"Roadblocks"
Title: Roadblocks
Author: wizzard890
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “They marginalize me, they laugh at me, they call me a threat! And when I try to explain myself, they ignore me!” She smacks her hand against the wall again; framed photographs shake, threaten to fall. “Why can’t they just listen?”
Author's Notes: I don't really know what this is. Besides omfg het, because it's been a long time. I had an Israel character bunny (as opposed to plot bunny, I guess) eating away at me and I had to write something. Partially spawned by being on a heavily liberal college campus during the Gaza conflict.
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He’s never seen anyone slam a door so hard in his life.
“Amaris, wait! Hang on a second!”
“Lech lehizdayen!”
America catches up with Israel halfway down the hall, just in time to watch her pound her fist into the wall near the bathroom. It comes away red.
“Shit!” He darts forward and grabs her shoulders, spins her small body around to face him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
She shoves him off. “Did you hear him? Did you hear what he said?”
“That’s just England being England. He doesn’t mean-”
“Oh, yes he does!” Israel snarls. “France agrees with him. So does Sweden, for that matter, and Austria and Italy, and that German bastard!"
“I don’t think they’re-” America’s voice is drowned in a stream of furious Hebrew, and he winces at the few words he understands. English surfaces again eventually, like turning the tuning knobs on a radio.
“The only reason anyone even speaks to me is because of you!”
America spreads his hands. “Well, yeah, but-”
“They marginalize me, they laugh at me, they call me a threat! And when I try to explain myself, they ignore me!” She smacks her hand against the wall again; framed photographs shake, threaten to fall. “Why can’t they just listen?”
A hallway’s-worth of blue carpeting swallows up her shout, and the sudden silence is deafening.
“Hey,” America whispers, finally deciding it’s safe to approach, “I listen. I always have.” He tucks a strand of hair behind Israel’s ear. “Isn’t that enough?”
She laughs then, a tired little exhalation. “Everyone seems to think it should be.”
America wants to kiss her. He always does when she’s like this, angry and half-wild, when she does the things he should do, needs to do, in the name of freedom. But there’s, you know, treaties and international law and bullshit like that. Roadblocks.
Her eyes flash as he leans in and they’re brown like coffee and chocolate and Christ, why does she make him feel like such a kid?
“America...” Israel murmurs against his mouth, smiles at his shaking. “Are you all right?”
“No,” the kiss ends abruptly, and America looks away, “And you can...I mean, it’s cool if you wanna call me ‘Al’. If that’s okay. I stopped calling you ‘Israel’ a long time ago-”
He’s silenced by another kiss, more insistent this time, and he suddenly can’t believe that this Nation, older than Rome, older than Russia, who’s been pulled apart and torn open more times than he can count, is standing here in a pantsuit and sensible heels with her hands fisted in the front of his jacket.
Once, years ago, he’d asked her how she’d made it this far. As he understood it, once a country is destroyed and (this is important) the people are scattered, a Nation stops existing. Israel should have died ages ago. But she had rolled over, kissed his bare shoulder and said that her people had always had a home, they just weren’t always in it.
He still doesn’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean.
“Am-” Israel stops, licks her lips, “Alfred, I think it’s time you went back inside. I've taken too much of your time as it is.” She straightens his glasses, an absent, almost motherly gesture that puts knots in America’s stomach. “You know they simply can’t function without you.”
For less than a second, America is stupidly, irrationally hurt. Then, a shrug, and the bravado’s back; he’s himself again. “Careful with the sarcasm, sweetheart. I’m delicate.”
Israel chuckles and lets him kiss her one last time, on the forehead. “I know.”
“Are you gonna..?” America jerks his thumb back up the hallway.
“I’ll be along in a minute.”
He walks backwards towards the conference room, footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, and watches Israel straighten the picture frames.
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The name "Amaris" means "promised by God" in Hebrew.
"Lech lehizdayen" is Hebrew for "Fuck off".
Many European countries aren't exactly enthusiastic about the way Israel handled the conflict in Gaza. And Israel, true to form, doesn't exactly give a shit.
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Reviews are greatly appreciated!
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Author: wizzard890
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “They marginalize me, they laugh at me, they call me a threat! And when I try to explain myself, they ignore me!” She smacks her hand against the wall again; framed photographs shake, threaten to fall. “Why can’t they just listen?”
Author's Notes: I don't really know what this is. Besides omfg het, because it's been a long time. I had an Israel character bunny (as opposed to plot bunny, I guess) eating away at me and I had to write something. Partially spawned by being on a heavily liberal college campus during the Gaza conflict.
+++
He’s never seen anyone slam a door so hard in his life.
“Amaris, wait! Hang on a second!”
“Lech lehizdayen!”
America catches up with Israel halfway down the hall, just in time to watch her pound her fist into the wall near the bathroom. It comes away red.
“Shit!” He darts forward and grabs her shoulders, spins her small body around to face him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
She shoves him off. “Did you hear him? Did you hear what he said?”
“That’s just England being England. He doesn’t mean-”
“Oh, yes he does!” Israel snarls. “France agrees with him. So does Sweden, for that matter, and Austria and Italy, and that German bastard!"
“I don’t think they’re-” America’s voice is drowned in a stream of furious Hebrew, and he winces at the few words he understands. English surfaces again eventually, like turning the tuning knobs on a radio.
“The only reason anyone even speaks to me is because of you!”
America spreads his hands. “Well, yeah, but-”
“They marginalize me, they laugh at me, they call me a threat! And when I try to explain myself, they ignore me!” She smacks her hand against the wall again; framed photographs shake, threaten to fall. “Why can’t they just listen?”
A hallway’s-worth of blue carpeting swallows up her shout, and the sudden silence is deafening.
“Hey,” America whispers, finally deciding it’s safe to approach, “I listen. I always have.” He tucks a strand of hair behind Israel’s ear. “Isn’t that enough?”
She laughs then, a tired little exhalation. “Everyone seems to think it should be.”
America wants to kiss her. He always does when she’s like this, angry and half-wild, when she does the things he should do, needs to do, in the name of freedom. But there’s, you know, treaties and international law and bullshit like that. Roadblocks.
Her eyes flash as he leans in and they’re brown like coffee and chocolate and Christ, why does she make him feel like such a kid?
“America...” Israel murmurs against his mouth, smiles at his shaking. “Are you all right?”
“No,” the kiss ends abruptly, and America looks away, “And you can...I mean, it’s cool if you wanna call me ‘Al’. If that’s okay. I stopped calling you ‘Israel’ a long time ago-”
He’s silenced by another kiss, more insistent this time, and he suddenly can’t believe that this Nation, older than Rome, older than Russia, who’s been pulled apart and torn open more times than he can count, is standing here in a pantsuit and sensible heels with her hands fisted in the front of his jacket.
Once, years ago, he’d asked her how she’d made it this far. As he understood it, once a country is destroyed and (this is important) the people are scattered, a Nation stops existing. Israel should have died ages ago. But she had rolled over, kissed his bare shoulder and said that her people had always had a home, they just weren’t always in it.
He still doesn’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean.
“Am-” Israel stops, licks her lips, “Alfred, I think it’s time you went back inside. I've taken too much of your time as it is.” She straightens his glasses, an absent, almost motherly gesture that puts knots in America’s stomach. “You know they simply can’t function without you.”
For less than a second, America is stupidly, irrationally hurt. Then, a shrug, and the bravado’s back; he’s himself again. “Careful with the sarcasm, sweetheart. I’m delicate.”
Israel chuckles and lets him kiss her one last time, on the forehead. “I know.”
“Are you gonna..?” America jerks his thumb back up the hallway.
“I’ll be along in a minute.”
He walks backwards towards the conference room, footsteps muffled by the thick carpet, and watches Israel straighten the picture frames.
+++
The name "Amaris" means "promised by God" in Hebrew.
"Lech lehizdayen" is Hebrew for "Fuck off".
Many European countries aren't exactly enthusiastic about the way Israel handled the conflict in Gaza. And Israel, true to form, doesn't exactly give a shit.
+++
Reviews are greatly appreciated!
+