiers are better equipped than ever. I- I may lose this one, Arthur."
"Not if I have anything to say about it."
"No, Arthur- I don't want you hurt. You've got enough to deal with while you're rebuilding London." It was true, England knew, four years, and they had only gotten through the first stage. "Mattie is helping where he can, but Russia keeps looming from over in his section of the continent. Like he's waiting for something- probably for some sign of weakness.."
"You're my ally. I can't just-"
"Russia has rebuilt himself faster than we ever thought possible. And he's gone buddy-hunting, and come up with a half dozen of the folks that really don't like the fact that I exist. Whatever his government is telling him, it's driven him over the edge, and this kind of crazy likes to spread. I was hoping it wouldn't-"
"Imperialism can be addictive," Arthur said wryly, patting the hand within his own. "All that power- but he can be reasoned with, can't he? He's an old friend of yours."
"Something changed, England. Between meetings. I can hear it in his voice- there is something off. It's like he's keeping a secret that would upset the balance of power between the nations. It already felt a bit messed up before, but now- I'm afraid."
"What happened to the brave young boy I knew, who never gave up?"
"He's tired, Arthur," America tried to smile, but it came nowhere near the wild grins of the teenager getting ready to spread his wings and fly. And he did indeed look tired. For a moment England wondered just how badly that southern war was going for his former colony. "I'm not going to give up without a fight. I have plans-"
"You two took forever," Matthew's voice interrupted their quiet conversation, and Arthur realized they'd come to the tree. "Come on, it's too nice to spend the entire day talking about serious things. We can do that tomorrow- right now, it's time to have lunch, and enjoy the sunshine and blossoms.
Arthur glanced at Alfred, and found him nodding in agreement, a light smile on his face.
"Tomorrow then," England hesitated, and then rested his palm against America's face, thumb brushing his cheek. He just wanted to soothe away the faint lines of worry and pain around the mouth. Fuck Francis and whatever he'd choose to read into this gesture. "We will most certainly discuss this tomorrow."
Alfred only laughed, though he did lean into the hand for a moment before being led to the small picnic luncheon.
Francis was watching from behind Matthew, and although there was a faint smirk on his face, his eyes reflected the same emotions that Arthur was certain would be found in his own, if he looked into a mirror.
Time, which had dragged on for aeons, was now moving far too swiftly for England's tastes.