XX
Here I am 05
XX
It seemed to Arthur that he was forever doomed to be woken up by something way before a decent hour. This time it was not Japan politely shaking him awake with breakfast made and ready on the table but the rather loud, and very insistent, ringing of the telephone.
Cursing under his breath, he flung himself out of bed and raced toward living room where the phone was resting by his much unused television.
"Hello?" Arthur answered the call rather breathlessly.
"Arthur-san!" Japan's flustered voice was the last thins that he had been expecting to hear on the other end. Granted, he had been rather worried when he had not returned last night, but he had been sure that Japan would know how to take care of himself. He knew how this world worked after all.
"J - Japan? Is that you? Where were you? Are you okay?" Arthur gripped the speaker slightly closer, listening intently to every heavy breath that came through.
"I - I'm very sorry Arthur-san. When I went to use the public facilities I met an old woman whose shopping bags had broken so I accompanied her to her house carrying her shopping for her. I planned to be back in fifteen minutes but then she insisted on making dinner to thank me and I couldn't say no so I ended up staying for dinner and then her kids came back and wanted to play so - "
"H - Hang on Japan," he said before Japan could start apologising again. "I understand. I completely understand, and it's okay. I got back fine. I had dinner…"
"I'm so sorry for leaving you! I'm making my way to your house right now!"
Ah so that explained the panting, he thought. Japan was probably hurrying back as he was talking. A soft, warm feeling bloomed inside Arthur's chest. After all the crap that had happened to him, he feeling as though at least someone cared for him.
"Technically, it's England's house, but thank you." The smile had was wearing when he hung up faded a little upon an after thought. Japan had called it his house. Though he knew that it was probably not intended, it felt as if it was becoming a given that he would be staying a while longer in this world.
He looked at his hand resting on top of the phone, to the empty leather couch covered with a knitted woollen throw-over, the shade of fading sand, like something his grandmother would have owned.
He listened to the echo of silence and sighed.
"Alfred…"
XX
"Coming! I'm coming, I said!"
It was midday by the time Arthur bustled towards the door. Either Japan was being attacked by dogs right now, or he had a very insistent postman on his hands. The stove was smoking from where he tried to toast some bread and patches of soot dirtied his apron and face.
"Coming!" he grumbled, waving a spatula in his hands as he wrenched open the door.
It was not Japan, nor was it the postman.
"A - America?"
He could hardly believe what he was seeing. America was just about the last person, or country, he ever expected to turn up on his doorstep without a damn good reason for it. Even more so since America seemed to hate him so much for no explicable reason other than looking like someone he did not happen to like very much.
"Paperwork," America forwent all the pleasantries and shoved a large blue folder into Arthur's hands. It turned out he did have a reason for turning up after all.
Fighting back the urge to lecture him about ringing beforehand, Arthur managed a very intelligent; "…What?"
America leaned against the doorpost, sighing and running a hand through his hair. "Well I couldn't just tell my boss what really happened about you and England switching places or whatever so he still thinks you're the country and he sent some documents that he would like you to look up before the next Anglo-American meeting," he managed to explain without making eye contact once.
"I see," he said, without having a clue what was going on. "And when is this meeting?"
"Next month."
"Next month?" Arthur almost squawked. "That's ages away!" Did America seriously assume that he would be sticking around for a whole month?
America shrugged. "Yeah, but England always used to start on things really early. Probably didn't have anything else to do, so…"
Arthur shuffled the papers awkwardly in his hands, careful not to get soot on the precious typescript. "Well…err, thank you, I guess. I'll have Japan help me with them later."
"Are you an idiot? You can't ask Japan!" America suddenly jumped, startling Arthur and making him drop the spatula on the carpet. Well that would leave a stain…
"W - What? Why not?" he stuttered, bending over to pick up the spatula again. When he rose, America had his hands braced against both sides of the door frame, scowling.
"Oh geez, you really don't know anything do you?" he rolled his eyes. "Look, I'll explain it in small words so even you can understand. This folder…is for…the Anglo-American meeting. Anglo-American! Japan's cool and all but you don't share intel to a third party. Then they'll know everything!" he said with an infuriatingly patronising tone that Arthur felt the urge to slap him with his spatula.
"Like what? How you plan on make chewing gum that tastes like roast beef," he snorted, quickly flicking through the bullet points of the first page.
"That was my point and it's a good one! It will help lower obesity levels!" America snapped, seriously offended.
"Combating global warming by building a giant shield?"
"Look, shut up!"
"What's this stuff that's been partially blacked out?" he asked. "Military defence operations? Your government plans to station twelve thousand troops - "
America clamped a hand around his mouth. It was the first time America had really touched him, and although Arthur was sure that he should feel more annoyed about it, he was too stunned.
"Idiot, don't read Top Secret stuff out loud! What if your neighbours hear?" America hissed.
Arthur batted his hand away. "What? This is a detached house and my garden itself an acre wide."
"Yeah, well you might have hobos living on your land. Have you ever thought about that?" America asked as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "For god's sake. I didn't think you could be this stupid."
Arthur flinched. There it was again. Why did he always insist on insulting him? Even when there was no need, America always managed to slip in a rude comment somewhere. It was almost as if he went out of his way to be unnecessarily spiteful.
Alfred used to tease him too, back when they were still drifting somewhere between the lines of acquaintance and rivals. This was different though. With Alfred there had always been a sense of respect, a sense of knowing how far one could push and when to stop and the line between one and the other.
There was no line with America. He was like a child who, once stung, went around squashing innocent wasps before they could get him.
"Well, thank you very much. If you're quite done insulting me, I would like to get back to my tea," Arthur replied tersely, planning to leave him on the doorstep where he was.
No such luck. Without waiting for an invitation, America followed
"You like that stuff too, huh?"
"Of course! I don't feel right unless I have a cup of tea in the morning," he muttered, realising that asking America to leave would be no good and would probably just earn him a few extra insults for his trouble. Besides, he still could not shake that shadow of Alfred from his mind, no matter how determined he was to see America for who he was. He still felt something comforting in his presence. If only he would keep quiet.
They made it to the kitchen without incident. Most of the smoke had disappeared through the back door, which Arthur had left open to air the room. He quickly drew out two cups - it was courtesy after all - and the tea bags from the cupboard.
"Earl grey with two teaspoons of sugar and a dash of milk in the morning, black in the evening and camomile in the afternoon if you're feeling stressed out," America took a seat at the table looking out onto the garden.
Arthur looked up in surprise as he was about to add the second teaspoon to his earl grey. "How did you - "
"He drinks the same boring stuff as well," America muttered, eyes keenly trained on the lace trim of the curtain. "Well, since you've got no taste buds I guess it doesn't matter, but it makes me feel sick whenever I see you drink that stuff."
Placing the second cup of tea in front of America's seat, Arthur grimaced. "Then perhaps you should leave. I'm going to have some tea now."
America scowled at the tea but did not move. Sighing, Arthur took the seat opposite him and leaned back, slowly sipping his tea with relish. He breathed deeply, almost closing his eyes. Ah, blessed tea! It had the same heavenly taste no matter what the world.
The silence lasted only a minute before America felt the urge to open his mouth again.
"…You're really boring, you know?"
Arthur almost spat out his precious Earl grey. Shocked out of his pleasant reverie, his wiped any stray drop from his lips, grumbling; "Oh I'm sorry, would you like me to spin plates on my fingers whilst singing Oh Danny boy?"
America said nothing and they fell into silence once more, though Arthur now found it impossible to return to enjoying is drink. He half-expected America to say something again, but he did not, and the minutes ticked by in silence.
Arthur wanted to say 'well this is awkward', only it was too awkward to mention that it was awkward. He did notice however, that America was intently staying at his hands on the table, and had been doing so for the past five minutes of silence, his tea untouched.
After a while Arthur thought that he would be heroic and say something that, hopefully, would not be scoffed at.
"Aren't you worried?" he asked. "I mean, what if I'm stuck here and England won't ever come back?"
"Well then your country's screwed, isn't it?" His bluntness was cruel.
"Don't you care?"
"It's all the same to me."
Arthur put his teacup down on the saucer. There was no way he could enjoy tea this way. "I feel sorry for England…because, if he's anything like me, then I'm sure he loves you very much."
He almost did not notice the wince that passed across America's face when he mentioned love, but he managed to catch it. Barely.
"No, England hates me," America shrugged, eyes still kept firmly on the tablecloth. "…I don't really care though. I'm too awesome for him to do anything to, you know?"
"I'm sure," he rolled his eyes.
"What's he like?" America asked.
"Who?"
"That…Alfred."
rthur was almost speechless. It was the last thing he had ever expected America to ask. Of course, he was curious about England and what had happened between America and England to cause such a rift, but he could hardly come out and ask it so bluntly the way America had. Part of him wanted to bait him with a 'Oh, are you curious?' but he decided that that was too risky.
He sighed and leaned back, trying to think about Alfred and everything that had happened between them. It was not hard but, being so far away and with no assurances of ever returning, it stung a little to remember. He hoped that Alfred was safe.
"He's an idiot," he decided to start with the most truthful part. America's eyes jumped up for a moment to cast him a surprised glance.
"But he's a nice idiot," he continued. "He's the type of guy who will probably get run over by a truck while trying to save a kid stuck in the middle of the road or crack his skull open falling from a tree after trying to rescue a kitten. You know, always doing little stupid heroic things like that. I'm not saying that he's perfect, or even that you should try to be more like him," Arthur assured him. Although, he thought, it would not kill him to be a .little bit nicer, surely. "He's greedy and childish and when he wants something really badly he'll stop at nothing to get it but…he's…"
America looked down.
Arthur smiled. "…dazzling, I suppose. I don't really know how to put it. Like the very first time you notice how blue the sky is, or that feeling when you were young and tried to catch the tails of clouds. I suppose…to me…Alfred feels like that."
America still said nothing. In the silence Arthur blushed, realising what he had just said. He wondered if he had been a little too sentimental, too cheesy. He did not snort at him or laugh though, that had been something.
"Thanks for the donuts by the way," Arthur said and blushed immediately afterwards. He felt stupid and awkward saying these things.
"I said I was going to throw them away, didn't I? It was practically like giving it to trash."
Arthur had to turn his head to make sure that the hurt was not visible on his face. He did not know why, even now, America could still cut though him so keenly. Like a knife to the heart…but he did not feel like crying. He had done all that last night while Japan was absent. Speaking of Japan…
"So how did you two meet?" America asked as though he had not just insulted him terribly. As if nothing, in fact, had happened.
"H - Huh? …Oh. Well that's a long story," Arthur replied lamely. He could not keep up with this constantly switching subject.
America propped his elbows on the lace cloth. "Don't worry. I'm bored. Why else would I be around here?"
"I thought it was because of work," he muttered under his breath.
"Yeah, that too."
Arthur put the blue folder on the spare seat out of the way. He felt tentative about starting another story, especially since he was not sure how America would react to it. Well, there would certainly be a lot of insults and derision, but he had already reached the half-way bar of how many insults he could take per day before losing it.
Gulping back his misgivings with the rest of his tea, Arthur shrugged. He might as well do something until Japan returned.
"Well, we the first time we met was at an open day, but that was only briefly and it didn't go too well actually. The next time was when he started attending the same university as I did. We both majored in the sciences by the way," he explained.
"Really? I thought you'd be more of an literature person," America made the first comment of that day, other than his observation about how he took his tea, that was neither an insult nor laced with boredom.
"I prefer to keep leisure and work separate," Arthur simply replied. "Anyway, because we were doing roughly the same subject I'd always run into him during the day.
After our…less than spectacular first meeting, he took every opportunity to harass me. It wasn't even tasteful tormenting! He'd do childish things like try to steal my text books or put gum in my hair. He'd even sneak into my lectures and poke me from behind or sit next to me in the cafeteria and steal my sandwiches when I wasn't looking…"
He laughed a little at the memory, but his laughter died when he noticed America's reaction. He was not looking at him anymore - he was back to staring at the tablecloth again - but Arthur could tell that America was listening to every word.
XX
England was sure that Alfred would be the first one to break the kiss, but the moment he felt his tongue slide into his mouth he managed to angrily wrench himself away, gasping with shock.
"T - This is a - a bad joke, isn't it? D - Don't try to toy with me, you bastard!" he yelled.
"Do I look like I'm joking?" Alfred's face was completely serious.
England said nothing, he just continued to stare at him as though he were a madman, which surely he must be to have kissed him.
A moment later, Alfred's expression softened. "Arthur," he looked at him imploringly.
"England," he corrected.
Alfred shook his head, taking one cautious step towards him the way one would approach a feral animal. "England then, whatever," he stretched out a hand, beckoning England to take it, which he did not. "I love you. I mean it. I'm not toying with you."
There was something so sincere, so desperate in his tone that England would have caved in. Would have. But a hundred years of memories were not so easily defeated by a loving tone and an imploring gesture.
"What's wrong?" Alfred frowned when he noticed that England was not moving toward him.
"What's wrong?" England hissed from his very comfortable place standing five steps away from Alfred. "How can I trust a single thing you say to me? If you're anything like him I know you'll say one thing and then take it back when your feelings change!"
"But my feelings won't change!" he insisted.
"How do you know?" England snapped. "Are you psychic? Can you see into the future? Because if you can I'd love it if you could tell me how the hell I get out of here!"
Alfred opened his mouth to protest but must have though better of it for he ended with a sigh, running his hand though his messy bed hair. "Okay," he conceded, "you're right. I'm not psychic. I can't guarantee what will happen in the future, but you know what? I don't care about that. What I care about is what's going on right now and about the person in front of me at this very moment."
England shook his head as if to say 'I don't believe this' but found himself out of hurtful things to snap at him with.
Taking this as a good omen, Alfred managed to gain one step of distance without England backing away just yet. Even the darkness could not camouflage the expressions that flashed across their faces, though it obscured everything else; the unicorn plush, the arms of the recliners, a plastic toy dinosaur standing on the mantel piece between the more refined porcelain figurines.
Alfred's expression was one of hope and fear, gently covered by the all-forgiving blanket of love. England stared at that face so like, and yet so unlike, the person that he knew. It was not until he touched England's elbow did he realise that he had somehow managed to cover the distance between them.
"When we started going out, I couldn't tell you that, years from now, we'd be caught up in an accident and that you'd forget about me," Alfred whispered.
"I don't have amnesia!" England hissed back.
"And you'd come to hate me," he continued, ignoring him.
"I don't…hate you," England turned his face away from Alfred's, which was really getting too close. "I don't think anything of you." No, it was not Alfred that he hated.
"But you don't love me," though he spoke calmly, England noticed him wince as he said those words. He knew it hurt to put those thoughts into words, making it true, making it concrete. Irrefutable.
"I love you. But even if I knew that this would happen back then and that, maybe, you will never love me again, I'd still want to be with you because it was worth it, you know? We had fun. I fell in love. You did too, I'm sure. So it was worth it."
"You could have saved yourself a lot of pain."
"I know," Alfred's smile was terrible. Like a blow to the gut. "But the walls you build to keep out pain also keep out happiness as well…or something like that!" he chuckled lightly to try and disperse the tension that had been building between them.
"Then I guess I'm just a coward!" England snapped, turning away from him.
Of course he was a coward. Hadn't he known that all along? In the game of love the one who is loved wins and the one who loves is the loser. There was no way England's pride would allow him to lose but, more than that, there was no way he could bring himself to trust America, or Alfred for that matter, with something as delicate as his heart.
How the mighty have fallen. Look how weak he had become. Afraid of even that much. He disgusted himself as well.
"England?" Alfred slid his hands over his shoulders before England managed to swat them away.
"Y - You can share the bed with me," he grudgingly conceded, "but if you so much as try do anything funny, I'll break your fingers!"
"I'll keep my hands to myself. Hero's word," Alfred raised his hands up innocently, laughing. The sound of his laughter, genuine laughter, bore a hole through England's chest. How long had it been since he had heard that sound?
The shuffled awkwardly into bed on either side. Alfred had been right; it was big enough so both of them to sleep quite comfortably without the least risk of accidentally brushing each other.
Yet England felt even more awkward than he had when he was sleeping alone. Maybe sometime during the night he would be able to get up and sleep on the couch. Alfred, content that they were at least sharing a bed again, fell asleep rather quickly, leaving him only to his thoughts.
England stared up at the patterns on the ceiling trying not to move around too much. So it was worth it to get hurt in the long run for present happiness? That sounded like a bad investment to him.
Then again, when was the last time he had really been happy? He had kept himself holed away on his little island, in his little house, batting away the hands stretched out to him so that those hands would never be given the chance to push him away.
Was it the same with America? After the revolution things had been rocky but they could have patched things up had England not been so intent on making sure that he would never be betrayed again. After that alliances became shallow things.
"But I don't love America," he whispered to himself, and had to repeat the words over and over in his head just to be sure.
After his thoughts were settled, England thought that it was high time to get out of bed and back on the couch. That, however was proved impossible by Alfred who, as if interpreting his thoughts even in his sleep, suddenly rolled over and wrapped his arms around him.
England's face went from normal to bright red in less than a second. Alfred pulled him closer, nuzzling his head into the crook of England's neck.
"Arthur," he heard him murmur in his sleep, smiling slightly. He must be dreaming of good things.
England tried to wriggle free but it was impossible without waking him. He groaned, dropping his head back against the pillow.
"Some hero you are," he muttered.
XX