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everythingismagicTitle: You Can't Take the Sky from Me [FF.NET Chapter Twenty-Eight] [ Writing Journal Previous Chapters ]
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano, Belarus---->Russia, PrussiaxSwitzerland, GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria. Future pairings: SwedenxFinland
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,441
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: He thought, in the light, that it was even more apparent that the man had been crying. England could see poorly concealed tear tracks on his cheeks. His chest tightened. What had made him cry?
And he felt anger well up within him also. If someone had hurt America to the point that he was acting like this, Captain Kirkland very much wanted to give them a visit.
Author's Note: I've been sick and vacationing, and thus I've only been able to get exchange fics done for the last month or so for the most part. Hope to get on a better update schedule for ALL my chapter fics now. A couple of fanarts: Prussia, Belarus, and America by Chao-Lover2, and Skeleton Fleet of the Sky and England, both by Sallydawn!
It was almost morning. The rays of lavender twilight lit the starscape, and England sniffed the air, knowing that the incoming dawn would soon arrive. Perhaps it was because he’d spent the entirety of his recallable life up in the sky, but England knew from one look at the vast open blue above and around him, close to what time it was; around five ‘o’ clock in the morn. It wasn’t just a visual thing either; he could tell by the smell and the sound and the wind and… all in all it didn’t make much sense to him, but the best way he could put it was that he had a bit of a sixth sense for these things. The sky was his home, and he knew it intimately.
But staring at the sky was not why he was out on the deck right now; coat over his pyjamas to keep warm in the cool breeze. Instead it was because he’d received, around ten hours before, a frantic radio from America. It had been short and rushed, his tone breathless. “England, I need your coordinates. Coming to see you now. No, I can’t talk.” England had asked if he were all right. “Fine, awesome! Seriously, hurry up England.”
England had given him the coordinates, and with a quick goodbye, America had clicked off.
In retrospect England was nervous. He’d been fretting anxiously since the radio call, and even his crewmates had picked up that something was wrong earlier in the evening. Well, they’d long since gone to bed, leaving England alone with his thoughts on the deck, standing at the wheel.
He hadn’t slept.
Well what could he do? America hadn’t told him where he was flying from, so who knew when he would arrive? You don’t need to be awake when he does. He’s perfectly capable of landing his plane and coming down to get you.
He clutched his coat around him, rubbing his arms to keep them warm. And to keep himself from lulling off into sleep, he sang a song, an old shanty that his captain had taught him. “Through the sky and through the clouds… above the ocean blue… out amongst the stars tonight…”
England had no idea how long he sang, how many times he repeated the verses while rocking back and forth on his feet and staring skyward, waiting for America to appear on the horizon.
It must have been, England thought for a moment, around 5:30 before he made out America’s brassy colored biplane flying toward the ship. He waved him down (most definitely not with quite a bit of enthusiasm), and ran to the largest empty spot on the ship, near mid-deck, where he’d always landed his plane.
The whir of the plane’s propeller and the steam engines that powered were noisy as it landed, and England’s coat billowed backward in the wind created by America’s descent. He stood back until he could hear the engines die, and then jogged over to the craft.
America was already stepping out, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, when England reached the side of the plane.
He knew something was wrong immediately. America was smiling at him, that was true. But the smile was wan, forced upon, not bright and shining like his normal smiles.
Perhaps he’s just tired…
America shifted his bag once he’d fully exited the plane. “Hey, England…”
England froze up. He remembered the last time America had greeted him upon arriving; an unexpected embrace on the dock, so close, so joyous, so… well… he dared to hope, affectionate. And that hug had set something off within him, something that had been churning and blossoming and growing and bubbling in his stomach and in his heart ever since. Stupid bloody being in love!
This wasn’t that greeting at all though. It was… America’s voice was strange, vacant. There was the muffled echo of the early morning air in it, but that he expected. It was as if the verve and the life that propelled America was diminished… despite the smile on his face. He swallowed down a lump in his throat. “Hallo, America.”
A short false laugh. “Hey listen England, I’m pretty tired… so I’m gonna go ahead and go down to the cabin and crash out. Same one as usual?”
“Y-yes but…”
“Cool.” America brushed by him, not even granting him a look.
England noticed though, that his eyes behind his glasses were unmistakably red, the area surrounding them swollen and puffy.
He waited a couple of minutes so America could reach his cabin, and then he ran after him.
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Dear Canada, Japan, and France,
There’s a chance you found out what happened before you even saw this note. None of you were around when I left. Canada, I bet you were at the bar. Japan, I know you weren’t back yet from that training exercise you went to today. France, I don’t really want to know. But I guess it’s best that way, because I didn’t have to spend time explaining things. I’m in a huge hurry.
Anyway, I got kicked out of the military. Guess being a hero just gets you in trouble, huh?
But you guys are still awesome. I know you know that I’m innocent, right?
P.S.- I’m going to be safe, I promise. Canada, you probably won’t be very happy about where I went though. Sorry about that. Oh and tell my parents I’m okay.
Also, they told me your positions were safe.
See you around,
America
Japan folded the note and handed it back to Canada. “It’s all over the base this morning, I’m afraid,” he said.
Canada nodded, rubbing his eyes with the ball of his hand. They were watering up again. “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me at all…”
France sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Oui. I imagine many people knew long before we did, even.” They were gathered around the table in the hangar, chairs pushed close against it as they huddled together, knowing that they needed to discuss this quietly.
The mood in the hangar was morose, confused and… emotionally shaken for all three of them.
“It’s my fault,” Canada finally said. “The last time I saw him, we fought. If I hadn’t--- “
“No, I apologize deeply, but I think it is my fault,” Japan interrupted. “I should have been more forceful with him. I---“
“You are both incorrect,” France cut in. “I encouraged him to do what he thought was right, even if it meant defying the military. And you know what? It is not even my fault, nor do I regret it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Because it made him better.”
Canada opened his mouth to speak, but just sighed instead.
“’Ave you even looked at the accusations?” France was frowning now. “For example, supposedly he helped the Kosmider attack a ship on the way to our meeting at the Babako.”
“But we were there,” Japan replied. “And we were rescuing the pirates.”
“Yes, of course. And it was never investigated, hmm? Neither me nor Japan were even asked about it, despite being the only military there.”
“But if you were the only soldiers there, how did they even know about it?” Canada wondered out loud.
“Technically there were other soldiers there… just not of the World Military variety,” Japan clarified, a bit breathless.
France rested his chin on the tops of his hands. “Exactly. I think he was framed. Someone wanted our dear America out of the picture, oui?”
“The Kosmider…” Japan said.
France nodded. “Indeed.”
Canada bit his lip, dropping his eyes to the table. “Well of course he’s innocent but… if he hadn’t done all that leaving the base…”
“Don’t be foolish, Canada,” France countered, his tone firm. “If they wanted him out of the picture, they would have found another way I’m sure.”
“But it’s true that the Captain’s… recent change in attitude might be part of what made him a threat in the first place, don’t you think?” Japan queried, looking unsure.
France leaned back on his arms. “I suppose that is true, but… he learned to think for himself, and that is something more valuable than a captainship in the Aviation Force.”
“He could end up going to prison though!” Canada snapped. “Just because he wanted to be a hero.” He ran his hand down his face.
“America is innocent, and we believe that, correct?”
Japan and Canada both nodded firmly.
“Then if we are his friends… his comrades… his…” he glanced to Canada, “family, we should make that clear to the military, should we not?”
“Yes of course…”
“Yeah…”
“And possibly help bring down the Kosmider in the process, hmm?” France cocked an eyebrow. “That is what our Captain would want, I believe.”
“Forgive me, but what are you proposing?” Japan asked.
France’s lips quirked up in a small smile. “La Résistance, of course.”
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America didn’t answer the door when England knocked. He half thought that he’d already fallen asleep, but considering how short a time he’d been in the cabin, he found that doubtful.
More likely he was choosing not to answer the door.
Well, England was hardly going to allow that. He puffed up his chest, braced himself, and pushed open the door.
America was curled up under the covers, his duffel bag thrown on the floor and his jacket on top of it. His glasses were still on, and the comforter was only half covering him. The room’s gas light was still lit.
England sighed. “America… I know you’re not asleep.”
A fake snore. “Honestly, what do you take me for? No one would fall for that.” He stepped over to the bed and patted America once on the back. “Now get up and tell me what’s going on, all right?”
No response.
England grumbled to himself, then reached down and yanked the pillow out from under his head.
“Ahhh, dammit England!” America pouted as his head hit the mattress with a thunk. “Seriously, I’m fine. I’m just really tired and I need to stay here for a while, okay?”
England furrowed his eyebrows and sat on the side of the bed. America rubbed his eyes and sat up as well, dangling his legs off the bed next to England.
He thought, in the light, that it was even more apparent that the man had been crying. England could see poorly concealed tear tracks on his cheeks. His chest tightened. What had made him cry?
And he felt anger well up within him also. If someone had hurt America to the point that he was acting like this, Captain Kirkland very much wanted to give them a visit.
“You’re not fine,” England retorted. He hesitated for a moment, but then squeezed America’s shoulder. America did not pull away, and England kept his hand resting there.
“I am too…”
“Firstly,” England began, making direct eye contact with him, “you did not tease me for what I’m wearing.” He pointed to his pyjamas and pirate coat combination. “That alone proves that something is off.”
America’s lips quirked up in what appeared to be a genuine half-smile. “Yeah… well it is pretty goofy.”
England huffed. “Not convinced.” He grabbed America’s other shoulder and turned him to face himself. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, all right? I can see that something is very wrong.”
“How can you---“
“Have you looked at yourself in a mirror?” England queried, leveling him a look.
America scratched his cheek. “Well I was in my plane…”
England surveyed him again. The empty, wan expression remained on his features, and his body was slumped slightly, his posture exuding glumness.
The pirate closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled. “Let me be blunt, America.” He reached up with one hand and gently, tenderly, he removed America’s glasses, placing them on the bedside table.
America’s blue eyes widened, and a blush lit up his cheeks.
England ignored the heat that was rising to his own face and pressed a finger to America’s face, rubbing away a bit of moisture next to one of America’s eyes. “You’ve been crying…” He traced the back of his hand over the tearstains on his cheeks. “I think that you’ve been crying a whole lot.”
Unbidden, America leaned his face into England’s touch, and England turned his hand so he was cupping America’s cheek and rubbing a finger under his eye, over one of the tearstains. America closed his eyes.
It was a moment that England wanted to treasure; this simple, intimate, trusting gesture from America. It caused him to feel warm all over, and that growing feeling of hope to strengthen. He was sure that America didn’t let just anyone do this…
But, England reminded himself, this was hardly the time to get excited about America’s display of affection. He still had no bloody idea what was going on after all.
“America, please tell me what’s going on.”
His eyes opened and his lips parted to speak, but then he just sighed. Slowly, as if his body were heavier than usual, he pulled out of England’s touch.
“I---“ America glanced down at his lap and twisted his fingers in the hem of his shirt. He closed his eyes, opened them, and took a deep breath. “I tried so hard… England. Tried to be a hero and…”
Tears were prickling at the corner of America’s eyes, and although America reached up swiftly to wipe them away, England had still had enough time to notice.
England swallowed thickly, his heart hammering in his ears. “Tried--- what do you…”
America’s eyes welled up again, and England resisted the urge to brush his tears away.
“But the military didn’t think so… they…” he lowered his voice, “…think I’m a spy for the Kosmider… they… want to try me and put me in prison and…”
England stiffened, his green eyes huge. That America… of all people… would… what the bloody hell was wrong with them?
America sniffled and rubbed under his nose. “They kicked me out England, stripped me of my rank and… I think I was framed… Kosmider spy, whoever it is…” He turned his face away, his misty eyes downcast. “I decided to run, ‘cuz what else could I do? Not the most heroic reaction but… that’s… why I’m here now.”
England did not speak. Instead, without a second thought, he leapt forward and wrapped his arms around America, running his hands down his back and resting his chin on top of his head, as if he was trying to make his body a shield to protect the man he loved from all the harms of the world.
And when America choked out a sob, England tightened his hold, whispering ‘hush, hush it’s all right’ in his ear and using one hand to run his fingers through his soft blonde hair.
And when America’s body began to shake, the sobs wracking his form, England placed his lips on the crown of America’s head and kissed him, soft and kind.
He didn’t like the military. He thought America was too good for it by far. For all intents and purposes, he should have been happy that America was free of it. Yes, he’d be an outlaw now, but… well England was an outlaw as well, so it hardly mattered to him if someone else was.
Feeling like that would have been easier, but instead he felt indignant rage and sadness and love swelling up like a wave, crashing over him and onto America, who he held and who he wanted to feel all of what he was feeling, know how much he wanted to be there for him, to protect him, to… hold him.
America was all spirit and life, idealism and dreams and--- someone had taken that and… tried to crush it out of him. Did they even know what they were doing?
If it was the Kosmider though, perhaps they knew exactly what they were doing.
He gritted his teeth in order to stop a string of curses from escaping his lips.
America shifted a bit, and England felt wet tears stain his pyjama top. “You idiot…” he finally spoke, but his voice was quiet and comforting, the insult coming out an endearment. “Don’t cry, I’m here…”
“But England…” his voice was muffled, his face now pressed against England’s chest.
“Don’t give me that,” England said. “I know you’re stronger than this. So someone out there doesn’t think you’re a hero? Well they’re an imbecile.”
America was clenching England’s jacket with his hands now.
“And I---I know it’s more than that,” his voice went quiet, and he murmured his words into the top of America’s hair, the ever-stubborn piece that always stuck up tickling his mouth. “God America I just---“ his throat felt dry, and he… was feeling rather lost for words.
You were doing the right thing…
If my opinion is of any relevance, you’re quite a hero to me…
I won’t leave your side… so please, stop crying...
He pulled away slightly, and America glanced up at him, fingers still holding the lapels of his jacket. America’s eyes were watery, but it was obvious he’d just wiped them. His cheeks were red, and England didn’t know if that was purely because he was upset, or if he was also flustered. With his glasses off and his blue eyes wide, he looked… vulnerable.
England was struck, at that moment, by how easy it would be to lean down and kiss him. He’d wanted to do it again so, so badly since… that day in the water, and--- he supposed that America wouldn’t have the energy to be too opposed to it at the moment.
He shook his head. Which was exactly why he wasn’t going to kiss him. Bloody hell he wanted to, but America wasn’t in his right mind at the moment. He might accept a kiss for comfort that… he wouldn’t have wanted another time. And that was--- absolutely not what England wanted with America.
Instead he brushed America’s bangs aside with a soft touch of his fingers, leaned forward, and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead.
I love you. I can’t stand seeing you like this…
There was a moment in which England thought he glimpsed a small smile on America’s face.
And then America leaned up, wordless, and pushed England’s bangs away, kissing England’s forehead in return. England’s cheeks blossomed red.
“P-please know,” he cleared his throat, “that you can stay here as long as you like…”
America nodded. “Thanks… thanks a lot England.” He yawned. “I actually am sleepy.”
“Yes, me too,” England replied.
England glanced out the porthole and noticed that the sun was rising, painting the sky in golds and burnished reds.
America’s mood had only risen slightly, he realized. He was still morose and… at least halfway hollow, and he knew he’d have a pang in his heart until America was back to himself.
But he would be there. Dammit, he would be there.
“So I guess I’ll go to bed now…”
America had let go of his jacket and was sitting completely upright. England’s hands still rested on his shoulders.
“Quite right,” England said, removing his coat and tossing it over the room’s chair. “We should sleep. I’d like to be up before the day is over, personally.”
The aviator raised an eyebrow. “…We?”
England’s cheeks grew redder. He glanced down and away. “Git. Y-you don’t… honestly expect me to leave you right now, do you?”
America’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped in a surprised ‘o.’ He blushed and scratched the back of his head. “S-sure…I guess that’s… I’ll be okay but…”
“You’re not in the least bit okay, America,” England interrupted. He slipped his boots off and flopped down onto the bed, taking the spot near the wall and patting the mattress next to him. “I want someone here with you… I don’t want to see you alone right now.”
America blinked.
England released a puff of air. “Look… if you’re honestly uncomfortable with it… I understa—“
“No, that’s not the case at all,” America retorted, gesturing with his hands. “I… don’t mind.” He toed off his shoes and joined England in lying down.
England wrapped his arms around his center, not content to stop comforting him. America leaned into his touch, relaxing.
“G’night… England,” he said, his voice laced with sleep.
“I think you mean good morning.”
“Oh right… good morning then?”
England nodded against America’s back. “Hmmm indeed. Sleep well,” he replied. And good morning, love…
Pairing: AmericaxEngland, PolandxLithuania, GermanyxItaly, SpainxRomano, Belarus---->Russia, PrussiaxSwitzerland, GreecexJapan, HungaryxAustria. Future pairings: SwedenxFinland
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama/Action+Adventure/Alternate Universe
Word Count: 3,441
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: He thought, in the light, that it was even more apparent that the man had been crying. England could see poorly concealed tear tracks on his cheeks. His chest tightened. What had made him cry?
And he felt anger well up within him also. If someone had hurt America to the point that he was acting like this, Captain Kirkland very much wanted to give them a visit.
Author's Note: I've been sick and vacationing, and thus I've only been able to get exchange fics done for the last month or so for the most part. Hope to get on a better update schedule for ALL my chapter fics now. A couple of fanarts: Prussia, Belarus, and America by Chao-Lover2, and Skeleton Fleet of the Sky and England, both by Sallydawn!
It was almost morning. The rays of lavender twilight lit the starscape, and England sniffed the air, knowing that the incoming dawn would soon arrive. Perhaps it was because he’d spent the entirety of his recallable life up in the sky, but England knew from one look at the vast open blue above and around him, close to what time it was; around five ‘o’ clock in the morn. It wasn’t just a visual thing either; he could tell by the smell and the sound and the wind and… all in all it didn’t make much sense to him, but the best way he could put it was that he had a bit of a sixth sense for these things. The sky was his home, and he knew it intimately.
But staring at the sky was not why he was out on the deck right now; coat over his pyjamas to keep warm in the cool breeze. Instead it was because he’d received, around ten hours before, a frantic radio from America. It had been short and rushed, his tone breathless. “England, I need your coordinates. Coming to see you now. No, I can’t talk.” England had asked if he were all right. “Fine, awesome! Seriously, hurry up England.”
England had given him the coordinates, and with a quick goodbye, America had clicked off.
In retrospect England was nervous. He’d been fretting anxiously since the radio call, and even his crewmates had picked up that something was wrong earlier in the evening. Well, they’d long since gone to bed, leaving England alone with his thoughts on the deck, standing at the wheel.
He hadn’t slept.
Well what could he do? America hadn’t told him where he was flying from, so who knew when he would arrive? You don’t need to be awake when he does. He’s perfectly capable of landing his plane and coming down to get you.
He clutched his coat around him, rubbing his arms to keep them warm. And to keep himself from lulling off into sleep, he sang a song, an old shanty that his captain had taught him. “Through the sky and through the clouds… above the ocean blue… out amongst the stars tonight…”
England had no idea how long he sang, how many times he repeated the verses while rocking back and forth on his feet and staring skyward, waiting for America to appear on the horizon.
It must have been, England thought for a moment, around 5:30 before he made out America’s brassy colored biplane flying toward the ship. He waved him down (most definitely not with quite a bit of enthusiasm), and ran to the largest empty spot on the ship, near mid-deck, where he’d always landed his plane.
The whir of the plane’s propeller and the steam engines that powered were noisy as it landed, and England’s coat billowed backward in the wind created by America’s descent. He stood back until he could hear the engines die, and then jogged over to the craft.
America was already stepping out, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, when England reached the side of the plane.
He knew something was wrong immediately. America was smiling at him, that was true. But the smile was wan, forced upon, not bright and shining like his normal smiles.
Perhaps he’s just tired…
America shifted his bag once he’d fully exited the plane. “Hey, England…”
England froze up. He remembered the last time America had greeted him upon arriving; an unexpected embrace on the dock, so close, so joyous, so… well… he dared to hope, affectionate. And that hug had set something off within him, something that had been churning and blossoming and growing and bubbling in his stomach and in his heart ever since. Stupid bloody being in love!
This wasn’t that greeting at all though. It was… America’s voice was strange, vacant. There was the muffled echo of the early morning air in it, but that he expected. It was as if the verve and the life that propelled America was diminished… despite the smile on his face. He swallowed down a lump in his throat. “Hallo, America.”
A short false laugh. “Hey listen England, I’m pretty tired… so I’m gonna go ahead and go down to the cabin and crash out. Same one as usual?”
“Y-yes but…”
“Cool.” America brushed by him, not even granting him a look.
England noticed though, that his eyes behind his glasses were unmistakably red, the area surrounding them swollen and puffy.
He waited a couple of minutes so America could reach his cabin, and then he ran after him.
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Dear Canada, Japan, and France,
There’s a chance you found out what happened before you even saw this note. None of you were around when I left. Canada, I bet you were at the bar. Japan, I know you weren’t back yet from that training exercise you went to today. France, I don’t really want to know. But I guess it’s best that way, because I didn’t have to spend time explaining things. I’m in a huge hurry.
Anyway, I got kicked out of the military. Guess being a hero just gets you in trouble, huh?
But you guys are still awesome. I know you know that I’m innocent, right?
P.S.- I’m going to be safe, I promise. Canada, you probably won’t be very happy about where I went though. Sorry about that. Oh and tell my parents I’m okay.
Also, they told me your positions were safe.
See you around,
America
Japan folded the note and handed it back to Canada. “It’s all over the base this morning, I’m afraid,” he said.
Canada nodded, rubbing his eyes with the ball of his hand. They were watering up again. “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me at all…”
France sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Oui. I imagine many people knew long before we did, even.” They were gathered around the table in the hangar, chairs pushed close against it as they huddled together, knowing that they needed to discuss this quietly.
The mood in the hangar was morose, confused and… emotionally shaken for all three of them.
“It’s my fault,” Canada finally said. “The last time I saw him, we fought. If I hadn’t--- “
“No, I apologize deeply, but I think it is my fault,” Japan interrupted. “I should have been more forceful with him. I---“
“You are both incorrect,” France cut in. “I encouraged him to do what he thought was right, even if it meant defying the military. And you know what? It is not even my fault, nor do I regret it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Because it made him better.”
Canada opened his mouth to speak, but just sighed instead.
“’Ave you even looked at the accusations?” France was frowning now. “For example, supposedly he helped the Kosmider attack a ship on the way to our meeting at the Babako.”
“But we were there,” Japan replied. “And we were rescuing the pirates.”
“Yes, of course. And it was never investigated, hmm? Neither me nor Japan were even asked about it, despite being the only military there.”
“But if you were the only soldiers there, how did they even know about it?” Canada wondered out loud.
“Technically there were other soldiers there… just not of the World Military variety,” Japan clarified, a bit breathless.
France rested his chin on the tops of his hands. “Exactly. I think he was framed. Someone wanted our dear America out of the picture, oui?”
“The Kosmider…” Japan said.
France nodded. “Indeed.”
Canada bit his lip, dropping his eyes to the table. “Well of course he’s innocent but… if he hadn’t done all that leaving the base…”
“Don’t be foolish, Canada,” France countered, his tone firm. “If they wanted him out of the picture, they would have found another way I’m sure.”
“But it’s true that the Captain’s… recent change in attitude might be part of what made him a threat in the first place, don’t you think?” Japan queried, looking unsure.
France leaned back on his arms. “I suppose that is true, but… he learned to think for himself, and that is something more valuable than a captainship in the Aviation Force.”
“He could end up going to prison though!” Canada snapped. “Just because he wanted to be a hero.” He ran his hand down his face.
“America is innocent, and we believe that, correct?”
Japan and Canada both nodded firmly.
“Then if we are his friends… his comrades… his…” he glanced to Canada, “family, we should make that clear to the military, should we not?”
“Yes of course…”
“Yeah…”
“And possibly help bring down the Kosmider in the process, hmm?” France cocked an eyebrow. “That is what our Captain would want, I believe.”
“Forgive me, but what are you proposing?” Japan asked.
France’s lips quirked up in a small smile. “La Résistance, of course.”
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America didn’t answer the door when England knocked. He half thought that he’d already fallen asleep, but considering how short a time he’d been in the cabin, he found that doubtful.
More likely he was choosing not to answer the door.
Well, England was hardly going to allow that. He puffed up his chest, braced himself, and pushed open the door.
America was curled up under the covers, his duffel bag thrown on the floor and his jacket on top of it. His glasses were still on, and the comforter was only half covering him. The room’s gas light was still lit.
England sighed. “America… I know you’re not asleep.”
A fake snore. “Honestly, what do you take me for? No one would fall for that.” He stepped over to the bed and patted America once on the back. “Now get up and tell me what’s going on, all right?”
No response.
England grumbled to himself, then reached down and yanked the pillow out from under his head.
“Ahhh, dammit England!” America pouted as his head hit the mattress with a thunk. “Seriously, I’m fine. I’m just really tired and I need to stay here for a while, okay?”
England furrowed his eyebrows and sat on the side of the bed. America rubbed his eyes and sat up as well, dangling his legs off the bed next to England.
He thought, in the light, that it was even more apparent that the man had been crying. England could see poorly concealed tear tracks on his cheeks. His chest tightened. What had made him cry?
And he felt anger well up within him also. If someone had hurt America to the point that he was acting like this, Captain Kirkland very much wanted to give them a visit.
“You’re not fine,” England retorted. He hesitated for a moment, but then squeezed America’s shoulder. America did not pull away, and England kept his hand resting there.
“I am too…”
“Firstly,” England began, making direct eye contact with him, “you did not tease me for what I’m wearing.” He pointed to his pyjamas and pirate coat combination. “That alone proves that something is off.”
America’s lips quirked up in what appeared to be a genuine half-smile. “Yeah… well it is pretty goofy.”
England huffed. “Not convinced.” He grabbed America’s other shoulder and turned him to face himself. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, all right? I can see that something is very wrong.”
“How can you---“
“Have you looked at yourself in a mirror?” England queried, leveling him a look.
America scratched his cheek. “Well I was in my plane…”
England surveyed him again. The empty, wan expression remained on his features, and his body was slumped slightly, his posture exuding glumness.
The pirate closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled. “Let me be blunt, America.” He reached up with one hand and gently, tenderly, he removed America’s glasses, placing them on the bedside table.
America’s blue eyes widened, and a blush lit up his cheeks.
England ignored the heat that was rising to his own face and pressed a finger to America’s face, rubbing away a bit of moisture next to one of America’s eyes. “You’ve been crying…” He traced the back of his hand over the tearstains on his cheeks. “I think that you’ve been crying a whole lot.”
Unbidden, America leaned his face into England’s touch, and England turned his hand so he was cupping America’s cheek and rubbing a finger under his eye, over one of the tearstains. America closed his eyes.
It was a moment that England wanted to treasure; this simple, intimate, trusting gesture from America. It caused him to feel warm all over, and that growing feeling of hope to strengthen. He was sure that America didn’t let just anyone do this…
But, England reminded himself, this was hardly the time to get excited about America’s display of affection. He still had no bloody idea what was going on after all.
“America, please tell me what’s going on.”
His eyes opened and his lips parted to speak, but then he just sighed. Slowly, as if his body were heavier than usual, he pulled out of England’s touch.
“I---“ America glanced down at his lap and twisted his fingers in the hem of his shirt. He closed his eyes, opened them, and took a deep breath. “I tried so hard… England. Tried to be a hero and…”
Tears were prickling at the corner of America’s eyes, and although America reached up swiftly to wipe them away, England had still had enough time to notice.
England swallowed thickly, his heart hammering in his ears. “Tried--- what do you…”
America’s eyes welled up again, and England resisted the urge to brush his tears away.
“But the military didn’t think so… they…” he lowered his voice, “…think I’m a spy for the Kosmider… they… want to try me and put me in prison and…”
England stiffened, his green eyes huge. That America… of all people… would… what the bloody hell was wrong with them?
America sniffled and rubbed under his nose. “They kicked me out England, stripped me of my rank and… I think I was framed… Kosmider spy, whoever it is…” He turned his face away, his misty eyes downcast. “I decided to run, ‘cuz what else could I do? Not the most heroic reaction but… that’s… why I’m here now.”
England did not speak. Instead, without a second thought, he leapt forward and wrapped his arms around America, running his hands down his back and resting his chin on top of his head, as if he was trying to make his body a shield to protect the man he loved from all the harms of the world.
And when America choked out a sob, England tightened his hold, whispering ‘hush, hush it’s all right’ in his ear and using one hand to run his fingers through his soft blonde hair.
And when America’s body began to shake, the sobs wracking his form, England placed his lips on the crown of America’s head and kissed him, soft and kind.
He didn’t like the military. He thought America was too good for it by far. For all intents and purposes, he should have been happy that America was free of it. Yes, he’d be an outlaw now, but… well England was an outlaw as well, so it hardly mattered to him if someone else was.
Feeling like that would have been easier, but instead he felt indignant rage and sadness and love swelling up like a wave, crashing over him and onto America, who he held and who he wanted to feel all of what he was feeling, know how much he wanted to be there for him, to protect him, to… hold him.
America was all spirit and life, idealism and dreams and--- someone had taken that and… tried to crush it out of him. Did they even know what they were doing?
If it was the Kosmider though, perhaps they knew exactly what they were doing.
He gritted his teeth in order to stop a string of curses from escaping his lips.
America shifted a bit, and England felt wet tears stain his pyjama top. “You idiot…” he finally spoke, but his voice was quiet and comforting, the insult coming out an endearment. “Don’t cry, I’m here…”
“But England…” his voice was muffled, his face now pressed against England’s chest.
“Don’t give me that,” England said. “I know you’re stronger than this. So someone out there doesn’t think you’re a hero? Well they’re an imbecile.”
America was clenching England’s jacket with his hands now.
“And I---I know it’s more than that,” his voice went quiet, and he murmured his words into the top of America’s hair, the ever-stubborn piece that always stuck up tickling his mouth. “God America I just---“ his throat felt dry, and he… was feeling rather lost for words.
You were doing the right thing…
If my opinion is of any relevance, you’re quite a hero to me…
I won’t leave your side… so please, stop crying...
He pulled away slightly, and America glanced up at him, fingers still holding the lapels of his jacket. America’s eyes were watery, but it was obvious he’d just wiped them. His cheeks were red, and England didn’t know if that was purely because he was upset, or if he was also flustered. With his glasses off and his blue eyes wide, he looked… vulnerable.
England was struck, at that moment, by how easy it would be to lean down and kiss him. He’d wanted to do it again so, so badly since… that day in the water, and--- he supposed that America wouldn’t have the energy to be too opposed to it at the moment.
He shook his head. Which was exactly why he wasn’t going to kiss him. Bloody hell he wanted to, but America wasn’t in his right mind at the moment. He might accept a kiss for comfort that… he wouldn’t have wanted another time. And that was--- absolutely not what England wanted with America.
Instead he brushed America’s bangs aside with a soft touch of his fingers, leaned forward, and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead.
I love you. I can’t stand seeing you like this…
There was a moment in which England thought he glimpsed a small smile on America’s face.
And then America leaned up, wordless, and pushed England’s bangs away, kissing England’s forehead in return. England’s cheeks blossomed red.
“P-please know,” he cleared his throat, “that you can stay here as long as you like…”
America nodded. “Thanks… thanks a lot England.” He yawned. “I actually am sleepy.”
“Yes, me too,” England replied.
England glanced out the porthole and noticed that the sun was rising, painting the sky in golds and burnished reds.
America’s mood had only risen slightly, he realized. He was still morose and… at least halfway hollow, and he knew he’d have a pang in his heart until America was back to himself.
But he would be there. Dammit, he would be there.
“So I guess I’ll go to bed now…”
America had let go of his jacket and was sitting completely upright. England’s hands still rested on his shoulders.
“Quite right,” England said, removing his coat and tossing it over the room’s chair. “We should sleep. I’d like to be up before the day is over, personally.”
The aviator raised an eyebrow. “…We?”
England’s cheeks grew redder. He glanced down and away. “Git. Y-you don’t… honestly expect me to leave you right now, do you?”
America’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped in a surprised ‘o.’ He blushed and scratched the back of his head. “S-sure…I guess that’s… I’ll be okay but…”
“You’re not in the least bit okay, America,” England interrupted. He slipped his boots off and flopped down onto the bed, taking the spot near the wall and patting the mattress next to him. “I want someone here with you… I don’t want to see you alone right now.”
America blinked.
England released a puff of air. “Look… if you’re honestly uncomfortable with it… I understa—“
“No, that’s not the case at all,” America retorted, gesturing with his hands. “I… don’t mind.” He toed off his shoes and joined England in lying down.
England wrapped his arms around his center, not content to stop comforting him. America leaned into his touch, relaxing.
“G’night… England,” he said, his voice laced with sleep.
“I think you mean good morning.”
“Oh right… good morning then?”
England nodded against America’s back. “Hmmm indeed. Sleep well,” he replied. And good morning, love…
