Seychelles woke the next morning, disgruntled, but thankfully not confused out of her mind. This somewhat normal idea of 'getting to know one another' had paid off in the sense that she was no longer left reeling and dazed, but, was now faced with the issue of facing England sober, not to mention having to find a way to demand more in the little time it would undoubtedly take for England to give up entirely on his fruitless mission and leave her colony.
She smiled, however, at the hilarious thought of England having to complete such a task this morning, as well as at the comforting sounds of Quincy bustling around in the main section of the cabin.
Surprisingly eager, Seychelles leapt out of bed, barely managing to conceal the grin that just didn't want to go away (stop it, what the hell), getting ready and walking outside, hair still falling loosely around her shoulders.
She was met with Quincy, also half-irritated, muttering to himself and replacing a fancy looking document on the wall with another. The former was in French and the replacement was written completely in English.
"Ce quoi ça, Jean," she asked, grabbing a banana from the counter, sitting, peeling it, and taking a bite.
"This," Quincy answered with a sigh, smoothing out the paper, "is my new official title now that we are under new ownership. Where once I was un commandant français, I am now a British Ambassador to Seychelles."
He spoke her name slowly, in a horrendous attempt at a British accent and the colony in question 'pfft'd' around her banana and rolled her eyes at the unnecessary English modifications that Britain actually believed were doing something to help sway the French-African population away from France.
"Yes, my thoughts exactly, ma chère. Although, if you would excuse me, word has been sent to me of the imminent arrival of our very first Civilian Administrator. His name is Edward Magde and he's due to arrive in about two weeks; I must see that the necessary preparations are made."
Seychelles knew that Quincy liked to work in private when it came to important matters and saw herself out, placing a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder before walking out the door.
She turned sharply to the left, throwing her banana peel into the trees before turning again and walking back the way she had come, stalling before going to see England again. The sun was still somewhat low in the morning sky, and the first thing she had learned about England was that he did not waste a moment's time when it came to getting his work done, hung-over or not. It would probably be a bad idea to interrupt him now, she reasoned.
So, she decided to walk around her settlement, something she hadn't really done before, to her mild self-disappointment. No better time than the present, she reprimanded herself.
She roamed freely, there being too many people to really recognize her face with the intent of following up on it - these citizens were too busy focusing on surviving in a civilization stuck between prosperity and failure.
It was everything a new settlement should look like: beaten down foot-paths that served as roads, a semblance of a pattern of cabins, shabby but not in disarray, and citizens with well-worn smiles on their faces, occasionally shouting out greetings to friends or acquaintances.
Nobody ever stopped, Seychelles couldn't help noticing, however, and baskets of crops and vegetables were always present, always moving from one set of hands to another. It was a hard life, she noted with sad satisfaction, but her people seemed happy, and that was enough to make her happy as well.
She sighed as she realized how greatly she wanted France to see her colony now that it had grown. How she wished he could see her now that she had grown. She wanted him to see her as England saw her - as an equal, and not some young thing he could take advantage of because he couldn't cope with loss.
She had already forgiven him, of course. It wasn't like she was about to hold a grudge against her first friend she had ever met and would be likely to have for the rest of her life; that would be silly. She just wished he knew that she had done so. Maybe his delay between visits was in part due to his fearing her reaction, not being able to face what he had almost done.
Seychelles just wanted to be friends with him again. Compared to who she was now, the past seemed relatively unimportant.
The day grew steadily warmer, and she squinted up at the noon sun.
It would have to be close to lunch time by now, she figured, the excuse to see England clicking soundly into place and the thought of France slipping away just as easily. She was actually quite proud of herself for showing such restraint thus far - after that first kiss, she was not about to let England get away with giving her nothing more before he left to check back up on his own country.
What was more, she was learning what it meant to be a part of this whole Nation business, and becoming more familiar with it as well. Their responsibilities required their presence in several places at once; a Nation was never guaranteed to be in one spot for too long. Unless, of course, they were a tiny archipelago in the middle of an ocean and had nowhere else to go, or something. England's lengthy stay was probably pretty rare, Seychelles reasoned, and she was lucky to be able to spend so much time with a Nation she liked as a person, not once she was forced to like.
Not that she didn't like France - that was far from the truth, but France was not here at the moment, England was; her appetite for knowledge and experience had grown no less insatiable, and she needed to gain said experience somehow.
She grimaced at how business-like she sounded; perhaps England was rubbing off on her too much. But she dismissed the thought just as quickly, considering it was the truth, and if this was who she was growing up to be, then so be it. Plus, the thought of standing her ground as opposed to running away made Seychelles' mind swell slightly with pride and daring.
She marvelled at her newfound curiosity - now that she had decided to really open herself up to a Nation of her own free will, her mind jumped from one possibility to the next concerning other Nation's relationships: were England's feelings reciprocated by America? Did France initiate his relationship with Canada, or was it the other way around? Who was she compared to everyone else these Nations had had relations with, and how could she make herself special, remembered?
Her train of thought derailed, suddenly, as she realized with a start that her feet had automatically carried her to the front of England's cabin. She hesitated for a split second, ultimately confirming her final decision on the matter, and raised a hand to know on the door.
Her knuckles met thin air however, as the door chose that moment to be opened by a coat and hat adorned England who, upon seeing her, cocked his head to the side looking a bit unsure of himself. However, this look did not last long as he quickly grew flustered and, to Seychelles' great amusement, blushed slightly, holding the door back for her with a 'well, what are you waiting for' and gesturing for her to come in, as if that had been his intention all along.
Smiling coyly and saying nothing, she stepped in and, after the door had closed, helped England out of his coat, hanging it on the correct hook and turning back to face him, heat now creeping up her own cheeks. But she didn't really mind.
"England-" she stepped forward, heart suddenly beating at a mile a minute, but was cut-off mid stride and mid sentence as the Nation in question put up a hand to stop her, his lips quirked down in a thoughtful frown of epic proportions.
She waited, expectant, but unsure of the reason of his hesitation.
England crossed his arms and opened his mouth to speak; after a second he closed it again, and Seychelles could almost hear his pride battling with whatever else it was he was trying to resolve. He sighed, resigned, and almost slouched before thinking better of it and snapping back to his always perfect posture.
Seychelles raised her eyebrow and he scoffed, raising his hands in the air and letting them fall back down to his sides, sitting with a thump in the nearest chair. He opened his mouth once more, and this time, words emerged.
"Understand, Seychelles, that in the many, many years I have been a Nation, and have had to experience the cruelties of others such as myself, only one, other than yourself, has ever willingly shown me any genuine romantic interest.
"I have shown and have been shown," here he grimaced and spat the word out, "affection to and by other Nations, but only out of necessity, force, or manipulation, which, I am sure you can imagine, is neither enjoyable nor particularly amiable."
Here he paused, the great British Empire, and looked into her eyes, disparity apparent.
"I...well. That is to say... It should be clear to you as to why I may come off as a tad hesitant."
Seychelles stared back at him, eyes wide as she bit her bottom lip in awe. Here was the unbeatable British Empire, mighty and proud, but unable to trust anyone because he had never received any trust in return.
It must be terrible, she thought, but did not speak.
"I'm...I'm sorry it didn't work out with America," she whispered. She grabbed her left elbow with her opposite hand, unsure of where to put her arms. This was certainly not how she had envisioned this meeting would go.
England, instead of flinching, sighing, negatively reacting, or what have you, narrowed his eyes confusedly and leaned forward ever so slightly in his chair.
"You misunderstand, my dear, I was referring to Portugal, not America; it's not right for me to show any romantic interest to the lad yet. For almost two hundred years I acted as his father and then his brother. It wouldn't have been right for me to ask anymore of him."
And just like that, Seychelles had her answer, had her confirmation, had her decision.
She walked forward, a small genuine smile on her face, and took England's hand both of hers, inviting him to stand. He did, slowly rising to meet her, free hand automatically falling to rest on her hip.
A thrill coursed through her as she looked into his eyes. As much as she tried to keep her voice steady, it shook with the realization of England's act.
"T-thank you, England. Now I see... That was something France could never do. He-he always wanted more. Kept changing the lyrics of Frère Jacques to 'ma soeur Nation' or 'mon frère Nation,' and he would teach me and counsel me and, and-"
She gasped at her words, staring at a point on England's left shoulder, but kept going, clutching his hand ever tighter. He continued to listen.
"And then he would try to kiss me, or, or touch me, or insinuate that I was supposed to give him more, and...and..."
Here she forced her gaze up to look directly at England. She understood now. All thoughts of experience, or business, or whatever the hell she was thinking about before evaporated as she looked into England's green eyes. She understood now.
"And that's why you can trust me. I see you for who you are. Not a bloodthirsty Empire, not some horrible figment of France's imagination, not heartless. Overly formal, and a little power hungry, sure, but someone who understands what their place should be. Someone who understood me. And I can't thank you enough for that."
England took his hand from hers and placed it softly against her cheek, cool against her heated skin. His smile, however, still betrayed a touch of worry.
"I will not deny that I came here to escape my troubles with America. I am, of course, thrilled that I was able to find myself in this situation, with you, but I do hope you are aware that I am not using you as a means for my escape...not anymore."
He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. The contact gave her courage.
"Hey," she said soothingly. "We're Nations, aren't we? We need to take what we can get while we have it. And what I have at this moment I wouldn't give up for the world."
England laughed and slid his hand from her hip to her back, holding her against him.
"You haven't even seen the world yet, love."
"Shut up," she whispered against his lips, for once not caring to fight against the breathlessness, and kissed him.
The silence roared.
After a moment of perfect stillness, their lips and bodies moved together and Seychelles realized that she had no idea whatsoever what to do with her hands. There were so many body parts to think of! She placed one hand on his waist and the other haphazardly on his shoulder, trying to maneuver it so that it fit between his collar bone and his shoulder blade. When this utterly failed, England responded by taking it and placing it flat over his chest, over his heart, and she just about lost it at the sweetness of such a gesture.
She pressed forward, taking in as much of England as she could; he obliged by submitting his mouth to hers, allowing her this dance. She embraced his mouth with her own, teeth nipping at his lower lip, eliciting a small moan from the Nation in front of her. She grinned against him at this small satisfaction.
And with that thrilling sound, something changed. Their actions became more frenzied, heated, feral, as if all the Nations of the world would personally appear tomorrow to whisk England away from her.
She moved forward, relishing her height, and eventually pushed him back against a wall, gasping as England's lips moved from her mouth to the curve of her neck, and the hollow of her collarbone. His calloused hands moved slowly up and down her back, bunching up the folds of her blue dress.
His lips moved back up her neck to graze her cheek, her ear; they were both breathing heavily by now: shuddering breaths.
"I take it you've never moved beyond this point before," England whispered against her ear, and Seychelles shivered at the low, growling tone to his accent as it washed over her.
"N-no." She laughed, eyes wide, as England suddenly turned and placed one hand behind her knees and the other behind her back, scooping her up and walking towards his bed. He kissed her once and set her gently down when they got there, before straightening and pulling the curtain across the window, dulling some of the light streaming through.
He turned his attention back to Seychelles, his smile playful and his eyes hooded. He bent over her and kissed her, taking her in, hands roving down her shoulders, her chest, her stomach, lower and lower, brushing over bare legs...
"In that case," he murmured, slipping the sleeves of her dress off of her shoulders, "I'll take good care of you, darling."
Here he paused, hands placed on the bed beside each side of her head, and looked at her.
"If you're okay to continue, that is."
Seychelles smiled and hoped that the gratitude was apparent in her eyes as she nodded, not trusting herself to speak, arms wrapped around the back of England's neck. She pulled him down towards her so that they could embark on this part of their journey together.
They set sail.
I I I
Three days later, Seychelles stayed the night at England's house for the first time.
Four days after that, which included a very red-eared and spluttering Nation, England politely implied that Seychelles should simply call him by name, because voicing such titles in the middle of a settlement was bloody ridiculous. So she did just that.
By the end of the next week, England's entire store of rum was gone, his familiarity with the island was enhanced, and, in the evenings, Seychelles personally saw to it that he paid more attention to her than to his paperwork.
Finally, after no further successes at banishing the slave trade, the looming threat of Napoleon invading his home country, and the arrival of a certain Civil Administrator, Edward Magde, it was time for England to return home.
Seychelles stood with him on the beach, the day of his departure, straightening his collar and trying desperately to keep a neutral face, devoid of tears or sadness. She had had something truly special with England, and she wasn't about to let a gap of a few years encroach on the happiness and gratitude she felt towards his efforts of helping her.
"You need to be careful, my dear," England was saying, practical as always. "This Edward chap is not aware of the position you hold, and will therefore treat you as less than you are probably used to being treated by myself and by Quincy. I've also heard he is a bit of a twit."
Seychelles laughed shakily and let her hands fall, slowly, from England's collar. She smiled wanly and forced herself to hold his gaze, losing herself in those green eyes.
"Thanks, Arthur. Glad to know you're looking out for me."
England cleared his throat and glanced to his left, watching the crew prepare to disembark from the ship and row ashore. He looked back with a sigh, reaching forward to take Seychelles' hand in his own, lacing their fingers together.
"Of course, I...well. I do not know when I'll be able to come back and visit, my dear, nor do I know how different the times will be when I do. I -"
He shut his eyes and shook his head, squeezing her hand before opening them again to look at her once more.
"Bollocks - that didn't sound right; I'm sorry -"
"No, it's okay," she interrupted, smiling despite herself. She had had her fair share of ill-planned speeches with France; it wasn't her place to judge.
"I'm stronger now than I've ever been thanks to you, and you need to do what you need to do, okay? Just do me a favour and don't drown in your paperwork, alright, Arthur? And... And don't forget me," she whispered these last few words.
England smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling pleasantly. He took her chin in one hand, pulling her close and kissing her, once last time. His lips lingered on hers, stealing her breath and comforting her, all at once.
"I don't know if I can avoid the former," he murmured blithely against her lips, "but I can most certainly promise to never forget you, my sweet Seychelles."
She beamed and moved to the side so that she could embrace him. His strong arms enveloped her frame; there were no twirls, no sudden movements, no flirtatious remarks, just the same serene understanding they had come to realize regarding one another.
One final squeeze and they parted; the rowboats had reached the shore.
England pressed her hand once more to his heart, and the reassurance spilling from his smile was all Seychelles needed to know that it would be alright, in the end.
"Goodbye, Arthur - I'll miss you!" She winked and let his hand fall from her own.
"Ta-ta, my love. I shall see you soon."
With that, England turned to leave her and her island, turned to return to his own country, turned to travel the world, to stretch himself thin over countries, continents, and oceans, fighting the good fight, and, win or lose, carry on to face whatever came next.
Seychelles may have been just a part of the grand scheme of things, merely a piece of the world's puzzle, this Nation's puzzle, but she truly believed she had managed to earn her way into its centrepiece, a part of his puzzle England would never forget. Or, at least, she could hope she had.
She watched as England shook hands with the Captain, and with who could only be Edward Magde, before climbing into the boat with the first-mate, ready to make way once more. As the boat slid smoothly away, his eyes did not leave hers.
And when, after a few minutes, the boat had reached the shore and England had taken his natural place at the helm, he looked back at her and placed his own hand over his heart, then waved, just once, a simple gesture, and turned away for good, shouting at his men to hoist canvas and weigh anchor, a sense of finality to his voice.
Seychelles realized, belatedly, thinking of France's question to her on the beach so many years ago, that it was a perfect goodbye. She felt sad, of course, but mostly happy and gratuitous, bursting with joy at the thought of the weeks she had spent with England. She wouldn't have traded that time for anything.
She started, as a hand fell softly on her shoulder.
Looking to her right to its origin, she smiled once more at Quincy, who had evidently just shown up to see Mr. Magde to England's, no, the empty house waiting for him in the settlement.
"Ça va, Séchelles?"
"Ça va," she replied without a hint of doubt.
Yes, she was fine. More than fine, actually. She had the support of France himself, the compassion of the great Empire England, and the ever-present friendship of Jean-Baptiste Queau de Quincy. She was ready to face this 'twit,' Edward Magde. She was ready to face the world.
Just watch me.
AN - Ooooh, I like that ending. :P Uuuum, yeah! Things will get more historical from now on, so I hope you liked my England Arc!
Translations: ce quoi ça = what's that commandant français = French Commander First 'Ça va' = are you alright? Second = I'm fine.
Historical notes: Bye-bye to England/Bartholomew Sullivan! Being a colonial governor/commissioner to Seychelles just wasn't good enough for him, I guess...
Erryone, including Quincy, got their titles British-ified, which I find hilarious.
Lots of mentions about Edward Magde, to act as Seychelles 'Civilian Administrator,' whatever the hell that is - you'll find out more about him in the next chapter! Please bear in mind that there have been many Seychelles governors/commissioners/administrators over the years, but I'm only including the ones who had any major influence over Seychelles history. Otherwise this story would never end. Wikipedia has a nice little section listing Seychelles' colonial governors, if you're really curious. :P
Britain and Portugal, interestingly enough, have the oldest still-standing alliance in the world. The 'Anglo-Portuguese Alliance' was established in 1373! If that isn't a reason for a genuine romantic relationship, I don't know what is. ;)
We are in the midst of the Napoleonic Wars, don't forget! I think England should prolly get his ass back to Europe and Lord Nelson so he can put a stop to them Frenchies. No offense, French readers... :P
Thanks again for reading! I'm going on vacation for a week, so the next chapter won't be up for a while. Please review and I'll see you soon!
-WhiteWinters