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everythingismagicTitle: You Can't Take the Sky From Me [FF.NET Chapter Three] [ Writing Journal Previous Chapters ]
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, GermanyxItaly, future pairings: PolandxLithuania, GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland, SpainxRomano, Belarus--->Russia
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,315
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: Then there was England. The pirate captain completely infuriated him. He was a pirate, which was irritating enough. But it was more than that. It was the way that he was friendly enough one minute, and a total ass the next. It was the way he’d had the gall to question America’s very morale. Mostly, it was the way that America found it so very difficult to hate him.
Author's Note: Thanks again to everyone who has been reading this. This is a bit more of an introspective chapter, heavy on the characterization. Actual action sequences will commence either next chapter or the chapter after, with the reconnaissance mission with Germany and Italy and something else that happens that would be a spoiler to tell you. ;)
“So what are these, new ammo for Switzerland’s guns?” Asked Prussia as he bit into a rather hard and blackened breakfast roll. England shot a glare at him and took a sip of his morning tea. The table was set for five, and four of those five were picking at the food in front of them, occasionally mustering up enough courage to take a bite. In addition to charred rolls, their captain had also made up some sort of crispy crumbly meat that everyone assumed must have been bacon at one point. Well, at least the tea was good.
“I thought Liechtenstein was in charge of cooking,” Switzerland said, looking balefully at England.
Liechtenstein glanced down shyly at her hands. “I’m sorry brother. I didn’t wake up early enough today, so Captain cooked breakfast instead.” Sealand didn’t say anything, but merely scowled at his food. England would give him extra chores if he dared insult it.
“If you don’t like my cooking, I’ll just not make any for you next time,” England snapped, then shoved a forkful of once-bacon in his mouth. “You want something posh? Don’t live on a blasted pirate ship.”
“We don’t want something posh,” Prussia grumbled. “We just want something edible.” England slammed down his fork and stood up, walking to the counter to get another cup of tea. “I noticed that aviator is still on the deck.” No one could miss the wink-wink-nudge-nudge in Prussia’s tone. “’Course you were up there in your pajamas so…”
“He fell asleep up there, I suppose,” England responded casually, stirring his tea. “And I was in my pajamas because someone who was on watch duty fell asleep and I didn’t have time to change.”
“Seems like you’d want him gone as soon as possible,” Sealand pointed out. Both he and Liechtenstein had been filled in by Prussia and Switzerland respectively that morning. “I noticed he was wearing your blanket!”
England flushed and turned away from his crew. “Just didn’t want some military aviator catching pneumonia on my ship,” he scoffed.”Who knows what kind of trouble that could lead to.” The Captain sighed. “I’ll go check on him right now. Tell him to get his arse off my ship.”
Prussia stifled laughter and Switzerland rolled his eyes.
------------------------------------
By the time England got up to the deck, America was already back at work on his plane. The blanket had been thrown down beside him, although America had at least had the courtesy to try not to step on it. This time, the aviator heard England’s footsteps. He turned around and frowned nervously. “I told you to be gone by morning. Too daft to tell time?”
America scratched his head and yawned. “I fell asleep. Probably ‘cuz this place is so boring.”
England crossed his arms. “You almost done then? I’ve still half a mind to throw you over--- “
“Well you gave me that blanket, right? That doesn’t seem an action from the kind of guy who wants to kill me.” America shrugged. “’Course you are a pirate, so maybe I’m wrong.”
England’s face reddened, and he reached down to snatch the blanket. “Th-that has nothing to do with anything!” He clenched the fabric of the blanket in his hands. “I hate you! You come onto my ship in the middle of the night and just cause trouble and act arrogant as you like, as if you’re sodding invincible. You military types are all the--- “
“What do you have against military anyway?” America inquired. “Is it just that we’re on the side of justice and you’re a criminal?”
England stomped forward. “Maybe someday you’ll understand. You’ll see that you’re not a hero at all, and it will pop that ridiculous ego of yours.”
America’s eyes widened and he gaped for a moment, composure momentarily shaken. Then he shook his head and laughed. “Yeah right England!”
“The world’s not so black and white and… fucking hell, why am I even bothering with you?” He interrupted himself. There was an awkward silence between the two. England looked up toward the sky, watching the way the sails of his grand ship waved in the early morning breeze. He appeared to be utterly transfixed. America watched him, confusion in his expression. England had, as of so far, been full of empty threats. But even America was perceptive enough to tell that his anger and bitterness had been genuine.
“This ship means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” America finally broke the silence and asked.
The pirate captain was startled out of his reverie by the aviator’s comment. He scowled and shoved a small paper bag toward America, not once making eye contact while he did so. “It’s breakfast. Be gone in an hour.” Then he walked away, leaving a bewildered America behind.
America just blinked, holding the bag limply in his hand. “Wha- I just asked him a question.”
-------------------------------------------------
The Aeronaut took an hour and fifteen minutes longer to fix, but England hadn’t come out at the hour mark to threaten him. In fact, after he’d stormed off, he hadn’t come out at all. It all left America in a sour mood. He wasn’t able to complete his flyover, as he wouldn’t even arrive in Medved until late that night now. In addition, he needed to have Canada look at his plane before he flew a long distance trip again. Right now he was heading back to Aquila. He’d have to attempt the flyover again on Sunday. When he’d radioed ahead after leaving the Victoria, that had been the consensus.
Then there was England. The pirate captain completely infuriated him. He was a pirate, which was irritating enough. But it was more than that. It was the way that he was friendly enough one minute, and a total ass the next. It was the way he’d had the gall to question America’s very morale. Mostly, it was the way that America found it so very difficult to hate him. He gritted his teeth and put a record on to take his mind off the captain of the Victoria. It was a few minutes later that America remembered the paper bag England had given him, supposedly filled with breakfast. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if England had poisoned the food, but he brushed that off and opened up the bag, pulling out a piece of food that vaguely resembled a hockey puck and a bunch of crumbled pieces of what he presumed to be a sort of meat. Warily, he bit into the biscuit and cringed. “S—so terrible!” But he was voraciously hungry, so he ate it all anyway.
When he was done, he worked to clear his mind again. He didn’t want to think about the previous night. Instead he occupied himself with thoughts of the upcoming reconnaissance mission. He’d never worked with Major Germany (what was his last name? He’d never found out) and Lieutenant Vargas before, but they had seemed like the heroic type. It would be his first official group mission as a captain, and he was beside himself with anticipation. Three records later, America went to check the time. He’d told the base he’d radio ahead about half an hour before he was due to arrive, and just by looking at the time, he’d know how much longer he had left to fly. He reached down to his belt to look at the familiar fob watch, and his eyes widened when he realized it wasn’t there. It must be somewhere in the cockpit, America considered. I won’t be able to look around until I get back though. Guess I’ll radio ahead when it seems about right…
He put his hand over his eyes as he changed directions, the continent visible in the distance letting him know that it was time to turn toward the base. The now-late morning sunlight was unusually bright and hot. He was sweating in his bomber jacket, so he slipped it off and put it behind his seat. England came back to mind, and he thought of his words about not being a hero. Preposterous, of course. America knew he was one. But there had been something niggling at the back of his mind. The Kosmider. The thought of this group blowing up merchant ships caused bile to rise in America’s throat. But apparently this knowledge wasn’t something the military felt necessary to tell him, and he simply could not understand why, even with the reasoning Germany provided. It was only through Italy’s outside connection that they found it out. And ironically, his connection was with a pirate. What else did he not know? America felt a headache coming on at it all. Even flying felt unpleasant to him right now, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the base. Usually the heat wouldn’t be a bother, but it, coupled with everything else, just frayed at his nerves even more. He was a captain. He had work to do. He had people to save. He didn’t have time to question.
As he was arriving at the base later on, he had a sudden unpleasant thought. Did I leave my watch on England’s ship?
-------------------------------------------------
England had spent the last hour putting his crew to work. The ship was a mess, and he may have been a pirate, but he couldn’t stand for things not to be neat. They had nothing to do and no plans for the day. It was to have been a lazy Saturday for the crew, and England had little doubt they’d been looking forward to it. But he was unquestionably irritated and irrevocably moody. He took that out on his crew, and they were put hard to work. Prussia was scrubbing the mast, Switzerland had been put in charge of cleaning the deck, and Sealand was hard at work in the kitchen. He’d let Liechtenstein off the hook. He could never quite bring himself to be forceful toward the young girl. She had volunteered to clean up the crew’s quarters though, which he allowed her to do.
The captain was not working. It wasn’t that he refused to do any chores, it was just that he needed time to think. And that was the other reason he’d sent his crew off to clean house. They wouldn’t bother him now. He was sitting on his bed, head in his hands. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers and sighed.
His quarters were immaculately clean, and he generally forbade his crew from entering them (not that it stopped them, they still barged in uninvited quite often). He had nothing to hide, really. He just made it clear that when he was in his room, he wanted to be alone. The quarters were well decorated, that was true. Rich green and gold were the predominant shades, his bed spread and a few tapestries featuring them. The furniture was all done in red cherry wood. The embroidered blanket he’d loaned America was folded over the back of a wooden chair now. He’d made it himself a couple of years back. His crew made fun of his needlepoint hobby, but he enjoyed it and found it relaxing.
England lifted his head and glanced over at the white and gold blanket, an expression of disdain crossing his features. Prussia was never going to let the incident with the aviator go, and he knew it would be the brunt of jokes for months from now on. But that’s not what was bugging him. America was. He wanted to smack that smug expression off of his face, so confident in the good of what he was doing in the military. How could one man be so stupid? But the aviator was almost naïve enough that England found it hard to muster the level of anger toward him that the World Military generally brought out in him. He was so completely non-corrupt, so genuine in his convictions, that England almost felt pity for him. It was utterly frustrating. Hate would have been so much easier.
He opened up his hand, which had hitherto been clenched around an object. England frowned as he ran his fingers over the object, a fob watch that he’d found on the deck after America had departed. It was his, he knew it. That bastard had left something behind, and England prayed to God that he would not come back to pick it up.
This ship means a lot to you, doesn’t it?
The most non-malicious comment possible, and it had wholly ruined his day. He threw the watch over onto the chair, right below the lion and unicorn crested blanket. England ignored the loud clunk of it smacking against the wood.
He was about to leave the room, thinking that being out on the deck would clear his mind, when he heard his radio crackle. It was the captain’s radio, on a different frequency than the one America had contacted. Only a select few knew how to reach it, and they were all fellow pirates. It wasn’t used often. He whipped around and ran over to his desk as a voice began to speak.
“England, England are you there?” He recognized the voice immediately. Captain Carriedo of the Nuberu Pirates, the closest ally the Taliesen pirates had.
England quickly snatched up the radio. “Spain, what is it?”
Spain’s voice was usually light and filled with laughter. He was the most carefree pirate captain England had ever chanced upon. But right now he sounded panicked, and the lilt in his tone was gone. “We’ve just had a skirmish with a few zeppelins from the Kosmider.”
England frowned, his expression grave. “Fuck, where are you?”
“We’re fine!” His voice rose in timbre. “But England, we’re just right between the Tsuru islands and Luong. That means that the Kosmider is moving west. They’re journeying further from Medved by the day.”
England punched his hand onto the desk. “And what’s the military doing? Nothing, of course.”
“They might actually be doing something!” Spain replied. No pirate loved the military, but Spain didn’t have the deep hatred England did. “Romano told me his brother is up to something. His brother is in the military, you know. A lieutenant, actually.”
“Too little, too late,” England sighed, resting his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair. “How easy would it have been for the military to nip this in the bud? They’ve been attacking ships for over a month. But oh, until recently they were only pirate ships, so why bother?”
Spain laughed. “England, would you have accepted help from the military anyway?”
England’s mind conjured up an image of America, smiling and leaning against his biplane as if his life were a constant crusade of goodness. “N-no! Not on your life!”
“But really,” Spain continued, the radio crackling between words, “we’re okay. We had to do some minimal repairs, and there’s a few small injuries, but everyone’s fine. We think we lost them too, so we’ll be heading westward now. Maybe we’ll run into you?”
England nodded, although Spain could not see it, of course. “Right. Hope there’s nothing else dodgy on the way for you.”
“Spain, hurry the hell up here!” Commanded a new voice.
“Ah, Romano, I’m coming,” he shouted back.
“Spain,” England began. “You be careful. The skies may no longer be ours if the Kosmider succeeds.”
Spain laughed again. “Ah England. The skies were never ours. They belong to everyone. Hasta luego!” And with that, he ended the radio transmission.
-------------------------------------------------
America cursed to himself as he searched the cockpit for his missing fob watch. His fear had been realized. It was indeed, no where to be found. He distinctly remembered looking at it on the ship, so that’s the only other place it could have been. The watch was precious to him, his grandfather’s watch and a family heirloom. His great grandparents had given it to his grandfather before he’d been drafted into the World Military half a century before. And America had been given it when he’d joined the military after high school. There was only one object America treasured more than the watch, and that was his plane. “Well at least I still have that!”He said to himself, unconvinced. He sighed and rested his head against the side of the plane, then gently banged it against the metal three times.
“Dammit all. I’ll take a detour when I do the flyover tomorrow,” he murmured. America felt a tad ill at the idea of seeing England again, but for his watch, he decided it was worth it. He could tune into the same frequency he’d used before and find them again. However, as he’d already screwed up one mission, he had to think of a good excuse if they realized he was taking a bit longer than usual to get to Medved. He was contemplating what to say if he were asked when Canada walked in.
“America, I heard you screwed up your plane again,” Canada said, exasperated. “Honestly you are terrible.”
Canada could have been America’s twin. And in fact, they were cousins, close since birth. The two looked almost identical, except for America’s hair being shorter than his. In personality however, they couldn’t have been more different.
“Ah Canada, but that’s why I have you!” He smacked his cousin on the back. Canada winced.
“Geez, America!” He gritted his teeth. Canada took a moment to survey America. He looked no worse for the wear, and had put forward his usual enthusiastic attitude. But there was a little less bounce in his step, not as much of his usual unflappable attitude in even his very posture. There was also the fact that he had been banging his head against his plane when Canada had entered. No one knew America better than Canada, for better or for worse. “Something wrong?”
America blinked in surprise. “No, no… I’m fine.”
Canada looked him up and down again. “Hey where’s your watch?” Not since he’d been gifted with it upon joining the military had Canada seen America without that watch looped around his belt.
The aviator frowned. His cousin was perceptive. “Ah yeah, that.” He looked away, back at his plane. I could tell Canada what happened. Canada could cover for me. There’s no way he’d turn it down… and who would suspect the mechanic? And America realized that he wanted to tell someone what had happened, even if he didn’t go into all the gory detail and detailed personal reflection that had occurred on the plane ride home. He just thought maybe, maybe getting it all out would make him feel better. “Hey no one else is coming by anytime soon, are they?”
Canada shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
America nodded, and then placed his hand on Canada’s shoulder. “If I tell you something, can you promise to keep it secret? I don’t want anyone to know what happened last night. It’s… well, it’s just annoying me a lot okay? Plus, yeah I did lose my watch. It’s about that too.”
The mechanic frowned. “America I’ve kept secrets for you for years, ever since you broke my mom’s vase and I took the blame.” Canada rolled his eyes inwardly in remembrance. America had gotten off scot-free and Canada had been grounded for three days. “So yes, I’ll keep your secrets.”
America walked over to the table they had set up in the hangar and sat down. Canada followed. “I have to go off course tomorrow on my flyover. It’s my watch. I lost it, and well… I guess I should start off by telling you how.” And Canada listened intently as America told him the story of his experience the night before and that morning. Of the Taliesin Pirates and their Captain, of England’s harsh words, and of America’s fledgling concerns about the Kosmider.
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, GermanyxItaly, future pairings: PolandxLithuania, GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria, SwedenxFinland, SpainxRomano, Belarus--->Russia
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,315
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: Then there was England. The pirate captain completely infuriated him. He was a pirate, which was irritating enough. But it was more than that. It was the way that he was friendly enough one minute, and a total ass the next. It was the way he’d had the gall to question America’s very morale. Mostly, it was the way that America found it so very difficult to hate him.
Author's Note: Thanks again to everyone who has been reading this. This is a bit more of an introspective chapter, heavy on the characterization. Actual action sequences will commence either next chapter or the chapter after, with the reconnaissance mission with Germany and Italy and something else that happens that would be a spoiler to tell you. ;)
“So what are these, new ammo for Switzerland’s guns?” Asked Prussia as he bit into a rather hard and blackened breakfast roll. England shot a glare at him and took a sip of his morning tea. The table was set for five, and four of those five were picking at the food in front of them, occasionally mustering up enough courage to take a bite. In addition to charred rolls, their captain had also made up some sort of crispy crumbly meat that everyone assumed must have been bacon at one point. Well, at least the tea was good.
“I thought Liechtenstein was in charge of cooking,” Switzerland said, looking balefully at England.
Liechtenstein glanced down shyly at her hands. “I’m sorry brother. I didn’t wake up early enough today, so Captain cooked breakfast instead.” Sealand didn’t say anything, but merely scowled at his food. England would give him extra chores if he dared insult it.
“If you don’t like my cooking, I’ll just not make any for you next time,” England snapped, then shoved a forkful of once-bacon in his mouth. “You want something posh? Don’t live on a blasted pirate ship.”
“We don’t want something posh,” Prussia grumbled. “We just want something edible.” England slammed down his fork and stood up, walking to the counter to get another cup of tea. “I noticed that aviator is still on the deck.” No one could miss the wink-wink-nudge-nudge in Prussia’s tone. “’Course you were up there in your pajamas so…”
“He fell asleep up there, I suppose,” England responded casually, stirring his tea. “And I was in my pajamas because someone who was on watch duty fell asleep and I didn’t have time to change.”
“Seems like you’d want him gone as soon as possible,” Sealand pointed out. Both he and Liechtenstein had been filled in by Prussia and Switzerland respectively that morning. “I noticed he was wearing your blanket!”
England flushed and turned away from his crew. “Just didn’t want some military aviator catching pneumonia on my ship,” he scoffed.”Who knows what kind of trouble that could lead to.” The Captain sighed. “I’ll go check on him right now. Tell him to get his arse off my ship.”
Prussia stifled laughter and Switzerland rolled his eyes.
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By the time England got up to the deck, America was already back at work on his plane. The blanket had been thrown down beside him, although America had at least had the courtesy to try not to step on it. This time, the aviator heard England’s footsteps. He turned around and frowned nervously. “I told you to be gone by morning. Too daft to tell time?”
America scratched his head and yawned. “I fell asleep. Probably ‘cuz this place is so boring.”
England crossed his arms. “You almost done then? I’ve still half a mind to throw you over--- “
“Well you gave me that blanket, right? That doesn’t seem an action from the kind of guy who wants to kill me.” America shrugged. “’Course you are a pirate, so maybe I’m wrong.”
England’s face reddened, and he reached down to snatch the blanket. “Th-that has nothing to do with anything!” He clenched the fabric of the blanket in his hands. “I hate you! You come onto my ship in the middle of the night and just cause trouble and act arrogant as you like, as if you’re sodding invincible. You military types are all the--- “
“What do you have against military anyway?” America inquired. “Is it just that we’re on the side of justice and you’re a criminal?”
England stomped forward. “Maybe someday you’ll understand. You’ll see that you’re not a hero at all, and it will pop that ridiculous ego of yours.”
America’s eyes widened and he gaped for a moment, composure momentarily shaken. Then he shook his head and laughed. “Yeah right England!”
“The world’s not so black and white and… fucking hell, why am I even bothering with you?” He interrupted himself. There was an awkward silence between the two. England looked up toward the sky, watching the way the sails of his grand ship waved in the early morning breeze. He appeared to be utterly transfixed. America watched him, confusion in his expression. England had, as of so far, been full of empty threats. But even America was perceptive enough to tell that his anger and bitterness had been genuine.
“This ship means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” America finally broke the silence and asked.
The pirate captain was startled out of his reverie by the aviator’s comment. He scowled and shoved a small paper bag toward America, not once making eye contact while he did so. “It’s breakfast. Be gone in an hour.” Then he walked away, leaving a bewildered America behind.
America just blinked, holding the bag limply in his hand. “Wha- I just asked him a question.”
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The Aeronaut took an hour and fifteen minutes longer to fix, but England hadn’t come out at the hour mark to threaten him. In fact, after he’d stormed off, he hadn’t come out at all. It all left America in a sour mood. He wasn’t able to complete his flyover, as he wouldn’t even arrive in Medved until late that night now. In addition, he needed to have Canada look at his plane before he flew a long distance trip again. Right now he was heading back to Aquila. He’d have to attempt the flyover again on Sunday. When he’d radioed ahead after leaving the Victoria, that had been the consensus.
Then there was England. The pirate captain completely infuriated him. He was a pirate, which was irritating enough. But it was more than that. It was the way that he was friendly enough one minute, and a total ass the next. It was the way he’d had the gall to question America’s very morale. Mostly, it was the way that America found it so very difficult to hate him. He gritted his teeth and put a record on to take his mind off the captain of the Victoria. It was a few minutes later that America remembered the paper bag England had given him, supposedly filled with breakfast. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if England had poisoned the food, but he brushed that off and opened up the bag, pulling out a piece of food that vaguely resembled a hockey puck and a bunch of crumbled pieces of what he presumed to be a sort of meat. Warily, he bit into the biscuit and cringed. “S—so terrible!” But he was voraciously hungry, so he ate it all anyway.
When he was done, he worked to clear his mind again. He didn’t want to think about the previous night. Instead he occupied himself with thoughts of the upcoming reconnaissance mission. He’d never worked with Major Germany (what was his last name? He’d never found out) and Lieutenant Vargas before, but they had seemed like the heroic type. It would be his first official group mission as a captain, and he was beside himself with anticipation. Three records later, America went to check the time. He’d told the base he’d radio ahead about half an hour before he was due to arrive, and just by looking at the time, he’d know how much longer he had left to fly. He reached down to his belt to look at the familiar fob watch, and his eyes widened when he realized it wasn’t there. It must be somewhere in the cockpit, America considered. I won’t be able to look around until I get back though. Guess I’ll radio ahead when it seems about right…
He put his hand over his eyes as he changed directions, the continent visible in the distance letting him know that it was time to turn toward the base. The now-late morning sunlight was unusually bright and hot. He was sweating in his bomber jacket, so he slipped it off and put it behind his seat. England came back to mind, and he thought of his words about not being a hero. Preposterous, of course. America knew he was one. But there had been something niggling at the back of his mind. The Kosmider. The thought of this group blowing up merchant ships caused bile to rise in America’s throat. But apparently this knowledge wasn’t something the military felt necessary to tell him, and he simply could not understand why, even with the reasoning Germany provided. It was only through Italy’s outside connection that they found it out. And ironically, his connection was with a pirate. What else did he not know? America felt a headache coming on at it all. Even flying felt unpleasant to him right now, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the base. Usually the heat wouldn’t be a bother, but it, coupled with everything else, just frayed at his nerves even more. He was a captain. He had work to do. He had people to save. He didn’t have time to question.
As he was arriving at the base later on, he had a sudden unpleasant thought. Did I leave my watch on England’s ship?
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England had spent the last hour putting his crew to work. The ship was a mess, and he may have been a pirate, but he couldn’t stand for things not to be neat. They had nothing to do and no plans for the day. It was to have been a lazy Saturday for the crew, and England had little doubt they’d been looking forward to it. But he was unquestionably irritated and irrevocably moody. He took that out on his crew, and they were put hard to work. Prussia was scrubbing the mast, Switzerland had been put in charge of cleaning the deck, and Sealand was hard at work in the kitchen. He’d let Liechtenstein off the hook. He could never quite bring himself to be forceful toward the young girl. She had volunteered to clean up the crew’s quarters though, which he allowed her to do.
The captain was not working. It wasn’t that he refused to do any chores, it was just that he needed time to think. And that was the other reason he’d sent his crew off to clean house. They wouldn’t bother him now. He was sitting on his bed, head in his hands. He rubbed his forehead with his fingers and sighed.
His quarters were immaculately clean, and he generally forbade his crew from entering them (not that it stopped them, they still barged in uninvited quite often). He had nothing to hide, really. He just made it clear that when he was in his room, he wanted to be alone. The quarters were well decorated, that was true. Rich green and gold were the predominant shades, his bed spread and a few tapestries featuring them. The furniture was all done in red cherry wood. The embroidered blanket he’d loaned America was folded over the back of a wooden chair now. He’d made it himself a couple of years back. His crew made fun of his needlepoint hobby, but he enjoyed it and found it relaxing.
England lifted his head and glanced over at the white and gold blanket, an expression of disdain crossing his features. Prussia was never going to let the incident with the aviator go, and he knew it would be the brunt of jokes for months from now on. But that’s not what was bugging him. America was. He wanted to smack that smug expression off of his face, so confident in the good of what he was doing in the military. How could one man be so stupid? But the aviator was almost naïve enough that England found it hard to muster the level of anger toward him that the World Military generally brought out in him. He was so completely non-corrupt, so genuine in his convictions, that England almost felt pity for him. It was utterly frustrating. Hate would have been so much easier.
He opened up his hand, which had hitherto been clenched around an object. England frowned as he ran his fingers over the object, a fob watch that he’d found on the deck after America had departed. It was his, he knew it. That bastard had left something behind, and England prayed to God that he would not come back to pick it up.
This ship means a lot to you, doesn’t it?
The most non-malicious comment possible, and it had wholly ruined his day. He threw the watch over onto the chair, right below the lion and unicorn crested blanket. England ignored the loud clunk of it smacking against the wood.
He was about to leave the room, thinking that being out on the deck would clear his mind, when he heard his radio crackle. It was the captain’s radio, on a different frequency than the one America had contacted. Only a select few knew how to reach it, and they were all fellow pirates. It wasn’t used often. He whipped around and ran over to his desk as a voice began to speak.
“England, England are you there?” He recognized the voice immediately. Captain Carriedo of the Nuberu Pirates, the closest ally the Taliesen pirates had.
England quickly snatched up the radio. “Spain, what is it?”
Spain’s voice was usually light and filled with laughter. He was the most carefree pirate captain England had ever chanced upon. But right now he sounded panicked, and the lilt in his tone was gone. “We’ve just had a skirmish with a few zeppelins from the Kosmider.”
England frowned, his expression grave. “Fuck, where are you?”
“We’re fine!” His voice rose in timbre. “But England, we’re just right between the Tsuru islands and Luong. That means that the Kosmider is moving west. They’re journeying further from Medved by the day.”
England punched his hand onto the desk. “And what’s the military doing? Nothing, of course.”
“They might actually be doing something!” Spain replied. No pirate loved the military, but Spain didn’t have the deep hatred England did. “Romano told me his brother is up to something. His brother is in the military, you know. A lieutenant, actually.”
“Too little, too late,” England sighed, resting his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair. “How easy would it have been for the military to nip this in the bud? They’ve been attacking ships for over a month. But oh, until recently they were only pirate ships, so why bother?”
Spain laughed. “England, would you have accepted help from the military anyway?”
England’s mind conjured up an image of America, smiling and leaning against his biplane as if his life were a constant crusade of goodness. “N-no! Not on your life!”
“But really,” Spain continued, the radio crackling between words, “we’re okay. We had to do some minimal repairs, and there’s a few small injuries, but everyone’s fine. We think we lost them too, so we’ll be heading westward now. Maybe we’ll run into you?”
England nodded, although Spain could not see it, of course. “Right. Hope there’s nothing else dodgy on the way for you.”
“Spain, hurry the hell up here!” Commanded a new voice.
“Ah, Romano, I’m coming,” he shouted back.
“Spain,” England began. “You be careful. The skies may no longer be ours if the Kosmider succeeds.”
Spain laughed again. “Ah England. The skies were never ours. They belong to everyone. Hasta luego!” And with that, he ended the radio transmission.
-------------------------------------------------
America cursed to himself as he searched the cockpit for his missing fob watch. His fear had been realized. It was indeed, no where to be found. He distinctly remembered looking at it on the ship, so that’s the only other place it could have been. The watch was precious to him, his grandfather’s watch and a family heirloom. His great grandparents had given it to his grandfather before he’d been drafted into the World Military half a century before. And America had been given it when he’d joined the military after high school. There was only one object America treasured more than the watch, and that was his plane. “Well at least I still have that!”He said to himself, unconvinced. He sighed and rested his head against the side of the plane, then gently banged it against the metal three times.
“Dammit all. I’ll take a detour when I do the flyover tomorrow,” he murmured. America felt a tad ill at the idea of seeing England again, but for his watch, he decided it was worth it. He could tune into the same frequency he’d used before and find them again. However, as he’d already screwed up one mission, he had to think of a good excuse if they realized he was taking a bit longer than usual to get to Medved. He was contemplating what to say if he were asked when Canada walked in.
“America, I heard you screwed up your plane again,” Canada said, exasperated. “Honestly you are terrible.”
Canada could have been America’s twin. And in fact, they were cousins, close since birth. The two looked almost identical, except for America’s hair being shorter than his. In personality however, they couldn’t have been more different.
“Ah Canada, but that’s why I have you!” He smacked his cousin on the back. Canada winced.
“Geez, America!” He gritted his teeth. Canada took a moment to survey America. He looked no worse for the wear, and had put forward his usual enthusiastic attitude. But there was a little less bounce in his step, not as much of his usual unflappable attitude in even his very posture. There was also the fact that he had been banging his head against his plane when Canada had entered. No one knew America better than Canada, for better or for worse. “Something wrong?”
America blinked in surprise. “No, no… I’m fine.”
Canada looked him up and down again. “Hey where’s your watch?” Not since he’d been gifted with it upon joining the military had Canada seen America without that watch looped around his belt.
The aviator frowned. His cousin was perceptive. “Ah yeah, that.” He looked away, back at his plane. I could tell Canada what happened. Canada could cover for me. There’s no way he’d turn it down… and who would suspect the mechanic? And America realized that he wanted to tell someone what had happened, even if he didn’t go into all the gory detail and detailed personal reflection that had occurred on the plane ride home. He just thought maybe, maybe getting it all out would make him feel better. “Hey no one else is coming by anytime soon, are they?”
Canada shook his head. “Not that I know of.”
America nodded, and then placed his hand on Canada’s shoulder. “If I tell you something, can you promise to keep it secret? I don’t want anyone to know what happened last night. It’s… well, it’s just annoying me a lot okay? Plus, yeah I did lose my watch. It’s about that too.”
The mechanic frowned. “America I’ve kept secrets for you for years, ever since you broke my mom’s vase and I took the blame.” Canada rolled his eyes inwardly in remembrance. America had gotten off scot-free and Canada had been grounded for three days. “So yes, I’ll keep your secrets.”
America walked over to the table they had set up in the hangar and sat down. Canada followed. “I have to go off course tomorrow on my flyover. It’s my watch. I lost it, and well… I guess I should start off by telling you how.” And Canada listened intently as America told him the story of his experience the night before and that morning. Of the Taliesin Pirates and their Captain, of England’s harsh words, and of America’s fledgling concerns about the Kosmider.
