APH // And then there was just Us // USUK
Title: And then there was just us
Rating: M
Genre: Action/Drama I think.
Characters/Pairings: America/England
Summary: England and America must put aside their differences, work together and perhaps, sort out a few things in the process.
Notes: So yeah, zombies. I swear it sounded much better in my head. *sob* Feels so incomplete.
Written for the usxuk 2009 secret santa exchange
It had all started with the promise and decision for the United States of America and Great Britain ‘to renew and refresh the special relationship’. One thing had led to another and despite England’s vehement protests, they had come to a decision to allow the personifications of their countries on extended leave together because ‘what better way to improve a relationship then to take a vacation?’
“…you’ll look for any excuse to avoid work.”
“Haha, I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
Supposedly, it was a great chance for them to reconnect and work out their differences since admittedly, they both hadn’t really made much of an effort to socialise with each other aside outside from meetings and other work-related functions as of late. The rare times they did meet up, conversation was stilted at best and even America, who normally would never shut up, found it hard to break the awkward and tense atmosphere that always followed. Both felt the strange combination of relief and disappointment when they awkwardly said goodbye and parted.
It was strange to think that they had almost been friends. At the very least, they had been on friendly terms until something happened. Well, he assumed that something happened though for the life of him, he had no idea what. It had pretty much come out of the blue. Conversations had grown shorter, tenser and things had turned awkward. Suddenly, he had been noticing little things that he had never noticed before, like how cute England looked when flustered and how attractive he looked when he smiled and the unique shade of green his eyes were that made him want to spout sappy crap and the endearing way he furrowed his brow when thinking and…and…and he had to stop this really bizarre train of thought.
Although initially hyped at the idea of getting two weeks off, America had forgotten to include a few things into the equation. Sure, he figured that the stodgy Brit would be a kill-joy but he’d thought that he could ditch him if he got too cranky - never mind the whole point of the joint vacation - or if things got awkward as it seemed to these days. And yes, the trip (to the classified location in case terrorists decided to attack which England just sighed and chalked down to America’s paranoia) was every bit as awkward as predicted. Once they had reached their destination though, what he didn’t expect was that after England had flat out refused to join him in doing anything, he found a lack of enjoyment in doing activities that he normally would have enjoyed. England being anti-social and stubborn kept haunting his thoughts which frustrated him to no end.
As it turned out, he needn’t have worried so much for fate worked in mysterious ways and this time round, it seemed as though fate saw it fit to conspire with terrorists.
And that was how they ended up in their current predicament, in the top floor of one of America’s hotels. Apparently, the group of bioterrorists that had been caught and apprehended some time ago still had a few members that managed to escape. They had somehow caught wind of the super secret vacation plan (which was looking fishier and fishier) and were releasing a substance into the hotel in what was a pretty pathetic last ditch attempt at destroying the personification of their nation.
"This is exactly the way I envisioned us going about 'recalibrating our relationship'," England spat out, as they made their way to the nearest elevator. It
America followed, oddly at ease considering the situation. Then again, it was America."Really? I wouldn’t have thought so."
"I was being sar-...why do I even bother?"
“Because you’re old and senile?”
England ignored that remark in favour of irritably jabbing at the elevator buttons a few times. Upon discovering that they weren’t working, he turned around to glare accusingly at America as though it was his fault. “The lifts aren’t working.”
The glare was easily brushed off as America reasoned, “It doesn’t matter anyway. In movies, the elevator usually crashes and burns in these sorts of situations.” In fact, the whole situation was starting to look like the set-up for a really cheap horror movie.
“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”
“No worries!” he chirped, ever oblivious to the sarcasm just dripping from England’s voice, “We’ll just have to take the stairs.”
“We’re on the thirtieth floor,” England protested, brow scrunching up in that cu-, uh, England-y way.
“So? Oh, you’re too much of an old man,“ America taunted, “Want me to carry you?” As soon as the last words were out of his mouth, he internally winced. Maybe a few years ago, those words would have been immediately countered with a snarky comeback. Instead, they both shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye-contact while ignoring the voice of reason that told them exactly why they were reacting in such a manner to such simple words.
Eventually, England found his voice, a few seconds too late . “Oh, sod off,” he half-heartedly forced out before heading for the stairs. America’s eyes trailed after him for a moment before he followed after him. It was going to be a long day and hopefully, they would(n’t) encounter more of those zombies.
---
It was too much to hope for that the confrontation with the zombies was a one off thing but that was alright. Action was good. Action meant no forced conversation and no time to dwell on weird things.
America quickly raised his semi-automatic rifle and fired three shots in quick succession, successfully nailing their latest attackers in the head. Watching the bodies make a satisfying thump as they hit the ground, he crowed, “Hah! Those zombies don’t stand a chance against me.”
England just rolled his eyes at the boasts, pistol in hand. “For the last time America, they are not zombies.” Just victims of the Solunum virus that induced a state of zombification. These details were important damn it!
They had made their way to the twentieth floor already without too much difficulty and he hadn’t really needed to use his pistol yet seeing as the other nation was so trigger happy. The amount that he managed to procure out of nowhere was simply shocking. How on Earth did he hide so many firearms under that jacket?
Turning fully around to face him, America just shrugged dismissively, “Hey, if it looks like a zombie, sounds like a zombie and acts like a zombie, then it’s a (ninja disguised as a) zombie.”
“I suppose you could be right,” England agreed, making America look over with badly hidden surprise. He continued as he brushed past America to descend the stairs, “Though I’m sure the saying goes if it looks like an idiot, sounds like an idiot and acts like an idiot, then it’s (America) an idiot.”
Pouting slightly, America followed, their footsteps echoing loudly on the concrete stairs. Still, at least the banter was familiar enough. “You’re paying me out aren’t you?”
“It isn’t like you to be quite so astute,” was the smug reply. Even if he couldn’t see the other’s expression , it was pretty easy to visualise the slight quirk of his lips. They were pretty nice lips too.
“Fine then,” America shot back before his thoughts trailed off too much, “A zombie by any other name will smell just as putrid.”
England nearly missed a step as he turned around to stare aghast. It was America’s turn to be smug as he brushed past England to take the lead. He fumbled a bit before managing to formulate a reply. “Now, you’re butchering Shakespeare?”
“Geez, will nothing make you happy? I’m trying to compromise a little here, England. I don’t see you putting forth any effort to 'recalibrating our relationship',” America sulked as he opened the door to the sixteenth floor main hallway as the rest of the stairwell seemed conveniently blocked. He didn’t want to take his chances trying to budge the barricade in case he alerted the enemies of their location.
That point gave England pause. Grudgingly, he acknowledged that he might have been difficult on purpose. It wasn’t his fault though! That insufferable git was just being so obnoxious and rude and loud and intrusive and if he would just get out and stay out of his mind then he wouldn’t be so annoyed. He ignored the rational voice in his head that told him America possessed no such mind controlling powers.
The soft carpet of the hallway had both its advantages and disadvantages. It muffled the sounds of their footsteps but the footsteps of others couldn’t be heard either. This hallway seemed suspiciously empty though and they lapsed into a semi-companionable silence. Glancing every now and then at his companion, he noticed that the other had an unreadable expression on his face. Most likely, over-analysing the situation and other England type things.
“Sooooooo, this is just like old times huh?” America cautiously ventured, “Guess, I’ll be trusting you to watch my back.”
He watched as something shifted in England’s expression. Stopping and turning around, he watched warily as England stalked towards him. Before he knew what was happening, his feet had been swept out from under him and he was sitting on the floor, facing down the barrel of England’s gun. A vague sense of déjà vu prodded at his mind.
Rain. It was raining.
“What’s stopping me from putting a bullet through your head right now?” England coolly asked, eyes not betraying any of his thoughts, “You betrayed me once after all. Why shouldn’t I return the favour?”
It was funny, how at ease he felt, despite the situation. In a rare moment of insight, he found that he understood what England was actually asking. A few smartass quips made their way into his mind ‘So you admit you’re crazy?’ ‘ Do I look like I’m siding with France?‘ but eventually, he just settled on a simple statement.“You wouldn’t shoot me.”
The air was thick and charged with tension. It was as though everything had frozen and there was only this moment. He returned England’s stare unwaveringly, neither challenging nor submissive. Minutes passed, or perhaps it was just seconds, but something changed in those moments. Something passed between them and it was understood.
There were many threats to him in the world, but he just instinctively knew that England wasn’t one of them. Even, when he heard the trigger being cocked, he didn’t flinch or look away.
A body hit the floor with a thump.
America winced, rubbing his left ear as he started to get up. “Geez, did you have to fire so close to my ear?” He turned his head to have a look at the zombie that England had just dispatched. Guess it hadn’t been as dead as he thought.
“Sorry,” England murmured as he pulled out a handkerchief. Reaching up, he began to gently wipe at the splatter on America’s cheek. His gaze was drawn to England’s face and he found himself entranced at the uncharacteristically soft expression. When was the last time he had seen that look? Finishing England looked up and their gazes locked. Feeling strangely breathless at having the other so close to him, it would be so easy to just lean forward and close the gap…
The distant sound of glass shattering pulled them abruptly from whatever reverie they had been under. Pulling back, England quickly tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket, before unnecessarily setting about straightening his clothes. “Ah, you had a bit of gore on your cheek.”
America was in a similar flustered state as he took a sudden interest in checking whether his gun needed reloading or not, “O-Oh, well thanks.”
After a sufficient amount of awkwardly being occupied with-anything-else-but-the-other-person in-the-room time had passed, America cleared his throat loudly to break the silence. ”Let’s keep going then. I’ll lead, no objections!”
A wry smile made its way onto England’s face. “Then lead the way.”
Omake:
Click. “Fuck, I’m out of ammo.”
“America, you idiot, move.”
Swish. Thump.
“…where did you pull that sword from?”
“W-Well, if you’re allowed to lug around that many guns, I’m allowed to have my own weaponry too!”
“Oh-ho! So you finally decided to remove the stick up your ass?”
“Wha-…GET BACK HERE YOU BLOODY GIT!!”
…OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT IDK
Rating: M
Genre: Action/Drama I think.
Characters/Pairings: America/England
Summary: England and America must put aside their differences, work together and perhaps, sort out a few things in the process.
Notes: So yeah, zombies. I swear it sounded much better in my head. *sob* Feels so incomplete.
Written for the usxuk 2009 secret santa exchange
It had all started with the promise and decision for the United States of America and Great Britain ‘to renew and refresh the special relationship’. One thing had led to another and despite England’s vehement protests, they had come to a decision to allow the personifications of their countries on extended leave together because ‘what better way to improve a relationship then to take a vacation?’
“…you’ll look for any excuse to avoid work.”
“Haha, I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
Supposedly, it was a great chance for them to reconnect and work out their differences since admittedly, they both hadn’t really made much of an effort to socialise with each other aside outside from meetings and other work-related functions as of late. The rare times they did meet up, conversation was stilted at best and even America, who normally would never shut up, found it hard to break the awkward and tense atmosphere that always followed. Both felt the strange combination of relief and disappointment when they awkwardly said goodbye and parted.
It was strange to think that they had almost been friends. At the very least, they had been on friendly terms until something happened. Well, he assumed that something happened though for the life of him, he had no idea what. It had pretty much come out of the blue. Conversations had grown shorter, tenser and things had turned awkward. Suddenly, he had been noticing little things that he had never noticed before, like how cute England looked when flustered and how attractive he looked when he smiled and the unique shade of green his eyes were that made him want to spout sappy crap and the endearing way he furrowed his brow when thinking and…and…and he had to stop this really bizarre train of thought.
Although initially hyped at the idea of getting two weeks off, America had forgotten to include a few things into the equation. Sure, he figured that the stodgy Brit would be a kill-joy but he’d thought that he could ditch him if he got too cranky - never mind the whole point of the joint vacation - or if things got awkward as it seemed to these days. And yes, the trip (to the classified location in case terrorists decided to attack which England just sighed and chalked down to America’s paranoia) was every bit as awkward as predicted. Once they had reached their destination though, what he didn’t expect was that after England had flat out refused to join him in doing anything, he found a lack of enjoyment in doing activities that he normally would have enjoyed. England being anti-social and stubborn kept haunting his thoughts which frustrated him to no end.
As it turned out, he needn’t have worried so much for fate worked in mysterious ways and this time round, it seemed as though fate saw it fit to conspire with terrorists.
And that was how they ended up in their current predicament, in the top floor of one of America’s hotels. Apparently, the group of bioterrorists that had been caught and apprehended some time ago still had a few members that managed to escape. They had somehow caught wind of the super secret vacation plan (which was looking fishier and fishier) and were releasing a substance into the hotel in what was a pretty pathetic last ditch attempt at destroying the personification of their nation.
"This is exactly the way I envisioned us going about 'recalibrating our relationship'," England spat out, as they made their way to the nearest elevator. It
America followed, oddly at ease considering the situation. Then again, it was America."Really? I wouldn’t have thought so."
"I was being sar-...why do I even bother?"
“Because you’re old and senile?”
England ignored that remark in favour of irritably jabbing at the elevator buttons a few times. Upon discovering that they weren’t working, he turned around to glare accusingly at America as though it was his fault. “The lifts aren’t working.”
The glare was easily brushed off as America reasoned, “It doesn’t matter anyway. In movies, the elevator usually crashes and burns in these sorts of situations.” In fact, the whole situation was starting to look like the set-up for a really cheap horror movie.
“Oh, that makes me feel so much better.”
“No worries!” he chirped, ever oblivious to the sarcasm just dripping from England’s voice, “We’ll just have to take the stairs.”
“We’re on the thirtieth floor,” England protested, brow scrunching up in that cu-, uh, England-y way.
“So? Oh, you’re too much of an old man,“ America taunted, “Want me to carry you?” As soon as the last words were out of his mouth, he internally winced. Maybe a few years ago, those words would have been immediately countered with a snarky comeback. Instead, they both shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye-contact while ignoring the voice of reason that told them exactly why they were reacting in such a manner to such simple words.
Eventually, England found his voice, a few seconds too late . “Oh, sod off,” he half-heartedly forced out before heading for the stairs. America’s eyes trailed after him for a moment before he followed after him. It was going to be a long day and hopefully, they would(n’t) encounter more of those zombies.
---
It was too much to hope for that the confrontation with the zombies was a one off thing but that was alright. Action was good. Action meant no forced conversation and no time to dwell on weird things.
America quickly raised his semi-automatic rifle and fired three shots in quick succession, successfully nailing their latest attackers in the head. Watching the bodies make a satisfying thump as they hit the ground, he crowed, “Hah! Those zombies don’t stand a chance against me.”
England just rolled his eyes at the boasts, pistol in hand. “For the last time America, they are not zombies.” Just victims of the Solunum virus that induced a state of zombification. These details were important damn it!
They had made their way to the twentieth floor already without too much difficulty and he hadn’t really needed to use his pistol yet seeing as the other nation was so trigger happy. The amount that he managed to procure out of nowhere was simply shocking. How on Earth did he hide so many firearms under that jacket?
Turning fully around to face him, America just shrugged dismissively, “Hey, if it looks like a zombie, sounds like a zombie and acts like a zombie, then it’s a (ninja disguised as a) zombie.”
“I suppose you could be right,” England agreed, making America look over with badly hidden surprise. He continued as he brushed past America to descend the stairs, “Though I’m sure the saying goes if it looks like an idiot, sounds like an idiot and acts like an idiot, then it’s (America) an idiot.”
Pouting slightly, America followed, their footsteps echoing loudly on the concrete stairs. Still, at least the banter was familiar enough. “You’re paying me out aren’t you?”
“It isn’t like you to be quite so astute,” was the smug reply. Even if he couldn’t see the other’s expression , it was pretty easy to visualise the slight quirk of his lips. They were pretty nice lips too.
“Fine then,” America shot back before his thoughts trailed off too much, “A zombie by any other name will smell just as putrid.”
England nearly missed a step as he turned around to stare aghast. It was America’s turn to be smug as he brushed past England to take the lead. He fumbled a bit before managing to formulate a reply. “Now, you’re butchering Shakespeare?”
“Geez, will nothing make you happy? I’m trying to compromise a little here, England. I don’t see you putting forth any effort to 'recalibrating our relationship',” America sulked as he opened the door to the sixteenth floor main hallway as the rest of the stairwell seemed conveniently blocked. He didn’t want to take his chances trying to budge the barricade in case he alerted the enemies of their location.
That point gave England pause. Grudgingly, he acknowledged that he might have been difficult on purpose. It wasn’t his fault though! That insufferable git was just being so obnoxious and rude and loud and intrusive and if he would just get out and stay out of his mind then he wouldn’t be so annoyed. He ignored the rational voice in his head that told him America possessed no such mind controlling powers.
The soft carpet of the hallway had both its advantages and disadvantages. It muffled the sounds of their footsteps but the footsteps of others couldn’t be heard either. This hallway seemed suspiciously empty though and they lapsed into a semi-companionable silence. Glancing every now and then at his companion, he noticed that the other had an unreadable expression on his face. Most likely, over-analysing the situation and other England type things.
“Sooooooo, this is just like old times huh?” America cautiously ventured, “Guess, I’ll be trusting you to watch my back.”
He watched as something shifted in England’s expression. Stopping and turning around, he watched warily as England stalked towards him. Before he knew what was happening, his feet had been swept out from under him and he was sitting on the floor, facing down the barrel of England’s gun. A vague sense of déjà vu prodded at his mind.
Rain. It was raining.
“What’s stopping me from putting a bullet through your head right now?” England coolly asked, eyes not betraying any of his thoughts, “You betrayed me once after all. Why shouldn’t I return the favour?”
It was funny, how at ease he felt, despite the situation. In a rare moment of insight, he found that he understood what England was actually asking. A few smartass quips made their way into his mind ‘So you admit you’re crazy?’ ‘ Do I look like I’m siding with France?‘ but eventually, he just settled on a simple statement.“You wouldn’t shoot me.”
The air was thick and charged with tension. It was as though everything had frozen and there was only this moment. He returned England’s stare unwaveringly, neither challenging nor submissive. Minutes passed, or perhaps it was just seconds, but something changed in those moments. Something passed between them and it was understood.
There were many threats to him in the world, but he just instinctively knew that England wasn’t one of them. Even, when he heard the trigger being cocked, he didn’t flinch or look away.
A body hit the floor with a thump.
America winced, rubbing his left ear as he started to get up. “Geez, did you have to fire so close to my ear?” He turned his head to have a look at the zombie that England had just dispatched. Guess it hadn’t been as dead as he thought.
“Sorry,” England murmured as he pulled out a handkerchief. Reaching up, he began to gently wipe at the splatter on America’s cheek. His gaze was drawn to England’s face and he found himself entranced at the uncharacteristically soft expression. When was the last time he had seen that look? Finishing England looked up and their gazes locked. Feeling strangely breathless at having the other so close to him, it would be so easy to just lean forward and close the gap…
The distant sound of glass shattering pulled them abruptly from whatever reverie they had been under. Pulling back, England quickly tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket, before unnecessarily setting about straightening his clothes. “Ah, you had a bit of gore on your cheek.”
America was in a similar flustered state as he took a sudden interest in checking whether his gun needed reloading or not, “O-Oh, well thanks.”
After a sufficient amount of awkwardly being occupied with-anything-else-but-the-other-person in-the-room time had passed, America cleared his throat loudly to break the silence. ”Let’s keep going then. I’ll lead, no objections!”
A wry smile made its way onto England’s face. “Then lead the way.”
Omake:
Click. “Fuck, I’m out of ammo.”
“America, you idiot, move.”
Swish. Thump.
“…where did you pull that sword from?”
“W-Well, if you’re allowed to lug around that many guns, I’m allowed to have my own weaponry too!”
“Oh-ho! So you finally decided to remove the stick up your ass?”
“Wha-…GET BACK HERE YOU BLOODY GIT!!”
…OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT IDK