Author: supershinywords

August 30th, 2014 - All Roads

The sun stroked deceptively gentle fingers over America's face as the ship bearing him forward eased through mild waters. They'd arrived a few hours earlier than they'd expected when the captain had taken his suggestion and made a minor change of course, allowing them to catch a strong headwind that had propelled them forward like one of the small wave cutters of old.

A ghost of times past painted itself across the insides of his eyelids and for a moment, he could see the England of his childhood stretching out to accept him. In the anticipatory quiet as the crew waited, not wanting to cast anchor but not willing to hurry into harbor without official sanction, America could believe he'd been here before, remembered the sound of water persuading wood on a ship long since decommissioned and destroyed.

There had been more noise, then. Far more. Cacophony. Merchant vessels and passenger ships and navy ships all at once, seeming to be a confused jumble of signals and an overwhelming newness, so strange to the uninitiated child he'd been. England had been pleased with him, then: happy to share his home, happy to accept America's awe and his interest.

America was not so lost in thought that he didn't feel the vessel pick up speed. He opened his eyes and the Pool of London was replaced with the modern port of Grimsby and Immingham. He'd been here before as well, though the experience was not memorable in and of itself.

One of the sailors assigned to him approached. "We've received permission to dock, Mr. Jones. We'll be level with the dock shortly. Do you need time to pack anything away?"

America smiled. Lieutenant Kensey had been assigned to his care and feeding and had approached the task with such a sincerity of effort that America had found it easy to like him. "Don't worry about it, Sam. All packed."

Kensey lingered a moment, his expression twitching minutely as his natural impulse to trust his superiors warred with his newfound familiarity with this particular one, and America had to laugh. "You're a riot, Sam. It may be hard to believe, but I packed everything up."

Sam's expression settled. "Cook will be pleased."

America sucked on his cheek, half sheepish and half amused. "You're probably right, there. All in a good cause, eh?"

"Of course." Sam ducked his head and smiled at the deck. "Your inventions are incredible, sir."

"Sir?" America propped his hands on his hips and laughed. "I thought I'd cured you of that! My name is Alfred, man!"

"Sorry, sir. We're not in international waters anymore and I don't want any demerits."

America snorted air through his nose and rolled his eyes fondly. "Yeah, yeah..." He might have continued to argue, but they were butting up against the nets designed to keep the ship in place while the locke filled and impatience carried him to the side.

At least the new system was efficient: he'd helped design it and had overseen its implementation in a flurry of construction that completely restructured the port to work with the rising water levels. The Floating Fortress was becoming just that in truth, as America's innovations (well, his and the combined team of British and American engineers) were implemented with speed throughout England, Scotland and Wales.

Shade cut through the heat of the sun and America turned his face up to the reflected spray of the surf as the locke filled, but the sun stretched jealous fingers into the shadows of the locke as the ship rose and shortly, they were once more unable to escape the heat without turning indoors.

At least the temperatures here were bearable. Some parts of Florida, Texas, Louisiana, and Alabama still accessible had become a new corner of hell. Mexico and Cuba were worse. The United Kingdom had settled into a hot but livable 26 degrees Celsius during high summer, which England still complained about, but it was better than parts of the world were doing.

Poor England, though. It was a pretty huge change, and it showed in his attire. During the hot parts of the day, he'd loosen his tie as his cheeks began to flush from heat he still wasn't accustomed to, not even after three conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan and the threat of global warming fully realized a decade ago. He might even roll up his shirt-sleeves during meetings. When they weren't on official business, he was in t-shirts and light jeans without fail.

A familiar crisp tone cut through cut through his absent daydreaming as the ship began settling in its new temporary harbor. "Wool-gathering, Mr. Jones?"

England had come to meet him, was waiting now in the shade of a nearby building.

"Arthur? Arthur!" America blinked and dropped his hand where he'd been shielding his eyes as he observed the angle of the sun, then bounded over the side of the boat without bothering to wait for the gangplank.

Even though he was excited, America could still see the paranoid soldiers twitch at his abrupt motions and in respect to the job they did, he slowed down and let his hands hang open and nonthreatening as he took the last few strides to England. There was a moment where he hesitated, just at arms' reach, and his eyes swept over England automatically.

His unbuttoned jacket was an early concession to the temperatures that would have seemed impossible here fifteen years ago. The open jacket bared his collared shirt and lack of tie. He cut an incongruous figure with the soldiers around him clothed in the latest collaboration between America and Canada in counter-terrorism personal defense armor. His eyes landed on two small pins in the crisp folded collar of England's neat shirt and a wave of fondness swept him.

Two years since he'd seen Arthur in person, and now here he was, meeting him at the harbor two hours before they were scheduled to arrive, neatly put together, wearing the national flags of both of their nations in proof of the United Commons Treaty.

Two nations bound by ties of friendship and blood, equal before all…

England's face clouded at what he could see of America's emotions on his face and then his eyes widened as America took one step closer and went down on one knee. He didn't bow his head because that would have sent the wrong message and it would have meant looking away from England's gloriously flummoxed expression.

Kneeling in the dirt with England gaping like a fish down at him, green eyes gone wide in surprise, America smiled and didn't attempt to hide the depths of his fondness. "Hello, Arthur. I missed you."