Blindsided 6b/?
anonymous
August 3 2010, 22:20:48 UTC
Celebrations were well underway, as he stood in the middle of the square near the hospital's drive. People-- his people-- joyous at the ceasing of hostilities, of the end of war, of families to be reunited, of no more young men being sent off to die in a foreign land. People. His people were happy.
There were other allied troops within the mix, but Arthur could only feel his own., and they were intoxicating.
His smile didn't falter, even as Francis came to him for a celebratory embrace-- however, Arthur drew the line at groping-- which surprisingly didn't seem to bother the Frenchman one bit.
A glimpse of a familiar face in the crowd made him pause-- Matthew had returned to London, apparently, however before Arthur could attempt to call to him, he saw the young man's face light up, and Canada pushed his way through the crowd towards the archway of the hospital, yelling something.
And then England noticed the quiet figure in the shadow of the arch-- and whatever he had been going to call Canada with died in his throat.
A slender young man, with blond hair, and dark glasses that overshadowed a far too pale face-- grinning that familiar silly grin. Not much older than he'd been the last time that Arthur had seen him. As Matthew approached, the ridiculous grin grew wider.
There was a ferocious hug, and Matthew was spun around by the shorter boy, and they were animatedly yelling at each other, while a white animal-- good lord, was that a bear?-- sat quietly watching them.
Arthur felt something catch in his throat.
Alfred.
He'd stopped shooting up like a proverbial weed, England noted, trying to keep a detached view no matter how it wasn't working. Still strength enough to nearly push Canada over, but...he was nearly the same as he had been back then.
This was the first time Arthur had seen America-- Alfred-- in over a hundred and fifty years, and even with the celebrations going on around him, he had to fight to keep the tears from coming.
“Angleterre?” Francis had noticed his sudden freeze, and laid another casual arm across his shoulder, rubbing his arm. “What is--”
England didn't trust his voice not to shake, his arm not to tremble, so he said nothing, just drinking in the way the sunlight was still in the boy's smile despite the wars on two fronts.
“Ah. I see.” France had followed the direction of his stare, “He still has that air of innocence, does he not? Even through battles lost and battles won, he will smile as though it were nothing.”
“Yes.” Arthur managed to say, the drunken happy feeling now only a mild buzz in the back of his mind. The pair were embracing again, and then linking arms. The white bear followed them, as they disappeared into the crowd.
“And yet, you still have not found the courage to face him.” Arthur flinched.
“Is it cowardice?” he wondered, “Or is it that he might not wish to see--” the word got caught. Words had been doing that a lot these days.
“You do not know his mind, mon cher.” Words were breathed into his ear. “You do not know his heart. Look at his people, here to help us in our hour of need. Look at him, here with his people-- he did not have to come. Perhaps he was hoping to find you.”
The fragile hope that Francis was offering was almost more than he could handle.
England-- no-- Arthur, closed his eyes, trying to keep a grasp on the golden threads of fancy.
Re: Blindsided 6b/?
anonymous
August 4 2010, 09:06:07 UTC
Aw, your characterization of Arthur fits in so well with canon (and my head-canon); I'm thinking of the way he silently watches Alfred disappear into the crowd, yes, but especially of the way he desperately, fearfully clutches onto the shred of hope Francis offers him. It seems like something he didn't dare to hope for himself, really.
Pessimism is like that-- you desperately /want/ to believe in good things, but somehow the bad things that have happened in the past keep throwing themselves at you... But then again, there's always a ray of sunshine that pops in that gives a moment of bliss...
Re: Blindsided 6b/?
anonymous
August 6 2010, 00:42:04 UTC
I love this fic. The characters are so IC, even for such a prompt...I specially like the way ou write England's avoidance and reticence and America's subtle changes to his personality due to the accident. I actually squeed when Matt revealed where the munitions and medical supplies came from. I just can't wait for the confrontation! And that little scene with Russia gave me hope that perhaps America strengthened his friendship with him out of loneliness for being isolated for so many years from his father figures. France is an awesome character so far! IC as by the strips, but also wise, patient and truly well-meaning, in the end. Waiting for the next chapter here! ^^
Blindsided 7a/?
anonymous
August 7 2010, 23:56:07 UTC
August 17, 1945
By the time Arthur had screwed up his courage to go find the former colony, it was too late. Standing on the doorstep of the house that he had been sent to by one of Canada's people, he was told “Both of those nice young men had to leave-- they were needed elsewhere, they said. Something about a project. They looked rather unhappy about it, especially the younger one.”
And the fragile hope was neatly crushed under the weight of understanding. England had dithered like an idiot, avoiding the meeting, and America hadn't been able to just sit around waiting for him to come to his senses.
And the war hadn't truly ended when Germany had surrendered. Not when Japan's depleted fleets were flailing and striking-- each and every man fighting to their last breath for home and crown.
But that had been three months ago, and the rumors about the events surrounding Japan's surrender were still murky.
Arthur swiftly strode the crowded corridors of another crumbling hospital-- this one in Tokyo-- in answer to a request from the injured nation. Japan-- Kiku-- wanted to speak with him before his Emperor and his generals signed the damned surrender documents.
Enemy or no, Arthur would be damned himself, before he'd let Kiku convince him of something to add to the document, or persuade another nation to give quarter to a reckless gamble-- no matter what soft words were used. The other nation had hurt too many of his people-- of his allies' people.
Standing in the doorway to the hospital room, he saw Kiku first-- the old nation's youthful form bandaged, and propped up in a bed looking pensive as he toyed with a small object. After a moment, the worn red, blue and white paint struck a familiar chord. A wooden soldier-- one that he'd made for Alfred so long ago, but what was it doing here, and why-- oh why did Japan, of all nations have it?
Japan's gaze met his, and before he could ask-- no, demand an answer, the man put fingers to lips in a gesture of 'please be quiet' while gesturing him to come closer. England almost ignored the movements, but then realized several things simultaneously.
First, this wasn't a private room, as he had expected of one with a nation's status, even a defeated one.
Second, that the other bed in this suddenly too small room was occupied.
It was the surprise of seeing messy golden-blond hair against a white pillow that made him pause, and the shock of realization as to who was actually in that other bed that froze him in his tracks, causing the instinct to flee to clash with the instinct to run forward. His heart raced.
Arthur wasn't ready for this.
One arm carelessly flung over the head, the other flung outward as though to offer an embrace to the entire world. The old familiar sprawl that spoke of a deep, exhausted sleep. The hints of old scars poked out from where pajamas gaped, and newer ones along the hand that rose and fell with the rhythm of sleeping breath.
And the face... not as peaceful as those times of happy memory, yet somehow managing to keep the youthful (Oh God, so young) innocence despite the ancient scaring marking the now unshielded eyes. It wasn't as pronounced as England had feared, however it was terrible all the same, how the fingers of old wounds had left their mark along the left temple, across the bridge of the boy's nose, and lightly touched the other eye in some obscene kiss. His boy, but-- not his any longer.
And he hadn't realized-- known that America was hurt in the last battle.
Blindsided 7b/?
anonymous
August 8 2010, 00:00:27 UTC
“Ingurando-san,” a voice whispered, and England was forced to rub his stinging eyes with the back of his sleeve before he could respond to the call that he knew was not the first. “Please, come sit with me.”
In the awkward silence that followed, Arthur tried, and failed, to keep his gaze from landing on the sleeping figure.
“Why... is he here?” Finally, the silence was broken with a harsh whisper, Arthur couldn't keep the questions from being asked. “In this room--”
“He insisted upon it.” the answer sounded almost amused “And I cannot find it in myself to refuse him.”
“He always did have a persuasive way about him. When he was small, he would get his brother to go along with him, and they'd both finish up either in trouble, dirty and exhausted, or both.” Arthur smiled faintly, remembering. “But how did he get hurt? Matthew wouldn't have let him get anywhere near the combat himself.”
“Perhaps he convinced his brother that it was absolutely necessary,” Japan said softly, drawing Arthur's attention away from the sleeper with a gesture. The toy soldier lay in his hands, as he held it up. “And perhaps it was necessary. He came to speak with me almost two weeks ago. I do not know how he and his brother found me through my own defenses, but they came, and perhaps...”
“Perhaps?” England repeated, wondering why sensible, protective Canada would have brought America through danger to meet with more danger. “He was always so reckless--”
“However, he did convince me to surrender. America told me of a weapon so powerful that entire cities would vanish-- But he did not tell you of this.”
“No... “ Arthur frowned. “But it exists?”
“I have seen its scar. We are connected to the land and its people. When the brothers completed their weapon, Alfred insisted it be tested within his boundaries. He told me that when the bomb was triggered, it burned-- but not just that. They may have chosen the coldest most abandoned place within America's boarders, but once the destruction began, there was a great emptiness that swelled up from the epicenter, and consumed everything in its path. Matthew told me of the great flash, and the trees vanishing, and the shadows of animals that had gotten caught up in the blast...”
Arthur was chilled by the description, and Kiku seemed to sense it, because he stopped.
“He found me, and told me this, and more. He begged me me not to make him use this against me and my people. He showed me the scar, and told me that if I did not surrender, his people would use this, and people would die. I could die.
“I was … unsettled. Why would one Western nation risk himself in such a way, let alone two, if there were no truth behind their words. My people were already weary of war, so I surrendered. There would be time later to atone for cowardice. To regain honor with blood, as my people were absorbed by another country. It is the right of the victor to dispose of the defeated.
“And then he presented this to me” Kiku indicated the wooden soldier in his hands. “With both hands, and a soft smile. 'Japan-san,' he said, 'Please accept my gift. Although it looks old, it is still very precious to me. I would like you to take it, and remember that the only gift that I wish from you is your life. Do not leave. We will help you rebuild, if you will allow it, just no more fighting. I want to be friends.'
“He knew our custom, and the obligation that accepting his gift gave me.”
“And?” Arthur asked, trying not to show a reaction to the revelation that the toy soldier had meant anything to Alfred.
“I find that my heart desires peace as well. I will not follow the sunset path, nor will I continue to fight needlessly.” Kiku smiled.
Re: Blindsided 7c/?
anonymous
August 8 2010, 00:01:57 UTC
“But how did he--”
“He tripped as we were leaving the temple that they found me in-- missed the step, and into the garden. Canada-san-- Matthew, was yelling at him for not paying attention to directions. 'How could you be able to carry Arthur down six steps and through a crowded shelter with the bombs going off everywhere,' he said, 'and not be able to go down one step on your own during a time of peace.' ”
England felt his eyes go very wide, as what Japan told him sunk into his brain.
Alfred had... But... He'd been so close--
“Igrisu-san?”
“And why did you ask to speak with me?” Arthur nearly stammered, trying to regain bearings that had been shaken.
“Because, Igrisu-san, Alfred is lonely. He has a neighbor to his south who hates him, and has hurt him many times, and he has an overprotective brother in Matthew. He is afraid of being seen, and not being seen at the same time. And he misses you.”
“He broke away from me a long time ago.” England did not dare let that tiny golden thread live. “I haven't seen him for a hundred and sixty-two years. He hates me for what I-- I haven't moved in the past millennium, if he wanted to see me--”
Japan waited patiently for Arthur to finish verbally floundering. Making excuses.
“Igrisu-san, the past is the past, unchanging in time and memory. We can only attempt to move forward from this moment on.” Japan tilted his head, holding up the paint-worn wooden soldier once again. “You recognized this the moment you saw it, did you not? A precious thing that I suspect you share a history with. If he despised you, he would hardly keep this.”
Arthur remained silent, uncertain. The taunting hope that had been snatched away had returned-- but Alfred was here. A glance at the young man showed that the conversation had been quiet enough not to disturb him.
And England wanted nothing more than to go brush the errant bangs out of the sleeping face.
“This is why I requested your presence. Alfred-san is far too stubborn to ask for you, and I suspect that you are the same. Go to him, England.”
England took a deep breath, and followed the command.
Re: Blindsided 7c/?
anonymous
August 8 2010, 23:49:13 UTC
OMG i can't wait for the next chapter when America wakes up. I'm going to cry, I know it. This story is wonderful, I like the changes made in history by America's own changes. This peaceful solution is very beautiful; I wonder what will happen in the Cold War? Will it even happen?
Re: Blindsided 7d/?
anonymous
August 14 2010, 20:21:59 UTC
Alfred's hair was still baby soft to the touch
Arthur wasn't certain if he didn't want this stranger to awaken because of his own reluctance, or because the boy looked entirely too tired-- worn out-- one might say in a way that no seventeen year old would or should ever look.
Japan was studiously not paying attention from his side of the room, as England brushed the disheveled and unruly bits of sunshine away from America's face with his fingers.
“You just grew up too fast,” he told the sleeping face. “And I was too selfish to know when to let go.”
“Mmn,” came a drowsy mutter, as eyes fluttered open to reveal sky blue marred with cloudy white. Unfocused, and soft despite the sharp lines of the scars around them. There was a maturity about the waking face that belied the youthful appearance. The nose wrinkled, and then for a bare moment, the expression froze.
“Arthur?” A faint and beautiful fraction of that brilliant smile crept over the face, “Why -- Is that really--”
“I'm here, Alfred.” England said, wondering at the little catch that the name had gained in his voice. Why were his eyes stinging? “I'm here.”
The wondering smile widened. Hands reached towards him, touching his arms, then his face, smearing wetness on his cheeks, as Alfred brushed over his face with light fingertips.
“Don't cry. I like it best when you smile.”
“I'm sorry--” England found himself suddenly pulled down into a clumsy but tight hug, wondering if he should remind America that they were both crying right now, but they weren't tears of sorrow and misery-- but of joy and regret for the gulf of years that had been lost.
“I missed you, England.” Alfred whispered against his neck, “”m sorry things had to happen like they did, but I … only regret not being able to have you there... and ...”
America fell silent, merely holding onto England like he had when he was small, and in need of comfort. And Arthur didn't want to break this embrace, end this moment when everything was remotely close to whole, close to being able to pretend that the years of separation hadn't occurred.
There were other allied troops within the mix, but Arthur could only feel his own., and they were intoxicating.
His smile didn't falter, even as Francis came to him for a celebratory embrace-- however, Arthur drew the line at groping-- which surprisingly didn't seem to bother the Frenchman one bit.
A glimpse of a familiar face in the crowd made him pause-- Matthew had returned to London, apparently, however before Arthur could attempt to call to him, he saw the young man's face light up, and Canada pushed his way through the crowd towards the archway of the hospital, yelling something.
And then England noticed the quiet figure in the shadow of the arch-- and whatever he had been going to call Canada with died in his throat.
A slender young man, with blond hair, and dark glasses that overshadowed a far too pale face-- grinning that familiar silly grin. Not much older than he'd been the last time that Arthur had seen him. As Matthew approached, the ridiculous grin grew wider.
There was a ferocious hug, and Matthew was spun around by the shorter boy, and they were animatedly yelling at each other, while a white animal-- good lord, was that a bear?-- sat quietly watching them.
Arthur felt something catch in his throat.
Alfred.
He'd stopped shooting up like a proverbial weed, England noted, trying to keep a detached view no matter how it wasn't working. Still strength enough to nearly push Canada over, but...he was nearly the same as he had been back then.
This was the first time Arthur had seen America-- Alfred-- in over a hundred and fifty years, and even with the celebrations going on around him, he had to fight to keep the tears from coming.
“Angleterre?” Francis had noticed his sudden freeze, and laid another casual arm across his shoulder, rubbing his arm. “What is--”
England didn't trust his voice not to shake, his arm not to tremble, so he said nothing, just drinking in the way the sunlight was still in the boy's smile despite the wars on two fronts.
“Ah. I see.” France had followed the direction of his stare, “He still has that air of innocence, does he not? Even through battles lost and battles won, he will smile as though it were nothing.”
“Yes.” Arthur managed to say, the drunken happy feeling now only a mild buzz in the back of his mind. The pair were embracing again, and then linking arms. The white bear followed them, as they disappeared into the crowd.
“And yet, you still have not found the courage to face him.” Arthur flinched.
“Is it cowardice?” he wondered, “Or is it that he might not wish to see--” the word got caught. Words had been doing that a lot these days.
“You do not know his mind, mon cher.” Words were breathed into his ear. “You do not know his heart. Look at his people, here to help us in our hour of need. Look at him, here with his people-- he did not have to come. Perhaps he was hoping to find you.”
The fragile hope that Francis was offering was almost more than he could handle.
England-- no-- Arthur, closed his eyes, trying to keep a grasp on the golden threads of fancy.
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By the time Arthur had screwed up his courage to go find the former colony, it was too late. Standing on the doorstep of the house that he had been sent to by one of Canada's people, he was told “Both of those nice young men had to leave-- they were needed elsewhere, they said. Something about a project. They looked rather unhappy about it, especially the younger one.”
And the fragile hope was neatly crushed under the weight of understanding. England had dithered like an idiot, avoiding the meeting, and America hadn't been able to just sit around waiting for him to come to his senses.
And the war hadn't truly ended when Germany had surrendered. Not when Japan's depleted fleets were flailing and striking-- each and every man fighting to their last breath for home and crown.
But that had been three months ago, and the rumors about the events surrounding Japan's surrender were still murky.
Arthur swiftly strode the crowded corridors of another crumbling hospital-- this one in Tokyo-- in answer to a request from the injured nation. Japan-- Kiku-- wanted to speak with him before his Emperor and his generals signed the damned surrender documents.
Enemy or no, Arthur would be damned himself, before he'd let Kiku convince him of something to add to the document, or persuade another nation to give quarter to a reckless gamble-- no matter what soft words were used. The other nation had hurt too many of his people-- of his allies' people.
Standing in the doorway to the hospital room, he saw Kiku first-- the old nation's youthful form bandaged, and propped up in a bed looking pensive as he toyed with a small object. After a moment, the worn red, blue and white paint struck a familiar chord. A wooden soldier-- one that he'd made for Alfred so long ago, but what was it doing here, and why-- oh why did Japan, of all nations have it?
Japan's gaze met his, and before he could ask-- no, demand an answer, the man put fingers to lips in a gesture of 'please be quiet' while gesturing him to come closer. England almost ignored the movements, but then realized several things simultaneously.
First, this wasn't a private room, as he had expected of one with a nation's status, even a defeated one.
Second, that the other bed in this suddenly too small room was occupied.
It was the surprise of seeing messy golden-blond hair against a white pillow that made him pause, and the shock of realization as to who was actually in that other bed that froze him in his tracks, causing the instinct to flee to clash with the instinct to run forward. His heart raced.
Arthur wasn't ready for this.
One arm carelessly flung over the head, the other flung outward as though to offer an embrace to the entire world. The old familiar sprawl that spoke of a deep, exhausted sleep. The hints of old scars poked out from where pajamas gaped, and newer ones along the hand that rose and fell with the rhythm of sleeping breath.
And the face... not as peaceful as those times of happy memory, yet somehow managing to keep the youthful (Oh God, so young) innocence despite the ancient scaring marking the now unshielded eyes. It wasn't as pronounced as England had feared, however it was terrible all the same, how the fingers of old wounds had left their mark along the left temple, across the bridge of the boy's nose, and lightly touched the other eye in some obscene kiss. His boy, but-- not his any longer.
And he hadn't realized-- known that America was hurt in the last battle.
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In the awkward silence that followed, Arthur tried, and failed, to keep his gaze from landing on the sleeping figure.
“Why... is he here?” Finally, the silence was broken with a harsh whisper, Arthur couldn't keep the questions from being asked. “In this room--”
“He insisted upon it.” the answer sounded almost amused “And I cannot find it in myself to refuse him.”
“He always did have a persuasive way about him. When he was small, he would get his brother to go along with him, and they'd both finish up either in trouble, dirty and exhausted, or both.” Arthur smiled faintly, remembering. “But how did he get hurt? Matthew wouldn't have let him get anywhere near the combat himself.”
“Perhaps he convinced his brother that it was absolutely necessary,” Japan said softly, drawing Arthur's attention away from the sleeper with a gesture. The toy soldier lay in his hands, as he held it up. “And perhaps it was necessary. He came to speak with me almost two weeks ago. I do not know how he and his brother found me through my own defenses, but they came, and perhaps...”
“Perhaps?” England repeated, wondering why sensible, protective Canada would have brought America through danger to meet with more danger. “He was always so reckless--”
“However, he did convince me to surrender. America told me of a weapon so powerful that entire cities would vanish-- But he did not tell you of this.”
“No... “ Arthur frowned. “But it exists?”
“I have seen its scar. We are connected to the land and its people. When the brothers completed their weapon, Alfred insisted it be tested within his boundaries. He told me that when the bomb was triggered, it burned-- but not just that. They may have chosen the coldest most abandoned place within America's boarders, but once the destruction began, there was a great emptiness that swelled up from the epicenter, and consumed everything in its path. Matthew told me of the great flash, and the trees vanishing, and the shadows of animals that had gotten caught up in the blast...”
Arthur was chilled by the description, and Kiku seemed to sense it, because he stopped.
“He found me, and told me this, and more. He begged me me not to make him use this against me and my people. He showed me the scar, and told me that if I did not surrender, his people would use this, and people would die. I could die.
“I was … unsettled. Why would one Western nation risk himself in such a way, let alone two, if there were no truth behind their words. My people were already weary of war, so I surrendered. There would be time later to atone for cowardice. To regain honor with blood, as my people were absorbed by another country. It is the right of the victor to dispose of the defeated.
“And then he presented this to me” Kiku indicated the wooden soldier in his hands. “With both hands, and a soft smile. 'Japan-san,' he said, 'Please accept my gift. Although it looks old, it is still very precious to me. I would like you to take it, and remember that the only gift that I wish from you is your life. Do not leave. We will help you rebuild, if you will allow it, just no more fighting. I want to be friends.'
“He knew our custom, and the obligation that accepting his gift gave me.”
“And?” Arthur asked, trying not to show a reaction to the revelation that the toy soldier had meant anything to Alfred.
“I find that my heart desires peace as well. I will not follow the sunset path, nor will I continue to fight needlessly.” Kiku smiled.
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“He tripped as we were leaving the temple that they found me in-- missed the step, and into the garden. Canada-san-- Matthew, was yelling at him for not paying attention to directions. 'How could you be able to carry Arthur down six steps and through a crowded shelter with the bombs going off everywhere,' he said, 'and not be able to go down one step on your own during a time of peace.' ”
England felt his eyes go very wide, as what Japan told him sunk into his brain.
Alfred had... But... He'd been so close--
“Igrisu-san?”
“And why did you ask to speak with me?” Arthur nearly stammered, trying to regain bearings that had been shaken.
“Because, Igrisu-san, Alfred is lonely. He has a neighbor to his south who hates him, and has hurt him many times, and he has an overprotective brother in Matthew. He is afraid of being seen, and not being seen at the same time. And he misses you.”
“He broke away from me a long time ago.” England did not dare let that tiny golden thread live. “I haven't seen him for a hundred and sixty-two years. He hates me for what I-- I haven't moved in the past millennium, if he wanted to see me--”
Japan waited patiently for Arthur to finish verbally floundering. Making excuses.
“Igrisu-san, the past is the past, unchanging in time and memory. We can only attempt to move forward from this moment on.” Japan tilted his head, holding up the paint-worn wooden soldier once again. “You recognized this the moment you saw it, did you not? A precious thing that I suspect you share a history with. If he despised you, he would hardly keep this.”
Arthur remained silent, uncertain. The taunting hope that had been snatched away had returned-- but Alfred was here. A glance at the young man showed that the conversation had been quiet enough not to disturb him.
And England wanted nothing more than to go brush the errant bangs out of the sleeping face.
“This is why I requested your presence. Alfred-san is far too stubborn to ask for you, and I suspect that you are the same. Go to him, England.”
England took a deep breath, and followed the command.
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Arthur wasn't certain if he didn't want this stranger to awaken because of his own reluctance, or because the boy looked entirely too tired-- worn out-- one might say in a way that no seventeen year old would or should ever look.
Japan was studiously not paying attention from his side of the room, as England brushed the disheveled and unruly bits of sunshine away from America's face with his fingers.
“You just grew up too fast,” he told the sleeping face. “And I was too selfish to know when to let go.”
“Mmn,” came a drowsy mutter, as eyes fluttered open to reveal sky blue marred with cloudy white. Unfocused, and soft despite the sharp lines of the scars around them. There was a maturity about the waking face that belied the youthful appearance. The nose wrinkled, and then for a bare moment, the expression froze.
“Arthur?” A faint and beautiful fraction of that brilliant smile crept over the face, “Why -- Is that really--”
“I'm here, Alfred.” England said, wondering at the little catch that the name had gained in his voice. Why were his eyes stinging? “I'm here.”
The wondering smile widened. Hands reached towards him, touching his arms, then his face, smearing wetness on his cheeks, as Alfred brushed over his face with light fingertips.
“Don't cry. I like it best when you smile.”
“I'm sorry--” England found himself suddenly pulled down into a clumsy but tight hug, wondering if he should remind America that they were both crying right now, but they weren't tears of sorrow and misery-- but of joy and regret for the gulf of years that had been lost.
“I missed you, England.” Alfred whispered against his neck, “”m sorry things had to happen like they did, but I … only regret not being able to have you there... and ...”
America fell silent, merely holding onto England like he had when he was small, and in need of comfort. And Arthur didn't want to break this embrace, end this moment when everything was remotely close to whole, close to being able to pretend that the years of separation hadn't occurred.
“I missed you too.”
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http://a.imageshack.us/img814/9901/blindal.jpg
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