Author's notes: So, I wanted to do like a weekly or bi-weekly schedule for this fic, at least over the summer, but between the last update and this one I went to a convention and that kind of threw everything off. This ALSO ended up being the longest chapter I've written for this fic thus far at over 8,000 words, so...yeah. It took a bit longer than I would have liked anyway.

And because I know some people don't like reading fics with side pairings, I should warn now that this chapter contains what could be interpreted as FrUK. I don't really know. It's canon that they bicker constantly and that's really all they do here.

Chapter 13

Alfred, unfortunately, didn't get much of a rest once he arrived back at his Pennsylvania home. The next morning, he got a call from the White House: he needed to come in to be questioned about the trip.

"Can't this wait a day?" Alfred asked with a sigh. He had only just gotten back a day ago, it was nearly Christmas, and talking about his trip was rather low on his list of priorities.

"No," the woman on the other line replied. "The Pentagon wants this done while it's still fresh in your mind. And the president wants to talk to you."

"Okay," he said reluctantly, wishing the Pentagon weren't so paranoid about wire taps and that this could just be done over the phone. "When do they want to see me?"

"This afternoon at the White House."

Alfred sighed.

"All right. I'll be there," he said before hanging up.

It seemed he'd never get a break.

The World Conferences had only ended, what? A few weeks ago? Almost immediately afterward he'd been called on to help diffuse the Korea crisis, and with all that going on, he'd nearly lost track of the fact that Christmas was a mere two days away. And now this.

With a groan, he went to get dressed.

A few hours later, he was walking into the White House, his lunch—hastily ordered from the McDonald's down the street—in hand. Inside, he walked to the usual reception office, where the woman he'd spoken to over the phone, Mrs. Webb, was waiting for him.

"Hi, Alfred," she said when she saw him. "The president is waiting for you in his office. The Pentagon's up there too."

"Okay, thanks," he replied, happy he didn't need to fill out any paperwork today, at least not yet. Normally, if there was something he needed to do, she would have given it to him.

When he got to the Oval Office, the president and two Pentagon workers were already seated on the couches.

"Come on in, Alfred," the president said when he noticed Alfred hovering in the doorway. Alfred dragged himself in and plopped down on a couch lazily.

"Sorry about this, boys," he said, eying the two stiff-looking Pentagon workers across from him as he began unpacking his lunch from the bag. "I hope you don't mind McDonald's…"

"No…it's fine," one of them said, looking very much like he was trying to hide his judgment. Sure, maybe eating wasn't the most professional thing for Alfred to be doing at a meeting, but he was tired, he was hungry, and he was the United States of America. What were these guys going to do about it?

"Well…I guess we should get started," the president said, clearly trying to move on before everyone could get too distracted. "Why don't you start by just telling us your impressions, Alfred. How did it go?"

Alfred, who had just taken a bite out of his burger when asked, had to wait a moment before answering. Too many times he'd been scolded for talking with his mouth full. "It…went."

"More specific," one of the agents said. "Give us a timeline."

Alfred frowned, spitefully taking another mouthful of burger before asking, "Where should I start from?"

"When you landed in Pyongyang."

"Okay…" Alfred began, trying to remember how it had all happened. Even though it had only been a few days ago, he was tired enough that the memories were already growing a bit fuzzy. "So, we landed in Pyongyang and met our handlers—"

"Their names?" One of the agents interrupted.

"Ki Young and Kang Dae."

"Last names?"

"I dunno. Probably Kim or something?"

The agent didn't look amused, but didn't press him any further. "Go on."

"Then they took our phones and stuff," Alfred continued, "and just held them at the airport. Then we went outside to pack our stuff into cars to go to the hotel, and I met North."

Then the two agents were shuffling through their folders and pulled out a file labeled "North Korea" on the front. "Tell us about him," one of them said.

"Okay. His name's—"

"We know his name."

Alfred frowned, too tired and stressed to tolerate being constantly interrupted at this point. "Well, gee. Sorry. You asked for the last guys' names, so I thought—"

"Alfred," the president scolded.

"You picked the two stiffest feds possible!"

"Focus, Alfred."

Alfred huffed, directing his attention back towards the agents. "Fine. What do you want to know? Be more specific."

The agent asking the questions chose to ignore Alfred's mocking tone, but the tension in his jaw was obvious. "What was his initial attitude towards you?"

"I don't know. He was…distant," Alfred decided, trying to choose the right word. "But polite."

"Did he ever seem like he was trying to threaten you?"

"Not really."

"What about brown-nose you?"

Now that made Alfred want to laugh. "Pff. No."

The agent simply shrugged. "It was a possibility. What happened next?"

"We went to the hotel," Alfred continued, "And the next morning we woke up and went to the first meeting."

"Tell us about that," one of the agents suggested.

"Well, I was actually a little late—" Alfred started before catching himself. That was the morning North had dragged him off to some deserted highway in the middle of a snow storm with the entire purpose of doing so being to avoid being overheard. Were the things said in that discussion simply things North didn't want to get back to his leaders, or were they meant to stay between him and Alfred, period?

Both agents and the president were waiting for him to go on. "Why is that?"

Alfred didn't really want to breach whatever trust of North's he'd managed to get, but it didn't look like he had much choice. Even if he'd gone with the story that he and North had gone back to the hotel to get something someone else had left behind, he was sure the feds were interviewing everyone else who had been in the group. They would find out that nothing had been left behind and that that was a lie. Then they'd want to know why he'd gone off with North, and he'd have to tell them anyway.

Plus, if it came down to what was said during that conversation being an issue of national security, he had an obligation to tell. It wasn't like the feds were going to tell anyone anyway. Keeping secrets was what they did.

"North wanted to talk to me."

"About what?" Both agents had out notepads now, ready to write down whatever Alfred said. The president simply waited curiously.

"He, uh," Alfred went on, a bit uncertainly. "—Er, well, the night before I'd asked him why they had asked to talk to Americans, but he didn't get to answer me. So the next day when he talked he told me he had asked to request a group of Americans."

"He asked his leaders?" One of the agents pressed.

"I…guess."

The both wrote this down eagerly. "On the rest of your trip, did he mention asking his leaders to do anything else? Or did you get the impression that they listen to his input?"

"Well—during the meetings with everyone else he didn't really say anything," Alfred said with a frown. "I kind of got the feeling he wasn't supposed to."

"Anything else?"

"He got phone calls sometimes," Alfred added. The agents both wrote that down quickly. Yes, North Korea had a phone. It was important to them, apparently. "I don't know who he was talking to though."

The two agents continued to ask him questions about the trip, sometimes about the meetings or the places they were taken to sight-see, but mostly about North. Alfred avoided mentioning that he and North tried to "start over." He figured that the feds would think him stupid for trying, and that North was probably just doing it in the spirit of the crisis anyway. He'd probably go back to hating Alfred in a week. Like a typical commie.

"We're trying to figure out how much power he has within his system," one of the agents explained. "And also whether he's more government oriented or citizen oriented. He's basically the nation we know the least about."

When the Pentagon agents left, Alfred turned to the president. "You guys sure are interested in this trip that you said your administration wanted nothing to do with."

"It's national security, Alfred," the president responded simply. "You know that."

"Yeah, I know!" Alfred said. "But if you wanted me to do all this spy work you could have…you know…asked?"

"We wanted things to happen naturally."

"Sure." Alfred didn't buy it. He was pretty sure the administration just didn't want to feel guilty if they sent him to do all that stuff and then something went wrong because of it. He started digging through the McDonald's bag for the last of the fries at the bottom.

"We're just trying to figure out what they're playing at, Alfred," the president explained. "They may have been fabricating a crisis—threatening all-out war to get us back to the negotiating table with them."

"Is it bad that they want to negotiate?"

"It is when they let us know like that, Alfred."

Alfred huffed and stuffed the last of his fries in his mouth. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between them. "Is that it then? Or do you have some paperwork for me to do?"

"No, that's all," the president said with a smile. "You're free to go. Enjoy your holiday."

"Thanks. You too."

After crumpling up his bag, he was out of there. Time to put this whole mess behind him.

Yeah, he knew everyone was cranky and stressed because it was nearly Christmas. He felt a little bad for the way he'd acted in there, looking back on it, but who could blame him? He'd been around and dealing with this stuff for over 200 years. It got old.

Christmas did too, to be honest.

After a couple hundred Chistmases, it got a bit hard to find gifts he hadn't given before, and now he only had two days to find something suitable for each person.

He pulled out his phone to check the time, and found that he had gotten a couple texts from Matthew, who was playing host this year.

Matthew: can you get here tomorrow night?

Matthew: oh yeah and you're making apple pie on christmas. it was requested.

Alfred sighed, then started writing his response.

Alfred: yeah sure just buy the ingredients for me

Alfred: oh yeah are australia and zealand still coming?

While he was waiting for a response, he hopped on the bus heading to the nearest shopping district. He knew it was going to be packed and that all the stores were probably pretty picked over, but hopefully he could still find something.

After a few minutes, his pocket buzzed.

Matthew: ok. and australia is but zealand isn't anymore.

Great. So that meant he just had to buy for Matthew, Francis, Arthur, and Jett.

When he got off the bus, he just went into the first store he saw. The place was packed with people doing last minute shopping, but it seemed like there was still merchandise on the shelves, which was a good thing. He slipped between some people meandering slowly around the doorway and went deeper into the store.

The store's shelves were stocked mainly with knick-knacks and other trinkets. It was really…more of a girly store. It felt like a place someone's grandmother would have shopped—or else where someone would shop for their grandmother. Which was fitting, really—since England and France were, basically, old grandmas. There were shelves of ceramic statues of animals and angels and crosses, and even more shelves filled with snow globes and various Christmas décor.

Eventually, he came across a shelf filled with cookbooks, and he began leafing through one absent-mindedly. He'd gotten Arthur cookbooks on various occasions in an effort to help the old man find something he was actually able to make. Usually, Arthur was pleased to receive them, but whether or not the new recipes came out well was really hit or miss. On the other hand, he'd gotten Francis cookbooks before too, but the Frenchman usually just muttered about Arthur needing it more, and Alfred had never once witnessed Francis cooking something out of a cookbook he'd gotten him.

He put the book down and moved on to the next aisle.

The next aisle was pretty empty, most of the merchandise having already been snatched up by people here much earlier than him, but there were a few things scattered messily about on the shelves. At first he was about to leave—the aisle was filled with some very granny-ish things—but then, tossed under some flowery aprons at the back of one of the shelves, he caught a glimpse of the French flag. Normally, Alfred didn't buy nations things with their flags on them—they got enough of that—but when he pulled out the French apron, he saw the Union Jack sitting right underneath it. It was clear that someone had stuffed them back here with the intent of coming back for them later, but Alfred saw no sign of anyone else coming down the aisle, and that person may never come back anyway. And he was a little desperate.

And—then he had an idea.

The aprons didn't quite seem like enough, but he thought of the cookbooks he'd seen earlier. What if he got Arthur and Francis their respective flag aprons, and then the same cookbook? It might motivate Arthur to cook better and actually get Francis to cook something out of a cookbook Alfred had gotten him if he thought it meant he'd be doing it better than Arthur.

It was a plan, he decided. So, he swung back by the aisle with the cookbooks and pulled out two copies of one advertising New England cuisine on the cover.

After standing in line and paying, he was back out on the street, looking for stuff for Matthew and Jett.

After some wandering, he managed to find a cowboy hat (a pink one, no less) that he thought Jett would get a kick out of. As he was thinking about how ridiculous the hat really was, he realized how jokey this stuff really seemed. Why not just make this year a gag gift year? He could even switch the French and British aprons so that Francis and Arthur got the opposite one as a joke. Yeah, that would be hilarious! That was it. He was going to do it.

That just left Matthew, and now he had to find him something just as stupid for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something bright and colorful. He glanced at what had caught his attention and—

Candy store.

Matthew's present could wait a second. Right now, Alfred wanted a giant lollipop. He'd spent all week dealing with North Koreans. He deserved it.

The store was busy, of course. The place was filled with people doing last minute Christmas shopping and buying last minute stocking stuffers. The shelves were stocked with a mixture of the usual and special Christmas additions in red, green, and white.

Now where were those giant lollipops?

When he finally caught sight of them, he stopped dead in his tracks.

Right next to them, shining in giant, gummy glory was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

A five pound gummy bear.

He was literally a kid in a candy store.

But as much as he wanted to buy a giant gummy bear for himself, he was pretty sure he'd just found Matthew's Christmas present. If Alfred was this excited for it, surely Matt would be too. Too bad he only had enough money left to buy one, or else he would have gotten one too. He'd settle for the lollipop he decided, and get the bear for Matthew.

Soon he headed out, Christmas presents and giant lollipop in hand. He was done. What a relief.

By the time he got home that night, it was nearly dark. Wrapping this stuff could wait until tomorrow. For now, he just wanted to eat something and relax. He ended up making himself a microwave dinner and falling asleep on the couch halfway through Elf.

The next morning, he awoke with a mix of excitement and dread. Christmas Eve Day. He had to be at Matthew's house tonight. He hadn't booked a plane or anything, so it looked like he was driving. And it was a long trip even without all the Christmas traffic.

He brewed himself some coffee and quickly wrapped his gifts, making sure to give France and England their opposite flags, then went to throw some clothes into a suitcase. As soon as he was done, he packed it into his car and headed out.

Traffic was terrible, of course. Despite only stopping once to grab lunch and go to the bathroom, the trip took practically all day. It was evening when he arrived at Matthew's house just outside of Toronto.

The house was decorated with the usual lights along the edges of the roof, as well as wrapped around the property's trees and bushes. There was also a lit up sled and a reindeer, which Alfred had managed to convince Matthew to buy a single, large red bulb for, since it was only right that the reindeer be Rudolph. There were other cars in the driveway and the lights in the house were on, so someone was home, obviously.

He rang the doorbell and waited.

A moment later, the door opened, but…there wasn't anyone there.

"Very funny, Matt," Alfred said, thinking this was yet another practical joke. It happened pretty much every year.

But then—"Oh. You again."

Many years ago, Matthew had found an injured polar bear cub abandoned by the side of the road. Its injuries were too severe for it to ever return to the wild, where it would have had a permanent limp, so Matthew had decided to adopt it. Since he had just established relations with Japan, he let Japan name the cub. Unfortunately, the name had been Japanese, and no one seemed to be able to remember it but the bear itself. Thanks to the strange magic that surrounded nations, the cub had not only learned to talk, but stayed eternally young after its injuries had healed.

Yes, it was the bear, too short for Alfred to see, who had answered the door.

"Hey, uh…bear," Alfred said, not even going to bother digging through his memory for the bear's name this time. "Where's your friend?"

"Who?"

"Matthew! Where's Matthew?"

"Oh, that guy," the bear muttered. "Fighting with that other guy."

"What other guy?" Alfred asked.

"Mm?" The bear simply did what must have been the bear equivalent of a shrug and meandered back off into the house. Great. Now Alfred was stuck in the doorway with a bunch of packages and no one to help him figure out where he was supposed to put them. He ended up just piling them inside by the doorway while he wandered off to find his brother.

He searched several rooms before finding Matthew and Jett upstairs in the media room, arguing.

"Please, Jett, I'm trying to clean! Move your feet!"

"Why didn't ya clean before I got here?"

"I've been busy, unlike you! Now move!" Matthew insisted, shoving the Australian's feet off the coffee table he was trying to clean.

Alfred wasn't really sure how to interrupt them, so he sort of just—

"Uh, guys?"

Jett paused the game he was playing and glanced back at Alfred, breaking into a big smile. "Aw, hey, America! Why don't ya come play a round with me?"

"Jett!" Matthew cried, clearly exasperated. "I'm sorry, Alfred! I've been trying to get last minute things done all night and Jett's being no help at all! Merry Christmas! Do you need help unpacking? Go help him, Jett!"

"Aw, he's a big guy," Jett drawled. "He can handle it by himself."

"It's okay!" Alfred insisted. "I just put my stuff by the door for now. What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to clean this room so we can actually use it to watch Christmas movies later!" Matthew replied, moving a stack of magazines off the table and going to place them on a shelf across the room. "Can you help? Maybe start by unplugging the Playstation?"

"Hey!" Jett objected, his expression turning to horror as Alfred actually went over and unplugged the thing. He hated seeing Matthew this stressed and upset. Jett could wait to play his game. "What's the big idea?"

"The faster you help us get this place cleaned up, the faster Matthew will let you play your game!" Alfred assured him. "Sound good?"

"Not really."

"Too bad!"

After a bit of prodding, they finally managed to get the Australian up off the couch, and after a while, the mess in the room had been cleared up enough that the room would be usable for a couple of days.

"Is that all?" Alfred asked.

"I think so," Matthew answered, seeming content with the job they'd done.

"So can I play my game now?" Jett asked almost immediately.

Matthew sighed in defeat. "I suppose so."

"Aw, yes!" It was clear they were not going to see much of Jett until they could commandeer the TV for movies later.

Speaking of seeing people…

"Hey, Matt, where are the old men?" Alfred asked, realizing he hadn't seen either of them since he'd arrived.

Matthew's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "You mean they're not back yet?"

A moment of confusion passed between them.

"What do you mean, 'not back yet'?" Alfred asked. "Where'd they go?"

"They were driving me crazy with their bickering so I told them to go out and look at Christmas lights!" Matthew explained, pulling out his phone. "Eh—wait! Maybe they're in the house! You came straight up here didn't you?"

"I'll look for them!"

Alfred was gone in a flash, running through the house checking each room, with no sign of either of them. He nearly ran into Matthew the next time he ran out into the hall. "I can't find them!"

"I'm gonna call," Matthew decided, pulling out his phone again.

"Wait!"

"What?"

"Put it on speaker!"

Matthew huffed in extreme annoyance, but did put the phone on speaker before dialing Arthur's number.

"Hello?" said an unmistakably British voice on the other line.

"Where are you?" Matthew demanded, the stress in his voice apparent.

"Oh, well you see," Arthur replied, fairly calmly at first, "this bloody arsewipe got us lost!"

"That is not true!" Francis could be heard objecting.

"It is so!" Arthur insisted. "You said, 'turn here! I know where I'm going!'"

"I did know where I was going but you didn't listen!" Francis objected again in the background.

Matthew tried to interject before the two of them could get into a really heated argument. "Can't you look on your phone to see where you are?"

"I'm driving!" Arthur answered.

"Well, tell Francis to do it on his phone!" Matthew suggested. Firmly.

"He took my phone and he's sitting on it and he won't give it back!" Francis whined.

"He was—"

"Give him his phone, Arthur!" Matthew ordered so uncharacteristically sternly that there actually seemed to be a surprised silence on the other line for a moment. "Alfred's here and I want everyone to come home so we can have a nice night together as a family! Okay? Give him the phone!"

"Hmph." There was a moment of shuffling as Arthur dug Francis's phone out from under his rear. "There. I gave it to him."

"Ewwww, it's warm!"

"Good. Now tell Francis to type in my address in the map app, and it will tell you how to come home," Matthew said, much more calmly this time.

"He was giving me wrong directions earlier," Arthur complained with a huff. "That's why I took it away. You better give me the right directions this time, frog!"

"Matthieu!" Francis continued to whine in the background. "He was driving on the wrong side of the road on purpose to scare me!"

"I was not!"

"Arthur!" Matthew snapped. "Drive home! Francis, give him the right directions!" And then he hung up with an angry outward breath.

"Hey, this means when they get home, they'll be all tired out!" Alfred said, trying to cheer his brother up with an encouraging pat on the back. The poor guy. It was clear he was doing his best to make this a good Christmas for everybody, but things just weren't going his way. "And then you can have some peace and quiet."

"Oh, I sure hope so, Alfred," Matthew murmured. "They've been at it since they got here yesterday."

"Hey, I know…" Alfred said, an idea forming in his head, "Why don't we start up the fire place downstairs and I'll make you some hot chocolate and we can sit down there with the radio tuned to the Christmas station and just relax?"

"Oh…that would be wonderful, Alfred," Matthew sighed, slipping off his glasses to rub at his eyes. He was clearly exhausted.

Alfred got Matthew set up on the couch in front of the fireplace with some pillows and blankets in the den, then went into the kitchen to make a couple of cups of hot chocolate for them. When he was done, he went back and handed one to Matthew. Meanwhile, he set his own on the table while he went to move the gifts he'd brought out of the doorway and move them into the den to put under the Christmas tree. Since he wasn't sure where he'd be sleeping for the night, he just left his suitcase by the door and returned to the den, where he flopped down on a lounge chair and settled in with his hot chocolate. When he was done, he set the cup on a nearby coffee table before settling down again. Matthew seemed to have already dozed off. Not a bad idea. The last thing he remembered before falling asleep himself was the first few lines of Silent Night gently playing from the radio.

Some time later, Alfred was awoken by someone complaining loudly about the "bloody rubbish" he'd left in the doorway. Glancing over and seeing Matthew still asleep, Alfred decided to go shut those old men up before they woke him up with their bickering.

He found them still standing in the entryway, dusting snow off their coats and continuing to argue about whose fault the whole incident had been.

"Can you two take this somewhere else?" Alfred not so much asked as he did insist. "Matthew's been busting his butt all day and your bickering is really stressing him out."

"Oh, not so much as a 'hello', I see," Arthur griped, hanging his coat up on a nearby hook. "Not even a 'Merry Christmas'? He got those manners from you, France."

"Don't turn this around on me! You raised him, England," Francis retorted, promptly moving Arthur's coat from the hook he'd just put it on so he could spitefully put his own in its place.

"Shut up!" Alfred hissed, putting a finger to his lips. "Matthew's asleep and I want it to stay that way! Go get a room and fight it out up there, okay?"

"Excuse me, Alfred?" Arthur gawped, apparently appalled that Alfred would ever dare insist that he and Francis needed to 'get a room.'

"Merry Christmas. Goodnight," Alfred said, throwing his hands up in exasperation as he turned to leave. What a way to start Christmas.

As he made his way back to the den, he could hear the two of them still arguing about the situation, although a bit more quietly now.

"See? You upset them. Both of them."

"No, that was your fault!"

"Shut up and go upstairs!"

"You first!"

Somehow, Alfred managed to tune them out and drift off into sleep.

He was awakened the next morning by Jett running down the stairs shouting exuberantly. "It's Christmas! Christmas mornin'!"

"Be quiet, Jett!" Matthew hissed from the kitchen. "People are sleeping!"

"Not anymore," Alfred muttered, stretching out on the chair with a groan.

"Needed to wake up anyway," Jett said defensively. "Where's everyone else?"

"Asleep!" Matthew hissed again. "Why don't you come help me make breakfast?"

"Can I lick the spoon?"

"Wait!" Alfred was up and out of the chair now. "I wanna lick the spoon!"

"Hey!"

"Whoever does a better job helping me can lick the spoon!" Matthew announced.

"Deal!" Alfred and Jett said at once, both of them racing into the kitchen to help Matthew.

The three of them spent the next half hour cutting up fruit and mixing eggs and flour and butter into Matthew's famous pancake batter. Matthew manned the stove and the other two worked on setting the table. Finishing with the table before the pancakes were done, Alfred and Jett turned to Matthew expectantly.

"Who did better?" Jett asked.

"I don't know," Matthew replied. "I wasn't really watching. Sorry. One of you can lick the bowl and the other can lick the spoon. Fair?"

Alfred ended up taking the bowl and letting Jett have the spoon. Around the same time, Arthur came down the stairs, still in his sleeping clothes and night cap, and wandered groggily into the kitchen.

"Good morning, gramps," Alfred said teasingly. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," Arthur grumbled sleepily, pulling out a chair so he could sit down at the table.

"Would you like some tea, Arthur?" Matthew asked, bringing a stack of fresh pancakes to the table.

"That would be nice…" the other murmured.

While Matthew got to work brewing a pot of tea, Alfred and Jett started filling their plates with pancakes.

"Where's Francis?" Alfred asked, hoping the other's name wouldn't instantly incite an argument.

"Still asleep," Arthur muttered. "Like the lazy arse he is."

A few minutes later, the Frenchman himself wandered down to the kitchen, wearing nothing but his underwear.

"Oh, bloody hell…" Arthur groaned, shielding his eyes. Alfred struggled to suppress a chuckle.

Francis, for once, helpfully ignored Arthur's words, though he still made a point to sit right next to him at the table.

"Joyeux Noël!" he sang as he helped himself to a plate of Matthew's pancakes.

"You couldn't at least wrap yourself in a blanket or something?" Arthur complained, side-eyeing the near naked Frenchman.

"Why?" Francis asked. "I like sleeping in my natural state."

"You're not sleeping anymore!"

"Aw, stop yer bickerin'," Jett muttered through a mouthful of pancake. "It's Christmas."

Arthur wrinkled up his face, as if the idea of getting along with Francis was in itself repulsive, but he didn't push the issue further.

Matthew came over with a cup of tea for Arthur, then went back to the counter to bring over another batch of pancakes before having a seat himself.

He seemed a little uncomfortable. "I'm uh…sorry I hung up on you last night," Matthew said quietly, averting his eyes. "I was just stressed."

"Don't worry about it," Arthur said, taking a sip of his tea.

"Ah, you don't need to apologize, Matthieu!" Francis said as he poured syrup across his pancakes.

Matthew smiled softly. "Sorry…"

"You apologized for apologizing!" Alfred pointed out.

"I'm sorr—shut up, Alfred," Matthew said, dribbling syrup over his pancakes.

From then on, they were able to eat in relative peace. Soon, everyone was done and ready to open presents. They'd save the kitchen cleanup for later, since they'd be cooking again soon anyway.

"Who's going first?" Alfred asked.

"I think Matthieu should go first, since he's playing host," Francis suggested. Everyone else nodded in agreement, except for Matthew, who shied away bashfully.

"I don't think—"

"You're going first, Mattie!" Alfred insisted, thrusting a present his way.

They each took turns opening presents. Alfred waited excitedly each time someone was about to open one of his. Matthew got a nice laugh out of the giant gummy bear, which his own polar bear cub had been around to see him open.

"It's you!" Matthew exclaimed, getting the bear's attention.

"But it's red," the bear pointed out.

"Close enough."

And just as he'd thought, Jett was delighted with his new, silly hat.

"Awright!" he said as he opened the pink monstrosity. "I'm gonna wear it to my next meeting with my boss."

"Geoffrey Ralph Smith!" Arthur scolded, pulling out Australia's full name for added disapproval.

"Nuh-uh, gramps," Jett said, waggling a finger as he put the hat on defiantly. "You may call me Jett or Australia. Those are yer two options."

Arthur ignored him. "You can't wear that to meet your boss."

"Yer not the boss of me."

Finally, it came time for Arthur to open his gift from Alfred, but Alfred stopped him before he could start.

"Wait!" Alfred interrupted. "I want you and Francis to open yours at the same time."

Arthur and Francis exchanged a look.

"Oh, I can't wait to see what you've got in store for us," Arthur grumbled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Alfred just smiled knowingly, eager to see their reactions. "Go on!"

As they were pulling the aprons out of the bags, Alfred heard Matthew mutter beside him, "You didn't."

Oh, but he had.

"Alfred Foster Jones!" Arthur practically shrieked in horror as he pulled a French flag patterned apron out of the bag. "You can't possibly expect me to wear this!"

But Alfred was laughing too hard to answer. Arthur's reaction had been even better than he'd hoped!

And it kept getting better. Rather than also erupt in anger, Francis took the joke gracefully. "Ah, my dear Angleterre, you would look lovely in my flag," he purred.

It was only then that Arthur seemed to notice that Francis had been given a similar gift, the only difference being that his sported the Union Jack.

"No!" Arthur objected as soon as his eyes landed on it. "I don't want my flag covering your ugly codpiece!"

When Alfred finally managed to stop laughing, he added, "You can trade."

"Let's trade!" Arthur said immediately, reaching for the other apron, which Francis quickly pulled out of his reach.

"I want to see you wear it first!" Francis grinned.

"No! Absolutely not! Trade me!"

"Why don't you both cook something out of those cookbooks you haven't even noticed I put in the bags," Alfred suggested, "and whoever wins decides what to do with them?"

"Alfred!" Matthew scolded him.

"Well, that's not even a contest," Francis bragged, flipping his hair. He pulled the book out of the bag and looked at the cover. "More than 200 Classic New England Recipes from Clam Chowder to Pumpkin Pie," he read.

"Nonsense!" Arthur broke in. "It descended from my food so obviously I can make it better!"

"Is it a bet then?" Francis challenged.

"It's a bet!" Arthur confirmed.

Soon enough, the two of them were flipping through the books, trying to decide on a recipe

Meanwhile, Matthew handed Alfred an envelope.

"This is the last thing," he said. "It's for you."

"What?" Alfred asked, confused. "But I thought I'd opened everything from all of you."

"You did."

Confused, Alfred opened the envelope to find a handwritten note:

Dear Alfred,

I feel really bad about you having to deal with my brother for a whole week. I wish there was a way to stop this entire crisis without you having to go in like that. By the time you get this, it will be Christmas and hopefully everything will be okay. Now you get to just relax with your family. And since you're the best friend in the world, why don't you come relax with me at a spa sometime? You deserve it.

Your friend,

Yong Soo

Enclosed was a voucher for one of Seoul's high end bath houses, which included all the perks from massages to hot tubs.

"When did he give this to you?" Alfred asked. "How did he get it here?"

"The same day he found out about the drills going ahead as planned," Matthew explained. "He came up to me with the envelope and told me to save it for you. He wanted it to be a big secret I guess. Maybe he was embarrassed?"

"About asking me to go to a spa with him?" Alfred pondered that thought. "Maybe." As he thought about it, there had been one day during the world meetings where he and Yong Soo had had a talk about him needing to go to North Korea to diffuse things. Afterwards, Yong Soo had run off in a hurry, and Alfred had later found out he had nowhere else to be that day. Now Alfred thought he knew what happened: Yong Soo must have been running off to give this to Matt between his meetings at a time when Alfred wouldn't be around to see the exchange. It seemed like a lot of trouble, but it was the only explanation he could come up with.

After all the presents had been opened, everyone helped with the cleanup, piling wrapping paper and boxes into a trash bag so they could easily be disposed of. Alfred gathered his gifts—that game he'd been wanting from Matthew, some weird Australian candy from Jett, a book on etiquette from Arthur (well, after today, he probably deserved it), and a bottle of wine from Francis (it included a note that read "because you can't buy it in your own country!")—and piled them near his suitcase, which he now realized he should probably move, so he took it upstairs to an empty guest room and dumped it on the bed before heading back down to help with the cooking.

Arthur and Francis had found a simple recipe for Indian pudding in their cookbooks and were eagerly combing the kitchen for ingredients they'd need so they could get their contest out of the way. Meanwhile, Matthew was cleaning the turkey and had set Jett and Alfred to work peeling potatoes and earing corn, respectively. They spent the rest of the morning making preparations and cooking.

Halfway through, Arthur and Francis insisted that their creations be judged, so Alfred, Matthew, and Jett took a break from what they were doing and sat down at the table.

Indian pudding was a traditional New England dessert that had evolved from hasty pudding, made from cornmeal and milk mostly, and spiced up with…well, spices—and whatever else deemed necessary to make it taste good, giving the competitors a great deal of freedom. So the results would be…interesting.

Each armed with a spoon, Alfred, Matthew, and Jett sampled the two entries while Francis and Arthur waited to hear the results.

Since it was Alfred's food, he thought he might as well give his vote first.

When he was young, he'd idolized Arthur. Even though he'd been well aware that Francis was the better cook, he'd eaten whatever Arthur served him with gusto. Arthur had been his caretaker, and Alfred had looked up to him. In those days, he never would have dreamed doing anything that might hurt Arthur.

But things had changed a lot since then. Alfred no longer felt obligated to put Arthur on that pedestal. He no longer felt obligated to say that England's cooking was great no matter how bad it was. Today, Francis was the better cook. While Arthur's version hadn't been bad, it was rather bland, and nowhere near as smooth or sweet as Francis's had been.

"The Frenchie gets my vote," he said, looking away when he caught that look of betrayal from Arthur. Francis smiled knowingly.

Next was Matthew, who must have hated the idea of choosing between the two as much as Alfred did, since he avoided looking at either of them. "Um…I guess I vote for Arthur's?"

"Aw, you're just giving him pity votes!" Jett broke in. "Francis wins."

Francis grinned victoriously, while Arthur scowled beside him. "Ah, do not feel bad, Angleterre! I will be sure to compliment you on how fabulous you look!"

"I don't want to hear it," Arthur grumbled. Francis just continued to grin.

"Come on, Arthur!" Francis insisted, bringing over the French patterned apron. "Put it on!"

"No!"

"That was the agreement! Whoever wins decides what to do with them!" Francis pressed, trying to slip the string over the other's head. "And I decide that you wear it the rest of the time while we're cooking!"

It took some more prodding—and maybe a little bit of wrestling—but Francis finally got Arthur to wear the thing. Then he was pulling the Union Jack one over his own head and grinning like he'd just won the lottery.

He threw an arm around Arthur's shoulders. "Don't we look fabulous? Take a picture!"

That, of course, got Francis a stiff elbow to the gut, but apparently he thought it had been worth it, since he was still grinning even as he slinked away like an injured cat.

By lunchtime, everything was ready, including the apple pie Alfred had promised he'd make. Everyone soon sat down for a comparatively peaceful meal of turkey, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, stuffing, dinner rolls, fruit salad, and apple pie.

It had basically been a whole year since Alfred had gotten to sit down and eat with family like this, since everyone celebrated Thanksgiving at different times. It was nice—especially when they could avoid bickering and talk and laugh together. They found themselves talking about mostly funny things, like the last awkward thing Germany had done, or some moment from the past summer's World Cup.

Eventually, Alfred's trip to North Korea was brought up.

"I don't see why you waste your time with it," Arthur said, begrudgingly taking a bite of pie that Alfred could tell even he was mentally admitting was good. "They're mad. The whole lot of them."

"They asked for Americans."

"Bollocks."

"Did you want me to ignore them?"

"North Korea's a maniac," Arthur continued, ignoring Alfred's question. "He doesn't give a single damn about you or anyone else."

"You didn't answer my question," Alfred pointed out. "What was I supposed to do? Ignore him and hope a war didn't happen?"

"I don't think it would have," Arthur said, taking another bite of pie. "He knows you want to play the hero. He's in a tough spot because he won't change his ways and no one will talk to him. No one's feeling sorry for him and no one wants to help. So what does he do? He threatens war, knowing you'll come to the rescue and stop him. So now people are taking notice of him again and talking to him and he's no closer to changing because he'll just talk his way around it. Waste of time."

"But how is talking a bad thing?" Alfred asked, beginning to think this was the same conversation he'd had with his boss all over again. "What if talking opens him up and he starts to change?"

"You're such an optimist," Arthur sighed. "We've been trying that for sixty bloody years, Alfred, and it hasn't worked."

Francis, who had been silent for the entire conversation thus far, finally gave his input. "If he really wanted to change," he started, "he would have."

"If he even cared," Arthur said, accentuating the last word harshly. "If he even truly cared about his people, he should have taken the fall long ago."

"And let South take over," Francis finished.

Alfred felt a twinge of sadness run through him. "Are you seriously suggesting he should just—"

"Yes, Alfred, I am," Arthur said, cutting him off. "Maybe it's harder for younger nations like you and Matthew and Jett to see, but some nations just don't make it. They're not cut out for it. He's not cut out for it. He's cheating the system. Delaying the inevitable. All at the expense of his own people."

At that point, Matthew and Jett, who seemed to have grown a bit uncomfortable with the conversation, got up from the table and started to clean up.

Alfred was silent. It was hard to swallow, but everything Arthur and Francis had brought up were good points. North could have absolutely no desire to actually talk productively. He could have staged the whole wanting to talk thing for the attention. He could give zero fucks about his people. He could have no plans to change whatsoever.

But Alfred found that idea hard to swallow. Every nation was so in-tune with their people that even the suffering of a few of their citizens was hard to ignore. Surely North cared, at least a little.

And the idea that North cared made it even harder for Alfred to tolerate that Arthur had basically said that it would be better if North just disappeared. Maybe there was some truth in that line of thinking, but every time Alfred had thought that way in the past—about Imperial Japan, about Soviet Russia, about Vietnam—he'd regretted it. Sometimes the enemy, no matter how much Alfred hated them at the time, simply had no choice but to follow their leader's orders. Maybe it was easier to think about destroying your enemy when they were just a faceless force you were fighting against. Maybe that was why Arthur thought this was all a waste of time. If Alfred began to see North as anything other than a faceless enemy, might it be harder for Alfred to do the best thing for the Korean people?

"He can't be that heartless," Alfred said finally.

But Arthur seemed to have already grown bored with the conversation and was rising to help Matthew and Jett with the cleanup. Francis, who was still seated at the table, let out a sigh.

"You just can't save them all, Alfred."

Once the mess was cleaned up, the family settled down to watch the Christmas Story marathon, occasionally making snide comments about how one character or another resembled someone in their own family. Afterwards, everyone went outside briefly for a snowball fight before everyone (minus Matthew) decided it was too cold and came back in. Then it was back to movies, this time It's a Wonderful Life with a couple of bowls of popcorn.

When that was done, Alfred was beginning to feel like those warm and cozy feelings were making him just a bit too warm, and it was then that he realized he probably needed to go shower. So, while everyone else flipped through the channels looking for the next movie, Alfred went down the hall to the guest room where he'd dumped his stuff and started looking through his suitcase for a change of clothes. Half the stuff in his suitcase was leftover from his trip to North Korea and just a bit too formal to wear around the house. Surely he'd packed a T-shirt or something?

He finally found one stuffed in the bottom. From there, he reached into a side pocket to grab a fresh pair of underwear and found himself pulling out a piece of paper along with it. What was this? He flipped it over and saw a series of numbers. Oh. This must have been North's number that Alfred had gotten him to scribble down. After today's conversation with Arthur and Francis, he was wondering how well this "hotline" idea would actually work. How did he even know the number North had given him was real? And if it was real, what was stopping North from just ignoring him?

Well, he'd never know if he never tried, so he entered the number into his contacts, setting the name as "Commie," because why not? Then he sent a simple text message:

Alfred: I know you probably don't celebrate it but merry christmas!

Then he left his phone on the bed and went to take a shower.

When he came back, rubbing his hair dry with a towel, he was surprised to find his phone screen lit up. Setting down the phone, he picked it up to check his messages. Incredibly, he'd gotten a response:

Commie: Merry Christmas

Maybe there was hope in the world.

More author's notes:

I'm sorry for:

- that "who?" joke. Couldn't help myself. Sorry.

- sort of but not really writing Australia's accent. I wanted him to talk noticeably differently, but I'm not really a fan of seeing accents written out.

- possibly butchering or misusing British slang. I'm from Texas.

- that stuff that could have been interpreted as FrUK.

I didn't really know what to do with Kumajirou. I wanted to acknowledge his existence, but the canon that surrounds him, with him unable to remember Canada's name and Canada unable to remember him, is kind of...eh. It needed explanation, so I hope what I gave made sense. I never did have Canada actually try to call him by his name, but it probably would have just been something Japanese-sounding but incorrect like "Keramatsu," and Kuma calling Matthew something like "Maxwell" in return.

Yes, my headcanon is that Australia's name is really Geoffrey, but he prefers to go by Jett. I know Jett was a possible name Himaruya gave for him, but realistically, no one was calling themselves "Jett" when Australia was founded, so I feel like his name must have originally been something else. I feel like he chose "Jett" for himself later.

On the topic of human names, if you go back to earlier chapters of this fic, you'll notice that I've changed all instances of "America" in the narrative to "Alfred" for consistency. Most nations close to Alfred, meaning FACE + Australia + South Korea have also had their names changed to be the human ones in most instances. I want nation names to be used for nations Alfred's not particularly close with, or during sort of distant moments between them, with the human names reserved for his friends and family, or to be used in intimate moments.

And one last, just sort of fun fact: France does not officially recognize North Korea. Not only are relations between them non-existent, but France considers South Korea to have jurisdiction over the entire peninsula. Their view is basically that the North Korean government is illegal. The UK, on the other hand, does have established relations with North Korea but they by no means pretend to be friends. They really pretty much share the US view on North Korea, the only difference being that the UK has an embassy in Pyongyang and the US has to do everything through Sweden since the US doesn't have officially established relations with North Korea.