Author's Note: I finally managed to update. Please enjoy the chapter and, as always, leave a review!

"It's a fine day for a swim."

She fixated her eyes on the expanse of the English Channel, watching the water sift and gently churn in the sunshine of a blessedly warm June afternoon. A welcoming breeze toyed with her hair, and she dared to toe off her boots in favor of feeling sand tickle the soles of her feet.

"Still a little on the chilly side by my standards," she murmured into the moist air, fluttering her eyes closed. It was far from the pristine beaches of Florida, but it was pleasant, nonetheless.

Beside her, Canada kicked his shoes off as well, cherishing the fact that they had the beach all to themselves. "You'd think the shore would be swarming with people."

"War has taken its toll on everyone's spirits."

Humming in agreement, Canada cocked his head to the side with a goofy smile. "That doesn't mean we should give up on feeling joy every once in a while."

America dipped her toes further into the sand. "I've missed this… Just taking a stroll on the beach without a care in the world. Lately, we've been so caught up in fear and hatred that I've forgotten what it feels like to relax."

"Race you to the water?"

A smile twisted across her lips instantly, and she accepted the challenge. "I thought you'd never ask, brother."

Tossing up a hurricane of sand in the process, America sprinted forward, getting a head-start as she approached the foaming tide. She left a trail of footprints in her wake, letting loose a thrilled laugh as the water finally swallowed her figure.

"It's COLD!" she warned, just as Canada came storming behind.

"Cheater!" her twin accused before tackling her mercilessly. "I didn't say you could start!"

Spitting up a mouthful water with a gasp, America poked her head above the water once more, glaring. "You didn't say I couldn't start!" she defended, shivering violently as her uniform was soaked.

"Fair enough," Canada relented, splashing her before deciding they were even.

Wadding back to the shore, she wrung the water out of her hair and sat in the sand for some warmth, vaguely wishing she'd worn some sunscreen. "If I get pneumonia—!"

"Don't blame me! You were the one who agreed to take a dip."

"I'll still blame you," she threatened, squealing as Canada grabbed her by the upper-arms and began dragging her back toward the water. "Let go!"

"Those are some strong words for a lady."

Feeling the tide lick at her back, she promptly jerked forward, effectively freeing herself and sending Canada tumbling into the sand beside her. "Aww, were you outmatched by a mere woman? Looks like you'll have to try harder next time," she mocked, unsurprised when Canada pinned her down onto the sand.

"Who's stronger now? Surrender, little sister."

"Little?" America huffed, grimacing as some sand attached itself to her damp hair. Canada had restrained her hands behind her back, and all she could do was wriggle like a worm in response. "Mattie, you're testing your luck. I'll have you know that you're challenging the strongest nation in the world."

"The strongest? I'm not too sure about that."

"Yup, the strongest. So, you don't want to get on my bad side."

Chuckling amusedly, Canada shrugged his shoulders playfully. "I'm not too worried."

Huffing with a smirk, America easily flipped them over and gripped Canada's forearms, pressing them above his head. "Silly, Canada. You'll learn…"

Quite impressed, her brother merely watched with a mild air of bewilderment. "I remember when we were just kids," he recalled softly, glasses covered in droplets of saltwater. "I didn't understand the severity of what was going on after you left, but England always used to angrily remark under his breath that you were a misfit… Different… A man living in a woman's body, perhaps."

"One does not have to be a man to have strength," America replied, breathing heavily as she released her brother and stood to her full height. "In fact, woman is stronger than man. We have a remarkable ability to get back up after we've been kicked to the ground. We persevere. We nurture. We've chosen brains over brawn."

Clumsily settling himself into a seated position, Canada thoughtfully considered his sister's words, eyes squinting against the harsh sunlight peeking from behind the clouds. "Maybe it's our fault; we cripple women from birth by telling them what they roles they should be taking on, but if given the chance to grow without intervention, they might grow into menaces like you."

Laughing dryly at that, America shook the sand out of her blonde locks. "Perhaps… Now, we'd better change and pay England a visit before the invasion. Have you seen him yet?"

"Yes, this morning… He's still looking worse for wear."

"Tis what happens when you're at his ripe old age."

Scoffing, Canada reluctantly clambered into his boots once more. "Don't let him hear you say that."

"And don't worry, we'll have France back under our control in a matter of days. I know you still hold him in high-esteem."

"I'll admit that I've been worried," Canada sighed, feebly wiping the water off of his spectacles. "I fear that everyone might decide that his freedom isn't a priority."

Clicking her tongue, America's expression became serious, and she placed a firm hand on her twin's shoulder. "Of course he's a priority. He's on our side, and there's no way we're going to leave one of our own behind. And believe me, as much as England claims to hate France, I'm sure he'd say the same thing. We're all going to make it out of this, and hopefully, come up with a better treaty this time around."

"Thanks, I just—I know you don't like him all that much—"

"Mattie, there's something else you should know about women."

Perplexed, Canada looked at her with widening eyes.

"When we make a whole-hearted promise, we seldom disappoint."

VE Day (Victory in Europe Day)

"It's the first good news we've had in years, and I'd say that's worth celebrating," England had said, still shaky on his feet but well on the road to recovery. "A number of us are going out for a drink, and it's only natural that you should come along as well."

"I fear my battle isn't over. Japan has refused to surrender, despite the number of offers that have been made."

"You'll worry about that tomorrow. For now, you ought to unwind."

At first, America was very hesitant toward the idea, especially since there was plenty of work and planning left to be done. However, if England was telling her to relax, then surely she was too high-strung. Thus, after a few more rounds of encouraging banter, she agreed and set out for the pub with the rest of the Allies, still stressed and downright exhausted.

Her former mentor treated her to a free drink, and soon enough she had loosened up a bit, more willing to mingle and to dance to the music that the amateur band was playing. Canada and France were chatting at one end of the room while Russia, China and England engaged in their own heated conversations at the counter. None of them were drunk, but she was sure that they were just beginning to feel the buzzing in their heads, oblivious to their slipping defenses and loudmouthed remarks.

Meanwhile, America continued to busy herself with the melody of the music, nearly jumping out of her skin as she felt a pair of hands invite her to a dance. Swiveling her head, she expected to see a fellow nation, but was met with a stranger's eyes instead.

"Hello, there. Care for a dance?" the dark-haired man muttered, clutching her fingers. He was just an ordinary citizen, but she noted his London accent.

Unable to find a reason to refuse, she simply nodded and let herself be guided into a moderately paced dance, occasionally fumbling over her own feet. "I'm a terrible dancer, just so you know."

"Is that an American accent?"

"Yes, but don't worry—we're not all bad dancers. I just happen to be particularly clumsy," America said in a self-deprecating tone, accompanying it with a half-hearted smirk.

They continued in this fashion for a good fifteen minutes before deciding to take an intermission. America made a motion to say goodbye to her acquaintance, opting to return to her friends, but the man caught her wrist abruptly.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked slowly, and she could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. He gripped her by her hips, and she could have shaken him off, but didn't want to cause a scene.

That is, until he started attempting to shove his tongue down her throat. He managed to snag the semblance of a kiss out of her before she recovered from the shock and pulled away.

"Stop. I'm not interested," she warned, turning her head to the side. She had enough power to snap his neck, but she stopped herself with the firm reminder that he was only human. He posed no true danger.

The man only grinned before continuing. "I can't—you're too beautiful."

He made a movement to kiss her again, but she jerked away once more. "Get off of me!"

They had caused quite a bit of commotion, but her dance partner went on eagerly, tightening his arms around her waist. "It's all right—we're just having a little fun."

Deciding this had gone on for long enough, America steeled herself to use her full strength against the man, but soon found that she needn't have bothered. No, someone else offered to do the job for her.

"Oi! She said to let her go," England said, raising his voice in a manner that always meant that trouble was about to ensue. Within the following few seconds, he had drawn his arm back and landed a sturdy punch on the man's face, sending him reeling away from America in order to tend to his bleeding nose.

Immediately, America hurried forward, joining England's side as he scrutinized her carefully. "Are you unharmed?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for that," she replied softly, feeling rather embarrassed.

Canada was upon her in a moment as well, resting a hand on her back. "Is everything okay?"

She nodded reassuringly, biting her tongue as a mixture of sadness and humiliation overwhelmed her. "I think I'm going to head back to the hotel… I have a flight to catch tomorrow afternoon."

Russia, China, and France were talking about her as well, she was certain. She didn't have to listen in on their exchange to know that they were warily observing the scene from afar, and, with everyone's eyes upon her, she was quickly growing more and more uncomfortable by the second.

Canada seemed to want to convince her to stay, but England understood her concerns at once, reading her thoughts effortlessly. "I'll escort you, in that case," he suggested, green eyes soothing her frantic blue ones.

"That's not necessary…"

"I insist. It's late, and you shouldn't be wandering the streets of London alone. You could get lost or injured," England reasoned, winning the battle yet again. With a nervous shuffle from foot to foot, America begrudgingly accepted the gesture, bidding goodnight to the other nations before following England outside.

"You're trembling," he noted as they began their trek down the street. "Clearly, you're not as fine as you claimed."

"Just a little startled, is all."

"It's all right to be afraid at times, dear."

She made a face and futilely wiped at her mouth. "You didn't have to stand up for me. I had it under control."

"I know you're capable of defending yourself," England acknowledged before placing a hand on her shoulder. He sported a gentle smile—like a father teaching his daughter how to ride a bike for the very first time. "But a helping hand can be useful at times. Besides, you wouldn't have broken his nose, and it seemed as though it was warranted."

She managed a weak laugh, head tucked against her chest as she tried to blink away the wetness in her eyes. "I don't even know how to respond to that."

"There's no need to be so upset."

An apprehensive chuckle tore its way out of her throat as she sniffed softly and straightened her posture. "I know—the liquor must be making me emotional."

England didn't seem to be convinced, but they continued their walk in silence, following the illuminated path.

"What if I weren't a nation? I wouldn't have been able to protect myself," America remarked after quite some time. "I'm lucky, I guess…"

Loosening his tie because he felt abhorrently wretched and slightly drunk, England said words that he might never have shed light on had he been in his right mind. "I used to fret over it sometimes—the fact that you were too charming for your own good. There will be men who will try to take advantage of you because of it, but you can't let them. You deserve respect, and shouldn't settle for anything less. I trust that you won't let anyone walk over you."

"Feeling awfully cliché tonight, are we?" America teased, seizing the opportunity. Rarely did England ever allow himself to be so unguarded.

"Disregard my advice then—I don't care."

Feeling less broken and hollow, America managed a more genuine smile. "Thank you… Really… I appreciate it."

"Think nothing of it."

"It's good to know that I have someone looking out for me, even if that someone is my old man."

England scoffed, but his grin betrayed his feigned irritation. "Mind your words, youngling. Now, don't you have a war in the Pacific to finish up?"

They had reached the hotel, and America took a moment to linger by the entrance. "Unfortunately, but don't worry—I have a plan."

"Now I'm really concerned."

"It's not your battle to fight," she reminded gently, "but if I ever need some assistance, I'll let you know… Goodnight, then. Thank you for chaperoning my walk like a gentleman," she finished wryly. "I hate to burst your bubble, but you'll have to buy me dinner first if you want me to bring you home with me."

Rolling his eyes, England let out a wistful sigh. "With your appetite, I wouldn't be able to afford a dinner that large. Goodnight, foolish girl."

After a brief nod, America turned to enter the hotel lobby, but paused yet again. "Arthur?"

"What is it now?"

"Have Francis or Matthew help you home after you have your fill for the night. I'd hate to have to be the one to scrape your hide off of the pavement in the morning."

Face flushing into a comically scarlet hue, England hissed through his teeth, "To bed with you, already!"

Every nation has a list of dark sprees that they wish they could scourge. For America, there were many, and many more to come, but the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki would be an event that she would be forced to carry with her in the future.

These days were evidence. They showed the sheer amount of destruction that technology now allowed them to incur upon one another. A single bomb, and suddenly the earth was swathed in ash, flattening without leaving a single trace of life in its wake.

She was told it was for best. After all, it was uncertain how much longer the war would've lasted had they not used such force. She told herself that many more lives would have been lost had the war dragged on for another year. It was the choice between letting the cancer slowly progress or putting one out of their misery instantly with a single bullet.

They chose the bullet.

And she rationalized the argument in her mind for many days, until it drove her mad. She laid in bed at night with the thoughts of all of the innocent lives that had been lost under the workings of her people. Yet, she did not dare to regret it. What was done could not be reversed, and they had made their decision. She now had what she had envisioned for years right in the palm of her hand—unconditional surrender.

The war in the Pacific was finally over, and she did not allow herself to even glance at a bleeding Japan.

Her mind spun with a plethora of emotions, and when the other Allies questioned her actions afterward, she brushed them off. She still believed that it wasn't their war to fight, and she did what had to be done.

Being a nation had taught her not to dwell on the past for too long, and only to acknowledge it as a teacher. The present mattered. The future awaited. And the past—the past stood far behind.

And when all was said and done, she hastily went about reparations, creating the Marshall Plan and pumping wealth into Europe to build up the strength of her fellow allies once more.

It wasn't until the clean-up stage when she finally learned of the concentration camps and the horrific atrocities that had been ensuing throughout the course of the war. These were some of the memories she would teach herself to forget.

And when Germany had been crippled, yet another belligerent faced her wrath—communism. Oh, the Red Scare shuddered across the Western world, and even she felt the paranoia seeping into her veins. In the midst of Civil Rights reform and plenty of other domestic issues, Communism latched onto her tired bones, and she watched warily as Russia swelled into a greater sphere of influence across Eastern Europe, building up the 'iron curtain' that Churchill had warned them about.

If the Soviet Union wanted to flex its new muscles, then she'd happily volunteer as a counterweight.

Their divide in beliefs soon was coined as the "Cold War", but it was unlike any war she had experienced previously. This was a philosophical war—a battle of ideals.

"You will not succeed," Russia cautioned her at the following World Conference, towering over her menacingly.

Due to her height, there were few people who could make her feel small and childish in their presence, but Russia managed to do it with uncanny ease. Nonetheless, she stood her ground, finding it awfully daft that her lithe, feminine-self was trying to render itself as a threat to such a brutish man.

"I'll take my chances," she replied to his forewarnings, making a mental note to wear stilettos during their next encounter. "Stay on your side of the globe."

Russia chuckled heartily, eyes fierce with inner musings. "Little Amerika is going to fight me? I'll buy you a bouquet of roses and we'll call it even, okay? No hostility?"

"You can take your roses and—"

"Stop it. He isn't worth the bickering," France suddenly interjected, standing between them. "Come, America, your brother is looking for you."

Clenching her hands into fists, America kicked at the ground with one foot to release her frustrations before following France out of the room. When they were safely heading down the corridor, she took in a deep breath and steadied her racing heart. "They've built a wall in Berlin… We have to do something."

"We don't want to start another gruesome war," France countered, steering her into a room down the hall. There, she found Canada and England talking in hushed tones at a small table. "What is it your president said? Ah, yes, 'Mankind must put an end to war before war puts an end to mankind.'"

Back when the Berlin blockade had started, she had been the one to propose sending in supplies and resources to the people of West Berlin. Overall, the Berlin Airlift missions had been a success, but times had changed and this problem didn't seem to be resolving itself.

"I won't sit back and do nothing—not this time. I'm powerful now. I can have my voice heard," she argued, furrowing as England frowned at her.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he muttered through pursed lips. "This is a delicate situation. Before you jump into anything, you should consider your options."

Fuming, she took a seat in the nearest chair. "It's too late for that now. Troops have been in Vietnam for a while… I don't even know what we're fighting for anymore. Mass hysteria over communism has taken over."

Government had a tendency to be messy, and she'd been through spurts of panic before, so the only thing left to was to take everything one step at a time.

"Hey, America? How about we take a mental health day?" Canada suggested, bringing up a flurry of dusty memories from the back of her mind.

Somehow, her brother knew exactly how to quell her nerves. "We haven't had one of those since we were both colonies."

Mental health days were usually composed of sitting around and doing absolutely nothing while stuffing one's face with unhealthy foodstuffs. Back when England used to spend months (and sometimes years) away from their colonial home, they would save these special days just for themselves. She'd loaf around with her twin and they'd forget about the world for a little while, wallowing in some much needed sibling bonding.

"Sounds good, but can we walk back to the hotel? I'd like to actually see Paris every now and then."

Meanwhile, France and England exchanged flummoxed expressions, creasing their foreheads at the twin nations.

"What in the world are you two going on about?" England dared to ask.

"It's nothing," Canada assured with a meek smile as he rose to his feet and followed America out of the room. "I'll see you later at the hotel."

Leaving the two men to ponder their strange retreat, America found herself smiling as they stepped outside. She sucked in a crisp breeze of air, shoulders loosening.

"You're growing your hair out again?"

"Yeah, I figured it was time for a change. I was rocking the pixie-cut for a while though. So, whose room are we crashing in?"

"Whichever you prefer. I'm sharing mine with England though, so don't say I didn't warn you."

America snorted with amusement. "Aww, how intimate. I thought you were finally beginning to call yourself independent. Is he starting to miss all of his former colonies? It's 1961, so I thought he'd be over it by now."

"He's more tolerable these days," Canada admitted dryly as they entered the hotel. "He still tries to keep me away from France though."

"Well, who can blame him? Everyone generally stays away from France anyway."

"You're terrible."

"I know. I'm just being crass… France is a perfectly fine and upstanding nation," she apologized, letting her words hang for a moment.

A few seconds later, both nations cracked a smile and shared a laugh. "We're both terrible," Canada said, catching the elevator for them.

"My room is it then," America decided, guiding her brother down the long hallway. "And don't even bother trying to get me to eat those ketchup chips again."

"It's okay, I've got a bar of your favorite chocolate to compensate for my choice of chips."

Upon reaching the correct room number, America unlocked the door and immediately made her way for the futon at the end of the room, collapsing into a limp heap. "Life sucks… Hey, let's order some of those awesome strawberry crepes for dinner."

"They're full of sugar," Canada protested half-heartedly, plopping next to America and kicking off his shoes. "And you'll be hungry afterward."

America only huffed, resting her legs in Canada's lap. "You invite me for a mental health day and then refuse to honor my choice of cuisine?"

"All right," he conceded, groaning as he stretched out his arms, "but I don't want to get up to use the phone. It's all the way on the other side of the room."

"Don't be lazy! Be a gentleman and take one for the team. Turn on the radio while you're up."

"You accuse me of being lazy? Why don't you get up?"

America threw her head onto the armrest and laughed, eyes glued to the ceiling. "Because I have a brother to do things for me. After all, I'm just a frail woman."

Canada scoffed and nudged America with his elbow roughly. "Frail? That's priceless."

In the end, Canada lost the battle of the futon, but when all of the menial tasks had been completed, he returned to his original spot, chatting and mindlessly watching T.V. with America for most of the afternoon and early evening. They ate as many strawberry crepes as they could stomach, insisting on extra whipped cream with each one.

There was nothing particularly interesting on T.V., so they eventually opted to listen to the radio instead, humming old tunes and discussing the woes of life as the night grew older. It was awfully pleasant—doing nothing with one's sibling. It was difficult to explain, but there was something so fundamentally soothing about spending leisure time with someone who you knew you'd be stuck conversing with for the rest of your life. She felt so secure and suddenly the rest of the world seemed so abstract.

When a knock on the door finally roused them out of their banter, America was left to tend to the visitor, seeing as Canada had left his perch the first time around. She plodded over to the threshold in her socks and with half of a bar of chocolate hanging from her mouth, not minding if she looked completely unpresentable.

"How ravishing," England had said once she had allowed him inside, grimacing at her disorderly figure. "I heard that Canada might be stuck in here. Naturally, I came to make sure you haven't stolen his land yet."

Raising an eyebrow, America flaunted an angelic expression. "Who? Me? I'd never annex my own brother."

"Yes, I must have dreamt the War of 1812, in that case."

"You should consult someone about that."

She earned a firm smack on the head and erupted into a fit of snickers as England scanned the room for an explanation.

"You're up to something again," the elder surmised, glowering at America sternly. "Has the Red Scare gone to your head?"

"What was that? I can't hear you over the bells of freedom," she teased in response, turning her gaze to Canada with a devious smirk. "Hurry and hide, Canada! For all we know, England is a Soviet spy! He's a communist! He's here to take over our means of production!"

England narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. "This is a serious matter!"

"GIVE ME LIBERTY OR GIVE ME DEATH!" America screeched as she bounded across the room and grabbed a pillow for protection, using it as a potential shield. "The communist threat is large and often unforeseen!"

Canada bit back his own grin, letting his gaze flicker between the two nations with unprecedented anticipation.

"Come, Canada. Let's take our leave before your sister loses what little sanity she's retained thus far," England urged, reaching for his arm while America took the opportunity to lodge her pillow into the man's side.

"Don't infect him with your propaganda!"

Snatching the pillow out of America's hands, England whacked it against her hip, feeling ridiculous and childish as he decided to stoop to his former colony's level. "If you don't cease your hollering, I'll tape your mouth shut and read the Communist Manifesto aloud until your ears bleed!"

Suppressing a bubble of laughter, America grabbed an extra pillow and sprinted to the door. "Democracy shall prevail!"

"Excuse me for a moment," England mumbled with a sigh in Canada's direction before hitting America once more with the abused pillow. "You're mad!"

Well, Canada's job was now complete—another successful consolation session.

What were brothers for?