A Year of Surprises 12
Pairing: UKUS
Rating/Warnings: M for language, sex, mpreg, and angst
Word count: 2372
Summary: Nations in times of prosperity are capable of reproducing. Of course there's a problem with this: when they do go into heat it doesn't stop until they conceive. This is the story of America's first pregnancy.
Chapter One
May 1954
England stared at the door in front of him. He swallowed and looked down at the paper clutched in his hand, making sure for the millionth time that he had the right apartment. At that point he was just stalling for time. America grown so much and England had fallen so hard, being around his presence was like looking into the sun and it was blaring just inside.
He had more right to be here than the other two times he'd come. He and America were friends now, at least. "A special relationship" His boss had said. But for some reason he was never so nervous: not when he had stumbled over drunk and heartbroken in 1788, and not a century later when he'd come with the pretext of trade. He was fully entitled to come for a visit, and it wasn't unusual for that to include a shag. But he just felt so weak now, like America could break him in half with a finger. Finally rationing had ended, but he still felt like a shell of his formal self. Why had it come now?
He screwed up his courage. Even if he was half dead, he'd had the world at his command not too long ago and above all else he was a British gentleman and had to stand firm. He knocked three times on the door. It sounded a lot more sure than his shaking hands should have allowed. (He told himself that the trembling was from that hunger that hadn't stopped gnawing at his bones since the war. That was why it had gone on since the Blitz.)
"Hey!" America said opening the door, "I was wondering when you'd finally knock."
England ignored the barb and turned slightly away as though being there was an annoying chore, "Hullo. My boss asked me to come visit, improve relations and all that."
"Sure he did. I think he'd tell you to move in if the queen would let him."
America let out a laugh, but something seemed wrong. He was still standing in the doorway, like there was something he didn't want England to see. Well, that was all the more reason to talk himself inside.
"Mind if I come in? It's raining out so it'd be nice to warm up a bit."
"Sure," America said, finally stepping back, "That's fine."
His tone was slightly forced, making it clear that it wasn't fine, but England deserved a turn pretending to be oblivious. He smiled and entered. There was nothing unusual in his apartment that England noticed. There were pictures of America with various people on the walls. His furniture was simple and cheaply made, but he had a television and a few comfortable-looking chairs around it.
"I don't have any tea or nothin, but I can make you some coffee," America said stiffly.
"That would be nice." England said. Any excuse to stay was a good one. He didn't know how long it would take him to talk his way into America's bed, but he wanted to do it before America got suspicious.
He sat at the table and allowed America to bustle around the kitchenette. He looked around the house, trying to remember the layout so that he was less likely to bump into something while he was kissing America towards the bed. Or couch. It didn't really matter where as long as it happened soon.
"Do you want some milk?" America asked, leaning from around the open refrigerator door. "I don't have any cream."
"And some sugar too, please." England replied, turning to look at him.
It was at that point that England saw that he had some crude crayon drawings taped to the door. Wow, so all of those rumors about his art were true. England was about to make a snide comment about that when he noticed a lot of them were of him and the same little girl. Now that was odd. He knew America loved children, but why would he keep the same subject? He actually opened his mouth to ask when he got his answer.
"Daddy?" A little voice called from the hallway, "I thought you were gonna come read me a bedtime story."
America's eyes widened and he turned around. England peeked around him to look at the girl. She was a little blonde thing, probably only about six years old. She held a little white teddy bear and was wearing a pale blue nightdress. But the thing that struck him about her the most were her eyes, her huge brilliantly green eyes. His eyes.
He couldn't help but stare at her. He began to notice other little pieces, her nose, her chin. God, why hadn't America told him?
"You weren't going to tell America about yours. You haven't told America about yours."
"Don't worry, Lizzie, I will." America walked over and lifted her into his arms, "I was about to when one of my friends came to the door."
The girl, Lizzie- He had named her Elizabeth! - Looked at England over America's shoulder, "Who is he? I don't think I've seen him before."
England's heart lurched. She hadn't. He hadn't been there. He'd fathered plenty of children without looking back. He was a fucking nation! That's what they did. Portugal never knew about Audrey. France never knew about Mary. That sailor never knew about Jonathan. Hell, America never knew about Martha and Allan. So why- why did he feel so bad about this Lizzie?
"We're old friends. His name is Arthur."
She waved, "Hi Arthur!"
"Hello," he said, more out of habit than anything since his brain had short-circuited.
"Yep, but now you have to go to sleep."
"But he just got here!"
"I know, Liz," He kissed her forehead, "But it's past your bedtime. Besides, it's been years since I've seen Artie, so we have a lot to catch up on."
He walked away with his daughter in his arms. England, for his part, just stared down at his coffee. He couldn't think, he just stared, watching the steam rise into the air.
America returned about ten minutes later and sat down on the other side of the table. His face was more serious than England had seen it since he found out about Hiroshima.
"I'm guessing from the look on your face you know now, huh?" He asked.
England nodded, "And she doesn't. She doesn't even know who you really are."
"No. She's too young. I'll explain it to her later when she's old enough not to tell anyone."
"Will you tell her about me?"
"I don't know. Maybe." He took a long drink from his own coffee, "But I don't think you're here just to chat. If it was to build relations you would have called."
England smiled, "I'm actually quite glad you're not as stupid as everyone likes to think."
America smiled back, "Well, it's easier if people think you can't tell your ass from an ice pick, so I'm glad I pull it off."
"Quite well."
"Now enough with the small talk." He set his cup down, "Liz is an early riser and I have to make her breakfast before school tomorrow."
England sighed and placed his elbows on the table. "Well, since I've seen your daughter now I'll be forward with you. It's my turn, I suppose. I'm in heat."
"And you came all the way over here?"
"Yes."
"Why? It seems like an awfully long way to go when you're surrounded by a million other guys on your own continent."
England wanted to reply, wanted to come up with some logical reason why he would choose America to father his children, to father all of his children since that day, but he couldn't. So instead he just asked, "Well, why did you pick me for Liz?"
America blushed for a moment but shook it off, "It was the baby boom. You were around."
"Then why did you name her Elizabeth?"
"You didn't invent the name, you know."
"I do." He stared hard at America. He hoped he was right. He hoped to God that America still- that he still-
America sighed. "Come with me."
He led England down the hall and into what England assumed was his bedroom. He had older pictures here. The ones outside were all from the end of World War II on. Here there were pictures from the turn of the century, the late 1800s, the civil war, the dawn of photography when everything was slightly blurry, and even small paintings from earlier. They were all mixed together, probably based more upon preference than date.
America led him over to his desk and gestured to the pictures. The first one, furthest to the left, was the three of them back before the revolution: England on the left, America on the right, and a fully grown Adrian between them.
"You still have this?" He asked, tracing the frame.
"Yeah. You let me keep it when you went back home, and that's all I have to remember him now." He looked sad. Well, the first was always the hardest.
So England smiled and said, "Yes, that and the fact that I will never let it go that you were absolutely sure he was a girl. I had to show you before you would believe me."
America laughed, "Well, you know, young and stupid."
"Are the rest yours too?" England asked, eyeing the other three frames.
"Yeah. This one's Lucy," He gestured to the next one, a slim beautiful woman with long curly blond hair and fairly thick eyebrows. "And that's Eddie," He said. This one was a photograph of a boisterous looking man with England's eyes and smile. "And, obviously, that's Liz from her birthday last year." America finished, pointing to the picture on the furthest right. "I have more, but that's how I like to remember my kids, you know?"
"I do." He looked at the four people in front of him, "Are any of them-"
"Eddie's still alive. He and his wife would go out exploring when they were younger. I'm still amazed that didn't kill 'em. Eventually when they got too old they settled down. They live in Wyoming now. Huge plot of land, big happy slobbery dog, they say they're gonna give it to me when they finally go."
England laughed, "He sounds like your son."
"He's definitely yours too. He likes to pretend things don't matter to him, but when he decides he likes something he never lets it go. So then," He turned back to England, "Why did you let me go?"
"I tried not to," England said, "You know that. I fought tooth and nail over it. You remember."
"I don't mean that. That- it had to happen." He looked seriously at England, "You never would have stopped seeing me as a kid if it wasn't for that."
"No, no I wouldn't have." He admitted, setting his hand on America's, "We've agreed on that much."
"But you didn't come back. After that was over you didn't want anything to do with me."
They were both silent for a few moments and then England finally said, "No, America. I did." He pulled out his wallet and took out two photographs. "Their names are Martha and Allan. Martha's is a photo of a painting so it's a little out of focus, but Allan's was taken in 1900."
"My God," America said after studying the pictures for a few moments, "You too?"
"Yes." England put his wallet away. "After you, after Adrian, there was no one else. I didn't want anyone else. Just you."
America doubled over with laughter. He leaned on the desk and took off his glasses. There were a few tears coming out. He was laughing so hard he was crying. England stood there awkwardly, unsure of what America was thinking to make him laugh like that. Eventually he straightened up. There was still a stray giggle or two and he was smiling from ear to ear, but he could stand and open his eyes again.
"What was that about?" England demanded.
"My God, we're both such idiots!" America laughed again and wrapped his arms around England.
England was about to say something, but it was driven out of his head when America leaned forward and kissed him long and hard. His eyelids fluttered closed. Fuck, America hadn't kissed him in almost two hundred years.
He felt lightheaded when they pulled away, "All this time," He whispered, "All this time we could have been together."
"Hush, don't worry about that." America stroked his hair and set his chin on England's shoulder, "What matters is we're here now. We can make up for that lost time. I mean, we've got forever."
"We do." England agreed, "I have a suitcase in my car. Should I go get it and come back?"
"Yeah. Sleep here tonight, okay?"
England rushed down and back up with his suitcase. By the time he returned, America was laying in bed, already wearing pajamas. When he saw England enter, he smiled.
"Go ahead and change and then come to bed. That stuff needs to dry and we have a long day tomorrow if we want to introduce Lizzie to her Daddy."
England pulled off his clothes, keeping an eye on America to see if sex was on the docket. When he hesitated to pull out his own pajamas, America laughed and said, "Hey, it's been a while so you have to take me to dinner first. Besides, Lizzie has to meet her dad before she gets a little brother or sister."
England smiled back and redressed himself before sliding into bed beside America. They kissed again, slowly and tenderly this time. England allowed himself to pillow his head on America's chest as America wrapped his arms and legs around him like a vine on a chain link fence. They fell asleep like that, truly together for the first time in more years than either cared to count.
The End
A/n: I figured you all could use some more feels after the Hetalia season 5 news. Thank you to everyone who's come all this way with me. I hope you enjoyed the story :D Yes, this is the real end. No other epilogue (and probably no sequel). Just a bittersweet new beginning for our couple. Now onto the next project!