[Fanfic De-Anon] Do No Harm 6/?

[jazzchyk]

Title: Do No Harm
Author: PhantomMemories/JazzChyk
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: For now, T for language reasons
Warnings: USUK, Language, implied past sexual activity.
Summary: After an attack on America, the personification vanishes. (Kink Meme De-anon request for Amnesia and Doctor!America. Original request here.)

Tokyo:

Japan hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but the need to piece together this puzzle that was Alain England was too strong. When the young man had asked about a telephone so that he could call his 'Miss Nettie', Kiku had only been too happy to oblige him.

The first few minutes had been... well... exceedingly normal. Alain was away from home, and calling the woman whom he had admitted was as close to a mother as he remembered.

That he remembered.

For some reason that simple phrase had given Japan pause in the middle of what had been a lively conversation during dinner. After that, he simply began to note more of the details. When the other physicians had talked about having wanted to be a doctor when they were children, Alain had talked about his cat, and how he'd realised how much had been lost, and how much he wanted to make it better, especially for the kids, who were the most vulnerable.

Without using the word, he'd said quite plainly that he wanted to be a hero.

Talk of seeing a baseball game the next time they were in Tokyo, led to Alain admitting that the most he'd seen was 'sandlot baseball' But he was certain that it had been great fun. He was hardly old enough to have never seen a professional baseball game. The Korean-American war had wiped most of the recordings, and the leagues that America had once boasted played far less these days-- but it had only been ten years. Surely someone who enjoyed watching games would have done so as a child...

But it did help define a pattern. Every single time something came up involving life before the war, or being a child, Alain would skillfully avoid sharing anything of his own past, but charmingly steer the conversation towards someone else's memories.

And the faint sad smile that Kiku had caught on more than one occasion belonged on a more childish face-- and vanished as soon as Alain had noticed him noticing.

Just like . . .

The baths had been something of an improvisation. The visitors would, of course, have a shower unit in their rooms, but the communal bath would be far more relaxing, and provide a peek at an area of Alain's body that was under cloth.

As much as it made Japan uncomfortable, Alfred had always been the first to shed his shirt on a warm day- and while he tried not to look, he had noticed the telling scars that marked every Nation-- barely visible, unless you knew, or had them pointed out. Getting Alain to go had been difficult-- but his group had coerced him eventually, with the promise that it would be just them.

And that was unlike America.

The puzzle pieces weren't fitting together, and once he was on the phone with his surrogate mother, they fit less and less. The cat - Iggy-- inquired about. His location. His health....

And then things got interesting.

The smile on Alain's face grew wider as his questions grew shorter.

“You're sure. You're really sure-- you checked the-” A lot of silence, and the anxiety as Alain fidgeted. “Hello Artie. I like the accent-- ”

Artie? Could it be that--

There was laughter, and a conversation that Japan was now listening intently to, while trying to appear not to be listening to. Igirisu. England. He was sure of it, and Alain-- he'd found Alain somehow, but not as directly as France. He faintly blushed at witnessing the younger man's emotional display. The tears of happiness, the relief, the --

“I think I like Alain better. But what do you mean, 'it's complicated'? Is it an alias? Why can't you tell me?”

There was no time, Kiku realised, as he saw Al's face suddenly go completely white with a look of incomprehension, to think about the implications of that conversation.

The phone fell from his hand, and Alain swayed where he stood, nearly staggering.

“Dr. England? Are you all right?” Japan asked, stepping closer to where the courtesy phone was anchored. “Alain?”

“Jet … lag.” Alain mumbled, “Just hit me all of a--”

“Al? Al!” Ah yes. That was England's voice. Not Alain, but Arthur-- “Kiku? Are you there? Is he okay?”

Japan's primary concern was the young man in front of him, who looked, not so much jetlagged as run over by a figurative bus. Instead of grabbing the phone, he took hold of Dr. England's arm, and led him to the nearest bench. Fortunately, it wasn't far.

“Sit down. I'll let Arthur-san know.” Kiku wasn't certain if Alf-- Alain understood, but he obeyed. And then Japan returned to a now frantic Canada on the phone, “Ah, Matthew-san. I thought he was speaking with Arthur-san.”

“He was-- Ja-- Kiku, what's going on? Why are you there-- and is Al okay?”

“He claims jet lag, but … he looks a bit ill. I am about to send for Bonnefoy-san, and Alain-kun's colleagues. This was very sudden.” Japan made a gesture towards a porter, indicating the baths. The man was one of his own, and understood what he wanted immediately. “Is there something going on that I should know about?”

“Yao's calling old debts that I haven't been able to negotiate. He's also landed troops on Hawaiian soil that he's claiming is owned by China-- but I haven't gotten any more information yet. I don't know why he's doing this now-- lousy timing...” Frustration came through clearly in the younger's voice. “Just when we found him--”

“I believe this will satisfy any lingering doubts.” Japan said, when Matthew didn't finish his sentence. The young man in question was leaning forward on the bench, head in his hands. “I attempted to call your office, as well as Arthur-kun's office, and they would only tell me that you were out. Bonnefoy-san found his picture among a group of doctors, and wanted to make certain before he told you.”

“Sometimes Francis has good intentions, despite himself. I think Arthur isn't going to be happy with him for a good long while-- and I'm not exactly pleased myself. We can be there tomorrow night.”

“I do not think Alain-kun will be able to travel” Japan watched as the very human friends ran from the baths, followed by France. “His friends are here now. You have my number and direction for when you get here.”
By the time Japan got back to the bench, Alain had roused a bit, still insisting that he was just tired-- despite the faint flush on his face that one of his coworkers discovered indicated a mild fever.

Japan caught France's eye, gave him a faint nod.

It was returned with an arched brow, and a faint smile.

They would talk later.

Right now, taking care of their once lost friend came first.

*V*^*V*^*V*^*

The opportunity to speak didn't come until hours later-- Alain had been fussed over, practically carried to his room in the suite that Japan had provided, and there had been talk of taking him to a hospital--

But that had mostly been one of the engineers who was still not used to the idea of their group being filled with enough medical professionals to take care of their own group as well as the others they had been traveling towards. Japan was kept busy making arrangements for whatever the doctors asked for, as well as delaying the final leg of that flight until... well. Until Al could travel. If indeed, he would be joining them.

And France could do nothing but wait and pray.

One of the older doctors-- the group's leader, if he recalled correctly from the sheets that he had read so long ago-- just smiled at him, and told him in French that doctors made lousy patients, and that he didn't need to worry or stay up any later. She was certain that things would work out just fine.

And he merely told her that she was a lovely woman (and she was that-- silver hair merely providing a bright crown--), but he would wait. So that was where Japan found France in the wee hours of the morning-- sitting on the floor, and rubbing the beads of an ancient rosary in one hand.

“Did you make contact with Matthieu and Arthur earlier?” Francis asked, looking up from his pose to find an exhausted looking Kiku standing over him. He was certain that he looked the same. “He is--”

“I know.” Japan said wearily, his interruption showing his exhaustion and emotional state. The small figure found a seat next to France. “Neither was home-- however, they already knew as well. They were with his human guardian.”

France blinked slowly.

“How they found him, I do not know.” Japan waved mildly towards the room in which the youth in question was sleeping with one of his fellows nearby. “He was talking to Arthur-san when … he collapsed.”

“The cause of this sudden illness? We do not usually succumb to plagues, unless our people--”

“It's China collecting on debts, and invading parts of Hawaii. England and Canada will be here as soon as they can.” Japan frowned more noticeably than France had ever seen. “I have called a few Nations to suggest that perhaps they could condemn the actions, without telling them of America's presence.”

“Is it wise to withhold information? If they knew, perhaps they would be more willing.”

“Many are still struggling from the impact of his loss from the world stage. A few would be more than happy to take advantage of his current condition-- financial problems aside.” Japan watched France with the same soulful dark eyes that had seen so many centuries. “It is for Canada and England to decide. They know him best. They are his true guardians now, even if he does not remember them.”

“Why now?” France turned the new information over in his mind. “Why at this particular moment--”

“I do not know.” Japan seemed to read his thoughts, “I have not spoken with China yet.”

“Perhaps we should.”

“In the morning, France. We both must rest- this is not a time of war when we must be always alert. It will take Yao at least week to do any further damage. America's people will resist. America will not die so easily.” Japan rose, and offered a hand to France, who stared at it in surprise. “Come. I will take you to your room-- we can take more action when the day is new.”

*V*^*V*^*

England didn't remember much of the trip from Miss Nettie's house to Tokyo.

He wasn't sure if it were a combination of nerves, anticipation, or exhaustion. Arthur had slept for most of the trip-- however it was off and on in those short bursts interrupted by dreams. And what dreams they were: the peacefulness of his morning in his garden interrupted by what had felt like an arrow to the heart; the tense anticipation of hearing from Canada, as he went to meet another 'Alfred Jones'; watching the video of his love's ravaged lands-- and the first time he'd set foot on the scarred soil.

The last time he had seen Alfred.

By the time he arrived at the hotel with Matthew, Arthur was so keyed up that he felt as though he might burst into tears long before seeing-- (and in some ways he was terrified that this was just another one of those dreams, those nightmares, and the person he was going to see would turn out to be a look-alike, a mistake, and his heart couldn't take any more--) and he was steered towards a comfortable looking chair as soon as he crossed the threshold.

“Angleterre, breathe.” The voice was familiar, and the accent, and normally Arthur would rather do the opposite of what it told him, because it was merely Francis, and-- “Breathe. Stay calm, mon cher frère, du calme. It will not do for you to faint as soon as you see him.”

“It's really....” England forced himself to breathe calmly. Stay calm. You've been through bombing raids, and not been this overworked. But it's Alfred.

“Oui.” France's faint and sincere (He'd nearly forgotten that Francis could smile that truthfully, that honestly-- not wanting anything.) “I recognised him from a passport photo, and wanted to verify before... I did not want to see you as miserable as the last false lead.”

“How is he?”

“Still quite feverish-- but insisting that he'll be all right to keep going tomorrow.”

“Not with China messing with his economy, he won't.” Arthur glanced towards the inner door to the suite, where they'd led Matthew a few minutes before. He'd agreed to let Canada see him first, if for no other reason than to allow England to compose himself. “But.... he doesn't remember me. He doesn't remember--”

“He doesn't remember anything before eleven years ago.” Francis corrected, “However, he did remember enough to realise that 'England' did not mean merely a place to him, but a person.”

“Has anyone told him who he really is yet?”

“Non,” Francis hesitated, “I am not certain that in his current state of mind that he would believe it. How does one prove such a thing?”

“With the passage of time, and government identification-- which no longer exists.” England rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes. Damp, of course. “The EMP took everything, and the bombs took the government.”

“Perhaps,” Francis said with that same look in his eyes that Arthur had always dreaded. It meant that France was thinking, and usually it was an idea that involved embarrassment, humiliation, and France poking you and saying that he had just defeated you.

“Fuck.” England said, automatically.

“You wound me, mon cher.” France was still smiling. “I have an idea...”

“It had better not involve nudity, alcohol, or pasting roses to our crotches. Or any combination thereof!”

France only laughed.

“No.” England insisted. “I will not--”

“No glue and roses,” France reached a hand down to him, “But I cannot promise that there will be an absence of the rest. For now, however, mon cher Angleterre, I must find Japon, so that I can begin to see if my plans are feasible. You, however--”

Arthur had taken that hand, after a moment's hesitation, and found himself standing again, albeit on slightly shaky legs.

“What about me?”

“You have to go and charm your amour once more. Try not to let your roguish ways take over-- he is still ill, you know.”

Arthur could feel his eyes widen almost comically as he took a swing--

And missed, as France ducked with another one of his annoying chortles.

“Arthur?” Matthew's voice came from the direction of the bedroom. “Are you--”

“He's ready, Matthieu.” France's hand propelled England towards the door. “I don't think he'll pass out.”
No time to splutter at Francis for being a perverted wine-swilling bastard-- he couldn't find the words anyway. And Matthew wouldn't be much help, as he had this look on his face. It was the soft and gentle smile that had been missing for far too long.

And last, there was that voice from inside the bedroom.

“Is that Arthur?” The same voice from the telephone, the same voice from his memories-- England almost wanted to weep for hearing it. But there were differences from the past. There was a slightly rougher quality that had less to do with illness than old injuries-- “Come on in!”

Enthusiasm was there, but subdued, and finally in the dim light of the hotel room England-- Arthur could see America. His Al--

His legs held up until he reached the bedside, where the younger man was half propped up against pillows. He was thinner than Arthur ever remembered, even during his growth spurts. (Or perhaps he had just missed that stage because he was away so often--) A more mature air seemed to hang about him, as the familiar smile (Subdued, but so wonderful-- so beautiful--) And those blue skies studied him so carefully, just as carefully as Arthur himself was--

“You... look like you need a hug.” Al raised his arm in invitation, and suddenly, without even pausing for thought, Arthur was there, arms wrapping around the other man's torso, face buried in the crook of his neck. (A familiar position, but there were differences, the way the skin was textured under the fabric he could feel... The same with the warm cheek that was now brushing against his hair. The same, and yet...)  “It's all right, Arthur.”

“God damn it, Alfred,” Arthur spoke through a mouthful of fabric, and clinging to Al like his life depended on it. “You wanker, you're always bloody making me cry.”

“So Matthew told me.” Alfred chuckled, his arms still around Arthur, “He told me... we were... uh... close. And you've been looking for me all this time.”

Arthur pulled away gently, but kept his hand on Alfred's arm, as though he could vanish at any moment. As though this were a dream. But in dreams, America had never looked so tired, and old. The scar upon his cheek didn't look to be a burn-- it was, perhaps, falling rubble, or falling bombs that had done that. He reached his other hand out to gently touch it.

Al didn't move, blue gaze still not showing much in the way of recognition, but that soft smile was directed at him, as was the hand that was reaching towards his face.

“Arthur-- your eyebrows are--”

“Enormous. Yes, I know.” He couldn't summon much anger towards the boy. His boy. Alfred was alive, what point was there in getting angry over having his most distinctive feature being pointed out. This Al was not used to him, how he looked-- it was only natural. “Hideous, and quite--”

“No, no--” The smile wasn't there, but a blush was. “That wasn't it-- I like them.”

“You...” Once again, within the space of an hour, Arthur was reduced to speechlessness. “You like...”
“I like them.” A thumb traced along one, as Al's warm hand rested on his face. “They're so... expressive. How could you ever think they were ugly?”

“It's... a long story.” Arthur brushed the rough skin on Al's cheek, watching him blink sleepily. Damn China for this-- but it had allowed Arthur to catch up. “But not one for right now. Just-- I know to you we've just met, but--”

“It's all right, Arthur, Matthew told me a few things. And-- I... think...” There was that blush again, darker than the fever-hue, and the hand slipped away from Arthur's face to his arm. “Now that I've met you, I think... I can understand. And I do want to get to know you again-- even if I never really remember you-- I...”

The stumbling hesitation was one that most Nations wouldn't recognise. England wouldn't have at one time, but-- he did. And something inside him warmed, until he was certain he was glowing. A prickle of tears was not as easily hidden. Arthur thought he'd cried all he could, but here he was--

“We've got time, Al.” The younger's eyes were starting to fall shut, even as Al resisted, “We have time. Sleep for now. I'll be here when you wake up.”