everythingismagic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
everythingismagic) wrote2009-06-28 07:34 am
everythingismagic) wrote2009-06-28 07:34 am
[CHAPTERFIC] You Can't Take the Sky From Me Chapter Thirteen (Axis Powers Hetalia)
Title: You Can't Take the Sky From Me [FF.NET Chapter Thirteen] [ Writing Journal Previous Chapters ]
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano, Belarus---->Russia. Future pairings: GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3.397
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: “Wha-what are you…” England began, still flushed. They were still so close, and England’s vivid green eyes were wide and his thick eyebrows were furrowed and America contemplated that perhaps France was wrong and those eyebrows were actually rather---
“I-I’m glad you’re okay,” America lamely interrupted both England's words and his own train of thought, rubbing the back of his head.
Author's Note: Added several fanarts to the resource post, by some extremely talented Chinese fanartists who are reading a translated version of the story (and if any of you artists see this, I can't thank you enough).
America’s plane soared through the sky, wings cutting through the winds and the clouds that surrounded him. The late afternoon sun shone brightly, and America found himself shielding his eyes with one hand for much of the flight. His arm was growing sore from the effort. The crank radio lay behind him, having used it to contact England several hours before. Their conversation had been short and to the point, the directions quickly given. He followed that with a goodbye and then, America smiled, unbidden, England had wished him clear skies on his journey.
The eastern most edge of the Paradi Sea was where America was headed now, to a small atoll that America could find not even the slightest sign of on his map. He imagined that was the point, an isolated area that would be almost impossible to track. But he’d flown over hundreds of tiny islands, and although he’d been given the exact coordinates of this nameless circle of land surrounding a lagoon, he couldn’t suppress his concern that perhaps he’d just miss it.
America wiped his palm across his brow, the muggy tropical heat causing him to sweat. He’d long since slid off his bomber jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He had spent most of this journey trying his damndest to think of everything but what he was doing. Why in the hell had he told England he’d come? And why had he been so insistent upon doing so when confronted by Canada and France? He could have just as easily radioed England back and told him he’d decided it wasn’t necessary to come.
But there had been something in England’s voice that had resonated with him. You want to come?
The way he’d asked that, the hint of something in his words. The way England’s voice rose in pitch slightly, the earnestness of his statement. America thought that perhaps, England may have heard the same thing in his words. Because that was how he felt. I hope you’re all right, England. I want to see you again…
He flushed, and then swore to himself that it was just the heat.
The island the pirate had described to him was in sight now. He double checked his location and he lowered his plane slowly, judging the trajectory at which he’d need to land. Well this is it…
The atoll was beautiful from above, a lagoon of the richest teal, bleeding into cerulean in the deeper middle. A thin island encircled most of the atoll, lush green vegetation and sandy beaches visible as he descended upon it. America squinted as he made out the Victoria, floating in the shallow water as if it were an ocean faring vessel instead of a sky ship. Not twenty meters away from it was a small landing pad and next to that… a beach. The beach was occupied, although from this distance, America couldn’t tell who was who.
America lowered his plane to the flight pad and landed, swift and easy. He popped open the cockpit and stepped out of his plane, stretching his arms and legs out immediately upon doing so. “So hot! Better shed some more layers.” Adding his vest and tie to the pile that contained his bomber jacket and aviator cap, America walked toward the beach. His boot clad feet met with hot sand as he stepped off the landing pad, and it wasn’t long before he was able to make out exactly what was occurring on the beach.
Prussia was lounging in a wicker beach chair, all swim trunks and a loud tropical shirt. He had a very frosty looking glass of beer in one hand. He snatched a towel from beside him when Switzerland walked by, smacking it against the gunner’s rear. Switzerland turned around swiftly, and his fingers twitched at his side as he reached for a gun that wasn’t there. Prussia laughed, and America could make out the loud peals from where he stood some distance away. He marched closer to the beach, now able to make out everyone’s voices clearly.
Liechtenstein and Sealand were both in shallow water, having a rather intense splash fight. And Romano, well he looked fine. Spain was fast asleep, and Romano had buried the poor pirate captain in sand. Only his head and feet stuck out.
And he was… oh God. America tried his damndest not to laugh. He’d created two perfectly perky bumps out of sand atop where Spain’s chest was surely buried. America couldn’t miss the devious grin etched across Romano’s face.
“Make ‘em bigger!” Prussia yelled from his chair, and Romano happily obliged.
What, did they come here to have a beach party? His face broke into a grin. Awesome. His thoughts were interrupted by a catcall, and he grimaced, knowing immediately who it must be from.
“BOY TOY!” Sure enough, Prussia had noticed him on the edge of the beach and was waving wildly, a smirk plastered across his face. America’s cheeks pinked.
“Shut up!” He yelled, jogging the rest of the way to the section of the beach the crew of the Victoria was occupying. America stopped in front of the first mate’s chair, hands on his knees and leaning over slightly as he caught his breath.
“England spilled that you were coming at breakfast this morning. Wanted everyone to know so Switzerland didn’t think you were someone else and like… shoot you down or something, I guess,” Prussia said. “’Course he was bright red as he did this. Haha. Watching him squirm is pretty awesome.” America ran his hand through his hair, sticky with sweat. “Dude, it’s fucking hot out. Do you want a beer or something?”
“Ah, no… I’m fine,” America replied, looking about the beach wildly. There was another figure on the beach that he hadn’t noticed before. This man must have been the friend England spoke of. His skin was tan, bronzed by the sun, and he had short golden brown hair. He was hammering away at a large piece of wood, seemingly a part of the Victoria that needed repairing. America tore his eyes from the man, far more concerned with locating someone else…
“Looking for England?” He glanced to Prussia, meeting his mischievous red eyes. “End of the dock, brooding like the stodgy spoilsport he is. Guy wouldn’t understand fun if it was giving him a lap dance while naked.” He raised an eyebrow toward America. “’Course if you did that to him…”
America huffed and turned away, knowing that Prussia would get a rise out of his inexplicably blushing cheeks. He spotted the dock, and at the end of it, a lone figure. England… He wasn’t wearing the beach attire the rest of his crew donned, but he, at the very least, was wearing short sleeves, rolled up breeches, and his feet were bare.
Wordlessly, America jogged toward the dock, his speed inhibited by his heavy boots sinking into the sand. Once he reached it, the wood clattered noisily under his feet as he walked along the dock. England turned around, closing the book he’d been reading and standing up.
And America enveloped England in his arms.
America hugged people. He hugged his friends and his cousin, and it was nothing strange. He cared about them, so why wouldn’t he show it? But when he impulsively wrapped his arms around England upon reaching the end of the dock, his arms tight around his back and his chin on top of England’s head, his mind froze up. He… he… oh God what was he doing? England wasn’t like that. He wasn’t like Japan or Canada or even France. He couldn’t just… But he had, and he had yet to pull out of it.
He was embracing England. And the pirate was rigid in his arms, stiff as a board and America could practically feel the heat emanating off England’s face. He expected him to shove him away, push against America’s chest and call him any number of names. In contrast he just didn’t move, and that confused America even more. Let go, let go, let go. Instead, America rubbed one of his hands down across England’s back, and the pirate responded by stiffening further under his touch.
His sandy blonde hair was soft under his chin, choppy and tousled as if he’d just woken up (America speculated that England’s hair was just like that naturally). In America’s arms, England was small of frame and lithe of figure, even more so than he’d assumed England to be from just looking at him. But he didn’t feel weak. Frail would be the last word he’d use to describe the man. There was a deep strength, both physical and mental, palpable in the way his body felt and the manner in which he held himself; taut muscles and a proud posture.
America finally willed himself to pull away, and the scent of England, something like the crisp bright sky combined with tea, lingered.
“Wha-what are you…” England began, still flushed. They were still so close, and England’s vivid green eyes were wide and his thick eyebrows were furrowed and America contemplated that perhaps France was wrong and those eyebrows were actually rather---
“I-I’m glad you’re okay,” America lamely interrupted both England's words and his own train of thought, rubbing the back of his head.
“’Course I’m okay, you tosser! Now what exactly was that about?” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, toward the expanse of ocean beyond the dock.
“I… dunno,” America answered quietly, then laughed. “I guess I was just trying to share with you some of my awesome! I mean I’ve got a lot to spare so…”
“Oh, shut up.”
Silence fell between the two, America attempting to pay more attention to the sloshing of the water against the deck and the sea birds crying overhead than to England. The pirate’s arms were still crossed over his chest, and it was then that America noticed the book he held in one hand. “So everyone is having a beach party and you’re out here by yourself reading a book?”
“I see no problem with that. They’re doing what they consider fun and relaxing, and I’m doing what I enjoy.” England clenched the book in what America realized, was his still bandaged hand.
The aviator shrugged. “How’s your hand holding up?”
England slid the book under his arm and held out his hand, rubbing his fingers across the bandages that still covered it. “Quite well. Wound isn’t half as deep now, and the pain is minimal.”
America grinned. “See! I told you I knew what I was doing, huh?”
He huffed. “Well shouldn’t you be more concerned with someone else?”
“Huh?” America blinked, confused.
“The reason you came here, you dolt,” England clarified.
“Oh… oh… OH!” America smacked his forehead. Way to forget the excuse you gave England. “Well Romano looked pretty okay! I mean he was giving Spain sand-boobs and…”
England rolled his eyes. “He’s healing well, yes.” He chanced a glance at the shore. Prussia was up from his chair and was assisting Romano in his conquest of the sleeping Spain. “As… you can see, Prussia is also healing nicely.”
America rocked back and forth on his feet, the wood creaking beneath his boots. “So uh, how are the repairs going?”
“Ah? Brilliantly, really. We might actually be able to leave this island sooner than we’d planned,” England explained.
“Oh yeah! You should introduce me to your friend,” America requested. England nodded, and blushed scarlet when America snatched his arm and started pulling him along the dock and back to the beach. He wrenched his arm out of America’s grasp and huffed, stomping ahead of the aviator.
“Honestly,” he grumbled, stepping onto the hot sand and waving in the direction of the man repairing his ship. “’Allo, Australia!” England jogged over and stood next to him, America following.
“’ello, mate.” He pushed himself onto his feet, dusting sand off his khaki shorts. “Almost got this piece ready. I’ll start on the sails tomorrow.” Australia’s mouth turned up in a grin when he spotted America. “So this is the famous Captain Jones? Criminy, you really are a military bloke. I almost thought England was joking about that!”
“So this is your… island?” America inquired, eyes scanning from the lush vegetation beyond the beach, to the bits of ocean he saw out his peripheral vision.
“My island! Not many people know about it, and for good reason.” He put his finger to his lips in a gesture of mock silence. “I’d hate for someone to take it from me after all. There are so many islands in the Paradi Sea that you can’t find on any map, so I figured since this one wasn’t, it was mine for the nicking. Got a boat and my own plane, so I can come and go as I please.”
“That sounds… nice,” America replied, because truly, it did.
“It’s the best!” He stretched and yawned. “Feeling a bit knackered though, so I’m going to grab a bit of shut eye, all right?”
“Get your rest in,” England replied, nodding.
“Great then. Ta!” He clamped a hand down on England’s shoulder. “And I’ll come out and make some dinner after that…”
“Oh don’t concern yourself with that. I can cook.”
Australia grimaced. “No, it’s no problem. I thought we’d have a cookout on the beach tonight, since we have company.” He jerked his head to America with a wink.
“Well he’s not…”
“A barbeque? Awesome!” America interrupted excitedly.
“Never mind then, I suppose he’ll be staying,” England suppressed a small smile.
“Right. Later then.” Australia waved goodbye and walked away, toward a large hut visible at the edge of the tropical foliage.
England raised an eyebrow. “So, I imagine you wish to join the others in their beach party, then?”
America surveyed the Victoria crew. Switzerland was now helping his sister build a sandcastle. Prussia was back in his chair, and had somehow garnered himself another glass of beer. Spain was still out, and the sand that was covering him was looking more inappropriate than ever. Sealand was wading in a small pool of water near the shore.
“Nah,” America replied. “Looks pretty fun but…”
“But what?”
“Dunno…” The aviator crossed his arms and glanced down at the sandy beach. “Why don’t we uh…”
“You wanted to see how the repairs were going, did you not?” America nodded. “I’m going back to the ship then, I can show you if you’d like.”
America’s face brightened. “Y-yeah, that would be cool. You could even give me a tour or something!”
“A tour?”
“Hey, a military man’s gotta understand their enemy.” America shot him a cheeky grin. “So you should show me how exactly you all live your life of crime!”
England scoffed. “And I suppose after that, you’ll give me a tour of your base. I can see how you live your life full of ah, justice and heroism and all that wash.”
America snorted. “Please, like you’d want to come to the base.”
“Not in a million years,” England quipped. “But all right. Come with me then, you twit.”
------------------------------------------------
“And this is our Jolly Roger, although perhaps you’ve noticed that by now.” England picked up the flag, folded neatly beside the mast because Australia was going to be working on the sails soon. It was the crest on the blanket, in the kitchen, the one America had speculated about being their Jolly Roger.
“A unicorn,” America laughed.
“There’s a lion too,” England snapped. “Honestly I don’t see what is so funny about unicorns. They’re noble beasts.”
“Yeah, if you’re a fair maiden, or whatever,” the aviator teased. England frowned and folded the flag back up.
“It’s been the symbol of the Taliesin since the beginning. Respect it, or get back in your plane and leave.” England’s voice had taken on that frigid, serious tone. The one that popped up any time America said something that for some indiscernible reason, upset him greatly.
“All right. Jeez, England.” America held his arms out in front of him.
The pirate glared at the other man “That’s enough here then. Why don’t I show you below deck? You’ve seen the galley, but there’s loads more.”
“Sounds cool.” He perked up, following England down the stairs that led below deck.
“Switzerland’s room will be the first,” he began. “He and Liechtenstein have been on the crew for a few years. I couldn’t turn him down when he offered his services, crazy as he is.”
“He’s pretty damn good,” America agreed. England pushed open the gunner’s door, and the first thing America’s eyes met with was a very large rack of artillery, covering almost the entire back wall. No surprise there… “That’s uhh… wow.” Outside the weaponry, the room was minimalistic. Switzerland didn’t seem to have many possessions, and the bedding and furniture was as basic as the cabin America had stayed in.
“As you can see by the simplicity of the room, Switzerland sells most of his loot first to take care of Liechtenstein, then to buy more weaponry.” England shut the cabin door.
“Is that all his stuff?”
“Guns? No, that’s only about a fifth of them.”
America gaped and shook his head. “Hey, hey, what about Liechtenstein? What’s a sweet girl like her doing living on a pirate ship?”
England leveled him a look. “You’ll discover, that many of us pirates are parentless, and some of us end up in this occupation due to necessity. A pirate ship may not seem safe to you, but I assure you there’s no place safer for her, than to be under her brother’s guardianship.”
“And Sealand?”
The pirate chortled lightly. “A stowaway at first, but we let him stay, because there was simply nowhere else for him to go. He can be useful, when he’s not being a right brat.” He paused. “Oh, here’s Prussia’s room.” England popped open the door and America peeked inside.
“Badass,” was the first thing that came to mind, and he said it out loud. Black and gold silks covered the bed, and the furniture was all varying shades of dark and glossy and detailed with engravings and carvings and even filigree. Against one wall was a rack of blades, gorgeous and elaborate and just dangerous such as America had never seen.
“You’d think he was the captain, the way he decorates his room as if he were a king,” England sighed. “But he can do what he wants with his share, there’s no reason for me to stop him.”
“Prussia is…”
“I don’t know much about Prussia, to be honest. There is a bit of an… understanding between us,” he elucidated. “He doesn’t ask about me and I don’t ask about him.”
“Is it because he has some terrible and unheroic criminal past?!” America queried.
England bristled and stiffened, chill seeping back into his voice. “Not at all. I think it’s because there’s something in his past that hurt, something he wishes to forget.” He paused. “And I see no reason not to respect that.”
“O-oh…”
America thought England looked far away, as if he were reflecting on something clandestine, that he would never allow the aviator to be privy to. And this was what America wanted to know. He enjoyed finding out about England’s pirates, the eccentric members of the Victoria crew who he found amusing and (despite Prussia’s taunts), oddly likable. But it wasn’t them he wanted to discover everything about. It was England, and that was the cabin door that he didn’t expect the pirate to open for him. America knew he’d continue to accidentally say things that set something off within England, something that caused him to grow cold and distant and often, genuinely infuriated. And he wanted to know, he wanted to know, dammit, why that happened, and who England was and why he was… England; the young pirate captain who lied about his age and protected everyone close to him as if they were an extension of himself and loved his ship as if it contained everything that had ever been dear to him.
But he wouldn’t be allowed to see his room, and even more so he wouldn’t be allowed to know his story.
He gulped. Well, it was worth a shot. “Can I see your cabin, England?”
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano, Belarus---->Russia. Future pairings: GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3.397
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: “Wha-what are you…” England began, still flushed. They were still so close, and England’s vivid green eyes were wide and his thick eyebrows were furrowed and America contemplated that perhaps France was wrong and those eyebrows were actually rather---
“I-I’m glad you’re okay,” America lamely interrupted both England's words and his own train of thought, rubbing the back of his head.
Author's Note: Added several fanarts to the resource post, by some extremely talented Chinese fanartists who are reading a translated version of the story (and if any of you artists see this, I can't thank you enough).
America’s plane soared through the sky, wings cutting through the winds and the clouds that surrounded him. The late afternoon sun shone brightly, and America found himself shielding his eyes with one hand for much of the flight. His arm was growing sore from the effort. The crank radio lay behind him, having used it to contact England several hours before. Their conversation had been short and to the point, the directions quickly given. He followed that with a goodbye and then, America smiled, unbidden, England had wished him clear skies on his journey.
The eastern most edge of the Paradi Sea was where America was headed now, to a small atoll that America could find not even the slightest sign of on his map. He imagined that was the point, an isolated area that would be almost impossible to track. But he’d flown over hundreds of tiny islands, and although he’d been given the exact coordinates of this nameless circle of land surrounding a lagoon, he couldn’t suppress his concern that perhaps he’d just miss it.
America wiped his palm across his brow, the muggy tropical heat causing him to sweat. He’d long since slid off his bomber jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He had spent most of this journey trying his damndest to think of everything but what he was doing. Why in the hell had he told England he’d come? And why had he been so insistent upon doing so when confronted by Canada and France? He could have just as easily radioed England back and told him he’d decided it wasn’t necessary to come.
But there had been something in England’s voice that had resonated with him. You want to come?
The way he’d asked that, the hint of something in his words. The way England’s voice rose in pitch slightly, the earnestness of his statement. America thought that perhaps, England may have heard the same thing in his words. Because that was how he felt. I hope you’re all right, England. I want to see you again…
He flushed, and then swore to himself that it was just the heat.
The island the pirate had described to him was in sight now. He double checked his location and he lowered his plane slowly, judging the trajectory at which he’d need to land. Well this is it…
The atoll was beautiful from above, a lagoon of the richest teal, bleeding into cerulean in the deeper middle. A thin island encircled most of the atoll, lush green vegetation and sandy beaches visible as he descended upon it. America squinted as he made out the Victoria, floating in the shallow water as if it were an ocean faring vessel instead of a sky ship. Not twenty meters away from it was a small landing pad and next to that… a beach. The beach was occupied, although from this distance, America couldn’t tell who was who.
America lowered his plane to the flight pad and landed, swift and easy. He popped open the cockpit and stepped out of his plane, stretching his arms and legs out immediately upon doing so. “So hot! Better shed some more layers.” Adding his vest and tie to the pile that contained his bomber jacket and aviator cap, America walked toward the beach. His boot clad feet met with hot sand as he stepped off the landing pad, and it wasn’t long before he was able to make out exactly what was occurring on the beach.
Prussia was lounging in a wicker beach chair, all swim trunks and a loud tropical shirt. He had a very frosty looking glass of beer in one hand. He snatched a towel from beside him when Switzerland walked by, smacking it against the gunner’s rear. Switzerland turned around swiftly, and his fingers twitched at his side as he reached for a gun that wasn’t there. Prussia laughed, and America could make out the loud peals from where he stood some distance away. He marched closer to the beach, now able to make out everyone’s voices clearly.
Liechtenstein and Sealand were both in shallow water, having a rather intense splash fight. And Romano, well he looked fine. Spain was fast asleep, and Romano had buried the poor pirate captain in sand. Only his head and feet stuck out.
And he was… oh God. America tried his damndest not to laugh. He’d created two perfectly perky bumps out of sand atop where Spain’s chest was surely buried. America couldn’t miss the devious grin etched across Romano’s face.
“Make ‘em bigger!” Prussia yelled from his chair, and Romano happily obliged.
What, did they come here to have a beach party? His face broke into a grin. Awesome. His thoughts were interrupted by a catcall, and he grimaced, knowing immediately who it must be from.
“BOY TOY!” Sure enough, Prussia had noticed him on the edge of the beach and was waving wildly, a smirk plastered across his face. America’s cheeks pinked.
“Shut up!” He yelled, jogging the rest of the way to the section of the beach the crew of the Victoria was occupying. America stopped in front of the first mate’s chair, hands on his knees and leaning over slightly as he caught his breath.
“England spilled that you were coming at breakfast this morning. Wanted everyone to know so Switzerland didn’t think you were someone else and like… shoot you down or something, I guess,” Prussia said. “’Course he was bright red as he did this. Haha. Watching him squirm is pretty awesome.” America ran his hand through his hair, sticky with sweat. “Dude, it’s fucking hot out. Do you want a beer or something?”
“Ah, no… I’m fine,” America replied, looking about the beach wildly. There was another figure on the beach that he hadn’t noticed before. This man must have been the friend England spoke of. His skin was tan, bronzed by the sun, and he had short golden brown hair. He was hammering away at a large piece of wood, seemingly a part of the Victoria that needed repairing. America tore his eyes from the man, far more concerned with locating someone else…
“Looking for England?” He glanced to Prussia, meeting his mischievous red eyes. “End of the dock, brooding like the stodgy spoilsport he is. Guy wouldn’t understand fun if it was giving him a lap dance while naked.” He raised an eyebrow toward America. “’Course if you did that to him…”
America huffed and turned away, knowing that Prussia would get a rise out of his inexplicably blushing cheeks. He spotted the dock, and at the end of it, a lone figure. England… He wasn’t wearing the beach attire the rest of his crew donned, but he, at the very least, was wearing short sleeves, rolled up breeches, and his feet were bare.
Wordlessly, America jogged toward the dock, his speed inhibited by his heavy boots sinking into the sand. Once he reached it, the wood clattered noisily under his feet as he walked along the dock. England turned around, closing the book he’d been reading and standing up.
And America enveloped England in his arms.
America hugged people. He hugged his friends and his cousin, and it was nothing strange. He cared about them, so why wouldn’t he show it? But when he impulsively wrapped his arms around England upon reaching the end of the dock, his arms tight around his back and his chin on top of England’s head, his mind froze up. He… he… oh God what was he doing? England wasn’t like that. He wasn’t like Japan or Canada or even France. He couldn’t just… But he had, and he had yet to pull out of it.
He was embracing England. And the pirate was rigid in his arms, stiff as a board and America could practically feel the heat emanating off England’s face. He expected him to shove him away, push against America’s chest and call him any number of names. In contrast he just didn’t move, and that confused America even more. Let go, let go, let go. Instead, America rubbed one of his hands down across England’s back, and the pirate responded by stiffening further under his touch.
His sandy blonde hair was soft under his chin, choppy and tousled as if he’d just woken up (America speculated that England’s hair was just like that naturally). In America’s arms, England was small of frame and lithe of figure, even more so than he’d assumed England to be from just looking at him. But he didn’t feel weak. Frail would be the last word he’d use to describe the man. There was a deep strength, both physical and mental, palpable in the way his body felt and the manner in which he held himself; taut muscles and a proud posture.
America finally willed himself to pull away, and the scent of England, something like the crisp bright sky combined with tea, lingered.
“Wha-what are you…” England began, still flushed. They were still so close, and England’s vivid green eyes were wide and his thick eyebrows were furrowed and America contemplated that perhaps France was wrong and those eyebrows were actually rather---
“I-I’m glad you’re okay,” America lamely interrupted both England's words and his own train of thought, rubbing the back of his head.
“’Course I’m okay, you tosser! Now what exactly was that about?” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, toward the expanse of ocean beyond the dock.
“I… dunno,” America answered quietly, then laughed. “I guess I was just trying to share with you some of my awesome! I mean I’ve got a lot to spare so…”
“Oh, shut up.”
Silence fell between the two, America attempting to pay more attention to the sloshing of the water against the deck and the sea birds crying overhead than to England. The pirate’s arms were still crossed over his chest, and it was then that America noticed the book he held in one hand. “So everyone is having a beach party and you’re out here by yourself reading a book?”
“I see no problem with that. They’re doing what they consider fun and relaxing, and I’m doing what I enjoy.” England clenched the book in what America realized, was his still bandaged hand.
The aviator shrugged. “How’s your hand holding up?”
England slid the book under his arm and held out his hand, rubbing his fingers across the bandages that still covered it. “Quite well. Wound isn’t half as deep now, and the pain is minimal.”
America grinned. “See! I told you I knew what I was doing, huh?”
He huffed. “Well shouldn’t you be more concerned with someone else?”
“Huh?” America blinked, confused.
“The reason you came here, you dolt,” England clarified.
“Oh… oh… OH!” America smacked his forehead. Way to forget the excuse you gave England. “Well Romano looked pretty okay! I mean he was giving Spain sand-boobs and…”
England rolled his eyes. “He’s healing well, yes.” He chanced a glance at the shore. Prussia was up from his chair and was assisting Romano in his conquest of the sleeping Spain. “As… you can see, Prussia is also healing nicely.”
America rocked back and forth on his feet, the wood creaking beneath his boots. “So uh, how are the repairs going?”
“Ah? Brilliantly, really. We might actually be able to leave this island sooner than we’d planned,” England explained.
“Oh yeah! You should introduce me to your friend,” America requested. England nodded, and blushed scarlet when America snatched his arm and started pulling him along the dock and back to the beach. He wrenched his arm out of America’s grasp and huffed, stomping ahead of the aviator.
“Honestly,” he grumbled, stepping onto the hot sand and waving in the direction of the man repairing his ship. “’Allo, Australia!” England jogged over and stood next to him, America following.
“’ello, mate.” He pushed himself onto his feet, dusting sand off his khaki shorts. “Almost got this piece ready. I’ll start on the sails tomorrow.” Australia’s mouth turned up in a grin when he spotted America. “So this is the famous Captain Jones? Criminy, you really are a military bloke. I almost thought England was joking about that!”
“So this is your… island?” America inquired, eyes scanning from the lush vegetation beyond the beach, to the bits of ocean he saw out his peripheral vision.
“My island! Not many people know about it, and for good reason.” He put his finger to his lips in a gesture of mock silence. “I’d hate for someone to take it from me after all. There are so many islands in the Paradi Sea that you can’t find on any map, so I figured since this one wasn’t, it was mine for the nicking. Got a boat and my own plane, so I can come and go as I please.”
“That sounds… nice,” America replied, because truly, it did.
“It’s the best!” He stretched and yawned. “Feeling a bit knackered though, so I’m going to grab a bit of shut eye, all right?”
“Get your rest in,” England replied, nodding.
“Great then. Ta!” He clamped a hand down on England’s shoulder. “And I’ll come out and make some dinner after that…”
“Oh don’t concern yourself with that. I can cook.”
Australia grimaced. “No, it’s no problem. I thought we’d have a cookout on the beach tonight, since we have company.” He jerked his head to America with a wink.
“Well he’s not…”
“A barbeque? Awesome!” America interrupted excitedly.
“Never mind then, I suppose he’ll be staying,” England suppressed a small smile.
“Right. Later then.” Australia waved goodbye and walked away, toward a large hut visible at the edge of the tropical foliage.
England raised an eyebrow. “So, I imagine you wish to join the others in their beach party, then?”
America surveyed the Victoria crew. Switzerland was now helping his sister build a sandcastle. Prussia was back in his chair, and had somehow garnered himself another glass of beer. Spain was still out, and the sand that was covering him was looking more inappropriate than ever. Sealand was wading in a small pool of water near the shore.
“Nah,” America replied. “Looks pretty fun but…”
“But what?”
“Dunno…” The aviator crossed his arms and glanced down at the sandy beach. “Why don’t we uh…”
“You wanted to see how the repairs were going, did you not?” America nodded. “I’m going back to the ship then, I can show you if you’d like.”
America’s face brightened. “Y-yeah, that would be cool. You could even give me a tour or something!”
“A tour?”
“Hey, a military man’s gotta understand their enemy.” America shot him a cheeky grin. “So you should show me how exactly you all live your life of crime!”
England scoffed. “And I suppose after that, you’ll give me a tour of your base. I can see how you live your life full of ah, justice and heroism and all that wash.”
America snorted. “Please, like you’d want to come to the base.”
“Not in a million years,” England quipped. “But all right. Come with me then, you twit.”
------------------------------------------------
“And this is our Jolly Roger, although perhaps you’ve noticed that by now.” England picked up the flag, folded neatly beside the mast because Australia was going to be working on the sails soon. It was the crest on the blanket, in the kitchen, the one America had speculated about being their Jolly Roger.
“A unicorn,” America laughed.
“There’s a lion too,” England snapped. “Honestly I don’t see what is so funny about unicorns. They’re noble beasts.”
“Yeah, if you’re a fair maiden, or whatever,” the aviator teased. England frowned and folded the flag back up.
“It’s been the symbol of the Taliesin since the beginning. Respect it, or get back in your plane and leave.” England’s voice had taken on that frigid, serious tone. The one that popped up any time America said something that for some indiscernible reason, upset him greatly.
“All right. Jeez, England.” America held his arms out in front of him.
The pirate glared at the other man “That’s enough here then. Why don’t I show you below deck? You’ve seen the galley, but there’s loads more.”
“Sounds cool.” He perked up, following England down the stairs that led below deck.
“Switzerland’s room will be the first,” he began. “He and Liechtenstein have been on the crew for a few years. I couldn’t turn him down when he offered his services, crazy as he is.”
“He’s pretty damn good,” America agreed. England pushed open the gunner’s door, and the first thing America’s eyes met with was a very large rack of artillery, covering almost the entire back wall. No surprise there… “That’s uhh… wow.” Outside the weaponry, the room was minimalistic. Switzerland didn’t seem to have many possessions, and the bedding and furniture was as basic as the cabin America had stayed in.
“As you can see by the simplicity of the room, Switzerland sells most of his loot first to take care of Liechtenstein, then to buy more weaponry.” England shut the cabin door.
“Is that all his stuff?”
“Guns? No, that’s only about a fifth of them.”
America gaped and shook his head. “Hey, hey, what about Liechtenstein? What’s a sweet girl like her doing living on a pirate ship?”
England leveled him a look. “You’ll discover, that many of us pirates are parentless, and some of us end up in this occupation due to necessity. A pirate ship may not seem safe to you, but I assure you there’s no place safer for her, than to be under her brother’s guardianship.”
“And Sealand?”
The pirate chortled lightly. “A stowaway at first, but we let him stay, because there was simply nowhere else for him to go. He can be useful, when he’s not being a right brat.” He paused. “Oh, here’s Prussia’s room.” England popped open the door and America peeked inside.
“Badass,” was the first thing that came to mind, and he said it out loud. Black and gold silks covered the bed, and the furniture was all varying shades of dark and glossy and detailed with engravings and carvings and even filigree. Against one wall was a rack of blades, gorgeous and elaborate and just dangerous such as America had never seen.
“You’d think he was the captain, the way he decorates his room as if he were a king,” England sighed. “But he can do what he wants with his share, there’s no reason for me to stop him.”
“Prussia is…”
“I don’t know much about Prussia, to be honest. There is a bit of an… understanding between us,” he elucidated. “He doesn’t ask about me and I don’t ask about him.”
“Is it because he has some terrible and unheroic criminal past?!” America queried.
England bristled and stiffened, chill seeping back into his voice. “Not at all. I think it’s because there’s something in his past that hurt, something he wishes to forget.” He paused. “And I see no reason not to respect that.”
“O-oh…”
America thought England looked far away, as if he were reflecting on something clandestine, that he would never allow the aviator to be privy to. And this was what America wanted to know. He enjoyed finding out about England’s pirates, the eccentric members of the Victoria crew who he found amusing and (despite Prussia’s taunts), oddly likable. But it wasn’t them he wanted to discover everything about. It was England, and that was the cabin door that he didn’t expect the pirate to open for him. America knew he’d continue to accidentally say things that set something off within England, something that caused him to grow cold and distant and often, genuinely infuriated. And he wanted to know, he wanted to know, dammit, why that happened, and who England was and why he was… England; the young pirate captain who lied about his age and protected everyone close to him as if they were an extension of himself and loved his ship as if it contained everything that had ever been dear to him.
But he wouldn’t be allowed to see his room, and even more so he wouldn’t be allowed to know his story.
He gulped. Well, it was worth a shot. “Can I see your cabin, England?”