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everythingismagicTitle: You Can't Take the Sky From Me [FF.NET Chapter Nineteen] [ Writing Journal Previous Chapters ]
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano, Belarus---->Russia, PrussiaxSwitzerland. Future pairings: GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3.296
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: “Remember what I told you about the danger the sky-pirates present to our plans, Lithuania?”
“Yes…”
“This boy could be just as dangerous, I think,” Russia continued. “He is a link between the pirates and the military, and it’s even more than that. He’s strong, idealistic, and he’s just been given a position of power that I really do not approve of. It is he who will be in charge of acting against us, it appears.”
Author's Note: Thanks for all the comments on the last chapter. You all have... been so amazing recently. Get ready for things to really kick into gear in this and upcoming chapters. ;)
It was white, so white that when Ukraine had first seen it, she’d remembered thinking that it felt as if she were inside an immense palace of snow. The ceilings were high and domed, and the floor was as gleaming as ice. But it was not royalty that this pure-white palace housed, but instead, the growing fleet of the Kosmider.
It was here, in this remote snow bound citadel shrouded in the Northern-most regions of Medved, that the Kosmider built themselves up; zeppelin upon zeppelin, nearly invisible in the wind-whipped, frigid, white landscape.
There were few splashes of color in the fortress, a flash of silver; Belarus practicing with her blade in an open space. But mostly it was black, the deep dark of the Kosmider uniforms dotting the room like smudges of charcoal on an ivory surface.
Ukraine wrapped her arms around herself, chilly despite the warm wool of her uniform. This was her charge, to watch and regulate the building of the Kosmider’s zeppelins. Russia had given it to her, and what choice did she have but to---
“Sister?” A voice snapped her out of her reverie, soft, gentle, Russia’s. And he was alone, because he never referred to her by sister unless they were out of earshot of other Kosmider members.
Ukraine turned around, greeting her younger brother. His beige scarf stood out against his black uniform, and he smiled. “Good afternoon, Brother.”
“I’m glad I stopped by, ah?” He paused and Ukraine felt him surveying her. She bit her lip and fought back a small wave of tears. She’d always struggled with holding in her emotions, and lately seeing her brother, seeing him made it so difficult not to cry. He wasn’t supposed to be like—“The construction of our fleet is going as well as you’d promised, Sister. I am so pleased with your work.”
“Thank you, Brother.” She nodded. Russia’s large hand landed on her shoulder, and she recalled a smaller pair of hands, covered in warm mittens and wrapped gently around her shoulders. An embrace. An adjusting of a scarf when they’d pulled apart. A smile as she’d told him ‘you’re almost as tall as me now, little brother.’
“Do you see, everyone is working so hard for us, dear Sister.” He pointed a finger toward the fleet of black clad workers, zeppelins coming together piece by piece under their care. “So many people have joined us in sharing our dream. It won’t be long until it’s accomplished, ah?”
Ukraine’s eyes welled up again, and she stifled a sniffle. “Brother… what if, everyone doesn’t share the same dream you do?” She queried, voice quiet, cautious.
At this, Russia’s hand left her shoulder, and a frown flickered across his face; just a blink of a change in expression before his smile was back in place. “It was ultimately everyone here’s decision to join me, Sister.” His voice lowered in pitch near the end of the sentence, and there was a tinge of ire to his tone.
“That is…”
“No one will stand in my way, Ukraine.” And despite his almost gentle tone, his words were frosty, and they sent a chill through Ukraine.
She frowned and nodded, turning away from him so as to disallow him from seeing the large salty tears that now fell freely from her eyes. Ukraine would stand beside him and protect him. She’d vowed to do so when he was small, when the chill of the Medvedian winter was the greatest danger they’d faced. But it was getting harder to do so now, because Ukraine had no idea how to protect Russia from what he was facing now. Her heart ached every time she realized that she was at a loss as to how to protect him from himself.
A pounding of footsteps, and she peeked over her shoulder to see Lithuania approaching. Lithuania, Russia’s favorite soldier, his trusted general, greeted the other man with a salute and a “you asked to see me, Sir?” Russia nodded.
“Indeed, Lithuania. I have some very important matters to discuss, if you’ll follow me.” He didn’t say goodbye to Ukraine, merely giving her a wayward backward glance as he walked away, Lithuania trailing behind.
---------------------------------------------------
America wanted, more than anything, to sleep. He wanted to curl up in his bedsheets and nuzzle into his pillow and drift off into a dreamless sleep and be well rested and awake for the meeting with China the next day. This was his big break, after all.
So when, upon pulling the sheets and comforter over him and plopping his head down onto the pillow, he heard a rather loud knock on the door of his room, he cursed.
“America, let me in?” Came France’s muffled voice. Oh most definitely not. He was not going to come back from a lengthy flight, sleep deprived, just to have to talk to France. Especially since he had no doubt that France was going to bring up--- “Oh, you do not wish to let me in? I guess I can talk to you about England from outside the door then.”
Before he even finished his sentence, America had darted up from the bed and over to the door, swinging it open and frowning. “What the hell do you want, France?” France held up his hands in mock surrender. The hallway was empty behind him, America noted as he peeked around the private. “Just… come in, okay?” The aviator shook his head and yawned, running a hand through his blonde hair.
France stepped into the room and took a quick gander at America’s bed, the sheets ruffled from his quick dart to the door. “Haha, not funny. Sit in the chair.” America gestured to the small wooden chair that sat beside his desk.
“Very well then,” France sighed as he sat down. “I imagine that I will just have to come to terms with you no longer being available.”
America’s face flushed at this, and he plopped down onto the edge of his bed in a sulk. “I was never available to you anyway.”
France shrugged. “You’ve always played hard to get. If you and England ever…”
“Shut up!” America snapped. He leapt from the bed and grabbed a pile of comic books from atop his nightstand, lining them up in the middle of the floor. When that wasn’t enough, he snatched his extra pair of goggles, a few flight manuals, a dirty pair of pants, and four records. The ‘line’ was splayed out in the middle of the room, stretching vertically from the area between his nightstand and his desk and the end of his bed. “Don’t cross this line, France. Now what did you come here for?”
France chuckled. “I only wanted to speak to you, America.”
America shifted, feeling irritable and tired. He picked his glasses up from the nightstand and put them back on, then sat down on the bed again. “Go for it then. I’ve got to get to bed so I can wake up and be at my awesomest tomorrow.”
“About that…” France tapped his fingers on the desk. “Congratulations. I know how much you wanted to help out with this, America.”
The younger man’s eyes widened, and a small smile crossed his lips. “Thanks, France.”
“I only hope….” He trailed off.
“Huh?”
“Ah,” France began again, “I meant to say I only hope that you do not become content with this.”
“Whaddya mean by that?” America queried. “This is gonna be great. With me at the head, I won’t let the Kosmider get any further!”
France exhaled. “I just worry that you will… go back to how you were before now.”
“How I was… before?”
“Before England,” France clarified. “When you questioned the military that day… wondered why they were not taking action with the Kosmider…”
“Well now they are.”
“That, yes exactly that.” France leaned back in his chair. “I just mean that I hope you do not go back to blindly following the military.”
“Wha— “
“And by the way, if you need any tips on long distance relationships, I would be more than happy to---“
“Did you come here for any other reason but to criticize me?” America bit out, frustration rising. “Here I thought you might actually be happy for me about my assignment…”
“I am, America.” France leaned forward on his hands and leveled him a look. “I wish to believe though, that you will not be appeased by this. Now that you have your way, now that they are acting as you desired, will you bend again to their every whim?”
America sucked in a breath. “I’m a hero, France. I do what’s right, and it’s obvious the military knows what’s right, now!”
France frowned and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “But what of England? You care about him, oui?”
The younger man’s face bloomed red at this, and he clenched a fist. “France,” his tone had a hint of warning to it.
“I am not speaking of anything but the simple fact that you must care about him,” he clarified.
America relaxed and nodded. “Yeah, I… do,” he replied softly.
“You would defy the military for him, still,” France said, as if it were a fact. “You feel so strongly, America. You always have. Such passion…”
He crossed his arms. “Passion? France, stop with the--- “
“I do not mean that in any way but innocent,” he interrupted. “Non, I am being serious here. I just mean to say that if you feel half as strongly for England, for your hope of taking down the Kosmider as I believe you probably do… is there even a question?”
“I—“ America looked down, surveying his floor as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.
“This is not to say that I think the military will definitely steer you wrong,” France continued. “But if you are in a situation, where your superiors tell you to turn right, and you know, that the best thing to do is to turn left, please do it.” He stood up and walked across the room, ignoring America’s line of belongings. “There is nothing more dangerous than complacency, America.”
The expression on France’s face was completely serious. His eyes were intense and his lips formed a hard line. America shook his head in the positive. “I’m not gonna promise you anything, France. What I do is up to me!”
France smiled lightly. “That will do for now.” He sat down on the bed beside America. The captain grumbled and gave him a light shove. “Shall I give you some advice regarding England, now that we have this sorted?”
“No. You can leave now!” America snapped, crossing his arms in irritation.
France tutted and stood up, walking toward the door and turning around before he left. “All right, America. I will leave for tonight. I understand the importance of your meeting tomorrow. But if you ever need advice, you know there’s no one better than me. Although… I still question your taste. England, really?”
He found himself with a face full of downy softness, America having soundly thrown a very feathery pillow at him. France tossed the pillow and left the room, peeking back in before closing the door.
“Good night, Captain.”
--------------------------------------------------
“America Jones, captain of the thirty-fifth unit of the World Aviation Force, Aquila division,” Russia stated, placing a black and white photograph on the table between himself and Lithuania. “Do you recognize him, Lithuania?”
Lithuania blinked, surveying the photograph in front of him. The young flyboy was proudly saluting, a broad smile on his face. “No Sir, I don’t.”
“He looks spirited, doesn’t he?” Russia queried, leveling a smile at his general.
“I… guess he does,” he replied. In truth, even from the photograph, Lithuania thought the aviator radiated life. The sun shone down upon and illuminated both him and the plane he stood in front of, and Lithuania felt a tinge of envy for the young man, this America, whoever he was. He looked… free.
“You may not recognize him, but I do believe you’ve met.” Russia ran a finger over the photo, swiveling it around on the table. “Surely you remember the pilot who fought alongside the Taliesin, yes?”
Lithuania’s green eyes widened as he recalled that battle, and the military craft that had shown up out of nowhere, taking down one of the Kosmider zeppelins. “I… remember him.”
“Remember what I told you about the danger the sky-pirates present to our plans?”
“Yes…”
“This boy could be just as dangerous, I think,” Russia continued. “He is a link between the pirates and the military, and it’s even more than that. He’s strong, idealistic, and he’s just been given a position of power that I really do not approve of. It is he who will be in charge of acting against us, it appears.”
“Sir?” Lithuania inhaled sharply. “Wh-what are you proposing?”
“I’ve learned a lot about America Jones recently, and I want him… out of the way.”
Lithuania gulped and nodded, beads of sweat forming on the palms of his hands. “A-and…”
“Are you asking what your role in this will be?” Russia inquired, soft, sweet, as if his words were innocent as a lamb. “That is yet to be determined, but this America, this young captain with his smile and his dreams and his spirit.” He picked up the photo and turned it in his hand, before crumpling it into a ball. “His dreams are not ours. We will devastate them.”
Lithuania clenched his eyes shut, his heart beating wildly in his chest. That man, that brave flyboy who had defended the pirate ship so boldly. He remembered watching the aircraft from his spot in the zeppelin, watching as it zipped through the sky, cutting through the wind as if it were nothing, dodging the missiles his crew had deployed, and so easily, with swift and tactical strikes, knocking one of Russia’s white beasts out of the sky. Lithuania was sure that America and Russia did not share the same dreams, but he wondered if he and America may.
“Belarus, you may come in.” Lithuania snapped his eyes open at Russia’s words. The door creaked open, bringing with it the sound of the zeppelin production, voices yelling, machinery running, steam puffing, in addition to Belarus’s feet clattering on the floor as she rushed in.
“How did you know I was there, Russia, dear?” Belarus asked, and Lithuania noted that her sword was hilted at her side, having just been practicing with her blade.
Russia let out a whisper of a laugh. “I heard you of course. You were quiet, but not too quiet for me.”
Belarus tensed at this. “Sit down, Belarus.” She moved to sit next to Russia, and he shook his head. “By Lithuania, please.” The swordswomen pouted and plopped down next to him, the end of her blade’s sheath jutting into his leg. Lithuania shifted away.
Belarus really was beautiful, and her skill was admirable and… honestly breathtaking. At times Lithuania found himself watching her practice, numbing his mind to what darkness Belarus was truly capable of, so he could just be in awe of the way in which she moved. Her hair always whipped about her face, but she never pulled it back, a headband being the only thing that kept it from flying too astray. She wore a dress instead of the standard Kosmider uniform, although it was still black and silver. This was, Belarus claimed, so she could hide her daggers beneath her skirts. She was lethal, and Lithuania found himself both frightened and amazed by her.
In that manner, Lithuania also considered her to be a perfect match for Russia, and he bemoaned the fact that Russia did not agree. Russia would rather have him; Russia would always rather have Lithuania.
“I assume you heard my discussion with Lithuania, yes?” Russia asked.
“I did not mean to--- “
“It’s all right. There’s nothing I told him that you can’t know, Belarus,” he interrupted. “I trust your loyalty.”
“I promise you will find none more loyal,” Belarus answered, her expression genuine. “Please Russia, dear. May I have a mission? I could be the one to take out Captain Jones for you.”
Russia shook his head. “It is not my mission to see him dead, Belarus.”
She gritted her teeth. “Then I guess Lithuania is the one for this. He couldn’t hurt a fly, dear! Can’t you see? He does not share the dream we do, the one you speak of. He is--- “
“So rude, Belarus, and while Lithuania is sitting right next to you. If you care so deeply for me, why do you continually question me?” Russia asked, leveling her a glare.
“I—I--- “
His smile returned, and there was a lilt to his voice. “Please go back to practice, Belarus. There will be work for us all soon, you included.”
Belarus stood up and nodded, firm, staunch. She sauntered over to Russia and placed a kiss atop his head before leaving the room.
--------------------------------------
England was in America’s room. Well not his room, but the cabin he’d taken to staying in the nights he’d slept aboard the Victoria. America hadn’t made the bed (bloody terrible guest, that moron!), and so England was curled up in the same arrangement of twisted sheets and wrinkled comforter that America had left behind that morning.
He was lying in America’s bed, and he berated himself for it. Honestly, if any of his crew were to walk in on this, he would never live it down. As such, he’d waited until they were fast asleep (and luckily for him, Prussia had passed out inebriated on the beach again), to pad down to the cabin the aviator had stayed in.
The pillow still bore the indention from America’s head, and for Christ’s sake he felt like such a fucking idiot for wrapping the sheets around him and taking in the smell that was America and he just--- hated how much he missed him already. Not so much missed that he wasn’t there, but missed him because he had no idea the next time he would see him.
America had sent him a quick radio when he’d arrived at the base, letting him know he’d gotten back safely and then telling him “g’night, I gotta sleep, seriously.” England had appreciated that. No flight was ever without its hazards, but especially not now, with the Kosmider.
He ghosted his fingers across his lips and shook his head. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now, not when America had free time (although as much as he was loathe to admit it, he could hardly ask the aviator to ditch his stupid job to talk about what had occurred). The scene in the water replayed in his mind continually, the way in which America had held him and kissed him and--- he was certain that no one had kissed first, that they’d honestly done it at the same time. Consensually. Then there was the fact that apparently, shaking hands had not been enough for America when he’d left. Instead, America had embraced him, ruffled his hair, and whispered in his ear. And that… was…
England’s eyes slid shut, and he felt himself drifting off, the warmth of the bed and the lingering presence of that imbecile who had somehow garnered his affections, lulling him to sleep. He shook his head and darted up, leaving the room behind with one wayward glance.
He could hardly stay in there. No amount of hours on the mast or extra chores for anyone on his crew would save him from the humiliation of being found in that cabin in the morning.
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano, Belarus---->Russia, PrussiaxSwitzerland. Future pairings: GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3.296
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: “Remember what I told you about the danger the sky-pirates present to our plans, Lithuania?”
“Yes…”
“This boy could be just as dangerous, I think,” Russia continued. “He is a link between the pirates and the military, and it’s even more than that. He’s strong, idealistic, and he’s just been given a position of power that I really do not approve of. It is he who will be in charge of acting against us, it appears.”
Author's Note: Thanks for all the comments on the last chapter. You all have... been so amazing recently. Get ready for things to really kick into gear in this and upcoming chapters. ;)
It was white, so white that when Ukraine had first seen it, she’d remembered thinking that it felt as if she were inside an immense palace of snow. The ceilings were high and domed, and the floor was as gleaming as ice. But it was not royalty that this pure-white palace housed, but instead, the growing fleet of the Kosmider.
It was here, in this remote snow bound citadel shrouded in the Northern-most regions of Medved, that the Kosmider built themselves up; zeppelin upon zeppelin, nearly invisible in the wind-whipped, frigid, white landscape.
There were few splashes of color in the fortress, a flash of silver; Belarus practicing with her blade in an open space. But mostly it was black, the deep dark of the Kosmider uniforms dotting the room like smudges of charcoal on an ivory surface.
Ukraine wrapped her arms around herself, chilly despite the warm wool of her uniform. This was her charge, to watch and regulate the building of the Kosmider’s zeppelins. Russia had given it to her, and what choice did she have but to---
“Sister?” A voice snapped her out of her reverie, soft, gentle, Russia’s. And he was alone, because he never referred to her by sister unless they were out of earshot of other Kosmider members.
Ukraine turned around, greeting her younger brother. His beige scarf stood out against his black uniform, and he smiled. “Good afternoon, Brother.”
“I’m glad I stopped by, ah?” He paused and Ukraine felt him surveying her. She bit her lip and fought back a small wave of tears. She’d always struggled with holding in her emotions, and lately seeing her brother, seeing him made it so difficult not to cry. He wasn’t supposed to be like—“The construction of our fleet is going as well as you’d promised, Sister. I am so pleased with your work.”
“Thank you, Brother.” She nodded. Russia’s large hand landed on her shoulder, and she recalled a smaller pair of hands, covered in warm mittens and wrapped gently around her shoulders. An embrace. An adjusting of a scarf when they’d pulled apart. A smile as she’d told him ‘you’re almost as tall as me now, little brother.’
“Do you see, everyone is working so hard for us, dear Sister.” He pointed a finger toward the fleet of black clad workers, zeppelins coming together piece by piece under their care. “So many people have joined us in sharing our dream. It won’t be long until it’s accomplished, ah?”
Ukraine’s eyes welled up again, and she stifled a sniffle. “Brother… what if, everyone doesn’t share the same dream you do?” She queried, voice quiet, cautious.
At this, Russia’s hand left her shoulder, and a frown flickered across his face; just a blink of a change in expression before his smile was back in place. “It was ultimately everyone here’s decision to join me, Sister.” His voice lowered in pitch near the end of the sentence, and there was a tinge of ire to his tone.
“That is…”
“No one will stand in my way, Ukraine.” And despite his almost gentle tone, his words were frosty, and they sent a chill through Ukraine.
She frowned and nodded, turning away from him so as to disallow him from seeing the large salty tears that now fell freely from her eyes. Ukraine would stand beside him and protect him. She’d vowed to do so when he was small, when the chill of the Medvedian winter was the greatest danger they’d faced. But it was getting harder to do so now, because Ukraine had no idea how to protect Russia from what he was facing now. Her heart ached every time she realized that she was at a loss as to how to protect him from himself.
A pounding of footsteps, and she peeked over her shoulder to see Lithuania approaching. Lithuania, Russia’s favorite soldier, his trusted general, greeted the other man with a salute and a “you asked to see me, Sir?” Russia nodded.
“Indeed, Lithuania. I have some very important matters to discuss, if you’ll follow me.” He didn’t say goodbye to Ukraine, merely giving her a wayward backward glance as he walked away, Lithuania trailing behind.
---------------------------------------------------
America wanted, more than anything, to sleep. He wanted to curl up in his bedsheets and nuzzle into his pillow and drift off into a dreamless sleep and be well rested and awake for the meeting with China the next day. This was his big break, after all.
So when, upon pulling the sheets and comforter over him and plopping his head down onto the pillow, he heard a rather loud knock on the door of his room, he cursed.
“America, let me in?” Came France’s muffled voice. Oh most definitely not. He was not going to come back from a lengthy flight, sleep deprived, just to have to talk to France. Especially since he had no doubt that France was going to bring up--- “Oh, you do not wish to let me in? I guess I can talk to you about England from outside the door then.”
Before he even finished his sentence, America had darted up from the bed and over to the door, swinging it open and frowning. “What the hell do you want, France?” France held up his hands in mock surrender. The hallway was empty behind him, America noted as he peeked around the private. “Just… come in, okay?” The aviator shook his head and yawned, running a hand through his blonde hair.
France stepped into the room and took a quick gander at America’s bed, the sheets ruffled from his quick dart to the door. “Haha, not funny. Sit in the chair.” America gestured to the small wooden chair that sat beside his desk.
“Very well then,” France sighed as he sat down. “I imagine that I will just have to come to terms with you no longer being available.”
America’s face flushed at this, and he plopped down onto the edge of his bed in a sulk. “I was never available to you anyway.”
France shrugged. “You’ve always played hard to get. If you and England ever…”
“Shut up!” America snapped. He leapt from the bed and grabbed a pile of comic books from atop his nightstand, lining them up in the middle of the floor. When that wasn’t enough, he snatched his extra pair of goggles, a few flight manuals, a dirty pair of pants, and four records. The ‘line’ was splayed out in the middle of the room, stretching vertically from the area between his nightstand and his desk and the end of his bed. “Don’t cross this line, France. Now what did you come here for?”
France chuckled. “I only wanted to speak to you, America.”
America shifted, feeling irritable and tired. He picked his glasses up from the nightstand and put them back on, then sat down on the bed again. “Go for it then. I’ve got to get to bed so I can wake up and be at my awesomest tomorrow.”
“About that…” France tapped his fingers on the desk. “Congratulations. I know how much you wanted to help out with this, America.”
The younger man’s eyes widened, and a small smile crossed his lips. “Thanks, France.”
“I only hope….” He trailed off.
“Huh?”
“Ah,” France began again, “I meant to say I only hope that you do not become content with this.”
“Whaddya mean by that?” America queried. “This is gonna be great. With me at the head, I won’t let the Kosmider get any further!”
France exhaled. “I just worry that you will… go back to how you were before now.”
“How I was… before?”
“Before England,” France clarified. “When you questioned the military that day… wondered why they were not taking action with the Kosmider…”
“Well now they are.”
“That, yes exactly that.” France leaned back in his chair. “I just mean that I hope you do not go back to blindly following the military.”
“Wha— “
“And by the way, if you need any tips on long distance relationships, I would be more than happy to---“
“Did you come here for any other reason but to criticize me?” America bit out, frustration rising. “Here I thought you might actually be happy for me about my assignment…”
“I am, America.” France leaned forward on his hands and leveled him a look. “I wish to believe though, that you will not be appeased by this. Now that you have your way, now that they are acting as you desired, will you bend again to their every whim?”
America sucked in a breath. “I’m a hero, France. I do what’s right, and it’s obvious the military knows what’s right, now!”
France frowned and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “But what of England? You care about him, oui?”
The younger man’s face bloomed red at this, and he clenched a fist. “France,” his tone had a hint of warning to it.
“I am not speaking of anything but the simple fact that you must care about him,” he clarified.
America relaxed and nodded. “Yeah, I… do,” he replied softly.
“You would defy the military for him, still,” France said, as if it were a fact. “You feel so strongly, America. You always have. Such passion…”
He crossed his arms. “Passion? France, stop with the--- “
“I do not mean that in any way but innocent,” he interrupted. “Non, I am being serious here. I just mean to say that if you feel half as strongly for England, for your hope of taking down the Kosmider as I believe you probably do… is there even a question?”
“I—“ America looked down, surveying his floor as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.
“This is not to say that I think the military will definitely steer you wrong,” France continued. “But if you are in a situation, where your superiors tell you to turn right, and you know, that the best thing to do is to turn left, please do it.” He stood up and walked across the room, ignoring America’s line of belongings. “There is nothing more dangerous than complacency, America.”
The expression on France’s face was completely serious. His eyes were intense and his lips formed a hard line. America shook his head in the positive. “I’m not gonna promise you anything, France. What I do is up to me!”
France smiled lightly. “That will do for now.” He sat down on the bed beside America. The captain grumbled and gave him a light shove. “Shall I give you some advice regarding England, now that we have this sorted?”
“No. You can leave now!” America snapped, crossing his arms in irritation.
France tutted and stood up, walking toward the door and turning around before he left. “All right, America. I will leave for tonight. I understand the importance of your meeting tomorrow. But if you ever need advice, you know there’s no one better than me. Although… I still question your taste. England, really?”
He found himself with a face full of downy softness, America having soundly thrown a very feathery pillow at him. France tossed the pillow and left the room, peeking back in before closing the door.
“Good night, Captain.”
--------------------------------------------------
“America Jones, captain of the thirty-fifth unit of the World Aviation Force, Aquila division,” Russia stated, placing a black and white photograph on the table between himself and Lithuania. “Do you recognize him, Lithuania?”
Lithuania blinked, surveying the photograph in front of him. The young flyboy was proudly saluting, a broad smile on his face. “No Sir, I don’t.”
“He looks spirited, doesn’t he?” Russia queried, leveling a smile at his general.
“I… guess he does,” he replied. In truth, even from the photograph, Lithuania thought the aviator radiated life. The sun shone down upon and illuminated both him and the plane he stood in front of, and Lithuania felt a tinge of envy for the young man, this America, whoever he was. He looked… free.
“You may not recognize him, but I do believe you’ve met.” Russia ran a finger over the photo, swiveling it around on the table. “Surely you remember the pilot who fought alongside the Taliesin, yes?”
Lithuania’s green eyes widened as he recalled that battle, and the military craft that had shown up out of nowhere, taking down one of the Kosmider zeppelins. “I… remember him.”
“Remember what I told you about the danger the sky-pirates present to our plans?”
“Yes…”
“This boy could be just as dangerous, I think,” Russia continued. “He is a link between the pirates and the military, and it’s even more than that. He’s strong, idealistic, and he’s just been given a position of power that I really do not approve of. It is he who will be in charge of acting against us, it appears.”
“Sir?” Lithuania inhaled sharply. “Wh-what are you proposing?”
“I’ve learned a lot about America Jones recently, and I want him… out of the way.”
Lithuania gulped and nodded, beads of sweat forming on the palms of his hands. “A-and…”
“Are you asking what your role in this will be?” Russia inquired, soft, sweet, as if his words were innocent as a lamb. “That is yet to be determined, but this America, this young captain with his smile and his dreams and his spirit.” He picked up the photo and turned it in his hand, before crumpling it into a ball. “His dreams are not ours. We will devastate them.”
Lithuania clenched his eyes shut, his heart beating wildly in his chest. That man, that brave flyboy who had defended the pirate ship so boldly. He remembered watching the aircraft from his spot in the zeppelin, watching as it zipped through the sky, cutting through the wind as if it were nothing, dodging the missiles his crew had deployed, and so easily, with swift and tactical strikes, knocking one of Russia’s white beasts out of the sky. Lithuania was sure that America and Russia did not share the same dreams, but he wondered if he and America may.
“Belarus, you may come in.” Lithuania snapped his eyes open at Russia’s words. The door creaked open, bringing with it the sound of the zeppelin production, voices yelling, machinery running, steam puffing, in addition to Belarus’s feet clattering on the floor as she rushed in.
“How did you know I was there, Russia, dear?” Belarus asked, and Lithuania noted that her sword was hilted at her side, having just been practicing with her blade.
Russia let out a whisper of a laugh. “I heard you of course. You were quiet, but not too quiet for me.”
Belarus tensed at this. “Sit down, Belarus.” She moved to sit next to Russia, and he shook his head. “By Lithuania, please.” The swordswomen pouted and plopped down next to him, the end of her blade’s sheath jutting into his leg. Lithuania shifted away.
Belarus really was beautiful, and her skill was admirable and… honestly breathtaking. At times Lithuania found himself watching her practice, numbing his mind to what darkness Belarus was truly capable of, so he could just be in awe of the way in which she moved. Her hair always whipped about her face, but she never pulled it back, a headband being the only thing that kept it from flying too astray. She wore a dress instead of the standard Kosmider uniform, although it was still black and silver. This was, Belarus claimed, so she could hide her daggers beneath her skirts. She was lethal, and Lithuania found himself both frightened and amazed by her.
In that manner, Lithuania also considered her to be a perfect match for Russia, and he bemoaned the fact that Russia did not agree. Russia would rather have him; Russia would always rather have Lithuania.
“I assume you heard my discussion with Lithuania, yes?” Russia asked.
“I did not mean to--- “
“It’s all right. There’s nothing I told him that you can’t know, Belarus,” he interrupted. “I trust your loyalty.”
“I promise you will find none more loyal,” Belarus answered, her expression genuine. “Please Russia, dear. May I have a mission? I could be the one to take out Captain Jones for you.”
Russia shook his head. “It is not my mission to see him dead, Belarus.”
She gritted her teeth. “Then I guess Lithuania is the one for this. He couldn’t hurt a fly, dear! Can’t you see? He does not share the dream we do, the one you speak of. He is--- “
“So rude, Belarus, and while Lithuania is sitting right next to you. If you care so deeply for me, why do you continually question me?” Russia asked, leveling her a glare.
“I—I--- “
His smile returned, and there was a lilt to his voice. “Please go back to practice, Belarus. There will be work for us all soon, you included.”
Belarus stood up and nodded, firm, staunch. She sauntered over to Russia and placed a kiss atop his head before leaving the room.
--------------------------------------
England was in America’s room. Well not his room, but the cabin he’d taken to staying in the nights he’d slept aboard the Victoria. America hadn’t made the bed (bloody terrible guest, that moron!), and so England was curled up in the same arrangement of twisted sheets and wrinkled comforter that America had left behind that morning.
He was lying in America’s bed, and he berated himself for it. Honestly, if any of his crew were to walk in on this, he would never live it down. As such, he’d waited until they were fast asleep (and luckily for him, Prussia had passed out inebriated on the beach again), to pad down to the cabin the aviator had stayed in.
The pillow still bore the indention from America’s head, and for Christ’s sake he felt like such a fucking idiot for wrapping the sheets around him and taking in the smell that was America and he just--- hated how much he missed him already. Not so much missed that he wasn’t there, but missed him because he had no idea the next time he would see him.
America had sent him a quick radio when he’d arrived at the base, letting him know he’d gotten back safely and then telling him “g’night, I gotta sleep, seriously.” England had appreciated that. No flight was ever without its hazards, but especially not now, with the Kosmider.
He ghosted his fingers across his lips and shook his head. He wanted answers, and he wanted them now, not when America had free time (although as much as he was loathe to admit it, he could hardly ask the aviator to ditch his stupid job to talk about what had occurred). The scene in the water replayed in his mind continually, the way in which America had held him and kissed him and--- he was certain that no one had kissed first, that they’d honestly done it at the same time. Consensually. Then there was the fact that apparently, shaking hands had not been enough for America when he’d left. Instead, America had embraced him, ruffled his hair, and whispered in his ear. And that… was…
England’s eyes slid shut, and he felt himself drifting off, the warmth of the bed and the lingering presence of that imbecile who had somehow garnered his affections, lulling him to sleep. He shook his head and darted up, leaving the room behind with one wayward glance.
He could hardly stay in there. No amount of hours on the mast or extra chores for anyone on his crew would save him from the humiliation of being found in that cabin in the morning.
