[Sweetheart Week] Centennial -1/1
Title: Centennial
Genre: fluff, humor
Pairing(s): USUK
Word Count: 5653
Rating/Warnings: PG-15 for swearing and innuendo
Summary: Arizona is turning 100 years old and America hoodwinked England into celebrating it with him. But there's something significant about the day that England can't quite grasp.
Notes: So, I wasn't even going to DO Sweetheart week this year, but Arizona, my home state, celebrated it's 100th birthday today and I couldn't NOT write a fic for it. So, here y'all go, hope you enjoy! Self-betaed so any errors you spot are entirely my own. Comments are love!
Centennial
England was enjoying a quiet afternoon on February 10, 2012. He’d had a long day of meetings and conferences, and the rest of the week hadn’t been much better. He deserved the stillness of his home and the warmth of his Earl Grey; he’d earned it. He was planning on watching some telly, maybe knitting a little later (Periwinkle had been whining about how she and her fellow fairies were always cold this time of the year and could use some scarves, as if England was the one who forced the nattering pests to stay around his London home, the cheeky buggers), and then calling it an early night. In fact, he was looking forward to it, looking forward to the start of a week free of any sort of budget meetings or discussions regarding the economic climate of the Euro (and who was happy he hadn’t switch to that blasted coinage again? Oh yes, that’d be him, England). A good lie in and time to catch up on some of his forgotten projects and hobbies, it was just what he needed.
So, it made sense that right as he was settling into his oversized couch to watch a bit of Sherlock Holmes, his cell phone would start ringing, blaring the obnoxious Party in the USA ringtone through the quiet of his front room. He glared and stared at the phone for a moment before he reached over and unlocked the screen to answer the call. Stupid, stupid git and changing his ringtones-the bloody bastard knew England hadn’t had a chance to figure out all the bells and whistles of the new smart phone the Minister had given him (aka forced upon England in a most undignified manner-there was nothing wrong with the flip phone he’d had before which answered calls, accepted texts and behaved as a normal phone should).
“What do you want?”
“Aww, England, is that any way to greet me?”
England furrowed his brows deeper, as if America could see the motion. “I have no desire to speak to you-you put black ink in my coffee at the environmental resource meeting and switched out my pen for one of those bloody trick pens that squirts water at you during the Olympic update!”
America had been a large part of why England was so happy it was Friday. He was so bloody frustrating with his stupid ideas and his asinine pranks, and his gorgeous smile-it was hard being in love with someone who was so immature and idiotic ninety-five percent of the time, especially when the aforementioned git seemed to make it his personal life mission to make sure England was as miserable as possible. Being in love was an awful big pain in the arse, especially when England was stuck being in love with America, who didn’t seem to care about him in any other way apart from a sort-of-friend. Maybe not even that; most of the nations were convinced they still hated one another, and with all the pranks America pulled, it wasn’t that hard to believe.
India was really the only nation he talked to regarding any of this, and she seemed to disagree with that opinion, seemed to think that America was just as daffy about England as he was for him, but wouldn’t give any hint as to why. It was maddening.
“Aww, come on, you’re not seriously mad at me about that, are you? I thought it was fun; those stupid meetings were so boring this week, a little pranking helped liven everything up, didn’t it?” England was not about to admit that the pranks had made the meetings marginally more interesting, even though they had happened to himself. He’d never hear the end of it from the egotistical nation.
“What do you want, America?” Get him back on track and off the phone so England could get back to his relaxing, quiet, not at all lonely, weekend, that’s what England needed to do. That was his mission of a sort.
“I was wondering if you were free this next week now that the February conferences are done and then remembered that you’re a boring old man so of course you are, so I was calling to tell you that you’re coming to visit me tomorrow for a few days!”
England blinked at nothing for a few minutes as he processed America’s words, sputtering a little bit in indignation (which was totally acceptable at that point, he thought, as he’d just been insulted and told he was going to visit America all in one sentence). “Ex-excuse me?”
“What? Are you going deaf too or something? Hear, I’ll talk louder: YOU’RE COMING TO VISIT ME THIS WEEK-”
“I bloody heard you the first time! What exactly gives you the right to order me about? I’m not visiting your country this week, I have plenty of other things planned and I won’t have you mucking about in my plans and-”
“England, knitting and cooking horrible food all weekend do not count as plans. Listen, I already talked to your boss and he was cool with you visiting and doing diplomatic shit with me and everything, so you don’t need to do anything but pack for a few days and I won’t be so bored this week. Your boss said he’d send an aid over with your plane ticket tomorrow.”
England gaped and flounder for a moment before letting out a displeased noise that sounded akin to a growl, feeling real, hot anger course through him. “You talked to my boss and convinced him to send me to your bloody country because you’re bored?”
“What? No, not just-I mean, we are doing something kind of diplomatic. One of my states turns a hundred this week and I thought it’d be fun if you got to see the celebration! It’s pretty cool and you haven’t really ever been because, well, you know we were kinda fighting for most of their centennials-it’s not like you’re going to be doing anything fun this weekend anyway, I’m doing you a favor!”
America’s voice had been different before he found his usual cockiness again. After hearing England’s angry hiss, he actually seemed surprised and a little, disappointed seemed the wrong word but England didn’t know what else to call it. An image of a kicked puppy came to mind-England took a deep breath and rubbed at his temples, his mind running fast and his heart beating even faster in anticipation (and dread) at the idea of spending time alone with America. He’d tried to limit time spent with America on a one-on-one basis after his feelings started to shift from hate to careful friendship to utterly annoying love-it hurt less that way. He couldn’t honestly remember the last time he’d spent time with America when at least one other nation wasn’t around (England was generally able to guilt Canada into joining any get-together America planned for the ‘Special Relationship,’ but he knew that Canada was busy this weekend, something to do with…honestly, England didn’t know why it was so hard to remember anything the quiet nation told him).
He sighed and straightened his back, as if just the motion of it would somehow make the impending days less horrible. “Well-I can’t tell you what an inconvenience this is to me but, but if you’ve already hoodwinked my Minister into this then-”
“Awesome! Ok, well, I’ll pick up tomorrow and we’ll head out to Arizona from there. Make sure to pack some shorts, Arizona’s been having weird hot flashes the last few days so it may get close to eighty-five degrees this week.”
Eighty-it was February! “I beg your pardon, eighty-five degrees?!”
“Yeah, it’s super weird. But just pack some shorts, you’ll be fine! Gotta go, I’ll see you tomorrow, England!”
England was met with the dial tone abruptly and the rested his forehead against the palm of his hand. What the bleeding hell had he just gotten himself into?
*******
It was more than just a little warm outside on Saturday, February 11th, it was fucking miserable.
“What the hell is wrong with this state? It’s supposed to be winter, Christ!”
America laughed and shrugged his shoulder as they walked down the too sunny streets of the Arizona’s capital. “Yeah, not the greatest day, but it’s supposed to be cooler tomorrow. We could’ve gone north to Prescott, but Phoenix’s having the most stuff going on for the centennial so it’s the best place to be!”
I am going to die. I am going to die in this unnatural heat which I am beginning to think is a demon placed curse and I knew I should’ve brought my spellbooks, but first I am going to kill America for dragging me here. England grit his teeth and continued following America around the downtown bustle. The streets were packed and that seemed to make the heat so much worse; how did anyone manage to live in this hellhole? He glared at America’s stupid grin and his unfairly deep blue eyes and took another angry swig from his water bottle. “I am never listening to another idea from you again. This is horrible.”
“It’s not, you’re just being cranky. Oh! Food!” America grabbed onto England’s hand and dragged him through the crowds to a booth manned by a small, ancient looking Hispanic woman. England tried to tell himself that he was just flushed because of the heat, not because America was holding his hand or anything. Because he certainly wasn’t. He watched America speak in rapid Spanish to the old woman, who grinned up at him in pleasure and responded just as rapidly. England remembered very little Spanish over the years, but it never failed to amaze him how many languages America spoke and remembered-or how he never seemed to remember he spoke all those languages the moment he was back to speaking English. Or, his poor, substandard version of English, at any rate.
He tugged his hand back when America started digging for his wallet and tried hard to suppress the fond grin taking over his face as America handed the woman money for what looked like a plate of corn husks. She waved them off with a gracias, which England still understood, and America was staring at the plate with something akin to love. England still wasn’t sure what they were looking at.
“You have no freaking idea how good homemade tamales are, England. They’re not the same on the east coast-here, try one!” America balanced the plate and unrolled one of the corn husks to reveal a thick, breaded wrap; England took it tentatively and took a bite, wincing a little at how warm it was. It was-well, to be honest, England had never been a huge connoisseur of Spanish or Mexican food, but if this was a small example of what he’d been missing, he really needed to get on better terms with Spain. “Mfood, riiht?”
England swallowed and fixed America with a disgusted look as he spoke around a mouthful of his own tamale. “Don’t speak with your mouth full.”
America rolled his eyes and swallowed with an exaggerated smile before he bumped his hip and started walking back down the street. “Come on, there’s a ton of other stuff going on!”
England followed, taking another bite of the tamale as he went, wishing that America didn’t look so damn happy-it was hard to push down the knowledge that he loved America whenever he was that happy and full of life.
*******
“Oh, we gotta go in there, it’s the Science and Future Pavilion!” It was hotter than it had been that morning and England could feel his skin freckling and burning; he’d already used half a tube of sunscreen he’d brought and he could still feel his skin prickling. Arizona was not a normal state. “Come on!”
“For the love of all that is good in this world, please tell me it has air conditioning.” America grinned at him and took his hand again as he dragged England towards the tented pavilion. He kept doing that, holding England’s hand. It was more than a little frustrating.
“Probably. You’re sure complaining a lot about the heat.”
“My average daily temperature is near seven degrees, Celsius of course before you even ask, for this time of year-of course I’m uncomfortable!”
America frowned a little, as if he hadn’t thought of that and it was a nuisance now that he did-but when he met England’s eyes he looked, dare he say it, apologetic? England could count on his hand the number of times he’d seen that look grace America’s face, especially recently. “I’m sorry, England, I didn’t really-it’s usually not this hot here either. At least, not right now-we can go somewhere to cool off or something…”
Now England was dumbfounded-America was offering to cancel plans he was excited about? Willingly? For England’s comfort? He blinked for a few moments as he tried to get his thoughts (and heartbeat because it really was beating obnoxiously fast over something that probably meant nothing) into some semblance of order. “I-I’m not-” Oh for goodness sake. Deep breath, old chap, and finish a bloody sentence! “That’s-that’s very thoughtful of you, America, but I’m not about to drop dead because I’m a little uncomfortable. Now, tell me about this bloody science pavilion?”
America smiled big and wide and took England’s hand again, tugging them both in the direction of a white tent, nattering on about how there were professors from University of Arizona there and to talk about the Mars project and how ‘freaking awesome’ it was. England nodded along to his words, but mainly, he just watched America, watched him speak about something he was so proud and passionate about, and tried not to look like such a besotted fool. Well, at least eh could blame the blush on sunburn at any rate.
*******
“So, these blokes are just driving their motorcycles around as a way to celebrate the state?”
“Yeah! It’s the Centennial Ride. They ride all over the celebration, it’s so cool!”
England did not really see what was so prideful in polluting the already disgusting air further (he’d looked up the pollution rate of Phoenix before he’d visited-it had been atrocious), but he did have to admit, it was a bit of fun watching all the classic and restored motorcycles drive by in one huge swarm.
“You wanna grab dinner? There’s a really good pub north of here that’s all decked out in British stuff. Plus its name is awesome. George and the Dragon, what’s not to love about that?” England smiled at the name-what’s not to love about one of his dearest tales indeed.
They walked to LightRail, the above ground, small metro way that the city had and England wondered, not for the first time that day, what America was doing exactly. He’d been courteous, behaved, and was offering to do things he knew England would enjoy as opposed to himself. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say they were on a date.
But that was preposterous; wasn’t it?
*******
Sunday February 12th, was much nicer outside than the previous day had been. It was still unnaturally sunny outside, but there was a brisk breeze in the air that made it much more tolerable. Everyone else seemed to be in love with the weather-but as America had offered insight into how hot this state could get in the summer months (a truly horrifying figure because the average for several months was hotter than his hottest day ever recorded), he understood why they enjoyed the weather. They had to take whatever good weather they could get-they were a strange breed of people, England decided.
Fortunately, for both himself and America, he had not burned and was only left with a spattering of freckles he knew would fade once he returned home, which made walking around outside much more bearable. America had stared at them, fascinated, when he’d grumbled about them over dinner-the stare had been just another thing out of many that England was having trouble deciphering about the younger nation that weekend. England had nearly called Canada the night before and asked if America had been complaining about head pains or anything, because for the life of him, England could not figure out why he was acting the way he was.
Of course, his heart tried to whisper hopes and suggestions, but he firmly clamped those down. It was useless to harbor faith for something that was about as much a likelihood as England moving to live in Arizona. That is to say, not bloody much.
They were walking around the villages set up for the celebration; America had already dragged him to the American Indian and the Hispanic villages that day and now they were walking about the Western village, which looked like something out of a spaghetti western film. A guilty pleasure England had no intention of ever telling America he enjoyed-he couldn’t help himself, Clint Eastwood was such a majestic actor it was sickening, he had no power against him. America had talked nearly nonstop at each village they visited, filling England’s head with all sorts of knowledge he’d never really thought of before. England knew plenty about high-profile states like California and Texas (and too much about the original thirteen, but now wasn’t the time to think about that), but he was the first to admit he hadn’t really paid attention to most of the others. Arizona was the third youngest state; England often forgot it existed, to be honest. But America had so much knowledge and history cooped up in his head about just this one state-it was a little humbling, if England was honest with himself.
“America, does your centennial last only for this weekend, or is there something happening on Tuesday as well?” America tore his eyes away from a gentleman performing rope tricks and met England’s stare; his ears were a little bit pink, England didn’t know if that was from the sun or because he was embarrassed.
“Oh, yeah there’s stuff planned for the fourteenth too-there’s gonna be some fireworks and some more speeches, and oh! Wayne Newton, he’s coming to perform too. Just, uh, a lot of people work during the week so we tried to have a bunch of stuff on the weekend-your still staying for Arizona’s actual birthday though, right?”
England furrowed his brows at him in confusion. “Of course I am; the return ticket you purchased for me isn’t until Wednesday night.”
“Right! Yeah, yeah that’s awesome-so, did you want to see the Rosson House? It's like the oldest house in Arizona.* It’s all Victorian and stuff …and there’s the Science Center right next door, that place if fucking sweet! Come on, we gotta go, it’s only gonna be open for another few hours today!”
America grabbed his hand, again, and gripped it tight. Well, it’s not like England ever had any resistance to America either.
*******
After another full day of walking and learning Arizona’s history, England was exhausted. Spent. Pooped. Whichever adjective worked best. America had booked them separate rooms in the Scottsdale Princess hotel* (which was a hell of a lot nicer than England had expected America to spend money on) and he was currently contemplating whether he wanted to shower and then sleep or if he just wanted to sleep and bother with showering in the morning. It was quite the dilemma, especially since England generally hated going to bed dirty, but was too tired to really find standing in a shower appealing.
Christ, he was getting old.
He heard a knock at his door and he sighed as he rolled off the bed and back to his feet-there was only one person who would knock at his door. “Yes, America?”
“Open your door, I wanna show you something!” England rolled his eyes upward in supplication (a useless effort, he knew) and opened the door with an annoyed expression.
“And this couldn’t wait until morning?”
America shook his head and bounced on the balls of his feet a little, a small, shy smile playing across his face. His skin was darker from all the sun, and his hair was brighter from it too-he looked gorgeous, completely and hopelessly gorgeous, staring just slightly down at England without his glasses on. He swallowed, but managed not to gape openly, something he considered a personal victory.
America just stood there for a few moments, an excited tick buzzing around him, and England huffed a little and glared. “Well? Are you just going to bounce there all bloody night or are you going to show me what’s gotten you so excited?”
America laughed and reached into one of his pockets to drag out a flat, white box; England looked at it quizzically, wondering what it was and why America had stuffed such a square box into his trousers. He glanced up at America briefly and then back down when he took off the lid, revealing what looked like a ring made out of burnished metal. Copper, his mind provided for him-he remembered it from the list of the ‘Five C’s’ of Arizona that America had mentioned yesterday. It had six spirals, three that went above the wire ring and three that went below, and the copper had been burnt into different colors, a light gold color, an orange-ish gold, and a reddish-maroon. It managed to be a bit feminine and masculine and England smiled a little as he looked at it. It was beautiful.
“It’s lovely, America.”
“Cool, I got it for you.” England looked up sharply, wide eyes unavoidable, and shook his head a little in both surprise and denial. “It’s not like, I mean, it’s just a souvenir you know? From the centennial. I’ve always thought copper was really cool looking but it doesn’t get a lot of the same attention that gold and stuff gets-you’ve got lots of stuff, but I guessed you didn’t have anything copper. So, I figured you could remember the centennial with this!”
He shoved the box at England, who could really only accept it, still with wide eyes and wondering what the hell was going on, and rubbed at the back of his neck. A stuffy, unsure silence settled between the two of them and America shrugged before he stuffed his hands in his pockets and mumbled that it was okay if England didn’t like it, that he thought it was awesome and that was all that mattered, and that England was just too old to get how awesome copper was. Then he was calling out a cheerful, loud goodnight and backing away into his room fast enough you’d think his shoes were on fire. England didn’t look up from the ring until he heard America’s door shut with the loud, shuddering noise only nice hotel doors seemed to manage, as if they needed to prove just how sound-proof their rooms were with every door shut.
What the bloody hell was going on with America? And why did it seem like England was being deliberately obtuse (which was a lot for him to admit, but seriously, it just couldn’t be what is all pointed to)? England stared at the ring a bit longer before he retreated back to his room, suddenly too awake to even contemplate sleeping.
*******
The next day, England slipped on the copper ring and raised a brow at America until the younger nation noticed he was wearing it.
He was still confused, had barely slept, and had never really been one to wear rings before, but the look on America’s face when he saw it was worth every agonizing analysis he’d gone over the night before.
America’s smiles always seemed to make absolute shit worth it.
*******
Monday was gone before England could really appreciate it. America had toured him all around Phoenix (which included about ten other cities because Phoenix was really just one, big conglomeration of towns all packed in tight together) and had talked about the hundreds of other things Arizona offered all around the state. England of course knew about the Grand Canyon and the Hoover Dam, but there were caverns and forests, mountain ranges and deserts, rivers and streams, even snowcaps and ski resorts (Arizona was a cosmopolitan state, that was for sure) that England had never heard of and America couldn’t stop talking about. America was proud of his country, in that odd, vain way that nations always dealt with as a corporal, separate embodiment of the land but still, inherently, the same thing. He was proud of the history he had, even if sometimes it didn’t belong to him, if it was history he adopted or won. England knew the feeling well-he regretted not being a part of any other state centennials prior to now.
England slept well that night and by the time Tuesday the fourteenth rolled around, he was feeling refreshed and surprisingly grateful that America had dragged him away from London (even if it was bloody warm). He was so refreshed that he was also a bit more aware of the actual date than he’d been before; with all the business from the week prior and the hectic weekend at the celebration he’d completely forgotten about what crept up in the middle of February. And no, it wasn’t because he was lonely or bitter-he simply forgot. But, staring at the calendar, he felt foolish in forgetting nonetheless.
February 14th. Valentine’s Day.
So…so Arizona’s birthday happened to fall on Valentine’s Day. And America happened to have invited England (no other nation, England had checked before he left) to celebrate the date with him. And had been acting polite (for America), blushing, and buying gifts for England while he visited.
“Well, fuck me.”
Wasn’t that just dandy? England stared at the date and decided that he had to be the biggest moron on this side of the planet to have missed all of that-especially since Valentine’s Day was his holiday before it had been gobbled up by the rest of the consumer-driven world. He looked down from the calendar and his eyes caught on the copper ring on his right hand, catching the light of the lamp so that it glinted when he moved. He heard a knock on the door and he nearly jumped in surprise-America was on the other side of that door. America, who had flown him out to spend Valentine’s Day and everything else the day entailed and meant to America and bought him food, offered to leave things early and given him a copper ring.
America, who England was so maddeningly in love with, it was hard to breathe some days.
A second knocked pounded at the door and England snapped out of his shocked stupor, crossing the room in quick, wide strides just as America called out his name, questioning tone plain as day. He threw the door open and stared at America with what he could only imagine was a frightful look (he did not pull of shocked very well at all, as France was only too delighted to point out every time the expression crossed England’s face) on his face.
“Geez, what took you so long? I know I say you’re an old man but seriously, England, could you have taken any more ti-” England shook his head and tugged America down, pressing their lips together, hard, in a kiss that probably had an unhealthy amount of longing behind it. America’s arms flailed a bit before he found his bearings and wrapped them tight around England, pressing into his shoulders and lower back; he started kissing back much quicker. America tasted like mint toothpaste and sleep (if sleep could have a taste…England didn’t know why that sprung to mind as something that would have a flavor) and he may have let out a noise that was dangerously close to a moan when his tongue dipped into England’s mouth.
It was ridiculous, how right he felt kissing America, how everything slotted into place.
He pulled away and peeked up at America-the younger nation looked overjoyed, shocked, and befuddled all at once and it fit his face so well. England broke out into a smile, a wide, incredulous smile, at the expression and he wrapped his fingers tight in America’s shirt. “You-you are a crazy, baffling idiot, do you know that? Completely daft.”
“Uh…is that like a compliment? Because you just kissed the hell out of me and now you’re insulting me, but you’ve got like zero social skills and insult all the time so I guess I kind of get it but-”
“It’s Valentine’s Day. You invited me, no scratch that, you kidnapped and flew me over here to spend the weekend celebrating a state’s centennial, which happens to fall on Valentine’s Day, and you were polite and got me this bloody ring and-”
“Didn’t you kind of know today was Valentine’s Day? I mean, I told you the actual day was the fourteenth…oh hell, you forgot, didn’t you?”
“I’ve been a tad busy this month, America!”
“You forgot! That’s-that’s fucking hilarious! I can’t believe it; I went through this whole thing to show you that I love you because it’s Valentine’s Day and that’s like your thing and asked for your boss’s permission and fucking wooed you because Canada and Mexico kept telling me ‘pushing you down on the playground wasn’t how I was going to get your attention,’ whatever they meant by that, and you didn’t even know and-mmph!”
England kissed him again, harder still, and glared a little as he pulled away. America grinned a bit dopily at him and his hands settled across England’s shoulders. “That’s cheating, shutting me up like that.”
“I love you, I’ve loved you for the better half of the last two decades and so help me if you say you’ve felt the same way for just as long then I will hit you.” America grinned bashfully and shrugged in a manner that told England that he had-they were seriously hopeless.
“Um, then I totally haven’t?” He chuckled and pulled England close for a strong hug, ducking his head just a little so that it rested alongside England’s cheek. For his part, England let out a breath, one that he hadn’t known he’d been holding (one that maybe he’d been holding for years) and sunk into his arms, pulled America tight against him in turn.
There was so much to sort through. Their history was one big mess of love, hurt, betrayal, and loyalty that it would be impossible to move forward without talking some of that out. England would hate it because he hated anything that made him seem smaller, anything that reminded him of his early years, and America hated anything that made him feel weak or guilty so he would fight just as much as England would. They’d likely scream hurtful things at each other, because they’ve always known how to hurt each other the very worst and then, inevitably, England would probably end up either drunk or crying (or a horrible mixture of the two) and America would then storm out and possibly cause property damage with his unnatural strength and need to hit things when upset. It will be absolutely awful and painful and they’re both already dreading it.
But (because there is that magical ‘but’) afterwards. Afterwards, is what he can look forward to, something worth going through all that hurt for. Because England truly does believe America was worth it, he’d always been worth it, and he’s always thought that; even in those horrible, dark years after the Revolution, he still thought it and couldn’t quite bring himself to regret raising America as a nation and loving him in all the different shades of the word. He’d doubted for so long that this, being wrapped up with America right here, wearing a copper ring from the younger nation on his finger, was possible, but now that it was smacking him in the face that it was…
No going back.
The both pull apart mutually, smiling at each other in a truly embarrassing fashion; America reaches down and grabs England’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the copper ring once before lacing their fingers together. “So-you love me too?”
England cocked his head just a little to the side and let his smile shift to playful. “If that wasn’t already abundantly clear by this point.”
“So…you wanna be my Valentine?” England chuckled and leaned forward to rest his forehead against America’s shoulder.
“You are hopeless.”
“Yeah, well, seems to work on you well enough so that’s all that matters to me!” He stepped back, but kept England’s hand in his own, silently gesturing if he wants to head out or stay in. England’s tempted, so very tempted to bugger the whole celebration, but there’s a hopeful glint in America’s eyes, hopeful and promising, that makes up his mind to go. They’ll be plenty of time later to deal with everything and start being ‘England and America,’ and they have the luxury of time on their side. Besides, Arizona has grown on him just a bit (not the heat part because that was bloody terrible) and a centennial is a big deal. He nods at America and follows him out the hotel door; America doesn’t let go of his hand once, even knowing that as wonderful as Arizona is, it has its flaws as well. His bravery was truly astounding to England.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Arthur.”
“Happy Arizona Centennial, Alfred.”
Finis
*********
*Arizona's Centennial - Link will take you to the main page of the event and has some descriptions of the stuff mentioned here, including the villages, the Centennial Ride and the different villages.
*Rosson House - This place is pretty cool and right in the middle of Heritage Square, an area of downtown Phoenix that has a shit ton of museums and cool stuff to do.
* George and the Dragon - I go here all the time for happy hour, it's freaking awesome.
* LightRail - this is our lame attempt at a subway >.>
* Copper Ring - because of course I have a picture of it, lovelies.
I am a total state nerd too, so if any of you folks have questions, feel free! <333
Genre: fluff, humor
Pairing(s): USUK
Word Count: 5653
Rating/Warnings: PG-15 for swearing and innuendo
Summary: Arizona is turning 100 years old and America hoodwinked England into celebrating it with him. But there's something significant about the day that England can't quite grasp.
Notes: So, I wasn't even going to DO Sweetheart week this year, but Arizona, my home state, celebrated it's 100th birthday today and I couldn't NOT write a fic for it. So, here y'all go, hope you enjoy! Self-betaed so any errors you spot are entirely my own. Comments are love!
Centennial
England was enjoying a quiet afternoon on February 10, 2012. He’d had a long day of meetings and conferences, and the rest of the week hadn’t been much better. He deserved the stillness of his home and the warmth of his Earl Grey; he’d earned it. He was planning on watching some telly, maybe knitting a little later (Periwinkle had been whining about how she and her fellow fairies were always cold this time of the year and could use some scarves, as if England was the one who forced the nattering pests to stay around his London home, the cheeky buggers), and then calling it an early night. In fact, he was looking forward to it, looking forward to the start of a week free of any sort of budget meetings or discussions regarding the economic climate of the Euro (and who was happy he hadn’t switch to that blasted coinage again? Oh yes, that’d be him, England). A good lie in and time to catch up on some of his forgotten projects and hobbies, it was just what he needed.
So, it made sense that right as he was settling into his oversized couch to watch a bit of Sherlock Holmes, his cell phone would start ringing, blaring the obnoxious Party in the USA ringtone through the quiet of his front room. He glared and stared at the phone for a moment before he reached over and unlocked the screen to answer the call. Stupid, stupid git and changing his ringtones-the bloody bastard knew England hadn’t had a chance to figure out all the bells and whistles of the new smart phone the Minister had given him (aka forced upon England in a most undignified manner-there was nothing wrong with the flip phone he’d had before which answered calls, accepted texts and behaved as a normal phone should).
“What do you want?”
“Aww, England, is that any way to greet me?”
England furrowed his brows deeper, as if America could see the motion. “I have no desire to speak to you-you put black ink in my coffee at the environmental resource meeting and switched out my pen for one of those bloody trick pens that squirts water at you during the Olympic update!”
America had been a large part of why England was so happy it was Friday. He was so bloody frustrating with his stupid ideas and his asinine pranks, and his gorgeous smile-it was hard being in love with someone who was so immature and idiotic ninety-five percent of the time, especially when the aforementioned git seemed to make it his personal life mission to make sure England was as miserable as possible. Being in love was an awful big pain in the arse, especially when England was stuck being in love with America, who didn’t seem to care about him in any other way apart from a sort-of-friend. Maybe not even that; most of the nations were convinced they still hated one another, and with all the pranks America pulled, it wasn’t that hard to believe.
India was really the only nation he talked to regarding any of this, and she seemed to disagree with that opinion, seemed to think that America was just as daffy about England as he was for him, but wouldn’t give any hint as to why. It was maddening.
“Aww, come on, you’re not seriously mad at me about that, are you? I thought it was fun; those stupid meetings were so boring this week, a little pranking helped liven everything up, didn’t it?” England was not about to admit that the pranks had made the meetings marginally more interesting, even though they had happened to himself. He’d never hear the end of it from the egotistical nation.
“What do you want, America?” Get him back on track and off the phone so England could get back to his relaxing, quiet, not at all lonely, weekend, that’s what England needed to do. That was his mission of a sort.
“I was wondering if you were free this next week now that the February conferences are done and then remembered that you’re a boring old man so of course you are, so I was calling to tell you that you’re coming to visit me tomorrow for a few days!”
England blinked at nothing for a few minutes as he processed America’s words, sputtering a little bit in indignation (which was totally acceptable at that point, he thought, as he’d just been insulted and told he was going to visit America all in one sentence). “Ex-excuse me?”
“What? Are you going deaf too or something? Hear, I’ll talk louder: YOU’RE COMING TO VISIT ME THIS WEEK-”
“I bloody heard you the first time! What exactly gives you the right to order me about? I’m not visiting your country this week, I have plenty of other things planned and I won’t have you mucking about in my plans and-”
“England, knitting and cooking horrible food all weekend do not count as plans. Listen, I already talked to your boss and he was cool with you visiting and doing diplomatic shit with me and everything, so you don’t need to do anything but pack for a few days and I won’t be so bored this week. Your boss said he’d send an aid over with your plane ticket tomorrow.”
England gaped and flounder for a moment before letting out a displeased noise that sounded akin to a growl, feeling real, hot anger course through him. “You talked to my boss and convinced him to send me to your bloody country because you’re bored?”
“What? No, not just-I mean, we are doing something kind of diplomatic. One of my states turns a hundred this week and I thought it’d be fun if you got to see the celebration! It’s pretty cool and you haven’t really ever been because, well, you know we were kinda fighting for most of their centennials-it’s not like you’re going to be doing anything fun this weekend anyway, I’m doing you a favor!”
America’s voice had been different before he found his usual cockiness again. After hearing England’s angry hiss, he actually seemed surprised and a little, disappointed seemed the wrong word but England didn’t know what else to call it. An image of a kicked puppy came to mind-England took a deep breath and rubbed at his temples, his mind running fast and his heart beating even faster in anticipation (and dread) at the idea of spending time alone with America. He’d tried to limit time spent with America on a one-on-one basis after his feelings started to shift from hate to careful friendship to utterly annoying love-it hurt less that way. He couldn’t honestly remember the last time he’d spent time with America when at least one other nation wasn’t around (England was generally able to guilt Canada into joining any get-together America planned for the ‘Special Relationship,’ but he knew that Canada was busy this weekend, something to do with…honestly, England didn’t know why it was so hard to remember anything the quiet nation told him).
He sighed and straightened his back, as if just the motion of it would somehow make the impending days less horrible. “Well-I can’t tell you what an inconvenience this is to me but, but if you’ve already hoodwinked my Minister into this then-”
“Awesome! Ok, well, I’ll pick up tomorrow and we’ll head out to Arizona from there. Make sure to pack some shorts, Arizona’s been having weird hot flashes the last few days so it may get close to eighty-five degrees this week.”
Eighty-it was February! “I beg your pardon, eighty-five degrees?!”
“Yeah, it’s super weird. But just pack some shorts, you’ll be fine! Gotta go, I’ll see you tomorrow, England!”
England was met with the dial tone abruptly and the rested his forehead against the palm of his hand. What the bleeding hell had he just gotten himself into?
*******
It was more than just a little warm outside on Saturday, February 11th, it was fucking miserable.
“What the hell is wrong with this state? It’s supposed to be winter, Christ!”
America laughed and shrugged his shoulder as they walked down the too sunny streets of the Arizona’s capital. “Yeah, not the greatest day, but it’s supposed to be cooler tomorrow. We could’ve gone north to Prescott, but Phoenix’s having the most stuff going on for the centennial so it’s the best place to be!”
I am going to die. I am going to die in this unnatural heat which I am beginning to think is a demon placed curse and I knew I should’ve brought my spellbooks, but first I am going to kill America for dragging me here. England grit his teeth and continued following America around the downtown bustle. The streets were packed and that seemed to make the heat so much worse; how did anyone manage to live in this hellhole? He glared at America’s stupid grin and his unfairly deep blue eyes and took another angry swig from his water bottle. “I am never listening to another idea from you again. This is horrible.”
“It’s not, you’re just being cranky. Oh! Food!” America grabbed onto England’s hand and dragged him through the crowds to a booth manned by a small, ancient looking Hispanic woman. England tried to tell himself that he was just flushed because of the heat, not because America was holding his hand or anything. Because he certainly wasn’t. He watched America speak in rapid Spanish to the old woman, who grinned up at him in pleasure and responded just as rapidly. England remembered very little Spanish over the years, but it never failed to amaze him how many languages America spoke and remembered-or how he never seemed to remember he spoke all those languages the moment he was back to speaking English. Or, his poor, substandard version of English, at any rate.
He tugged his hand back when America started digging for his wallet and tried hard to suppress the fond grin taking over his face as America handed the woman money for what looked like a plate of corn husks. She waved them off with a gracias, which England still understood, and America was staring at the plate with something akin to love. England still wasn’t sure what they were looking at.
“You have no freaking idea how good homemade tamales are, England. They’re not the same on the east coast-here, try one!” America balanced the plate and unrolled one of the corn husks to reveal a thick, breaded wrap; England took it tentatively and took a bite, wincing a little at how warm it was. It was-well, to be honest, England had never been a huge connoisseur of Spanish or Mexican food, but if this was a small example of what he’d been missing, he really needed to get on better terms with Spain. “Mfood, riiht?”
England swallowed and fixed America with a disgusted look as he spoke around a mouthful of his own tamale. “Don’t speak with your mouth full.”
America rolled his eyes and swallowed with an exaggerated smile before he bumped his hip and started walking back down the street. “Come on, there’s a ton of other stuff going on!”
England followed, taking another bite of the tamale as he went, wishing that America didn’t look so damn happy-it was hard to push down the knowledge that he loved America whenever he was that happy and full of life.
*******
“Oh, we gotta go in there, it’s the Science and Future Pavilion!” It was hotter than it had been that morning and England could feel his skin freckling and burning; he’d already used half a tube of sunscreen he’d brought and he could still feel his skin prickling. Arizona was not a normal state. “Come on!”
“For the love of all that is good in this world, please tell me it has air conditioning.” America grinned at him and took his hand again as he dragged England towards the tented pavilion. He kept doing that, holding England’s hand. It was more than a little frustrating.
“Probably. You’re sure complaining a lot about the heat.”
“My average daily temperature is near seven degrees, Celsius of course before you even ask, for this time of year-of course I’m uncomfortable!”
America frowned a little, as if he hadn’t thought of that and it was a nuisance now that he did-but when he met England’s eyes he looked, dare he say it, apologetic? England could count on his hand the number of times he’d seen that look grace America’s face, especially recently. “I’m sorry, England, I didn’t really-it’s usually not this hot here either. At least, not right now-we can go somewhere to cool off or something…”
Now England was dumbfounded-America was offering to cancel plans he was excited about? Willingly? For England’s comfort? He blinked for a few moments as he tried to get his thoughts (and heartbeat because it really was beating obnoxiously fast over something that probably meant nothing) into some semblance of order. “I-I’m not-” Oh for goodness sake. Deep breath, old chap, and finish a bloody sentence! “That’s-that’s very thoughtful of you, America, but I’m not about to drop dead because I’m a little uncomfortable. Now, tell me about this bloody science pavilion?”
America smiled big and wide and took England’s hand again, tugging them both in the direction of a white tent, nattering on about how there were professors from University of Arizona there and to talk about the Mars project and how ‘freaking awesome’ it was. England nodded along to his words, but mainly, he just watched America, watched him speak about something he was so proud and passionate about, and tried not to look like such a besotted fool. Well, at least eh could blame the blush on sunburn at any rate.
*******
“So, these blokes are just driving their motorcycles around as a way to celebrate the state?”
“Yeah! It’s the Centennial Ride. They ride all over the celebration, it’s so cool!”
England did not really see what was so prideful in polluting the already disgusting air further (he’d looked up the pollution rate of Phoenix before he’d visited-it had been atrocious), but he did have to admit, it was a bit of fun watching all the classic and restored motorcycles drive by in one huge swarm.
“You wanna grab dinner? There’s a really good pub north of here that’s all decked out in British stuff. Plus its name is awesome. George and the Dragon, what’s not to love about that?” England smiled at the name-what’s not to love about one of his dearest tales indeed.
They walked to LightRail, the above ground, small metro way that the city had and England wondered, not for the first time that day, what America was doing exactly. He’d been courteous, behaved, and was offering to do things he knew England would enjoy as opposed to himself. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say they were on a date.
But that was preposterous; wasn’t it?
*******
Sunday February 12th, was much nicer outside than the previous day had been. It was still unnaturally sunny outside, but there was a brisk breeze in the air that made it much more tolerable. Everyone else seemed to be in love with the weather-but as America had offered insight into how hot this state could get in the summer months (a truly horrifying figure because the average for several months was hotter than his hottest day ever recorded), he understood why they enjoyed the weather. They had to take whatever good weather they could get-they were a strange breed of people, England decided.
Fortunately, for both himself and America, he had not burned and was only left with a spattering of freckles he knew would fade once he returned home, which made walking around outside much more bearable. America had stared at them, fascinated, when he’d grumbled about them over dinner-the stare had been just another thing out of many that England was having trouble deciphering about the younger nation that weekend. England had nearly called Canada the night before and asked if America had been complaining about head pains or anything, because for the life of him, England could not figure out why he was acting the way he was.
Of course, his heart tried to whisper hopes and suggestions, but he firmly clamped those down. It was useless to harbor faith for something that was about as much a likelihood as England moving to live in Arizona. That is to say, not bloody much.
They were walking around the villages set up for the celebration; America had already dragged him to the American Indian and the Hispanic villages that day and now they were walking about the Western village, which looked like something out of a spaghetti western film. A guilty pleasure England had no intention of ever telling America he enjoyed-he couldn’t help himself, Clint Eastwood was such a majestic actor it was sickening, he had no power against him. America had talked nearly nonstop at each village they visited, filling England’s head with all sorts of knowledge he’d never really thought of before. England knew plenty about high-profile states like California and Texas (and too much about the original thirteen, but now wasn’t the time to think about that), but he was the first to admit he hadn’t really paid attention to most of the others. Arizona was the third youngest state; England often forgot it existed, to be honest. But America had so much knowledge and history cooped up in his head about just this one state-it was a little humbling, if England was honest with himself.
“America, does your centennial last only for this weekend, or is there something happening on Tuesday as well?” America tore his eyes away from a gentleman performing rope tricks and met England’s stare; his ears were a little bit pink, England didn’t know if that was from the sun or because he was embarrassed.
“Oh, yeah there’s stuff planned for the fourteenth too-there’s gonna be some fireworks and some more speeches, and oh! Wayne Newton, he’s coming to perform too. Just, uh, a lot of people work during the week so we tried to have a bunch of stuff on the weekend-your still staying for Arizona’s actual birthday though, right?”
England furrowed his brows at him in confusion. “Of course I am; the return ticket you purchased for me isn’t until Wednesday night.”
“Right! Yeah, yeah that’s awesome-so, did you want to see the Rosson House? It's like the oldest house in Arizona.* It’s all Victorian and stuff …and there’s the Science Center right next door, that place if fucking sweet! Come on, we gotta go, it’s only gonna be open for another few hours today!”
America grabbed his hand, again, and gripped it tight. Well, it’s not like England ever had any resistance to America either.
*******
After another full day of walking and learning Arizona’s history, England was exhausted. Spent. Pooped. Whichever adjective worked best. America had booked them separate rooms in the Scottsdale Princess hotel* (which was a hell of a lot nicer than England had expected America to spend money on) and he was currently contemplating whether he wanted to shower and then sleep or if he just wanted to sleep and bother with showering in the morning. It was quite the dilemma, especially since England generally hated going to bed dirty, but was too tired to really find standing in a shower appealing.
Christ, he was getting old.
He heard a knock at his door and he sighed as he rolled off the bed and back to his feet-there was only one person who would knock at his door. “Yes, America?”
“Open your door, I wanna show you something!” England rolled his eyes upward in supplication (a useless effort, he knew) and opened the door with an annoyed expression.
“And this couldn’t wait until morning?”
America shook his head and bounced on the balls of his feet a little, a small, shy smile playing across his face. His skin was darker from all the sun, and his hair was brighter from it too-he looked gorgeous, completely and hopelessly gorgeous, staring just slightly down at England without his glasses on. He swallowed, but managed not to gape openly, something he considered a personal victory.
America just stood there for a few moments, an excited tick buzzing around him, and England huffed a little and glared. “Well? Are you just going to bounce there all bloody night or are you going to show me what’s gotten you so excited?”
America laughed and reached into one of his pockets to drag out a flat, white box; England looked at it quizzically, wondering what it was and why America had stuffed such a square box into his trousers. He glanced up at America briefly and then back down when he took off the lid, revealing what looked like a ring made out of burnished metal. Copper, his mind provided for him-he remembered it from the list of the ‘Five C’s’ of Arizona that America had mentioned yesterday. It had six spirals, three that went above the wire ring and three that went below, and the copper had been burnt into different colors, a light gold color, an orange-ish gold, and a reddish-maroon. It managed to be a bit feminine and masculine and England smiled a little as he looked at it. It was beautiful.
“It’s lovely, America.”
“Cool, I got it for you.” England looked up sharply, wide eyes unavoidable, and shook his head a little in both surprise and denial. “It’s not like, I mean, it’s just a souvenir you know? From the centennial. I’ve always thought copper was really cool looking but it doesn’t get a lot of the same attention that gold and stuff gets-you’ve got lots of stuff, but I guessed you didn’t have anything copper. So, I figured you could remember the centennial with this!”
He shoved the box at England, who could really only accept it, still with wide eyes and wondering what the hell was going on, and rubbed at the back of his neck. A stuffy, unsure silence settled between the two of them and America shrugged before he stuffed his hands in his pockets and mumbled that it was okay if England didn’t like it, that he thought it was awesome and that was all that mattered, and that England was just too old to get how awesome copper was. Then he was calling out a cheerful, loud goodnight and backing away into his room fast enough you’d think his shoes were on fire. England didn’t look up from the ring until he heard America’s door shut with the loud, shuddering noise only nice hotel doors seemed to manage, as if they needed to prove just how sound-proof their rooms were with every door shut.
What the bloody hell was going on with America? And why did it seem like England was being deliberately obtuse (which was a lot for him to admit, but seriously, it just couldn’t be what is all pointed to)? England stared at the ring a bit longer before he retreated back to his room, suddenly too awake to even contemplate sleeping.
*******
The next day, England slipped on the copper ring and raised a brow at America until the younger nation noticed he was wearing it.
He was still confused, had barely slept, and had never really been one to wear rings before, but the look on America’s face when he saw it was worth every agonizing analysis he’d gone over the night before.
America’s smiles always seemed to make absolute shit worth it.
*******
Monday was gone before England could really appreciate it. America had toured him all around Phoenix (which included about ten other cities because Phoenix was really just one, big conglomeration of towns all packed in tight together) and had talked about the hundreds of other things Arizona offered all around the state. England of course knew about the Grand Canyon and the Hoover Dam, but there were caverns and forests, mountain ranges and deserts, rivers and streams, even snowcaps and ski resorts (Arizona was a cosmopolitan state, that was for sure) that England had never heard of and America couldn’t stop talking about. America was proud of his country, in that odd, vain way that nations always dealt with as a corporal, separate embodiment of the land but still, inherently, the same thing. He was proud of the history he had, even if sometimes it didn’t belong to him, if it was history he adopted or won. England knew the feeling well-he regretted not being a part of any other state centennials prior to now.
England slept well that night and by the time Tuesday the fourteenth rolled around, he was feeling refreshed and surprisingly grateful that America had dragged him away from London (even if it was bloody warm). He was so refreshed that he was also a bit more aware of the actual date than he’d been before; with all the business from the week prior and the hectic weekend at the celebration he’d completely forgotten about what crept up in the middle of February. And no, it wasn’t because he was lonely or bitter-he simply forgot. But, staring at the calendar, he felt foolish in forgetting nonetheless.
February 14th. Valentine’s Day.
So…so Arizona’s birthday happened to fall on Valentine’s Day. And America happened to have invited England (no other nation, England had checked before he left) to celebrate the date with him. And had been acting polite (for America), blushing, and buying gifts for England while he visited.
“Well, fuck me.”
Wasn’t that just dandy? England stared at the date and decided that he had to be the biggest moron on this side of the planet to have missed all of that-especially since Valentine’s Day was his holiday before it had been gobbled up by the rest of the consumer-driven world. He looked down from the calendar and his eyes caught on the copper ring on his right hand, catching the light of the lamp so that it glinted when he moved. He heard a knock on the door and he nearly jumped in surprise-America was on the other side of that door. America, who had flown him out to spend Valentine’s Day and everything else the day entailed and meant to America and bought him food, offered to leave things early and given him a copper ring.
America, who England was so maddeningly in love with, it was hard to breathe some days.
A second knocked pounded at the door and England snapped out of his shocked stupor, crossing the room in quick, wide strides just as America called out his name, questioning tone plain as day. He threw the door open and stared at America with what he could only imagine was a frightful look (he did not pull of shocked very well at all, as France was only too delighted to point out every time the expression crossed England’s face) on his face.
“Geez, what took you so long? I know I say you’re an old man but seriously, England, could you have taken any more ti-” England shook his head and tugged America down, pressing their lips together, hard, in a kiss that probably had an unhealthy amount of longing behind it. America’s arms flailed a bit before he found his bearings and wrapped them tight around England, pressing into his shoulders and lower back; he started kissing back much quicker. America tasted like mint toothpaste and sleep (if sleep could have a taste…England didn’t know why that sprung to mind as something that would have a flavor) and he may have let out a noise that was dangerously close to a moan when his tongue dipped into England’s mouth.
It was ridiculous, how right he felt kissing America, how everything slotted into place.
He pulled away and peeked up at America-the younger nation looked overjoyed, shocked, and befuddled all at once and it fit his face so well. England broke out into a smile, a wide, incredulous smile, at the expression and he wrapped his fingers tight in America’s shirt. “You-you are a crazy, baffling idiot, do you know that? Completely daft.”
“Uh…is that like a compliment? Because you just kissed the hell out of me and now you’re insulting me, but you’ve got like zero social skills and insult all the time so I guess I kind of get it but-”
“It’s Valentine’s Day. You invited me, no scratch that, you kidnapped and flew me over here to spend the weekend celebrating a state’s centennial, which happens to fall on Valentine’s Day, and you were polite and got me this bloody ring and-”
“Didn’t you kind of know today was Valentine’s Day? I mean, I told you the actual day was the fourteenth…oh hell, you forgot, didn’t you?”
“I’ve been a tad busy this month, America!”
“You forgot! That’s-that’s fucking hilarious! I can’t believe it; I went through this whole thing to show you that I love you because it’s Valentine’s Day and that’s like your thing and asked for your boss’s permission and fucking wooed you because Canada and Mexico kept telling me ‘pushing you down on the playground wasn’t how I was going to get your attention,’ whatever they meant by that, and you didn’t even know and-mmph!”
England kissed him again, harder still, and glared a little as he pulled away. America grinned a bit dopily at him and his hands settled across England’s shoulders. “That’s cheating, shutting me up like that.”
“I love you, I’ve loved you for the better half of the last two decades and so help me if you say you’ve felt the same way for just as long then I will hit you.” America grinned bashfully and shrugged in a manner that told England that he had-they were seriously hopeless.
“Um, then I totally haven’t?” He chuckled and pulled England close for a strong hug, ducking his head just a little so that it rested alongside England’s cheek. For his part, England let out a breath, one that he hadn’t known he’d been holding (one that maybe he’d been holding for years) and sunk into his arms, pulled America tight against him in turn.
There was so much to sort through. Their history was one big mess of love, hurt, betrayal, and loyalty that it would be impossible to move forward without talking some of that out. England would hate it because he hated anything that made him seem smaller, anything that reminded him of his early years, and America hated anything that made him feel weak or guilty so he would fight just as much as England would. They’d likely scream hurtful things at each other, because they’ve always known how to hurt each other the very worst and then, inevitably, England would probably end up either drunk or crying (or a horrible mixture of the two) and America would then storm out and possibly cause property damage with his unnatural strength and need to hit things when upset. It will be absolutely awful and painful and they’re both already dreading it.
But (because there is that magical ‘but’) afterwards. Afterwards, is what he can look forward to, something worth going through all that hurt for. Because England truly does believe America was worth it, he’d always been worth it, and he’s always thought that; even in those horrible, dark years after the Revolution, he still thought it and couldn’t quite bring himself to regret raising America as a nation and loving him in all the different shades of the word. He’d doubted for so long that this, being wrapped up with America right here, wearing a copper ring from the younger nation on his finger, was possible, but now that it was smacking him in the face that it was…
No going back.
The both pull apart mutually, smiling at each other in a truly embarrassing fashion; America reaches down and grabs England’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the copper ring once before lacing their fingers together. “So-you love me too?”
England cocked his head just a little to the side and let his smile shift to playful. “If that wasn’t already abundantly clear by this point.”
“So…you wanna be my Valentine?” England chuckled and leaned forward to rest his forehead against America’s shoulder.
“You are hopeless.”
“Yeah, well, seems to work on you well enough so that’s all that matters to me!” He stepped back, but kept England’s hand in his own, silently gesturing if he wants to head out or stay in. England’s tempted, so very tempted to bugger the whole celebration, but there’s a hopeful glint in America’s eyes, hopeful and promising, that makes up his mind to go. They’ll be plenty of time later to deal with everything and start being ‘England and America,’ and they have the luxury of time on their side. Besides, Arizona has grown on him just a bit (not the heat part because that was bloody terrible) and a centennial is a big deal. He nods at America and follows him out the hotel door; America doesn’t let go of his hand once, even knowing that as wonderful as Arizona is, it has its flaws as well. His bravery was truly astounding to England.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Arthur.”
“Happy Arizona Centennial, Alfred.”
Finis
*********
*Arizona's Centennial - Link will take you to the main page of the event and has some descriptions of the stuff mentioned here, including the villages, the Centennial Ride and the different villages.
*Rosson House - This place is pretty cool and right in the middle of Heritage Square, an area of downtown Phoenix that has a shit ton of museums and cool stuff to do.
* George and the Dragon - I go here all the time for happy hour, it's freaking awesome.
* LightRail - this is our lame attempt at a subway >.>
* Copper Ring - because of course I have a picture of it, lovelies.
I am a total state nerd too, so if any of you folks have questions, feel free! <333