Expendable (4/8)
Title: Expendable (4/8)
Warnings: Nothing too terrible
Word Count: 4633
Summary: England enacts his plan
A/N: ...Yeah, this is a fic continuation of Expendable. There are soooo many reasons why it's not being continued in comic form.
First, because almost immediatley after I got back from London, my parents decided to move in with me for three months and my ever so helpful mother decided to recycle all of my unfinished Expendable drawings (as well as donate my PS2 to Goodwill without TELLING ME), which of course utterly demoralized me. To make things worse, my computer died this weekend (taking all my saved pix with it), rendering my scanner obsolete, so I have to get a new one. Oh, AND I managed to stick my right hand in a bunch of broken glass shards, so now my hand hurts like a bitch. So I can't draw anything at all, scanner or no. Anyway, temporary hiccup. In the meanwhile, I'm typing, because it hurts less than drawing.
Completely un-betaed, with my apologies. If anyone would like to be my beta, that would be awesome. So, enjoy!
America lay across the couch, staring at the ceiling in thought. Not a position he usually found himself in, but he had his moments. It was especially helpful when due to his silence, England thought he was asleep and left him well enough alone. To say that things had been a little... tense, since England had made his declaration was a bit of an understatement. Ever since he spat his words in dark promise, he had been... Glancing. Looking. Giving him these sultry furtive gazes that made America’s heart hammer and his crotch grow tight.
Which was stupid. So stupid, because he didn’t think of England like that! Yeah, okay, maybe he was a touch more preoccupied with England than a whole lot of other nations (in a good way, that is), but that was because they shared so much between them. Music, (arguably) language, culture, food. Although England had slapped him when he said he made better shepherd’s pie at home... But yeah, all good things. Good things that came from being good relations. Not brothers. No, not for a long time. Cousins. They could be cousins.
And some cousins get married.
America’s eyes flew wide. Where the hell did that come from? Unfortunately, it was right then that England passed by and noticed his waking. “Ah, Meri.” Also what was up with Meri? That was such a cutesy nickname. “Are you awake, poppet?” America wasn’t looking at the other nation, but he suddenly felt the middle cushion of the couch dip and felt the heat of England’s thigh press against his side. His blood heated much to his dismay and the younger nation turned in to face the back of the couch.
“I know you’re awake,” came the soft and quirkily accented voice that drew his attention no matter what England was saying. A hand went to his shoulder, making tingles of electricity run through him. He felt the heat move closer and felt breath against his ear in a soft whisper. “Wake up, love...”
America couldn’t help but jerk, spinning to look up at the older nation with full and disoriented eyes, like the wide-eyed look of a doe in headlights. “Wha- What did you-”
England was smirking down at him. “I said, wake up, poppet. Do you normally sleep the whole day away? You were full of such robust vitality earlier.” His hand slid down from his shoulder, lowering tantalizing towards his hip. “Or was that merely for show?”
America didn’t breath, a mild form of panic paralyzing him. Touching. He was touching him. England didn’t like touching. What was he doing? Where was his cold and flaily England who was repressed up the wazoo? However, he recovered quickly, because he was awesome, flashing the green-eyed nation a bright grin. “Nah, I just like annoying you.”
The smirk waned. America was almost sad to see it go. “So you say,” England replied, retreating away from the couch and leaving only the vivid memory of his heat. America couldn’t stop looking at his fingers. For some reason, he wondered what they tasted like. Maybe like ink and stone. Fish and chips. Mmm~ Just thinking of tasting warm fried batter and sea-salty starch on those fingertips made him- Made him completely miss what England was saying.
“Wha?” America said, when England looked at him expectantly.
Heaving an exasperated sigh, the older nation crossed his arms over his chest and repeated himself. “I said, I wanted to go out. Will you drive me?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” America said after a second’s pause. Nothing weird about that. Just two guys cruising down main street. Checking out the girls. Totally, completely platonic. Nothing for Wales to get uppity about. “Lemme get my keys.”
In just a few minutes, they were all settled in the good ole Caddy, hood popped down with the wind ablowin’ in their hair. America was all smiles as they cruised through the familiar Prince William county countryside, passing through the Bull Run battlefield and through the low grassy hills and sparsely wooded terrain. England squinted in the sun, looking particularly vexed at the way the wind was making his already choppy hair even worse. However, he didn’t fail to direct the American around until they were cruising up Route 28.
America looked up at the sign to the Udvar Hazy hanger and he moved automatically towards the exit. However, England smacked him on the arm and urged him forward. “Leesburg?” America questioned, but the other nation shook his head and nodded forward. Frowning, the blue-eyed nation pressed on until they were closing in on Dulles International Airport. “Here?” America whispered, not feeling so awesome now as England directed him towards the Departures exit.
They pulled up in front of the retro 60s style airport, amid the bustle of foreign diplomats, politicians, gofers and tourists. America stopped, feeling his heart sinking into his stomach. “Are you leaving?” he asked quietly. Logically, he knew that their weird deal was going to end at some point. But he’d grown comfortable with England’s presence, reminding him so keenly of the times when England came by when he was still so big and mighty.
“Yes, of course,” England replied, turning his bright green eyes to the taller nation. He pulled a ticket out of the inner pocket of his jacket, showing the familiar Dulles-Heathrow flight. “It’s no use staying here to try to recover my memories. I need to return to my homeland.”
“Right...” America said in a terse voice, fighting down the wave of betrayal that England was just leaving him again, with no warning. Made him drive him to the airport even! “Yeah, sure. Do what you gotta do,” he said with a nonchalant shrug as he turned to stare out of the window at the taxis passing by and a family saying goodbye to their father.
England watched at him, as if seeing right through him. Then his lips curved into a small smile of victory. His thumb dragged along the ticket, revealing another ticket underneath. “Want to come?”
America’s neck nearly snapped with how quickly he turned to look at England. “Wha-wait-what-?” he said, when England suddenly leaned in, giving him one of those hot, intense gazes that made his whole body squirm.
“Come with me,” he said in quiet command, his beautiful green eyes seeming to bore right into him.
For the life of him, America couldn’t find it in himself to disagree. “Uh... right. Okay- I gotta... I gotta go and park...” Just as he was wondering how he was going to get on without his Superman toothbrush, England smiled and made none of that even matter. Oh hell, he’d done more impulsive things before. Sure, his boss was gonna kill him, but this was like an adventure in the good ol’ days!
Meanwhile, the other nation had exited and had popped the trunk, bringing out two suitcases before slamming the trunk shut. “Hurry up,” England called out to him as he stepped up to the curb. “We have to check in soon.”
Realizing that he’d been conned, America stuck out his tongue and then made the loop around the airport to get his car into the daily parking garage. He was going to have a bitch of a bill when he came back, but it was totally worth it. Especially when he came jogging up to the terminal and found England again, both of them glowing as America took the bags and hefted them onto his shoulders.
~o~
One grueling seven hour trip later, the pair of them were on the Heathrow Express headed straight for Paddington. America peered out at the familiar suburban landscape of greater London whizzing by, the small tightly knit homes and factories, tracks lined by purple and yellow wildflowers that were bright spots of colour in the otherwise grungy and gray surroundings. It was drizzling, of course, streaks of rain running horizontally across the glass. Yawning, America turned to look at England. Watched him smiling at the pale landscape. It was nice. Like, warm cup of decaf in his hands, nice.
As they drew closer, England instinctively rose and began to retrieve their belongings, moving towards the exit with their things. Without saying a word, England was quickly moving through the crowds like a native, filing out of the tills and stepping outside to hail down one of his quirky black cabs before America had a chance to catch up to him. America caught him on the arm, looking at the shorter nation in wonder. “H-hey, do you know where you’re going?”
England blinked in startlement. “Er, I...” he paused, hand drifting down as a cabbie pulled up, “No. No, I suppose I don’t. I apologize, my lay of the land seems far more accomplished than my memory of it.”
America flashed him a grin and then opened the door for England, before he followed in and hefted their bags on the older nations lap. “Chiswick, 22 Church Street,” America rattled off from rote memory with no real sense of where the place was in London. Okay, so maybe his geography was a little terrible, but at least he knew what the place should look like!
After a long jaunt through London traffic, then bursting back out into the old boroughs, they came to the small former fishing town that had been consumed by the rest of the city, spread along the Thames. The taxi pulled up to the brick-walled five bedroom Georgian house across from St. Nicholas Church and America fished out the gouging sum for the ride over.
Stepping out with their bags, he could smell the scent of hops from the Fuller’s brewery behind England’s house, the damp smell of wet moss from the church over and the sound of the Thames flowing nearby. As their cab left, it occurred to America that they had no way of getting in. “Um... Well, guess we gotta do this the hard way.” Before England could give a squawk of protest, America threw their bags over the wall and then clambered up the vines and tiny footholds to hop down the ten foot wall to the rose bushes beneath. With a grin, America let the older nation in. “After you~” he said waving England in with a flourish of his arm and a bow.
“Honestly,” England muttered, producing a key from his pocket.
“Hey, when did you-”
“I’ve had it since hospital,” England replied dryly as he tried the door. “I assume it’s the one to my own home.” The door gave way with a creak, inviting them into the gray-blue living room. The walls were nearly all lined with built in shelves, all neatly ordered just the way that England liked them, with tufted fabric sofas and chairs everywhere. England had some weird obsession with tufted furniture. Replacing the key in his pocket, the older nation set his bag down and walked silently, almost reverently, through the house.
“Anything familiar?” America questioned, watching him.
“Yes...” England replied softly, his fingers running over the spines of his favorite books, eyes catching the white light of the windowed double doors into the garden. “Everything...”
A smile touched America’s lips, hiding away the sudden bittersweet feelings that were welling up inside him. Yeah, probably should have done this from the beginning. Get England acquainted with his old life, let familiar things bring his memory back. It meant that England got all the closer to remembering him, remembering everything, and becoming the great little nation that America knew he was. Of course, along with that, they’d fall back into their old ways with both of them being standoffish in their own separate ways.
It’s for the best, he told himself, even if his heart ached to think of heading back home all by himself. “Y’know, you probably don’t have anything to eat. Want to go round to the pub?” he suggested, his stomach already hungering for something a bit more substantial than the three Mars bars he’d devoured after the plane landed.
England turned and cocked a fuzzy eyebrow in such a way that made America’s smile falter. “My, you sound like a regular Londoner,” he said, the corner of his lip curling into the beginnings of a smirk. America blushed. “Appalling accent though.” England clucked his tongue and looked around at the empty house. “Hm, very well. Why not?” He picked up his jacket and slipped back into it. “Lead on.”
Nodding, the taller nation headed out the door and back onto the street. He could see England’s little Mini parked down the way, but it wasn’t that far to the pub. Waiting just long enough for England to lock up, America took off down the street, going round the corner over to the green painted Mawson Arms/Fox and Hounds double-pubs attached to the brewery.
They ducked into the Fox and Hounds, ordering a couple pints (America secretly loved not flashing his fake ID) and fish and chips for their table. It was an odd hour in the afternoon, meaning that there weren’t throngs of people spilling out into the street like they normally did after work. It was quiet, the pub dark from the gray skies and the hardwood furnishings. It felt awkward to America, who was used to filling the void with his own chatter. After a couple moments of sipping bitter, he felt compelled to talk.
“So, you remember the story you told me about this place?” America asked, glancing over at England. “It used to be just Mawson Arms and it was owned by a husband and wife. But then they got divorced and they both wanted the pub, so they just decided to split it down the middle instead and named it two different pubs. They still hate each other, and so help anyone that takes their drink to the other side of the pub. Funny, huh?”
...Actually, that was kind of depressing. Why did he bring that up?
However, his companion only hummed thoughtfully. “So, they remain connected. Even after such a nasty separation.”
“...I guess you can see it that way?” America replied, taking a long swallow of his bitter as things fell into silence again.
The waiter came by and gave him a dirty look as she put the plates in front of them. Uh-oh. Guess he was telling that story a bit too loud. On top of that, he got those nasty mushy peas instead of the extra order of fries he wanted. Though he mighta called them fries instead of chips. And he mighta signed ‘two’ the wrong way with his hand. Still, Jesus, Brits were prickly.
They ate quietly, America nearly inhaling his food while England daintily ate his, looking perfectly content with the silence. That was until he found cause to critique the younger nation. “Why are you not touching your veg?” he demanded, looking at the pile of green peas on America’s plate.
“Because they’re gross,” America said through a mouthful of fries. He swallowed the lot down, displaying his impressive lack of a gag reflex. “They’re slimy and grainy. It’s like eating little sand-slugs.” A flash of irritation went through England’s green eyes, his slender fingers tensing around his glass. It suddenly reminded America of what he thought of what those fingers would taste like, bringing his eyes back down to his plate of fish and chips. He paled, his mouth freezing around another warm, salty chip.
The irritation was soon replaced with concern as England leaned closer. “Are you alright? You suddenly seem a bit peaky.”
America leaned away from him. “Um, yeah, totally fine.” The other nation’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Dude, seriously. Just lemme eat.”
He was quickly saved when his phone blared its most obnoxious “Chihuahua” ringtone. (Tony rigged it in a way that made his default ringtone switch when he entered England’s timezone. America thought it was way too cool to try to fix.) America flashed England a smile and slid off his seat. “I’ll just get this.” He dashed outside into the light, weird, misting drizzle and accepted the call. “Yello?”
Silence.
America blinked. “Hello?” Nothing. “Anyone there~?” Well, this was stupid. Who was prank calling him? Squinting at the phone, he read out the word- Ca-Na-Da. Huh, sounded like some telemarketing company, which was weird because he thought his number was private. Sigh. Darn White House interns.
The phone suddenly blared again, making him nearly drop it. After a heroic save from a puddle, America lifted it up to see the caller ID. Ugh, Wales. He completely forgot about him. Crap, he probably had no idea that they were in town. This could be awkward. America ignored the call, shoving the phone back into his pocket to head back inside.
“Everything alright?” England asked as he sat back down. The phone buzzed again, the split-second before it rang. America punched down on the Ignore button.
“Yup! All hunky-dory,” he replied cheerfully, flashing a bright smile. Buzz. Ignore. Munching on another fry, America asked, “So, since we’re here. What do you want to do?”
“I would like to explore the area a bit more,” England said after a moment. He delicately picked up a chip and took a neat bite from it. “I would be grateful if you could accompany me.” Then he gave America another one of those looks. “You seem to know your way around quite well...” he said in a voice that was softly suggestive. “How often have you been to my home?”
“Whoa, whoa! Wait a minute!” America said, flailing his arms. “It’s not like that, dude!” His phone rang again and on impulse he growled and crushed the darned thing one-fisted in his pocket, the plastic and metal squealing and cracking in his palm. The mental ‘oh shit’ came a second later, the younger nation’s face draining of color.
“What was that?” England demanded, staring at him along with the rest of the pub.
“Nothing,” America squeaked. He coughed, trying to get his voice to a more manly register. “So yeah, how ‘bout them Giants?”
“Whot?” England asked, utterly baffled.
“Nevermind,” America sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So yeah, sure. I can be your tour guide. Let’s hit up the Science Museum tomorrow.” He ignored the way that England mouthed the words ‘Science Museum?’ in complete stupefaction. A moment later, the shock eased, giving way to the normal cross look that America usually received from his old caretaker.
“I did not exactly have museums in mind,” England all but growled.
“Why not? You practically belong in one,” America replied, thinking of how England practically lived in the national museums when he was at his central London flat. However, from the way that England’s face turned white with anger, it was clear that the older nation did not take it as a compliment. His hand was white-knuckle tight around his glass and he looked at America as though seeing him anew for the first time.
“Do you always see fit to insult me?” he said in a low voice. “If so, I can see why nothing came of our reunion.”
“Wha- No, I didn’t mean it like that~!” America cried, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace to try to placate the hot-tempered nation. God, he did not need to get kicked out of these droopy islands when England’s memory was still on the fritz. If Wales wasn’t going to kill him already, he definitely would for that. “Jeebus. Alright, fine. No museums! I promise! We’ll just walk around and get completely lost. Cool?”
England’s temper simmered down, though he gave America another long and studious look. “...Fine,” he said after a moment. The tension eased from his shoulders as though released. “We’ll take the tube in and start with the City of London. Then work out from there. Maybe Southwark next.”
America blinked. “Wait, but we’re already in London,” he said, as though it were obvious. A little voice in the back of his head blared in warning, but it was already too late.
Immediately, England’s eye ticked in irritation. “No, we are in Greater London. The City of London is the single square-mile where the walls of Londinium used to be, which is where my financial district is. Surrounding that is Westminster and south of the Thames is Southwark and South Bank! I have told you this a million times! How do you manage not to absorb a single word I say!”
America was about to argue back, but his eyes lit up in realization. “Hey! You remember something!” he whooped, excitement wiping away any desire to argue back.
Once again, England had that startled look, as if he were caught in headlamps. “Ah- did I...” he said, his own temper fizzling down once more. “So I did.” He gave the younger nation a tentative smile. “It seems that this venture is working after all.” His green eyes glanced around to the other members of the pub and saw their furtive glances from over the lips of their glasses and over their shoulders. “Let’s return home then.”
Nodding, America tossed back the rest of his pint and rose to his feet. The pair of them headed out into the gray drizzle, back towards the house. Nothing more was said of the sudden upsurge of bickering, but he knew what it meant. They were going back to their usual ways again. No more easy companionship. Everything was going to be competition and fighting between them. All that history was going to pull them apart all over again.
~o~
The next day, they took Turnham Green over to Mansion House, landing right near the house of the Mayor of the City of London. It turned out that England played tour guide more than America did, tugging America around where he willed. He showed off the dragon monument at the entrance of the City, the Gherkin (not the giant Glass Dildo, thank you very much,) and the funky building that America knew he saw in a B-rated scifi movie or two, along with the Bank of England, which he showed off with such pride. Somehow, though, things took a turn for the worse as their tiredness got the better of them as fatigue turned into general disgruntlement.
They stopped at a Wetherspoons pub for lunch, managing to nab a table overlooking the Tower of London. Things grew worse from there. America sulked through his panini, complaining about how they didn’t even know how to make Italian food right in pubs and they said freaking ‘pasta’ wrong. That only made England tense up in defense and declared that his islands were far closer to Italy than the United States, thank you.
Somehow, the progression from noon to night only made their squabbling worse and when they went to back to England’s house, the both of them remained in terse silence, too annoyed to even look each other in the eye. America slumped onto the couch, kicking off his muddy shoes, before putting his feet up.
“America! Don’t trek your dirty runners all over the place!” England snapped at him as he slammed the door closed. America groaned, sinking down further into his seat. He did not need this right now. His head was pounding from the bickering, feeling as low as when he and England were arguing at that fateful conference where England rushed into oncoming traffic.
England stormed up to him, kicking his feet off of the coffee table. Tea table. Whatever. “Why are you ignoring me?” he demanded harshly. America didn’t answer, which only seemed to fuel his foul mood more. “What’s gotten into you!”
“Because I’m looking at the inevitable!” the younger nation hissed back, sending a dull glare at England. “You’re such an idiot, England! I don’t see why you think we can be anything more than we were. Intimate, my ass. We just can’t!” He ached, his chest feeling like a hollow void of frustration from the day’s events, from the knowledge that whatever England was thinking was just some stupid fantasy from someone who didn’t know any better. “You see that, don’t you?”
England regarded him for a long moment, his jaw clenching and his hands growing into tight fists at his sides. His eyes, with those beautiful green hues, were livid with anger. This was not the same sweet little England that he had been caring for all this while in his home. He was so close to being back to himself and he looked like he was about to throttle him at the drop of a hat.
Suddenly, England lurched forward. Before America could even breath, he felt the other nation on top of him, knees straddling his hips, hands clawing at him, and mouth- Mouth locked onto his own. America dropped his jaw in shock, giving England leave to slip his tongue into his mouth, lips demanding a hungry kiss. America let out a soft groan, feeling his thoughts melt away, leaving just the aching desire to wrench England into his lap.
That clever mouth sucked at his lower lip, tongue teasing against his own. Hissing softly, America tilted his head back, falling against the arm of the couch. He shuffled quickly, making a more comfortable position for them both as England’s greedy fingers tore open his shirt and found the warm flesh underneath. Yet they were already sliding down his abs, fingers ducking underneath the waist of his pants, easily wriggling off the slack pants.
At the cool draft over his bared legs, America finally managed to regain something of himself, pulling back to stare at the older nation. No. No, no, this couldn’t happen. This is exactly what Wales said would happen! He couldn’t take advantage of England like this!
His large hands found England’s shoulders, pushing him back up away from himself. “E-England...” he said, voice still hoarse with lust. “Stop. We have to stop. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
The other nation fought against him, letting out a cry of frustration. “I know exactly what I’m doing! I’m memory deficient! Not deranged!” He turned his hard green eyes on the taller country, demanding that he understand. “I want this. You want this.” His hand palmed over the sharp tent in America’s boxers, making the younger nation hiss. “We’re both consenting adults. Where’s the harm?”
He was giving America another one of those looks - those dark, hungry looks that spoke of unsated desire, of want and need. America’s blood was on fire, every nerve of him itching to reach out and grab him. England breathed softly, sensing his impending surrender, and leaned in again to take his mouth in another demanding kiss.
It took all America had to push England away from him again, hefting him over to the other side of the couch. “I said, no!” he snarled, rebellion surging up in him. “I mean it! I’m not going to have a random one-off with you because you’re hot for me!” Pulling up his pants, America stood up and shrugged on his shirt. “I’m going to bed. If you try anything,” he warned, giving England the evil eye, “I will drag you back across the pond so fast your head will spin! And then make you listen to Britney Spears for ten days straight! You got me!”
He didn’t wait for an answer. America only stooped down to grab his beloved jacket and hustled up the stairs to his usual guest bed. He only glanced back once to see England looking up after him, green eyes ever seeming to bore right into him. A shiver ran down America’s spine as he snapped his gaze back upstairs and stepped up into the dimly lit hallway.
Back to USxUK
Warnings: Nothing too terrible
Word Count: 4633
Summary: England enacts his plan
A/N: ...Yeah, this is a fic continuation of Expendable. There are soooo many reasons why it's not being continued in comic form.
First, because almost immediatley after I got back from London, my parents decided to move in with me for three months and my ever so helpful mother decided to recycle all of my unfinished Expendable drawings (as well as donate my PS2 to Goodwill without TELLING ME), which of course utterly demoralized me. To make things worse, my computer died this weekend (taking all my saved pix with it), rendering my scanner obsolete, so I have to get a new one. Oh, AND I managed to stick my right hand in a bunch of broken glass shards, so now my hand hurts like a bitch. So I can't draw anything at all, scanner or no. Anyway, temporary hiccup. In the meanwhile, I'm typing, because it hurts less than drawing.
Completely un-betaed, with my apologies. If anyone would like to be my beta, that would be awesome. So, enjoy!
America lay across the couch, staring at the ceiling in thought. Not a position he usually found himself in, but he had his moments. It was especially helpful when due to his silence, England thought he was asleep and left him well enough alone. To say that things had been a little... tense, since England had made his declaration was a bit of an understatement. Ever since he spat his words in dark promise, he had been... Glancing. Looking. Giving him these sultry furtive gazes that made America’s heart hammer and his crotch grow tight.
Which was stupid. So stupid, because he didn’t think of England like that! Yeah, okay, maybe he was a touch more preoccupied with England than a whole lot of other nations (in a good way, that is), but that was because they shared so much between them. Music, (arguably) language, culture, food. Although England had slapped him when he said he made better shepherd’s pie at home... But yeah, all good things. Good things that came from being good relations. Not brothers. No, not for a long time. Cousins. They could be cousins.
And some cousins get married.
America’s eyes flew wide. Where the hell did that come from? Unfortunately, it was right then that England passed by and noticed his waking. “Ah, Meri.” Also what was up with Meri? That was such a cutesy nickname. “Are you awake, poppet?” America wasn’t looking at the other nation, but he suddenly felt the middle cushion of the couch dip and felt the heat of England’s thigh press against his side. His blood heated much to his dismay and the younger nation turned in to face the back of the couch.
“I know you’re awake,” came the soft and quirkily accented voice that drew his attention no matter what England was saying. A hand went to his shoulder, making tingles of electricity run through him. He felt the heat move closer and felt breath against his ear in a soft whisper. “Wake up, love...”
America couldn’t help but jerk, spinning to look up at the older nation with full and disoriented eyes, like the wide-eyed look of a doe in headlights. “Wha- What did you-”
England was smirking down at him. “I said, wake up, poppet. Do you normally sleep the whole day away? You were full of such robust vitality earlier.” His hand slid down from his shoulder, lowering tantalizing towards his hip. “Or was that merely for show?”
America didn’t breath, a mild form of panic paralyzing him. Touching. He was touching him. England didn’t like touching. What was he doing? Where was his cold and flaily England who was repressed up the wazoo? However, he recovered quickly, because he was awesome, flashing the green-eyed nation a bright grin. “Nah, I just like annoying you.”
The smirk waned. America was almost sad to see it go. “So you say,” England replied, retreating away from the couch and leaving only the vivid memory of his heat. America couldn’t stop looking at his fingers. For some reason, he wondered what they tasted like. Maybe like ink and stone. Fish and chips. Mmm~ Just thinking of tasting warm fried batter and sea-salty starch on those fingertips made him- Made him completely miss what England was saying.
“Wha?” America said, when England looked at him expectantly.
Heaving an exasperated sigh, the older nation crossed his arms over his chest and repeated himself. “I said, I wanted to go out. Will you drive me?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” America said after a second’s pause. Nothing weird about that. Just two guys cruising down main street. Checking out the girls. Totally, completely platonic. Nothing for Wales to get uppity about. “Lemme get my keys.”
In just a few minutes, they were all settled in the good ole Caddy, hood popped down with the wind ablowin’ in their hair. America was all smiles as they cruised through the familiar Prince William county countryside, passing through the Bull Run battlefield and through the low grassy hills and sparsely wooded terrain. England squinted in the sun, looking particularly vexed at the way the wind was making his already choppy hair even worse. However, he didn’t fail to direct the American around until they were cruising up Route 28.
America looked up at the sign to the Udvar Hazy hanger and he moved automatically towards the exit. However, England smacked him on the arm and urged him forward. “Leesburg?” America questioned, but the other nation shook his head and nodded forward. Frowning, the blue-eyed nation pressed on until they were closing in on Dulles International Airport. “Here?” America whispered, not feeling so awesome now as England directed him towards the Departures exit.
They pulled up in front of the retro 60s style airport, amid the bustle of foreign diplomats, politicians, gofers and tourists. America stopped, feeling his heart sinking into his stomach. “Are you leaving?” he asked quietly. Logically, he knew that their weird deal was going to end at some point. But he’d grown comfortable with England’s presence, reminding him so keenly of the times when England came by when he was still so big and mighty.
“Yes, of course,” England replied, turning his bright green eyes to the taller nation. He pulled a ticket out of the inner pocket of his jacket, showing the familiar Dulles-Heathrow flight. “It’s no use staying here to try to recover my memories. I need to return to my homeland.”
“Right...” America said in a terse voice, fighting down the wave of betrayal that England was just leaving him again, with no warning. Made him drive him to the airport even! “Yeah, sure. Do what you gotta do,” he said with a nonchalant shrug as he turned to stare out of the window at the taxis passing by and a family saying goodbye to their father.
England watched at him, as if seeing right through him. Then his lips curved into a small smile of victory. His thumb dragged along the ticket, revealing another ticket underneath. “Want to come?”
America’s neck nearly snapped with how quickly he turned to look at England. “Wha-wait-what-?” he said, when England suddenly leaned in, giving him one of those hot, intense gazes that made his whole body squirm.
“Come with me,” he said in quiet command, his beautiful green eyes seeming to bore right into him.
For the life of him, America couldn’t find it in himself to disagree. “Uh... right. Okay- I gotta... I gotta go and park...” Just as he was wondering how he was going to get on without his Superman toothbrush, England smiled and made none of that even matter. Oh hell, he’d done more impulsive things before. Sure, his boss was gonna kill him, but this was like an adventure in the good ol’ days!
Meanwhile, the other nation had exited and had popped the trunk, bringing out two suitcases before slamming the trunk shut. “Hurry up,” England called out to him as he stepped up to the curb. “We have to check in soon.”
Realizing that he’d been conned, America stuck out his tongue and then made the loop around the airport to get his car into the daily parking garage. He was going to have a bitch of a bill when he came back, but it was totally worth it. Especially when he came jogging up to the terminal and found England again, both of them glowing as America took the bags and hefted them onto his shoulders.
~o~
One grueling seven hour trip later, the pair of them were on the Heathrow Express headed straight for Paddington. America peered out at the familiar suburban landscape of greater London whizzing by, the small tightly knit homes and factories, tracks lined by purple and yellow wildflowers that were bright spots of colour in the otherwise grungy and gray surroundings. It was drizzling, of course, streaks of rain running horizontally across the glass. Yawning, America turned to look at England. Watched him smiling at the pale landscape. It was nice. Like, warm cup of decaf in his hands, nice.
As they drew closer, England instinctively rose and began to retrieve their belongings, moving towards the exit with their things. Without saying a word, England was quickly moving through the crowds like a native, filing out of the tills and stepping outside to hail down one of his quirky black cabs before America had a chance to catch up to him. America caught him on the arm, looking at the shorter nation in wonder. “H-hey, do you know where you’re going?”
England blinked in startlement. “Er, I...” he paused, hand drifting down as a cabbie pulled up, “No. No, I suppose I don’t. I apologize, my lay of the land seems far more accomplished than my memory of it.”
America flashed him a grin and then opened the door for England, before he followed in and hefted their bags on the older nations lap. “Chiswick, 22 Church Street,” America rattled off from rote memory with no real sense of where the place was in London. Okay, so maybe his geography was a little terrible, but at least he knew what the place should look like!
After a long jaunt through London traffic, then bursting back out into the old boroughs, they came to the small former fishing town that had been consumed by the rest of the city, spread along the Thames. The taxi pulled up to the brick-walled five bedroom Georgian house across from St. Nicholas Church and America fished out the gouging sum for the ride over.
Stepping out with their bags, he could smell the scent of hops from the Fuller’s brewery behind England’s house, the damp smell of wet moss from the church over and the sound of the Thames flowing nearby. As their cab left, it occurred to America that they had no way of getting in. “Um... Well, guess we gotta do this the hard way.” Before England could give a squawk of protest, America threw their bags over the wall and then clambered up the vines and tiny footholds to hop down the ten foot wall to the rose bushes beneath. With a grin, America let the older nation in. “After you~” he said waving England in with a flourish of his arm and a bow.
“Honestly,” England muttered, producing a key from his pocket.
“Hey, when did you-”
“I’ve had it since hospital,” England replied dryly as he tried the door. “I assume it’s the one to my own home.” The door gave way with a creak, inviting them into the gray-blue living room. The walls were nearly all lined with built in shelves, all neatly ordered just the way that England liked them, with tufted fabric sofas and chairs everywhere. England had some weird obsession with tufted furniture. Replacing the key in his pocket, the older nation set his bag down and walked silently, almost reverently, through the house.
“Anything familiar?” America questioned, watching him.
“Yes...” England replied softly, his fingers running over the spines of his favorite books, eyes catching the white light of the windowed double doors into the garden. “Everything...”
A smile touched America’s lips, hiding away the sudden bittersweet feelings that were welling up inside him. Yeah, probably should have done this from the beginning. Get England acquainted with his old life, let familiar things bring his memory back. It meant that England got all the closer to remembering him, remembering everything, and becoming the great little nation that America knew he was. Of course, along with that, they’d fall back into their old ways with both of them being standoffish in their own separate ways.
It’s for the best, he told himself, even if his heart ached to think of heading back home all by himself. “Y’know, you probably don’t have anything to eat. Want to go round to the pub?” he suggested, his stomach already hungering for something a bit more substantial than the three Mars bars he’d devoured after the plane landed.
England turned and cocked a fuzzy eyebrow in such a way that made America’s smile falter. “My, you sound like a regular Londoner,” he said, the corner of his lip curling into the beginnings of a smirk. America blushed. “Appalling accent though.” England clucked his tongue and looked around at the empty house. “Hm, very well. Why not?” He picked up his jacket and slipped back into it. “Lead on.”
Nodding, the taller nation headed out the door and back onto the street. He could see England’s little Mini parked down the way, but it wasn’t that far to the pub. Waiting just long enough for England to lock up, America took off down the street, going round the corner over to the green painted Mawson Arms/Fox and Hounds double-pubs attached to the brewery.
They ducked into the Fox and Hounds, ordering a couple pints (America secretly loved not flashing his fake ID) and fish and chips for their table. It was an odd hour in the afternoon, meaning that there weren’t throngs of people spilling out into the street like they normally did after work. It was quiet, the pub dark from the gray skies and the hardwood furnishings. It felt awkward to America, who was used to filling the void with his own chatter. After a couple moments of sipping bitter, he felt compelled to talk.
“So, you remember the story you told me about this place?” America asked, glancing over at England. “It used to be just Mawson Arms and it was owned by a husband and wife. But then they got divorced and they both wanted the pub, so they just decided to split it down the middle instead and named it two different pubs. They still hate each other, and so help anyone that takes their drink to the other side of the pub. Funny, huh?”
...Actually, that was kind of depressing. Why did he bring that up?
However, his companion only hummed thoughtfully. “So, they remain connected. Even after such a nasty separation.”
“...I guess you can see it that way?” America replied, taking a long swallow of his bitter as things fell into silence again.
The waiter came by and gave him a dirty look as she put the plates in front of them. Uh-oh. Guess he was telling that story a bit too loud. On top of that, he got those nasty mushy peas instead of the extra order of fries he wanted. Though he mighta called them fries instead of chips. And he mighta signed ‘two’ the wrong way with his hand. Still, Jesus, Brits were prickly.
They ate quietly, America nearly inhaling his food while England daintily ate his, looking perfectly content with the silence. That was until he found cause to critique the younger nation. “Why are you not touching your veg?” he demanded, looking at the pile of green peas on America’s plate.
“Because they’re gross,” America said through a mouthful of fries. He swallowed the lot down, displaying his impressive lack of a gag reflex. “They’re slimy and grainy. It’s like eating little sand-slugs.” A flash of irritation went through England’s green eyes, his slender fingers tensing around his glass. It suddenly reminded America of what he thought of what those fingers would taste like, bringing his eyes back down to his plate of fish and chips. He paled, his mouth freezing around another warm, salty chip.
The irritation was soon replaced with concern as England leaned closer. “Are you alright? You suddenly seem a bit peaky.”
America leaned away from him. “Um, yeah, totally fine.” The other nation’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Dude, seriously. Just lemme eat.”
He was quickly saved when his phone blared its most obnoxious “Chihuahua” ringtone. (Tony rigged it in a way that made his default ringtone switch when he entered England’s timezone. America thought it was way too cool to try to fix.) America flashed England a smile and slid off his seat. “I’ll just get this.” He dashed outside into the light, weird, misting drizzle and accepted the call. “Yello?”
Silence.
America blinked. “Hello?” Nothing. “Anyone there~?” Well, this was stupid. Who was prank calling him? Squinting at the phone, he read out the word- Ca-Na-Da. Huh, sounded like some telemarketing company, which was weird because he thought his number was private. Sigh. Darn White House interns.
The phone suddenly blared again, making him nearly drop it. After a heroic save from a puddle, America lifted it up to see the caller ID. Ugh, Wales. He completely forgot about him. Crap, he probably had no idea that they were in town. This could be awkward. America ignored the call, shoving the phone back into his pocket to head back inside.
“Everything alright?” England asked as he sat back down. The phone buzzed again, the split-second before it rang. America punched down on the Ignore button.
“Yup! All hunky-dory,” he replied cheerfully, flashing a bright smile. Buzz. Ignore. Munching on another fry, America asked, “So, since we’re here. What do you want to do?”
“I would like to explore the area a bit more,” England said after a moment. He delicately picked up a chip and took a neat bite from it. “I would be grateful if you could accompany me.” Then he gave America another one of those looks. “You seem to know your way around quite well...” he said in a voice that was softly suggestive. “How often have you been to my home?”
“Whoa, whoa! Wait a minute!” America said, flailing his arms. “It’s not like that, dude!” His phone rang again and on impulse he growled and crushed the darned thing one-fisted in his pocket, the plastic and metal squealing and cracking in his palm. The mental ‘oh shit’ came a second later, the younger nation’s face draining of color.
“What was that?” England demanded, staring at him along with the rest of the pub.
“Nothing,” America squeaked. He coughed, trying to get his voice to a more manly register. “So yeah, how ‘bout them Giants?”
“Whot?” England asked, utterly baffled.
“Nevermind,” America sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So yeah, sure. I can be your tour guide. Let’s hit up the Science Museum tomorrow.” He ignored the way that England mouthed the words ‘Science Museum?’ in complete stupefaction. A moment later, the shock eased, giving way to the normal cross look that America usually received from his old caretaker.
“I did not exactly have museums in mind,” England all but growled.
“Why not? You practically belong in one,” America replied, thinking of how England practically lived in the national museums when he was at his central London flat. However, from the way that England’s face turned white with anger, it was clear that the older nation did not take it as a compliment. His hand was white-knuckle tight around his glass and he looked at America as though seeing him anew for the first time.
“Do you always see fit to insult me?” he said in a low voice. “If so, I can see why nothing came of our reunion.”
“Wha- No, I didn’t mean it like that~!” America cried, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace to try to placate the hot-tempered nation. God, he did not need to get kicked out of these droopy islands when England’s memory was still on the fritz. If Wales wasn’t going to kill him already, he definitely would for that. “Jeebus. Alright, fine. No museums! I promise! We’ll just walk around and get completely lost. Cool?”
England’s temper simmered down, though he gave America another long and studious look. “...Fine,” he said after a moment. The tension eased from his shoulders as though released. “We’ll take the tube in and start with the City of London. Then work out from there. Maybe Southwark next.”
America blinked. “Wait, but we’re already in London,” he said, as though it were obvious. A little voice in the back of his head blared in warning, but it was already too late.
Immediately, England’s eye ticked in irritation. “No, we are in Greater London. The City of London is the single square-mile where the walls of Londinium used to be, which is where my financial district is. Surrounding that is Westminster and south of the Thames is Southwark and South Bank! I have told you this a million times! How do you manage not to absorb a single word I say!”
America was about to argue back, but his eyes lit up in realization. “Hey! You remember something!” he whooped, excitement wiping away any desire to argue back.
Once again, England had that startled look, as if he were caught in headlamps. “Ah- did I...” he said, his own temper fizzling down once more. “So I did.” He gave the younger nation a tentative smile. “It seems that this venture is working after all.” His green eyes glanced around to the other members of the pub and saw their furtive glances from over the lips of their glasses and over their shoulders. “Let’s return home then.”
Nodding, America tossed back the rest of his pint and rose to his feet. The pair of them headed out into the gray drizzle, back towards the house. Nothing more was said of the sudden upsurge of bickering, but he knew what it meant. They were going back to their usual ways again. No more easy companionship. Everything was going to be competition and fighting between them. All that history was going to pull them apart all over again.
~o~
The next day, they took Turnham Green over to Mansion House, landing right near the house of the Mayor of the City of London. It turned out that England played tour guide more than America did, tugging America around where he willed. He showed off the dragon monument at the entrance of the City, the Gherkin (not the giant Glass Dildo, thank you very much,) and the funky building that America knew he saw in a B-rated scifi movie or two, along with the Bank of England, which he showed off with such pride. Somehow, though, things took a turn for the worse as their tiredness got the better of them as fatigue turned into general disgruntlement.
They stopped at a Wetherspoons pub for lunch, managing to nab a table overlooking the Tower of London. Things grew worse from there. America sulked through his panini, complaining about how they didn’t even know how to make Italian food right in pubs and they said freaking ‘pasta’ wrong. That only made England tense up in defense and declared that his islands were far closer to Italy than the United States, thank you.
Somehow, the progression from noon to night only made their squabbling worse and when they went to back to England’s house, the both of them remained in terse silence, too annoyed to even look each other in the eye. America slumped onto the couch, kicking off his muddy shoes, before putting his feet up.
“America! Don’t trek your dirty runners all over the place!” England snapped at him as he slammed the door closed. America groaned, sinking down further into his seat. He did not need this right now. His head was pounding from the bickering, feeling as low as when he and England were arguing at that fateful conference where England rushed into oncoming traffic.
England stormed up to him, kicking his feet off of the coffee table. Tea table. Whatever. “Why are you ignoring me?” he demanded harshly. America didn’t answer, which only seemed to fuel his foul mood more. “What’s gotten into you!”
“Because I’m looking at the inevitable!” the younger nation hissed back, sending a dull glare at England. “You’re such an idiot, England! I don’t see why you think we can be anything more than we were. Intimate, my ass. We just can’t!” He ached, his chest feeling like a hollow void of frustration from the day’s events, from the knowledge that whatever England was thinking was just some stupid fantasy from someone who didn’t know any better. “You see that, don’t you?”
England regarded him for a long moment, his jaw clenching and his hands growing into tight fists at his sides. His eyes, with those beautiful green hues, were livid with anger. This was not the same sweet little England that he had been caring for all this while in his home. He was so close to being back to himself and he looked like he was about to throttle him at the drop of a hat.
Suddenly, England lurched forward. Before America could even breath, he felt the other nation on top of him, knees straddling his hips, hands clawing at him, and mouth- Mouth locked onto his own. America dropped his jaw in shock, giving England leave to slip his tongue into his mouth, lips demanding a hungry kiss. America let out a soft groan, feeling his thoughts melt away, leaving just the aching desire to wrench England into his lap.
That clever mouth sucked at his lower lip, tongue teasing against his own. Hissing softly, America tilted his head back, falling against the arm of the couch. He shuffled quickly, making a more comfortable position for them both as England’s greedy fingers tore open his shirt and found the warm flesh underneath. Yet they were already sliding down his abs, fingers ducking underneath the waist of his pants, easily wriggling off the slack pants.
At the cool draft over his bared legs, America finally managed to regain something of himself, pulling back to stare at the older nation. No. No, no, this couldn’t happen. This is exactly what Wales said would happen! He couldn’t take advantage of England like this!
His large hands found England’s shoulders, pushing him back up away from himself. “E-England...” he said, voice still hoarse with lust. “Stop. We have to stop. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
The other nation fought against him, letting out a cry of frustration. “I know exactly what I’m doing! I’m memory deficient! Not deranged!” He turned his hard green eyes on the taller country, demanding that he understand. “I want this. You want this.” His hand palmed over the sharp tent in America’s boxers, making the younger nation hiss. “We’re both consenting adults. Where’s the harm?”
He was giving America another one of those looks - those dark, hungry looks that spoke of unsated desire, of want and need. America’s blood was on fire, every nerve of him itching to reach out and grab him. England breathed softly, sensing his impending surrender, and leaned in again to take his mouth in another demanding kiss.
It took all America had to push England away from him again, hefting him over to the other side of the couch. “I said, no!” he snarled, rebellion surging up in him. “I mean it! I’m not going to have a random one-off with you because you’re hot for me!” Pulling up his pants, America stood up and shrugged on his shirt. “I’m going to bed. If you try anything,” he warned, giving England the evil eye, “I will drag you back across the pond so fast your head will spin! And then make you listen to Britney Spears for ten days straight! You got me!”
He didn’t wait for an answer. America only stooped down to grab his beloved jacket and hustled up the stairs to his usual guest bed. He only glanced back once to see England looking up after him, green eyes ever seeming to bore right into him. A shiver ran down America’s spine as he snapped his gaze back upstairs and stepped up into the dimly lit hallway.
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