Author's note: This was my entry for a contest on . The theme for the contest was Anniversary. It could be any anniversary, even death, but it had to end on a relatively high note. On another note, can you name all the British Stereotypes that I used? Extra points if you can spot the others. Anyway, this is a short story that ties into Family Tree. It is a slice of life piece, so it might not be that interesting to some.

Secrets are hard to keep hidden. And over time, they seem to get harder to handle. They spread like forks of lightning, and add weight to the shoulders of anyone caught with the burden of carrying them. But unlike lightning, secrets are often dark and stay around for generations. Countries are no exception. They have many secrets; secrets they hide from their people, other countries, and sometimes, both. One secret that has been kept hidden is the bloodline of Scotland, England, America, and another country who has yet to learn of his part in the legacy. This secret is known by its keepers as the Family Tree.

Countries know better than to fall in love with a mortal human. They know that their abnormally long lifespans will result in outliving any potential human companion, friend or lover. Yet some countries break this unspoken rule. France learned of the consequences the hard way: watching his beloved burn at the stake. Since then, although he expresses love to all, he remains bound to his love even across the veil. But France was not the only one to fall in love…

January 19, 2014

London, England

Two hundred and forty-nine years. Has it been that long? Arthur Kirkland sat in his armchair in front of his fireplace with pint of ale in his grasp. His olive green military uniform was carelessly disheveled; his tie was loose and had multiple stains, and his top was unbuttoned, revealing the white undershirt beneath. His eyes were dull and red rimmed from breaking down earlier in the day. He sat there staring into the fire, lost to his memories of years past, and didn't notice the front door open and someone step into the parlor until the thick Scottish accent invaded his senses.

"Thought I'd find you here Artie."

"What do you want Nessie?" England's voice was tired, drained. He didn't even put effort into the insult he gave his brother.

"What do I want? Have you forgotten what day it is?" Scotland yelled as he stormed over to the armchair that his brother's voice had come from. He looked down and grabbed the blonde's chin, forcing him to look the auburn haired man in the eye. Scotland looked deep into the eyes of his brother and smirked. He took satisfaction from the fact that the great and powerful United Kingdom was brought to his knees, guilty. "Naw, you know what day it is. Today's the day you killed my daughter!" Scotland sneered and tightened his grip on his brother's chin.

Alice. His beloved daughter. His read hair, and brilliant emerald green eyes. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. When he took that mortal to be his wife, he never expected to have the joy of being a father as well as a husband. He watched her grow up, and he never regretted his decision to marry. But then she married his brother. Scotland was outraged. The man who won his daughter over was nothing more than a pirate; sailing around the globe and acting all high and mighty because of his colonies. Maybe if his little brother hadn't wounded him so much beforehand he might have let it slide. But it wasn't enough to steal his daughter, no. Soon, Scotland heard that his brother had married Alice and was expecting a child. Nothing wounded his heart more. He tried to open his heart to the idea of a grandchild, heavens know he hadn't aged a day, but the fact that it was his little brother's was vexing. He tried to be happy for them, knowing that England would soon be experiencing the same joy he felt when Alice was born, but he couldn't feel happy with England around.

And when Alice went into labor, Scotland and his wife dropped everything and traveled as fast as they could to London. When they got there, Scotland could only hold his wife who collapsed after seeing her daughter's dead body. Scotland held his tears as his gaze landed on England whose head was bowed. In his trembling arms Scotland saw a little bundle. No, this couldn't be happening.

"Murdered her? I loved her!" England shouted, jerking his chin from his older brother's grasp and grabbing Scotland's collar, effectively pulling the older man down to his level.

"Why is it that every year on this day, you come to my house and accuse me of murdering my own wife? Do you want to make me feel even guiltier? Too late! I should have done something, I know. But I was too late. The birth took its effect on Alice, and she couldn't mutter anything more than our child's name before she died. Don't you get tired of doing this to me Scot?" Arthur pushed his brother away and slouched back in his chair, "Allistor, I'm sorry. But don't blame me for everything. You lost a daughter, and forgot that you gained a granddaughter. Do you think that a day goes by without me feeling all the loss and suffering as you? What chain of events were sent in motion when you married that girl in the first place?

"No, you didn't talk to me after that. You never even looked after Rose, your grandchild, at all. Do you think that the pain you felt was not felt by me when Rose ran off with America and married right under my nose!? When she was shot and America had to cut their child from her as she lay dying?! I have felt all the pain you have, and then some. But don't forget that you Allistor, started this family. And you can't ignore it simply because you hate me. Got that you blo-"

"Dad? Uncle Allistor? Is everything alright?" the parlor door creaked open and tall, slender, women stepped in. Her black exercise outfit contrasted greatly with her pale skin, and accented her red-purple eyes nicely. In a way, it was like seeing a ghost. With her waist length white hair, Arthur could swear that he was looking right at Prussia's sister, Julia. It was impossible to tell the family resemblance between the albino teen and the two men in the room, although it had been countless generations since either England or Scotland had any influence on her genes.

England stood and faced his 'daughter,' Monica. In truth, she had been born in the suburbs of Cincinnati, Ohio, and lived there until she was five. After an unfortunate event in which Monica's great-grandmother ended up in a psych ward, Alfred F. Jones, America, called Arthur and asked his former "big brother" to take the albino child in. Monica was doted on by Arthur's sister Alice, and was often taken shopping and was visited by the Queen, much to Arthur's embarrassment. Other than that, she had had a normal childhood, and was approaching nineteen years of age. He cleared his throat and tried to talk without sounding smashed, which was hard with the room spinning.

"Monica love, I thought you were off shopping with Aunt Alice."

"I was, until we decided to return early. I ran out of sunscreen, so we came back and I was about to run on the treadmill when I heard you two yelling. Is everything okay?" Monica walked over to the two men and sat down in the couch facing England.

"Everything's fine love. We're just having a bit of a 'family dispute,'" England said. Scotland shot his brother a glare from over the top of his glass as he downed the scotch and poured himself another.

Monica rolled her eyes and crossed her arms and legs. "Dad, every year since I came here, on this day, you and Uncle Scotland argue and fight about someone named Alice. Who is she? I asked Aunt Alice and she wouldn't say. Is everything okay?"

England sat back in the chair he previously occupied, rather ungracefully. Scotland sat on the other side of the couch after pouring himself some scotch from the crystalline decanter on the liquor cabinet. He swirled the amber liquid around in the glass, looking at his sad reflection. In truth, he did not want to talk about this with Monica. His heart still ached from his daughter, although it had been nearly two-and-a-half centuries since she had died. And Arthur was right. He hadn't stayed around his grandchild after she was born. He couldn't bear to look at her. She reminded him of all he had lost. After decades of neglect, he continued to try and avoid all his distant descendants, telling himself that he was "too busy." Only on January nineteenth, the anniversary of his daughter's death, would he mention his family and blame it all on England. In truth he had neglected to look after his children because he didn't want to feel the pain of losing someone again. His position in life left him no choice but to sit back and watch as they aged and died while he stayed the same.

"I'm old enough to know guys. Don't use that excuse. Who is Alice and why do you fight about her?" Monica stood up and yanked the alcohol from Scotland and England's hands. After setting the drinks on the marble side table, she rounded on her relatives with her hands on her hips.

Arthur looked at Allistor and sighed, defeated. The Englishman got up and left the room snagging the ale and finishing it before leaving the glass behind. Growling, Monica got up and marched to the door, only to have her aunt appear in front of her.

"Don't worry, Monica. He'll be back. He just needs some time to collect his thoughts. Come on, help me with the groceries," England's sister, Alice, said as she ushered Monica out of the room. She met Scotland's gaze and gave a curt nod which he returned. She then turned and walked out toward the car where her niece was gathering the bags. She walked over and laid a hand on Monica's shoulder. "Monica, I know you want to know about Alice. But you have to give the guys a little time. They've been arguing for years about who loved her more. Their dislike for each other even gets in the say of family matters. Arthur needs time to mourn. It's been almost two-and-a-half centuries, but he was never given time to mourn his wife's death. His duties as a countr-"

"Wait. His wife?" Monica turned to see the guilty look on her aunt's face.

"I've said too much. Come on, let's get the food inside for dinner," Alice picked up the rest of the bags and went back to the house with Monica.

"So, what do you want for dinner?" Alice asked as the two women sorted out the food.

Monica's head snapped up from where she had been unpacking soup cans, "What? No, I'm cooking dinner Alice."

"Why? You always do it. Let me give you a break for once."

Monica snorted. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"You know why."

Arthur's sister sighed. "Okay, okay. You've made your point. But I have been practic –"

"No. We've been over this Aunt Alice. I make the meals. That way no one loses theirs after they've had a bite," Monica smiled as she stacked the cans in the pantry. "I'm thinking something simple tonight. Dad and Uncle Allistor seemed to have had a lot to drink. This way, if they fall asleep at the dinner table, it won't be to a nice, elegant meal that took me ages to prepare."

Alice laughed, "True. Okay then, I'll be up front if you need me." She turned and walked down the hall to the entertainment room.

The albino picked up one of the cans that she had organized in the cupboard and made her way to the cabinet that stored the pots and pans. She opened the can and poured the contents into the pan and set it on the stove on medium heat. Then she opened the refrigerator and got out some turkey, ham, and cheese. Real simple. It will never cease to amaze me how dad and Aunt Alice can mess up something as simple as this.

"Mao," Monica turned and looked down to where an orange and white Scottish Fold was pawing her leg. She smiled, "Hey England Cat, would you like some turkey?" she smiled as the nation's cat turned and ran over to his food bowl. "Okay, okay. I get it." Monica finished making the sandwiches, and took a couple slices of turkey and ham over to the fidgeting feline's food dish. "There you go little guy. Eat up." She took the water bowl and filled it with water from the tap and set it back down. "And there you are little one." She smiled and pat his head before turning to dish up the soup and call everyone to the dinner table.

"Ow!" Monica winced and pulled her hand back to inspect her thumb. Two puncture marks oozed crimson drops down onto the wooden floor. She put her mouth to her thumb and sucked on the wound before she turned and glared at the offending feline. "What was that for?"

"Mao." England Cat looked at his water dish, then back at the woman.

"Yes, you have water." Monica internally groaned. What was the cat trying to tell her?

"Mao." England Cat walked over to the stove and leaped up on the counter beside it. He lifted his paw and batted at the kettle that stood empty on the stove top.

"You want hot water?" Monica wondered where her dad had found such a smart cat. She giggled when the feline dropped his head and growled.

"Mao!" England cat swished his tail and hopped off the counter to the floor, only to hop back up by the corner cabinet where her guardians kept their tea. The cat reached up with his paw and batted at base of the cabinet, then looked at his master. "Mao."

"Oh, no. Not this again. England Cat, you do not get tea with every meal. You have water. It is basically the same thing." England Cat looked at her with a horrified expression. It was pretty cute with the way his eyebrows rose and lifted his floppy ears a little. Monica giggled, "Yes, it is similar. Tea is basically hot water with flavoring from leaves." She walked over and scooped him up. "But in America I hear you can get tea from a powder."

"MAO!" Monica laughed as her dad's cat froze and his tail went limp. He looked like he just heard the most scandalous thing in his life. Monica nuzzled him and put him back by his food dish. "Now go on, eat up. And don't try to sweet talk me into making you tea. You get water. End of story." With a last pat on his head, Monica stood up and returned to the stove, where her soup was just coming to a boil. She stirred it and turned the heat up to high and lounged against the sink while she waited for the soup to heat evenly. She eyed the cat who was now eating his dinner. She smiled, he always made her do that. Animals always did. They were the only ones who stayed around when her classmates pushed her away because of her 'mutation.'

"Shit." Monica breathed when sizzling alerted her to the boiled over soup. She quickly took the pot off the heat and poured it into bowls for the four of them. She set the bowls on the table and placed silverware down before she called her family. "Dinner's ready!" She heard the television in the front turn off, and soon her aunt came in and sat down. Her Uncle was next. He sat across from his sister. Monica waited but heard no sound of feet on the stairs, where England had gone earlier.

"Monica, go and fetch your father."

"Got it Aunt Alice." Monica ran out of the room but paused at the door way to look back at her Aunt and Uncle. "No fighting. Okay?" She pointed at both of them. England Cat snorted. "Okay." Monica left after she got reluctant nods from the both of them.

Monica walked up the stairs and down the long hallway toward her dad's room. When she neared the end of the hall, she heard sniffling coming from his room. Quietly, she pushed the door open a crack to see her father sitting on the edge of his four poster bed, holding something in his hands. He was crying. "Dad? Dinner's ready." Monica pushed the door the rest of the way open and Arthur quickly hid the object under his pillow. He wiped his eyes and stood, buttoning and straightening his shirt. After fiddling helplessly with his tie, he tugged it over his head and threw it on the bed.

"Yep. I'm coming." England walked out of the room but was stopped by his daughter. He looked down to see a sorrowful look on her face.

"You don't need to tell me about Alice now. I'm sorry I was forceful earlier. You can tell me when you're ready," Monica reached out and hugged her dad, "I know who she was. Aunt Alice told me." She felt England's arms around her tense, and she struggled to find a way to keep him from crying. "Hey, come on. Dinner's ready. Soup and sandwiches. I figured we could pop some popcorn and watch a movie tonight too. Just promise me-" Monica stopped her dad from entering the kitchen, "That you will eat and talk, but no arguing at the dinner table."

England nodded, not trusting his voice, and entered the kitchen, sitting next to Alice and Scotland at the four person table. Monica took the last seat and ate her soup and sandwich in peace, for a while.

The light pitter patter of rain was heard and the view outside the windows smeared as the liquid ran down. Thunder and lightning followed soon afterward, turning the sky into a strobe light. The storm pulled Monica out her thoughts about Alice, a woman who shared her aunt's name and caused so much pain for two men who were so strong. "Oh, I wasn't expecting it to rain today." Monica said smiling. Her family's faces lit up at her joke. England Cat snorted.

To Guest: I'm sorry you don't find it exciting. Perhaps you will like the full story more. It contains much more graphic content that might not be so boring. Here's a hint: the prologue tells some of it, but you might have to read between the lines.