Title: Love is a Thing to Become and Eternally Be
Rating: M. And it's not just for swearing.
Pairings: America/Canada/America
Warnings: Uh, sex between male nations (though honestly, if you're reading Hetalia fanfic you cannot be surprised), violence and slight historical liberties in places.
Disclaimer: Standard and not actually useful disclaimer goes here.
Author's Notes: De-anon from the kink meme, no doubt a few people recognize this. I'll slowly post edited chapters here, once a week or so. I won't give a schedule, I'll never follow it. You know, I don't like this part, I don't know why I didn't just edit it out...anyway, I would be very happy if you could leave a review if you take the time to read, even just a 'hey great update!' makes me smile.
xXxXx
Usually, Arthur would never admit to being glad to see America, rising super power that he is, but this is different. After three years of endless, brutal fighting, Arthur would be glad to see just about anyone if they came with the promise of troops and food and water and so much else. "Lieutenant Colonel Jones," the older blond says, managing to keep the grudging relief out of his voice, "we are glad to have you here, do you have your orders?"
America is, for once, all business, "yes sir, we're to set up more medical tents, give an update on rations and then discuss battle plans sir."
Arthur nods, and then dismisses the other officers in the room. Soon, it is only himself, France, Belgium and America, "We are glad to have you," the commonwealth says, "even if you're a bit late."
America doesn't give him the usual shit eating grin, but he does relax, "I didn't do it for you," he says, and Arthur blinks a little, "I didn't do it for any of you." The blue eyes look around the room, resting on the worn down France and the exhausted to the point of failing Belgium. He doesn't say anything else, instead exists the small mud room back out into the trenches.
Alfred makes his way through the muddy maze, eyeing the people around him until he finds what he's looking for. The man is grim looking, though a bit cleaner than most. His shoulder has two broad olive stripes on it, and Alfred pauses for a moment, trying to remember what rank that would make him.
The point is moot, as the man, who'd been concentrating on the ground as he smoked, must feel his eyes on him. Sharp, though tired, brown eyes lock with his and dark eyebrows rise sharply in shock. The man, a captain, Alfred remembers suddenly, studies him from top to bottom, taking in his rank and nationality. Finally, he finishes his cigarette and crushes the useless butt into the wet mud. He approaches Alfred a little cautiously, ducking around a harried looking NCO.
"Lieutenant Colonel," he says, sticking out his hand, "I'm Captain Doore." Alfred shakes the hand firmly, giving the man a quick grin. The Captain smiles back, much more tired but nonetheless welcoming, "you looked as if you needed something, sir." Alfred drops the man's hand, brushing back his hair in a nervous gesture, smiling a little more tightly.
"Lieutenant Colonel Jones. I'm actually looking for someone, Captain, he's stationed here, I believe." The Captain frowns a little at that, scratching his neck.
"You're our first group of Americans," he says, a strange accent coming through, "so I don't know how much help I can be, sir." Alfred just grins again.
"Don't bother with the sir Captain, speak freely," the brown haired man nods at this, a bemused grin on his face, "and the man I'm looking for is actually a Canadian."
Doore relaxes a bit at that, "well, I might be more help then," he concedes, "so who're you looking for."
"Williams," Alfred says firmly, "A Matthew Williams I don't-"
Doore cuts him off, face suddenly miserable, "sir," he says sadly, and Alfred's instantly on edge, "I don't think you want to see him sir." Alfred feels panic claw at his spine at this, imagining all the awful things which could have happened to the violet eyed nation. He squashes it down however, squaring his shoulders.
"I really do captain," he says firmly, "I really do."
The trench they were at was a busy one, in a strategically vital position, and therefore had it's own base hospital. On the outside, it was a miserable looking tent hut hybrid, relatively safe behind the artillery and the entirety of the trench. Inside, was a different story.
Alfred knows, intellectually, that the canvas and plywood walls should not block the sound this well, but they do. The minute you step into the building, all the sounds of warfare are cut off, and Alfred almost wants to exit again. The silence in the hospital isn't absolute, there are men groaning in pain, whimpering, crying and even a few occasional screams, but there isn't much other than that. The nurses and doctors don't yell or bustle, just move efficiently from one bed to the other.
The beds line the walls, as well as an extra column down the centre, and near the end are a few beds which have curtains drawn around them. The nurses don't stop there, though they occasionally stick their heads behind, only to pop back out without a word. Even as the two men head towards the back, one nurse sticks her head behind those awful dirty white curtains, only to come out again, grab a sheet and head back behind the curtain.
"He's over here," Doore says quietly. Matthew's bed is at the end of the left most row, just before the curtain which blocks off the people who can't be saved. At first, he looks like he's sleeping, until one notes the pinkish tinge to the bandages all around his chest and torso, as well as the dried blood at the corners of his mouth. Alfred feels physically sick at seeing his beautiful lover like this, paler than death and completely unresponsive.
"Oh Mattie," Alfred breaths, completely forgetting about their audience, Doore gives him a look, but Alfred ignores him, opting to smooth that curl Matthew hates so much out of his face.
"You two are obviously close," the captain says, dark eyes fixed not on Alfred but on Matthew's chest, watching the shallow rise and fall, "are you cousins or brothers or something?"
Alfred pauses, because he honestly does not see Matthew as a brother, and family is rather subjective when you're a nation anyway. "Or something," he admits finally, "it's -"
"Complicated?" Doore's voice is sardonic, his right eyebrow having disappeared into dirty hair, "Williams has said that exact thing before."
This time Alfred's eyebrow rises, "about who?"
Doore gives him a blank look, "Field Marshal Kirkland of course," he says, as if it's obvious. Well, actually, it should be obvious, Alfred realizes, giving Doore a sheepish grin.
"Of course, he and I don't exactly see eye to eye." Doore gives him a look, but says nothing. They find two chairs after that, neither saying much as they sit themselves next to Matthew's prone form. After an hour or two Alfred gets up, saying he has some orders he should probably follow, Doore laughs softly and says he'll help. Alfred, with the help of the Canadian captain is able to track everyone he needs to down, and before long he finds himself in one of the trenches nearer the front.
Doore leads him through the trench, waving and nodding to people as he passes. Eventually, they reach a small dugout. The dugout is fairly shallow, being on the front lines, and Alfred has to duck to get past the doorway.
Inside there are about ten men, all huddled around a small table. There are two lanterns, in opposing corners, which shed just enough light for the men to enjoy what looks like a poker game. "Gentlemen!" Doore booms as he enters, face alight with a large grin, "it is my honour to introduce Lt. Col. Jones, of Cpt. Williams' confusing family." The men, all tired and underfed looking greet him enthusiastically.
"'lo sir," says one slightly out of place man, his British accent thick despite his Canadian uniform, "care to be dealt in?" Both Alfred and Doore nod and before they know it the men have shifted so there is room on the chair and at the table.
They aren't betting anything, though there is a tin of cookies which one man, boy actually, offers shyly. "They're from my little sister!" he exclaims excitedly, grin large and toothy, "mother says she made them almost all by herself." Alfred feels a little lump form at this, looking at the face of a boy who is seeing things he really shouldn't.
"I'd love one," he says. The boy hands him one, watching him, waiting for his verdict. The cookie is hard, having been shipped over, and a little less sweet than most would want, but Alfred smiles broadly nonetheless, "these are awesome!" He enthuses, and the boy laughs in delight.
"I'll be sure to add that into my letter," he says, "Annie will be so happy at all the praise." Alfred just winks, finishing off the sweet.
"Sir," one man, older than the boy, probably in his late twenties is looking at him with focused grey eyes, "you 'ave been to see Ma- Cpt. Williams, yes?" His accent is distinctly French, and Alfred notices how the man stops himself from calling Matthew by his first name.
"Yes," Alfred nods, "it was one of the first things I did."
Another man, a red head, looks interested, "what did you do first?" He doesn't use the usual sir, and Alfred just shrugs it off.
"I had to speak with F.M Kirkland," he says, barely paying attention to his cards, it's an awful hand, he notes.
The red head nods, accepting this as a valid excuse, "I don't really understand the man," he says, almost conversationally, "one minute he's speaking to the Cpt. as if he's a bit of a nuisance, next he's dragging men out into no man's land to search for someone who should be nothing more than chunks." He sees the look on Alfred's face, confused, and looks at Doore, "Monroe!" he exclaims, "you didn't tell him how the beloved Cpt. ended up in there?"
Doore shakes his head, "I thought it was obvious," he said with a shrug. Several other men snort at this, and the grey eyed Frenchman rolls his eyes.
"Non," he says sarcastically, "it is not obvious at all," he looks at Alfred, putting his cards face down and folds his hands. "A week ago Cpt. Williams was escorting a medical tank to a nearby town we 'ad recently overtaken," he pauses scratching his nose, "the tank 'it a mine, Williams was not in it, grace a dieu, but the force of the explosion and the amount of metal which was thrown at 'im? 'E 'as no right to be alive, though I am not complaining."
"Surviving that wasn't the miracle," the red head says, eyebrows drawn together in contemplation s he studies his cards, "it was the fact we didn't know they got hit." Alfred blinks in surprise, not understanding.
The boy with the cookies explains, "the village was a ways a way, a good week out, they were scheduled to be gone a week." The implications make Alfred eyes grow wide in horror, the thought of Mattie, his Mattie, out in the mud and rain riddled with shrapnel for two weeks makes that dark part of him rise up, baying for blood.
The boy sees the look on his face and rushes to placate him, "it's okay!" He says, waving his hands, revealing his cards to several interested men, some of whom swear, "F.M. Kirkland seemed to know something was wrong after just three days, he went out with five men right away to find them. The nurses we sent were dead, and the supplies were destroyed. So was the escort, but somehow, somehow Matthew survived."
Alfred looks at him, at the men around the table, and sees how miserable the way they've been living for the last few years. He hears them talk about Matthew with such fondness, Doore tells of the day he enlisted, along with Matthew, and how everyone had taken one look at the soft spoken blond boy who was more pretty than anything else, and slated him for dead. Doore told of how Matthew had turned out to be more prepared than any of them for the horrors they faced, and most of all, Doore talked of how their invisible little captain had saved their lives more than once.
Alfred listens learning all their names and histories. The red head is Donald Green from Alberta, the boy is Daniel 'Danny' Pearson, the Quebecois is Pierre LaBlanc. There is also a Robert Killam, Peter Wyatt and so many other. Alfred swaps stories with them all until late at night when he's called away to meet with the higher ups. The next day he's sent away, he knew he would be, but he's forced to leave Matthew with a note. He doesn't give it to any of the nations, he gives it to Doore, telling him "it's important, Cpt. Doore."
The man just looks at him and smiles, "I understand Lt. Col. Jones, he'll get it." Alfred leaves, going to England to fly from an airbase there, and when the war finally ends Alfred F. Jones meets the most unexpected person while in Paris, in 1919 during the most inclusive peace talks the world has ever seen.
Donald Green tracks him down one night, a night when he's trying to track down Matthew because has to talk to him dammit, and silently hands him a small envelope. In the envelop is the list of Canadian soldiers he spent the night with, six names are crossed off, including Danny Pearson and Monroe Doore. Green is gone before Alfred can ask him why he's being given this, and he's so shocked he almost doesn't notice the writing on the bottom.
We thought you would like to know, sir.