America, the Beautiful?
America really wasn't paying much attention to what was on the television. Well, okay, it wasn't that he wasn't paying attention to what was on the T.V., it was that he was rather distracted by… other things. Other things actually being people-a person, to be specific, who was snuggled up to his side, covered by a blanket and half asleep.
That person being England. …Hence the extra distraction. Was it mentioned that England was half-using his leg as a teddy-bear of sorts and being extra cute by trying not to fall asleep? Granted, that part was kind of America's fault, since he'd challenged England to stay up as late as he could to help the jet lag pass quicker, but it was cute nonetheless.
So, no, America was not paying much attention to what was on the television. So when his name-rather, his country's name-was mentioned, he was rather surprised. It was a British television station, after all, (courtesy of England refusing to watch American news, and America finding him too cute to say no, just that once) and he knew that they avoided American news whenever possible, so he listened extra-close to the reporter.
"And here," the lady said, America already starting to drool just a little over the accent, "I am standing, in the heart of Philadelphia, what is known as one of America's smoggiest cities."
America sat up just a bit straighter, wondering where she was going with this, but she passed the microphone to an 'eye-witness' who eagerly took up the attention-America could tell, it was one of his citizens, after all, and apparently this guy was being paid to say whatever it was that the British reporter wanted him to say. Everyone needed some extra cash with the way the economy was, anyways, right? Right. So America wasn't about to take it to heart too much…
"Well, I don't know about all the residents here or anything," the man said faux-hesitantly, "But I've lived here just about all of my life." America raised an eyebrow at that-the man's name was Carl and he'd only been a resident there for about five years, but hey, he wasn't going to hold it against him or anything, even if he was lying… "The smog's gotten worse in the last couple years 'r so, and I think it's startin' to affect my health. Just a couple months ago, I was goin' outside, and immediately started t' cough when I stepped out my front door! Same thing happened…" As if on cue-and America didn't doubt that it was-the man started to cough. When he was done, he cleared his throat and continued. "Same thing has happened on and off since that day."
He handed the microphone back to the British reporter, who gratefully took it from the man and turned to the camera to finish her speech.
"Truly a pity," she said with as much sympathy as she could muster. "That such a beautiful and bountiful land has been reduced to this. The skies were once so blue, but ever since the invention of the factory, they've been graying and even if the smokestacks stop their emissions today, they won't revert back to their traditional blue for at least a decade." She paused and glanced at the sky in seemingly genuine remorse.
"The water, too," she continued, looking directly at the camera. "The once sparkling rivers and lakes of this once beautiful nation have been poisoned and would very well kill any humans who drank from them, much less the animals who rely on them."
America blinked, stuck on the 'once beautiful nation' part of her speech. …Once? So… I'm not beautiful anymore? Seriously?... He halted the thoughts as quick as he could, though. He was the hero, after all! As if he was that shallow…
…But maybe it stung, just a little. After all, when he'd been a child-just land, claimed by no one-he'd always been called beautiful and shining and that he was a gorgeous, untamed wilderness. And after being called that for so many years… maybe having those words thrown back in his face was kind of hurtful. But it was just one reporter… right? One reporter saying something that had little to no basis on fact? …Because he was still beautiful, right? Right!
So America tuned back into the reporter, all ready to forgive and forget.
"Yes, America the Beautiful," she continued, and America perked up at the familiar nickname, "Has long been known for its… how does that song go?" The reporter asked no one in particular, then seemed to remember, humming some of the song's melody. "Ah, yes. Oh, beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain… for purple mountains' majesty, above the fruited plain. America, America, God shed his grace on thee. And crown thy good, with brotherhood, from sea to shining sea…"
She gave the camera a rueful grin and the screen split in two, one side having her, the other side having pictures. They showed the smoggy skies of big cities, and the 'waves of grain' gone dry in the mid-west. They didn't stop there, though. The screen showed the dirty rivers and the places where the waste-water flowed out into the sea. They showed people rioting in the streets-"So much for Brotherhood," the woman said sadly-and with the rest of the song, the lines about 'pilgrims' feet' and 'heroes', with the corresponding modern pictures.
The song finally came to an end-with America, the personification-on the verge of tears. The screen went back to being completely filled by the reporter, and she gave a sad smile. "America the Beautiful appears to be no more."
America fumbled around with the remote for a moment before finally finding the 'off' button. It was rather hard to see with his glasses not working properly-why was his vision blurry? He wasn't crying or anything, right? He wouldn't cry at something so stupid, he wasn't that vain!-but he succeeded finally and the silence filled the apartment.
England seemed to have woken up a bit more at the sudden change in back-ground noise, and made a vaguely questioning grunt. America just shook his head and stood up, leaving England to mourn the loss of his pillow and leg-teddy-bear.
America walked as non-chalantly as he could over to the nearest bathroom and closed the door as quick as he could. He wasn't about to let England see him cry over something so stupid, right? Because it was stupid, it was really stupid of him to get so worked up over some random British reporter's feelings because just 'cause she was British didn't mean that England shared her viewpoint, right? Right? ...Right?
America sat on the closed toilet seat and sniffled miserably, fumbling around-why did he have to be crying, it was just a stupid news report-uselessly for the toilet paper to blow his nose. He pulled some more off after a moment to dry his eyes, but he realized a couple of seconds too late that he'd forgotten to take his glasses off and started to get even more worked up because if he couldn't even do that, then what the heck was he supposed to do about not being Beautiful anymore and-and-
America started to hiccup. His chest clenched and his face was burning from the embarrassment of even letting it get to him, but it was like she knew exactly how to get under his skin. If he hadn't turned it off when he had, she probably would've went onto how he was too dependent on foreign oil and how fast food was causing an obesity epidemic, and every other sore spot that he'd gathered in the past few years.
His eyes were starting to get red, he figured, and England was probably starting to get worried… England… America hiccupped a bit louder at just the thought of him. It wasn't like he cared if America wasn't right there, though, did he…? No, no… it'd been a British reporter, after all… England probably felt the same way as her and just wouldn't say it because America was too sensitive and too happy to get into fights and 'be a hero'-it seemed so stupid to America, even for just a second-and knew too much about him and, oh man, England was probably only staying with him to get all of America's secrets and would just betray him in the end-
"…America?" England said hesitantly, his voice coming right from the other side of the door. "…Are you all right in there?"
America opened his mouth to speak, but he hiccupped right then and started sniffling because, why, oh why was he so useless ateverything?
"Are you… crying?" England asked, genuinely surprised. He jiggled the handle a few times, and got frustrated when he found that it was locked. "America, let me in. I want to know why you're so upset."
"So-So you can…" America replied, trying and failing to sound angry when, in fact, he was just frustrated and confused and… alright, rather upset. "So… you can just use it against me later? S-So you can make me feel like crap and j-just kick me when I'm d-do-down?" His voice hitched at that, and his hiccups prevented him from saying more.
"America, what on earth are you talking about?" England asked, jiggling the handle once again. "Why are you so upset? Did I… did I say something earlier?"
America just sniffled again, and couldn't even find the courage to say what was bothering him. He internally kicked himself for being a coward.
"…Please, let me in," England coaxed, for once being gentle with his ex-colony. When America still didn't reply-and made no move to open the bathroom door-he sighed. "I hope you know that the key for this door is on top of the door-frame, America."
America panicked at that, and moved to where he was sitting in front of the door, pressing against it as hard as he could.
Seeing that the American wasn't going to move any-time soon, England just stood on his toes and grabbed the key from the top of the door. He turned the lock and used all his might to open the door, and America quickly found that either he wasn't as strong as he used to be-just another failure, why couldn't anything be going right for him? Why why why-or England was finally getting back some of his strength as an Empire.
England managed to push his way into the bathroom and found that he was face-to-face with a… crying… America.
"…I'll ask again," England said, dropping to one knee so they were eye-level. "Why are you so upset? Was it the news report?"
"Whadd'you think?" America asked, rubbing furiously at his eyes. England took it as a 'yes'.
"America… I get that you'd be upset at someone criticizing your land…" he paused, then took hold of the other nation's chin with two fingers, lifting it just enough to force America to meet his eyes, "But why are you taking it so personally?"
America just sniffled, wiping his nose with the edge of his sleeve. England made a disgusted face and reached behind himself for some toilet paper. He tore off a long strip and handed it to America, who blew his nose as best he could.
A few moments passed in complete silence-save for America's hiccupping-and England sighed. He gently tugged the other nation forward until America was practically on top of him, then embraced him as tight as he could.
"It was just a reporter, America," England whispered, gently running a hand through the other nation's hair. "What she says shouldn't bother you. …Your own citizen's words shouldn't bother you, either."
"What he said didn't," America muttered. "It was just… he was lying anyways. He only lived there a couple of years and he was fake coughing anyways… it's… the pictures… A-And…" he started to hiccup again, while England just rubbed circles into his back to soothe him, "That was my song, England… that was my freakin' song… they c-can't just… do that!"
"It was wrong," England agreed gently, placing a chaste kiss to the other nation's temple. "It was a song made out of respect for you and it's wrong of anyone to do that, much less a citizen of someone else's country, seeing as they don't live over there anyways and don't know the beauty of America."
Something told America that England wasn't just referring to the land.
"A-And… And…" America was half-choking on the lump in his throat, his breathing getting to be rather difficult between hiccupping, talking and crying, "And what she said was right an-and everything and why couldn't she just talk about something that wasn't totally true? Why?"
"It's not true," England said forcefully, pulling America out of the hug enough to look him in the eye. America squeaked out something meant to be protest, but it got lost in translation and England apparently took it as an invitation to continue. "It's not true. You're a beautiful nation. Inside and out. Your forests are growing back because your people now know they're a great addition to a suburban area, your rivers are being cleaned of toxic waste, bit by bit, because people understand the need to keep them clean, people are climbing your mountains again because they realize that it's fun, your farmers are getting more efficient at growing food, which means you're an international hero to other countries who are in need, and your people love you-"
"National patriotism is going down," America interjected before England could say any other lies-unbeknownst to America, England was actually right-and sniffled miserably. "The Fourth of July used to be, like, a freakin' amazing family day… but now, did'ja know?" he said, half to himself, "Some employers are actually sayin' that it ain't important enough to miss work for, so some people aren't even freaking getting to get work off for… for my…"
And England just hugged him again, cutting him off from finishing that sentence.
"I'm so useless," America mumbled into England's shirt, his tears leaving wet spots. A while later, England finally pulled away. His eyes were gentle, and he gently slid America's hand into his.
"America," England said quietly, "Look." The Island nation gestured to his shirt with a small smile, and America furrowed his brows.
England was wearing an 'I (love) New York' shirt, with a heart instead of 'love'.
"…Isn't that one of mine?" America asked, sniffling.
"As if I'd buy something like that on my own," England scoffed, but nodded all the same. "But listen, one of your people made it because they love you as a nation-"
"Yeah, they made it and sold it for money," America interjected. "If you're trying to make me feel better, you're doing a seriously crappy job."
"At least I'm trying," England snapped, crossing his arms with a huff. "It's rather hard to accomplish anything if you're not going to tell me what it is that's bothering you."
America was quiet for a while, and refused to meet England's eyes. "…It's stupid."
"So's half of everything you say at World Meetings," England reminded him, raising one eyebrow, which just about made it hit his hairline. Any other time, America would've laughed. "But go on."
"…It was one of your reporters," America mumbled, so quickly and so quietly that England almost hadn't heard him. Fortunately, he had, so America didn't have to actually repeat himself.
England furrowed his brows and looked very, very confused for a moment, trying to work out any reasons why America would be crying just because it was one of his reporters-
Oh.
Oh.
"…That may well be the most idiotic thing I've heard from you in a month," England practically spat, looking critically down at the (fortunately) no-longer-crying nation.
"What?"
"America, it's a single citizen. How would you like it if I took one of those idiots at… say, Westboro Baptist Church and took it as you being ashamed to be with me, just because that citizen was from your country?" England asked, rational as ever. America squirmed uncomfortably for a moment, and England just raised an eyebrow at him.
"…That's… that's different…" America mumbled, uselessly bringing his knees to his chest. "The reporter was influential and I swear I felt, like, a hundred and fifty of my citizens-y'know, the ones that actually watch your television-have a change in opinion…"
"About Philadelphia," England interrupted him. "That report was set in Philadelphia. They can show a lot of pictures and try to convince people that all of America is any less beautiful," he stressed that word for all it was worth and tilted America's head up again, forcing him to look him in the eye, "But they'll never succeed because those pictures were old. Fifteen years old, most of them."
"Huh?" America asked, confused at the exact date. "How do you…?"
"They may have filmed it in your country," England said, and it came out just a bit huffier than he'd intended it to, "But they planned out the scripts in England. My territory. I'm not sure what they have against you, but their thinking is only a minority. Most of my citizens think that America is, if nothing else, a beautiful land. It's a lot more than that, though," he whispered, leaning closer.
America blinked up at him and leftover tears spilled out of the corners of his eyes. England just gave a soft smile and wiped them away, continuing his speech.
"You're a nation with beautiful countryside where people go on vacations as often as possible. You're one of the countries with the most road trips." England placed a feather-light kiss into his hair and intertwined their fingers. "You were founded by people seeking religious freedoms and you continue that to this day. You offer refuge to people facing prosecution, even if not everyone agrees with eachother. People work for what they have and they chase their dreams-why do you think that other nations call it, specifically, the 'American Dream'?"
"But that's just-" America started to say, but was hushed by England's 'Shut up and let me compliment you already' face. It wasn't often seen, so America pouted but let the Englishman continue.
"As obsessed as you are with heroes, you've proved that you are, indeed, one. And not just in some wars," England said hesitantly, looping a finger around the dog-tags that America was always wearing. "You try your hardest to do what's right, even when it's hard or when you just don't want to fight anymore. …Even when you want nothing more than to just sleep for a decade after fighting a particularly difficult battle."
"But, England," America started to say, but was cut off by England again, as the other nation embraced him once again, turning America around so as to have better access to his literal heart, as if it could make his words somehow get through to his figurative one.
"No buts. Don't protest any of it, America, because lord knows I don't often encourage that over-inflated ego of yours." England paused, looking guilty for a moment, then kissed the other nation's cheek as gently as he could. "Though… I'm sure it isn't quite as durable an ego as everyone seems to think it is, correct?" he asked, putting a hand over America's heart.
"…No…" America mumbled, face heating up.
"And why might that be, I wonder?" England asked, only half understandable as he rested his chin on America's shoulder. "It's not as if you have anything to be insecure about…"
Though he'd never admit it, America's lip actually started to quiver at that, his pout threatening to turn into tears once more. "…It's j-just…"
England was very aware that his ex-colony's stutter was an early warning sign of crying, and took his hand away from America's heart, only to claim America's hand in his and put their joined hands right back over America's heart.
"You're beautiful. Don't forget it," England whispered, kissing him on the cheek once more. A few minutes passed in the silence, and England found that he was still quite tired from his jet-lag. He smiled and a yawn came unbidden, surprising both of them. "I suppose I should retire for the night… good night, America." After a moment, he grinned, gently pressing their lips together in a chaste kiss. "…America, the Beautiful."
With that, England stood up, letting America go free. The Brit quietly walked upstairs to his guest bedroom, and he couldn't help but smile when he heard a familiar cheerfulness in America's voice.
"H-Hey, wait, England!" America called, a bit tentative. "Do you want to… to share my room? It'll be a lot comfier than the guest room, and I can wake you up easier at the right time!"
"Sharing a bed with you, and we didn't even watch a horror movie?" England asked, mock surprised. "Why, America, is this your way of saying that you like me?" He grinned and turned to see America standing there with a similar smirk on his face.
"Dunno," he drawled in response, putting a hand on his hip. "Is that 'I love New York' shirt your way of saying that you totally freaking love my 'biggest city'?" America asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
"As if you don't have an 'I love London' shirt in your closet, git," England retorted, willing himself not to blush at the implications.
America just grinned and took his hand, and though they bickered the entire way up the stairs, England couldn't help but see the other nation's face and figure, illuminated by the moon and a dying light-bulb.
America the Beautiful, indeed.
XXX
A/N: It is my head-canon that America is, like, super-insecure. He's also used to receiving a crap-ton of patriotism, and with it on the decline (along with an increase in obesity in the country and, hello, Hollywood always showing people what they should look like), he's getting to be very, very touchy about everything, making him rather sensitive when he sees stuff on the news, especially broadcasts by other countries.
Also, England and America both totally have those shirts. ;)