Yes- Day 28
Title: Yes
Rated: G
Genre: Fluff
Words: 6, 130
Summary: England wants his fantasy.
Written for Day 28 for the usxuk Summer Camp event. July 31st: Love. This is the last theme of summer camp, so you get a nice, vague, simple one. Love! The idea of love must be featured in your fanwork. Go wild!
The day had been beautiful. Everything from watching the sunrise, the walk on the beach at lunch, to the evening stroll down the Italian city street. All weekend, England and America had lived up as much of their three nights, four day stay in the city that the Italians had allowed for them to stay on their time and money. America had revealed the night they arrived that he had asked the brothers for the favor. England, as touched as he was, knew something was up.
As they arrived back at their hotel and spent their last evening together standing on the old balcony overlooking the city, he knew that soon America was going to ask him something. His heart raced just thinking about it. It was rather silly of him when the idea popped into his head, sometime back around lunch on the beach. However, it grew during the day into a full-fledged dream that excited him to no end and he braced himself to give his answer.
For a time, England mulled over just what answer he would give. Would he say yes? More like, could he say yes? There was a lot to take into consideration. A country couldn't just get married with anyone, especially not another country. For Austria and Hungary it was all well and good, but that was a different time and the circumstances were much different. Hungary or Austria didn't raise the other, then rebel, and come back to be the other's hero, now did they? They didn't go through at least twenty-years of grueling political battles afterwards, only to end up unable to be together given that time's current political and overwhelming feeling from the people. Now, America and England were on the best of terms and had been dating for over twenty years.
Was that enough to warrant marriage? Marriage had never seemed something tangible for England, especially given his reserved nature and rather stagnant desire to keep hold of a relationship. And yet, a relationship was what he had gotten once he and America had begun dating after America left letters in his post. England was wary at first, not sure if it was a good idea. Neither one of them had brilliant track records of staying with a partner for long.
Then again, these were countries, not humans. And it was America, the one person England had learned he could trust with everything. They shared political secrets, military bases, and television shows (although England jokingly said America stole his), among other things. England certainly couldn't consider any of his past lovers, human or country, to have ever gotten as close to him as America had been to him now.
Most important of all, England knew that if they fought, he'd still love him come morning. And America would be there beside him, possibly with that sheepish smile or a bouquet of roses, mumble something resembling an apology, and life would continue on. There was just that much of forgiveness at the other's faults, even on the days England was most exhausted with America.
America poured England some more wine, and then himself. He looked back out at the setting sun, the view bathed in warm oranges and reds.
England sighed. "What a wonderful weekend."
"You said it," America said. He put an arm around England's shoulders. "So glad we picked this hotel."
"You mean after I made you stop being a complete idiot and just pick one?" England reminded him.
America laughed. "Details."
They were silent a moment before America turned his head to look at England. England could feel eyes on him, studying him. His cheeks were hot as he looked over at America. They just stared for a time before America took England's hand.
"Arthur?" America asked. Human names- a sign of affection. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Yes," England replied. "The answer to your question you're going to ask is yes."
America's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Wow. How'd you know?"
"Well, to be honest, I wasn't sure if I was going to say yes or not," England started, his voice shaky. "But as the weekend wore on I knew that I could easily say yes when you asked me."
America blinked at England before smiling slowly. "It took you all weekend?"
England blushed. "Is that too soon?"
"I'd say that's too long. I just thought it up right now."
"What?" England looked almost offended. "You mean you haven't put any thought into this matter at all? You just grabbed the thought out of thin air?"
America's eyes shifted before settling on England. He looked completely lost. "Yeah. Dude, what's wrong? Why are you getting upset?"
England huffed, throwing up his hands. "Because this is hardly the time to be- Whatever. Just, yes, okay you twit?"
"All right…?" America moved his hand out, to which England stuck his own out. America stopped. "What're you doing?"
"Are you going to put it on?" England asked.
"I'm getting more wine." America reached around England. He grabbed the bottle, pulling it back to fill his glass up again. When he saw England's hand was still held out, he thrust it into him. "Here ya go."
"What?" England looked at the wine angrily. "I didn't want this."
"Then…why is your hand out?"
"I'm waiting for the ring!"
America looked behind him, expecting something to be there. Something that could explain this entire situation because England was making no sense to him. "What ring?"
Now England's face was red with frustration rather than admiration. "Our engagement ring! Tell me you remembered to buy one! Honestly, how-"
"Whoa, wait, Arthur," America said hastily. He held his hands up to stop England. "You…You thought I was asking you to marry me?"
"Of course!" England threw his hand out at the Italian city they overlooked. "Why else would you whisk me away to a trip to Italy where you asked the Italian brothers to set up this romantic weekend? Why else have you been showering me in gifts as of late, the rose garden being the most recent of two years ago?"
America rubbed the back of his head bashfully. "Geez, I had no idea you really thought that… Can't I just get you gifts because I love you? I told you, we can't get married. Remember at Will and Kate's wedding? We can't get married. You know that."
England's heart first clenched so hard it almost broke, but breaking would be all too easy. It thundered in his ears, drowning out anything else other than "we can't get married". An overwhelming and crushing blow struck not just his happiness but his pride. He had been so foolish to assume that he could actually get what he wanted in life. Was it so much that he finally accepted he would settle down in his life with someone? Live happily ever after?
Yes, it was. Because nations don't get such things. Worse still, they weren't even allowed to dream for it.
England stumbled back, dropping his wine glass. It broke at his feet. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he wasn't sure why. It was a mixed case of a broken heart and sheer embarrassment at his rash thinking. Really, only a weekend? Perhaps if he hadn't been whisked away by America's romantic gestures all the time he'd have thought more logically. This was why he stopped letting his heart rule him.
America stopped him, though. He pulled him to his chest, his voice soft and gentle. "Hey, don't cry. Shh, it's okay."
"You…you said one day," England croaked. How humiliating. Now he was trying to grasp at something, anything, to hold on to that distant dream of America forever being by his side. "You said it was possible… one day. That tissue ring…!"
Now England's voice was rising. He was losing control of his emotions. Of course America would be the one to provoke this kind of reaction from him, even if it was unintentional.
America held firm. "I know… I said it was possible, but I don't know. You know my people… they just couldn't do it. Arthur, it's just…"
"You don't want to marry me?" England pushed away, infuriated. "Why wouldn't you want to marry me?"
"No! It's totally not like that."
America struggled to explain himself, but it was of no use. No matter what answer or explanation he gave it wouldn't soothe England's frayed nerves. It wasn't him asking England to marry him.
With a heavy heart he watched as England stormed off. Their weekend, and possibly their relationship, was shattered.
England refused to speak to America the remainder of their vacation. They were to leave in the early afternoon the following day, so breakfast and lunch had been painfully awkward. America tried his best to patch up everything with England. He continued to apologize, he bought his gifts, and he tried to sneak in kisses. The latter idea ended up with a sock to his jaw.
The thing that confused America was how was he to know England had wanted marriage? Sure there was that time a few years before with the wedding of Will and Kate where England had expressed it, but that was two years ago. Since then, America had been thrown into rather distressing times. He had resorted to writing letters, sporadic one-night visits, and limited intimate physical encounters. England was understanding and patient seeing as he had his own tower of problems to deal with, but now was hardly the time to consider such a step in their relationship.
And was marriage between a country that had thrown off the crown of England and England himself possible? Even if America asked his boss and his people, there would be a unanimous vote of no. Sure, the people loved to spread gossip of their relationship in the tabloids ever since America showed to the world they were dating. It had been in hopes the world would be more in favor of countries having actual lives.
So far so good, or so he thought. But if the idea was even mentioned, America knew he would land in a heap of trouble with any one of his political bigheads.
Still, he was true to his word: he wanted to marry England and would if he could.
Now, they stood at the airport. England's flight had been called. He didn't even glance at America as he took his rolling suitcase and began to head for his gate. America watched his retreating back. A bitter taste seeped into his mouth. He licked his lips, thinking if reaching out for him England would turn and hit him again.
He did so anyways. And England stopped. And then he turned. And then America felt like crying himself.
Carefully he pulled out the tissue ring he had given him so long ago. England kept to his promise of wearing it only when they were visiting each other. Last night, England had almost thrown it into the wastebasket. He thought better of it, and instead stuffed it into America's jacket pocket. Now America was holding it out to him.
"Please…? Don't go."
England looked from the ring to America's eyes. Then, he sighed. He came and hugged America around the neck. "Don't cry, my love."
Somehow, America was crying. He was honestly terrified. He clung to England, hiding his face in case someone saw him. He didn't cry. Even when England left him when he first became a country. He just watched as England did, telling himself that England cried hard enough for the both of them.
"Just because I can't marry you doesn't mean I don't love you," America whispered. He kissed England's neck, then rest his lips against the skin. "Please believe me."
"I know." England rubbed his hand through America's hair in a soothing gesture. "I know… I'm sorry. I was just… can you blame me for being so upset? I was rather hopeful."
America tried to laugh, but he ended up coughing. Quickly he wiped his face before moving away to look at England. "I just have never known someone that wants to marry me so badly."
England flushed. "Hush up now. You make me sound like some old sap."
"You mean you aren't?" America grinned. He kissed England's cheek, pressing the ring into his hands. "Take this. It's a promise."
There was another call for England's flight. He kissed America's cheek in return before pulling away. He stuck the ring into his overcoat pocket, then hurried to catch his plane. He looked back, giving a light wave at America, and then handed over his passport and ticket.
"Arthur!" England turned around. America smiled at him, determined. "I'll do my best."
America's plane had been delayed for two hours, so he ducked out of the airport to wander around and grab a bite to eat. He could have easily done so in the airport, but he found it too stuffy. He needed to get his mind off of his current problem in his relationship.
All around him were couples, happily enjoying the bright summer Italian day. What was there not to enjoy? They could love and marry freely. No reporters stalked them, or politics created around their dates, and they certainly didn't have to sneak out to another country just to have a moment or two alone. Or maybe they did, what did America know about Italians? Other than two were walking right up to him.
"Ciao Veneciano, Romano," America greeted.
"Ciao America! How was the weekend? Did it work?" Veneciano asked. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with anticipation at the news.
"Did what work?" America asked.
"The romantic weekend," Romano replied. He put a hand on Veneciano in hopes of stopping him. It didn't. He shot him a glare that went as unnoticed as his hand.
"Yeah, weren't you going to propose to England?"
America ducked his face. "N-no. Why do you guys think that? Even England thought I was…"
Veneciano stopped his movements. Now he bent over to try and get a good look at America. "You mean you didn't?"
"How could I?" America looked over at a couple kissing down an alley. His face was red just watching. "Countries don't marry…"
"Hungary and Austria did!" Veneciano proclaimed. "You two could."
"No, it's different."
"How so?" Romano asked. Now his arms were crossed and he had a sour frown on his face. It seemed he had been let down by the lack of good news.
"Well, Austria and Hungary didn't have a Revolutionary War like England and I did, you know?" America tore his eyes from the couple, turning his attention to the brothers before him. "It'd be weird to get back together with him."
"But….you love England, don't you?" Veneciano asked. His tone was so innocent, so pure. It was almost as if he were asking what the time was.
"O-of course," America replied. Now the blush had spread to his ears.
"Then what's holding you back?" Romano asked. His tone was more frustration and exasperation, as if he thought America was a fool.
"I just told you! It's…it's a different time than when Hungary and Austria got married."
Veneciano and Romano looked at each other.
"It's not that different," Veneciano started. "It's love after all. That doesn't change. Love is love."
"And besides, since when did you really follow the rules of other countries?" Romano smirked. He recalled the Roaring Twenties he had with America and how often he'd see America breaking all the laws, his own laws even. "The old laws of countries were if you were ruled by a bigger nation then it was pointless to even try and rebel. But you broke that right away, didn't you?"
America laughed. His ego certainly got a boost just then. "Yeah, well… This is a little bit bigger. And besides I now have to worry about being at the center stage of the world. If I sneeze, someone knows about it. I think a little thing like marrying another country would be noticeable."
The Italian brothers shrugged in unison, and America was reminded of his own brother, Canada. "So what?"
"So what? So my people, that's what." America checked the time. He should be heading back to the airport soon. "I could never do something without consulting them first, not something this huge."
"You didn't ask their permission to date England in the first place, did you?" Veneciano asked coyly.
That got America. He sighed and dropped his head in defeat. "Okay… Even if my people magically said yes, England's sure wouldn't. They don't hate me or the war anymore, but they'd rather die than be reunited with me. And…I couldn't put all of these financial and societal problems on England either."
"America, you're making this really hard on yourself," Romano said. "There's another way."
America snapped his head up, a light in his eyes that wasn't there a moment ago. He looked rather hopeful, but tried to not let his emotions get the best of him just yet. Not yet.
Veneciano and Romano smiled at each other. "We know someone who can help."
"Well, we know a lot of someones that can help," Veneciano winked.
England banged the metal mixing bowl onto the counter. He flung the flour and a few other spices into the mix before tossing in the eggs (still in shells) and milk (no clear measurement). Then, he stirred, and stirred, and stirred. Some of the mix splashed onto his apron, the floor, and the counter. He picked up the bowl, pacing as he continued the stir. He set aside the bowl, instantly forgetting its existence. He went for a roll of dough that had been left unattended on the table.
He then slammed the dough onto his cutting board. Then he punched it to soften it up. Taking the rolling in, he just beat the poor dough senseless. The two cats, Ace and Crumpet, watched warily from the kitchen doorway. Usually when England beat his ingredients it was never a good sign. They ducked out of the room as quickly as possible.
Finally finished, he picked up the dough and flung it onto a baking rack. He opened the oven without consideration to its hinges, tossed the rack inside, and smashed the door closed. He set it to some ungodly temperature and stomped away. The cats skirted out of the way, tails between their legs in fear. They scurried under the couch. Ace buried his face into Crumpet's belly.
England stopped. He inhaled and exhaled a sob. He collapsed to the floor, hands on his face, as he started to cry. He pressed his back to the wall in hopes of it knocking some sense into him, but it did nothing. Crumpet poked his nose out before going over and offering his comfort. Ace followed suit. He tried to climb into England's lap.
England smiled at the two, wiping his face and then petting them both. After a time he went in and shut off his oven. Nothing like letting his house burn down to top off the wonderful mood he was in.
"Shall we go on a walk?" England offered, looking to his pets. "That ought to clear my head."
The cats meowed in agreement and followed after England to the front door. England walked for awhile, smelling the mist that had never burnt out by the sun, enjoying the faint chirps from birds in the foliage that so often accompanied English countryside. Not far from home, England took a seat on a boulder jutting out into the pathway. Around him were flowers of purple. He smiled fondly at them. Before him, Ace chased a butterfly. He was still a kitten, but he was so large that he looked like a full grown cat. Nearby, Crumpet watched like a doting parent.
Just like England did with America when the little tyke wandered off to play with a wild animal.
"What am I doing…?" he mused aloud. Crumpet turned to look at England. "I'm in love, but I can't be. The rules of nations is that we don't fall in love. Flings and shags are fine. Even the most closed off countries can't help themselves to an affair here and there. But love. That's taboo…
"And with America of all people? I had given my heart to him so long ago, only to have him step on it. Didn't I go into my Splendid Isolation to heal myself? To make sure I didn't become a fool with his head in the clouds? Now look at me. I count down the days we're to meet. I ache for his touch. I disregard the times and call him so that I may hear his voice."
While England talked, Crumpet's ears flickered. He looked back towards the house. Then, Ace halted in his frolicking. He took off back towards the house, Crumpet keeping up close behind.
"Have I gone mad? Marriage with a country is…" England stopped when he saw the cats run away. He sighed with a pathetic chuckle. "Even my own cats leave me…"
He stood and headed back home, dragging his feet. If he went home, he'd be reminded of only America. So much of the man had overtaken his life it was as if he already was married to him. The house smelled faintly of the cologne America loved to wear on business days, there was a video console tucked underneath the television with America's stack of extra games intermingled with England's DVD collection, comic books wedged in between Shakespeare, among other things. Not to mention, England's bed constantly smelled of America. It was a King, but it wasn't big enough to mask that scent.
When England arrived back at his home he noticed both cats hadn't gone inside yet. They were staring intently at England's post box. He sighed. He wasn't in the mood for anyone to be bothering him. It was why he had pointedly left his mobile at home, and off, under a pillow, upstairs in his bedroom. Still, his curiosity got the better of him and he lifted the lid.
It was a white envelope, no return address, cursive handwriting of England's human name. England ripped open the envelope with no finesse. It had been over two months since he and America had spoken. Any form of contact was a relief to his dehydrated nerves. Pulling out the familiar parchment paper, he quickly scanned the contents.
Then, he rushed around to the road. There was no one in sight, not even a trace of a car driving off towards town. He had missed him. So he returned his attention to the letter.
My dearest Arthur,
That is what you are to me, my dearest. And my Arthur. I know you exist as the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, just as I exist to be the United States of America, but I see you only as Arthur. Even as a child and I saw you in pirate gear, you were only Arthur.
Ever since you taught me to write and you took me away on your pirate ship to look at the stars, I've tried thinking of ways to show you that I love you. To tell you exactly how much I really love you. I'm bad at words, but I'm all right with writing. I think. Am I doing okay?
I know this letter isn't on the same scale as the letters that brought us together, but I'll admit. You scare me. You piss me off. You make me cry. You make me hate the world and everything in it. But I will take all of that because, my dearest, you make me laugh, you make me love, you make me live.
In the simplest of terms, you make me happy.
If I make you happy and if you can forgive my absence and all of my faults, then I'd like to see you. Please come to the roses as soon as you can. I know what I just asked is a lot, but if I can overlook all of your faults, then maybe you can mine?
Then, it was signed with a heart.
England pressed it to his chest, smiling. His answer was still yes.
Yes he would overlook all of America's silly habits, infuriating nuisances, horrific eating habits, and troublesome political problems, if only he forever was with America.
Six hours later, give or take, England arrived at America's Victorian-style house. It was their favorite. And England knew what America had meant when he wrote "come to the roses". Two years ago, America, never terribly good at differentiating between a hoe and a rake, had planted a garden in his yard. He claimed it was all for England to enjoy when he spent weekends over and missed his own precious gardens. But the most luxurious aspect was the rose garden in the back.
England marched to the garden, a smile already on his face. Two months with absolutely no contact, and now a nostalgic letter in his post. He even brought along Crumpet and Ace, more gifts from America. Crumpet was still woozy from the flight, so he took his leave under a bush where he began to wash himself. Ace, meanwhile, decided he would stick his nose in every single flower in the vicinity. He didn't care that he was constantly sneezing.
England rounded the corner. There stood America in a rather attractive suit, his hands behind his back. For a moment, England thought that there was a ring in his hands, but when he brought them to his front, there wasn't a box to be seen. Instead, he gestured to a small tea party-like table beside him. On it were two stacks of papers. They had to be fifteen pages, at least.
"What's this?" England asked.
America smiled and took England's hand, then put his free hand on England's hip. A soft tune was played from a stereo stuffed underneath the table, hidden by the tablecloth.
"I've missed you," America whispered.
"That didn't answer my question," England said, but the smile in his voice erased all hints of him actually being anything close to annoyed or frustrated.
"Yes it did. This is all like this because I missed you."
"And the papers?"
America shushed England as he gave him a lazy twirl. "Details, sweetheart, details."
England chuckled. He rested his cheek against America's chest. America hummed with the song, rumbling his chest in England's ear. England smiled more.
"I love you, my dearest Alfred," England mumbled. He lifted his head to stare at America. "I love you for your faults and your qualities. You will forever be my beloved, even if you leave me again. I don't think I could love another."
America smiled, and then leaned down to peck a kiss on England's lips. "I'm glad, my dearest Arthur. I know for a fact if something were to happen and we could no longer be together, I'd fight tooth and nail to get back to you. Because I can't live without you."
The couple continued to dance as if they had all of their lives. When the song ended, America released England, but held firm on his hand. England looked up at him to find the other nation blushing.
"Alfred? Is something wrong?"
"Um…I'm…not really good with words." America moved to the papers left unattended on the table. "Here, read this."
England sighed. "Honestly. Is this what you've been up to all this time?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
England looked at the top sheet; the title page. There was the official seal of the United States of America with the official of the United Kingdom of Great Britain under it. England glanced at the second stack to see the same, only England's seal was above America's. Then he noticed the title.
The Union of Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland
England looked to America for answers, but America held up a hand to stop him. He just pointed at the stack in England's arms. England sat down at the table and began flipping the pages.
Section A.1
I, Alfred F. Jones-
England stopped and asked, "Why the F? Why can't you just say your middle name?"
"Because, you're the only one who knows it. It's a secret. Keep reading."
Section A.1
I, Alfred F. Jones, being the personification of the United States of America and accepting the responsibilities of the accompanying country that I am bound to and represent, hereby offer my hand in marriage and union to that of Arthur Kirkland, the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Being of free will and sane mind, I accept the duties hereto given to me as a partner and husband of Arthur Kirkland.
Section A. 2
The union does not exceed past those of a regular marriage as like that between a human male and female. As such, the duties that follow will not be given out:
-Political actions
-Treaties
-Declarations of war
-The act of signing and/or drawing up laws of either country, commonwealth, or territory
-Voting in political parties, political theaters, court rulings, or any laws
-Interference in societal, religious, or political means
Section A.3
If, for any reason, the two parties should decide to separate, they will not carry over any disputes or quarrels to political or international means. Both parties will receive equal share of whatever land and material possessions they collected through-out their tenure together.
England's breath caught. The sheets continued on and elaborated in more detail as to what each section said in layman's terms. He read everything, filling up at least an hour's worth of reading. By now the cats had wandered over, lying at America and England's feet. Ace was first to sleep after his adventure in the garden. Crumpet kept him safe as he curled around him.
When done, England put the last sheet on the stack beside him. He stared at the tablecloth in amazement. Everything there had been written so beautifully and with little room for any kind of loophole. No doubt America needed all those two months to write them all. He must've paid the finest lawyers in his lands to write it up, and then tipped them extra to keep it a secret from the press.
"Well?" America asked carefully. "What do you think?"
"I…I think you proposed to me the wrong way," England replied.
"Huh?"
England smiled as he reached across the table. He took America's hand in his and then went to one knee on the grass. He looked up at America with hope in his eyes, much like America had looked that day two months ago in Italy at the airport.
"My dearest. My sweetest. My love. There are so many more adjectives I could use to describe you, even those ranging into insulting and rude, but all affectionate. Always. You have showered me in gifts from this beautiful garden, to the cats, to the camping trip, to oh so many more. And all because you wrote me letters. But our love goes further, doesn't it? It started from those late evenings teaching you to read and write, the night you looked at the stars on the ship, to teaching you to play the violin. You have been the one I would forever give my heart to, time and time again. And so I must ask: will you marry me?"
"Yes."
England dipped, held safe and secure in America's arms. They were still dancing, but had moved into the house long ago when the sun began to dip into the horizon. The cats had taken to watching from the couch. England and America hadn't said much since the proposal, but what was there to say?
There were still the trials and tribulations to get the union approved by both of their governments and people. Both were anxious about their impending future, but at this point, neither cared. They had both broken the rules: England in loving another country and America in asking another country to marry him. Of course, it was America who too fell in love and England who technically proposed. Both were at fault.
Both were fools.
Then, a thought occurred to England. "Alfred…? You had lawyers write this up, yes? How much did you have to pay?"
"I didn't hire anyone," America replied. He brushed back England's bangs as he looked down at him. "Veneciano and Romano called on Japan, Germany, France, Russia, China, and Canada. You remember a few weeks ago there was that three-day long meeting that you weren't invited to?"
England nodded. "I thought it was a world meeting."
"It was… Well kinda. That was when we drafted the entire thing up. I had lawyers look at it, but they didn't accept a single dime from me. They owed me favors."
England gawked. "Surely they'll tell the press!"
America shrugged. "No one would believe it, even if they were credible. Both of our governments would put it to rest, at least until this issue is dealt with. By then, people would probably forget about it. Perfect time to bring it back up!"
England shook his head. "So we're talking about at least five more years before it's official?"
"Pretty much. But, in my heart, you're my husband right now."
England held up a finger. "No. I am your fiancée. We haven't had a ceremony."
America groaned. "Do we have to have a ceremony?"
"Yes," England replied flatly. "I am only getting married one time. I would like to do it right. Besides, you promised me a fairy-tale wedding, did you not?
"Oh yeah, I totally did." America laughed. By now the duo were just swaying side to side and holding the other around their midriff. The CD had looped a third time by now. "Well, all right. And we gotta ring the bells! And have a three hour ceremony for no reason! AND A CARRIAGE!"
England laughed. He kissed America on the cheek. "I demand a honeymoon, but I refuse to wear a dress."
"Artie, you can wear whatever you want. Come naked for all I care." America paused. "In fact, just come naked."
"Alfred!" England laughed. "Honestly…"
"Well, there's one stipulation about havin' the guys write us up our marriage certificate."
"What's that?"
"They have to come to the wedding," America said. Then he bit his lip. "And France says he's to be your best man."
"Preposterous! My brothers shall be my best men! I cannot have that frog sully such a sacred spot!" England argued. "Let him be your best man."
"No way!" America shot back. "That's for Mattie! He can be a groomsman or something. But dude, he's got a way longer history with you."
"I don't care! I don't want that bloody imbecile on my side. Not my wedding."
America was laughing by now. "Then you take that up with him."
"Whatever." England sighed. He then pulled America's face down. "Kiss me."
And he did. And would forever more. The term "Until death do us part" seemed unfitting for the immortal couple, and even a war wouldn't keep them apart. There really wasn't anything to diminish their love for each other. The tissue ring that adorned England's left finger said it all.
Hoshiko2's cents: And now you all know what a gigantic lush I am. Jesus, I had no idea that this would turn into a 6K piece of work. I started this back at (my time) 2 PM and it's almost 11! Then again, I said I wanted to go out with a bang.
Well, I certainly hoped you all enjoyed the days that I was able to write. Sadly, I couldn't get all the prompts done like I had originally planned. There were mentions to days prior, as this is all the same timeline that I have set the series. I had wanted to do a story where England taught America to write, but I was ill that day. Same with a story I had where America went sightseeing in London for the first time when he was still a colony. Sadness…
In any case, I hope that you continue to stick around my account and read my other series that I have out and will be bringing out. My main series, Rainbow Veins, will be updating later this week, and I will also have a new mini-series that'll be debuting sometime later this month (most likely by this weekend). Thanks for all the love and reviews and such! They meant the world to me! Feel free to stop by on my tumblr anytime!
Rated: G
Genre: Fluff
Words: 6, 130
Summary: England wants his fantasy.
Written for Day 28 for the usxuk Summer Camp event. July 31st: Love. This is the last theme of summer camp, so you get a nice, vague, simple one. Love! The idea of love must be featured in your fanwork. Go wild!
The day had been beautiful. Everything from watching the sunrise, the walk on the beach at lunch, to the evening stroll down the Italian city street. All weekend, England and America had lived up as much of their three nights, four day stay in the city that the Italians had allowed for them to stay on their time and money. America had revealed the night they arrived that he had asked the brothers for the favor. England, as touched as he was, knew something was up.
As they arrived back at their hotel and spent their last evening together standing on the old balcony overlooking the city, he knew that soon America was going to ask him something. His heart raced just thinking about it. It was rather silly of him when the idea popped into his head, sometime back around lunch on the beach. However, it grew during the day into a full-fledged dream that excited him to no end and he braced himself to give his answer.
For a time, England mulled over just what answer he would give. Would he say yes? More like, could he say yes? There was a lot to take into consideration. A country couldn't just get married with anyone, especially not another country. For Austria and Hungary it was all well and good, but that was a different time and the circumstances were much different. Hungary or Austria didn't raise the other, then rebel, and come back to be the other's hero, now did they? They didn't go through at least twenty-years of grueling political battles afterwards, only to end up unable to be together given that time's current political and overwhelming feeling from the people. Now, America and England were on the best of terms and had been dating for over twenty years.
Was that enough to warrant marriage? Marriage had never seemed something tangible for England, especially given his reserved nature and rather stagnant desire to keep hold of a relationship. And yet, a relationship was what he had gotten once he and America had begun dating after America left letters in his post. England was wary at first, not sure if it was a good idea. Neither one of them had brilliant track records of staying with a partner for long.
Then again, these were countries, not humans. And it was America, the one person England had learned he could trust with everything. They shared political secrets, military bases, and television shows (although England jokingly said America stole his), among other things. England certainly couldn't consider any of his past lovers, human or country, to have ever gotten as close to him as America had been to him now.
Most important of all, England knew that if they fought, he'd still love him come morning. And America would be there beside him, possibly with that sheepish smile or a bouquet of roses, mumble something resembling an apology, and life would continue on. There was just that much of forgiveness at the other's faults, even on the days England was most exhausted with America.
America poured England some more wine, and then himself. He looked back out at the setting sun, the view bathed in warm oranges and reds.
England sighed. "What a wonderful weekend."
"You said it," America said. He put an arm around England's shoulders. "So glad we picked this hotel."
"You mean after I made you stop being a complete idiot and just pick one?" England reminded him.
America laughed. "Details."
They were silent a moment before America turned his head to look at England. England could feel eyes on him, studying him. His cheeks were hot as he looked over at America. They just stared for a time before America took England's hand.
"Arthur?" America asked. Human names- a sign of affection. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Yes," England replied. "The answer to your question you're going to ask is yes."
America's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Wow. How'd you know?"
"Well, to be honest, I wasn't sure if I was going to say yes or not," England started, his voice shaky. "But as the weekend wore on I knew that I could easily say yes when you asked me."
America blinked at England before smiling slowly. "It took you all weekend?"
England blushed. "Is that too soon?"
"I'd say that's too long. I just thought it up right now."
"What?" England looked almost offended. "You mean you haven't put any thought into this matter at all? You just grabbed the thought out of thin air?"
America's eyes shifted before settling on England. He looked completely lost. "Yeah. Dude, what's wrong? Why are you getting upset?"
England huffed, throwing up his hands. "Because this is hardly the time to be- Whatever. Just, yes, okay you twit?"
"All right…?" America moved his hand out, to which England stuck his own out. America stopped. "What're you doing?"
"Are you going to put it on?" England asked.
"I'm getting more wine." America reached around England. He grabbed the bottle, pulling it back to fill his glass up again. When he saw England's hand was still held out, he thrust it into him. "Here ya go."
"What?" England looked at the wine angrily. "I didn't want this."
"Then…why is your hand out?"
"I'm waiting for the ring!"
America looked behind him, expecting something to be there. Something that could explain this entire situation because England was making no sense to him. "What ring?"
Now England's face was red with frustration rather than admiration. "Our engagement ring! Tell me you remembered to buy one! Honestly, how-"
"Whoa, wait, Arthur," America said hastily. He held his hands up to stop England. "You…You thought I was asking you to marry me?"
"Of course!" England threw his hand out at the Italian city they overlooked. "Why else would you whisk me away to a trip to Italy where you asked the Italian brothers to set up this romantic weekend? Why else have you been showering me in gifts as of late, the rose garden being the most recent of two years ago?"
America rubbed the back of his head bashfully. "Geez, I had no idea you really thought that… Can't I just get you gifts because I love you? I told you, we can't get married. Remember at Will and Kate's wedding? We can't get married. You know that."
England's heart first clenched so hard it almost broke, but breaking would be all too easy. It thundered in his ears, drowning out anything else other than "we can't get married". An overwhelming and crushing blow struck not just his happiness but his pride. He had been so foolish to assume that he could actually get what he wanted in life. Was it so much that he finally accepted he would settle down in his life with someone? Live happily ever after?
Yes, it was. Because nations don't get such things. Worse still, they weren't even allowed to dream for it.
England stumbled back, dropping his wine glass. It broke at his feet. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he wasn't sure why. It was a mixed case of a broken heart and sheer embarrassment at his rash thinking. Really, only a weekend? Perhaps if he hadn't been whisked away by America's romantic gestures all the time he'd have thought more logically. This was why he stopped letting his heart rule him.
America stopped him, though. He pulled him to his chest, his voice soft and gentle. "Hey, don't cry. Shh, it's okay."
"You…you said one day," England croaked. How humiliating. Now he was trying to grasp at something, anything, to hold on to that distant dream of America forever being by his side. "You said it was possible… one day. That tissue ring…!"
Now England's voice was rising. He was losing control of his emotions. Of course America would be the one to provoke this kind of reaction from him, even if it was unintentional.
America held firm. "I know… I said it was possible, but I don't know. You know my people… they just couldn't do it. Arthur, it's just…"
"You don't want to marry me?" England pushed away, infuriated. "Why wouldn't you want to marry me?"
"No! It's totally not like that."
America struggled to explain himself, but it was of no use. No matter what answer or explanation he gave it wouldn't soothe England's frayed nerves. It wasn't him asking England to marry him.
With a heavy heart he watched as England stormed off. Their weekend, and possibly their relationship, was shattered.
England refused to speak to America the remainder of their vacation. They were to leave in the early afternoon the following day, so breakfast and lunch had been painfully awkward. America tried his best to patch up everything with England. He continued to apologize, he bought his gifts, and he tried to sneak in kisses. The latter idea ended up with a sock to his jaw.
The thing that confused America was how was he to know England had wanted marriage? Sure there was that time a few years before with the wedding of Will and Kate where England had expressed it, but that was two years ago. Since then, America had been thrown into rather distressing times. He had resorted to writing letters, sporadic one-night visits, and limited intimate physical encounters. England was understanding and patient seeing as he had his own tower of problems to deal with, but now was hardly the time to consider such a step in their relationship.
And was marriage between a country that had thrown off the crown of England and England himself possible? Even if America asked his boss and his people, there would be a unanimous vote of no. Sure, the people loved to spread gossip of their relationship in the tabloids ever since America showed to the world they were dating. It had been in hopes the world would be more in favor of countries having actual lives.
So far so good, or so he thought. But if the idea was even mentioned, America knew he would land in a heap of trouble with any one of his political bigheads.
Still, he was true to his word: he wanted to marry England and would if he could.
Now, they stood at the airport. England's flight had been called. He didn't even glance at America as he took his rolling suitcase and began to head for his gate. America watched his retreating back. A bitter taste seeped into his mouth. He licked his lips, thinking if reaching out for him England would turn and hit him again.
He did so anyways. And England stopped. And then he turned. And then America felt like crying himself.
Carefully he pulled out the tissue ring he had given him so long ago. England kept to his promise of wearing it only when they were visiting each other. Last night, England had almost thrown it into the wastebasket. He thought better of it, and instead stuffed it into America's jacket pocket. Now America was holding it out to him.
"Please…? Don't go."
England looked from the ring to America's eyes. Then, he sighed. He came and hugged America around the neck. "Don't cry, my love."
Somehow, America was crying. He was honestly terrified. He clung to England, hiding his face in case someone saw him. He didn't cry. Even when England left him when he first became a country. He just watched as England did, telling himself that England cried hard enough for the both of them.
"Just because I can't marry you doesn't mean I don't love you," America whispered. He kissed England's neck, then rest his lips against the skin. "Please believe me."
"I know." England rubbed his hand through America's hair in a soothing gesture. "I know… I'm sorry. I was just… can you blame me for being so upset? I was rather hopeful."
America tried to laugh, but he ended up coughing. Quickly he wiped his face before moving away to look at England. "I just have never known someone that wants to marry me so badly."
England flushed. "Hush up now. You make me sound like some old sap."
"You mean you aren't?" America grinned. He kissed England's cheek, pressing the ring into his hands. "Take this. It's a promise."
There was another call for England's flight. He kissed America's cheek in return before pulling away. He stuck the ring into his overcoat pocket, then hurried to catch his plane. He looked back, giving a light wave at America, and then handed over his passport and ticket.
"Arthur!" England turned around. America smiled at him, determined. "I'll do my best."
America's plane had been delayed for two hours, so he ducked out of the airport to wander around and grab a bite to eat. He could have easily done so in the airport, but he found it too stuffy. He needed to get his mind off of his current problem in his relationship.
All around him were couples, happily enjoying the bright summer Italian day. What was there not to enjoy? They could love and marry freely. No reporters stalked them, or politics created around their dates, and they certainly didn't have to sneak out to another country just to have a moment or two alone. Or maybe they did, what did America know about Italians? Other than two were walking right up to him.
"Ciao Veneciano, Romano," America greeted.
"Ciao America! How was the weekend? Did it work?" Veneciano asked. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with anticipation at the news.
"Did what work?" America asked.
"The romantic weekend," Romano replied. He put a hand on Veneciano in hopes of stopping him. It didn't. He shot him a glare that went as unnoticed as his hand.
"Yeah, weren't you going to propose to England?"
America ducked his face. "N-no. Why do you guys think that? Even England thought I was…"
Veneciano stopped his movements. Now he bent over to try and get a good look at America. "You mean you didn't?"
"How could I?" America looked over at a couple kissing down an alley. His face was red just watching. "Countries don't marry…"
"Hungary and Austria did!" Veneciano proclaimed. "You two could."
"No, it's different."
"How so?" Romano asked. Now his arms were crossed and he had a sour frown on his face. It seemed he had been let down by the lack of good news.
"Well, Austria and Hungary didn't have a Revolutionary War like England and I did, you know?" America tore his eyes from the couple, turning his attention to the brothers before him. "It'd be weird to get back together with him."
"But….you love England, don't you?" Veneciano asked. His tone was so innocent, so pure. It was almost as if he were asking what the time was.
"O-of course," America replied. Now the blush had spread to his ears.
"Then what's holding you back?" Romano asked. His tone was more frustration and exasperation, as if he thought America was a fool.
"I just told you! It's…it's a different time than when Hungary and Austria got married."
Veneciano and Romano looked at each other.
"It's not that different," Veneciano started. "It's love after all. That doesn't change. Love is love."
"And besides, since when did you really follow the rules of other countries?" Romano smirked. He recalled the Roaring Twenties he had with America and how often he'd see America breaking all the laws, his own laws even. "The old laws of countries were if you were ruled by a bigger nation then it was pointless to even try and rebel. But you broke that right away, didn't you?"
America laughed. His ego certainly got a boost just then. "Yeah, well… This is a little bit bigger. And besides I now have to worry about being at the center stage of the world. If I sneeze, someone knows about it. I think a little thing like marrying another country would be noticeable."
The Italian brothers shrugged in unison, and America was reminded of his own brother, Canada. "So what?"
"So what? So my people, that's what." America checked the time. He should be heading back to the airport soon. "I could never do something without consulting them first, not something this huge."
"You didn't ask their permission to date England in the first place, did you?" Veneciano asked coyly.
That got America. He sighed and dropped his head in defeat. "Okay… Even if my people magically said yes, England's sure wouldn't. They don't hate me or the war anymore, but they'd rather die than be reunited with me. And…I couldn't put all of these financial and societal problems on England either."
"America, you're making this really hard on yourself," Romano said. "There's another way."
America snapped his head up, a light in his eyes that wasn't there a moment ago. He looked rather hopeful, but tried to not let his emotions get the best of him just yet. Not yet.
Veneciano and Romano smiled at each other. "We know someone who can help."
"Well, we know a lot of someones that can help," Veneciano winked.
England banged the metal mixing bowl onto the counter. He flung the flour and a few other spices into the mix before tossing in the eggs (still in shells) and milk (no clear measurement). Then, he stirred, and stirred, and stirred. Some of the mix splashed onto his apron, the floor, and the counter. He picked up the bowl, pacing as he continued the stir. He set aside the bowl, instantly forgetting its existence. He went for a roll of dough that had been left unattended on the table.
He then slammed the dough onto his cutting board. Then he punched it to soften it up. Taking the rolling in, he just beat the poor dough senseless. The two cats, Ace and Crumpet, watched warily from the kitchen doorway. Usually when England beat his ingredients it was never a good sign. They ducked out of the room as quickly as possible.
Finally finished, he picked up the dough and flung it onto a baking rack. He opened the oven without consideration to its hinges, tossed the rack inside, and smashed the door closed. He set it to some ungodly temperature and stomped away. The cats skirted out of the way, tails between their legs in fear. They scurried under the couch. Ace buried his face into Crumpet's belly.
England stopped. He inhaled and exhaled a sob. He collapsed to the floor, hands on his face, as he started to cry. He pressed his back to the wall in hopes of it knocking some sense into him, but it did nothing. Crumpet poked his nose out before going over and offering his comfort. Ace followed suit. He tried to climb into England's lap.
England smiled at the two, wiping his face and then petting them both. After a time he went in and shut off his oven. Nothing like letting his house burn down to top off the wonderful mood he was in.
"Shall we go on a walk?" England offered, looking to his pets. "That ought to clear my head."
The cats meowed in agreement and followed after England to the front door. England walked for awhile, smelling the mist that had never burnt out by the sun, enjoying the faint chirps from birds in the foliage that so often accompanied English countryside. Not far from home, England took a seat on a boulder jutting out into the pathway. Around him were flowers of purple. He smiled fondly at them. Before him, Ace chased a butterfly. He was still a kitten, but he was so large that he looked like a full grown cat. Nearby, Crumpet watched like a doting parent.
Just like England did with America when the little tyke wandered off to play with a wild animal.
"What am I doing…?" he mused aloud. Crumpet turned to look at England. "I'm in love, but I can't be. The rules of nations is that we don't fall in love. Flings and shags are fine. Even the most closed off countries can't help themselves to an affair here and there. But love. That's taboo…
"And with America of all people? I had given my heart to him so long ago, only to have him step on it. Didn't I go into my Splendid Isolation to heal myself? To make sure I didn't become a fool with his head in the clouds? Now look at me. I count down the days we're to meet. I ache for his touch. I disregard the times and call him so that I may hear his voice."
While England talked, Crumpet's ears flickered. He looked back towards the house. Then, Ace halted in his frolicking. He took off back towards the house, Crumpet keeping up close behind.
"Have I gone mad? Marriage with a country is…" England stopped when he saw the cats run away. He sighed with a pathetic chuckle. "Even my own cats leave me…"
He stood and headed back home, dragging his feet. If he went home, he'd be reminded of only America. So much of the man had overtaken his life it was as if he already was married to him. The house smelled faintly of the cologne America loved to wear on business days, there was a video console tucked underneath the television with America's stack of extra games intermingled with England's DVD collection, comic books wedged in between Shakespeare, among other things. Not to mention, England's bed constantly smelled of America. It was a King, but it wasn't big enough to mask that scent.
When England arrived back at his home he noticed both cats hadn't gone inside yet. They were staring intently at England's post box. He sighed. He wasn't in the mood for anyone to be bothering him. It was why he had pointedly left his mobile at home, and off, under a pillow, upstairs in his bedroom. Still, his curiosity got the better of him and he lifted the lid.
It was a white envelope, no return address, cursive handwriting of England's human name. England ripped open the envelope with no finesse. It had been over two months since he and America had spoken. Any form of contact was a relief to his dehydrated nerves. Pulling out the familiar parchment paper, he quickly scanned the contents.
Then, he rushed around to the road. There was no one in sight, not even a trace of a car driving off towards town. He had missed him. So he returned his attention to the letter.
My dearest Arthur,
That is what you are to me, my dearest. And my Arthur. I know you exist as the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, just as I exist to be the United States of America, but I see you only as Arthur. Even as a child and I saw you in pirate gear, you were only Arthur.
Ever since you taught me to write and you took me away on your pirate ship to look at the stars, I've tried thinking of ways to show you that I love you. To tell you exactly how much I really love you. I'm bad at words, but I'm all right with writing. I think. Am I doing okay?
I know this letter isn't on the same scale as the letters that brought us together, but I'll admit. You scare me. You piss me off. You make me cry. You make me hate the world and everything in it. But I will take all of that because, my dearest, you make me laugh, you make me love, you make me live.
In the simplest of terms, you make me happy.
If I make you happy and if you can forgive my absence and all of my faults, then I'd like to see you. Please come to the roses as soon as you can. I know what I just asked is a lot, but if I can overlook all of your faults, then maybe you can mine?
Then, it was signed with a heart.
England pressed it to his chest, smiling. His answer was still yes.
Yes he would overlook all of America's silly habits, infuriating nuisances, horrific eating habits, and troublesome political problems, if only he forever was with America.
Six hours later, give or take, England arrived at America's Victorian-style house. It was their favorite. And England knew what America had meant when he wrote "come to the roses". Two years ago, America, never terribly good at differentiating between a hoe and a rake, had planted a garden in his yard. He claimed it was all for England to enjoy when he spent weekends over and missed his own precious gardens. But the most luxurious aspect was the rose garden in the back.
England marched to the garden, a smile already on his face. Two months with absolutely no contact, and now a nostalgic letter in his post. He even brought along Crumpet and Ace, more gifts from America. Crumpet was still woozy from the flight, so he took his leave under a bush where he began to wash himself. Ace, meanwhile, decided he would stick his nose in every single flower in the vicinity. He didn't care that he was constantly sneezing.
England rounded the corner. There stood America in a rather attractive suit, his hands behind his back. For a moment, England thought that there was a ring in his hands, but when he brought them to his front, there wasn't a box to be seen. Instead, he gestured to a small tea party-like table beside him. On it were two stacks of papers. They had to be fifteen pages, at least.
"What's this?" England asked.
America smiled and took England's hand, then put his free hand on England's hip. A soft tune was played from a stereo stuffed underneath the table, hidden by the tablecloth.
"I've missed you," America whispered.
"That didn't answer my question," England said, but the smile in his voice erased all hints of him actually being anything close to annoyed or frustrated.
"Yes it did. This is all like this because I missed you."
"And the papers?"
America shushed England as he gave him a lazy twirl. "Details, sweetheart, details."
England chuckled. He rested his cheek against America's chest. America hummed with the song, rumbling his chest in England's ear. England smiled more.
"I love you, my dearest Alfred," England mumbled. He lifted his head to stare at America. "I love you for your faults and your qualities. You will forever be my beloved, even if you leave me again. I don't think I could love another."
America smiled, and then leaned down to peck a kiss on England's lips. "I'm glad, my dearest Arthur. I know for a fact if something were to happen and we could no longer be together, I'd fight tooth and nail to get back to you. Because I can't live without you."
The couple continued to dance as if they had all of their lives. When the song ended, America released England, but held firm on his hand. England looked up at him to find the other nation blushing.
"Alfred? Is something wrong?"
"Um…I'm…not really good with words." America moved to the papers left unattended on the table. "Here, read this."
England sighed. "Honestly. Is this what you've been up to all this time?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
England looked at the top sheet; the title page. There was the official seal of the United States of America with the official of the United Kingdom of Great Britain under it. England glanced at the second stack to see the same, only England's seal was above America's. Then he noticed the title.
The Union of Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland
England looked to America for answers, but America held up a hand to stop him. He just pointed at the stack in England's arms. England sat down at the table and began flipping the pages.
Section A.1
I, Alfred F. Jones-
England stopped and asked, "Why the F? Why can't you just say your middle name?"
"Because, you're the only one who knows it. It's a secret. Keep reading."
Section A.1
I, Alfred F. Jones, being the personification of the United States of America and accepting the responsibilities of the accompanying country that I am bound to and represent, hereby offer my hand in marriage and union to that of Arthur Kirkland, the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Being of free will and sane mind, I accept the duties hereto given to me as a partner and husband of Arthur Kirkland.
Section A. 2
The union does not exceed past those of a regular marriage as like that between a human male and female. As such, the duties that follow will not be given out:
-Political actions
-Treaties
-Declarations of war
-The act of signing and/or drawing up laws of either country, commonwealth, or territory
-Voting in political parties, political theaters, court rulings, or any laws
-Interference in societal, religious, or political means
Section A.3
If, for any reason, the two parties should decide to separate, they will not carry over any disputes or quarrels to political or international means. Both parties will receive equal share of whatever land and material possessions they collected through-out their tenure together.
England's breath caught. The sheets continued on and elaborated in more detail as to what each section said in layman's terms. He read everything, filling up at least an hour's worth of reading. By now the cats had wandered over, lying at America and England's feet. Ace was first to sleep after his adventure in the garden. Crumpet kept him safe as he curled around him.
When done, England put the last sheet on the stack beside him. He stared at the tablecloth in amazement. Everything there had been written so beautifully and with little room for any kind of loophole. No doubt America needed all those two months to write them all. He must've paid the finest lawyers in his lands to write it up, and then tipped them extra to keep it a secret from the press.
"Well?" America asked carefully. "What do you think?"
"I…I think you proposed to me the wrong way," England replied.
"Huh?"
England smiled as he reached across the table. He took America's hand in his and then went to one knee on the grass. He looked up at America with hope in his eyes, much like America had looked that day two months ago in Italy at the airport.
"My dearest. My sweetest. My love. There are so many more adjectives I could use to describe you, even those ranging into insulting and rude, but all affectionate. Always. You have showered me in gifts from this beautiful garden, to the cats, to the camping trip, to oh so many more. And all because you wrote me letters. But our love goes further, doesn't it? It started from those late evenings teaching you to read and write, the night you looked at the stars on the ship, to teaching you to play the violin. You have been the one I would forever give my heart to, time and time again. And so I must ask: will you marry me?"
"Yes."
England dipped, held safe and secure in America's arms. They were still dancing, but had moved into the house long ago when the sun began to dip into the horizon. The cats had taken to watching from the couch. England and America hadn't said much since the proposal, but what was there to say?
There were still the trials and tribulations to get the union approved by both of their governments and people. Both were anxious about their impending future, but at this point, neither cared. They had both broken the rules: England in loving another country and America in asking another country to marry him. Of course, it was America who too fell in love and England who technically proposed. Both were at fault.
Both were fools.
Then, a thought occurred to England. "Alfred…? You had lawyers write this up, yes? How much did you have to pay?"
"I didn't hire anyone," America replied. He brushed back England's bangs as he looked down at him. "Veneciano and Romano called on Japan, Germany, France, Russia, China, and Canada. You remember a few weeks ago there was that three-day long meeting that you weren't invited to?"
England nodded. "I thought it was a world meeting."
"It was… Well kinda. That was when we drafted the entire thing up. I had lawyers look at it, but they didn't accept a single dime from me. They owed me favors."
England gawked. "Surely they'll tell the press!"
America shrugged. "No one would believe it, even if they were credible. Both of our governments would put it to rest, at least until this issue is dealt with. By then, people would probably forget about it. Perfect time to bring it back up!"
England shook his head. "So we're talking about at least five more years before it's official?"
"Pretty much. But, in my heart, you're my husband right now."
England held up a finger. "No. I am your fiancée. We haven't had a ceremony."
America groaned. "Do we have to have a ceremony?"
"Yes," England replied flatly. "I am only getting married one time. I would like to do it right. Besides, you promised me a fairy-tale wedding, did you not?
"Oh yeah, I totally did." America laughed. By now the duo were just swaying side to side and holding the other around their midriff. The CD had looped a third time by now. "Well, all right. And we gotta ring the bells! And have a three hour ceremony for no reason! AND A CARRIAGE!"
England laughed. He kissed America on the cheek. "I demand a honeymoon, but I refuse to wear a dress."
"Artie, you can wear whatever you want. Come naked for all I care." America paused. "In fact, just come naked."
"Alfred!" England laughed. "Honestly…"
"Well, there's one stipulation about havin' the guys write us up our marriage certificate."
"What's that?"
"They have to come to the wedding," America said. Then he bit his lip. "And France says he's to be your best man."
"Preposterous! My brothers shall be my best men! I cannot have that frog sully such a sacred spot!" England argued. "Let him be your best man."
"No way!" America shot back. "That's for Mattie! He can be a groomsman or something. But dude, he's got a way longer history with you."
"I don't care! I don't want that bloody imbecile on my side. Not my wedding."
America was laughing by now. "Then you take that up with him."
"Whatever." England sighed. He then pulled America's face down. "Kiss me."
And he did. And would forever more. The term "Until death do us part" seemed unfitting for the immortal couple, and even a war wouldn't keep them apart. There really wasn't anything to diminish their love for each other. The tissue ring that adorned England's left finger said it all.
Hoshiko2's cents: And now you all know what a gigantic lush I am. Jesus, I had no idea that this would turn into a 6K piece of work. I started this back at (my time) 2 PM and it's almost 11! Then again, I said I wanted to go out with a bang.
Well, I certainly hoped you all enjoyed the days that I was able to write. Sadly, I couldn't get all the prompts done like I had originally planned. There were mentions to days prior, as this is all the same timeline that I have set the series. I had wanted to do a story where England taught America to write, but I was ill that day. Same with a story I had where America went sightseeing in London for the first time when he was still a colony. Sadness…
In any case, I hope that you continue to stick around my account and read my other series that I have out and will be bringing out. My main series, Rainbow Veins, will be updating later this week, and I will also have a new mini-series that'll be debuting sometime later this month (most likely by this weekend). Thanks for all the love and reviews and such! They meant the world to me! Feel free to stop by on my tumblr anytime!