Past-Part Fills Part 7
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Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
He woke up to a foul stench that was permeating the workroom, curling from the crack between the bottom of the door and the floor and burning his sensitive nostrils. Noting the calendar, it was now Friday morning, and the room smelled like something organic had died very violently and was left to rot. Stomach rolling, Tony prayed that America wasn’t trying another cooking experiment for breakfast. He put on an old gas mask (it used to be America’s until he let Tony have it for an old experiment) before climbing up the stairs to the basement door. Pushing it open, he stumbled through.
He silently thanked his own deities and America’s that the gas filters were still working, because he was now getting fresher air than what poor Britannia was getting (the cat still looked somewhat grumpy, sitting in its customary place on the bookshelf, although Tony suspected it had more to do with the cat getting booted from the bedroom last night than anything).
Tony froze: Britannia unhappily sitting downstairs, a horrible stench from the kitchen, that phone-call from yesterday…
DAMN!
Instead of charging into potentially hostile territory, Tony carefully eased the kitchen door open and cautiously stuck his head inside.
So yesterday had actually happened after all.
England, the cursed being that was the personification of, well, England and the representative of the United Kingdom, was happily stationed at the stove, humming to himself as he poked something in the pan with a black rubber spatula. America was sitting at the table, tapping his foot in time with England’s tune as he read the Washington Post. Judging from America’s impatient foot, a certain someone hadn’t gotten his ‘quality time’, as America liked to put it, last night. Tony knew from experience that the antsier that America was, the more eager he was to be with England. Since he’d been asleep when England evidently arrived, Tony didn’t know what time that England came or how exhausted he must have been, but apparently it was enough to successfully deny America any quality time.
Either way, Tony was prepared to make a point about England’s cooking.
The door squeaked as Tony pushed it open. “Hey Tony, long time no see,” America remarked without looking up from the paper. England however immediately turned to face his longtime nemesis…and nearly jumped at the sight.
“Alfred! What…where did he get that?” England demanded, startling the American.
“Huh, what? Ooohhh, that? It’s my old gas mask from 1918, he needed it for some experiment or other a couple years ago,” America said, lowering the newspaper to glance at Tony. “Call it a hunch, Artie, but I don’t think he likes your cooking.”
England turned to face him. “And you be quiet, this is breakfast for us!”
Tony stared at England in horror. He thought England liked America enough to keep him healthy, not poison him to death.
Or…what if England was not over whatever it was that initially caused the rift between him and America? And he was slowly poisoning America to death after all while pretending that he cared?
Damn, that limey was sneaky.
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“Hey Tony, you want some eggs too?” America said, suddenly reclaiming Tony’s attention. Even through the gas mask goggles, Tony could see the blue eyes silently pleading with him to get along with England for a couple of days. “Please?” America added in a quieter tone as England pulled out two plates from the cupboard above the sink.
This is it. My last meal.
There was a reason that Tony had successfully dodged eating England’s food for this long. His last breakfast on Earth had to have been cooked by the limey didn’t it?
Reluctantly, Tony pulled the gas mask off and set it off on the coat rack hook, conveniently on top of England’s coat. Then he slowly walked toward the kitchen table, trying not to react to America’s large smile. No wonder it seemed that America had England wrapped around his little finger sometimes, the American’s charm always made it hard to resist strongly-worded requests. It was always hilarious to watch America use that charm to convince others, humans and nations, to do as he asked. It just wasn’t funny when he used it on Tony.
Tony climbed up onto the kitchen chair next to America, and tried not to cringe as England set down two plates of…something in front of him and America before taking a third plate for himself. America hummed happily as England put down America’s favorite mug of coffee in front of him before placing a glass of orange juice in front of Tony (in his favorite glass that had cartoon spaceships on it no less, was there anything that America didn’t tell England??). Then England sat down at his place while America put aside the newspaper.
Then they started eating.
Well, America and England did at least.
Tony picked up his fork and cautiously nudged the black goop on his plate, and froze when it wiggled like Jell-o. He didn’t dare sniff the pile of stuff next to the Jell-o eggs; judging from the shapes, it probably had started life as bacon at some point, some point very far down the timeline down from here. And it was the source of the dying organic smell that Tony had smelled earlier.
Oh wait; he had to eat this, didn’t he? He was going to die a very gruesome death from indigestion if consumption didn’t kill him first.
Well, he had nothing to lose or gain from just sitting there, staring at his plate. No pain, no gain, as America would say before doing something fantastically stupid (even for him) in front of either the other nations or Congress (that happened one time, the incident ended up on America’s unwritten list of ‘NEVER do THAT again. EVER’).
He took a bite of the stuff that used to be bacon in another life. And then swallowed it after a few minutes of awkward chewing.
Tony clamped his mouth shut as his stomach rolled and rebelled at the unwanted intrusion. Colors swam vibrantly in front of his eyes and he thought for a moment that world was teetering on a needlepoint before it was about to be pitched in the deep star-studded abyss that was space. Then something sharp yanked him by the collar and forced him to refocus on the blue-painted ceramic plate, the same plate that has the poor excuse for a breakfast on it. The rest of the meal sat there, silently mocking him as he silently divided the food up in his head to find out that he had seventeen torturous bites left if he kept the same amount of food on his fork each time. If he combined the portions, he had eight left with one small one left over.
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Steeling himself for the inevitable, Tony decided to take the plunge and just eat the damn food. Get it off his plate as fast as possible.
America jumped when Tony unexpectedly began shoveling the food into his mouth, food bits flying around the alien while its fork became a blur. “And you say I’m a messy eater,” he complained to England, who only had a raised bushy eyebrow at Tony’s apparent enthusiasm.
“That’s because you are,” he said, not looking at America as the latter got up and took his and England’s dishes to the sink, leaving England and Tony alone at the breakfast table.
It took Tony a few minutes to realize that the Brit was now watching him carefully. And that America was gone, leaving Tony alone with his arch-nemesis.
“Ah, Tony? May we talk for a few minutes while America is cleaning up in the kitchen?” England said in a sweet tone, alerting Tony to the approaching danger.
Tony crossed his arms, but didn’t say anything. He felt if he opened his mouth, he might regurgitate his entire breakfast on England. America would then interpret that as an intentional strike against England, and then no more pepperoni pizza pockets.
So he kept his mouth shut.
England correctly interpreted the action as an invitation to speak. “As you may or may not know, this is election year for America. He is extremely stressed out right now from the growing political atmosphere.”
No shit, Sherlock. Did you figure that out all by yourself?
“Normally, I have my own matters to attend to in London and elsewhere in the Commonwealth, so I am usually unable to visit him around now. It just happened to time out well this year that I could come visit him, unfortunately for a few days though,” England said before sipping his tea, completely unaware that Tony wanted nothing more than to remove the contents of his stomach just to relieve the pain. “That being said, I’d like to make one thing very clear to you,” he continued.
The pain in Tony’s stomach stopped. Wait, what now?
England leaned forward, the black caterpillars on his face drawing together into an impressive scowl; Tony felt the first flickers of fear he’d ever experienced in England’s presence. “If you as so much dare to interfere with America and I, I will not hesitate to remove you from the premises for the entire weekend,” he growled, and Tony wished he could phase through the chair to escape to his sanctuary faster. The ex-empire meanwhile straightened up and said coldly, “Consider this morning’s breakfast a warning.”
Tony stared at the older nation, who had gone back to innocently sipping his tea while America bounded back into the dining room to collect Tony’s dishes. Was there a loophole in America’s deal, that if England struck first, Tony could hit back in ‘self-defense’ and still get his pepperoni pizza pockets? Probably not.
Tony stared balefully at England, noting that America had brought back a fresh cup of tea. Was that another resident for the teacup graveyard he saw sitting on the table?
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“I swear that your boss’s son doesn’t like me,” England said, his light scowl threatening to morph into a smile. “But I do know how much you like your fireworks. What time shall we leave this evening?”
“Seven. Tony loves the kids, which actually is unusual for him,” America said, glancing at Tony, who shrugged. It was the most physical response he could give at the moment.
Brrrring! Brrrring!
Unaware that his best friend was in pain and missing the subtle hints of the brewing war, America jumped up and said, “I’ll be back. Tony, don’t forget to take your dishes to the kitchen!” Then he darted off to save the phone, which for some odd reason was buried beneath the couch cushions in the living room.
England and Tony made brief eye contact, and England mouthed, I’m watching you.
Tony scowled, felt his stomach rally for the last, massive revolt, and then dropped everything in favor of running for the bathroom to save his dignity at least if nothing else.
But, he could take consolation in the fact that England declared war first.
England wanted to stake his claim on America time this weekend? Then so be it.
Tony was more than ready to defend his America time.
But first, the war in his stomach had to be dealt with first.
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Dumb!Anon made a minor formatting mistake in Part C. Oh well. Also, I realized I deviated from the prompt a little (the bit about Tony knowing that England secretly likes America) by putting the two nations in an established relationship. Sorry OP...
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