Chapta Tree! I don't own Hetalia, R&R!

Chapter Three: The End of a Nation

It was over, he knew it was. Looking at America at the other end of his rifle, all he had to do was shoot him and everything would be over. The rain was coming down harder and harder as Britain tried harder and harder to hold back the tears while he pointed his gun at the young nation he had seen grow. The one he had snuck toys and gifts behind New England's back. The one that was so excited to see him, but he rarely got to visit. His young nation was now fighting for his independence and all it would take to stop the madness was for him to pull the trigger.

The words New England had said to him when he went to her for help rang through his head, "Make sure you and America come out of this alive."

His hold weakened on his gun, "Fool," he muttered lowering his rifle, "Th-there's no point of firing, is there?" Britain dropped to his knees, in front of America, his men, and the rest of the enemy. "D-damn it… why?"

America stared down at the man he called big brother when N.E. couldn't hear, the man he looked up to and followed for so many years. "You used to be so big," he stated before turning to the man to his right, "It's over. Tell the troops to head back."

The man saluted and started to drive the patriots back, cheering with victory and leaving their nation as he spoke with the enemy alone. The Red Coats had retreated at the sight of their country's surrender. America stepped over to Britain, offering him his hand.

"It was inevitable," Britain spoke through weak tears.

Blinking in confusion, America wanted clarification "What was?"

"That New England would turn out a nation like you," He stood up, grunting pain as he put pressure on his leg that New England had tended to several years before.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I'll never say it again, so listen closely," Britain brushed himself off, "The King wasn't happy when you declared your independence years ago, and he wasn't happy about that 'Destruction of the Tea' disaster that helped start all this mess," he surprised America by putting a hand on his shoulder, like he used to when he was younger, "and he'll hate me for admitting it, but she did an excellent job." America stared as he tried to understand what Britain was saying, "Things are not going to be smooth for a while, not that they have been, but someday you'll be a great country, and I'll be happy to call you an ally."

"Do you really mean that, Britain?" America was stunned. He knew that Britain was not going to be easy to live with for a long time after this, but in his vulnerability, he was being honest.

"I do, and you can thank New England for that. She's a great woman that knows what she's doing," Britain ruffled up America's hair, "She's proud of you too, Alfred."

"I hope so," America smiled, "I don't know what happened, but when she heard about a red coat getting tarred and feathered after we dumped that tea, she nearly killed me herself. She said she'd shoot me if she heard I was promoting anything like that."

A pink hue crossed Britain's cheeks as he rubbed his thumb over the discolored spot on his arm from getting splashed with tar. "She can be very aggressive when it comes to rights and fair play."

"Well, my men want to celebrate the end of this war, and I should be with them."

"Agreed," Britain looked behind realizing he didn't know where his men ran off to, "I should go take care of-"

"She's home," America interrupted.

"Pardon?"

"N.E.'s home. I'm sure she'll want to hear that we finished this. I haven't seen her in years, but we have been sending letters."

"Sadly, it does sound better being threatened by that girl than going back and being yelled at by the King."

"Tell her I say hello, and I'll be back soon," America waved as he started back to join his victorious troops.

"I will," Britain waved good-bye, he knew America was right, and they both knew that if what he had said got around, honest opinion or not, it wouldn't end well, so he trusted that his words would remain out of any history books. He sighed, looking up to the crying sky, and headed north.

Some days later, he limped his leg back up the stairs of New England's porch, with the help of a cane and a large box in hand. He knocked on her door, waiting for a response. He looked about, still no sign of her, and knocked again. Knowing he had not told her he would be coming and that he was not her favorite person, he sat down and sighed. Chances were high she wasn't home, and who knew when she would be.

When he pushed himself up from the chair, leaving the box on the table by the door, he heard something fall and turned to see blond ringlet curls blowing in the New Hampshire Autumn breeze. Not sure how to handle seeing the woman he last saw through the barrel of a gun, he subtly waved with a small, cautious smile.

It took only that wave for her to come running from the yard and onto the porch to throw her arms around him. After years of not seeing her and being surrounded by men in red coats, just the simple embrace was enough for him to forget about his painful leg and hold her tightly.

"What in the world are you doing here?" N.E. pulled away and looked up into his green eyes, "I thought America won, shouldn't you be on your way home, or dead?"

"I told you I would make sure we both came out alive," his quote made her cheeks flash red, "and I also promised you this," he used his cane to point toward the box, but her eyes lingered on the hickory walking stick in his hand.

"It never healed correctly," she said in a regretful tone.

Confused, Britain looked at the cane and explained, "No, no, it did. This happened a couple of years ago, the Battle of Germantown. We won, but I caught a bullet. It'll heal, a few more years, it just hurts a little. I mostly use the cane because I actually think it looks rather dashing, don't you?"

Failing to be impressed by his response, N.E. told him to sit, pulling up one of her chairs. "You are certainly a piece of work, Britain," she commented as she helped him sit, "I'll go get some tea."

"New England," he stopped her, "Is that egg all over your apron?"

N.E. looked down to see that the eggs she dropped in disbelief had broken, splattering the bottom of her dress and apron. "Yes it is," she admitted and looked up to him, "I couldn't believe that you were here of all places."

"So I now owe you a dozen chicken eggs," He smiled and gestured back to the box, "eventually I'll come here and not have to replace something."

N.E. looked back to the box and sighed, "Arthur, I told you I didn't need a dress from you. And that was years ago, how did you even remember that?"

Happy to hear her say his real name again, Britain explained, "A gentleman always remembers his promises, Victoria."

She smiled and opened the box, trying to hide the color on her face. The dress was blue, just as he said, and made of strong, expensive fabric that would last years on the farm. "You really are a man of your word," she shook her head with a smile, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

A look of realization came over her face and she turned to Britain, "You know that this may be the last time we see each other."

"Eventually relations will calm down-"

"No," N.E. stopped him, "I- I'm no longer a nation."

"What do you mean?" Nations lived as long as their names or until another nation killed them, she had already lived over a hundred years not aging over 21.

"The states are now 'the United States of America.' I'm no longer a nation."

Britain was dumbstruck at the realization that now she would continue her life and eventually die of old age or something of that sort. Now determined, Britain stood up and said, "If this is the last time I ever get to see you, may I ask a request?"

"I don't see why not."

"May I kiss you?"

Her face turning red, she nodded in slight shock that he would ask. It had been decades since they had anything close to a romantic encounter. After their many fights and arguments, she had never seen their relationship as more than hesitant friends, shy of one time on a ship they promised to never speak of. It certainly wasn't common knowledge that she fancied him, and no one would believe so the way she treated him, but she surely wasn't going to say no to a kiss from him.

Britain wasn't the most attractive man, not with those ghastly bushy eyebrows, but those green eyes, his slim and fit stature, his height over her, and his gentleman ways, she had fallen for him centuries ago. He always tried to secretly sneak toys and treats to America, thinking she never knew, but the sight always made her smile. He wasn't one of the royal dogs, like other Englishmen she knew, he was respectable and kind. It was her protectiveness of America and her determination to not go back that kept her from saying such things.

Cupping her cheek, grazing his thumb over her red tinted skin, he pulled her lips to his and pulled her body closer using his cane. Her hands resting on his chest and shoulder, she would have kissed him forever if not for the calling of a British soldier. They broke their kiss, staring into each other's eyes until the soldier was close enough to see what might be happening between them.

N.E. slipped inside as the soldier approached, handing a letter carrying the King's seal. She knew it was his Highness calling for his country to leave America and come home. She also knew that with that soldier outside, she couldn't say good-bye the way she wanted to. Tapping on the window to subtly get his attention, Britain turned and waved good-bye, knowing that the next time he stood on that porch, she would most likely be in a cemetery nearby.

So... if you wanna know what happened on that ship... R&R and I'll post it up as a little extra (note: that will jump this story from T to M)