[Fanfic] A Torment Onto Themselves [2/2]
Title: A Torment to Themselves [2/2]
Character(s) or Pairing(s): USxUK, past USJapan that's still fairly relevant
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Historically unpleasant subjects. Kinda choppy writing.
Summary: England wonders if he'll ever be alone in his relationship with America.
A/N: This took so much longer to post than I originally anticipated, and also ended up being much shorter... Gee, I shoulda just kept this thing a one-shot... In any case, enjoy the second half!
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1976
England’s eyes swept over the rolling green landscape with every step he took. He was pretty sure he remembered the address of America’s ranch correctly, but he couldn’t see the owner anywhere on the property. It made his heart twist just a little, but he smothered the feeling, reminding himself that America said he’d be there, practically promised he would be, and was probably just inside taking a break from the heat.
But no one answered the door, and he had to find the spare key, hidden under the welcome mat. There was no commotion when he entered the house, no gun preemptively shoved in the “intruder’s” face, no enthusiastic hugs, nothing. No, there was nothing but a stillness that indicated more than anything else that America could not possibly be in this house.
Trying not to lose heart just yet, England checked the driveway for America’s truck and saw that it was gone. He checked the refrigerator and pantry, hoping they were empty and that America was just out buying food. They weren’t empty, but rather full of food that had long since gone out of date.
England didn’t know whether to be furious or worried. On the one hand, America had said he’d be here no matter what, almost promised it, even-almost, but not quite. On the other hand, what if there really had been an international incident while England was travelling over here, and he just hadn’t had a chance to hear about it yet?
Worry gnawing at his stomach, England decided he would have to find out where America was immediately, and the easiest way to do that would be to call his boss. Quickly, he found America’s home phone and a list of important numbers. His heart might’ve melted a little when he saw his personal number on top of the list, but this wasn’t the time for that, especially not when the sentimental idiot who did these heart-melty things was possibly off fighting another war again!
The aimless ring of the phone seemed to last for eternity, and wore his patience so thin that the moment he heard someone pick up on the other line, he started speaking, “Mr. President? Sorry, this is England. I’m at America’s ranch, where he said he’d be all year, but he’s not. Has something particularly dreadful happened that I’m unaware of?”
Silence filtered through the line for a moment as the person on the other line tried to process the question.
“Mr. England, hello. America’s gone to Japan, they’re working on a new committee for his Self-Defense Force. I can call him back, if you’d like.”
England debated it for a moment; calling America back from something he apparently deemed more important than keeping his word seemed like a very easy way to piss the younger man off. And it wasn’t like England really cared or anything. He’d just been concerned before, that America had gone off and started another war that he would try to drag England into, that was all. It wasn’t like America had to stay at home and wait for England to find the time to visit or anything. Clearly this was fine, it wasn’t like he’d spent months arguing with his own boss to get a few weeks off to come here or some such nonsense, banking on America to actually mean what he said and follow through with it.
“He’s not doing anything particularly vital, it wouldn’t be a problem if I did.”
Darn it all, but England did want to see him, even if it was only to chew him out.
“Um, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you just inform him that I’m here? I’m sure he’ll come back if he feels he can.”
Which, of course, meant that if America wasn’t home in twenty-four hours there would be hell to pay.
000
England had spent the whole night after that call festering in the jealousy that, up until this morning he’d managed to suppress. America had broken a promise-not a promise, but he’s said-he wasn’t doing what he said he would. Somehow some subcommittee in Japan was more important to him than keeping his word to his lover and-and it was just a very cold, cold feeling. He wanted nothing more than for America to come home and wrap him in one of his bone-crushing, leather-and-grease-smelling, incredibly warm hugs and drown him in his overbearing affection that always embarrassed England to no end but-
But America was half-way across the world, and so there was nothing for England to do but fall into a fitful sleep on the couch.
However he went to sleep, it was nothing that the way he woke up couldn’t cure, because when he did he got exactly what he wanted.
“God Arthur I am so sorry! I shoulda been here, please don’t hate me!” America bombarded the semi-conscious man with apologies and affection. England returned to full awareness already wrapped up in America’s arms and the scent he hated to love, being hugged and kissed right back into oblivion. He was feeling so warm and fuzzy by the end of the barrage that he almost wasn’t angry at America for breaking his promise.
“Almost” being the key word.
England could see the face of the clock from across the room-about noon, America did make it home in under twenty-four hours, but just barely. He’d probably had to commandeer one of his own planes to get back here so quickly. Still, England couldn’t quite stop the hurt in his heart from bubbling up through his throat and out of his mouth.
“You weren’t here.”
America froze, his arms stiffening around England’s waist. He seemed incapable of either pulling away or moving closer, caught like a deer in the headlights.
“You said--you said you’d be here and you weren’t,” England said again, his voice becoming watery and wavering with emotion. Finally America’s arms tightened around him, bringing him close enough to hear the soft, almost forlorn ba-bump, ba-bump of the younger nation’s heart.
000
Supper was an awkward affair that night, with America silent for fear of further upsetting England, and England silent for fear that he’d show just how upset he really was. Between them, hardly touched, was a blackened roast that England had made while America unpacked his bags. Neither of them could scrounge up much of an appetite.
When the heavy silence had worn on America for too long, he cleared his throat and asked, “So, what’ve you been doing with yourself since I last saw you?”
“Nothing much. Helping the Queen settle in after all her travels, paperwork, bargaining with my Prime Minister to get this week off... But enough about that. Tell me, how long did you wait before returning to Japan’s side? Or did you simply never leave him?”
Any hint of apology that might’ve been on America’s face was wiped clean with those words. Regret took a hold of England at the sight of the steely cool that replaced it, but his wounded pride wouldn’t let him take the words back.
“England, I know I’m in the wrong here, but that sounded like you were accusing me of something a lot worse than not being at home.” The barely concealed hurt in America’s voice stung; England hadn’t meant to sound as jealous and accusatory as he did, but that was the shape of the ugly thing which had festered in him for so long. He feared that there was something Japan could do for America that he couldn’t, that Japan was better for the younger nation somehow. England couldn’t lock it up now that it was out.
“Why do you keep going there, then? To form another government bureaucracy? Do you think he really needs you there for that?”
“I go there to make sure he’s protected and getting better! I owe him that much after dropping two nuclear bombs on him!”
“You have a military for that, idiot! Yet you personally keep going back, for no reason other than to see him, trying to regain something you’ve lost. But you can’t get it back Alfred, it’s gone!”
“I KNOW THAT!” America shot up from his seat, his hands slamming down on the wooden tabletop. A crack formed between his hands, and it was with a sense of dull, terrified amazement that England watched it creep across the flat surface. “You think I don’t know I messed it up? You don’t have to remind me that I literally blew everything sky high! I’m just trying to do the right thing for an old friend and, and I can’t even do that without having you accuse me of--of what, cheating on you? You can’t even trust me that much?”
With a sickly creak the crack in the wood widened and moved across the table until finally it gave way, glasses and plates and a vase of long-dead daffodils sliding down the suddenly vertical surface and crashing on the floor. In the wake of the crash neither of them spoke, both staring at the mess of wood, glass and food that laid on the floor between them.
England thought, as his eyes rocketed up toward America, that the other nation might just be more horrified than he was with the turn of events. America, he knew, had always had a bit of a complex about his insane strength, mostly derived from his time as a child when his yet unrefined ability had led to the injuring of his England, his brother and numerous pets. He had since tamed his ability, but England could see the effect this sudden loss of control was having on the boy. It was obvious that his thoughts weren’t on the loss of a perfectly good kitchen table, but on the idea that it had been destroyed because of him, in front of England, and that had it not been in the way he may have perhaps hurt England in his anger instead.
The tense stillness was broken when America stumbled backward, away from the mess, upturning his chair in the process and muttering a stricken, “I--I’m sorry,” before fleeing the kitchen and the house altogether.
000
In the end, England decided not to chase after him. He knew when America needed time to himself, and felt obligated to grant it, as he knew himself to be the one who’d pushed America to anger in the first place.
It wasn’t really that England suspected America of having an affair so much as he feared it, feared that America would grow sick of England’s insults, his pessimism, his stubbornness and his rainy weather and find relief in a kinder nation. But to all his worries and fears, America would probably just laugh and say, “Heroes don’t cheat,” or some such thing and England would know he was telling the truth because his lover was stupidly honest and a terrible liar besides.
But now, because of his insecurities, he’d forced to the surface America’s own worries about his strength. It had not been his intention to be jealous and hurtful, but wasn’t that what he always ended up being, where America was involved? Too insecure to be trusting, too afraid of America leaving to give him the fullness of his affections, which he knew the other craved? England knew he wasn’t the only one who was sometimes hurtful, America could be painfully blunt, but wasn’t he just making things worse?
England let out a sigh as his eyes slipped over to the kitchen window and found a black square cut out of the brightly painted walls. While England had been slumped on his chair in front of the destroyed table, the sun had set. The realization startled him, filled him with questions. Had he really been thinking for so long? Had America come back in without him noticing? Had he not come in at all?
It was with sudden urgency that England finally rose from his seat and ran out of the house and to the barn, hoping he wouldn’t have to search any more of America’s enormous property. However, when he opened the front gates he found that the interior was cool, quiet and dark, filled with no other sound but the wind howling through the cracks in the walls. It was almost a bit creepy, not the sort of place he’d expect America to hide away in, but he looked into each stall anyway, and when he found no one in any of them England climbed the ladder up to the loft.
“Alfred...” England called quietly as he poked his head into the loft. On the other side he heard something startle and looked over to find America making the same terrified face he did whenever he watched scary movies. He seemed to relax upon seeing England come up, his shoulders relaxing into a slump as he expelled a sigh.
“That was really scary, callin’ my name in that eerie voice...”
England went red with a mixture of embarrassment and anger, and for a moment it was almost as if nothing had happened. But the truth sunk in along side the silence and quickly turned the air tense and awkward.
England fidgeted under America’s oddly blank gaze, wondering how to word his apology, and if he’d even be able to get the words out when he found them. But America, perhaps allowing himself to read the atmosphere enough to figure out what England was attempting, saved him the trouble by simply extending his hand forward, beckoning England to him.
There was something comforting in the way America’s arm curled around his waist when he sat down; it broke up the tension, made England’s shoulders slump. “I-I didn’t mean it,” he mumbled into America’s shoulder. “I just... worry. You’ve, you’ve left before for bigger and better things than me, and I guess I’m just afraid that will happen again.”
“You think Japan is bigger and better than you?” America asked with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows and a small, teasing grin on his face that let England know the other understood his reasons and had accepted the apology for what it was.
“Not like that you pervert!” England denied, bumping America with his shoulder even as a little smile crept onto his face.
The quiet that settled between them shortly after was comfortable, with only the slightest tinge of awkwardness to it, the odd sense of getting used to each other all over again after a significant shift had occurred.
“Um, sorry, again,” America mumbled into England’s hair after many minutes had gone by. “I shouldn’t have broken my word over something so small.”
“It’s alright,” England said, quick to try and erase any of the jealousy that had presented itself earlier from America’s memory. “You’ve just been trying to help Japan, because that’s what you do for people you--people you care about.”
“About that, Arthur,” America said, pulling away just enough to see into England’s eyes. “I know you said before that you didn’t mean it, but just know that I’ve never looked at Japan that way, okay? It’s just that... Well, a little after we first met, I played a little trick on Japan. You remember how that occult junk was so popular back then?”
“I’ll refrain from debating whether the occult is ‘junk’ or not, but go on.”
“Well, I was gonna pretend to tell his fortune. I expected to get a bunch of dumb questions, you know? But instead he asked whether he’d get along well with everyone in the future and he seemed so genuinely worried about it...I had to tell ‘im he would. After that I just kinda--”
“--You let your hero complex take over, and with the exception of World War Two have been personally coddling him ever since,” England finished, unable to stop an amused grin from forming on his face because that was just so America.
“You’ve got it,” America replied, a smile implicit in his voice. “I couldn’t do much about it when my government didn’t like him, but I could always be his friend personally. Just friends, no romantic feelings here, promise.”
“Really?” England asked with false skepticism.
“Really.”
“Not even once?”
America snorted at the feigned look of doubt England gave him. “Oh yeah, because I’ve just got this kink for significantly older, isolationist island nations that live oceans away from me.”
England’s face went red up to his hairline at that, and he quickly tried to hide his face in America’s shoulder with limited success. “G-git! You’re only allowed to like one nation of that sort!”
“And I do only like one. Funny how these things work out, hm?”
“...You’re being awfully fresh today.” But he turned to America and kissed him all the same.
2007
“You do realize there’s a real bowling alley not thirty minutes from here, right?”
“Ah, don’t be such a Debbie Downer Artie! You should join us, have fun!”
“I think England-san would find this most enjoyable as well.”
England just shook his head at the invitation. Really, he didn’t understand why these two were so excited by this silly Wii thing--wouldn’t it make more sense to just go bowling? Rather than doing this strange virtual version of it. Really, America and Japan looked so silly, waving some ridiculous Wii-mote thing around in the middle of England’s old-fashioned living room.
America let out a dramatic sigh when England shook his head in refusal. “I guess Iggy’s just too old for this sorta stuff. He’d probably throw his back out. We’d better cut down on other strenuous activities as well, for the sake of his health--”
A mix of furious stuttering and cursing ensued, as a brightly blushing England jumped off the couch and snatched the remote away from America. “I am not too old for any of this rubbish! In fact, I imagine my age will only make me superior at it!” He declared with a pointed stare at his git of a boyfriend.
“Haha, that’s the spirit Arthur! Show me what you’ve got!”
“I’ll show you to underestimate the former British Empire!”
“E-England-san, be careful with that...!”
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Notes:
1. In 1976 America and Japan started working together to create the Security Consultative Committee, which was basically supposed to make it easier for American and Japanese forces to work together in the event of an attack on Japan.
Character(s) or Pairing(s): USxUK, past USJapan that's still fairly relevant
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Historically unpleasant subjects. Kinda choppy writing.
Summary: England wonders if he'll ever be alone in his relationship with America.
A/N: This took so much longer to post than I originally anticipated, and also ended up being much shorter... Gee, I shoulda just kept this thing a one-shot... In any case, enjoy the second half!
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1976
England’s eyes swept over the rolling green landscape with every step he took. He was pretty sure he remembered the address of America’s ranch correctly, but he couldn’t see the owner anywhere on the property. It made his heart twist just a little, but he smothered the feeling, reminding himself that America said he’d be there, practically promised he would be, and was probably just inside taking a break from the heat.
But no one answered the door, and he had to find the spare key, hidden under the welcome mat. There was no commotion when he entered the house, no gun preemptively shoved in the “intruder’s” face, no enthusiastic hugs, nothing. No, there was nothing but a stillness that indicated more than anything else that America could not possibly be in this house.
Trying not to lose heart just yet, England checked the driveway for America’s truck and saw that it was gone. He checked the refrigerator and pantry, hoping they were empty and that America was just out buying food. They weren’t empty, but rather full of food that had long since gone out of date.
England didn’t know whether to be furious or worried. On the one hand, America had said he’d be here no matter what, almost promised it, even-almost, but not quite. On the other hand, what if there really had been an international incident while England was travelling over here, and he just hadn’t had a chance to hear about it yet?
Worry gnawing at his stomach, England decided he would have to find out where America was immediately, and the easiest way to do that would be to call his boss. Quickly, he found America’s home phone and a list of important numbers. His heart might’ve melted a little when he saw his personal number on top of the list, but this wasn’t the time for that, especially not when the sentimental idiot who did these heart-melty things was possibly off fighting another war again!
The aimless ring of the phone seemed to last for eternity, and wore his patience so thin that the moment he heard someone pick up on the other line, he started speaking, “Mr. President? Sorry, this is England. I’m at America’s ranch, where he said he’d be all year, but he’s not. Has something particularly dreadful happened that I’m unaware of?”
Silence filtered through the line for a moment as the person on the other line tried to process the question.
“Mr. England, hello. America’s gone to Japan, they’re working on a new committee for his Self-Defense Force. I can call him back, if you’d like.”
England debated it for a moment; calling America back from something he apparently deemed more important than keeping his word seemed like a very easy way to piss the younger man off. And it wasn’t like England really cared or anything. He’d just been concerned before, that America had gone off and started another war that he would try to drag England into, that was all. It wasn’t like America had to stay at home and wait for England to find the time to visit or anything. Clearly this was fine, it wasn’t like he’d spent months arguing with his own boss to get a few weeks off to come here or some such nonsense, banking on America to actually mean what he said and follow through with it.
“He’s not doing anything particularly vital, it wouldn’t be a problem if I did.”
Darn it all, but England did want to see him, even if it was only to chew him out.
“Um, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you just inform him that I’m here? I’m sure he’ll come back if he feels he can.”
Which, of course, meant that if America wasn’t home in twenty-four hours there would be hell to pay.
000
England had spent the whole night after that call festering in the jealousy that, up until this morning he’d managed to suppress. America had broken a promise-not a promise, but he’s said-he wasn’t doing what he said he would. Somehow some subcommittee in Japan was more important to him than keeping his word to his lover and-and it was just a very cold, cold feeling. He wanted nothing more than for America to come home and wrap him in one of his bone-crushing, leather-and-grease-smelling, incredibly warm hugs and drown him in his overbearing affection that always embarrassed England to no end but-
But America was half-way across the world, and so there was nothing for England to do but fall into a fitful sleep on the couch.
However he went to sleep, it was nothing that the way he woke up couldn’t cure, because when he did he got exactly what he wanted.
“God Arthur I am so sorry! I shoulda been here, please don’t hate me!” America bombarded the semi-conscious man with apologies and affection. England returned to full awareness already wrapped up in America’s arms and the scent he hated to love, being hugged and kissed right back into oblivion. He was feeling so warm and fuzzy by the end of the barrage that he almost wasn’t angry at America for breaking his promise.
“Almost” being the key word.
England could see the face of the clock from across the room-about noon, America did make it home in under twenty-four hours, but just barely. He’d probably had to commandeer one of his own planes to get back here so quickly. Still, England couldn’t quite stop the hurt in his heart from bubbling up through his throat and out of his mouth.
“You weren’t here.”
America froze, his arms stiffening around England’s waist. He seemed incapable of either pulling away or moving closer, caught like a deer in the headlights.
“You said--you said you’d be here and you weren’t,” England said again, his voice becoming watery and wavering with emotion. Finally America’s arms tightened around him, bringing him close enough to hear the soft, almost forlorn ba-bump, ba-bump of the younger nation’s heart.
000
Supper was an awkward affair that night, with America silent for fear of further upsetting England, and England silent for fear that he’d show just how upset he really was. Between them, hardly touched, was a blackened roast that England had made while America unpacked his bags. Neither of them could scrounge up much of an appetite.
When the heavy silence had worn on America for too long, he cleared his throat and asked, “So, what’ve you been doing with yourself since I last saw you?”
“Nothing much. Helping the Queen settle in after all her travels, paperwork, bargaining with my Prime Minister to get this week off... But enough about that. Tell me, how long did you wait before returning to Japan’s side? Or did you simply never leave him?”
Any hint of apology that might’ve been on America’s face was wiped clean with those words. Regret took a hold of England at the sight of the steely cool that replaced it, but his wounded pride wouldn’t let him take the words back.
“England, I know I’m in the wrong here, but that sounded like you were accusing me of something a lot worse than not being at home.” The barely concealed hurt in America’s voice stung; England hadn’t meant to sound as jealous and accusatory as he did, but that was the shape of the ugly thing which had festered in him for so long. He feared that there was something Japan could do for America that he couldn’t, that Japan was better for the younger nation somehow. England couldn’t lock it up now that it was out.
“Why do you keep going there, then? To form another government bureaucracy? Do you think he really needs you there for that?”
“I go there to make sure he’s protected and getting better! I owe him that much after dropping two nuclear bombs on him!”
“You have a military for that, idiot! Yet you personally keep going back, for no reason other than to see him, trying to regain something you’ve lost. But you can’t get it back Alfred, it’s gone!”
“I KNOW THAT!” America shot up from his seat, his hands slamming down on the wooden tabletop. A crack formed between his hands, and it was with a sense of dull, terrified amazement that England watched it creep across the flat surface. “You think I don’t know I messed it up? You don’t have to remind me that I literally blew everything sky high! I’m just trying to do the right thing for an old friend and, and I can’t even do that without having you accuse me of--of what, cheating on you? You can’t even trust me that much?”
With a sickly creak the crack in the wood widened and moved across the table until finally it gave way, glasses and plates and a vase of long-dead daffodils sliding down the suddenly vertical surface and crashing on the floor. In the wake of the crash neither of them spoke, both staring at the mess of wood, glass and food that laid on the floor between them.
England thought, as his eyes rocketed up toward America, that the other nation might just be more horrified than he was with the turn of events. America, he knew, had always had a bit of a complex about his insane strength, mostly derived from his time as a child when his yet unrefined ability had led to the injuring of his England, his brother and numerous pets. He had since tamed his ability, but England could see the effect this sudden loss of control was having on the boy. It was obvious that his thoughts weren’t on the loss of a perfectly good kitchen table, but on the idea that it had been destroyed because of him, in front of England, and that had it not been in the way he may have perhaps hurt England in his anger instead.
The tense stillness was broken when America stumbled backward, away from the mess, upturning his chair in the process and muttering a stricken, “I--I’m sorry,” before fleeing the kitchen and the house altogether.
000
In the end, England decided not to chase after him. He knew when America needed time to himself, and felt obligated to grant it, as he knew himself to be the one who’d pushed America to anger in the first place.
It wasn’t really that England suspected America of having an affair so much as he feared it, feared that America would grow sick of England’s insults, his pessimism, his stubbornness and his rainy weather and find relief in a kinder nation. But to all his worries and fears, America would probably just laugh and say, “Heroes don’t cheat,” or some such thing and England would know he was telling the truth because his lover was stupidly honest and a terrible liar besides.
But now, because of his insecurities, he’d forced to the surface America’s own worries about his strength. It had not been his intention to be jealous and hurtful, but wasn’t that what he always ended up being, where America was involved? Too insecure to be trusting, too afraid of America leaving to give him the fullness of his affections, which he knew the other craved? England knew he wasn’t the only one who was sometimes hurtful, America could be painfully blunt, but wasn’t he just making things worse?
England let out a sigh as his eyes slipped over to the kitchen window and found a black square cut out of the brightly painted walls. While England had been slumped on his chair in front of the destroyed table, the sun had set. The realization startled him, filled him with questions. Had he really been thinking for so long? Had America come back in without him noticing? Had he not come in at all?
It was with sudden urgency that England finally rose from his seat and ran out of the house and to the barn, hoping he wouldn’t have to search any more of America’s enormous property. However, when he opened the front gates he found that the interior was cool, quiet and dark, filled with no other sound but the wind howling through the cracks in the walls. It was almost a bit creepy, not the sort of place he’d expect America to hide away in, but he looked into each stall anyway, and when he found no one in any of them England climbed the ladder up to the loft.
“Alfred...” England called quietly as he poked his head into the loft. On the other side he heard something startle and looked over to find America making the same terrified face he did whenever he watched scary movies. He seemed to relax upon seeing England come up, his shoulders relaxing into a slump as he expelled a sigh.
“That was really scary, callin’ my name in that eerie voice...”
England went red with a mixture of embarrassment and anger, and for a moment it was almost as if nothing had happened. But the truth sunk in along side the silence and quickly turned the air tense and awkward.
England fidgeted under America’s oddly blank gaze, wondering how to word his apology, and if he’d even be able to get the words out when he found them. But America, perhaps allowing himself to read the atmosphere enough to figure out what England was attempting, saved him the trouble by simply extending his hand forward, beckoning England to him.
There was something comforting in the way America’s arm curled around his waist when he sat down; it broke up the tension, made England’s shoulders slump. “I-I didn’t mean it,” he mumbled into America’s shoulder. “I just... worry. You’ve, you’ve left before for bigger and better things than me, and I guess I’m just afraid that will happen again.”
“You think Japan is bigger and better than you?” America asked with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows and a small, teasing grin on his face that let England know the other understood his reasons and had accepted the apology for what it was.
“Not like that you pervert!” England denied, bumping America with his shoulder even as a little smile crept onto his face.
The quiet that settled between them shortly after was comfortable, with only the slightest tinge of awkwardness to it, the odd sense of getting used to each other all over again after a significant shift had occurred.
“Um, sorry, again,” America mumbled into England’s hair after many minutes had gone by. “I shouldn’t have broken my word over something so small.”
“It’s alright,” England said, quick to try and erase any of the jealousy that had presented itself earlier from America’s memory. “You’ve just been trying to help Japan, because that’s what you do for people you--people you care about.”
“About that, Arthur,” America said, pulling away just enough to see into England’s eyes. “I know you said before that you didn’t mean it, but just know that I’ve never looked at Japan that way, okay? It’s just that... Well, a little after we first met, I played a little trick on Japan. You remember how that occult junk was so popular back then?”
“I’ll refrain from debating whether the occult is ‘junk’ or not, but go on.”
“Well, I was gonna pretend to tell his fortune. I expected to get a bunch of dumb questions, you know? But instead he asked whether he’d get along well with everyone in the future and he seemed so genuinely worried about it...I had to tell ‘im he would. After that I just kinda--”
“--You let your hero complex take over, and with the exception of World War Two have been personally coddling him ever since,” England finished, unable to stop an amused grin from forming on his face because that was just so America.
“You’ve got it,” America replied, a smile implicit in his voice. “I couldn’t do much about it when my government didn’t like him, but I could always be his friend personally. Just friends, no romantic feelings here, promise.”
“Really?” England asked with false skepticism.
“Really.”
“Not even once?”
America snorted at the feigned look of doubt England gave him. “Oh yeah, because I’ve just got this kink for significantly older, isolationist island nations that live oceans away from me.”
England’s face went red up to his hairline at that, and he quickly tried to hide his face in America’s shoulder with limited success. “G-git! You’re only allowed to like one nation of that sort!”
“And I do only like one. Funny how these things work out, hm?”
“...You’re being awfully fresh today.” But he turned to America and kissed him all the same.
2007
“You do realize there’s a real bowling alley not thirty minutes from here, right?”
“Ah, don’t be such a Debbie Downer Artie! You should join us, have fun!”
“I think England-san would find this most enjoyable as well.”
England just shook his head at the invitation. Really, he didn’t understand why these two were so excited by this silly Wii thing--wouldn’t it make more sense to just go bowling? Rather than doing this strange virtual version of it. Really, America and Japan looked so silly, waving some ridiculous Wii-mote thing around in the middle of England’s old-fashioned living room.
America let out a dramatic sigh when England shook his head in refusal. “I guess Iggy’s just too old for this sorta stuff. He’d probably throw his back out. We’d better cut down on other strenuous activities as well, for the sake of his health--”
A mix of furious stuttering and cursing ensued, as a brightly blushing England jumped off the couch and snatched the remote away from America. “I am not too old for any of this rubbish! In fact, I imagine my age will only make me superior at it!” He declared with a pointed stare at his git of a boyfriend.
“Haha, that’s the spirit Arthur! Show me what you’ve got!”
“I’ll show you to underestimate the former British Empire!”
“E-England-san, be careful with that...!”
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Notes:
1. In 1976 America and Japan started working together to create the Security Consultative Committee, which was basically supposed to make it easier for American and Japanese forces to work together in the event of an attack on Japan.