[fanfic] Don't forget about me
Title: Don't forget about me
Author/Artist: imadera
Character(s) or Pairing(s): UK, Canada
Rating: None
Warnings: A bit angsty? mentions of Titanic
Summary: A date brings back a memory of someone lost at sea. Someone who is compared to a person of the present... with results.
Notes: CQD - worldwide distress signal by Macroni operators in the maritime world. MGY - radio callsign for Titanic. (For more info, check Wikipedia, where I got this from. >>;)
It had begun as a fairly fine and bright day, despite the sun not peeking out from her hiding place behind the clouds. Arthur Kirkland was his afternoon tea on the veranda facing the garden of his house when the sun finally decided to allow a shy ray to break through the clouds. Looking up from his paper, the nation smiled lightly up at the sky. It might yet end up a fine day. Perhaps in time for his late afternoon walk around five, after his work was done, it would be shining and splendid.
Raising the cup to his mouth, he turned back to the paper again and, in the passing, glanced at today’s date that stood printed on the upper edge of the page he was reading. 15-04-2012... The light breeze that gently rustled the young leaves in the trees went unnoticed as England’s eyes remained on the date and something, deep in veiled memories, stirred.
1912...
CQD!
CQD!
MGY!
The shudder that went through the air, followed by a slightly chilly wind that spoke of coming rain, didn’t move the person in the garden. Eyes still on the paper, England wasn’t seeing it anymore.
Why do you almost only have pictures of her!?
We’re exactly the same!
I’m only half a year younger than her, you know.
This time, the shudder didn’t pass through the air but through the nation himself.
Oh god, Arthur! She-she-!
Sir, I’m sorry to report that out of the total of 2,240 aboard, only 723 survived...
2,241.
Pardon me, sir?
No, nothing.
Titanic...
The sudden, chill wind that blew through the garden, accompanied by the first drops of rain, awoke Arthur with a start. Glancing up at the sky, he absently wondered how long he had been out of it as he observed the still darkening sky. It would soon yield a downpour. A heavy downpour. Darn April weather.
Getting up and collecting everything on the table, piling it up at the tray he’d used to take it all out, but in two turns at the time, England quickly moved into the kitchen. He’d just closed the door out into the garden when the heavens seemed to consider it proper to let all her pent-up feelings loose.
“Geez,” Arthur sighed as he beheld the flood through the windows. “What a downpour. And so sudden!” he muttered to himself as he began setting out his cup, tea pot and little saucer with biscuits on it on the kitchen table. Just like that time...
Arthur’s form slowly came to a halt.
The heavens have opened her gates and all the angels are crying over this tragedy. It’s the biggest disaster in maritime history.
Swallowing, hard, England put down the saucer and slowly, almost as if afraid to break anything, walked out into the large drawing room. Stopping on front of a commode, Arthur reached out and picked up a not-often touched photography frame. It was made of matte silver with faint baroque carvings. Raising it, he stared at the piece of paper it contained. It was an old photography. The colors were pale, worn by age (even if it didn’t ever stand in direction of a light source), but still there, still clear enough to be appreciated.
The girl in the picture wore a large hat with fluffy plumes and a beautiful, floor-long dress in colors of old rose, rich burgundy and sky blue details. She looked so grown-up... She was smiling, a laughter not far from her lips, as the sun shone brightly down on her where she stood in front of the bow of a tremendous ship. Ocean liner, he corrected himself.
Staring at the picture, he, once again, remembered her question. “Why do you almost only have pictures of her?” It was... a good question. They were so alike, she and her sister, but at the same time not. There were a few small differences, except for the name.
That brought to mind another pair of siblings that had a lot in common but still were so dissimilar. Alfred and... Matthew.
Arthur... I am Titanic.
Arthur, I’m Matthew.
Shaking his head viciously, something he didn’t do often at all, England tried to shake the unpleasantly cold feeling creeping up on him. Was it the weather, or...? Staring at the picture again, the echo of Olympic’s hysterical cries flew through his head but when the female voice suddenly changed to another, much familiar, male tone, England lurched backwards violently. One hand gripping the photograph frame like his life depended on it, the other hand covering one half of his face, Arthur blinked rapidly. There was a picture of Alfred on his retina, crying, saying that Matthew was... Matthew was-
Arthur bumped, hard, into an armchair that he’d, unconsciously, backed into. Hand flying from his face, he gripped the armrest to support himself so not to fall.
This was ridiculous! Matthew wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t in any danger. He was grown-up and completely capable of defending himself should any danger come his way. And if he couldn’t, Alfred was just by him and Francis would surely come in a flying fury, not that Arthur himself wouldn’t also. So why...? Why was Canada being likened to her?! They weren’t the same. They were...
They were both mistaken for the other sibling. Both compared to someone else or seen as their shadow... They were, in a ghastly way, the same. England shuddered. He didn’t know when he’d sunk down in the armchair he’d used to hold himself up on.
They... were the same? Canada and Titanic were...
Eyes widening, Arthur flew up out of his seat as though it was on fire and, barely conscious about putting down the photography frame on the round table beside the armchair, he rushed to the hall. Tearing on suit jacket and shoes, ignoring or forgetting, it was impossible to tell, an umbrella, hurried out of the house, just barely remembering to lock it.
---
Matthew raised an eyebrow at the clock when the doorbell suddenly went off. He didn’t expect any guests. Was it Cuba, coming on a surprise visit perhaps? He didn’t have much ice cream at home so they’d have to go out and buy some, not that that would probably be a problem for the other nation.
“Yes?” the Canadian answered as he opened the door calmly. “Who is i-EAAAGH!?”
“MATTHEW!” Even though the voice was familiar, the hands abruptly grabbing hold of his shoulder and the shout just inches away from him scared the young nation into jumping backwards into his house, pulling his unexpected guest-attacker with him.
Staring, dazed, up at his ceiling, Canada slowly became aware of that someone was hugging him. Blinking once, he turned his head down to find the back of a honey blond head and a deep forest green suit.
“Ah-erh-uhm-E-England...?” When he didn’t get a reply from the person straddling him and the force of the hug didn’t diminish, Matthew, moving slowly, gently returned the gesture. “...Arthur?” he question carefully.
“Oh god, Matthew, I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t realize.”
“W-what didn’t you realize?”
“Everything! I’m so sorry for not seeing you, for not paying as much attention as I should have, for... everything. Just everything. I’m sorry.”
“...”
‘Please. He must get to know. Arthur-England must get to know. Please make sure he gets to know.’
The girl, pretty despite her tear-streaked face, held hard onto the young man’s hand. He was the junior wireless officer aboard her ship. He didn’t understand how the ship could be hers, but it was, that much had been clear. She even had the same name as the ship. Or the ship was named after her. He couldn’t make her go with him though, however much he tried. She was going to go and find the captain, she said. But she talked as though she knew, positively knew, that she wouldn’t survive… It wasn’t sure she would die. Right?
‘I... I will. I promise I will make sure they get to know, Miss.’
‘Thank you, Mister Bride.’ Her smile was stunningly gorgeous. He’d dare say, she was as pretty as the ship was stunning. He wasn’t sure which was more striking, couldn’t decide. ‘Live, Mister Harold Bride. Live, please. For me.’
Instead of me.
“It’s all right, Arthur. It’s really all right. You’re forgiven.”
Because, for some reason, this just struck me, the likeliness, when I read that most photographs and pictures of Titanic is actually of Olympic. D: ^^;
Harold Bride - junior wireless officer aboard Titanic. He survived, rescued by one of the ships that got the distress signal sent out.
Author/Artist: imadera
Character(s) or Pairing(s): UK, Canada
Rating: None
Warnings: A bit angsty? mentions of Titanic
Summary: A date brings back a memory of someone lost at sea. Someone who is compared to a person of the present... with results.
Notes: CQD - worldwide distress signal by Macroni operators in the maritime world. MGY - radio callsign for Titanic. (For more info, check Wikipedia, where I got this from. >>;)
It had begun as a fairly fine and bright day, despite the sun not peeking out from her hiding place behind the clouds. Arthur Kirkland was his afternoon tea on the veranda facing the garden of his house when the sun finally decided to allow a shy ray to break through the clouds. Looking up from his paper, the nation smiled lightly up at the sky. It might yet end up a fine day. Perhaps in time for his late afternoon walk around five, after his work was done, it would be shining and splendid.
Raising the cup to his mouth, he turned back to the paper again and, in the passing, glanced at today’s date that stood printed on the upper edge of the page he was reading. 15-04-2012... The light breeze that gently rustled the young leaves in the trees went unnoticed as England’s eyes remained on the date and something, deep in veiled memories, stirred.
1912...
CQD!
CQD!
MGY!
The shudder that went through the air, followed by a slightly chilly wind that spoke of coming rain, didn’t move the person in the garden. Eyes still on the paper, England wasn’t seeing it anymore.
Why do you almost only have pictures of her!?
We’re exactly the same!
I’m only half a year younger than her, you know.
This time, the shudder didn’t pass through the air but through the nation himself.
Oh god, Arthur! She-she-!
Sir, I’m sorry to report that out of the total of 2,240 aboard, only 723 survived...
2,241.
Pardon me, sir?
No, nothing.
Titanic...
The sudden, chill wind that blew through the garden, accompanied by the first drops of rain, awoke Arthur with a start. Glancing up at the sky, he absently wondered how long he had been out of it as he observed the still darkening sky. It would soon yield a downpour. A heavy downpour. Darn April weather.
Getting up and collecting everything on the table, piling it up at the tray he’d used to take it all out, but in two turns at the time, England quickly moved into the kitchen. He’d just closed the door out into the garden when the heavens seemed to consider it proper to let all her pent-up feelings loose.
“Geez,” Arthur sighed as he beheld the flood through the windows. “What a downpour. And so sudden!” he muttered to himself as he began setting out his cup, tea pot and little saucer with biscuits on it on the kitchen table. Just like that time...
Arthur’s form slowly came to a halt.
The heavens have opened her gates and all the angels are crying over this tragedy. It’s the biggest disaster in maritime history.
Swallowing, hard, England put down the saucer and slowly, almost as if afraid to break anything, walked out into the large drawing room. Stopping on front of a commode, Arthur reached out and picked up a not-often touched photography frame. It was made of matte silver with faint baroque carvings. Raising it, he stared at the piece of paper it contained. It was an old photography. The colors were pale, worn by age (even if it didn’t ever stand in direction of a light source), but still there, still clear enough to be appreciated.
The girl in the picture wore a large hat with fluffy plumes and a beautiful, floor-long dress in colors of old rose, rich burgundy and sky blue details. She looked so grown-up... She was smiling, a laughter not far from her lips, as the sun shone brightly down on her where she stood in front of the bow of a tremendous ship. Ocean liner, he corrected himself.
Staring at the picture, he, once again, remembered her question. “Why do you almost only have pictures of her?” It was... a good question. They were so alike, she and her sister, but at the same time not. There were a few small differences, except for the name.
That brought to mind another pair of siblings that had a lot in common but still were so dissimilar. Alfred and... Matthew.
Arthur... I am Titanic.
Arthur, I’m Matthew.
Shaking his head viciously, something he didn’t do often at all, England tried to shake the unpleasantly cold feeling creeping up on him. Was it the weather, or...? Staring at the picture again, the echo of Olympic’s hysterical cries flew through his head but when the female voice suddenly changed to another, much familiar, male tone, England lurched backwards violently. One hand gripping the photograph frame like his life depended on it, the other hand covering one half of his face, Arthur blinked rapidly. There was a picture of Alfred on his retina, crying, saying that Matthew was... Matthew was-
Arthur bumped, hard, into an armchair that he’d, unconsciously, backed into. Hand flying from his face, he gripped the armrest to support himself so not to fall.
This was ridiculous! Matthew wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t in any danger. He was grown-up and completely capable of defending himself should any danger come his way. And if he couldn’t, Alfred was just by him and Francis would surely come in a flying fury, not that Arthur himself wouldn’t also. So why...? Why was Canada being likened to her?! They weren’t the same. They were...
They were both mistaken for the other sibling. Both compared to someone else or seen as their shadow... They were, in a ghastly way, the same. England shuddered. He didn’t know when he’d sunk down in the armchair he’d used to hold himself up on.
They... were the same? Canada and Titanic were...
Eyes widening, Arthur flew up out of his seat as though it was on fire and, barely conscious about putting down the photography frame on the round table beside the armchair, he rushed to the hall. Tearing on suit jacket and shoes, ignoring or forgetting, it was impossible to tell, an umbrella, hurried out of the house, just barely remembering to lock it.
---
Matthew raised an eyebrow at the clock when the doorbell suddenly went off. He didn’t expect any guests. Was it Cuba, coming on a surprise visit perhaps? He didn’t have much ice cream at home so they’d have to go out and buy some, not that that would probably be a problem for the other nation.
“Yes?” the Canadian answered as he opened the door calmly. “Who is i-EAAAGH!?”
“MATTHEW!” Even though the voice was familiar, the hands abruptly grabbing hold of his shoulder and the shout just inches away from him scared the young nation into jumping backwards into his house, pulling his unexpected guest-attacker with him.
Staring, dazed, up at his ceiling, Canada slowly became aware of that someone was hugging him. Blinking once, he turned his head down to find the back of a honey blond head and a deep forest green suit.
“Ah-erh-uhm-E-England...?” When he didn’t get a reply from the person straddling him and the force of the hug didn’t diminish, Matthew, moving slowly, gently returned the gesture. “...Arthur?” he question carefully.
“Oh god, Matthew, I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t realize.”
“W-what didn’t you realize?”
“Everything! I’m so sorry for not seeing you, for not paying as much attention as I should have, for... everything. Just everything. I’m sorry.”
“...”
‘Please. He must get to know. Arthur-England must get to know. Please make sure he gets to know.’
The girl, pretty despite her tear-streaked face, held hard onto the young man’s hand. He was the junior wireless officer aboard her ship. He didn’t understand how the ship could be hers, but it was, that much had been clear. She even had the same name as the ship. Or the ship was named after her. He couldn’t make her go with him though, however much he tried. She was going to go and find the captain, she said. But she talked as though she knew, positively knew, that she wouldn’t survive… It wasn’t sure she would die. Right?
‘I... I will. I promise I will make sure they get to know, Miss.’
‘Thank you, Mister Bride.’ Her smile was stunningly gorgeous. He’d dare say, she was as pretty as the ship was stunning. He wasn’t sure which was more striking, couldn’t decide. ‘Live, Mister Harold Bride. Live, please. For me.’
Instead of me.
“It’s all right, Arthur. It’s really all right. You’re forgiven.”
Because, for some reason, this just struck me, the likeliness, when I read that most photographs and pictures of Titanic is actually of Olympic. D: ^^;
Harold Bride - junior wireless officer aboard Titanic. He survived, rescued by one of the ships that got the distress signal sent out.