"Kennedy was a young lad, full of dreams, but, while young, it doesn't necessarily mean he was a good person," Aiden stated. "But that doenae mean Alfred didn't feel it when he died. We usually do when those chosen to govern our people pass on. Have you spoken with Alfred lately?"

"No." Peter replied, his voice filled with childlike innocence. "I kind of want to, though."

"And what would you do upon seeing him?"

"Give him a hug."

Arthur paused midway to placing the kettle on the stove. The conversation between Aiden and Peter was definitely being recorded and listened to by him and another member of his military. For the last several months, he'd done everything he could think of to confront Alfred on his current behavior. Everything he'd done had resulted in complete failure. Flights to America had been cancelled. At least, to Alfred's part of the North American continent. Flying to Matthew's lands remained simple and easy for him, but trying to drive from anywhere in Canada in to the United States . . . something went wrong every single time, and he'd tried ever since his failed attempt to crash Australia's conversation with Alfred.

'Of which, I was told that Alfred wasn't even there for that,' Arthur thought darkly. 'The delegates were there but not Alfred. This behavior has got to stop. Now. This is the biggest temper tantrum he's ever thrown, and that's including his fight for freedom. And yet . . . Peter still would give him a hug? That sounds like utter madness to me. Alfred doesn't need a hug. He needs a proper walloping for all of the stress he's causing.'

"Give him a hug?" Aiden repeated.

"Yeah," the micro nation said. "I think that's what he really needs right now is a hug."

"We probably all could use a hug every now and again, lad. A hug is a very nice gesture indeed. What about Finland and Sweden? Do you know if they've seen Alfred?"

'Thank you, Aiden,' Arthur smirked, getting his teacup ready. 'That will make it easier for me to call out Peter for lying when I go to ask him the same questions.'

"If they have, they haven't told me," Peter said. "I know they saw him at the last World Meeting he was actually at . . . but after that, whenever it comes to Alfred, they don't tell me a lot of anything."

"I can imagine," Aiden exhaled.

'I doubt that very much, Peter," Arthur muttered. "I'm quite certain you know something, more than what you've been telling everyone else, and I intend to get to the bottom of this once and for all so I can put an end to Alfred's shenanigans."

His tea finished brewing, and he poured himself a cup. The herbaceous aroma wafted up and soothed his slightly frazzled mind. 'Right then. Time to get back to my office. I still have a lot of work to do, and Israel's visit has set some of that back a little.'

In thinking of the middle Eastern country, Arthur frowned. The young nation's appearance had been completely disheveled and his behavior erratic. The ICC hadn't exactly been kind to him or to the Israeli government in the last several weeks. Neither had the United Nations ambassadors with most approving for Palestine to become a free and independent country.

'And there's been nothing but radio silence from America on this,' Arthur recalled. 'Now he's cutting funding for Israel, and the poor lad doesn't know what to do . . . there's not much I can do, either.'

"You won't make it without me, lad," Arthur stated, glaring at his soon-to-be former colony. Blood trickled from his nose and lips while mud soaked into his battle torn pants. "You know nothing about leading or how to govern . . . what will happen to you when I'm gone? You . . . know nothing about this world and how it works! We have an arrangement!"

Rage filled him at the unemotional expression regarding him from across the battlefield. A flash of light blue appeared at Alfred's side. It registered in the back of his mind that Francis was there.

"It eez over, Arthur," the Frenchman shouted, something silvery in his right hand. Arthur's vision cleared a little to see Alfred being shielded by the elder nation. Violet-blue eyes returned the raging glare. "Vous are not wanted 'ere anymore! Vous 'ave 'urt Alfred enough!"

'Hurt Alfred . . .' Arthur blinked, coming out of his reverie. 'Why . . . why would that come up now? And what was Francis even yammering about?' A small knot of nausea formed in the pit of his gut. 'Did . . . did he know . . . figure it out . . . somehow . . . But he's never said anything to me about it over the years . . .'

He almost dropped his tea upon recalling one of the few times he'd ever truly seen genuine rage in Francis's eyes. For as flirty and voracious as the Frenchman could be, the elder nation was also a capable fighter. Dangerous, even, under the right circumstances. The fight for Matthew had proven to him as much.

'Not now, Arthur,' he told himself, tightening his grip on his mug. He took a quick glance around to be sure he hadn't taken a wrong turn on his way back to his office. While he could traverse the halls of Buckingham Palace with his eyes closed, there were times when the past caught him off guard, and he took a wrong turn. He exhaled a breath of relief upon seeing his office door a few feet in front of him.

"Are you all right, Arthur?" Peter asked, his head peeking from around the door. The micronation frowned in concerned confusion. In his office, his phone rang.

"Of course, I am," he replied, closing the distance between them. He tried to muster up a bright and disarming smile. "It's just been a long and busy day, Peter. Nothing more and nothing less. Thank you for asking me, lad. It is appreciated."

Peter nodded, his expression still troubled, but he moved to allow Arthur into his office. Aiden watched him with a neutral expression.

"Ya were mutterin' to yerself again," his elder brother said. "We heard ya from the hallway. And, yer phone is ringin', obviously. Ya normally come runnin' when it starts like that."

"Ah, yes." He set his tea on his desk. The caller I.D. read that it was Francis, which sent a spike of fear through him. "Could I ask you gents to step outside for a moment please? I have a feeling this is about to become quite ugly."

xXx-Dark-Intentions-xXx

Allistair rounded the corner in time to see Peter and Aiden stepping out of Arthur's office and the door clicking closed behind them. Anger and rage burned through him, had burned through him the entire time he drove from his home in Glasgow to get to London and to Buckingham Palace. Alfred's goodbye to him had been heart wrenching, even as he'd never gotten to see the lad in the process. He clenched his fists and raised an eyebrow at the two.

"I thought ye were supposed ta be in a meetin' with 'im," he claimed, his anger burning through him hotter at the sight of his brothers not doing what they were supposed to be doing. "Is he trying ta dodge ya?"

"Aye, we are supposed ta be in a meetin' with him," the Irish nation confirmed. "Well, he was supposed to be conferrin' with Peter here about the upcoming World Meeting, but ya know him and how he's gotta have his tea after he's had some unpleasant meetings . . ." At Allistair's slightly perplexed look, Aiden added, "Israel was here not that long ago. Seems Alfred's cut 'im off from his attacks on Palestine. Anyway, his phone started ringin' just before he got back into his office. He was mutterin' to 'imself, too, before Peter stuck his head out the office to find out who he was talkin' to."

"It was really strange, too," Peter confirmed in a softer than usual voice for the micronation. "Before I said anything to him, I saw his face. He looked really, really mad and also really, really scared. I've never seen him look like that before."

"The past be catchin' up with 'im then," Allistair said. He paused to take a breath in an attempt to calm his temper a little at the least. "Aiden, please tell me . . ."

"If Alfred's been to me country?" The Irish nation nodded soberly. "He has. Nearly knocked me over with whatever's he's doin' to hide 'imself from us."

"Has it really been that bad?" Peter glanced between the two of them.

Allistair took another deep breath and let it out as slowly and as subtly as he possibly could. Peter's appearance was that of a small child, not much older than ten years of age, yet in terms of actual age, he was older than Israel, having been born during the second World War instead of after. Despite his youthful appearance and height, the micronation knew about the horrors of war.

'But he's nae necessarily aware of the horrors of dark magic,' Allistair reminded himself. 'And I be doubtin' whether or na Finland would let Norway do any such things in front of him.'

"Aye," Aiden muttered. "It be that bad, Peter. You're aware that Norway is capable of magic, yeah?"

"Yeah," the micronation nodded.

"Most nations can, actually," Allistair added, his shoulders slumping. "But magic, it be comin' at a cost, dependin' on the type o' spell and the duration o' said spell. Whatever Alfred be doin', lad, he's been doin' so fer many a year now, and, chances are, we probably would nae recognize 'im if'n we saw 'im. It isn't just himself he be affectin' but the entirety of his country."

"And he will nae be able to keep it up for much longer," a third voice chimed into the conversation. Allistair recognized Avalon's voice, and he turned in time to see him, the personification of Wales, and Aengus, the personification of Northern Ireland, walking towards them. His brothers bore somber expressions on their faces. Aengus's eyes were also a little red, an indication he'd been crying recently. Allistair raised an eyebrow at them.

"I was nae expectin' ya to be showin' up, lads," he remarked. "But I take it the lad's been by to see ya to say his goodbyes then."

"He was," Avalon confirmed. "We never saw 'im, of course, but we knew he was there. Everyone else . . ." He paused then corrected himself, "Well, everyone but the Nordic Five has commented on feelings of offness and wrongness. It was there, at least fer me, but there was somethin' else lyin' underneath all o' it, something much deeper and sadder."

"It was very subtle," Aengus added. "Ya had ta take a moment and focus on the feelin' to get a whiff o' it, but it was there all the same."

"He's really saying his last goodbyes?" The micronation frowned in genuine sadness and, Allistair thought he detected, disappointment.

"That's what it be feel like he's doin'. And where is Arthur in all of this?" A demanded. "He was one o' the ones to send Alfred into this mess. He should be one o' the ones to be fixin' it!"

"We all should be fixing it," Peter murmured. "Even if we weren't there, we've never really stopped it when we've gotten home, have we? If we aren't talking trash about America, we're talking trash about each other. We're always annoyed with each other for some reason or another, yeah? Even if another nation hasn't done anything to actually annoy us, if they happen to be right there when we've had the smallest of things happen to us whilst in a bad mood, that nation is the one we lash out at. Then we get mad when we're confronted with the consequences of those actions. Everything just . . . bleeds out." Peter exhaled. "I know America is older than I am, but even compared to everyone else, I know he's young. He's bound to make mistakes, just like all of us."

With those soft words spoken, all four of the Kirkland brothers stopped and stared at each other. Allistair wasn't sure how his siblings were feeling, but Peter's words hit him like he'd just been punched in the gut from Russia.

'Aye, the lad makes mistakes. We all do . . .' His eyes strayed to Arthur's door. 'And it isnae always easy to see it . . .'

"HE DID WHAT?!"

Allistair blinked and immediately moved in front of Peter, as did his brothers. Arthur's shout took all of them by surprise.

"NO BLOODY WAY. YOU'RE LYING TO ME, FROG."

"What's going on?" Peter whispered.

"Rumor has it there's an American delegation in France," Aiden muttered. "The only countries remaining were France and England. Everyone else, well, they've been abuzz over the amount of money Alfred's either given to them for education and infrastructure or returning meaningful items to said countries with no reason behind it. At all. And from the sounds of it, Alfred returned something that has taken France by surprise . . ."

"Hold on, I'll be right there. I promise that I will. Don't go anywhere, Francis. Just . . . don't let them go anywhere if you can. There's got to be a good reason for all of this." There was a pause, and Allistair tilted his head. "I know . . . I know . . . we'll get it figured out, I promise. Just . . . just stall them if you can . . . they what now? . . . I see . . . Very well then . . . I'll still be there as soon as I can . . . th-. . . thank you for letting me know."

An eerie silence descended over the Kirkland brothers once the call ended. Allistair placed his hand on Peter's shoulder and pulled the micronation closer to him. They stood there for several agonizing minutes, waiting to find out what Arthur was going to do next.

'This is nae good.'

xXx-Dark-Intentions-xXx

Arthur stared at his phone once his call from Francis ended. Shock coursed through him at the picture the Frenchman had sent him of the boats in Cannes. His rival had not been lying about the return of the Statue of Liberty to his shores, and Arthur nearly collapsed to the ground.

'This . . . isn't happening,' his mind screamed at him. 'It can't be . . . It isn't . . .'

"But it IS happening," a voice that sounded too close to Matthew's whispered in his head. "You were told about this years ago when Alfred pulled away from the rest of the world. You saw his pain, and you only added to it. What kind of person does that to another person? Certainly not a good person. Nor a gentleman."

"I have to go," he muttered to himself, his realizations settling in thick and sending a wave of nausea into his gut. He started scrounging around his desk for his keys. They were there somewhere underneath the piles of paperwork that required his immediate attention. Time sensitive materials and all that but a sense of nagging that had been hounding him for the last couple of centuries or so found its way into his brain, the nagging that had suggested his strained relationship with Alfred wasn't his former colony's fault but his. Yes, as a colony, America . . . Alfred had been quite rambunctious and always up to some form of mischief. That was to be expected of children.

But he'd grown up fast and grown up alone.

'That can't have been good for him. Oh gods, what I have done?'

Arthur located his keys and hurried out of his office. He ignored the looks of concern and curiosity that his brothers were giving him and headed for his car. He had to get to the airport. To go where or to intercept the American delegation, he wasn't entirely sure, but he knew one thing for certain. There were a lot of things he needed to atone for, not just to his brothers but to Alfred and to Matthew.

He only hoped that he wasn't too late.

Author's Notes: I had more planned. I really did. It isn't my greatest chapter, I'll admit. I'm not completely proud of it, but I am mostly satisfied with it. I originally was going to have all of the Kirkland brothers' PoVs in this chapter, but, as I started to work with Scotland, I realized it would be rather redundant, so we got to see all four of them in the same place, at the same time.

I've also had a rough day that I simultaneously want to talk about and don't want to broadcast. I'm going to leave it at I'm in for another rough patch in my life. It isn't completely unexpected, unfortunately. This chapter was also me working through something else from three years ago.

Enjoy.