Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 1a
anonymous
November 14 2010, 09:14:33 UTC
Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 1a
The day was beautifully clear. Sunshine brightened up the kitchen, giving the room a cheerful and welcoming feel, and one of England's favorite sounds--the whistle of a steaming tea kettle upon the stove--broke the silence to signal a true beginning to the morning.
She made her way down the stairs, pulling the sweater she had chosen for the day over her head as she did so. It was a plain yet flattering top in royal purple, and she took a moment to remember what it felt like to wear something so low-cut. Things had been busy in the country as of late and the nation's schedule had been depressingly full for weeks, keeping her choice of wardrobe limited to button-up shirts, ties, and suits. In fact, England knew she had to make the most of the day, as it was going to be her only time off before the world summit being hosted in London began tomorrow. Not that she truly minded, of course. If maintaining the illusion that she was a man at any point actually became trying, she would stop. In all honesty, England kept up the now-unnecessary farce to avoid the tiresome explanations she would have to give should the truth ever get out.
Well, and perhaps because even now, nearly a hundred years later, France was still racking his brain to remember just when he had ever slept with 'him', as England had snapped, red-faced, at the frog one day when her fellow country's advances had been a little too persistent for her mood. After all, having one up on France was never a bad thing. And the look he still got on his face that he could have actually gotten England into bed with him and how could he not remember that more than made up for her initial embarrassment and alarm and having let the fact slip in the first place. The headbanging against the wall at the G8 meeting four years ago had been particularly memorable.
(She might have taken some pity on him and dropped him a hint if his first response to the statement hadn't been 'While there may have been the occasional nights where I have been unable to clearly remember my companion's face the morning after, I can't believe I could forget a man with eyebrows like yours, mon cher.' Bloody bastard.)
She took a light sip of her tea, allowing it to ease it's way down her throat. Chamomile. It's soothing and familiar taste was a welcome to her often aching throat. Although, fortunately, England had been born with what could be considered a deep voice for a woman, she still made the effort to drop it lower when in the presence of her fellow nations. At this point in her long life, it was practically second nature for her to do so.
But with the equally predictable nature of world meetings to descend into chaos--in particular both France's and America's habit of spouting idiocy and trying both her patience and her vocal chords--a steaming cup of the favored drink became a common companion at the island nation's seat during such gatherings.
That, however, was something to be dealt with tomorrow. She smiled, lowering the cup back down into its saucer.
Yes, the day was beautifully clear. Sunshine brightened up the kitchen, giving the room a cheerful and welcoming feel, and England had a lovely cup of tea and an otherwise empty schedule in front of her.
Naturally, America chose that moment to bang on her door.
Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 1b
anonymous
November 14 2010, 09:17:20 UTC
"Hey, England! My flight arrived early and the hotel won't let me check in yet! Wanna hang out until then?"
Past experience dictated that the next next knock would burst in the door (something else she would have to squeeze into her calendar to deal with). This left her scarce little time to find a place to hide herself until her former colony hopefully lost interest and went away. She had no coffee and knew for a fact that he disliked the smell of chamomile, so it shouldn't take long. On that thought though, her drink would probably still grow cold waiting for him to leave.
The boy simply had the worst timing. If only he could have waited an extra five minutes before barging unannounced into her home she could have at least finished her tea in peace before rushing for cover. Such a shame to see a perfectly good cup of tea go to waste...
She took it into the closet with her.
((Curse you, character limit. Well, first part. I hope it's to your liking OP, and authoranon apologizes for the lack of anything actually happening yet. This was mostly to set things up for future parts.))
Re: Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 1b
anonymous
November 14 2010, 12:35:45 UTC
First to comment. Yay :D
Lovely beginning. Oh, France, you don't remember having sex with a man with such eyebrows because it's not a man after all.
Sigh, England, to be bothered about your tea before you hide *shakes head* she seems well versed about what to do with America's sudden appearances. This time around hopefully he's more successful with finding her eh.
Re: Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 1b
anonymous
November 14 2010, 15:54:55 UTC
This sounds so promising!! I love the idea that England has been hiding "her" gender the whole time, as it sort of makes sense, considering how women were commonly treated historically around the world. I can't wait to find out what happens next, anon!! Update soon please~! ♥
Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 2a
anonymous
November 16 2010, 04:46:15 UTC
Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 2
With a loud crack and resigned groan, England's door lost its battle with the early morning visitor, swinging open at just a slightly off-angle.
Silence reigned for all of a blessed five seconds before a curious blond head appeared in the door frame. "England?" America called again. A pause. "Your door was open so I'm letting myself in!"
There was a light thud as England let her forehead hit the back of her hall closet in exasperation, but it was drowned out by the louder thunk of the younger nation rolling his luggage into the entryway and trying to close the door behind him. At least the additional time he took shoving the door back into place gave her a few moments to sip her tea.
It greatly eased her newly developed headache and she gave herself a mental pat on the back for having decided to double back and grab it.
He was coming in her direction now. As always, America seemed to be making an effort to broadcast his presence. England could easily hear his footsteps moving down the hall, heading for the kitchen she had been occupying less than a minute earlier.
- - - - - - - - - -
For his part, America knew enough about visiting England to know the kitchen was the first place to start looking if his former 'brother' wasn't there at the door to greet him when he arrived. Sure enough, he noticed the recently used kettle sitting on the stove. He could still feel the heat coming off it's surface as he got nearer.
Alright, so England had already had his morning tea. He'd have to come back for another one sooner or later, so if America just waited right here, he'd be sure to run into the island nation eventually.
...but that was so boring. He dug his hand into the pocket of his bomber jacket, fishing of his cell. Maybe he should call him to speed up the process.
But he never made the call. He had paused before his thumb could press the 'send' button, tentatively sniffing the air. Something smelled really gross. What was that? Normally, America would have ignored the unpleasant scent, but he just knew what it was.
It was on the tip of his tongue; figuratively, not literally of course. Ew.
Then he recognized it.
Chamomile.
- - - - - - - - -
England startled at the knock against the entrance to her sanctuary, biting back a curse when her wrist bumped against one of the walls in the confined space, spilling the remainder of her tea. "England? Are you in there?" an all too familiar voice called from the other side of the door.
She almost shouted 'No!' but caught herself at the last minute. Not that her silence looked like it was going to help. Blast! How had he figured out her location so easily?
Her gripped tightened on her now empty tea cup, more from irritation than anything else. To think, after lifetimes of keeping her secret hidden, this was how it was going to come out. From a closet. If only she had worn something a little less feminine, instead of the low-cut sweater and mid-length skirt she was currently attired in. Then she wouldn't be in this predicament. Well, she would still have a broken door and America roaming about her house--but at least she could have skipped running into the closet and just openly confronted him about the meaning of private property and its destruction from the get-go.
Speaking of which, the closet door chose that moment to walk the path of its brother at the front of the house. Light made its way into England's impromptu hiding place, and against the back wall America's distinctive shadow appeared next to hers. That was that then. There was no way he didn't see her from his current position.
Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 2b
anonymous
November 16 2010, 04:48:11 UTC
Her back was turned to him, but England could just imagine the look of shock on America's face to match the confused awe in his voice. Any moment now the questions would begin. She supposed she should have expected this sooner or later; that someone would find out.
And although she would never admit it out loud, she was glad it was America. She had raised him, lived with him; he was the one nation--if any--who had earned the right to be given a full explanation. England let out the breath she'd been holding and waited for the inevitable question she knew her former colony was about to ask.
It was about then that the laughter started.
"Are you--ahah!--wearing a skirt?!" More laughter. "Oh wow, England, I never knew you were into that kind of thing! Pfft!"
America's attempt at human speech dissolved into unintelligible giggles and fits of laughter. (And incidentally, any charitable thoughts England had been having towards him dissolved period.)
Her eyebrow twitched in irritation. Perhaps she had overestimated him.
- - - - - - - - -
"America."
Laughter continued to fill the hallway.
"America." A little louder, but not quite shouting.
A snort.
Oh, bugger it. "America, look at me!"
Bent over, America still didn't look up, but the laughter did stop and he made a noise that she took to be an acknowledgment he heard her. It was a start.
"Look at me." she repeated, "And explain to me what it is about my attire that seems to be so hilarious."
"Come on, England." he began, lifting his head, "You can't ask me that question in a skirt and expect me to be able to answer."
She crossed her arms over her chest, "Actually I do."
Whatever the response was that America had planned, it died in his throat as he finally took in the full sight of England standing before him.
A million thoughts raced around his mind, working furiously to process what he was seeing.
England was was wearing woman's clothes.
England seemed comfortable in woman's clothes.
England was filling out those woman's clothes very nicely.
...
Oh.
...Oh....huh?
And then his thoughts came to a screeching, crashing halt.
- - - - - - - - -
The poor boy looked like his brain was short-circuiting. Under different circumstances, England would have found the slack-jawed look on America's face adorably endearing. Or at the very least hilarious.
Instead she let out a sigh and turned, walking back towards the kitchen. "I suppose it can't be helped." she began, not really caring if he was following or not (or if his brain was yet even capable of processing what she was saying). "If you'll give me a moment, I can explain the situation. If it can even be called that. And if you haven't yet, do close your mouth America. This can't possibly be that shocking. And even if it is, you're going to attract flies."
She needed another cup of tea.
Really now. Of course finding out someone you had practically grown up with was a different gender had to be surprising, but it wasn't like it was going to change anything. England was still England. She never lied about her opinions, polices, or tastes just because she presented herself as male. And goodness knows she wasn't going to get any girlier because of this. In fact with any luck maybe America would finally stop teasing her about her love of embroidery, although she highly doubted that...
"Sooooo..." America drawled behind her, interrupting her thoughts. England turned, sensing there was a question coming. (She almost welcomed it over his other reactions.) As he once again entered her line of sight, she could see a playful look covering his features, replacing the one of wide-eyed shocked he'd been wearing previously, "Does this count as you coming out of the closet?" (Nevermind.)
...It was nice to know the boy had recovered from his shock so quickly.
England stared, seemed to contemplate something for a moment, then punched him in the face.
Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 2c
anonymous
November 16 2010, 04:54:43 UTC
- - - - - - - - -
"I forgot how your face is as hard as the rest of your head."
America beamed as he handed England an ice pack for her sore knuckles. (Being the reason behind it didn't mean he was any less happy to help.) "Hey, does this mean I can't make jokes anymore about how you hit like a-"
"Finish that sentence and next time I'll aim somewhere a little more vulnerable." she interrupted, taking a gulp from her second tea of the day and forcefully clanking her cup down in a manner that could only be described as 'quite unladylike' (or as America would have said, 'totally England').
"You have to admit, the closet was a kinda funny choice."
"And where else would you have expected me to hide exactly?"
"Well, I wasn't expecting you to be hiding from me at all."
"You show up at my home without warning, break in my door, and generally make a nuisance of yourself. Even if I hadn't been trying to hide my gender I probably would have still taken up residence in that closet to avoid you." So what if that wasn't necessarily true? At least their interactions seemed to have gone back to normal. "Or maybe I should have stuck you in there instead to avoid additional destruction."
America pouted, "Well that's not nice."
"Don't be a child. Besides, we both know it wouldn't have held you long anyway." England muttered. A sigh. "So much for my peaceful day off." She took another sip of tea. Over the rim of her cup, she noticed the other nation wasn't making to respond to her half-hearted complaint. Instead, he was staring at her rather thoughtfully. "What is it?"
"It's weird." he said after a pause.
"And 'it' would be...?" she prompted.
He didn't answer right away, the look on his face was uncharacteristically contemplative. That couldn't be good.
"Your voice." he said at last. "I mean, sure seeing you in a skirt and all is definitely different..." And there was that equally endearing and infuriating smile of his and if he started laughing again she was going to-
But he didn't. "...but when you talk like that. It still sounds like you and it's kinda familiar but it's not." He scratched his head and laughed. It wasn't the teasing laughter so she let it slide, more interested in what he was saying now anyway, "Your voice is girlier, but you sound the same, you know?"
It took her a moment, but England suddenly realized what he was talking about.
Another slip up. She was usually better at this, but as their conversation had been going on it seemed, unconsciously, England had adopted her more natural tone of voice around America. A tone that had until now been reserved exclusively for her older brothers, and occasionally her supernatural friends. Although with the latter's unpredictable nature of appearing at world meetings, she often dropped her voice around them as well, just to be safe.
"Yes, well..." she began, trying to figure out how to respond, "It's not like I could talk in my normal voice with the majority of the world being convinced I'm a man, now could I?"
"I get that." he answered, nodding his head in understanding, "But..." his expression still seemed a little unsure and he gestured vaguely in her direction, "...Why?"
And there was the question she had been waiting to be asked since he'd kicked in her door. Or maybe even before that.
"I suppose I'll explain it then."
((First of all, I want to thank you all for your comments, anon readers! It's always worth it to have people tell you they enjoy your writing. Secondly, I'm sorry if characterization and plot is all over the place. I don't think I'm keeping an even, level balance of humor and seriousness; more like it's tilting back and forth like a see-saw. Please let me know if you share my worries.
I hope you all continue to enjoy the fic, and thank you again for reading!))
Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 3a
anonymous
December 11 2010, 05:49:42 UTC
Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 3
"It isn't all that hard to understand really. Think about it for a moment, America."
An awkwardly long pause passed in which the younger nation sat looking thoughtful, appeared to draw a blank, then crossed his arms, "I thought you just said you were going to to explain it." he finally huffed, looking ever so much like an impatient five-year-old. Really now. And everyone said that England's moods shifted without warning.
She sighed. Hopefully she wasn't going to have to completely spell it out for him. "You may be younger than most of us, but I know for a fact that your Woman's Suffrage movement took place barely a hundred years ago. And it took an Amendment to your precious Constitution for women to be allowed the same representation the majority of men had enjoyed since your founding. Even now, there are still other nations whose women are given no regard whatsoever." she explained, "And earlier in history this kind of discrimination was even more commonplace."
"Yeah but. You're not just any woman." America insisted, turning a little red as he said it (England herself chose to believe that the light blush on her cheeks was due to anger. After all, America clearly must have meant that as some kind of insult.), "I mean. You're England. You've had queens and...and Margaret Thatcher and you were an Empire. And you being a girl obviously doesn't mean you were any less badass."
England chose to ignore the 'were' part. "I'm not saying that my own people have not had some fine examples of female leadership. In fact, it's more than I can say about you and your uninterrupted history of male presidents since that....Washington." she finished, stopping herself at the man's name. Her voice had taken on a bitter edge, and she could see from the look on America's face that, as always, he was ready at a moment's notice to rush to the defense of his Founding Father.
She coughed into her hand when he didn't actually say anything, "But as I was saying," she continued, relieved to have dodged that argument (It was a bit too early to break out the whiskey.), "Despite that fact, the responsibilities required of us were simply expected to be performed by a man. I'm sure that as their nation my people wouldn't have just ignored me due to my gender, but especially back in those days we didn't have the luxury of proving ourselves before getting anything done."
"Since when would you need to prove yourself to your people? You can't seriously be trying to tell me that you really think they wouldn't have trusted their Nation if they had known you were a-"
"Trust me." She chose to interrupt America's protest, "It was never truly a question of loyalty. But there is a great difference between being willing to fight for one's country...and fight with her." And there would have been those who, no matter how hard they tried (or probably in some cases, didn't bother to) hide it, would have wondered how qualified she was to be anything but a figurehead. And she would have detested being left behind if it had come to that; to not know the feeling of victory on the battlefield, or later, the freedom of the sea.
Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 3b
anonymous
December 11 2010, 05:50:58 UTC
"And besides." And she found her cheeks coloring in embarrassment and wondering, not for the first time, if Hungary had felt anything like this, "On top of all of that, my brothers seemed to find it funny to let me believe I was boy throughout most of my childhood--Don't you dare laugh you git! It wasn't like I was going to know any better at that age with only three male siblings as reference. And by the time it became obvious I wasn't well...it seemed prudent to keep up the charade anyway."
England didn't go into details. Didn't talk about how she sometimes wondered if her brothers had had deeper, less humorous reasons for encouraging her belief in her masculinity during her younger years. If they--dare she think it--had been looking out for her in their own roundabout way. But then, most of the time that theory seemed unlikely. They probably were just being a bunch of gits.
But then England remembered a time when a young woman had cut her hair and joined her countrymen in battle against her. And she had outwardly scoffed at France's champion, while inwardly had held a reluctant admiration for her.
And then she had seen that same woman burn. For charges of heresy and theft and ultimately for dressing as a man.
(England knew she could say how she had never approved of that last one, but saw no point. It wouldn't have changed what happened or what had been done.
She knew that, unlike Joan of Arc, she was no saint.)
"So there you have it." she concluded, "Nothing all that extraordinary. Simply my siblings being their usual idiotic selves, mixed with popular expectations and a desire on my part not to deal with the complications of correcting them or the resulting fallout."
Literally, not Figuratively -- Part 3c
anonymous
December 11 2010, 05:54:58 UTC
"That's downplaying it just a bit. Don't you think, England?"
"Hardly. It really isn't all that big a deal, America. Things run smoothly enough this way, and I'm quite used to it by this point in any case."
"But it's not something you should have to be used to. Don't you think it's about time you let the world know the truth?"
"What did I just say were my reasons for not doing so? Do you think I want to deal with a hundred more responses like yours?"
"I handled it fine! Like a hero!"
"Oh of course. Do remind me again, was it laughing your head off or the shocked, slack-jawed expression on your face that was the more heroic reaction?"
"My quick recovery!"
"Is that what you're calling that closet comment?"
"You wouldn't be in a closet this time!"
"...and where exactly is this conversation going?"
"You calling a meeting to let everyone know you're really a girl. You'd be dealing with it all at once! And I bet for once we'll all agree on how crazy it is."
"Yes, well you have a point there." England responded sarcastically, "In fact, why even wait? I'm sure this next conference would be a perfect opportunity. Tomorrow would be much better served pointlessly discussing the fact that I'm female rather than pointlessly discussing your next big and utterly ridiculous solution to global warming. Or whatever other topic you're stuck on at the moment."
"Hey!"
She smirked and sipped her tea.
"But you know, that might not be such a bad idea."
...What?
...
"...which part?"
((Oh fuck ignore that de-anon.
Authoranon apologizes for the late, short update and the probable history fail. I'm joining the 'Life is Kicking my Ass' club on an extended membership. Future parts will continue this trend of not being as fast in coming as the first two were, but I promise for better or worse that I will not give up on this fic until it's finished, so please don't lose faith in me, kind anons. Thank you all again for your wonderful comments and taking the time to read! I hope you continue to enjoy! ))
The day was beautifully clear. Sunshine brightened up the kitchen, giving the room a cheerful and welcoming feel, and one of England's favorite sounds--the whistle of a steaming tea kettle upon the stove--broke the silence to signal a true beginning to the morning.
She made her way down the stairs, pulling the sweater she had chosen for the day over her head as she did so. It was a plain yet flattering top in royal purple, and she took a moment to remember what it felt like to wear something so low-cut. Things had been busy in the country as of late and the nation's schedule had been depressingly full for weeks, keeping her choice of wardrobe limited to button-up shirts, ties, and suits. In fact, England knew she had to make the most of the day, as it was going to be her only time off before the world summit being hosted in London began tomorrow. Not that she truly minded, of course. If maintaining the illusion that she was a man at any point actually became trying, she would stop. In all honesty, England kept up the now-unnecessary farce to avoid the tiresome explanations she would have to give should the truth ever get out.
Well, and perhaps because even now, nearly a hundred years later, France was still racking his brain to remember just when he had ever slept with 'him', as England had snapped, red-faced, at the frog one day when her fellow country's advances had been a little too persistent for her mood. After all, having one up on France was never a bad thing. And the look he still got on his face that he could have actually gotten England into bed with him and how could he not remember that more than made up for her initial embarrassment and alarm and having let the fact slip in the first place. The headbanging against the wall at the G8 meeting four years ago had been particularly memorable.
(She might have taken some pity on him and dropped him a hint if his first response to the statement hadn't been 'While there may have been the occasional nights where I have been unable to clearly remember my companion's face the morning after, I can't believe I could forget a man with eyebrows like yours, mon cher.' Bloody bastard.)
She took a light sip of her tea, allowing it to ease it's way down her throat. Chamomile. It's soothing and familiar taste was a welcome to her often aching throat. Although, fortunately, England had been born with what could be considered a deep voice for a woman, she still made the effort to drop it lower when in the presence of her fellow nations. At this point in her long life, it was practically second nature for her to do so.
But with the equally predictable nature of world meetings to descend into chaos--in particular both France's and America's habit of spouting idiocy and trying both her patience and her vocal chords--a steaming cup of the favored drink became a common companion at the island nation's seat during such gatherings.
That, however, was something to be dealt with tomorrow. She smiled, lowering the cup back down into its saucer.
Yes, the day was beautifully clear. Sunshine brightened up the kitchen, giving the room a cheerful and welcoming feel, and England had a lovely cup of tea and an otherwise empty schedule in front of her.
Naturally, America chose that moment to bang on her door.
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Past experience dictated that the next next knock would burst in the door (something else she would have to squeeze into her calendar to deal with). This left her scarce little time to find a place to hide herself until her former colony hopefully lost interest and went away. She had no coffee and knew for a fact that he disliked the smell of chamomile, so it shouldn't take long. On that thought though, her drink would probably still grow cold waiting for him to leave.
The boy simply had the worst timing. If only he could have waited an extra five minutes before barging unannounced into her home she could have at least finished her tea in peace before rushing for cover. Such a shame to see a perfectly good cup of tea go to waste...
She took it into the closet with her.
((Curse you, character limit. Well, first part. I hope it's to your liking OP, and authoranon apologizes for the lack of anything actually happening yet. This was mostly to set things up for future parts.))
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Lovely beginning. Oh, France, you don't remember having sex with a man with such eyebrows because it's not a man after all.
Sigh, England, to be bothered about your tea before you hide *shakes head* she seems well versed about what to do with America's sudden appearances. This time around hopefully he's more successful with finding her eh.
Can't wait to read more! :)
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I can't wait to see how this works out. -has to stalk this story- I will happily sit here for the next up date.
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With a loud crack and resigned groan, England's door lost its battle with the early morning visitor, swinging open at just a slightly off-angle.
Silence reigned for all of a blessed five seconds before a curious blond head appeared in the door frame. "England?" America called again. A pause. "Your door was open so I'm letting myself in!"
There was a light thud as England let her forehead hit the back of her hall closet in exasperation, but it was drowned out by the louder thunk of the younger nation rolling his luggage into the entryway and trying to close the door behind him. At least the additional time he took shoving the door back into place gave her a few moments to sip her tea.
It greatly eased her newly developed headache and she gave herself a mental pat on the back for having decided to double back and grab it.
He was coming in her direction now. As always, America seemed to be making an effort to broadcast his presence. England could easily hear his footsteps moving down the hall, heading for the kitchen she had been occupying less than a minute earlier.
- - - - - - - - - -
For his part, America knew enough about visiting England to know the kitchen was the first place to start looking if his former 'brother' wasn't there at the door to greet him when he arrived. Sure enough, he noticed the recently used kettle sitting on the stove. He could still feel the heat coming off it's surface as he got nearer.
Alright, so England had already had his morning tea. He'd have to come back for another one sooner or later, so if America just waited right here, he'd be sure to run into the island nation eventually.
...but that was so boring. He dug his hand into the pocket of his bomber jacket, fishing of his cell. Maybe he should call him to speed up the process.
But he never made the call. He had paused before his thumb could press the 'send' button, tentatively sniffing the air. Something smelled really gross. What was that? Normally, America would have ignored the unpleasant scent, but he just knew what it was.
It was on the tip of his tongue; figuratively, not literally of course. Ew.
Then he recognized it.
Chamomile.
- - - - - - - - -
England startled at the knock against the entrance to her sanctuary, biting back a curse when her wrist bumped against one of the walls in the confined space, spilling the remainder of her tea. "England? Are you in there?" an all too familiar voice called from the other side of the door.
She almost shouted 'No!' but caught herself at the last minute. Not that her silence looked like it was going to help. Blast! How had he figured out her location so easily?
Her gripped tightened on her now empty tea cup, more from irritation than anything else. To think, after lifetimes of keeping her secret hidden, this was how it was going to come out. From a closet. If only she had worn something a little less feminine, instead of the low-cut sweater and mid-length skirt she was currently attired in. Then she wouldn't be in this predicament. Well, she would still have a broken door and America roaming about her house--but at least she could have skipped running into the closet and just openly confronted him about the meaning of private property and its destruction from the get-go.
Speaking of which, the closet door chose that moment to walk the path of its brother at the front of the house. Light made its way into England's impromptu hiding place, and against the back wall America's distinctive shadow appeared next to hers. That was that then. There was no way he didn't see her from his current position.
"England...?"
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And although she would never admit it out loud, she was glad it was America. She had raised him, lived with him; he was the one nation--if any--who had earned the right to be given a full explanation. England let out the breath she'd been holding and waited for the inevitable question she knew her former colony was about to ask.
It was about then that the laughter started.
"Are you--ahah!--wearing a skirt?!" More laughter. "Oh wow, England, I never knew you were into that kind of thing! Pfft!"
America's attempt at human speech dissolved into unintelligible giggles and fits of laughter. (And incidentally, any charitable thoughts England had been having towards him dissolved period.)
Her eyebrow twitched in irritation. Perhaps she had overestimated him.
- - - - - - - - -
"America."
Laughter continued to fill the hallway.
"America." A little louder, but not quite shouting.
A snort.
Oh, bugger it. "America, look at me!"
Bent over, America still didn't look up, but the laughter did stop and he made a noise that she took to be an acknowledgment he heard her. It was a start.
"Look at me." she repeated, "And explain to me what it is about my attire that seems to be so hilarious."
"Come on, England." he began, lifting his head, "You can't ask me that question in a skirt and expect me to be able to answer."
She crossed her arms over her chest, "Actually I do."
Whatever the response was that America had planned, it died in his throat as he finally took in the full sight of England standing before him.
A million thoughts raced around his mind, working furiously to process what he was seeing.
England was was wearing woman's clothes.
England seemed comfortable in woman's clothes.
England was filling out those woman's clothes very nicely.
...
Oh.
...Oh....huh?
And then his thoughts came to a screeching, crashing halt.
- - - - - - - - -
The poor boy looked like his brain was short-circuiting. Under different circumstances, England would have found the slack-jawed look on America's face adorably endearing. Or at the very least hilarious.
Instead she let out a sigh and turned, walking back towards the kitchen. "I suppose it can't be helped." she began, not really caring if he was following or not (or if his brain was yet even capable of processing what she was saying). "If you'll give me a moment, I can explain the situation. If it can even be called that. And if you haven't yet, do close your mouth America. This can't possibly be that shocking. And even if it is, you're going to attract flies."
She needed another cup of tea.
Really now. Of course finding out someone you had practically grown up with was a different gender had to be surprising, but it wasn't like it was going to change anything. England was still England. She never lied about her opinions, polices, or tastes just because she presented herself as male. And goodness knows she wasn't going to get any girlier because of this. In fact with any luck maybe America would finally stop teasing her about her love of embroidery, although she highly doubted that...
"Sooooo..." America drawled behind her, interrupting her thoughts. England turned, sensing there was a question coming. (She almost welcomed it over his other reactions.) As he once again entered her line of sight, she could see a playful look covering his features, replacing the one of wide-eyed shocked he'd been wearing previously, "Does this count as you coming out of the closet?" (Nevermind.)
...It was nice to know the boy had recovered from his shock so quickly.
England stared, seemed to contemplate something for a moment, then punched him in the face.
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"I forgot how your face is as hard as the rest of your head."
America beamed as he handed England an ice pack for her sore knuckles. (Being the reason behind it didn't mean he was any less happy to help.) "Hey, does this mean I can't make jokes anymore about how you hit like a-"
"Finish that sentence and next time I'll aim somewhere a little more vulnerable." she interrupted, taking a gulp from her second tea of the day and forcefully clanking her cup down in a manner that could only be described as 'quite unladylike' (or as America would have said, 'totally England').
"You have to admit, the closet was a kinda funny choice."
"And where else would you have expected me to hide exactly?"
"Well, I wasn't expecting you to be hiding from me at all."
"You show up at my home without warning, break in my door, and generally make a nuisance of yourself. Even if I hadn't been trying to hide my gender I probably would have still taken up residence in that closet to avoid you." So what if that wasn't necessarily true? At least their interactions seemed to have gone back to normal. "Or maybe I should have stuck you in there instead to avoid additional destruction."
America pouted, "Well that's not nice."
"Don't be a child. Besides, we both know it wouldn't have held you long anyway." England muttered. A sigh. "So much for my peaceful day off." She took another sip of tea. Over the rim of her cup, she noticed the other nation wasn't making to respond to her half-hearted complaint. Instead, he was staring at her rather thoughtfully. "What is it?"
"It's weird." he said after a pause.
"And 'it' would be...?" she prompted.
He didn't answer right away, the look on his face was uncharacteristically contemplative. That couldn't be good.
"Your voice." he said at last. "I mean, sure seeing you in a skirt and all is definitely different..." And there was that equally endearing and infuriating smile of his and if he started laughing again she was going to-
But he didn't. "...but when you talk like that. It still sounds like you and it's kinda familiar but it's not." He scratched his head and laughed. It wasn't the teasing laughter so she let it slide, more interested in what he was saying now anyway, "Your voice is girlier, but you sound the same, you know?"
It took her a moment, but England suddenly realized what he was talking about.
Another slip up. She was usually better at this, but as their conversation had been going on it seemed, unconsciously, England had adopted her more natural tone of voice around America. A tone that had until now been reserved exclusively for her older brothers, and occasionally her supernatural friends. Although with the latter's unpredictable nature of appearing at world meetings, she often dropped her voice around them as well, just to be safe.
"Yes, well..." she began, trying to figure out how to respond, "It's not like I could talk in my normal voice with the majority of the world being convinced I'm a man, now could I?"
"I get that." he answered, nodding his head in understanding, "But..." his expression still seemed a little unsure and he gestured vaguely in her direction, "...Why?"
And there was the question she had been waiting to be asked since he'd kicked in her door. Or maybe even before that.
"I suppose I'll explain it then."
((First of all, I want to thank you all for your comments, anon readers! It's always worth it to have people tell you they enjoy your writing. Secondly, I'm sorry if characterization and plot is all over the place. I don't think I'm keeping an even, level balance of humor and seriousness; more like it's tilting back and forth like a see-saw. Please let me know if you share my worries.
I hope you all continue to enjoy the fic, and thank you again for reading!))
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This fill is adorable for some reason. I look forward to your updates. :)
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Oh America, I truly do love you, even though you kill with my own laughter a lot.
I love this fill it's so amazing...XD I can't wait for more...not wait I can...no I can't! -explosion of excitement-
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I'm loving this fill so far. Keep it up, authornon!
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"It isn't all that hard to understand really. Think about it for a moment, America."
An awkwardly long pause passed in which the younger nation sat looking thoughtful, appeared to draw a blank, then crossed his arms, "I thought you just said you were going to to explain it." he finally huffed, looking ever so much like an impatient five-year-old. Really now. And everyone said that England's moods shifted without warning.
She sighed. Hopefully she wasn't going to have to completely spell it out for him. "You may be younger than most of us, but I know for a fact that your Woman's Suffrage movement took place barely a hundred years ago. And it took an Amendment to your precious Constitution for women to be allowed the same representation the majority of men had enjoyed since your founding. Even now, there are still other nations whose women are given no regard whatsoever." she explained, "And earlier in history this kind of discrimination was even more commonplace."
"Yeah but. You're not just any woman." America insisted, turning a little red as he said it (England herself chose to believe that the light blush on her cheeks was due to anger. After all, America clearly must have meant that as some kind of insult.), "I mean. You're England. You've had queens and...and Margaret Thatcher and you were an Empire. And you being a girl obviously doesn't mean you were any less badass."
England chose to ignore the 'were' part. "I'm not saying that my own people have not had some fine examples of female leadership. In fact, it's more than I can say about you and your uninterrupted history of male presidents since that....Washington." she finished, stopping herself at the man's name. Her voice had taken on a bitter edge, and she could see from the look on America's face that, as always, he was ready at a moment's notice to rush to the defense of his Founding Father.
She coughed into her hand when he didn't actually say anything, "But as I was saying," she continued, relieved to have dodged that argument (It was a bit too early to break out the whiskey.), "Despite that fact, the responsibilities required of us were simply expected to be performed by a man. I'm sure that as their nation my people wouldn't have just ignored me due to my gender, but especially back in those days we didn't have the luxury of proving ourselves before getting anything done."
"Since when would you need to prove yourself to your people? You can't seriously be trying to tell me that you really think they wouldn't have trusted their Nation if they had known you were a-"
"Trust me." She chose to interrupt America's protest, "It was never truly a question of loyalty. But there is a great difference between being willing to fight for one's country...and fight with her." And there would have been those who, no matter how hard they tried (or probably in some cases, didn't bother to) hide it, would have wondered how qualified she was to be anything but a figurehead. And she would have detested being left behind if it had come to that; to not know the feeling of victory on the battlefield, or later, the freedom of the sea.
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England didn't go into details. Didn't talk about how she sometimes wondered if her brothers had had deeper, less humorous reasons for encouraging her belief in her masculinity during her younger years. If they--dare she think it--had been looking out for her in their own roundabout way. But then, most of the time that theory seemed unlikely. They probably were just being a bunch of gits.
But then England remembered a time when a young woman had cut her hair and joined her countrymen in battle against her. And she had outwardly scoffed at France's champion, while inwardly had held a reluctant admiration for her.
And then she had seen that same woman burn. For charges of heresy and theft and ultimately for dressing as a man.
(England knew she could say how she had never approved of that last one, but saw no point. It wouldn't have changed what happened or what had been done.
She knew that, unlike Joan of Arc, she was no saint.)
"So there you have it." she concluded, "Nothing all that extraordinary. Simply my siblings being their usual idiotic selves, mixed with popular expectations and a desire on my part not to deal with the complications of correcting them or the resulting fallout."
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"Hardly. It really isn't all that big a deal, America. Things run smoothly enough this way, and I'm quite used to it by this point in any case."
"But it's not something you should have to be used to. Don't you think it's about time you let the world know the truth?"
"What did I just say were my reasons for not doing so? Do you think I want to deal with a hundred more responses like yours?"
"I handled it fine! Like a hero!"
"Oh of course. Do remind me again, was it laughing your head off or the shocked, slack-jawed expression on your face that was the more heroic reaction?"
"My quick recovery!"
"Is that what you're calling that closet comment?"
"You wouldn't be in a closet this time!"
"...and where exactly is this conversation going?"
"You calling a meeting to let everyone know you're really a girl. You'd be dealing with it all at once! And I bet for once we'll all agree on how crazy it is."
"Yes, well you have a point there." England responded sarcastically, "In fact, why even wait? I'm sure this next conference would be a perfect opportunity. Tomorrow would be much better served pointlessly discussing the fact that I'm female rather than pointlessly discussing your next big and utterly ridiculous solution to global warming. Or whatever other topic you're stuck on at the moment."
"Hey!"
She smirked and sipped her tea.
"But you know, that might not be such a bad idea."
...What?
...
"...which part?"
((Oh fuck ignore that de-anon.
Authoranon apologizes for the late, short update and the probable history fail. I'm joining the 'Life is Kicking my Ass' club on an extended membership. Future parts will continue this trend of not being as fast in coming as the first two were, but I promise for better or worse that I will not give up on this fic until it's finished, so please don't lose faith in me, kind anons. Thank you all again for your wonderful comments and taking the time to read! I hope you continue to enjoy! ))
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