Thanks everyone for reading! Here's the second part.

Here I am

Chapter 02

XX

Arthur pulled on a cleanly pressed and gloriously dry new suit, slipping on a new pair of socks to replace his muddy old ones and a polished pair of shoes. He felt better now, drier for one, and a lot more comfortable. The soggy mess of his old clothes lay in a pile by the foot of the desk – his desk he had been told – and left to create a small puddle of water on the navy carpet.

Adjusting his tie, he glanced around the solemn looking room. The desk and bookshelves were made of oak, a great many books were lined up next to each other perfectly, their thick spines facing outwards. His office chair and desk looked like the work desk of someone important. The union jack and a metal nameplate engraved with the words 'United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland (England)' stood on his desk facing the door.

Arthur had never been in such a stern looking office ever since graduating from university. The little office he shared with two of his colleagues was always littered with paper and pictures drawn by the children or photos of their loved ones plastering the notice board, pinned up right next to their lesson plans and curriculum sheets.

He smiled a little, remembering the picture he had pinned up there. It had been August. School holiday. Alfred had taken some time off work too to drive themselves and their friends to the coast of California. It had been hot. Too hot for Arthur; he was completely red and sunburnt in that picture but it was one of the few photos he owned where everyone had managed to get together for some fun.

There was no photo on the desk here. A heavy knock at the door reminded him that he should not be prying. As he turned around, the door opened and Alfred – no, America, right? – slid into the office.

"England."

"Arthur," he corrected him. He could not bear to be called after the country. It was just too strange.

"Arthur," America frowned at that name. He moved forward and took a seat on one of the visitor's chairs, sighing loudly. "You know, if this is some elaborate prank I really will sock you one!"

Arthur managed to look offended and hurt, though he was sure that he had looked more offended. It was strange. The last thing he remembered was being overcome by the powerful waves, drowning, dying, and then he was here. Perhaps this was hell but, for some reason, Arthur was sure that he was still alive. Somehow.

Only where was he now? He did not like this strange place where he was forced into such cold, solemn rooms. He did not like this place where familiar faces were really the faces of strangers. Worse of all was the one sitting in front of him. That was the worst.

"I'm not lying," Arthur managed to say. "I don't know where I am or what's going on. All I know is that one minute I was on a ship with you," – drowning, but there was no need to say that – "and then I was here. That's all."

America - America, not Alfred – laughed. "Jeez, are you going senile with your old age? I've never been on a ship with you. You've been on a lot of ships," he suddenly frowned, his eyes growing colder, harder, "but I was never on a ship with you."

Arthur sharply turned away from that gaze. America. America, not Alfred, he had to remind himself, but it was hard. He looked just like Alfred, his Alfred, but he looked at him so coldly, with so little love or care. It was not Alfred, but it hurt all the same.

Where was the Alfred he knew anyway? Was he somewhere in this world just like Arthur? Or was he back where they belonged, worrying over his disappearance? What if, during the storm he had...

"Anyway, there's no way we can continue the meeting now. You might as well go home," America said.

He would if he could. He would do anything to go home.

"Wait, I don't know how."

"Oh yeah, you're not from this world," America smiled somewhat patronisingly. He blatantly did not believe a word Arthur had said when he had calmed down enough to explain his situation. "Japan'll take care of you then. Go find Japan and he'll show you the way."

"Japan?" Arthur tilted his head sideways. Who was that? Was that the person who had looked like Kiku?

"Yeah, you know, the guy who was helping you up? Anyway, I've got stuff to do so I'll see you around, Eng – Arthur," America got to his feet, ready to leave.

"Wait!" Arthur jumped forward, grabbing the sleeve of America's jacket. Even though he knew that they were different, he could not help blurring the lines between Alfred and America. How could they be so different? Was America just another side of Alfred? A hidden, deeper side that Arthur had never seen before.

Sometimes, did Alfred want to treat him just as America did? With cool indifference and somewhat bitter taunts?

Arthur meant to let go of the jacket but his grip tightened instead.

"A – Alfred," he whispered, begging, praying.

"Don't call me that," America pulled his jacket free. "If you insist, I'll find Japan, but I don't have all day, you know?"

"But aren't you going to help me?" Arthur whispered. But America did not hear.

XX

When the taxi pulled up outside the apartment complex, Alfred paid the driver and slid out of the seat, coming round the side to open the door for England.

"Here we are. This is our place, remember?" he smiled cheerfully, offering England a hand to help him out.

England ignored it and got out himself, surveying the large building with a look of absolute disinterest.

"Our apartment?" he finally picked up on the particular pronoun.

Alfred nodded vigorously. "We live together, remember?"

England did not. Of course he did not, he was not the 'Arthur' that Alfred thought that he was looking at when he smiled at him or tried to take his hand. It made him feel uncomfortable; Alfred looked just like America and when he smiled warmly it was if it was America. It was probably the strangest thing he had ever seen. The last time America had smiled at him genuinely had been...

...a long, long time ago.

Frankly, England had no idea how he ended up in the world. He was sure none of his fairies had the power to do something like this and he had not been experimenting with his magic or Britannia angel's powers at the time.

There was only one other explanation for this; America. If it was not fairies or magic or Britannia angel then it was America. It was always America's fault somehow anyway, even when it was fairies or magic or Britannia angel, it was still America's fault.

He followed Alfred into the building, taking the lift together until they reached the fifth floor. They walked down a very long, narrow corridor lined with doors, England all the while wondering what he should do next. He could not stay here. Alfred was just too creepy, too nice, and who knew what was happening to the country in his absence.

That was it! He bet that America had somehow worked out how to send him to this place in order to get him out of the way. That damn ungrateful brat, he would give him a good arse kicking as soon as he got back.

And surely returning was not that hard. Within a few days he might be able to get hold of some herbs, a few spell books and he could magic himself back. He was confident.

"Home sweet home, right?" Alfred stopped at a door marked 523, throwing the door open as soon as he had unlocked it. He stepped in and immediately kicked off his shoes. The apartment was small but comfortable, neither clean nor messy. A few clothes lay here and there, some papers scattered on the coffee table, a pink unicorn plush toy had fallen off of the couch.

Alfred moved to the large TV, checking the answering machine on the phone that sat on top of it. He whistled softly and pressed the first button. England stood watching him, not feeling comfortable enough to sit down in this strange environment.

"Alfred-san, Arthur-san, I just saw the news on TV!" a voice England definitely recognised as Japan's cried through the speaker. "I tried calling you two directly but there was no answer so I'm calling you at your house phone. Please, call me back as soon as you get this!"

The next message: It was Italy's voice.

"Alfreeeed! Ve, are you alive? Are you alright? Ludwig and the rest of us are real worried." – there was an interjection of "I'm not!" from South Italy - "If you're still alive and not a ghost, call us back quickly, okay!"

The next message: France.

Unfortunately, England never managed to hear what a France from this world would have said for Alfred put the receiver down again and pressed the button on the machine.

"Looks like we're going to have a busy night, huh?" he laughed, glancing over his shoulder at England.

England turned away uncomfortably.

The frown Alfred had been putting so much effort in holding back finally emerged. "Um, Arth – I mean, England," he corrected himself since England had consistently insisted on being called that from the moment they checked out of the hospital to their arrival in the taxi. "This is probably all really fast and scary, right? I mean, I would be scared if I were you. How much do you remember? About us, I mean? You know who I am at least, don't you?"

A sigh of exasperation escaped from England's lips. It was times like this that he remembered just why America could be so infuriatingly annoying. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't have amnesia, you git?" he snapped. "This is all a big mistake – probably yours – and if you give me a few days I'm sure that I can fix it."

"Arthur!" Alfred stepped forward imploringly.

"Don't call me that!" England sharply stepped back, glaring at him not to come any closer. "Please, I won't be staying here for long, but for now that's all I ask."

Alfred's expression transformed to one of alarm "What do you mean by that? Where do you think you can go?"

"Home," England replied tersely. Back to fairies, his tea and his rose garden, back to Friday night embroidery and blessed, glorious solitude.

Alfred moved forward, sliding closer to the door as if he thought that England would suddenly make a mad break for it. "This is your home! You don't have anywhere else! Your only family are your brothers and you hate them, remember? Or are you going to stay with your nephew and his foster parents?" he cried.

England had a headache already. Why did Alfred have to shout all the time? Why did he have to be so annoyingly loud?

Rubbing his temples, England sighed; "Alfred, look, will you shut up for a moment and let me think?"

"Promise me that you won't go anywhere!" Alfred shouted.

Well, there was no way in hell England could make that promise since he planned on getting out of this world and back to his own. Even if Alfred would think that he was crazy and try to shove him in a mental home, England thought it was probably best to tell him that he was not the Arthur he thought that he was and, no, for the last time, he bloody well did not have amnesia!

XX

"So, here we are!" America announced; pushing the door open with such force he could almost wrench off the hinges.

Arthur followed Japan as he took his first nervous step inside a place that should have been familiar to him but was not.

The moment he entered his eyes widened.

"This is my house?" he exclaimed. He had seen how large it was from the outside but it seemed even bigger once he was inside. The rooms were spacious and richly furnished with stately oak chairs and tables, mahogany armoires .There was a wine cabinet in the corner of the living room sporting several impressive vintage bottles. Persian rugs and velvet drapes gave the house an impressive air.

Antiques and paintings of people of power hung on the walls or on the mantel piece. Arthur supposed that, living for centuries, England had had enough time and money to become quite a serious collector.

"Well, yeah, uh, England's actually," America said.

"It's…" He did not know what to say. Impressive, expensive, intimidating. "It's…" Big, cold, lonely.

Noticing his nervousness, Japan placed a hand on his shoulder. "Arthur-san, would you like some company? I understand that it must be daunting to spend the night in such a big and unfamiliar place. America will also stay with you, right?"

"Are you kidding? I have loads of stuff to do!" America swivelled around, looking scandalised.

"But, America - "

"It's fine," Arthur shook his head. Truthfully, he would rather be as far away from this America as possible. He did not want to look at him. It hurt to look at him. "Ah, but I'll accept your offer. Thank you," he nodded towards Japan.

"It's no problem, Arthur-san," Japan offered a half hearted smiled as he eyes flitted between the two of them.

"Great!" America beamed. "I'll leave everything in your hands, Japan!" he slapped his back a little too roughly, causing the smaller nation to stumble forward a little. America grinned at him, though Arthur could not help notice how his smile became unsure when he turned his eyes towards him, as if there was something heavy weighing down his shoulders when he looked at him.

Arthur took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He did not know why he suddenly felt like he was suffocating, why the room suddenly become so hard to breathe in, but it was a sensation that did not leave him until America had said his goodbyes.

Arthur did not bother waving with Japan, who followed him halfway out.

He wanted to see Alfred again.

XX

"So you knew an America in your world," Japan took Arthur's story with impressive tranquillity, even though most nations – America in particular – had looked at him as if he were insane. Arthur briefly wondered whether Japan was just humouring him but he realised, if he was anything like the Kiku from his world, he knew that he could relax.

"His name was Alfred but he looks just like this America. Even though they look identical, they're nothing alike though. Alfred is annoying but he's also much more…"

"America is," Japan smiled. "Ah, I think that once you get to know America you will begin to like him."

Arthur's face turned stony. He lowered the cup of tea he had been enjoyed until the moment onto the coffee table. "Like him?" he grimaced. "I don't want to like him! I – I just want to get back to my world!"

Back to my Alfred, he thought, but he did not say it, though from his sigh Japan probably knew what he was thinking. Arthur wanted to go back to the apartment that they shared, to their double bed and the rows of apartment blocks, and the neighbourhood he knew, and the plethora of stray cats that lived in their part of town.

Japan sat in respectful silence. It was not until he had finished sipping his tea did he decide to speak. "Well, Arthur-san, until we work out how to get you back, I think I will probably stay here if it is not too much trouble."

"No trouble, but why?" Arthur looked at him curiously.

"Well, you are a nation. Or at least you look exactly like the nation England that has disappeared. You look like a nation and being a nation is…a little dangerous sometimes, especially since you are actually a human."

"I see," he said, although he did not.

XX

When England woke up in the spare room – he had flat out refused to sleep in the double bed of the only other bedroom – the sun was shining on his face. Groaning, he tried to turn his body to move his face away from the sun but there was a weight wrapped around his stomach.

Confused, England pulled the sheets back a little, and almost screamed.

"Bloody hell!" he swore, retreating to the far end of the bed as he watched Alfred yawn and rub the last traces of sleep from his eyes. "What the hell are you doing, you git?" his eyes narrowed accusingly as Alfred adjusted the glasses on his face.

"N – Nothing," Alfred suddenly blushed. That great idea of sneaking into England's bed at night was suddenly not such a great idea in the morning. "I just thought you might want some company. That and I thought maybe you would wake up and remember."

England frowned. "I don't have amne - "

He had to stop there, or rather the words died on his lips when he glanced at Alfred's face. Since when had Alfred's eyes been so sad? Last time had been…ah that was right. The last it had been on that day, in the rain.

They stared at each other in awkward silence.

"…Do you want breakfast?"

XX

Eating together was an awkward affair. Alfred made toast and a side of eggs, sunny side up, which became the hair on the face of their plates with two fried tomatoes for eyes and a sausage smile. England attacked that first, thinking how typical it was that America – or Alfred – would make such a childish, fatty breakfast.

Since waking, Alfred had not spoken to him but England could feel from time to time that those eyes were carefully watching him. They made him feel uncomfortable. They were sort of creepy. He wanted to shout at Alfred for being rude and staring, for making his food taste so bad, but he settled for just glaring at his plate's bright, bloodshot tomato eyes.

"Do you have any rosemary?" Arthur finally asked, clearing his throat above the oppressive silence. "Rosemary, mistletoe, holly; any plants or herbs that I can use. I think I can return to where I came from but I need the right ingredients and…I don't suppose you have any spell books?"

Alfred looked at him as if he was mad.

England's anger sparked. He stood up, slamming his hands against the table. "Look, I'm just trying to fix everything here! Stop looking at me as if I'm an idiot and help or, if you're going to be a useless twat, at least don't get in my way!"

For a moment Alfred flinched, but the look of hurt, however, was quickly suppressed. Now he simply looked mildly lost.

"Uh, well you used to be into the occult…but that was in high school. I don't even know if you still have those books anymore," he said, trying desperately to be helpful but unsure how this strange, volatile England would react.

"High school?" England looked at him incredulously. Of course, if he was human in this world then he would have had to go through some sort of education system.

"You don't remember that, do you?" Alfred's expression faltered.

"I don't have amnesia!"

"It's okay. There's not much worth remembering anyway."

"I don't have amnesia!"

"Do you want to know about it?"

England sighed with exasperation. "I don't have time to watch you get all sentimental. I'm going to get out of here!"

He rose to his feet, leaving his breakfast half-eaten and a cold cup of tea on the table, and marched out of the kitchen, furious. Alfred hurried out, concern evident on his face.

"England, wait!"

The doorbell rang but they both ignored it.

England moved into the living room, away from Alfred. He needed to be able to concentrate when doing this and how could he concentrate when that loud, stupid, walking stomach was always following him everywhere like an extremely annoying puppy?

The knocking at the door was doing no wonders for his sense of inner-calm though.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and tried to summon Britannia angel. His angel form had more magic than he normally possessed, perhaps even enough magic to set things right. His face contorted with concentration. Something was wrong, almost as if he was being blocked from changing into Britannia angel. What was going on? Did this mean that he really was stuck here?

"England!" Alfred caught up with him, grabbing his hand.

The knocking at the door had become pounding. Someone really wanted to get in.

"Get off!" England slapped Alfred's hand away, cringing at the touch. They had never touched before, they had never so much as brushed shoulders on their way past each other in the corridor, not since that time. Not since the moment they had pointed muskets at each other.

"Wait! Alfred implored. "Wait a minute. Just tell me what's going on. Just - "

Whoever was at the door could not wait for an answer. With one final shove, it flew open and the familiar faces of Francis and Feliciano tumbled in.