[CHAPTERFIC] You Can't Take the Sky from Me Chapter Twenty-Five (Axis Powers Hetalia)
Title: You Can't Take the Sky from Me [FF.NET Chapter Twenty-Five] [ Writing Journal Previous Chapters ]
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano, Belarus---->Russia, PrussiaxSwitzerland, GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria. Future pairings: SwedenxFinland
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,518
Summary: Ace pilot America is on a mission for the World Military when a chance encounter with a group of sky-pirates leads him to team up with their captain, England, against a malevolent group that wants to fill the sky with zeppelins. [USxUK- Steampunk AU]
Chapter Summary: “Say, you’re the one meeting with Kirkland, right?”
America’s cheeks pinked. “Y-yeah! How did you know?”
Hungary shrugged, the poofy short sleeves of her dress moving with her shoulders. “He radioed me and told me to keep a watch for you. He mentioned that you were a military man. Used to be, this place was the pub for pirates. That was back when my parents and grandparents owned it. But… there aren’t many pirates anymore, so we don’t get them as often.”
Author's Note: Thank you to all of the reviewers on the last chapter! Also, two beautiful new fanarts, both by kiirusama: AmericaxEngland (color) and AmericaxEngland (black and white). ♥
Japan was in a long distance relationship. He was secretive about it, but everyone in the unit knew that his relationship with Greece, a soldier from Delphys, was not one of friendship. Okay, so he had pretty much outright told America once, but even then, he’d been rather understated. “Greece and I are very close, yes. We are ah, more than friends,” is what America remembered him saying.
After admitting out loud that he loved England to Japan, America had tried to backtrack and deny his words a couple of times, despite knowing inwardly that they were true. Japan, although polite about it, would have none of that, and America eventually resigned himself to Japan, sulking as he did so.
He reasoned to himself that it was a fair exchange. Japan had admitted to him (sort of) that he was in love with Greece, and America had confessed that he loved England.
Not long after, America had shooed Japan out of his dorm, telling him where he was going the next day and reasoning that he needed sleep since he’d be getting up early. It was true. He did need sleep, but it was mostly his desire to be alone so he could think on what he’d just realized that drove him to ask his friend to leave.
In the end he didn’t think on it much, instead deciding to read a few old issues of the comic books he’d had out and take an early bed time. It was… not as if he wasn’t going to have tons of time to think on it in the future, if he even really needed to. When his mind averted to England now, he thought of all the things he had before, with the addition of acknowledged romantic affection, as well as a sprinkle of still-feeling-like-an-idiot-for-not-realizing-it-until-now.
But he slept surprisingly well. In the end, he realized, accepting his feelings had relaxed him.
In the morning he was buoyant, loose and refreshed and upbeat even for him. He felt good, like he’d let out a breath he’d been holding for the past week. And he was so ready; ready to fight the Kosmider and to go on a date with England.
Okay, actually his face kind of heated up and he got nervous and fidgety whenever he thought about the date. But he was still excited! Excited enough to plow through breakfast and be ready to take to the sky at 0600 hours, even. The Világfa was an estimated ten hours away, but he was allowing himself twelve, in case he had to detour because of weather or, god forbid, something worse.
Besides, he kind of wanted to get there early so he could rent a room and clean up a bit. He was bound to feel sweaty and grimy after such a lengthy plane ride. And if this was a date? Heroes didn’t arrive for their dates looking anything less than their best.
With a pack on his shoulder containing two changes of clothes, one for that evening and an extra uniform for the next day, and an early breakfast in his stomach, America entered the hangar area and approached his plane.
Canada was waiting for him; his glasses perched over sleepy eyes and his pajamas wrinkled, as if he’d just hopped out of bed.
America smiled. “Hey Canada! Did you just come to wish me goodbye and stuff? I mean it’s kind of early though…”
Canada had a look on his face, despite his bleary state. America recognized it as the expression he wore when he was trying his damndest to work up an assertive attitude. His lips were pursed and his fists were clenched. He was obviously not there to say goodbye.
“You’re going to see the pirate again, aren’t you?” Canada finally spoke, quietly, but with an edge of consternation.
America bristled, securing his hold on the pack and striding toward the plane. “His name is England, and yeah, I am.”
Canada placed his hand firmly on the clasp that opened the cockpit. “America, you shouldn’t go! I’m serious this time…”
“I’m going, Canada! C’mon, move so I can get in my plane, okay?” America reached the plane and gestured.
“No.”
“Damn, what’s your problem?” America raised his voice. “I’m going, all right? If you’re worried about Kumajirou, I promise I’ll be able to help you fi--- “
“What’s happening to you, America?” Canada interrupted, sounding both angry and panicked.
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
Canada puffed himself up and stood up as straight as he could manage. “Ever since you’ve started hanging out with this England, you’ve been acting completely different. It’s not like you at all!”
America laughed nervously. “Hey man, seriously? That’s ridiculous…”
“No, it’s not!” Canada exclaimed. “I’ve known you my entire life. Suddenly you’re not following the rules, you’re sneaking off on your own, and you’re deviating from missions. Your entire life, you’ve thought pirates were bad. Believe me, I know. I was usually the pirate, eh.”
“Canada that’s-“
“Shut up! And now that you’re in love with one, you’re willing to continually risk your position and your job and break the rules and---- “
“Me and England’s relationship has nothing to do with this!” America interrupted, shouting.
Canada gripped the clasp on the cockpit tighter, his expression steely. “It has everything to do with this.”
“Just shut up and let me go,” America snapped. “Look, everything is fine. General Wang cleared me last time, and the colonel was okay with it the time before. Nothing to worry about…”
He did not move. “Dammit! You’ve gotten away with everything before now. You’re the favorite, so of course they’re going to let you have a few freebies.”
America just shrugged. “Heroes have to do what they---“
“But what happens when your luck runs out?” Canada cut in. “When they can’t keep making excuses for you…” He looked down, clenching his eyes shut. “America, I’m scared! Shit! Just… “
America drew himself up to full height, his lips in a firm thin line and his eyebrows drawn downward. “Just… what?”
Canada didn’t reply, instead just shaking his head.
“Keep letting people die, is that it?” America queried. “Should I just stop seeing England because he’s a pirate, never mind the fact that he’s--- he’s a good friend and a great ally? Should I not deviate from a mission to save people’s lives?” He jutted his chin out proudly and pointed to himself. “Because dammit, I’m a hero!” He touched Canada’s hand, pleading him silently to remove it from the cockpit. “And sometimes heroes have to take matters into their own hands.”
“You didn’t---“
“I’ve learned that,” America interrupted, a soft smile on his face. “Now c’mon…”
Canada’s eyes softened for a moment, but then he shook his head vehemently. “No! I’m going to be assertive. I know I’m in the right here, America! Just… what would happen if the military found out that you were leaving the base to spend time with pirates--- with the Kosmider around, who knows--- god America, it’s just… you might not always be so lucky.“
“Well France leaves all the time…”
“There’s a reason why France is still a private, eh!” Canada reasoned, his voice rising. “What you’re doing is different. Notice that France hasn’t been leaving recently? Not with the Kosmider out there. You’re a captain, and you can even be so much more, like grandpa!”
America looked taken aback for a second before regaining his composure. His eyes flashed angrily. “Fuck you. Grandpa would want me to do what I thought was right.” He ran his fingers across the fob watch at his belt. “Don’t bring him into this.” His voice was hard, flinty and firm. He tightened his grip on Canada’s hand, wrenching it off the cockpit and shoving him away. “I’m leaving, whether you like it or not.”
Canada watched helplessly as his cousin stepped into the cockpit. He deflated, his head dropping once more and his wavy hair shadowing his face. “Good luck then…” he said under his breath, but America couldn’t hear him, because he’d already shut himself into the plane and begun his takeoff preparation.
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England was absolutely not fretting over preparing for his date with America. He hadn’t taken a very lengthy hot bath, heated by the steam engines below. He had certainly not changed into a freshly pressed shirt and breeches, both being nicer than the standard clothing he wore on a day to day basis. His normal shirt didn’t have a cravat after all. It was most unusual for him to wear a maroon vest under his coat and over his shirt, but it’s not that he was going out of his way to do this, of course.
Nor was the coat he’d decided to wear smarter and more formal than his normal one; its deep navy falling in folds at his knees and the silver accents on it gleaming. He hadn’t shined his boots to their best, and most importantly, he was absolutely and positively not wearing cologne.
Oh who was be bloody kidding.
England closed his eyes and sighed as he stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, pressing the lapels of his jacket absently. The clothing was befitting of a date, he felt. But at the same time it wasn’t so fancy that America would find it terribly obvious that he was expecting this to be a date. This was right perfect, he thought. It was safe.
“Although perhaps I should reconsider the cologne,” he murmured under his breath.
His hat wouldn’t match, which he was a bit miffed about because, as always, he’d been unable to get his hair to lie down flat.
England puffed up his chest, attempting to muster a stature that portrayed confidence. He was as ready for this night as he thought he’d ever be. His heart jammed in his throat when he thought about it, and his stomach fluttered when he imagined America greeting him with a smile, or so he hoped. And his cheeks flushed pink at the mere idea that he was potentially going out for an evening date with one very attractive, albeit very silly, aviator.
What would it be like to hold him in his arms again? To feel his warm body firm against his and perhaps, as the moon shone overhead, his lips pressed to England’s; a hand in the hair, a stroke on the cheek, a caress, who knew? It was all very unlikely though, of course. It was only reasonable that he remind himself of that.
England felt his body heating up, and he clenched his eyes shut and breathed deeply in attempt to stop it. So distracted was he that he didn’t notice that someone had entered the room until they spoke.
“Ah, England?” It was Spain. Well thank god. Spain was less obnoxious than most.
England darted around, eyes wide and startled. “What is it?” he hissed.
Spain laughed lightly, scratching his cheek as he did so. “I just talked to Switzerland on deck. He has a message that he wants me to relay.”
“Oh?”
He frowned. “You’re not gonna like it though…”
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Cobblestone streets greeted him when America stepped from the landing pad, home to several other planes, into the town that housed the Világfa Inn and Pub. It was just the sort of seaside village that this area, the mid-western part of Habicht, was famous for. It was lit by golden steam lamps as early evening descended, and it was inexplicably homey and warm. Fishermen’s boats rocked in the gentle surf and small homes alternated with businesses along the cobbled street. America had expected a grittier area, not a port village that really didn’t look that seedy at all.
The loud piano music caught America’s attention first; a classical waltz. He glanced toward the building it was emanating from and noticed the hanging sign- Világfa Inn and Pub.
He pushed the wooden door open.
It was much louder in the pub. Fishermen having finished their work for the day gathered around tables to drink and talk, and there was dancing in one corner of the room, the one by the piano. At the piano sat a rather smart looking man, one who had the bearing of someone far wealthier than the average villager.
America glanced at his fob watch. It was five p.m. Perfect. He sauntered over to the bar, where a chestnut haired woman was pouring drinks.
“Can I help you, mister?” she inquired as he approached.
America smiled. “Hey! I’m wanting to get a room for the night.” He adjusted the pack on his back.
She smiled and leaned over the bar top. “Sure thing! It’s rare we get military here…”
America glanced around. There were merchants, some obviously not from the area, as well as the fishermen and one man that America thought may be a pirate, but there were indeed, no other militia. Not surprising, he thought. This village probably doesn’t get much of anything that local law enforcement can’t take care of.
“Ah yeah well… I’m here to meet someone,” America explained. “Hey, can I get the room now? I need to do some stuff before they get here.”
She chuckled. “Of course. By the way, I’m Hungary Héderváry. Please just call me Hungary! Both bartender and innkeeper, at your service.” She jokingly saluted, her smile genial. “That man over there,” she pointed to the piano, “is Austria. He’s my husband, so you can ask him any questions if you can’t find me!”
America nodded. “Awesome! Thanks. So you’re Hungary…” She was an attractive young woman, but like Belgium she looked tough as well.
“That’s me. Have you heard of me?”
“Yeah, the guy I’m meeting with told me your name,” he answered. “How much for the room?”
“Fifty shillings a night, dear.”
America reached in his pants pocket and pulled out a wallet, counting fifty shillings and handing them to the woman across the bar.
She reached under the bar and grabbed a brass key, tossing it to America. “Second floor, room D.”
“Thanks!”
“No problem.” She paused to pour a glass of beer and slide it down the bar to a waiting customer. “Say, you’re the one meeting with Kirkland, right?”
America’s cheeks pinked. “Y-yeah! How did you know?”
Hungary shrugged, the poofy short sleeves of her dress moving with her shoulders. “He radioed me and told me to keep a watch for you. He mentioned that you were a military man. Used to be, this place was the pub for pirates. That was back when my parents and grandparents owned it. But… there aren’t many pirates anymore, so we don’t get them as often.”
“But England still comes?”
“The previous captain of the Taliesin used to come here. I remember seeing England when he was only a little kid. I was a bit older, and he’d hang around me because all the adults were drinking. So yeah, he still comes.”
America’s curiosity was piqued. This woman knew about the previous captain? Maybe she could shed some light on the enigma that was England’s past. He kind of… really wanted to know. “What happened to that captain?” America asked, blunt and to the point.
Hungary’s eyes widened for a moment before she shook her head. “I have no idea. Seven years ago, England became the captain. I guess he died, but Kirkland won’t talk. What’s weird is that all of his crew vanished as well, but they were pretty old, so maybe they just… died with the captain.”
“And left England the only survivor?”
She frowned. “It’s possible.”
America laughed nervously. “W-well thanks! I’ll go upstairs then. Gotta get ready!”
“Ah, wait!” Hungary called as he began to walk away.
America turned half around. “Huh?”
“I’m glad England’s finally gotten himself a date!” she proclaimed, and there was something a bit too happy about her expression. “Poor guy needs one, and you’re quite the looker, so good on him!”
America's face bloomed scarlet. “H-hey how did you know… and it’s…”
“It was pretty obvious, from the way he was talking on the radio. Anyway, see you in about an hour?”
America nodded, turning back around. “Y-yeah.”
He darted up the stairs, finding his room and opening it with the brass key. There was one bed, a steam powered bath, and a water closet.
He threw his pack on the bed, deciding that a good bath sounded really awesome after about eleven hours of flying. His argument with Canada, far more intense than their usual small fights, had weighed heavily on his mind for part of the plane trip. But now, all he could think about was England…
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Lithuania’s breath came in short gasps, becoming more winded by the moment. He was running, he was running so fast and trying not to clench his eyes shut in fear, lest he trip on the cobblestone streets.
Behind him, coming up fast, he heard the clatter of Mary Jane shoes. Belarus chased him with fervor, her eyes bright and determined. Eventually she would catch up, he knew it.
He must have been found out. Russia must have discovered that he was leaking information, and he’d sent Belarus, his strongest fighter, to take care of him.
What scared Lithuania most wasn’t that Belarus might catch him. It wasn’t even the thought of what she might do to him. Belarus had always held disdain for Lithuania, after all.
What terrified him most was that Russia might know to whom Lithuania had told his secrets.
Poland…
His merchant ship, the Krakus, wouldn’t survive even the most minimal of Kosmider attacks.
The streets were empty. In this sleepy village, by this time of evening, it appeared that almost everyone was inside somewhere.
He spotted a pub ahead, its sign swinging in the light breeze. He could attempt to run inside, but if Belarus followed him, who knew what she would do?
Lithuania weighed his options, his mind growing more frantic as Belarus loomed closer, her deep black skirt billowing behind her as she ran.
And then, he tripped; the uneven cobbles, one being particularly higher than the others, catching his unsuspecting feet.
As he fell he noticed a dagger in Belarus’s hand.
But Lithuania did not hit the ground.
Instead an arm was slung roughly under him, leather clad, and most definitely not Belarus’s. He gasped, the impact having almost knocked the wind out of him.
“Whoa there, you okay buddy?” a male voice inquired, and Lithuania looked up at his savior.
He knew immediately who it was.
The bright blue eyes framed by spectacles, the aviation bomber jacket, the golden blond hair.
Lithuania hadn’t forgotten the face in the photograph. “Captain Jones?” he said, unthinkingly.
America blinked, confused. “Yeah how did you know my--- never mind that, what about her?”
He lifted Lithuania to his feet, standing in front of him, ready to defend against Belarus.
But she was already out of sight, the sound of her shoes no longer audible. “Where did she--- “
“She must have turned a corner or something,” Lithuania interrupted, still trying to catch his breath.
America gritted his teeth. “But she looked like she was going to attack you! A hero can’t just let someone get away with that…”
He shook his head. “She’ll be long gone by the time we can catch her.”
Lithuania was bent over now, hands on his knees.
America gave him a look of concern. “Hey, come inside the pub. You need to sit down…”
“No I shouldn’t---“
But America had grabbed his arm, dragging him inside the Világfa.
It was only in the bright light of the pub that America was able to discern the clothing that the man he’d rescued was wearing. He’d recognized the woman that was chasing him immediately, that long silver hair unmistakable. She was the one who had battled Prussia.
But this man; he could tell now that he was wearing a black uniform, its collar high and far too much like the upper half of the swordswoman’s dress.
“What’s your name?” America queried, facing the young man.
He looked down to the side, his hands clenched together. “It’s Lithuania, sir. Lithuania Lorinaitis.”
He remembered that name; a vague memory of it from the list England had proffered him. America checked his watch. Ten ‘til six.
England was supposed to be here soon.
But he had a Kosmider member right here in his grip, dropped right in his lap. An officer even! He’d gone outside to get a breath of fresh air and come back with this.
America glared at Lithuania, and he could have sworn that the officer looked back at him with something akin to regret. “Come upstairs with me now,” America demanded, and shockingly, Lithuania did not fight as he pulled him up the staircase.
He’d come back down for England; maybe bring him up to the room. It wouldn’t be the awesome date he’d hoped for, but at least he’d be able to see him.
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano, Belarus---->Russia, PrussiaxSwitzerland, GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria. Future pairings: SwedenxFinland
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,518
Summary: Ace pilot America is on a mission for the World Military when a chance encounter with a group of sky-pirates leads him to team up with their captain, England, against a malevolent group that wants to fill the sky with zeppelins. [USxUK- Steampunk AU]
Chapter Summary: “Say, you’re the one meeting with Kirkland, right?”
America’s cheeks pinked. “Y-yeah! How did you know?”
Hungary shrugged, the poofy short sleeves of her dress moving with her shoulders. “He radioed me and told me to keep a watch for you. He mentioned that you were a military man. Used to be, this place was the pub for pirates. That was back when my parents and grandparents owned it. But… there aren’t many pirates anymore, so we don’t get them as often.”
Author's Note: Thank you to all of the reviewers on the last chapter! Also, two beautiful new fanarts, both by kiirusama: AmericaxEngland (color) and AmericaxEngland (black and white). ♥
Japan was in a long distance relationship. He was secretive about it, but everyone in the unit knew that his relationship with Greece, a soldier from Delphys, was not one of friendship. Okay, so he had pretty much outright told America once, but even then, he’d been rather understated. “Greece and I are very close, yes. We are ah, more than friends,” is what America remembered him saying.
After admitting out loud that he loved England to Japan, America had tried to backtrack and deny his words a couple of times, despite knowing inwardly that they were true. Japan, although polite about it, would have none of that, and America eventually resigned himself to Japan, sulking as he did so.
He reasoned to himself that it was a fair exchange. Japan had admitted to him (sort of) that he was in love with Greece, and America had confessed that he loved England.
Not long after, America had shooed Japan out of his dorm, telling him where he was going the next day and reasoning that he needed sleep since he’d be getting up early. It was true. He did need sleep, but it was mostly his desire to be alone so he could think on what he’d just realized that drove him to ask his friend to leave.
In the end he didn’t think on it much, instead deciding to read a few old issues of the comic books he’d had out and take an early bed time. It was… not as if he wasn’t going to have tons of time to think on it in the future, if he even really needed to. When his mind averted to England now, he thought of all the things he had before, with the addition of acknowledged romantic affection, as well as a sprinkle of still-feeling-like-an-idiot-for-not-realizing-it-until-now.
But he slept surprisingly well. In the end, he realized, accepting his feelings had relaxed him.
In the morning he was buoyant, loose and refreshed and upbeat even for him. He felt good, like he’d let out a breath he’d been holding for the past week. And he was so ready; ready to fight the Kosmider and to go on a date with England.
Okay, actually his face kind of heated up and he got nervous and fidgety whenever he thought about the date. But he was still excited! Excited enough to plow through breakfast and be ready to take to the sky at 0600 hours, even. The Világfa was an estimated ten hours away, but he was allowing himself twelve, in case he had to detour because of weather or, god forbid, something worse.
Besides, he kind of wanted to get there early so he could rent a room and clean up a bit. He was bound to feel sweaty and grimy after such a lengthy plane ride. And if this was a date? Heroes didn’t arrive for their dates looking anything less than their best.
With a pack on his shoulder containing two changes of clothes, one for that evening and an extra uniform for the next day, and an early breakfast in his stomach, America entered the hangar area and approached his plane.
Canada was waiting for him; his glasses perched over sleepy eyes and his pajamas wrinkled, as if he’d just hopped out of bed.
America smiled. “Hey Canada! Did you just come to wish me goodbye and stuff? I mean it’s kind of early though…”
Canada had a look on his face, despite his bleary state. America recognized it as the expression he wore when he was trying his damndest to work up an assertive attitude. His lips were pursed and his fists were clenched. He was obviously not there to say goodbye.
“You’re going to see the pirate again, aren’t you?” Canada finally spoke, quietly, but with an edge of consternation.
America bristled, securing his hold on the pack and striding toward the plane. “His name is England, and yeah, I am.”
Canada placed his hand firmly on the clasp that opened the cockpit. “America, you shouldn’t go! I’m serious this time…”
“I’m going, Canada! C’mon, move so I can get in my plane, okay?” America reached the plane and gestured.
“No.”
“Damn, what’s your problem?” America raised his voice. “I’m going, all right? If you’re worried about Kumajirou, I promise I’ll be able to help you fi--- “
“What’s happening to you, America?” Canada interrupted, sounding both angry and panicked.
He blinked. “What do you mean?”
Canada puffed himself up and stood up as straight as he could manage. “Ever since you’ve started hanging out with this England, you’ve been acting completely different. It’s not like you at all!”
America laughed nervously. “Hey man, seriously? That’s ridiculous…”
“No, it’s not!” Canada exclaimed. “I’ve known you my entire life. Suddenly you’re not following the rules, you’re sneaking off on your own, and you’re deviating from missions. Your entire life, you’ve thought pirates were bad. Believe me, I know. I was usually the pirate, eh.”
“Canada that’s-“
“Shut up! And now that you’re in love with one, you’re willing to continually risk your position and your job and break the rules and---- “
“Me and England’s relationship has nothing to do with this!” America interrupted, shouting.
Canada gripped the clasp on the cockpit tighter, his expression steely. “It has everything to do with this.”
“Just shut up and let me go,” America snapped. “Look, everything is fine. General Wang cleared me last time, and the colonel was okay with it the time before. Nothing to worry about…”
He did not move. “Dammit! You’ve gotten away with everything before now. You’re the favorite, so of course they’re going to let you have a few freebies.”
America just shrugged. “Heroes have to do what they---“
“But what happens when your luck runs out?” Canada cut in. “When they can’t keep making excuses for you…” He looked down, clenching his eyes shut. “America, I’m scared! Shit! Just… “
America drew himself up to full height, his lips in a firm thin line and his eyebrows drawn downward. “Just… what?”
Canada didn’t reply, instead just shaking his head.
“Keep letting people die, is that it?” America queried. “Should I just stop seeing England because he’s a pirate, never mind the fact that he’s--- he’s a good friend and a great ally? Should I not deviate from a mission to save people’s lives?” He jutted his chin out proudly and pointed to himself. “Because dammit, I’m a hero!” He touched Canada’s hand, pleading him silently to remove it from the cockpit. “And sometimes heroes have to take matters into their own hands.”
“You didn’t---“
“I’ve learned that,” America interrupted, a soft smile on his face. “Now c’mon…”
Canada’s eyes softened for a moment, but then he shook his head vehemently. “No! I’m going to be assertive. I know I’m in the right here, America! Just… what would happen if the military found out that you were leaving the base to spend time with pirates--- with the Kosmider around, who knows--- god America, it’s just… you might not always be so lucky.“
“Well France leaves all the time…”
“There’s a reason why France is still a private, eh!” Canada reasoned, his voice rising. “What you’re doing is different. Notice that France hasn’t been leaving recently? Not with the Kosmider out there. You’re a captain, and you can even be so much more, like grandpa!”
America looked taken aback for a second before regaining his composure. His eyes flashed angrily. “Fuck you. Grandpa would want me to do what I thought was right.” He ran his fingers across the fob watch at his belt. “Don’t bring him into this.” His voice was hard, flinty and firm. He tightened his grip on Canada’s hand, wrenching it off the cockpit and shoving him away. “I’m leaving, whether you like it or not.”
Canada watched helplessly as his cousin stepped into the cockpit. He deflated, his head dropping once more and his wavy hair shadowing his face. “Good luck then…” he said under his breath, but America couldn’t hear him, because he’d already shut himself into the plane and begun his takeoff preparation.
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England was absolutely not fretting over preparing for his date with America. He hadn’t taken a very lengthy hot bath, heated by the steam engines below. He had certainly not changed into a freshly pressed shirt and breeches, both being nicer than the standard clothing he wore on a day to day basis. His normal shirt didn’t have a cravat after all. It was most unusual for him to wear a maroon vest under his coat and over his shirt, but it’s not that he was going out of his way to do this, of course.
Nor was the coat he’d decided to wear smarter and more formal than his normal one; its deep navy falling in folds at his knees and the silver accents on it gleaming. He hadn’t shined his boots to their best, and most importantly, he was absolutely and positively not wearing cologne.
Oh who was be bloody kidding.
England closed his eyes and sighed as he stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom, pressing the lapels of his jacket absently. The clothing was befitting of a date, he felt. But at the same time it wasn’t so fancy that America would find it terribly obvious that he was expecting this to be a date. This was right perfect, he thought. It was safe.
“Although perhaps I should reconsider the cologne,” he murmured under his breath.
His hat wouldn’t match, which he was a bit miffed about because, as always, he’d been unable to get his hair to lie down flat.
England puffed up his chest, attempting to muster a stature that portrayed confidence. He was as ready for this night as he thought he’d ever be. His heart jammed in his throat when he thought about it, and his stomach fluttered when he imagined America greeting him with a smile, or so he hoped. And his cheeks flushed pink at the mere idea that he was potentially going out for an evening date with one very attractive, albeit very silly, aviator.
What would it be like to hold him in his arms again? To feel his warm body firm against his and perhaps, as the moon shone overhead, his lips pressed to England’s; a hand in the hair, a stroke on the cheek, a caress, who knew? It was all very unlikely though, of course. It was only reasonable that he remind himself of that.
England felt his body heating up, and he clenched his eyes shut and breathed deeply in attempt to stop it. So distracted was he that he didn’t notice that someone had entered the room until they spoke.
“Ah, England?” It was Spain. Well thank god. Spain was less obnoxious than most.
England darted around, eyes wide and startled. “What is it?” he hissed.
Spain laughed lightly, scratching his cheek as he did so. “I just talked to Switzerland on deck. He has a message that he wants me to relay.”
“Oh?”
He frowned. “You’re not gonna like it though…”
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Cobblestone streets greeted him when America stepped from the landing pad, home to several other planes, into the town that housed the Világfa Inn and Pub. It was just the sort of seaside village that this area, the mid-western part of Habicht, was famous for. It was lit by golden steam lamps as early evening descended, and it was inexplicably homey and warm. Fishermen’s boats rocked in the gentle surf and small homes alternated with businesses along the cobbled street. America had expected a grittier area, not a port village that really didn’t look that seedy at all.
The loud piano music caught America’s attention first; a classical waltz. He glanced toward the building it was emanating from and noticed the hanging sign- Világfa Inn and Pub.
He pushed the wooden door open.
It was much louder in the pub. Fishermen having finished their work for the day gathered around tables to drink and talk, and there was dancing in one corner of the room, the one by the piano. At the piano sat a rather smart looking man, one who had the bearing of someone far wealthier than the average villager.
America glanced at his fob watch. It was five p.m. Perfect. He sauntered over to the bar, where a chestnut haired woman was pouring drinks.
“Can I help you, mister?” she inquired as he approached.
America smiled. “Hey! I’m wanting to get a room for the night.” He adjusted the pack on his back.
She smiled and leaned over the bar top. “Sure thing! It’s rare we get military here…”
America glanced around. There were merchants, some obviously not from the area, as well as the fishermen and one man that America thought may be a pirate, but there were indeed, no other militia. Not surprising, he thought. This village probably doesn’t get much of anything that local law enforcement can’t take care of.
“Ah yeah well… I’m here to meet someone,” America explained. “Hey, can I get the room now? I need to do some stuff before they get here.”
She chuckled. “Of course. By the way, I’m Hungary Héderváry. Please just call me Hungary! Both bartender and innkeeper, at your service.” She jokingly saluted, her smile genial. “That man over there,” she pointed to the piano, “is Austria. He’s my husband, so you can ask him any questions if you can’t find me!”
America nodded. “Awesome! Thanks. So you’re Hungary…” She was an attractive young woman, but like Belgium she looked tough as well.
“That’s me. Have you heard of me?”
“Yeah, the guy I’m meeting with told me your name,” he answered. “How much for the room?”
“Fifty shillings a night, dear.”
America reached in his pants pocket and pulled out a wallet, counting fifty shillings and handing them to the woman across the bar.
She reached under the bar and grabbed a brass key, tossing it to America. “Second floor, room D.”
“Thanks!”
“No problem.” She paused to pour a glass of beer and slide it down the bar to a waiting customer. “Say, you’re the one meeting with Kirkland, right?”
America’s cheeks pinked. “Y-yeah! How did you know?”
Hungary shrugged, the poofy short sleeves of her dress moving with her shoulders. “He radioed me and told me to keep a watch for you. He mentioned that you were a military man. Used to be, this place was the pub for pirates. That was back when my parents and grandparents owned it. But… there aren’t many pirates anymore, so we don’t get them as often.”
“But England still comes?”
“The previous captain of the Taliesin used to come here. I remember seeing England when he was only a little kid. I was a bit older, and he’d hang around me because all the adults were drinking. So yeah, he still comes.”
America’s curiosity was piqued. This woman knew about the previous captain? Maybe she could shed some light on the enigma that was England’s past. He kind of… really wanted to know. “What happened to that captain?” America asked, blunt and to the point.
Hungary’s eyes widened for a moment before she shook her head. “I have no idea. Seven years ago, England became the captain. I guess he died, but Kirkland won’t talk. What’s weird is that all of his crew vanished as well, but they were pretty old, so maybe they just… died with the captain.”
“And left England the only survivor?”
She frowned. “It’s possible.”
America laughed nervously. “W-well thanks! I’ll go upstairs then. Gotta get ready!”
“Ah, wait!” Hungary called as he began to walk away.
America turned half around. “Huh?”
“I’m glad England’s finally gotten himself a date!” she proclaimed, and there was something a bit too happy about her expression. “Poor guy needs one, and you’re quite the looker, so good on him!”
America's face bloomed scarlet. “H-hey how did you know… and it’s…”
“It was pretty obvious, from the way he was talking on the radio. Anyway, see you in about an hour?”
America nodded, turning back around. “Y-yeah.”
He darted up the stairs, finding his room and opening it with the brass key. There was one bed, a steam powered bath, and a water closet.
He threw his pack on the bed, deciding that a good bath sounded really awesome after about eleven hours of flying. His argument with Canada, far more intense than their usual small fights, had weighed heavily on his mind for part of the plane trip. But now, all he could think about was England…
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Lithuania’s breath came in short gasps, becoming more winded by the moment. He was running, he was running so fast and trying not to clench his eyes shut in fear, lest he trip on the cobblestone streets.
Behind him, coming up fast, he heard the clatter of Mary Jane shoes. Belarus chased him with fervor, her eyes bright and determined. Eventually she would catch up, he knew it.
He must have been found out. Russia must have discovered that he was leaking information, and he’d sent Belarus, his strongest fighter, to take care of him.
What scared Lithuania most wasn’t that Belarus might catch him. It wasn’t even the thought of what she might do to him. Belarus had always held disdain for Lithuania, after all.
What terrified him most was that Russia might know to whom Lithuania had told his secrets.
Poland…
His merchant ship, the Krakus, wouldn’t survive even the most minimal of Kosmider attacks.
The streets were empty. In this sleepy village, by this time of evening, it appeared that almost everyone was inside somewhere.
He spotted a pub ahead, its sign swinging in the light breeze. He could attempt to run inside, but if Belarus followed him, who knew what she would do?
Lithuania weighed his options, his mind growing more frantic as Belarus loomed closer, her deep black skirt billowing behind her as she ran.
And then, he tripped; the uneven cobbles, one being particularly higher than the others, catching his unsuspecting feet.
As he fell he noticed a dagger in Belarus’s hand.
But Lithuania did not hit the ground.
Instead an arm was slung roughly under him, leather clad, and most definitely not Belarus’s. He gasped, the impact having almost knocked the wind out of him.
“Whoa there, you okay buddy?” a male voice inquired, and Lithuania looked up at his savior.
He knew immediately who it was.
The bright blue eyes framed by spectacles, the aviation bomber jacket, the golden blond hair.
Lithuania hadn’t forgotten the face in the photograph. “Captain Jones?” he said, unthinkingly.
America blinked, confused. “Yeah how did you know my--- never mind that, what about her?”
He lifted Lithuania to his feet, standing in front of him, ready to defend against Belarus.
But she was already out of sight, the sound of her shoes no longer audible. “Where did she--- “
“She must have turned a corner or something,” Lithuania interrupted, still trying to catch his breath.
America gritted his teeth. “But she looked like she was going to attack you! A hero can’t just let someone get away with that…”
He shook his head. “She’ll be long gone by the time we can catch her.”
Lithuania was bent over now, hands on his knees.
America gave him a look of concern. “Hey, come inside the pub. You need to sit down…”
“No I shouldn’t---“
But America had grabbed his arm, dragging him inside the Világfa.
It was only in the bright light of the pub that America was able to discern the clothing that the man he’d rescued was wearing. He’d recognized the woman that was chasing him immediately, that long silver hair unmistakable. She was the one who had battled Prussia.
But this man; he could tell now that he was wearing a black uniform, its collar high and far too much like the upper half of the swordswoman’s dress.
“What’s your name?” America queried, facing the young man.
He looked down to the side, his hands clenched together. “It’s Lithuania, sir. Lithuania Lorinaitis.”
He remembered that name; a vague memory of it from the list England had proffered him. America checked his watch. Ten ‘til six.
England was supposed to be here soon.
But he had a Kosmider member right here in his grip, dropped right in his lap. An officer even! He’d gone outside to get a breath of fresh air and come back with this.
America glared at Lithuania, and he could have sworn that the officer looked back at him with something akin to regret. “Come upstairs with me now,” America demanded, and shockingly, Lithuania did not fight as he pulled him up the staircase.
He’d come back down for England; maybe bring him up to the room. It wouldn’t be the awesome date he’d hoped for, but at least he’d be able to see him.