Wild Justice (part 2)
anonymous
July 11 2009, 06:25:11 UTC
The Embassy couldn't sleep that night, and hummed in a buzz of meaningless activity, anxious and hand-twisting, though no one could name exactly why they felt so unsettled and unhappy. People squabbled, fell away miserably without finishing the arguments; played games listlessly without caring who won; felt the sudden urge to call home, to connect back with someone, anyone, Stateside, someone from _back home_.
Alex found it easy to slip away from his mother and his father, following a nameless, voiceless urge inside his head. Child of the military attache that he was, he had the security clearance - and the close friendships with most of the Marine detail - to have known most of the Embassy. He went down deserted corridors and dark rooms until he found the right one.
He opened the door quietly, saw a hospital bed and hastily-assembled medical equipment - bare cords trailing haphazard across the floor - and America lying quiet on the bed - too quiet, too still.
And there was an alien bending over him.
A gray-white bulbous head on a slender body, delicate limbs currently trailing a long-fingered hand over America's cheek, crooning in an alien tongue unlike any Alex ever heard - and he was good with languages - while the alien's large, dark eyes shimmered more like mercury - if mercury were dark like shifting shadows - in the faint light of the screens. Dark liquid dripped from them, beading in a way odd to earth physics and floating in the air like tiny black soap-bubbles. Alex realized he was crying over America. The alien grieved for America's hurts, and Alex immediately lost all fear of him. (Or her)
Then the alien snapped its head up, in a way that reminded Alex of a dog hearing danger, somehow, and swiveled to stare at Alex. "Fucking brat!" it snarled, voice high-pitched and strange and vibrating with weird sub-harmonics. "What are you…?!"
"That's my country," Alex said, interrupting, and walking to the bedside. "That is. My country." The last words were spoken slow and wondering. He studied the pale face, the face slack in drugged rest, the fall of wheat-gold hair over a scrubbed-clean forehead, and he loved it completely and unreservedly, in a way he'd never known before. It was not the way he loved his parents and it was not the way he would learn to love women, it was something different and more - more consuming than all that. Not more in quantity, perhaps, but more - more demanding, this love. Broader, less easy to grasp and define, because this was not one person, this was America.
At that moment Alex gave his life, his soul and his heart to America, and Tony knew it, could see the change in the young American's blue eyes - blue, Tony now thought, like how America's were blue. How funny.
"No wonder it hurts," Alex murmured. "He's part of us…no…" he said, slowly. "No, it's not that, is it. WE'RE part of him…"
Tony nodded.
"Someone hurt him," Alex said, and his fist clenched.
"Yes," Tony said, savoring the rage in the child's voice. "Someone fucking hurt him, hurt my America - fucking traitors, fucking bastards."
"Who?" Alex demanded, eyes burning with a fire not quite sane. "Who did this to America?"
"Who else?" Tony murmured in his strange, string-taut voice. "The other Nations did. And so, America won't strike back - not now, with the economy tying all of you earthlings so close together. Not with Mutually Assured Destruction. They can't war, so they took it out on him - all on him - this way. Fucking bastards!"
Alex almost cried, overwrought and unhappy. Then Tony put his hand on the human boy and looked deep into his eyes. "Not now. But you, American boy - you'll help me, won't you? He won't now - but I believe you humans have a saying. 'Vengeance is a dish best served cold.'"
"What can I do to help?" Alex hiccuped, his soul twisting in the winds of this odd, not-quite-human sorrow.
"Grow up," Tony the Alien told him. "Become a man, become a man who will lead America to where he ought to be - a warrior who will avenge his country's honor. Do that."
Wild Justice (part 3)
anonymous
July 11 2009, 06:27:23 UTC
He stayed in that dark room with Tony and America until the morning, when Tony had to hide. He stayed while doctors worked around him - doctors who somehow understood this boy was to be allowed to stay - murmuring worriedly over the young man in the bed, trying to arrange for a way to ship him back home as soon as possible.
He was there when Tony came back. He was there when at last Alfred opened his eyes.
He hung back while Tony talked with America, in low soothing tones, the alien's voice rumbling more like a purr now - deliberately soothing.
"…you see now, don't you," Tony was saying, sorrowful, long delicate fingers stroking the blond hair.
"I do," Alfred said, his voice flat, dead - defeated - and Alex, who had never heard America before then, raged in the silence of his soul for that America sounded like that. "You were right."
"You weren't wrong," Tony said, still petting him. "You're too good for them, that's all, America. Fucking bastards, they don't DESERVE you."
"They'd agree," Alfred said, voice dry without a hint of humor. "They'd agree that they don't deserve to be inflicted with someone of my grand idiocy."
"That's not what I meant and you know it."
Alfred sighed and turned his head away. "Why do you mean it, Tony?" he asked. "Why do you like me, when no one else on Earth does?"
"Because I know you, I've studied the other nations before this, and I landed in your land because I knew you were the one who was the best of them all! Who deserved my gifts, but you wouldn't take them…"
"Because I thought it wouldn't be fair to the other countries. Because I wanted to be strong on my own, not rely on others…well, I didn't, and now I find I CAN'T rely on anyone but you. Isn't that funny?"
"It's not," Tony raged. "And it's not true. Alex, come here."
Alex came forward instantly, transfixed as his eyes met America's.
"You're one of mine," Alfred said, studying the boy with tired eyes.
"I'm yours," Alex agreed, instantly. He took America's hand, then, and kissed it as he fell to his knees beside the bed, the mere words not enough to express the emotion inside him. America was too weak to draw his hand away.
"He knew you at once," Tony said. "This is a fucking rare kid, a good 'un. And you have more of them. You can rely on him, and them - trust to your own, America. And protect your own. You can't let those cocksucking sons of diseased whores hurt them, can you? If they'd do that to you…"
Alfred's eyes blazed for the first time, then, and Alex caught his breath. It was the same blaze that had been in his eyes when he wrested freedom from England - left him because his people suffered, and yearned to be free - blazing a little darker, a little less steady, but no less bright and terrible for all that.
"Me and him, and your people, America - those who love you, really - we're going to fix this," Tony promised.
"We will, we will," Alex breathed, fervent as the prayers America didn't allow in his schools.
And Alfred looked back at them, and his jaw set.
"I was wrong, Tony. I don't know if I was too good, but I was wrong anyway, and you were right. I'll get back at them, and - they'll be sorry," he swore. Pearl Harbor, the Alamo, the sinking of the Maine, the Boston Massacre, the Bataan Death March - the memories flickered blackly in his eyes.
Wild Justice (part 4)
anonymous
July 11 2009, 06:30:43 UTC
Alex visited until the day Alfred was due to go back stateside. On the last day, Alfred turned to him.
"You're a regular little mutt, aren't you Alex?" he said, amused. "Just like me."
"Japanese-Mexican-Irish ancestors," Alex agreed. "But that's Japanese-Mexican-Irish-AMERICAN. Both my parents were born citizens, and so was I!"
Alfred laughed, patted the boy's hair. "Say your full name for me again," he murmured.
"Alejandro Fernandez Johnston," he answered promptly.
Alfred laughed again. "Well, Al F. Johnston, say goodbye to Al F. Jones - until we meet again." He pressed a kiss to Alex's forehead, and the boy trembled. "We will meet again, you know."
***
They did, many times - when Alex was at West Point, at Quantico training to be a Marine, ran into each other at the Pentagon when he was stationed there, fought side by side sometimes in the little bushfire wars erupting all over the world, and in the bigger ones in the Middle East.
But the most important reunion was the day Alejandro F. Johnston, war hero, Senator, was sworn in as the youngest president of the United States ever.
*** TBC~
Next part will be more Nations-centric, I promise!
Wild Justice (part 5)
anonymous
July 11 2009, 20:11:16 UTC
"North Korea's acting up again."
America rolled his eyes when Alex - he'd always be Alex to him - said this. Same old song and dance from that last and proud bastion of Glorious Communism, made even more tiresome to those who'd lived through it before. Another handover of power, another show of strength against the American imperialist dogs to facilitate it. So little had changed, just window-dressing, it was like deja vu.
There was a long pause, America sipping at his mug of Kahlua and coffee, (he tended to sneak alcohol in most of his drinks now) Alex standing at the window, his hands clasped behind his back. "Project Fifty's ahead of schedule," Alex said, softly.
America sat up. Project Fifty - named for Area 51's legend, or the fifty states of the Union, or some other obscure reason - no one knew at this point - was the blackest of black operations. Its secrecy was multi-layered and guarded ruthlessly; another legend for the name was that fifty people had already been killed to protect it, he knew. That was wrong - they'd passed that number already. They drugged, lied, doctored media, all to protect the mysteries of Project Fifty. Project Fifty's people worked in secret, moved in shadows, were his first, last, best line of defense.
Project Fifty was America's Research and Development program for extraterrestrial technology - his fabled "Men in Black". Alex was extraordinarily well equipped to assess Project Fifty's progress - he'd been involved with it himself, using his battle experience to help adapt the new technology for terrestrial combat purposes, develop protocols for teaching soldiers how to use said new technology when the time came.
Which might be now.
America felt a thrill of dark excitement go up and down his spine, a feeling he hadn't allowed himself very often since - since that Day. Letting himself get excited was, as Germany would have put it, verboten. It led to reckless actions, dangerous actions - actions the rest of the world would resent and boil over. He couldn't afford it.
He hadn't been able to afford it. But - perhaps - now?
The President turned around and saw his country smiling, a thin sharp-edged smile, a smile he so rarely got to see and never for so long, with a new, splendid light in those blue-sky eyes, and he wanted to preserve that smile forever.
"North Korea may be the catalyst," he murmured. "It may not. But we are ready if it is."
"I've been ready for years," America answered, standing and joining his Boss at the window. They looked out over the White House lawn, and there was understanding between them.
"I'll put the Armed Forces on alert, code Yellow."
Wild Justice (part 6)
anonymous
July 11 2009, 20:12:32 UTC
North Korea, whether by accident or design, had chosen to act up just before the G9 (China had finally been admitted in) met for a conference. It was President Johnston's first outing as leader of the United States on the international stage, and everyone was intensely curious about America's new young leader.
He, and America, arrived neatly in the middle of things, when half the leaders were there and half weren't - neither early nor fashionably late. Although their leaders weren't all assembled, however, the other eight countries of the G9 had been there early, and were grouped together as they watched the black US helicopter land on the helipad, disgorging several intense young Secret Service agents who swept the location with eyes and handheld scanners and even a black German Shepherd before one spoke into his collar radio-tag and signalled for the President to emerge.
"Paranoid, aren't they?" murmured France.
"I've heard the new President is more security conscious than the last," Canada volunteered.
"He should be, he has more life to lose than most," muttered Romano. "Holy Christ! The man's only thirty-two years old! Twelve years ago he wouldn't have been eligible to run for office in America at all."
The other Nations murmured something like agreement as the President finally emerged from his helicopter. If anything, he looked younger than his thirty-two years. Alfred followed close behind his Boss, both dressed in well-fitting dark suits. They looked very alike, and very young, as they both walked towards the conference hall, heads bent close together as they walked, obviously having a discussion.
The eight countries watched in open curiousity. This was the first time most of them had seen the young President in person.
"You know something?" Canada said, idly. He had actually met Johnston - the tradition of the first international visit going to Canada had been upheld. "That man's eyes are almost the same color as Alfred's. It's sort of funny when they're both looking at you."
It was a minor note, a throwaway observation.
And then they were filing out, going back downstairs to meet with Alfred and his new President. Only Russia and China, the other two superpowers - the one who had clung hard to old power, clung and kept it and built it up again, the other who had risen like a phoenix from the flames of former weakness - stayed up, watching the third superpower of the world laugh and joke with his beloved Boss.
"There is another reason, I think," Russia murmured quietly, in a voice pitched for China's ears alone, "Why this man acts as if he moves on a battlefield."
"And it is…?"
"He has been on battlefields," Russia replied simply, watching the way Johnston moved, wondering if the man was armed. "He is a soldier, this one."
"Mmm," China murmured in vague agreement, but his eyes were intent.
Russia continued, "And America is beginning to move like him." They exchanged long glances then looked down to where America and his Boss were entering the hall. America, the capitalist - he hated wars now, they knew. They were messy, and unprofitable. He never went to battle unless the UN said to.
And there had been that - chastening, all those years before. It had worked, had it not?
The two superpowers watched America, moving with an assured ease he had not had for years, and wondered.
This is Artist!Anon
anonymous
July 12 2009, 03:38:36 UTC
UPDATED! I found Alex to be a very likable character, and ohhh... some thing is going to happen soon huh? Can feel the calm before the storm.
I wonder what is the significance of Alex's resemblance to Alfred, but I can imagine how it will be a little weird to have two pairs of bright blue eyes staring at you (I LOVE Alfred's eyes, btw). I really liked Russia's observation... and how Alfred seems to be so happy with Alex. Can't wait for the next wonderful chapter!
Re: This is Artist!Anon
anonymous
July 12 2009, 09:28:10 UTC
ARTIST-ANON! *worships* I love your art. Also, I just realized, are you the one who did the beautiful, beautiful art fill where Alfred and Arthur are reincarnated, and Matthew runs past them? I worship you twice over for that.
And yes, things are going to move soon. I have to thank you for your nice comment - oh man, I am so glad that YOU like it - especially about Alex, as I was really nervous as to how readers would mind having an OC so much in the story. So, thanks!
Alex's resemblance to Alfred is, like, something half-chance - he was born with blue eyes - but because he's been hanging around Alfred so much, they're beginning to influence each other.
Re: This is Artist!Anon
anonymous
July 12 2009, 11:11:26 UTC
Thank you for liking the Silencer tribute :) That was my first fill so I was really nervous, and I was surprised by all those nice comments from the wonderful anons.
OCs are very tricky indeed, but Alex is very interesting and relevant to the storyline. Oh boy, can't wait for things to go rock-and-roll. And I can see how the presidents and the nations would influence each other, especially since Alex grew up around Alfred. Brain-power X 2; things are going to be fun :P
Alex found it easy to slip away from his mother and his father, following a nameless, voiceless urge inside his head. Child of the military attache that he was, he had the security clearance - and the close friendships with most of the Marine detail - to have known most of the Embassy. He went down deserted corridors and dark rooms until he found the right one.
He opened the door quietly, saw a hospital bed and hastily-assembled medical equipment - bare cords trailing haphazard across the floor - and America lying quiet on the bed - too quiet, too still.
And there was an alien bending over him.
A gray-white bulbous head on a slender body, delicate limbs currently trailing a long-fingered hand over America's cheek, crooning in an alien tongue unlike any Alex ever heard - and he was good with languages - while the alien's large, dark eyes shimmered more like mercury - if mercury were dark like shifting shadows - in the faint light of the screens. Dark liquid dripped from them, beading in a way odd to earth physics and floating in the air like tiny black soap-bubbles. Alex realized he was crying over America. The alien grieved for America's hurts, and Alex immediately lost all fear of him. (Or her)
Then the alien snapped its head up, in a way that reminded Alex of a dog hearing danger, somehow, and swiveled to stare at Alex. "Fucking brat!" it snarled, voice high-pitched and strange and vibrating with weird sub-harmonics. "What are you…?!"
"That's my country," Alex said, interrupting, and walking to the bedside. "That is. My country." The last words were spoken slow and wondering. He studied the pale face, the face slack in drugged rest, the fall of wheat-gold hair over a scrubbed-clean forehead, and he loved it completely and unreservedly, in a way he'd never known before. It was not the way he loved his parents and it was not the way he would learn to love women, it was something different and more - more consuming than all that. Not more in quantity, perhaps, but more - more demanding, this love. Broader, less easy to grasp and define, because this was not one person, this was America.
At that moment Alex gave his life, his soul and his heart to America, and Tony knew it, could see the change in the young American's blue eyes - blue, Tony now thought, like how America's were blue. How funny.
"No wonder it hurts," Alex murmured. "He's part of us…no…" he said, slowly. "No, it's not that, is it. WE'RE part of him…"
Tony nodded.
"Someone hurt him," Alex said, and his fist clenched.
"Yes," Tony said, savoring the rage in the child's voice. "Someone fucking hurt him, hurt my America - fucking traitors, fucking bastards."
"Who?" Alex demanded, eyes burning with a fire not quite sane. "Who did this to America?"
"Who else?" Tony murmured in his strange, string-taut voice. "The other Nations did. And so, America won't strike back - not now, with the economy tying all of you earthlings so close together. Not with Mutually Assured Destruction. They can't war, so they took it out on him - all on him - this way. Fucking bastards!"
Alex almost cried, overwrought and unhappy. Then Tony put his hand on the human boy and looked deep into his eyes. "Not now. But you, American boy - you'll help me, won't you? He won't now - but I believe you humans have a saying. 'Vengeance is a dish best served cold.'"
"What can I do to help?" Alex hiccuped, his soul twisting in the winds of this odd, not-quite-human sorrow.
"Grow up," Tony the Alien told him. "Become a man, become a man who will lead America to where he ought to be - a warrior who will avenge his country's honor. Do that."
And Alex, never doubting, promised he would.
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He was there when Tony came back. He was there when at last Alfred opened his eyes.
He hung back while Tony talked with America, in low soothing tones, the alien's voice rumbling more like a purr now - deliberately soothing.
"…you see now, don't you," Tony was saying, sorrowful, long delicate fingers stroking the blond hair.
"I do," Alfred said, his voice flat, dead - defeated - and Alex, who had never heard America before then, raged in the silence of his soul for that America sounded like that. "You were right."
"You weren't wrong," Tony said, still petting him. "You're too good for them, that's all, America. Fucking bastards, they don't DESERVE you."
"They'd agree," Alfred said, voice dry without a hint of humor. "They'd agree that they don't deserve to be inflicted with someone of my grand idiocy."
"That's not what I meant and you know it."
Alfred sighed and turned his head away. "Why do you mean it, Tony?" he asked. "Why do you like me, when no one else on Earth does?"
"Because I know you, I've studied the other nations before this, and I landed in your land because I knew you were the one who was the best of them all! Who deserved my gifts, but you wouldn't take them…"
"Because I thought it wouldn't be fair to the other countries. Because I wanted to be strong on my own, not rely on others…well, I didn't, and now I find I CAN'T rely on anyone but you. Isn't that funny?"
"It's not," Tony raged. "And it's not true. Alex, come here."
Alex came forward instantly, transfixed as his eyes met America's.
"You're one of mine," Alfred said, studying the boy with tired eyes.
"I'm yours," Alex agreed, instantly. He took America's hand, then, and kissed it as he fell to his knees beside the bed, the mere words not enough to express the emotion inside him. America was too weak to draw his hand away.
"He knew you at once," Tony said. "This is a fucking rare kid, a good 'un. And you have more of them. You can rely on him, and them - trust to your own, America. And protect your own. You can't let those cocksucking sons of diseased whores hurt them, can you? If they'd do that to you…"
Alfred's eyes blazed for the first time, then, and Alex caught his breath. It was the same blaze that had been in his eyes when he wrested freedom from England - left him because his people suffered, and yearned to be free - blazing a little darker, a little less steady, but no less bright and terrible for all that.
"Me and him, and your people, America - those who love you, really - we're going to fix this," Tony promised.
"We will, we will," Alex breathed, fervent as the prayers America didn't allow in his schools.
And Alfred looked back at them, and his jaw set.
"I was wrong, Tony. I don't know if I was too good, but I was wrong anyway, and you were right. I'll get back at them, and - they'll be sorry," he swore. Pearl Harbor, the Alamo, the sinking of the Maine, the Boston Massacre, the Bataan Death March - the memories flickered blackly in his eyes.
"They'll be so sorry."
***
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Alex visited until the day Alfred was due to go back stateside. On the last day, Alfred turned to him.
"You're a regular little mutt, aren't you Alex?" he said, amused. "Just like me."
"Japanese-Mexican-Irish ancestors," Alex agreed. "But that's Japanese-Mexican-Irish-AMERICAN. Both my parents were born citizens, and so was I!"
Alfred laughed, patted the boy's hair. "Say your full name for me again," he murmured.
"Alejandro Fernandez Johnston," he answered promptly.
Alfred laughed again. "Well, Al F. Johnston, say goodbye to Al F. Jones - until we meet again." He pressed a kiss to Alex's forehead, and the boy trembled. "We will meet again, you know."
***
They did, many times - when Alex was at West Point, at Quantico training to be a Marine, ran into each other at the Pentagon when he was stationed there, fought side by side sometimes in the little bushfire wars erupting all over the world, and in the bigger ones in the Middle East.
But the most important reunion was the day Alejandro F. Johnston, war hero, Senator, was sworn in as the youngest president of the United States ever.
***
TBC~
Next part will be more Nations-centric, I promise!
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Holy shit, I can not wait for more.
Oh Tony <333
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And Tony! <3
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America rolled his eyes when Alex - he'd always be Alex to him - said this. Same old song and dance from that last and proud bastion of Glorious Communism, made even more tiresome to those who'd lived through it before. Another handover of power, another show of strength against the American imperialist dogs to facilitate it. So little had changed, just window-dressing, it was like deja vu.
There was a long pause, America sipping at his mug of Kahlua and coffee, (he tended to sneak alcohol in most of his drinks now) Alex standing at the window, his hands clasped behind his back. "Project Fifty's ahead of schedule," Alex said, softly.
America sat up. Project Fifty - named for Area 51's legend, or the fifty states of the Union, or some other obscure reason - no one knew at this point - was the blackest of black operations. Its secrecy was multi-layered and guarded ruthlessly; another legend for the name was that fifty people had already been killed to protect it, he knew. That was wrong - they'd passed that number already. They drugged, lied, doctored media, all to protect the mysteries of Project Fifty. Project Fifty's people worked in secret, moved in shadows, were his first, last, best line of defense.
Project Fifty was America's Research and Development program for extraterrestrial technology - his fabled "Men in Black". Alex was extraordinarily well equipped to assess Project Fifty's progress - he'd been involved with it himself, using his battle experience to help adapt the new technology for terrestrial combat purposes, develop protocols for teaching soldiers how to use said new technology when the time came.
Which might be now.
America felt a thrill of dark excitement go up and down his spine, a feeling he hadn't allowed himself very often since - since that Day. Letting himself get excited was, as Germany would have put it, verboten. It led to reckless actions, dangerous actions - actions the rest of the world would resent and boil over. He couldn't afford it.
He hadn't been able to afford it. But - perhaps - now?
The President turned around and saw his country smiling, a thin sharp-edged smile, a smile he so rarely got to see and never for so long, with a new, splendid light in those blue-sky eyes, and he wanted to preserve that smile forever.
"North Korea may be the catalyst," he murmured. "It may not. But we are ready if it is."
"I've been ready for years," America answered, standing and joining his Boss at the window. They looked out over the White House lawn, and there was understanding between them.
"I'll put the Armed Forces on alert, code Yellow."
America turned and saluted his leader.
***
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He, and America, arrived neatly in the middle of things, when half the leaders were there and half weren't - neither early nor fashionably late. Although their leaders weren't all assembled, however, the other eight countries of the G9 had been there early, and were grouped together as they watched the black US helicopter land on the helipad, disgorging several intense young Secret Service agents who swept the location with eyes and handheld scanners and even a black German Shepherd before one spoke into his collar radio-tag and signalled for the President to emerge.
"Paranoid, aren't they?" murmured France.
"I've heard the new President is more security conscious than the last," Canada volunteered.
"He should be, he has more life to lose than most," muttered Romano. "Holy Christ! The man's only thirty-two years old! Twelve years ago he wouldn't have been eligible to run for office in America at all."
The other Nations murmured something like agreement as the President finally emerged from his helicopter. If anything, he looked younger than his thirty-two years. Alfred followed close behind his Boss, both dressed in well-fitting dark suits. They looked very alike, and very young, as they both walked towards the conference hall, heads bent close together as they walked, obviously having a discussion.
The eight countries watched in open curiousity. This was the first time most of them had seen the young President in person.
"You know something?" Canada said, idly. He had actually met Johnston - the tradition of the first international visit going to Canada had been upheld. "That man's eyes are almost the same color as Alfred's. It's sort of funny when they're both looking at you."
It was a minor note, a throwaway observation.
And then they were filing out, going back downstairs to meet with Alfred and his new President. Only Russia and China, the other two superpowers - the one who had clung hard to old power, clung and kept it and built it up again, the other who had risen like a phoenix from the flames of former weakness - stayed up, watching the third superpower of the world laugh and joke with his beloved Boss.
"There is another reason, I think," Russia murmured quietly, in a voice pitched for China's ears alone, "Why this man acts as if he moves on a battlefield."
"And it is…?"
"He has been on battlefields," Russia replied simply, watching the way Johnston moved, wondering if the man was armed. "He is a soldier, this one."
"Mmm," China murmured in vague agreement, but his eyes were intent.
Russia continued, "And America is beginning to move like him." They exchanged long glances then looked down to where America and his Boss were entering the hall. America, the capitalist - he hated wars now, they knew. They were messy, and unprofitable. He never went to battle unless the UN said to.
And there had been that - chastening, all those years before. It had worked, had it not?
The two superpowers watched America, moving with an assured ease he had not had for years, and wondered.
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I wonder what is the significance of Alex's resemblance to Alfred, but I can imagine how it will be a little weird to have two pairs of bright blue eyes staring at you (I LOVE Alfred's eyes, btw).
I really liked Russia's observation... and how Alfred seems to be so happy with Alex. Can't wait for the next wonderful chapter!
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And yes, things are going to move soon. I have to thank you for your nice comment - oh man, I am so glad that YOU like it - especially about Alex, as I was really nervous as to how readers would mind having an OC so much in the story. So, thanks!
Alex's resemblance to Alfred is, like, something half-chance - he was born with blue eyes - but because he's been hanging around Alfred so much, they're beginning to influence each other.
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That was my first fill so I was really nervous, and I was surprised by all those nice comments from the wonderful anons.
OCs are very tricky indeed, but Alex is very interesting and relevant to the storyline. Oh boy, can't wait for things to go rock-and-roll. And I can see how the presidents and the nations would influence each other, especially since Alex grew up around Alfred. Brain-power X 2; things are going to be fun :P
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