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everythingismagicTitle: You Can't Take the Sky From Me [FF.NET Chapter Eight] [ Writing Journal Previous Chapters ]
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano. Future pairings: GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland, Belarus--->Russia
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,191
Summary: Ace Pilot America is on a mission for the World Military when a chance encounter with a group of Sky-Pirates leads him to team up with their captain, England, against a malevolent group that wants to fill the sky with zeppelins. [USxUK- Steampunk AU]
Chapter Summary: America feigned innocence, although his cheeks were pink nonetheless. “Wha- I wasn’t staring at you. Why would I? You're always scowling and your eyebrows look funny."
Said eyebrows furrowed and his frown grew deeper. “Shut up, it’s… not like I enjoy looking at you either.” And then America laughed, and England felt his face flush and he leaned over the table as well, his hands firm upon the wood. “What in the blazes are you laughing at?”
The aviator lifted one of his hands and tapped England on the nose. “You.”
Author's Note: The sexual tension is strong with America and England. Spain and Romano fans might enjoy this chapter. ;)
Spain started at the sound of America’s fist pounding against the wall. “America?”
“I just got back from a mission with Italy,” he elucidated, his voice quiet. He slid his hand down the wall and his arm relaxed at his side. “I was flying back from it when England called me.”
The captain blinked in surprise. “Ah, my friend, it’s a small world?”
America shook his head in the negative. “It’s not the coincidence of it that’s so… maddening.” He glanced over to the sleeping Vargas brother, relieved at least, that he appeared to breathing steadily. “It’s what we were doing over there.” He leaned his back on the wall and pressed his head against it. “We were at what we thought could be a Kosmider base, but everything was gone by the time we searched it. If only we had gone there at an earlier point and---“
“What happened is no one’s fault,” Spain cut in. “No one but the Kosmider’s.” His soft and carefree features hardened into something firm and resolute. He averted his eyes back to Romano and kneeled back down, moving to stroke the unconscious first mate’s russet brown hair. “Romano will be fine.” His other hand grasped the crucifix necklace that hung at his throat, and he ran his fingers over it, muttering words that America could not understand. He dropped the chain and leaned forward, placing a kiss upon Romano’s forehead.
Silence settled in the room, Spain tenderly attending to Romano and America watching on awkwardly. It was broken several minutes later when the door creaked open and England stepped in, closing it behind him.
“Spain?” England’s boots clanked against the wooden floor as he walked over, standing next to Spain at the bedside. America leaned against the wall further, and he wondered if England had even noticed he was still there. Spain pushed himself off his knees and dusted his pants off, turning away from Romano and facing England. “I assume you’re going to be on my ship for quite some time.”
“If that’s all right, England. With Romano hur—“
“It’s fine,” England interrupted crossing his arms. “But there will be no more of that… rubbish you pulled out earlier, when I snatched you two.” Spain’s eyes widened. “I understand honor. I understand your need to adhere to tradition. But if you had gone down with your ship, and if you had left Romano behind I… would have found a way to kill you again.”
America recalled when England had swung down on the rope to rescue the pair and the short but heated argument he had with Spain. So this was what they were fighting over.
“There is no way in the whole of the sky that I’d let Romano join my crew without you there to regulate him.” Much to America’s surprise, Spain laughed lightly. “And I’m loath to think how much of a bloody mess he’d be without you.”
“Fair enough, England.” Spain reached forward to shake his hand. England returned the favor, his hold lingering for a few moments as he spoke again.
“Welcome to the Victoria, then. You may stay here as long as you wish to.” He gave him a reassuring smile. His green eyes then grew wide when he noticed the presence of America, who he indeed, had hitherto not noticed. America was standing in the corner of the room, the dim light of the room almost hiding him completely. “You--- “
“D’you want me to leave?” America inquired, suddenly feeling very out of place.
England shook his head. “No, don’t. I mean it’s late and I imagine you’re quite famished, aren’t you?”
America chortled. “I just meant leave the room.”
“Oh.” He glanced away from the aviator. “I'll, erm, go and help Liechtenstein prepare supper.” His coat whipped behind him as he swiftly left the room, leaving America and Spain alone with Romano again.
Once he was sure England was out of earshot, Spain smiled congenially. “See, he does like you.”
“Wha-?”
“Ah, nothing.” Spain shrugged. “Surely you like him, right?”
America flushed and his blue eyes grew large. “He is… not as annoying as he could be.”
Quiet fell between the two again, and America considered leaving the room when a series of coughs brought him back to attention. Hoping, he immediately averted his gaze to the bed.
Romano’s eyes were fluttering open, and America noticed they were indeed the same honey brown of Italy’s. He couldn’t observe anything more about the young man’s appearance, because within a mere moment, Spain was blocking his view. He’d leapt forward and wrapped his arms around Romano, fiercely holding the other pirate to his chest and crying freely.
“Y-you…”
Spain’s words were halted when he was soundly shoved in the stomach. “Oi, Spain!” Romano snapped, finding himself unable to push his captain off of him in his current state of weakness. “Get the hell off of me, you jerk. You’re going to suffocate me, dammit.” He coughed again.
This man is… nothing like Italy. America gaped.
“I’m just so glad you’re okay!” Spain pulled away from the embrace, sitting down on the bed next to Romano.
“You’d better be!” Romano crossed his arms and looked sour. “I heard what England said.”
“You were--- awake?”
“I’ve been awake since England came in.” Romano rubbed one of the burns on his forearm. “I was waiting for you all to shut up for a second or two before letting you know.”
He scratched the back of his head. “Ah well, what England said--- “
“Dammit Spain. I want you to know that if you had left me alone on this ship with that stick-up-his-ass captain and his obnoxious swordsman and his crazy gunner, I would have killed you.”
Spain grinned weakly. “I seem to notice a pattern tonight of people wanting to kill me when I’m already dead.”
Romano’s cheeks reddened and he looked down at his lap as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “Oi, Spain,” his voice grew more solemn and he stifled a cough. “T—t—thanks… for saving me, as idiotic as I’m sure it was.”
“Oh Romano…”
And Spain’s arms were wrapped around Romano once more, and his tears were staining the cloth of Romano’s shoulder and America could feel the relief and the joy Spain felt permeating that very room.
When Romano leaned up into Spain and the other man leaned down, their lips crashing together in a kiss that America felt very much was intended to be a clandestine thing, the aviator left the room. The fact that, amongst all the tragedy he’d seen that day, there was some happiness to be found, brightened his mood considerably as he headed back up to the deck.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
America halted in his journey up deck as the pleasant smell of warm baking food entered his nostrils. He backed up a few steps and pushed open the nearest door. It was larger than the bedroom doors, heavy wood carved with the same emblem that America had seen on England’s blanket.
A hap shod kitchen greeted him. Pans and pots hung sideways on hooks and spatulas covered in ingredients were thrown next to a tub filled with water. The oven’s flames were hot even from where he stood, and the stove was covered in not one, but three tea kettles. In the center of the kitchen was a wooden table, several chairs surrounding it. He imagined England’s crew sitting around this table, England sipping tea (it just seemed like him) and Prussia leaning back in his chair and resting his dirty boots on top of the table. Switzerland would be scowling at Prussia in between bites of dinner.
The room wasn’t unoccupied. A young girl was reaching down and pulling a dish out of the oven. A pair of bows decorated her short blonde hair, and America knew immediately that she had to be Switzerland’s sister. She turned around and nearly dropped the dish in shock when she saw America. The oven mitts that covered her hands were comedically large. “Ah, excuse me!” Her cheeks pinked shyly. “You must be Captain Jones.” She set the dish on the counter and slipped the oven mitts off. “I’m Liechtenstein.”
“America!” He stepped forward and grinned. “What’ya making?”
She brightened. “Oh it’s shepherd’s pie. Captain Kirkland told me to make something nice considering…”
England stepped out of a pantry America had hitherto not noticed with a stack of plates and several cloth napkins. “Ah, America.” He flushed and tightened his grip on the plates. “What are you doing here? I didn’t invite you into the kitchen.”
America blinked. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He walked backward and stood outside the open door. He knocked. “England, can I come in the kitchen?”
The pirate smacked the plates down onto the table and sighed. “Christ, you idiot.”
He sauntered back in the door and gave England that most arrogant, infuriating smirk. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” America leaned over onto the kitchen table, his elbows resting on the wood and his chin in his hands. “That shepherd’s pie looks pretty good and it smells nice too.”
“Thank you,” Liechtenstein replied.
“So then, I take it that the breakfast I was given the other day was someone else’s cooking.” America’s eyes wandered to an apron that hung on the wall. It was also decorated with the crest that he was beginning to believe was the Victoria’s Jolly Roger. He’d have to take a closer look at the top of the mast later.
“England cooked that,” came a new voice. Sealand had barged into the room and was leaning against the far wall.
The captain was now furiously pouring himself a cup of tea. America was giving him a look. It was obnoxious and yet a tad dopey, expectant even. He also, due to the position he was leaning in, had his rump soundly in the air. What the hell is he waiting for--- what is he doing? He blushed when America shifted slightly, his back end moving with him. England clenched the handle of the teacup in his unbandaged hand and a splash of the hot liquid landed on his shirt. He huffed and gulped his tea rather inelegantly, cursing under his breath when it scalded his tongue.
Liechtenstein had begun to slice the shepherd’s pie, placing a serving on each plate. Sealand just blinked in confusion at the captain and the aviator.
England cleared his throat. “Liechtenstein. Take dinner to your brother and Prussia. Sealand, take a plate down to Spain.”
“Romano is awake,” America piped up.
He sighed in relief and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “And one for Romano.”
Once the two children had left the room, England spoke, “You appear to be back to normal, as obnoxious and imbecilic as ever.”
America shrugged, still not shifting from his position half on, half off the table. “You mean I’m as awesome as ever?”
“Hardly,” England scoffed, sipping his tea again.“If this is how you behave when you're in a good mood, remind me to avoid you at all costs.” America didn’t reply, and he didn’t look away. It was as if he were expecting, hoping England would blow his top. “Would you stop fucking staring at me?” England finally snapped, slamming his teacup onto the table.
America feigned innocence, although his cheeks were pink nonetheless. “Wha- I wasn’t staring at you. Why would I? You're always scowling and your eyebrows look funny."
Said eyebrows furrowed and his frown grew deeper. “Shut up. It’s... not as if I enjoy looking at you, either.” And then America laughed, and England felt his face flush and he leaned over the table as well, his hands firm upon the wood. “What in the blazes are you laughing at?”
The aviator lifted one of his hands and tapped England on the nose. “You.” England swatted his hand away with a furious blush. The pair stared at each other for a moment more, and America was about to speak again when Sealand ran unceremoniously back into the kitchen.
“Okay I’m ready for my dinner now! Spain and Romano said thanks. Well, Spain said thanks at least,” Sealand rambled, his voice chipper. He pulled up a chair and sat down between America and England, blinking when he noticed how close they were. “Um…”
England pulled away, almost knocking a chair over as he turned to the counter, his cheeks having grown even hotter. America pivoted as well, swiftly toward the door. He put his arms behind his back and twiddled his fingers in the middle. America ignored the flush creeping across his cheeks and began to whistle innocently.
“Oh shut it. I hate whistling,” England grumbled, serving himself a plate of shepherd’s pie and then shoving one toward Sealand. The cabin boy snatched a fork and a napkin and began to dig in.
America shrugged and stopped whistling, deciding to sit down at the table as well. He was about to make a quip as to how England needed to serve him as well, when a full plate slid across the table. Next a fork was tossed at him, and America caught it nimbly.
“Would you like some tea?” England offered, attempting to keep calm.
He lifted a forkful of shepherd’s pie into his mouth. “Got any soda? I can’t stand tea.”
The pirate gritted his teeth. “It’s tea or water.”
“Or beer,” Sealand cut in.
America paused between bites. “Tea then, but with four scoops of sugar.”
England’s green eyes widened. “You are joking.”
He was speaking with his mouth full now, which England found disgusting. “I hate tea, but I like sugar.”
The other man poured the liquid from the kettle to the teacup and spooned in four heaping scoops of sugar. “Appalling.” He shook his head as he gave the tea to America.
The aviator leaned back in his chair, resting his head on his hands. “Any time!”
Sealand had finished scarfing down his shepherd’s pie and was finding the interaction between the two adults increasingly bizarre. He excused himself and left the room.
America sat back straight up and proceeded to continue eating. “So Spain and Romano,” he finally spoke. England paused mid-raise of his fork.
“Yes?”
“They uhh…” he laughed awkwardly. “They were… making out.”
England rolled his eyes. “My God. Two men snogging! How utterly scandalous.”
The other man blushed, which England found strange. “That’s not what I meant. I just… didn’t realize they were so… close.”
The captain stood up and poured himself another cup of tea. “Don’t ever ask Romano. He’ll deny that he even likes him. Preposterous really, considering how obvious it is.” He shot a surreptitious glance at America. “If Spain hadn’t cared so deeply for Romano, he would have gone down with the ship, no matter how hard I tried to convince him otherwise.”
America leaned his temple on his hand, idly toying with the fork. “A captain going down with his ship. Sounds like a heroic thing to do, but I didn’t think pirates—“
“Oh, shut up,” England cut him off, sitting back down. “You can never underestimate the importance of a ship to a pirate captain. She is the soul of the crew.” He gestured with his fork. “You can just replace your plane, but a pirate can’t just replace their ship, and they certainly can’t replace their crew. You lose those things, and there’s no greater failure as a captain.”
America’s expression grew pensive as he listened to England explicate. “You would never do that, would you England?” He finally asked, his voice far less confident than it normally was.
England’s green eyes widened. “That is...” He shook his head. “She will never go down. The Kosmider will not take the Victoria.”
The aviator sighed, his question remaining unanswered. The hitherto delicious shepherd’s pie tasted slightly sour as he finished his plate off.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
America was about to leave the kitchen when Liechtenstein came into the room. She cut herself a serving of dinner and sat down to eat it.
“Don’t worry about doing the dishes,” England said. “You can take care of them tomorrow. We’re all tired.”
Liechtenstein fidgeted with her hands. “Thank you, Captain.”
America did not fail to notice how much friendlier he was to this girl than he was to Sealand. The trio sat in silence for a few minutes until someone else walked in.
It was Spain. He was smiling and holding his two empty plates. “Ah, England, Romano is awake!”
England nodded. “Yes, I had heard. America told me.”
Spain sauntered over to the wash basin and slipped the plates and forks into it. “I figured. You sent two plates, after all! He’s going to be fine. He even argued with me and insisted that I stop trying to force feed him ‘cause of course he could take care of himself.”
“That sounds like Romano.” He gave Spain a genuine smile. “I’m glad he’s well.”
The reminder that Italy’s brother was healthy, and his partner’s exuberance over it cheered America up considerably, although his unanswered question to England still hung at the back of his mind. Without thinking, America yawned loudly.
“You gonna offer your aviator a room for the night?” Spain winked at England.
England huffed and crossed his arms. “I suppose it’s the least I can do. Come with me, America.” Blinking in surprise, America stood up and followed England out of the kitchen. “You must be tired,” he said once they were in the hallway.
“Come to think of it, I haven’t actually slept since before I left for my mission.”
England cocked an eyebrow. “Which was?”
America rubbed the back of his head and laughed sheepishly. “I left last night, but I haven’t slept since yesterday morning.”
“Bloody hell, America! That’s almost two days. You really are mad," he chided him. He’d stopped in front of a chamber door, which he now pushed open. America walked behind him into the room. It was, like Spain and Romano’s room, clean but sparsely decorated. There were crisp white sheets and a fluffy looking comforter that looked ridiculously welcoming to America.
America ran over and leapt onto the bed, relishing the feel of it bouncing beneath him. “I have to admit, the room is pretty good of you. Thanks.”
“You’re likely just saying that because you’re so exhausted.” England cleared his throat and flushed.
The aviator shrugged and lay down on his back. “Huh, probably. Night then?”
England nodded. “Good night.” He turned around to leave the room, but America interrupted.
“One more thing.” He pushed himself up on the pillows and kicked the comforter out from underneath him. “Are you going to tuck me in like the first night I was here?” His grin was cheeky, smug, and maddening because it should have annoyed him more than it did.
England’s cheeks bloomed crimson red and he glared back at the man on the bed. “You are… infuriating.” He slammed the door behind him, America’s infectious laughter entering his ears as he did so.
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano. Future pairings: GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland, Belarus--->Russia
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,191
Summary: Ace Pilot America is on a mission for the World Military when a chance encounter with a group of Sky-Pirates leads him to team up with their captain, England, against a malevolent group that wants to fill the sky with zeppelins. [USxUK- Steampunk AU]
Chapter Summary: America feigned innocence, although his cheeks were pink nonetheless. “Wha- I wasn’t staring at you. Why would I? You're always scowling and your eyebrows look funny."
Said eyebrows furrowed and his frown grew deeper. “Shut up, it’s… not like I enjoy looking at you either.” And then America laughed, and England felt his face flush and he leaned over the table as well, his hands firm upon the wood. “What in the blazes are you laughing at?”
The aviator lifted one of his hands and tapped England on the nose. “You.”
Author's Note: The sexual tension is strong with America and England. Spain and Romano fans might enjoy this chapter. ;)
Spain started at the sound of America’s fist pounding against the wall. “America?”
“I just got back from a mission with Italy,” he elucidated, his voice quiet. He slid his hand down the wall and his arm relaxed at his side. “I was flying back from it when England called me.”
The captain blinked in surprise. “Ah, my friend, it’s a small world?”
America shook his head in the negative. “It’s not the coincidence of it that’s so… maddening.” He glanced over to the sleeping Vargas brother, relieved at least, that he appeared to breathing steadily. “It’s what we were doing over there.” He leaned his back on the wall and pressed his head against it. “We were at what we thought could be a Kosmider base, but everything was gone by the time we searched it. If only we had gone there at an earlier point and---“
“What happened is no one’s fault,” Spain cut in. “No one but the Kosmider’s.” His soft and carefree features hardened into something firm and resolute. He averted his eyes back to Romano and kneeled back down, moving to stroke the unconscious first mate’s russet brown hair. “Romano will be fine.” His other hand grasped the crucifix necklace that hung at his throat, and he ran his fingers over it, muttering words that America could not understand. He dropped the chain and leaned forward, placing a kiss upon Romano’s forehead.
Silence settled in the room, Spain tenderly attending to Romano and America watching on awkwardly. It was broken several minutes later when the door creaked open and England stepped in, closing it behind him.
“Spain?” England’s boots clanked against the wooden floor as he walked over, standing next to Spain at the bedside. America leaned against the wall further, and he wondered if England had even noticed he was still there. Spain pushed himself off his knees and dusted his pants off, turning away from Romano and facing England. “I assume you’re going to be on my ship for quite some time.”
“If that’s all right, England. With Romano hur—“
“It’s fine,” England interrupted crossing his arms. “But there will be no more of that… rubbish you pulled out earlier, when I snatched you two.” Spain’s eyes widened. “I understand honor. I understand your need to adhere to tradition. But if you had gone down with your ship, and if you had left Romano behind I… would have found a way to kill you again.”
America recalled when England had swung down on the rope to rescue the pair and the short but heated argument he had with Spain. So this was what they were fighting over.
“There is no way in the whole of the sky that I’d let Romano join my crew without you there to regulate him.” Much to America’s surprise, Spain laughed lightly. “And I’m loath to think how much of a bloody mess he’d be without you.”
“Fair enough, England.” Spain reached forward to shake his hand. England returned the favor, his hold lingering for a few moments as he spoke again.
“Welcome to the Victoria, then. You may stay here as long as you wish to.” He gave him a reassuring smile. His green eyes then grew wide when he noticed the presence of America, who he indeed, had hitherto not noticed. America was standing in the corner of the room, the dim light of the room almost hiding him completely. “You--- “
“D’you want me to leave?” America inquired, suddenly feeling very out of place.
England shook his head. “No, don’t. I mean it’s late and I imagine you’re quite famished, aren’t you?”
America chortled. “I just meant leave the room.”
“Oh.” He glanced away from the aviator. “I'll, erm, go and help Liechtenstein prepare supper.” His coat whipped behind him as he swiftly left the room, leaving America and Spain alone with Romano again.
Once he was sure England was out of earshot, Spain smiled congenially. “See, he does like you.”
“Wha-?”
“Ah, nothing.” Spain shrugged. “Surely you like him, right?”
America flushed and his blue eyes grew large. “He is… not as annoying as he could be.”
Quiet fell between the two again, and America considered leaving the room when a series of coughs brought him back to attention. Hoping, he immediately averted his gaze to the bed.
Romano’s eyes were fluttering open, and America noticed they were indeed the same honey brown of Italy’s. He couldn’t observe anything more about the young man’s appearance, because within a mere moment, Spain was blocking his view. He’d leapt forward and wrapped his arms around Romano, fiercely holding the other pirate to his chest and crying freely.
“Y-you…”
Spain’s words were halted when he was soundly shoved in the stomach. “Oi, Spain!” Romano snapped, finding himself unable to push his captain off of him in his current state of weakness. “Get the hell off of me, you jerk. You’re going to suffocate me, dammit.” He coughed again.
This man is… nothing like Italy. America gaped.
“I’m just so glad you’re okay!” Spain pulled away from the embrace, sitting down on the bed next to Romano.
“You’d better be!” Romano crossed his arms and looked sour. “I heard what England said.”
“You were--- awake?”
“I’ve been awake since England came in.” Romano rubbed one of the burns on his forearm. “I was waiting for you all to shut up for a second or two before letting you know.”
He scratched the back of his head. “Ah well, what England said--- “
“Dammit Spain. I want you to know that if you had left me alone on this ship with that stick-up-his-ass captain and his obnoxious swordsman and his crazy gunner, I would have killed you.”
Spain grinned weakly. “I seem to notice a pattern tonight of people wanting to kill me when I’m already dead.”
Romano’s cheeks reddened and he looked down at his lap as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “Oi, Spain,” his voice grew more solemn and he stifled a cough. “T—t—thanks… for saving me, as idiotic as I’m sure it was.”
“Oh Romano…”
And Spain’s arms were wrapped around Romano once more, and his tears were staining the cloth of Romano’s shoulder and America could feel the relief and the joy Spain felt permeating that very room.
When Romano leaned up into Spain and the other man leaned down, their lips crashing together in a kiss that America felt very much was intended to be a clandestine thing, the aviator left the room. The fact that, amongst all the tragedy he’d seen that day, there was some happiness to be found, brightened his mood considerably as he headed back up to the deck.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
America halted in his journey up deck as the pleasant smell of warm baking food entered his nostrils. He backed up a few steps and pushed open the nearest door. It was larger than the bedroom doors, heavy wood carved with the same emblem that America had seen on England’s blanket.
A hap shod kitchen greeted him. Pans and pots hung sideways on hooks and spatulas covered in ingredients were thrown next to a tub filled with water. The oven’s flames were hot even from where he stood, and the stove was covered in not one, but three tea kettles. In the center of the kitchen was a wooden table, several chairs surrounding it. He imagined England’s crew sitting around this table, England sipping tea (it just seemed like him) and Prussia leaning back in his chair and resting his dirty boots on top of the table. Switzerland would be scowling at Prussia in between bites of dinner.
The room wasn’t unoccupied. A young girl was reaching down and pulling a dish out of the oven. A pair of bows decorated her short blonde hair, and America knew immediately that she had to be Switzerland’s sister. She turned around and nearly dropped the dish in shock when she saw America. The oven mitts that covered her hands were comedically large. “Ah, excuse me!” Her cheeks pinked shyly. “You must be Captain Jones.” She set the dish on the counter and slipped the oven mitts off. “I’m Liechtenstein.”
“America!” He stepped forward and grinned. “What’ya making?”
She brightened. “Oh it’s shepherd’s pie. Captain Kirkland told me to make something nice considering…”
England stepped out of a pantry America had hitherto not noticed with a stack of plates and several cloth napkins. “Ah, America.” He flushed and tightened his grip on the plates. “What are you doing here? I didn’t invite you into the kitchen.”
America blinked. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He walked backward and stood outside the open door. He knocked. “England, can I come in the kitchen?”
The pirate smacked the plates down onto the table and sighed. “Christ, you idiot.”
He sauntered back in the door and gave England that most arrogant, infuriating smirk. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” America leaned over onto the kitchen table, his elbows resting on the wood and his chin in his hands. “That shepherd’s pie looks pretty good and it smells nice too.”
“Thank you,” Liechtenstein replied.
“So then, I take it that the breakfast I was given the other day was someone else’s cooking.” America’s eyes wandered to an apron that hung on the wall. It was also decorated with the crest that he was beginning to believe was the Victoria’s Jolly Roger. He’d have to take a closer look at the top of the mast later.
“England cooked that,” came a new voice. Sealand had barged into the room and was leaning against the far wall.
The captain was now furiously pouring himself a cup of tea. America was giving him a look. It was obnoxious and yet a tad dopey, expectant even. He also, due to the position he was leaning in, had his rump soundly in the air. What the hell is he waiting for--- what is he doing? He blushed when America shifted slightly, his back end moving with him. England clenched the handle of the teacup in his unbandaged hand and a splash of the hot liquid landed on his shirt. He huffed and gulped his tea rather inelegantly, cursing under his breath when it scalded his tongue.
Liechtenstein had begun to slice the shepherd’s pie, placing a serving on each plate. Sealand just blinked in confusion at the captain and the aviator.
England cleared his throat. “Liechtenstein. Take dinner to your brother and Prussia. Sealand, take a plate down to Spain.”
“Romano is awake,” America piped up.
He sighed in relief and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “And one for Romano.”
Once the two children had left the room, England spoke, “You appear to be back to normal, as obnoxious and imbecilic as ever.”
America shrugged, still not shifting from his position half on, half off the table. “You mean I’m as awesome as ever?”
“Hardly,” England scoffed, sipping his tea again.“If this is how you behave when you're in a good mood, remind me to avoid you at all costs.” America didn’t reply, and he didn’t look away. It was as if he were expecting, hoping England would blow his top. “Would you stop fucking staring at me?” England finally snapped, slamming his teacup onto the table.
America feigned innocence, although his cheeks were pink nonetheless. “Wha- I wasn’t staring at you. Why would I? You're always scowling and your eyebrows look funny."
Said eyebrows furrowed and his frown grew deeper. “Shut up. It’s... not as if I enjoy looking at you, either.” And then America laughed, and England felt his face flush and he leaned over the table as well, his hands firm upon the wood. “What in the blazes are you laughing at?”
The aviator lifted one of his hands and tapped England on the nose. “You.” England swatted his hand away with a furious blush. The pair stared at each other for a moment more, and America was about to speak again when Sealand ran unceremoniously back into the kitchen.
“Okay I’m ready for my dinner now! Spain and Romano said thanks. Well, Spain said thanks at least,” Sealand rambled, his voice chipper. He pulled up a chair and sat down between America and England, blinking when he noticed how close they were. “Um…”
England pulled away, almost knocking a chair over as he turned to the counter, his cheeks having grown even hotter. America pivoted as well, swiftly toward the door. He put his arms behind his back and twiddled his fingers in the middle. America ignored the flush creeping across his cheeks and began to whistle innocently.
“Oh shut it. I hate whistling,” England grumbled, serving himself a plate of shepherd’s pie and then shoving one toward Sealand. The cabin boy snatched a fork and a napkin and began to dig in.
America shrugged and stopped whistling, deciding to sit down at the table as well. He was about to make a quip as to how England needed to serve him as well, when a full plate slid across the table. Next a fork was tossed at him, and America caught it nimbly.
“Would you like some tea?” England offered, attempting to keep calm.
He lifted a forkful of shepherd’s pie into his mouth. “Got any soda? I can’t stand tea.”
The pirate gritted his teeth. “It’s tea or water.”
“Or beer,” Sealand cut in.
America paused between bites. “Tea then, but with four scoops of sugar.”
England’s green eyes widened. “You are joking.”
He was speaking with his mouth full now, which England found disgusting. “I hate tea, but I like sugar.”
The other man poured the liquid from the kettle to the teacup and spooned in four heaping scoops of sugar. “Appalling.” He shook his head as he gave the tea to America.
The aviator leaned back in his chair, resting his head on his hands. “Any time!”
Sealand had finished scarfing down his shepherd’s pie and was finding the interaction between the two adults increasingly bizarre. He excused himself and left the room.
America sat back straight up and proceeded to continue eating. “So Spain and Romano,” he finally spoke. England paused mid-raise of his fork.
“Yes?”
“They uhh…” he laughed awkwardly. “They were… making out.”
England rolled his eyes. “My God. Two men snogging! How utterly scandalous.”
The other man blushed, which England found strange. “That’s not what I meant. I just… didn’t realize they were so… close.”
The captain stood up and poured himself another cup of tea. “Don’t ever ask Romano. He’ll deny that he even likes him. Preposterous really, considering how obvious it is.” He shot a surreptitious glance at America. “If Spain hadn’t cared so deeply for Romano, he would have gone down with the ship, no matter how hard I tried to convince him otherwise.”
America leaned his temple on his hand, idly toying with the fork. “A captain going down with his ship. Sounds like a heroic thing to do, but I didn’t think pirates—“
“Oh, shut up,” England cut him off, sitting back down. “You can never underestimate the importance of a ship to a pirate captain. She is the soul of the crew.” He gestured with his fork. “You can just replace your plane, but a pirate can’t just replace their ship, and they certainly can’t replace their crew. You lose those things, and there’s no greater failure as a captain.”
America’s expression grew pensive as he listened to England explicate. “You would never do that, would you England?” He finally asked, his voice far less confident than it normally was.
England’s green eyes widened. “That is...” He shook his head. “She will never go down. The Kosmider will not take the Victoria.”
The aviator sighed, his question remaining unanswered. The hitherto delicious shepherd’s pie tasted slightly sour as he finished his plate off.
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America was about to leave the kitchen when Liechtenstein came into the room. She cut herself a serving of dinner and sat down to eat it.
“Don’t worry about doing the dishes,” England said. “You can take care of them tomorrow. We’re all tired.”
Liechtenstein fidgeted with her hands. “Thank you, Captain.”
America did not fail to notice how much friendlier he was to this girl than he was to Sealand. The trio sat in silence for a few minutes until someone else walked in.
It was Spain. He was smiling and holding his two empty plates. “Ah, England, Romano is awake!”
England nodded. “Yes, I had heard. America told me.”
Spain sauntered over to the wash basin and slipped the plates and forks into it. “I figured. You sent two plates, after all! He’s going to be fine. He even argued with me and insisted that I stop trying to force feed him ‘cause of course he could take care of himself.”
“That sounds like Romano.” He gave Spain a genuine smile. “I’m glad he’s well.”
The reminder that Italy’s brother was healthy, and his partner’s exuberance over it cheered America up considerably, although his unanswered question to England still hung at the back of his mind. Without thinking, America yawned loudly.
“You gonna offer your aviator a room for the night?” Spain winked at England.
England huffed and crossed his arms. “I suppose it’s the least I can do. Come with me, America.” Blinking in surprise, America stood up and followed England out of the kitchen. “You must be tired,” he said once they were in the hallway.
“Come to think of it, I haven’t actually slept since before I left for my mission.”
England cocked an eyebrow. “Which was?”
America rubbed the back of his head and laughed sheepishly. “I left last night, but I haven’t slept since yesterday morning.”
“Bloody hell, America! That’s almost two days. You really are mad," he chided him. He’d stopped in front of a chamber door, which he now pushed open. America walked behind him into the room. It was, like Spain and Romano’s room, clean but sparsely decorated. There were crisp white sheets and a fluffy looking comforter that looked ridiculously welcoming to America.
America ran over and leapt onto the bed, relishing the feel of it bouncing beneath him. “I have to admit, the room is pretty good of you. Thanks.”
“You’re likely just saying that because you’re so exhausted.” England cleared his throat and flushed.
The aviator shrugged and lay down on his back. “Huh, probably. Night then?”
England nodded. “Good night.” He turned around to leave the room, but America interrupted.
“One more thing.” He pushed himself up on the pillows and kicked the comforter out from underneath him. “Are you going to tuck me in like the first night I was here?” His grin was cheeky, smug, and maddening because it should have annoyed him more than it did.
England’s cheeks bloomed crimson red and he glared back at the man on the bed. “You are… infuriating.” He slammed the door behind him, America’s infectious laughter entering his ears as he did so.
