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everythingismagicTitle: You Can't Take the Sky From Me [FF.NET Chapter Sixteen] [ 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: 3.468
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: But it was that England had accepted, that England hadn’t shoved him off and stormed to his own cabin, that shocked him. Those weren’t the actions of a comrade, but the actions of something more. A close friend, at least.
And he really liked that. Somewhere along the line, it had ceased mattering much to America that England was a pirate. There were times in which he’d forget that he was one entirely.
England was England. It was as simple as that.
Author's Note:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
colevic did a gorgeous fanart for chapter fifteen. Check it out HERE!
When America had woken up with his arms around England, he’d nearly leapt off the bed in shock. It was the sight of his sleeping face, illuminated by the morning sun peeking through the porthole, that stopped him. England slept peacefully, the dull hum of his breathing entering America’s ears. He ran his eyes down the other man’s face, finding it difficult to look away. His lips were slightly parted, and America noticed the wound from the Kosmider attack on his cheek. It was pale pink, almost healed.
He appeared content, and America found that a warmth in his chest erupted at seeing the pirate captain like this. It was… as if he were witness to something private, a part of England that not many were allowed to see. Or at least, he assumed. He couldn’t imagine that the pirate slept freely in front of many people.
Sandy blonde hair splayed out behind England on the pillow, and his choppy bangs dusted his forehead. Unthinkingly, he reached forward and sifted his fingers through England’s bangs.
Below that were his eyebrows, and America grinned a little upon seeing them.
They were pretty hard to miss, so it made sense that France walked away from his encounters with England remembering them so vividly. But in contrast to France’s impression, America found that he thought they were well, sort of cute.
Absently, his fingers moved from his bangs to his thick dark brows, and he chuckled to himself as he noted that they were slightly furrowed, even in his sleep.
England had slept with him the previous night. He didn’t recall pulling England into bed with him, but knowing himself, he wasn’t that surprised that he’d done so. Canada and Japan had been victims of his ghost story phobia more than once, and had ended up innocently sharing a bunk with him some of those evenings. But it was that England had accepted, that England hadn’t shoved him off and stormed to his own cabin, that shocked him. Those weren’t the actions of a comrade, but the actions of something more. A close friend, at least.
And he really liked that. Somewhere along the line, it had ceased mattering much to America that England was a pirate. There were times in which he’d forget that he was one entirely.
England was England. It was as simple as that.
“What the hell are you doing?” A voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked down to see England staring at him, green eyes blearily opening.
America pulled his fingers away from England’s face swift as he could manage, and he backed up against the wall and turned his face away in attempt to hide his inevitably red face. He’d been caught, with his fingers on England’s eyebrows. How embarrassing firstly, and also how weird must England think him. “Um… watching you?”
“T-touching me like that?” He huffed, sitting up and stifling a rather large yawn. “I thought you didn’t like the way I looked. You… said so that time we were in the kitchen.” England crossed his arms, his cheeks now lightly flushed.
“W-what? I didn’t say that.” America’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head in the negative, gesturing wildly with his hands in front of him.
“You sort of did.”
“Well then I didn’t mean it,” the aviator murmured, his voice almost indiscernible. He was face to face with England now, having turned back when he’d shaken his head.
And England’s face exploded, red as a cherry tomato.
America had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. His face was bright as crimson and his eyes were so wide and his eyebrows had shot up into his forehead.
“L-let’s go to breakfast,” England finally stammered. He was glancing away from America, slightly downcast as if he were unable to make eye contact with him. There was a pitiful excuse for a pout on his lips, a sure attempt to hide the fact that he was pleased by America’s admission.
Actually, England was pretty damn cute on the whole. For a pirate.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Australia cooked up a delicious breakfast, scrambled eggs, greasy sausages, crispy bacon, and pancakes with plenty of syrup to slather all over them. That made up for the awkward atmosphere on the beach that morning at least somewhat. Or at least, awkward for him. He should have known that everyone would know England had slept in his room. It would have only taken one person peeking into his cabin to discover it, and judging by the way Prussia snickered at him every time their eyes met, Spain gave him this knowing smile, and Switzerland glared at him, there was simply no doubt they knew.
England, who sat next to him, was no doubt receiving the same treatment.
Prussia and Spain were both suffering from mild hangovers, so they weren’t as talkative as the night before. Australia gave them both drinks he’d mixed up to help them get over the effects, because as he said ‘we’ll have lots of work to do today, mates.’
Romano yawned beside Spain, unthinkingly leaning his head on the other man’s shoulder. This earned a warm smile from Spain. America tapped his chin in thought and stood up, walking over to Romano with an earnest grin.
“You done eating, Romano?” He inquired.
“Do you see a plate?” He grumbled in return, a sour expression on his face.
America blinked. Romano had indeed, already thrown his dirty plate onto the table. “Oh right. Then can I talk to ya?”
Romano’s brows creased in confusion at this, but he nodded. “Yeah, sure. Don’t see why not.”
“I mean sorry to interrupt you and Spain but--- “
He blushed hotly and shoved Spain away, pushing himself off the log and standing up. Romano clenched a fist and shouted, “You’re not interrupting me! I just kind of fell onto that jerk Spain because I was tired. It’s good you came, because now he can’t take advantage of me!”
America glanced to Spain quizzically, and the pirate sighed and rubbed his hand down his face. He gestured America to go on with his free hand.
“Okay…” He shrugged. “Follow me then, Romano.” They walked together wordlessly to the far edge of the beach, closest to the landing pad. America stopped and Romano did the same. “I kind of want to talk to you about your brother?” He began.
Romano stiffened. “What of him?”
“It’s nothing bad!” America placed his hands in front of him. The pirate relaxed, relieved. “Your brother was the same. When I mentioned you, he immediately acted as if something bad must have happened…”
“Well you can’t blame us.” Romano crossed his arms. “It’s pretty shitty out there right now. Anyway, how do you know Italy?”
“Oh! We went on a mission together… actually it was,” America hesitated, the lack of results the mission had yielded still frustrating to him, “to find out information about the Kosmider. We didn’t really find much.”
“So what do you have to tell me?”
“I told your brother about what happened with the Nuberu and the Kosmider and…”
“You did?!” Romano snapped.
“Yeah I mean… why not?”
At this, the perpetually scowling pirate softened. “I just… I don’t like to see him worry, okay?”
“Makes sense.” America sat on the edge of the flight pad, the concrete hot beneath him. He glanced over to the edge of the forest, and made a note to take a hike before leaving. It was… really beautiful. “But I thought it was only fair, and… have you really not seen each other for six months?”
Romano shrugged and sat down next to him. “We really don’t have many chances, but I try to radio him at least.”
“Couldn’t he just fly in and see you?” America asked, turning his feet inward.
“Italy’s not a pilot,” he replied shortly. “It’s not as easy for us at it is for… you and Captain Kirkland.”
America flushed at the implication there (if there indeed, even was one). “Can I just tell you the same thing I told him?”
“…I guess.”
The aviator took Romano’s shoulders, merely tightening his hold when he began to pull away. He looked directly at him, blue eyes stern. “Keep your brother close… okay?”
“It’s none of your busi---“
“Radio him or whatever, if you haven’t already. And dammit, just make sure you see him!” America continued.
The pirate nodded. “Chh, if you insist.”
“Good.” America beamed.
Romano frowned and slid off the landing pad. “…Thanks,” he murmured.
“Huh?” But he’d already started walking away. America watched him leave, heading back to the area of the beach Spain was occupying. He rested his chin on his hand and absently toyed with the fob watch that hung at his belt. The tropical sun burned, growing stronger as the morning lingered on. America reached down and slipped off his hot black boots and socks, rolling up his pants as well. He sifted his toes through the scorching sand, feeling rather like he’d like to take a dip in the cool ocean water.
England had barely spoken to him since that humiliating moment in the cabin that morning. He didn’t know if he’d upset England, the whole situation had embarrassed him, or just a combination of both. As much as he felt that he knew England so much better than he had before he’d visited this island, the pirate captain’s emotions were still so often a mystery to him. He was unpredictable, hot and cold and all over the place. It was both amusing and a bit frustrating. America really wanted to understand England, after all.
He wasn’t just not talking though; he avoided looking at him entirely. America had tried to shoot him tentative smiles at several points throughout breakfast, only for England to turn his face away and not acknowledge them. America bit his lip. I really should take a dip to clear my head…
He was about to stand up when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Before America could even turn around, Prussia was sitting down next to him. “’Sup boy toy?” America blushed. “Well I guess if I actually want to talk to you, I should call you by your name.”
“Can you always call me by my name?” America quipped.
“Not making any promises,” Prussia replied with a shrug. “But I do kinda want to talk to you about England.” He slapped his hand on America’s arm. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Umm…” America frowned.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He grinned. “Firstly, I want to say I’m actually sorry for walking in on you two yesterday. It was funny at the time, but I feel bad because… you totally could have gotten somewhere I bet, if I hadn’t done that.”
“N-nothing was happening!” America held his hands up and shook his head fervently.
“I didn’t say anything was,” Prussia countered. “I said that something could have happened.”
America opened his mouth to speak again, but the pirate cut him off. “I get enough denial from England so just… listen to me, okay man?” America nodded. “And I also know nothing happened between you two last night, much as it would have been awesome. Doesn’t make you two sleeping together not funny, though.” He was still smirking, and this just made the entire conversation even more humiliating.
Prussia now moved his arm up and put it around America’s shoulders in a friendly manner. “But hey you know what? I like you. You’re a pretty cool guy.”
“’Course I am!” America finally got in.
“And if England can get over the fact that you’re military enough to trust you like he has… well damn,” Prussia paused, “who the hell am I to disagree with that?”
“E-England can rely on me, that’s all. We’re comrades,” America elucidated weakly.
Prussia sighed. “You really have no idea how big that is, do you?” He leaned back on his hands and looked skyward. “England would kill me for telling you this shit, but I’m going to anyway.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t know how many times we’ve been at a bar together, and I’d spot a hot guy and point them out to England…”
“A hot guy?”
“Yeah, no shit,” Prussia snorted. “I thought that was obvious.” He winked. “And you’re a guy so…”
“S-shut up!” America snapped, cheeks red.
“Anyway, England pretends he’s not interested. He’s a captain, he has important work, and he doesn’t have time to flirt about. Just the kind of excuses you’d expect from him.” Prussia shifted, so he was now facing America. “But me? I think he’s just lonely, and he’s like… afraid of stuff like that.”
“So he is lonely…” America mumbled, more to himself than anything else.
“We’re all really close to England,” Prussia replied, having obviously heard America’s murmur. “And so it’s not like he doesn’t have friends, ‘cuz he does. But there’s still this kind of… weird guard he keeps up.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“Heh. Well you’re kind of… he’s kind of different with you,” Prussia paused. “Good different. It’s a pretty awesome thing to see, to be honest. I just want you to know that I’m rooting for you two, and…”
“Me and England are friends,” America snapped in interruption.
“Do you blush when talking about friends all the time?” Prussia rolled his eyes, and the aviator recalled France making a very similar comment. “I mean I know England’s not bad looking, but that kind of reaction…” He trailed off and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
He’s pretty damn cute, America recalled the thought crossing his mind earlier; when England was flustered and huffing and acting as if he were scandalized. The way that he acted so over the top like that was… yeah, he’d found him cute. England was nice to look at, okay, he’d admitted it to himself. He pouted and bit his lip. He could acknowledge when someone was good-looking, but it normally didn’t make his face heat up to think about…
“But… I just in the end wanted to apologize for what I did yesterday, and wish you two luck because…” He laughed. “I really do want England to be happy, you know? He’s my captain and my friend. And you’re a pretty awesome, if unexpected, way for him to get that…”
“Okay,” was all America could manage, too caught up in his own thoughts to formulate much more of a reply.
“Awesome.” Prussia smacked the aviator on the back and stood up. “I’m gonna go drink my mid-morning beer… now that my hangover’s gone.”
Prussia walked away, leaving America alone on the edge of the flight pad again. He sifted his feet through the sand once more, thinking that swim in the cerulean sea was sounding even better than it had several minutes ago. He picked up his boots and tucked the socks inside, sliding off the ledge and brushing the rear of his pants off. He had a spare pair of pants, so it wouldn’t be a problem to just swim in the ones he was wearing. He slid his belt and watch off and stuffed them in the boots as well. The water was gorgeous, and he considered that perhaps he could swim out a bit more and take a peek at the coral reef. When he was descending in his plane, he could tell that it began only about fifty meters out from the shore.
He made his way to the edge of the beach, enjoying the way the sand grew wetter, thus cooler, beneath his bare feet as he came closer to the surf. Temperate water lapped at his feet when he reached it, and he squished his feet into the sand, wriggling his toes. It had been a while since he’d really had time to go to a beach.
America deposited his boots where the sand was still dry, and with a grin, ran into the water and let the waves lap against his ankles, then his knees, his thighs and---
“America!”
“Oh damn,” he cursed, turning around. But it was England calling his name, England waving at him from the beachfront. He felt his irritation ebb. At least he was talking to him.
“Yeah?” America yelled back.
“Can you come ashore? I have some things I need to show you.”
“Aw, in the middle of my swimming, England?” America shouted back, although he was making his way back to the beach as he did so.
“Well it’s important. I should do it while I’m thinking about it,” England replied once America had stepped out of the surf.
America noticed that England still wasn’t making eye contact him, and he found it frustrating. “Okay…”
“It’s in my cabin, come along then,” he said crisply, a bit more distant than he’d been the previous day.
The aviator gulped as he walked alongside him to the ship. “H-hey England?”
“What is it, America?”
“Did I do something to upset you?” He asked quietly. “I mean not that I probably did, since I’m awe--- “
“No, it’s nothing you did, America,” England interrupted. “At least… not directly,” he added beneath his breath.
“Oh. Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
“Then what’s got you down?” America queried. “Is it something to do with the Kosmider?”
And England, knowing an excuse when he saw one, nodded. “Yes, that’s been bugging me today. That’s actually why I need you to come to my cabin. I have some information.”
“Oh—oh that’s great! How did you manage to get that?” He asked excitedly.
“I have a contact, a merchant. He has a contact within the Kosmider that’s leaking the information,” England explained.
“Awesome!”
They continued walking to the ship, conversation between them having ceased completely. America noted with disappointment that it didn’t make much sense for England to not look at him because he was upset about the Kosmider.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The first thing England pulled out from his desk drawer when they reached the cabin was a piece of paper, but before he did so, he forced America to make a promise. “If you meet anyone on this list, you are not to hurt them. In your case, I suppose that would mean that you are not to turn them over to the military either. I suppose… you could bring them to my ship, if you caught one of them. We could keep them prisoner here.”
“Wha-?” America blinked, reaching for the paper. England pulled it back.
“My source of information has a friend in the Kosmider, and it’s one of these people,” England explained. “My promise in exchange for the information was that I wouldn’t harm that friend.”
“But they’re evil!”
“Oh shut up,” England sighed. “If he’s giving this merchant information on the Kosmider, he obviously doesn’t want to be a part of it.”
America sat down on the edge of England’s bed and looked down. “Well then why don’t they leave?”
England rubbed his forehead, in between his eyebrows. “I imagine it’s not that simple. You really are naïve…”
“Yeah, I hear that a lot,” America grumbled.
“Only because it’s true,” England quipped. “I haven’t the foggiest why they’re a member, but I imagine they’re staying around for the information or because…” He lowered his voice. “Perhaps they’re afraid to try and leave.”
America nodded. “Okay, I promise.”
“You do realize,” England said, toying with the piece of paper between his fingers, “that in order to keep that promise, you may have to defy the military? If you have a member of the Kosmider and don’t turn him or her in…”
His eyes widened. “I’d get in a lot of trouble, I guess.”
“Yes, I imagine you would,” England sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to force you to defy your superiors. It’s fine if you don’t want this paper. I’m sure us pirates can take care of things well enough without--- “
“Give it to me.” He held his hand out.
“What?” England’s eyebrows shot up.
America glanced away, staring at the headboard of the bed. “People are dying… I can’t worry about… things like that. ” Then he grinned. “Heroes fight for the good of the world, no matter what!”
At this, England did finally look at him, straight in the face. And he smiled, and America felt his heart quicken at the other man’s rare expression.
“You really are something, America.”
“Hey that’s not---“
“I don’t mean that as an insult,” England clarified. “Not at all.”
England handed him the slip of paper, and America scrolled down the list of names.
Alfroskaya, Belarus… Von Bock, Estonia… He continued reading, a list of forty or so names, almost all at least vaguely Medvedian. And the last name on the list, Lorinaitis, Lithuania.
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: 3.468
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: But it was that England had accepted, that England hadn’t shoved him off and stormed to his own cabin, that shocked him. Those weren’t the actions of a comrade, but the actions of something more. A close friend, at least.
And he really liked that. Somewhere along the line, it had ceased mattering much to America that England was a pirate. There were times in which he’d forget that he was one entirely.
England was England. It was as simple as that.
Author's Note:
colevic did a gorgeous fanart for chapter fifteen. Check it out HERE! When America had woken up with his arms around England, he’d nearly leapt off the bed in shock. It was the sight of his sleeping face, illuminated by the morning sun peeking through the porthole, that stopped him. England slept peacefully, the dull hum of his breathing entering America’s ears. He ran his eyes down the other man’s face, finding it difficult to look away. His lips were slightly parted, and America noticed the wound from the Kosmider attack on his cheek. It was pale pink, almost healed.
He appeared content, and America found that a warmth in his chest erupted at seeing the pirate captain like this. It was… as if he were witness to something private, a part of England that not many were allowed to see. Or at least, he assumed. He couldn’t imagine that the pirate slept freely in front of many people.
Sandy blonde hair splayed out behind England on the pillow, and his choppy bangs dusted his forehead. Unthinkingly, he reached forward and sifted his fingers through England’s bangs.
Below that were his eyebrows, and America grinned a little upon seeing them.
They were pretty hard to miss, so it made sense that France walked away from his encounters with England remembering them so vividly. But in contrast to France’s impression, America found that he thought they were well, sort of cute.
Absently, his fingers moved from his bangs to his thick dark brows, and he chuckled to himself as he noted that they were slightly furrowed, even in his sleep.
England had slept with him the previous night. He didn’t recall pulling England into bed with him, but knowing himself, he wasn’t that surprised that he’d done so. Canada and Japan had been victims of his ghost story phobia more than once, and had ended up innocently sharing a bunk with him some of those evenings. But it was that England had accepted, that England hadn’t shoved him off and stormed to his own cabin, that shocked him. Those weren’t the actions of a comrade, but the actions of something more. A close friend, at least.
And he really liked that. Somewhere along the line, it had ceased mattering much to America that England was a pirate. There were times in which he’d forget that he was one entirely.
England was England. It was as simple as that.
“What the hell are you doing?” A voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked down to see England staring at him, green eyes blearily opening.
America pulled his fingers away from England’s face swift as he could manage, and he backed up against the wall and turned his face away in attempt to hide his inevitably red face. He’d been caught, with his fingers on England’s eyebrows. How embarrassing firstly, and also how weird must England think him. “Um… watching you?”
“T-touching me like that?” He huffed, sitting up and stifling a rather large yawn. “I thought you didn’t like the way I looked. You… said so that time we were in the kitchen.” England crossed his arms, his cheeks now lightly flushed.
“W-what? I didn’t say that.” America’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head in the negative, gesturing wildly with his hands in front of him.
“You sort of did.”
“Well then I didn’t mean it,” the aviator murmured, his voice almost indiscernible. He was face to face with England now, having turned back when he’d shaken his head.
And England’s face exploded, red as a cherry tomato.
America had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. His face was bright as crimson and his eyes were so wide and his eyebrows had shot up into his forehead.
“L-let’s go to breakfast,” England finally stammered. He was glancing away from America, slightly downcast as if he were unable to make eye contact with him. There was a pitiful excuse for a pout on his lips, a sure attempt to hide the fact that he was pleased by America’s admission.
Actually, England was pretty damn cute on the whole. For a pirate.
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Australia cooked up a delicious breakfast, scrambled eggs, greasy sausages, crispy bacon, and pancakes with plenty of syrup to slather all over them. That made up for the awkward atmosphere on the beach that morning at least somewhat. Or at least, awkward for him. He should have known that everyone would know England had slept in his room. It would have only taken one person peeking into his cabin to discover it, and judging by the way Prussia snickered at him every time their eyes met, Spain gave him this knowing smile, and Switzerland glared at him, there was simply no doubt they knew.
England, who sat next to him, was no doubt receiving the same treatment.
Prussia and Spain were both suffering from mild hangovers, so they weren’t as talkative as the night before. Australia gave them both drinks he’d mixed up to help them get over the effects, because as he said ‘we’ll have lots of work to do today, mates.’
Romano yawned beside Spain, unthinkingly leaning his head on the other man’s shoulder. This earned a warm smile from Spain. America tapped his chin in thought and stood up, walking over to Romano with an earnest grin.
“You done eating, Romano?” He inquired.
“Do you see a plate?” He grumbled in return, a sour expression on his face.
America blinked. Romano had indeed, already thrown his dirty plate onto the table. “Oh right. Then can I talk to ya?”
Romano’s brows creased in confusion at this, but he nodded. “Yeah, sure. Don’t see why not.”
“I mean sorry to interrupt you and Spain but--- “
He blushed hotly and shoved Spain away, pushing himself off the log and standing up. Romano clenched a fist and shouted, “You’re not interrupting me! I just kind of fell onto that jerk Spain because I was tired. It’s good you came, because now he can’t take advantage of me!”
America glanced to Spain quizzically, and the pirate sighed and rubbed his hand down his face. He gestured America to go on with his free hand.
“Okay…” He shrugged. “Follow me then, Romano.” They walked together wordlessly to the far edge of the beach, closest to the landing pad. America stopped and Romano did the same. “I kind of want to talk to you about your brother?” He began.
Romano stiffened. “What of him?”
“It’s nothing bad!” America placed his hands in front of him. The pirate relaxed, relieved. “Your brother was the same. When I mentioned you, he immediately acted as if something bad must have happened…”
“Well you can’t blame us.” Romano crossed his arms. “It’s pretty shitty out there right now. Anyway, how do you know Italy?”
“Oh! We went on a mission together… actually it was,” America hesitated, the lack of results the mission had yielded still frustrating to him, “to find out information about the Kosmider. We didn’t really find much.”
“So what do you have to tell me?”
“I told your brother about what happened with the Nuberu and the Kosmider and…”
“You did?!” Romano snapped.
“Yeah I mean… why not?”
At this, the perpetually scowling pirate softened. “I just… I don’t like to see him worry, okay?”
“Makes sense.” America sat on the edge of the flight pad, the concrete hot beneath him. He glanced over to the edge of the forest, and made a note to take a hike before leaving. It was… really beautiful. “But I thought it was only fair, and… have you really not seen each other for six months?”
Romano shrugged and sat down next to him. “We really don’t have many chances, but I try to radio him at least.”
“Couldn’t he just fly in and see you?” America asked, turning his feet inward.
“Italy’s not a pilot,” he replied shortly. “It’s not as easy for us at it is for… you and Captain Kirkland.”
America flushed at the implication there (if there indeed, even was one). “Can I just tell you the same thing I told him?”
“…I guess.”
The aviator took Romano’s shoulders, merely tightening his hold when he began to pull away. He looked directly at him, blue eyes stern. “Keep your brother close… okay?”
“It’s none of your busi---“
“Radio him or whatever, if you haven’t already. And dammit, just make sure you see him!” America continued.
The pirate nodded. “Chh, if you insist.”
“Good.” America beamed.
Romano frowned and slid off the landing pad. “…Thanks,” he murmured.
“Huh?” But he’d already started walking away. America watched him leave, heading back to the area of the beach Spain was occupying. He rested his chin on his hand and absently toyed with the fob watch that hung at his belt. The tropical sun burned, growing stronger as the morning lingered on. America reached down and slipped off his hot black boots and socks, rolling up his pants as well. He sifted his toes through the scorching sand, feeling rather like he’d like to take a dip in the cool ocean water.
England had barely spoken to him since that humiliating moment in the cabin that morning. He didn’t know if he’d upset England, the whole situation had embarrassed him, or just a combination of both. As much as he felt that he knew England so much better than he had before he’d visited this island, the pirate captain’s emotions were still so often a mystery to him. He was unpredictable, hot and cold and all over the place. It was both amusing and a bit frustrating. America really wanted to understand England, after all.
He wasn’t just not talking though; he avoided looking at him entirely. America had tried to shoot him tentative smiles at several points throughout breakfast, only for England to turn his face away and not acknowledge them. America bit his lip. I really should take a dip to clear my head…
He was about to stand up when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Before America could even turn around, Prussia was sitting down next to him. “’Sup boy toy?” America blushed. “Well I guess if I actually want to talk to you, I should call you by your name.”
“Can you always call me by my name?” America quipped.
“Not making any promises,” Prussia replied with a shrug. “But I do kinda want to talk to you about England.” He slapped his hand on America’s arm. “And I’m not taking no for an answer.”
“Umm…” America frowned.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He grinned. “Firstly, I want to say I’m actually sorry for walking in on you two yesterday. It was funny at the time, but I feel bad because… you totally could have gotten somewhere I bet, if I hadn’t done that.”
“N-nothing was happening!” America held his hands up and shook his head fervently.
“I didn’t say anything was,” Prussia countered. “I said that something could have happened.”
America opened his mouth to speak again, but the pirate cut him off. “I get enough denial from England so just… listen to me, okay man?” America nodded. “And I also know nothing happened between you two last night, much as it would have been awesome. Doesn’t make you two sleeping together not funny, though.” He was still smirking, and this just made the entire conversation even more humiliating.
Prussia now moved his arm up and put it around America’s shoulders in a friendly manner. “But hey you know what? I like you. You’re a pretty cool guy.”
“’Course I am!” America finally got in.
“And if England can get over the fact that you’re military enough to trust you like he has… well damn,” Prussia paused, “who the hell am I to disagree with that?”
“E-England can rely on me, that’s all. We’re comrades,” America elucidated weakly.
Prussia sighed. “You really have no idea how big that is, do you?” He leaned back on his hands and looked skyward. “England would kill me for telling you this shit, but I’m going to anyway.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t know how many times we’ve been at a bar together, and I’d spot a hot guy and point them out to England…”
“A hot guy?”
“Yeah, no shit,” Prussia snorted. “I thought that was obvious.” He winked. “And you’re a guy so…”
“S-shut up!” America snapped, cheeks red.
“Anyway, England pretends he’s not interested. He’s a captain, he has important work, and he doesn’t have time to flirt about. Just the kind of excuses you’d expect from him.” Prussia shifted, so he was now facing America. “But me? I think he’s just lonely, and he’s like… afraid of stuff like that.”
“So he is lonely…” America mumbled, more to himself than anything else.
“We’re all really close to England,” Prussia replied, having obviously heard America’s murmur. “And so it’s not like he doesn’t have friends, ‘cuz he does. But there’s still this kind of… weird guard he keeps up.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“Heh. Well you’re kind of… he’s kind of different with you,” Prussia paused. “Good different. It’s a pretty awesome thing to see, to be honest. I just want you to know that I’m rooting for you two, and…”
“Me and England are friends,” America snapped in interruption.
“Do you blush when talking about friends all the time?” Prussia rolled his eyes, and the aviator recalled France making a very similar comment. “I mean I know England’s not bad looking, but that kind of reaction…” He trailed off and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
He’s pretty damn cute, America recalled the thought crossing his mind earlier; when England was flustered and huffing and acting as if he were scandalized. The way that he acted so over the top like that was… yeah, he’d found him cute. England was nice to look at, okay, he’d admitted it to himself. He pouted and bit his lip. He could acknowledge when someone was good-looking, but it normally didn’t make his face heat up to think about…
“But… I just in the end wanted to apologize for what I did yesterday, and wish you two luck because…” He laughed. “I really do want England to be happy, you know? He’s my captain and my friend. And you’re a pretty awesome, if unexpected, way for him to get that…”
“Okay,” was all America could manage, too caught up in his own thoughts to formulate much more of a reply.
“Awesome.” Prussia smacked the aviator on the back and stood up. “I’m gonna go drink my mid-morning beer… now that my hangover’s gone.”
Prussia walked away, leaving America alone on the edge of the flight pad again. He sifted his feet through the sand once more, thinking that swim in the cerulean sea was sounding even better than it had several minutes ago. He picked up his boots and tucked the socks inside, sliding off the ledge and brushing the rear of his pants off. He had a spare pair of pants, so it wouldn’t be a problem to just swim in the ones he was wearing. He slid his belt and watch off and stuffed them in the boots as well. The water was gorgeous, and he considered that perhaps he could swim out a bit more and take a peek at the coral reef. When he was descending in his plane, he could tell that it began only about fifty meters out from the shore.
He made his way to the edge of the beach, enjoying the way the sand grew wetter, thus cooler, beneath his bare feet as he came closer to the surf. Temperate water lapped at his feet when he reached it, and he squished his feet into the sand, wriggling his toes. It had been a while since he’d really had time to go to a beach.
America deposited his boots where the sand was still dry, and with a grin, ran into the water and let the waves lap against his ankles, then his knees, his thighs and---
“America!”
“Oh damn,” he cursed, turning around. But it was England calling his name, England waving at him from the beachfront. He felt his irritation ebb. At least he was talking to him.
“Yeah?” America yelled back.
“Can you come ashore? I have some things I need to show you.”
“Aw, in the middle of my swimming, England?” America shouted back, although he was making his way back to the beach as he did so.
“Well it’s important. I should do it while I’m thinking about it,” England replied once America had stepped out of the surf.
America noticed that England still wasn’t making eye contact him, and he found it frustrating. “Okay…”
“It’s in my cabin, come along then,” he said crisply, a bit more distant than he’d been the previous day.
The aviator gulped as he walked alongside him to the ship. “H-hey England?”
“What is it, America?”
“Did I do something to upset you?” He asked quietly. “I mean not that I probably did, since I’m awe--- “
“No, it’s nothing you did, America,” England interrupted. “At least… not directly,” he added beneath his breath.
“Oh. Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
“Then what’s got you down?” America queried. “Is it something to do with the Kosmider?”
And England, knowing an excuse when he saw one, nodded. “Yes, that’s been bugging me today. That’s actually why I need you to come to my cabin. I have some information.”
“Oh—oh that’s great! How did you manage to get that?” He asked excitedly.
“I have a contact, a merchant. He has a contact within the Kosmider that’s leaking the information,” England explained.
“Awesome!”
They continued walking to the ship, conversation between them having ceased completely. America noted with disappointment that it didn’t make much sense for England to not look at him because he was upset about the Kosmider.
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The first thing England pulled out from his desk drawer when they reached the cabin was a piece of paper, but before he did so, he forced America to make a promise. “If you meet anyone on this list, you are not to hurt them. In your case, I suppose that would mean that you are not to turn them over to the military either. I suppose… you could bring them to my ship, if you caught one of them. We could keep them prisoner here.”
“Wha-?” America blinked, reaching for the paper. England pulled it back.
“My source of information has a friend in the Kosmider, and it’s one of these people,” England explained. “My promise in exchange for the information was that I wouldn’t harm that friend.”
“But they’re evil!”
“Oh shut up,” England sighed. “If he’s giving this merchant information on the Kosmider, he obviously doesn’t want to be a part of it.”
America sat down on the edge of England’s bed and looked down. “Well then why don’t they leave?”
England rubbed his forehead, in between his eyebrows. “I imagine it’s not that simple. You really are naïve…”
“Yeah, I hear that a lot,” America grumbled.
“Only because it’s true,” England quipped. “I haven’t the foggiest why they’re a member, but I imagine they’re staying around for the information or because…” He lowered his voice. “Perhaps they’re afraid to try and leave.”
America nodded. “Okay, I promise.”
“You do realize,” England said, toying with the piece of paper between his fingers, “that in order to keep that promise, you may have to defy the military? If you have a member of the Kosmider and don’t turn him or her in…”
His eyes widened. “I’d get in a lot of trouble, I guess.”
“Yes, I imagine you would,” England sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to force you to defy your superiors. It’s fine if you don’t want this paper. I’m sure us pirates can take care of things well enough without--- “
“Give it to me.” He held his hand out.
“What?” England’s eyebrows shot up.
America glanced away, staring at the headboard of the bed. “People are dying… I can’t worry about… things like that. ” Then he grinned. “Heroes fight for the good of the world, no matter what!”
At this, England did finally look at him, straight in the face. And he smiled, and America felt his heart quicken at the other man’s rare expression.
“You really are something, America.”
“Hey that’s not---“
“I don’t mean that as an insult,” England clarified. “Not at all.”
England handed him the slip of paper, and America scrolled down the list of names.
Alfroskaya, Belarus… Von Bock, Estonia… He continued reading, a list of forty or so names, almost all at least vaguely Medvedian. And the last name on the list, Lorinaitis, Lithuania.
