December
They lay together out in the tall grass of the meadow, both of them flat on their backs. England looked up at the deep blue sky, its color only occasionally interrupted when a wispy cloud floated by far, far above their heads. He hummed contentedly, feeling the warmth of the sun lap at him like waves on the beach of a lake. The wind blew softly, just enough to cool the summer air and make the grass tickle his bare arms and neck. He inhaled deeply, taking in the sweet scent of summer, and turned to look at his partner.
America was beside him, right were he belonged. He was spread-eagled and taking up as much room as possible, as he was wont to do. England propped himself up on his elbow to more easily appreciate America. The boy deserved the stares. He was so beautiful like this, hair yellower than ripe wheat, that skin yet untouched by battle that went on as far as his vast land. Oh, England hoped that for a thousand years poets would cross America's land and write of what they saw in their best words so that the people back in Europe could have the slightest inkling of the beauty that lay next to him now.
It was then that America opened his eyes and looked back at him. Damn, there was no comparing even the sky to those deep blue eyes. No sapphires in any king's crown, no ocean no matter the day could match the depth and color that was staring straight back and him and making America's gorgeous smile all the brighter.
"America," England said, "I lo-"
"Hey, wake up." America said, frowning.
And England did. He opened his eyes and found himself in bed, looking at an America not beside him looking pleased, but bent over him looking slightly annoyed. He held his breeches in one hand and the other was placed upon his hip.
England huffed and sat up, "Why did you wake me? I was having the loveliest dream, you know."
America grinned just to annoy England, "You sleep too much anyway. It can't be good for you."
"You're the one who goes to bed nearly at sunset, even though it's at, what, four in the afternoon now?"
He blushed, "Hey, I'm pregnant. Cut me some slack. Speaking of which," He held the breeches out to England, "You forgot to take these out when you did the others. When I tried to put them on they didn't close."
England sighed and reluctantly got out of bed, going for his own clothes, "Can't you just wear some of your other ones?"
"Come on, it's Christmas! I wanna look good! Well-" He looked down at his stomach, "As good as possible."
England rolled his eyes and began dressing himself, "Come now, America, you're scarcely showing. Once you have more than just your shirt on no one will be able to tell. I've seen you measuring it and even I can't tell when you're fully dressed."
"You mean it?"
"I do."
America smiled, "That's good. I mean… I don't want people to think I'm fat."
"Even if they do, I know better. And I'm the one who warms your bed, remember?"
"I-I do," America said with a blush. He turned around and left the room, "I'm gonna make breakfast. Come down when you're done!"
England smiled to himself and went to sit down at his desk with his needle and thread, beginning the process of loosening America's waistband. He'd have to make new clothes for him soon enough. He wrinkled his nose. America wouldn't even appreciate it, probably. When he saw how big they'd have to start he'd throw a fit, even though England would take both the top and bottom in by a mile. The boy simply didn't understand the cost of cloth, not to mention how conspicuous it would be to keep having to go back and buy more. England sighed. And how would he even estimate how big America would be when he came to term? He knew how massive he himself grew to be, but America was built very differently. It would probably be better to overestimate and deal with America's whining than have to make a new set or let him wander around naked. Although, really, he was due in late May so maybe it would be alright to do that…
Oh, how he longed for the days when a long tunic and hose made an acceptable outfit. It made the whole child-bearing business a lot easier. Hell, even though it was centuries out of fashion, England would switch to them once he went into hiding. He had the feeling that America would throw a fit, though, saying that England was trying to humiliate him by making him dress like a girl. What a little brat pregnancy had turned America into! Although, hadn't he been prone to tantrums all along?
"God," He thought, "Why couldn't Canada have gone into heat instead?"
He shook his head and went back to work. There was no point in lamenting over that now. He made his bed and he would have to sleep in it now. He'd promised America and he would do his duty as a man and as an Empire and fulfill that promise.
He tried to pretend that his dream meant nothing and his word was all that held him.
By the time the church service had ended America was practically bouncing in their pew. England couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. He was almost inspired by the boy. He still actually paid attention. It probably didn't help that England had been through enough services when he had been infatuated with religion that he could probably rattle off the readings for every day of the year in perfect Latin. Of course, they were all English now, but that made it no more interesting. He didn't even have the lovely lilt of Latin to listen to, instead having to dwell on the harder to tune out sounds of his own tongue.
America, on the other hand, was so attentive, so drawn in with his people. England wasn't sure if it was a virtue or a vice, really, but it would no doubt work itself out in time. Of course, now that the time for prayer was over, there was only one thing on America's mind.
"Oh man, the festivals up here are so awesome! I guess people get better at partying when it's really cold, probably because they're really happy winter's going to end soon. But anyway I saw Mrs. Brown cooking all these little cakes the other day and I hope she's sharing them, and I heard the musicians practicing the other day and they're really, really good, and we're all gonna get together and dance later, and I might even have a partner because Lucy Cooper kept looking over during communion, and-"
England tuned him out, knowing he would just keep blathering on, and watched the other people slowly filing out of the church and into the village square. All he really wanted was some hot buttered rum to get rid of the chill that always leaked into churches this time of year and then to maybe see if any of the craftspeople were selling any little baubles he liked. His brothers and America might have taunted him for it, but he did appreciate finely made decorations. They were beautiful and far too easy to overlook in a world of war and hunger and strife. Besides, if he was going to be living in that house for the next twenty years he would like his curio cabinet to look a little less desolate.
After having a few drinks and a rather pleasant conversation with a nice woman who had just come off the boat from Dover, thereby fulfilling his first wish, he began to wander through the rows of booths set up by shopkeepers to fulfill the second. He pulled his cloak close and shivered. When had it gotten so late? Maybe he'd talked to that woman for too long. Then again, who could say what time it was, other than night? It didn't feel too late and everyone he passed still had eyes unglazed with tiredness, but everyone was like that until the wee hours of the morning during festivals.
He looked at countless trinkets but none of them truly spoke to him. He bought a pewter butterfly along with a dragon made of blown glass and an elegantly decorated little cup, but those were just for looks because he needed something to fill the shelves of his cabinet. The ones at home were full of things full of sentimental value, treasures that he'd gathered over the centuries one piece at a time. Who was he kidding, thinking that he'd be able to replace them all in a little village in such an insignificant colony as Vermont? He doubted he could find anything he wanted in all of Boston, much less in this little no-name town.
Just as he was about to give up and see if America wanted to get some dinner and then go home, a small booth right on the edge of the square caught his eye. There was nothing too fancy about it. They were just selling simple wood carvings: some cups and bowls with a few sculptures of native animals, but the quality was beyond anything he'd seen in even London. And then there was that small thing sitting off to the left...
"Sir," He asked the man behind the counter as he picked it up, "What is this?"
The man, a young thing that scarcely looked older than America, smiled and said, "I don't really know."
"What do you mean?" England asked furrowing his eyebrows.
"Well, I make the simple stuff like these," He said, gesturing to the mugs and bowls, "It's my dad who made that and the other sculptures."
"But surely he must have said what it is!"
"What do you think it is?"
England looked at it. It was a spindly sort of thing, really. It looked like a pack of comets rising from the base, twisting and intertwining. In apparently random places small pieces of blue glass held on by small rings dangled from it, the only break in the otherwise solid piece of wood.
"I haven't the slightest," He said honestly.
The man laughed, "I didn't either. Then I found out what he calls it: the Hand of God."
England snorted and turned the piece to all different angles, "It looks nothing like a hand."
"That's what I said. But look," He gently took England's wrist, stopping his movement, "See the grain of the wood? How it bends and moves with each little finger? That's what he meant. He found this piece of wood in the middle of an old knot. He carved it out to fit the path, and then he got this."
England stared down at it. "It has no pattern, though, no face. I like the crystals, but what does it have to do with God?"
"Because God made it this way. Dad just cut out what He grew."
England traced one of the branches. It was twisted, almost ugly. But maybe it was just wild, just nature's way. The light caught one of the pieces of glass just right and it shone a blue the sky couldn't even compare to. He swallowed.
"I'll take it."
"Wha- Are you sure, sir?"
"Yes," England said, smiling. "I'm sure."
He paid the man and went off towards the side where the dancing was taking place. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to show it to America. The boy would probably love it simply because of how unorthodox it was. He couldn't help but smile widely for some reason. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and he was walking more quickly than could possibly be dignified, but he found he couldn't have cared less at the moment.
However, as soon as he caught sight of America he stopped dead. He was dancing, just as he had said, and it was with that Cooper girl, just as he had said. England clutched his new treasure in his hand. Yes, America may have warned him, but who did that little bitch think she was? Oh, if he could get his hands on her-
No, he told himself, no, you're being stupid. It's just a bit of dancing, it's all in good fun. Besides, what right do you have to be reacting like this? You may have fathered his child, but that means nothing for your kind. You've been sleeping with him, but you've been in every European nation's bed at one point or another. That's all this ever was, really. You're taking care of him and the sex is just a benefit. It's not romantic. It never has been, you fool.
He couldn't keep from watching. America was smiling so broadly, his face lighter than England had seen it in weeks. But why was-
"Arthur, dearie! How nice to see you!"
He turned to see kindly old Mrs. Brown coming towards him. "Ah- hello."
"Tired from dancing?" She asked.
"I-I'm not much of a dancer, truly. I'm happy just to watch my- my brother."
"Are you sure? You don't look happy watching."
England said nothing, he just kept his eyes straight ahead, looking everywhere except for at America and his partner.
"He's been doing so much better since you've come." She said, making it clear she was still watching America.
"Is that so?" England asked distractedly.
"Yes. He was always such a lonely boy before. I think he missed you while you were away at college."
"Well, I have been more or less in charge of him since his father passed and mummy was such a wreck then too." He slipped into the lies like a second skin. He had been a lonely, lying old man for far too long.
"How is your mother by the way?"
"She's fine. She wrote me the other day saying that she really loves her new husband and she hopes this marriage won't end like her other two."
"Don't sound so glum! It sounds as though she's happy and from the looks of things there may be some changes in the next year."
England turned to look at her. "What do you mean?"
Mrs. Brown sighed happily, "Just look at them. You know, some of us have been saying for weeks now that Alfred and Lucy would make a fine match. Both of them are so sweet."
"I'm sure," England said coldly.
"Oh, Arthur dearie," She placed a consoling hand on his shoulder, "Don't think of it as losing a brother, but gaining a sister. Besides, you must have done a fine job raising him for him to turn out like this. He's kind, he's gentle, he's creative, and he's quite handsome, especially now that he's grown into himself."
Something about the last statement caught England's attention enough to utterly shift his focus, "What do you mean, 'grown into himself?'"
"Well just look at him: anyone can see he's clearly gained weight since you moved back. It's a good thing too, if not a bit surprising. After all, so many of you Europeans are obsessed with skinny waists! It's nice to see you're putting some meat on Alfred's bones. See how it's done the rest of him good? He almost seems to glow these days."
"I'm sure he does," Arthur slapped a smile across his face mask his concern. It finally happened: someone had noticed. She didn't suspect anything, it would be alright. It just meant that Alfred would have to "fall ill" sooner than expected.
They made idle chat for a while more until Mrs. Brown decided that it was time to find her husband and son and take them home. England went back and gulped down another drink so that he'd be able to tell America he wouldn't see the town for the next five months.
However, it turned out that the main problem with telling America was that he simply wouldn't shut up from the second they got out of earshot of the town.
"Oh man, England, Lucy's such a great dancer! She's the only girl I've ever met who can actually keep up with me. She's so cute when she giggles too, almost like a little kid, and she doesn't even care that I don't know what I'm doing!"
"I'm sure."
"Hey, if you want we can dance when we get home. I'll hum a little something. It'll probably be off-key, but it'll work."
"I'm not interested."
"You sure? You seem kinda-"
"Mrs. Brown noticed," He said to change the subject.
"Noticed what? If you mean that dumb rumor, you oughta know I never slept with her in the barn. Or in her dad's bed. Or anywhere else."
"No, not- Wait, what?"
He smiled, "There are all sorts of stories going around. There always have been. She wants to be a nun, but her dad doesn't like that, so we're pretending to be courting. The next time I move I'm gonna take her with me and drop her off at a covenant."
"Oh…" England said quietly. As in "Oh, you just made me look like a petty, jealous arse."
"Yeah. Sorry I forgot to say earlier, but, you know, baby and all that."
"Right. Of course."
"So wait, if it's not about me and Lucy supposedly banging, what did Mrs. Brown notice?"
"She said you've gained weight since I've come. And she said you're glowing too."
America blushed, "Well- that is- Dammit, England! Don't let your sewing circle friends say rude stuff like that!"
"Look you moron." He grabbed the reins from America's hands and stopped both of their horses, "It's not that she called you fat. Besides, she meant it as a compliment. The point is that even if no one knows it's from a baby yet, you're starting to show."
"I thought you said no one would notice!" America said accusingly.
England sighed, "We must have not noticed because it was gradual, but you are. We're going to have to start hiding you soon."
"But I- I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye."
"It's better that way. If you said your farewells before getting sick, people might suspect something."
"Can't I see it one last time?"
"Yes. On New Year's Eve we'll come back. You can mention to a few people that you've been feeling a bit under the weather and make what peace with it you can." He gently touched America's hand, "Don't worry, love. It's not forever. Once you feel well enough after the baby comes you can go back into town. You can even show it to your friends once it's a few months old. Remember, we're adopting our baby brother or sister once mummy dies in childbirth, and as sad as it may be to lose a parent at such and age we still want him to have a full life."
America smiled and reached over to hug him. "I guess that's why old ladies don't have kids."
"Exactly why," England said, pulling away, "And also why you don't marry crazy men who commit suicide after their wife dies."
"Of course." His smile wasn't as bright and free as it had been in the square, but at least it was something. At least it was for England this time.