Blind Carbon Copy (9/?)
Title: Blind Carbon Copy (9/?)
Genre: Adventure, Drama
Ratings/Warnings: PG13/Angst+Humor
Summary: Japan's new teleportation machine goes awry, and an America from a world where his Revolution was disastrous comes to visit.
Pairings: US/UK Germany/France on the side.
Also on ff.net
He'd apologized, over and over, voice thick with guilt and eyes lit with concern. This was, at the end of the day, what he was best at, because he'd spent a lifetime practicing, a lifetime apologizing for mistakes that he hadn't made.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, hoping he sounded somewhat like the real Alfred, "This should've never happened - I - I wish I could've done more." He stood there awkwardly, trying to decide what to say next, something comforting, something blindly optimistic. "Don't - um - don't let your sister's actions get to you." America would say this, wouldn't he? If he was a superpower, wouldn't he feel the need to reassure his allies - and South Korea was his ally, right?
"Thank you," South Korea managed through labored breathing, "I just need some time to...to figure things out."
America nodded, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.
He felt like he should've been doing something more - because words just weren't enough. There was only so much he could say when he didn't know this South Korea, only so much he could express without his words turning into some fake, ghostwritten speech.
"I'm sorry," was too damn easy, and after all that, South Korea deserved better.
America felt an urge to reach out and pat South Korea on the back, maybe give the nation a hug, but was it appropriate behavior? Would the other him do something like that? As far as he'd remembered, reaching out to foreign countries was risky business, but he was obviously under no obligation to report to England here. It was just...it was out of his comfort zone.
When was the last time he'd touched someone that wasn't Canada? He wasn't antisocial, he told himself, he just didn't have the opportunity to be social, because who would saunter over to North American waters when British ships were patrolling all the major ports? No nation would want to risk the Empire's anger just to visit a couple of dusty colonies.
He looked at South Korea intently, hoping his stare wasn't off-putting to the other nation.
Then, in a moment of sudden spontaneity, America lifted his arms and placed them on South Korea's shoulders. He almost flinched when they made contact - it was so - so different for him to be the one initiating contact. South Korea didn't look uncomfortable though, so it was probably the right thing to do. And then, from behind Japan, he saw England giving him a nod of encouragement, and he felt immediately relieved. It was alright. Hell, everything was going to be alright. He would just have to stick to his instincts and play it by ear, and -
- everything would be fine.
-
When he finally retired to his room, America felt drained.
It wasn't that he didn't like South Korea's company, not at all, just that he was such a goddamn nervous wreck it was impossibly taxing speaking to anyone, let alone a nation he barely knew.
America sat down on one of the beds, cupping his face in his hands. The blankets - soft and warm - were a perfect place for refuge, for the tired to slip their heads beneath and slide into deep slumber. He couldn't sleep though, because he couldn't help but think about the other residents of the room, the fact that they could walk in at any time, see him - vulnerable, exposed, half-dead to the world.
He rubbed at his temples, suddenly annoyed at himself. Why couldn't he learn to trust? After all, this England had been nice to him, this England had given him advice, had encouraged him, smiled with him, and yet he still couldn't let loose. Maybe it was the face, he thought, the face was too familiar, the voice, the way England wore his ties and sipped his tea and leaned when he spoke. Eerily similar.
Then he heard someone fumbling with the door, and a muffled query: "Hey, America?"
He shot up to a sitting position because - England - England was back!
"Hey," he said, keeping his eyes trained on the package in England's hands and away from England's face.
"I got us dinner," England announced, pulling two boxes out from the package and sinking into a nearby bed.
He saw America's hesitance in accepting the box and groaned - did his cooking have to be abominable in every universe? "Don't worry," he reassured, "I didn't cook this - bought it off China some while ago." He opened his own box, tapped the contents and added, "Look, it's still warm."
America nodded faintly. He was hungry, because missing both lunch and dinner wasn't exactly something he'd been looking forward to. Frankly, even if England had been the one to cook, he probably would've just shut his eyes and wolfed down the contents without a second thought. He reached for the takeout box, peeled open the cardboard covers, and prepared to feast on the prepared food. But then he saw the packaged utensils - chopsticks - and cringed.
He held them gingerly in his palm, then grabbed at the two vaguely separated chunks of wood, one in each hand, and tugged, hard. He scowled at the resulting mess he made - the sticks had been split unevenly, with the one in his left hand clearly missing a chunk at the top. How exactly was he supposed to use them now?
And to make it worse, England looked amused. "You don't use chopsticks often, I presume?"
America shook his head.
England chuckled, looking faintly nostalgic. "You - that is - the America I knew - he would sometimes complain about the way I held mine. Said my fingers weren't positioned properly, though I was pretty damn sure that was how Hong Kong held his." Hong Kong had later informed him that America was right, and England had in turn decided the two damn brats were just working together to humiliate him.
"Well, I can use them...sort of," America mumbled, face scrunched up in concentration. He'd finally managed to get the two sticks upright between his fingers, and he figured if most of his actions involved shoving rice into his mouth, he would be safe. There were, unfortunately, several large chunks of cauliflower that would pose to be a challenge, as well as a few pieces of shrimp...
He gulped, staring at the daunting task before him.
"Well," England said, amused grin still lighting his lips, "This is unexpected. I'm guessing you haven't had much East Asian immigration? When was the last time you used chopsticks?"
It was clearly not the best question to ask, because America looked deep in thought again, as though he were considering whether or not to tell the truth. How could such a simple question lead to so much personal turmoil?
"It was...some years ago. He, uh, England had this dinner arranged with China, where they were supposed to discuss business, and he wanted us to look presentable at the table. So we all had to learn how to use chopsticks for the occasion..."
"Must've been one high profile dinner," England quipped.
America nodded. "It was, but, uh, it didn't end well. Because Hong Kong - he - he made a mess of things. On purpose."
Hong Kong had made it clear that he wanted the dinner (and whatever negotiations relying upon it) to fail, as he'd spent the entire meal refusing to use his chopsticks right. The Empire had returned home frustrated and angry - because now China thought he'd been suppressing Hong Kong's culture, forcing him to eat the British way, and that had not been the impression he'd wanted to give.
America had no idea what the Empire had said to Hong Kong after their dinner fiasco - perhaps he had screamed, yelled, and increased taxes to an unbearable rate, perhaps he had forced Hong Kong to physically live in the Empire's house and taken away all the advantages of being far from the capital. Whatever the consequences, America could only hope Hong Kong found them worth his while.
He also felt distinctly uncomfortable jabbering on about the Empire's trials and trammels when the man was not there. Old habits died hard, after all. Besides, the few words he wanted to say, the dirty truth that he and various other colonies were stuck paying for all of England's transgressions - those were the same words he didn't dare voice.
So when England looked ready to ask for more information, America quickly cut him off - "Um, can we - can we talk about something else?"
"Certainly," England agreed, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought him up at all."
"It's...it's fine," America managed, feeling a bit odd that his request had been granted so easily, and with an apology to boot. It's too easy, he thought, everything here is too easy.
When they'd both warmed their stomachs with a few bites of food, England continued, "I'm guessing you're wondering about what happened to South Korea today?"
"Yeah," America said, grateful that England had broke the awkward silence, "I kind of got the gist from Japan, but - well, is there anything else I should be doing?"
"For now? Not much. I mean, yes, you're a close friend of South Korea's, so he's going to expect you to back him up in case of actual combat. But I suspect that North Korea's not stupid enough to risk actual war with all of us; she's just in the business of riling people up. So you most likely won't be doing more than having a couple of joint military drills with her brother."
"That's...that's good, I guess. I don't know if I'd be ready for anything more, I mean - war is - "
"About that," England muttered, "Well, let's just say that you're no stranger to war. This is something that you're just going to have to get used to, because you're in the middle of several at the moment."
"Several?" America gasped, earlier nervousness entirely gone, "What was I - several?"
England shook his head. "Well, you convinced yourself that it was right at the time, I suppose."
America sighed, studying his food carefully and chewing slowly on a chunk of rice. He stirred his chopsticks around the box, pushing the rice grains into several small mounds. Then he spoke, voice scratchy with concern - "I just...I don't exactly have good memories of war..."
England gave him a wry smile. "And who does, Alfred? War - and especially victory - just gets to our heads, messes with us, and then we start to think strength gives us right of way."
America opened his mouth to say something, then quickly clamped it shut, unsure.
"Just say it," England encouraged, smiling, "I don't bite." He resisted the urge to ruffle America's hair, as he suspected the nation would not take it so well. (Because that was a bit demeaning, wasn't it? Because the last time he'd done that, America had pushed him away and snapped that he "wasn't a child", and he didn't need England patronizing him. Of course, that had been not long after an argument...)
"Did you - um - did you once think that too?" America blurted out, "That strength gives you right of way - I mean, were you - did you also have - "
"Did I also have an empire?" England finished, suddenly looking distant and tired, "Indeed, I had one. Once upon a time, I had an empire, and I thought I was the messenger for civilization. I thought I could fix the countries I'd subjugated, rebuild them all in my image. They could all be proper English gentlemen and the world would be better off for my efforts."
America stared at England, watched as the nation seemed to lapse into a sort of unhappy nostalgia, the remnants of the past dancing around him. A thick scent of regret hung about the air, and when England spoke again, he sounded as if he was mostly talking to himself - "Or at least that's what I tell the world when they ask - sounds so nice, doesn't it? I'm going to civilize you, because I'm a gift sent down to mankind by the deities up above..."
England let out a tired chuckle, and America turned his glance to the floor, lost in thought. The man standing before him had been an empire - perhaps even a cruel, terrifying one. And yet, here he was, echoing sentiments of regret, espousing ambivalence about his days of glory. How was America supposed to reconcile the reformed man before him with that image he'd developed in his mind about empires? Could the two really coexist in the same person? Could England - the Empire he knew - also one day regret and bemoan all that he'd done?
"America?" England asked at last, guessing at America's internal dialogue, "There's nothing to be surprised about, you know. I'm well aware of what I did - I was an empire, and I doubt I was nicer than the brand of imperialism you're dealing with now." He stabbed his chopsticks into the takeout box, looking determined. "But I won't make excuses about it, I won't - even if it's not the truth you want to hear."
"I ...I know. England, I just - I don't know what to think anymore. I used to think that we could only choose from two categories - victim or victimizer, but there's more to that, isn't there? I mean, you had an empire, but you're not like - not like the England I know."
England opened his mouth to explain that yes, it was often like that, wasn't it - victim or victimizer, and where he'd once been the British Empire, he was now clambering to be the fifty-first state, a pathetic shade of what he once was. He said nothing though, because this America didn't need to hear his bitterness, this America was innocent.
Then he nearly laughed at himself for the mistake - because what about the tribes, the people whose land he'd taken? Innocence was no longer a part of the picture.
"Alfred, aren't there times when victims can turn into victimizers overnight? When the victim, feeling victimized, will turn around and prey on those weaker than him, continuing the cycle of vengeance?"
"I - " America looked down at his food, feeling ashamed. England had hit the mark, he realized, with he himself being the prime example. He'd seen the personifications of all the tribes, year in, year out, and his hands had never quite been cleaned of their blood. And even after he'd lost the revolution, things hadn't really changed, had they? He clutched his chopsticks tightly, shame welling up in his throat - he'd been a fool back then, and all these years and he'd never even properly apologized -
"Hey," England interrupted his thoughts, smiling softly, "I don't mean to depress you. Perhaps we shouldn't discuss world affairs over meals."
America shook his head. "I - I don't mind. Really. It's just that - you're right and I - " He stopped, shook his head, and made a noise of disgust. "I never - never apologized."
England watched America, watched him as he ate the rest of his food, and wondered to himself if this boy would harbor the true winds of change. Because this Alfred was introspective, he was willing to see things from the other side, and the scars of imperialism was still fresh enough in his mind that he hadn't forgotten. This Alfred would approach the past decade's misdeeds from a fresh perspective, and perhaps the entire world would be better off for it.
-
Canada could not figure out why Russia had invited him to dinner to discuss pigs, of all things. The topic seemed far too innocuous to bother inviting someone over to dinner for, and he genuinely hoped Ivan wouldn't employ some underhanded tactic to strong-arm him on issues related to the Arctic. Couldn't they just not bring up the matter for another decade or so?
To qualm his worries about the direction of their conversation, he busied himself with Russia's cooking - the varenyky was impossibly good, almost on par with Ukraine's cooking, and that borscht soup smeared with smetana was going to leave him -
He'd been so busy stuffing his face that he'd almost missed Russia's next words.
"Your brother is an odd creature, isn't he?"
"Wh-what?" When had the conversation suddenly turned towards America? (Who, as far as he remembered, had been acting quite abnormally today...)
"I was speaking to Amerika in the restroom yesterday. There is usually a very stupid smile on his face, but it was not there yesterday."
Canada's eyes widened. So he hadn't been the only one to notice, had he? Something was off about America - he'd been quiet for most of the meeting, hell, he hadn't even wanted to present when it was his turn, and he'd gone out of his way to avoid arguments with England. Then there was his initial reaction to South Korea - America may have missed many a social cue, but Canada knew he wasn't that clueless.
"Yes, he's - I don't know if something is going on. I mean - "
"Matvey, you are his neighbor," Russia said, as if that made all the difference in the world.
Canada sighed, because Russia was staring at him expectantly, and obviously he had to expound on his answer a bit more. "America - he seemed fine when we last spoke to each other before the meeting - I mean, he was fine on the plane. I think he made a few jokes about how France had given him good pointers with regards to England, and that was it. I expected him to actually engage England more today, but he seemed keen on avoiding the guy, so, well, I really don't know."
Russia nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment. Then he stared at Canada, stared and stared, and - "Canada, you will help me speak with Amerika, yes?"
"Wait - what? Why would you need me to help - "
"It is because we are going to perform an experiment together - you will help me determine something that he should know, and if he answers wrong, then we will know that he is an impostor. I believe that we both know him quite well - you being his neighbor and me being his once sworn enemy."
"I'm not telling you any secrets," Canada snapped.
"Oh, Matvey does not need to be worried," Russia stated, smiling, "You do not need to tell me what questions you choose to ask. I will, however, tell you what I intend to ask - I will ask him to annex me."
"Annexation? Are you nuts, Russia? This is - "
"Scientific experimentation is very good, yes?"
"Science? This isn't scientific at all. Even if the current America is an impostor, asking him a question like that will just lead to surprise, and that's perfectly normal."
"Oh," Russia said, smiling, "you misunderstand. Under normal circumstances, Amerika will believe I am drunk and jokingly ask me if I have 'come to my senses at last'. He will do this with utmost confidence and a smug smile on his face. He may even attempt to get me to sign a statement solidifying our agreement. However, I cannot see this happening, which is why we are performing this experiment."
Canada cringed. And here he thought America came up with the most hare-brained schemes - there was obviously a contender for that trophy sitting across from him.
-
The two of them decided that the restroom was the ideal location - they could wait for their target to approach a stall, wait until he got out and corner him for questioning. It was mostly a matter of patience, because obviously America would have to use the bathroom at some point, and there was a limited amount of facilities (that is, exactly two) at their small Antarctican meeting house.
And so they each took over a restroom, sat in their respective stalls, and fiddled with their phones to alleviate boredom.
Eventually, an hour after the start of their waiting campaign, Canada heard the door to his bathroom creak open.
The footsteps didn't sound like America though - the confident stride was missing - this one was a slow, casual shuffle. But if some impostor had taken the role of Alfred - it was certainly possible that his gait would've changed too, right?
Canada watched intently through the seams in his stall, the nation was - blond - and - wait - there were two nations.
England and Japan.
Then he heard England speak -
"Hey, wait, Japan, check the stalls. If anyone's in here, this could be bad."
Shit.
Instinct told Canada that he needed to hide better, and experience told him that people rarely looked at the ceiling. He placed one foot on the toilet paper roll, hoisted himself up and clambered over the edge of the stall. Then he sat on the ledge between the two stalls, with his back pressed against the wall. Canada watched with abated breath as Japan pushed open door after door - bit his lip as Japan approached his stall.
Japan gave the door a light shove, glossing over the nation perched atop the bathroom ledge entirely.
Success!
He could commend himself for his well-practiced invisibility later.
"Not to worry," he heard Japan conclude, "The stalls do not seem to be occupied."
"Alright then, let's get down to business. What did you figure out?" England asked, voice tense.
Canada began to doubt the validity of his success. Sitting on the ledge hurt, damn it, and he highly doubted whatever bathroom conversation they were going to make was actually worth overhearing - perhaps England was going to ask Japan about his relationship troubles? France and Germany had probably gotten sick of dealing with him, and he'd found himself a new counselor who was too polite to refuse -
"I sent him an email earlier today, but he has not responded yet. I do not know what is going on, but if he is starting a revolution, that could be why. However - "
"He hasn't responded? Damn it, think of the worst case scenario - what if this other me did something? What if - "
"England, please calm down. I am sure Alfred can take care of himself. The part I am worried about is - well, we cannot be fully sure the message even reached him."
Canada sat up, suddenly alert. America was instigating another revolution? And what in the world did England mean by 'this other me'? England and Japan made it sound like America hadn't been here all day, and that they'd been trying to contact him, but to no avail.
Was this - damn it, was this why? Then who was the impostor they'd chosen to replace him?
"What the bloody hell do you mean by that?" England spat out, "I thought you made this damn machine - how could you not know if your messages are reaching the target? Damn it, Japan, I thought you had this figured out!"
Japan looked away from England's glare. "I am very sorry. There was something I'd overlooked. Let me - let me explain from the very beginning. Think of the teleportation machine as a black box-something goes in one end and comes out the other in a parallel universe."
England sighed. "And how is this supposed to help?"
"When America sends messages between universes, he will first create a "send email" request, which can be done without access to any network. Then, he will push the request through my machine, which will move the request from his universe to ours. Any wireless router in our world can pick up the request and execute it, successfully sending the email. That is how he was able to send me a message. However - "
"You don't have the machine in our universe, is that the problem?"
"That is not the problem - yes, most of the machine did get teleported with America, but I managed to rebuild it from my notes."
"Then...?"
"Well, machines are...very rigid things. Every command you send to it needs to be written in the right way. So if I tell a machine 'send message to japan; message is: test' and it works, then the machine will not understand my message if I change the semi-colon after 'japan' to a period. Alfred has lived in our world, so he knows what a request to a wireless router should look like. However, I have not lived in their world, and I have no idea what their requests are supposed to look like. It is very likely I am wrong, and my email was never sent at all."
So this was why America had been so different - Canada thought with increasing anger - and these hosers had never thought to inform him? Goddamn, when he got out of here, he would give them a piece of his mind -
"Great," England muttered, "So we can only hope that America will somehow come to his senses and tell us how message requests are formatted in his world?"
- they would never forget him again, they would acknowledge that if something insane had happened to America, he should've been the first one they talked to -
"Well, not quite. I am currently generating all logical ways of formatting the requests - it will take some time, but if we are lucky, one of them will work."
- oh, who was he kidding? Bastards, the lot of them.
-
After England and Japan finished their top-secret bathroom discussion and began to make their departure, Canada lowered himself down from the ledge, wondering how best to approach them on the matter. Direct confrontation was probably easiest, so he would just have to -
He slammed the door open, feeling a slight satisfaction at the horrified looks on both nation's faces.
"C-Canada? Were you - ahh - were you here the entire time?" England asked, looking nervous.
"Yes," Canada informed him icily.
"Right, well, we were - I'm guessing you, um, heard everything?"
"Oh, you mean about how Alfred was teleported to a different world? How the current America you've got sitting with you is an impostor? Then yes, I guess I heard everything." The sarcastic, biting anger in his voice made England take a step back. He really couldn't remember the last time Canada had spoken like that to him - yes, he could see that Canada would be peeved by their refusal to tell him the truth, but in truth, he'd actually advocated for telling Canada. It was Japan who'd been opposed due to undue paranoia...
"Look, Canada, please don't be mad - we didn't mean to exclude you. We were actually going to tell you, once the time became right. It's just that right now - right now is not an appropriate - "
"And when exactly would it have been appropriate?"
Japan looked at the floor, a tinge of red coloring his cheeks, and said, "We're very sorry, Canada."
Canada sighed, realizing that he couldn't really stay mad at them for long. And besides, Japan was simply too good at apologizing - how exactly was he supposed to keep up his frown when Japan looked three steps away from creating an embarrassing spectacle to ask for forgiveness?
Besides, he had a much bigger problem on his hands - what in the world was he going to tell Russia? If he told the truth, well - this was clearly not something the entire world should know, and even if relations between Russia and America had been improving after the collapse of the Soviet Union, could he trust Ivan to keep a secret, especially if said secret could be used to his advantage? On the other hand, if he lied and Russia found out, there would be a diplomatic crisis on his hands...
He was in very, very deep shit.
-
America was terribly afraid of being alone. Because when he was alone, his thoughts would wander, and he would think of the bygone years -
("War is never pretty, is it, Alfred? Not that you've fought a real war, against a real enemy, without my help."
He wants to tell England that it's not true, because what about all those rebellions they've fought over the years? But of course the Empire would never count those, just like he'd readily swept every one of India's uprisings under the rug, buried it beneath layers of flowery text and fancy language.
Instead, he watches, silent, as England drags the cloth across his midsection, pulls it tight against the wound. He's tired of fighting for England - because now China hates his guts, can't look at his face without screaming about 'opium pushers' and 'Anglo-American bastards' - and he feels sick, disgusted with himself.)
"Amerika! How unexpected, to see you here."
America froze, recognizing the voice. Damn - did it have to be Russia? Of all the nations that he could've come across, it had to be Ivan.
Even if this Russia wasn't like the one from his world - England and Japan had explained that he wasn't communist (any more) and that the other America had never been scared of Russia he'd had too much practice being afraid of the world, and England's (other England) stories of Russia hadn't helped. ("He's a right bastard, Ivan. I saw him threatening Lithuania with a knife the other day - right bastard, like I said.")
"Um...hi, Russia," he managed, looking at mirror behind the nation.
"So," Russia said, trying to look casual, "You know about this financial crisis that has hit the world recently, yes?"
"Yeah, I've, uh, heard a lot about it. It kinda sucks, doesn't it?"
Russia gave America a curious look. He'd heard about it? It was quite odd that America would claim having heard about it when he'd clearly experienced it himself. Still, no matter, he had to move on with the plan - "It does indeed 'suck', as you put it. I have been having so many problems; it is quite a trying time. Thus, I was wondering if I could request a little favor out of you."
Russia smiled, and America looked tense. "I want you to annex me."
America backed away, feeling alarmed. Annex Russia? What was the catch here? Because Russia may not have been communist anymore, but England hadn't said he was friendly with Russia either. "Tolerably cordial" was how England had put it, and tolerably cordial did not translate to willing annexation. Was Russia simply insane or was there something missing in this equation?
"Um, Russia, I don't - I don't think this is a good idea..."
"And why not? I think it is a perfectly fine idea. Think about it, Amerika - you will be able to double the output of your economy and get free access to all the oil you need. I do not understand how you can say 'no'."
America fidgeted, feeling anxious. So apparently this Russia had a lot of oil too - and if he annexed Ru - wait, what was he thinking? This was insane. Why would Russia, the largest nation in the world, want to be annexed? Even if his economy was failing, it was hardly a good reason to ask for annexation! (After all, he thought, the Empire had never asked China to annex him when things got bad, and things had gotten incrementally worse over the years...)
"I...I still don't think so, Russia. What - what would you gain from this?"
Russia raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Me? Oh, I get to take a break from having to deal with economic woes. It will be nice, having someone to protect me for once."
"You're - you're not serious, are you?"
Russia smiled, almost serene.
Then, without warning, he grabbed America's collar and slammed him into the nearest sink. "I am curious," he said, leering, "How did you dispose of Amerika, impostor?"
-
notes:
I apologize for not updating sooner. :( There's lots of reasons, but I'm not going to abandon this, I swear. It's the longest story I've ever written, and I do want to make sure I can see one project out.
- varenyky - a type of Russian dumpling
- smetana - a heavy sour cream
- "51st State" - to quote Wikipedia, "The United Kingdom has sometimes been called the 51st state due to the close and 'special' relationship between the two countries."
- The British Empire used various colonized groups to fight their wars for them (i.e., the British Indian troops fought against China during the Opium Wars)
- Russia's question is not quite that literal
Also, it'll be hard to incorporate current events from here on out because:
(1) March had way too many events that I'm not sure I actually want to use (the tone of this fic doesn't match)
(2) It doesn't fit into the timeline (how can that many events happen in a few days?)
I actually always thought that remaining a British colony would not necessarily have been terrifying (Britain treated colonies like Canada and Australia pretty well, right?). The key reason behind colony!America's unhappiness is that the UK never properly transferred to being a democracy. He went the other way instead. (which also explains HK's odd behavior at that dinner...more on that later.)
Thanks for keeping up with me for this long! Feedback is very appreciated.
Genre: Adventure, Drama
Ratings/Warnings: PG13/Angst+Humor
Summary: Japan's new teleportation machine goes awry, and an America from a world where his Revolution was disastrous comes to visit.
Pairings: US/UK Germany/France on the side.
Also on ff.net
He'd apologized, over and over, voice thick with guilt and eyes lit with concern. This was, at the end of the day, what he was best at, because he'd spent a lifetime practicing, a lifetime apologizing for mistakes that he hadn't made.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, hoping he sounded somewhat like the real Alfred, "This should've never happened - I - I wish I could've done more." He stood there awkwardly, trying to decide what to say next, something comforting, something blindly optimistic. "Don't - um - don't let your sister's actions get to you." America would say this, wouldn't he? If he was a superpower, wouldn't he feel the need to reassure his allies - and South Korea was his ally, right?
"Thank you," South Korea managed through labored breathing, "I just need some time to...to figure things out."
America nodded, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.
He felt like he should've been doing something more - because words just weren't enough. There was only so much he could say when he didn't know this South Korea, only so much he could express without his words turning into some fake, ghostwritten speech.
"I'm sorry," was too damn easy, and after all that, South Korea deserved better.
America felt an urge to reach out and pat South Korea on the back, maybe give the nation a hug, but was it appropriate behavior? Would the other him do something like that? As far as he'd remembered, reaching out to foreign countries was risky business, but he was obviously under no obligation to report to England here. It was just...it was out of his comfort zone.
When was the last time he'd touched someone that wasn't Canada? He wasn't antisocial, he told himself, he just didn't have the opportunity to be social, because who would saunter over to North American waters when British ships were patrolling all the major ports? No nation would want to risk the Empire's anger just to visit a couple of dusty colonies.
He looked at South Korea intently, hoping his stare wasn't off-putting to the other nation.
Then, in a moment of sudden spontaneity, America lifted his arms and placed them on South Korea's shoulders. He almost flinched when they made contact - it was so - so different for him to be the one initiating contact. South Korea didn't look uncomfortable though, so it was probably the right thing to do. And then, from behind Japan, he saw England giving him a nod of encouragement, and he felt immediately relieved. It was alright. Hell, everything was going to be alright. He would just have to stick to his instincts and play it by ear, and -
- everything would be fine.
-
When he finally retired to his room, America felt drained.
It wasn't that he didn't like South Korea's company, not at all, just that he was such a goddamn nervous wreck it was impossibly taxing speaking to anyone, let alone a nation he barely knew.
America sat down on one of the beds, cupping his face in his hands. The blankets - soft and warm - were a perfect place for refuge, for the tired to slip their heads beneath and slide into deep slumber. He couldn't sleep though, because he couldn't help but think about the other residents of the room, the fact that they could walk in at any time, see him - vulnerable, exposed, half-dead to the world.
He rubbed at his temples, suddenly annoyed at himself. Why couldn't he learn to trust? After all, this England had been nice to him, this England had given him advice, had encouraged him, smiled with him, and yet he still couldn't let loose. Maybe it was the face, he thought, the face was too familiar, the voice, the way England wore his ties and sipped his tea and leaned when he spoke. Eerily similar.
Then he heard someone fumbling with the door, and a muffled query: "Hey, America?"
He shot up to a sitting position because - England - England was back!
"Hey," he said, keeping his eyes trained on the package in England's hands and away from England's face.
"I got us dinner," England announced, pulling two boxes out from the package and sinking into a nearby bed.
He saw America's hesitance in accepting the box and groaned - did his cooking have to be abominable in every universe? "Don't worry," he reassured, "I didn't cook this - bought it off China some while ago." He opened his own box, tapped the contents and added, "Look, it's still warm."
America nodded faintly. He was hungry, because missing both lunch and dinner wasn't exactly something he'd been looking forward to. Frankly, even if England had been the one to cook, he probably would've just shut his eyes and wolfed down the contents without a second thought. He reached for the takeout box, peeled open the cardboard covers, and prepared to feast on the prepared food. But then he saw the packaged utensils - chopsticks - and cringed.
He held them gingerly in his palm, then grabbed at the two vaguely separated chunks of wood, one in each hand, and tugged, hard. He scowled at the resulting mess he made - the sticks had been split unevenly, with the one in his left hand clearly missing a chunk at the top. How exactly was he supposed to use them now?
And to make it worse, England looked amused. "You don't use chopsticks often, I presume?"
America shook his head.
England chuckled, looking faintly nostalgic. "You - that is - the America I knew - he would sometimes complain about the way I held mine. Said my fingers weren't positioned properly, though I was pretty damn sure that was how Hong Kong held his." Hong Kong had later informed him that America was right, and England had in turn decided the two damn brats were just working together to humiliate him.
"Well, I can use them...sort of," America mumbled, face scrunched up in concentration. He'd finally managed to get the two sticks upright between his fingers, and he figured if most of his actions involved shoving rice into his mouth, he would be safe. There were, unfortunately, several large chunks of cauliflower that would pose to be a challenge, as well as a few pieces of shrimp...
He gulped, staring at the daunting task before him.
"Well," England said, amused grin still lighting his lips, "This is unexpected. I'm guessing you haven't had much East Asian immigration? When was the last time you used chopsticks?"
It was clearly not the best question to ask, because America looked deep in thought again, as though he were considering whether or not to tell the truth. How could such a simple question lead to so much personal turmoil?
"It was...some years ago. He, uh, England had this dinner arranged with China, where they were supposed to discuss business, and he wanted us to look presentable at the table. So we all had to learn how to use chopsticks for the occasion..."
"Must've been one high profile dinner," England quipped.
America nodded. "It was, but, uh, it didn't end well. Because Hong Kong - he - he made a mess of things. On purpose."
Hong Kong had made it clear that he wanted the dinner (and whatever negotiations relying upon it) to fail, as he'd spent the entire meal refusing to use his chopsticks right. The Empire had returned home frustrated and angry - because now China thought he'd been suppressing Hong Kong's culture, forcing him to eat the British way, and that had not been the impression he'd wanted to give.
America had no idea what the Empire had said to Hong Kong after their dinner fiasco - perhaps he had screamed, yelled, and increased taxes to an unbearable rate, perhaps he had forced Hong Kong to physically live in the Empire's house and taken away all the advantages of being far from the capital. Whatever the consequences, America could only hope Hong Kong found them worth his while.
He also felt distinctly uncomfortable jabbering on about the Empire's trials and trammels when the man was not there. Old habits died hard, after all. Besides, the few words he wanted to say, the dirty truth that he and various other colonies were stuck paying for all of England's transgressions - those were the same words he didn't dare voice.
So when England looked ready to ask for more information, America quickly cut him off - "Um, can we - can we talk about something else?"
"Certainly," England agreed, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought him up at all."
"It's...it's fine," America managed, feeling a bit odd that his request had been granted so easily, and with an apology to boot. It's too easy, he thought, everything here is too easy.
When they'd both warmed their stomachs with a few bites of food, England continued, "I'm guessing you're wondering about what happened to South Korea today?"
"Yeah," America said, grateful that England had broke the awkward silence, "I kind of got the gist from Japan, but - well, is there anything else I should be doing?"
"For now? Not much. I mean, yes, you're a close friend of South Korea's, so he's going to expect you to back him up in case of actual combat. But I suspect that North Korea's not stupid enough to risk actual war with all of us; she's just in the business of riling people up. So you most likely won't be doing more than having a couple of joint military drills with her brother."
"That's...that's good, I guess. I don't know if I'd be ready for anything more, I mean - war is - "
"About that," England muttered, "Well, let's just say that you're no stranger to war. This is something that you're just going to have to get used to, because you're in the middle of several at the moment."
"Several?" America gasped, earlier nervousness entirely gone, "What was I - several?"
England shook his head. "Well, you convinced yourself that it was right at the time, I suppose."
America sighed, studying his food carefully and chewing slowly on a chunk of rice. He stirred his chopsticks around the box, pushing the rice grains into several small mounds. Then he spoke, voice scratchy with concern - "I just...I don't exactly have good memories of war..."
England gave him a wry smile. "And who does, Alfred? War - and especially victory - just gets to our heads, messes with us, and then we start to think strength gives us right of way."
America opened his mouth to say something, then quickly clamped it shut, unsure.
"Just say it," England encouraged, smiling, "I don't bite." He resisted the urge to ruffle America's hair, as he suspected the nation would not take it so well. (Because that was a bit demeaning, wasn't it? Because the last time he'd done that, America had pushed him away and snapped that he "wasn't a child", and he didn't need England patronizing him. Of course, that had been not long after an argument...)
"Did you - um - did you once think that too?" America blurted out, "That strength gives you right of way - I mean, were you - did you also have - "
"Did I also have an empire?" England finished, suddenly looking distant and tired, "Indeed, I had one. Once upon a time, I had an empire, and I thought I was the messenger for civilization. I thought I could fix the countries I'd subjugated, rebuild them all in my image. They could all be proper English gentlemen and the world would be better off for my efforts."
America stared at England, watched as the nation seemed to lapse into a sort of unhappy nostalgia, the remnants of the past dancing around him. A thick scent of regret hung about the air, and when England spoke again, he sounded as if he was mostly talking to himself - "Or at least that's what I tell the world when they ask - sounds so nice, doesn't it? I'm going to civilize you, because I'm a gift sent down to mankind by the deities up above..."
England let out a tired chuckle, and America turned his glance to the floor, lost in thought. The man standing before him had been an empire - perhaps even a cruel, terrifying one. And yet, here he was, echoing sentiments of regret, espousing ambivalence about his days of glory. How was America supposed to reconcile the reformed man before him with that image he'd developed in his mind about empires? Could the two really coexist in the same person? Could England - the Empire he knew - also one day regret and bemoan all that he'd done?
"America?" England asked at last, guessing at America's internal dialogue, "There's nothing to be surprised about, you know. I'm well aware of what I did - I was an empire, and I doubt I was nicer than the brand of imperialism you're dealing with now." He stabbed his chopsticks into the takeout box, looking determined. "But I won't make excuses about it, I won't - even if it's not the truth you want to hear."
"I ...I know. England, I just - I don't know what to think anymore. I used to think that we could only choose from two categories - victim or victimizer, but there's more to that, isn't there? I mean, you had an empire, but you're not like - not like the England I know."
England opened his mouth to explain that yes, it was often like that, wasn't it - victim or victimizer, and where he'd once been the British Empire, he was now clambering to be the fifty-first state, a pathetic shade of what he once was. He said nothing though, because this America didn't need to hear his bitterness, this America was innocent.
Then he nearly laughed at himself for the mistake - because what about the tribes, the people whose land he'd taken? Innocence was no longer a part of the picture.
"Alfred, aren't there times when victims can turn into victimizers overnight? When the victim, feeling victimized, will turn around and prey on those weaker than him, continuing the cycle of vengeance?"
"I - " America looked down at his food, feeling ashamed. England had hit the mark, he realized, with he himself being the prime example. He'd seen the personifications of all the tribes, year in, year out, and his hands had never quite been cleaned of their blood. And even after he'd lost the revolution, things hadn't really changed, had they? He clutched his chopsticks tightly, shame welling up in his throat - he'd been a fool back then, and all these years and he'd never even properly apologized -
"Hey," England interrupted his thoughts, smiling softly, "I don't mean to depress you. Perhaps we shouldn't discuss world affairs over meals."
America shook his head. "I - I don't mind. Really. It's just that - you're right and I - " He stopped, shook his head, and made a noise of disgust. "I never - never apologized."
England watched America, watched him as he ate the rest of his food, and wondered to himself if this boy would harbor the true winds of change. Because this Alfred was introspective, he was willing to see things from the other side, and the scars of imperialism was still fresh enough in his mind that he hadn't forgotten. This Alfred would approach the past decade's misdeeds from a fresh perspective, and perhaps the entire world would be better off for it.
-
Canada could not figure out why Russia had invited him to dinner to discuss pigs, of all things. The topic seemed far too innocuous to bother inviting someone over to dinner for, and he genuinely hoped Ivan wouldn't employ some underhanded tactic to strong-arm him on issues related to the Arctic. Couldn't they just not bring up the matter for another decade or so?
To qualm his worries about the direction of their conversation, he busied himself with Russia's cooking - the varenyky was impossibly good, almost on par with Ukraine's cooking, and that borscht soup smeared with smetana was going to leave him -
He'd been so busy stuffing his face that he'd almost missed Russia's next words.
"Your brother is an odd creature, isn't he?"
"Wh-what?" When had the conversation suddenly turned towards America? (Who, as far as he remembered, had been acting quite abnormally today...)
"I was speaking to Amerika in the restroom yesterday. There is usually a very stupid smile on his face, but it was not there yesterday."
Canada's eyes widened. So he hadn't been the only one to notice, had he? Something was off about America - he'd been quiet for most of the meeting, hell, he hadn't even wanted to present when it was his turn, and he'd gone out of his way to avoid arguments with England. Then there was his initial reaction to South Korea - America may have missed many a social cue, but Canada knew he wasn't that clueless.
"Yes, he's - I don't know if something is going on. I mean - "
"Matvey, you are his neighbor," Russia said, as if that made all the difference in the world.
Canada sighed, because Russia was staring at him expectantly, and obviously he had to expound on his answer a bit more. "America - he seemed fine when we last spoke to each other before the meeting - I mean, he was fine on the plane. I think he made a few jokes about how France had given him good pointers with regards to England, and that was it. I expected him to actually engage England more today, but he seemed keen on avoiding the guy, so, well, I really don't know."
Russia nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment. Then he stared at Canada, stared and stared, and - "Canada, you will help me speak with Amerika, yes?"
"Wait - what? Why would you need me to help - "
"It is because we are going to perform an experiment together - you will help me determine something that he should know, and if he answers wrong, then we will know that he is an impostor. I believe that we both know him quite well - you being his neighbor and me being his once sworn enemy."
"I'm not telling you any secrets," Canada snapped.
"Oh, Matvey does not need to be worried," Russia stated, smiling, "You do not need to tell me what questions you choose to ask. I will, however, tell you what I intend to ask - I will ask him to annex me."
"Annexation? Are you nuts, Russia? This is - "
"Scientific experimentation is very good, yes?"
"Science? This isn't scientific at all. Even if the current America is an impostor, asking him a question like that will just lead to surprise, and that's perfectly normal."
"Oh," Russia said, smiling, "you misunderstand. Under normal circumstances, Amerika will believe I am drunk and jokingly ask me if I have 'come to my senses at last'. He will do this with utmost confidence and a smug smile on his face. He may even attempt to get me to sign a statement solidifying our agreement. However, I cannot see this happening, which is why we are performing this experiment."
Canada cringed. And here he thought America came up with the most hare-brained schemes - there was obviously a contender for that trophy sitting across from him.
-
The two of them decided that the restroom was the ideal location - they could wait for their target to approach a stall, wait until he got out and corner him for questioning. It was mostly a matter of patience, because obviously America would have to use the bathroom at some point, and there was a limited amount of facilities (that is, exactly two) at their small Antarctican meeting house.
And so they each took over a restroom, sat in their respective stalls, and fiddled with their phones to alleviate boredom.
Eventually, an hour after the start of their waiting campaign, Canada heard the door to his bathroom creak open.
The footsteps didn't sound like America though - the confident stride was missing - this one was a slow, casual shuffle. But if some impostor had taken the role of Alfred - it was certainly possible that his gait would've changed too, right?
Canada watched intently through the seams in his stall, the nation was - blond - and - wait - there were two nations.
England and Japan.
Then he heard England speak -
"Hey, wait, Japan, check the stalls. If anyone's in here, this could be bad."
Shit.
Instinct told Canada that he needed to hide better, and experience told him that people rarely looked at the ceiling. He placed one foot on the toilet paper roll, hoisted himself up and clambered over the edge of the stall. Then he sat on the ledge between the two stalls, with his back pressed against the wall. Canada watched with abated breath as Japan pushed open door after door - bit his lip as Japan approached his stall.
Japan gave the door a light shove, glossing over the nation perched atop the bathroom ledge entirely.
Success!
He could commend himself for his well-practiced invisibility later.
"Not to worry," he heard Japan conclude, "The stalls do not seem to be occupied."
"Alright then, let's get down to business. What did you figure out?" England asked, voice tense.
Canada began to doubt the validity of his success. Sitting on the ledge hurt, damn it, and he highly doubted whatever bathroom conversation they were going to make was actually worth overhearing - perhaps England was going to ask Japan about his relationship troubles? France and Germany had probably gotten sick of dealing with him, and he'd found himself a new counselor who was too polite to refuse -
"I sent him an email earlier today, but he has not responded yet. I do not know what is going on, but if he is starting a revolution, that could be why. However - "
"He hasn't responded? Damn it, think of the worst case scenario - what if this other me did something? What if - "
"England, please calm down. I am sure Alfred can take care of himself. The part I am worried about is - well, we cannot be fully sure the message even reached him."
Canada sat up, suddenly alert. America was instigating another revolution? And what in the world did England mean by 'this other me'? England and Japan made it sound like America hadn't been here all day, and that they'd been trying to contact him, but to no avail.
Was this - damn it, was this why? Then who was the impostor they'd chosen to replace him?
"What the bloody hell do you mean by that?" England spat out, "I thought you made this damn machine - how could you not know if your messages are reaching the target? Damn it, Japan, I thought you had this figured out!"
Japan looked away from England's glare. "I am very sorry. There was something I'd overlooked. Let me - let me explain from the very beginning. Think of the teleportation machine as a black box-something goes in one end and comes out the other in a parallel universe."
England sighed. "And how is this supposed to help?"
"When America sends messages between universes, he will first create a "send email" request, which can be done without access to any network. Then, he will push the request through my machine, which will move the request from his universe to ours. Any wireless router in our world can pick up the request and execute it, successfully sending the email. That is how he was able to send me a message. However - "
"You don't have the machine in our universe, is that the problem?"
"That is not the problem - yes, most of the machine did get teleported with America, but I managed to rebuild it from my notes."
"Then...?"
"Well, machines are...very rigid things. Every command you send to it needs to be written in the right way. So if I tell a machine 'send message to japan; message is: test' and it works, then the machine will not understand my message if I change the semi-colon after 'japan' to a period. Alfred has lived in our world, so he knows what a request to a wireless router should look like. However, I have not lived in their world, and I have no idea what their requests are supposed to look like. It is very likely I am wrong, and my email was never sent at all."
So this was why America had been so different - Canada thought with increasing anger - and these hosers had never thought to inform him? Goddamn, when he got out of here, he would give them a piece of his mind -
"Great," England muttered, "So we can only hope that America will somehow come to his senses and tell us how message requests are formatted in his world?"
- they would never forget him again, they would acknowledge that if something insane had happened to America, he should've been the first one they talked to -
"Well, not quite. I am currently generating all logical ways of formatting the requests - it will take some time, but if we are lucky, one of them will work."
- oh, who was he kidding? Bastards, the lot of them.
-
After England and Japan finished their top-secret bathroom discussion and began to make their departure, Canada lowered himself down from the ledge, wondering how best to approach them on the matter. Direct confrontation was probably easiest, so he would just have to -
He slammed the door open, feeling a slight satisfaction at the horrified looks on both nation's faces.
"C-Canada? Were you - ahh - were you here the entire time?" England asked, looking nervous.
"Yes," Canada informed him icily.
"Right, well, we were - I'm guessing you, um, heard everything?"
"Oh, you mean about how Alfred was teleported to a different world? How the current America you've got sitting with you is an impostor? Then yes, I guess I heard everything." The sarcastic, biting anger in his voice made England take a step back. He really couldn't remember the last time Canada had spoken like that to him - yes, he could see that Canada would be peeved by their refusal to tell him the truth, but in truth, he'd actually advocated for telling Canada. It was Japan who'd been opposed due to undue paranoia...
"Look, Canada, please don't be mad - we didn't mean to exclude you. We were actually going to tell you, once the time became right. It's just that right now - right now is not an appropriate - "
"And when exactly would it have been appropriate?"
Japan looked at the floor, a tinge of red coloring his cheeks, and said, "We're very sorry, Canada."
Canada sighed, realizing that he couldn't really stay mad at them for long. And besides, Japan was simply too good at apologizing - how exactly was he supposed to keep up his frown when Japan looked three steps away from creating an embarrassing spectacle to ask for forgiveness?
Besides, he had a much bigger problem on his hands - what in the world was he going to tell Russia? If he told the truth, well - this was clearly not something the entire world should know, and even if relations between Russia and America had been improving after the collapse of the Soviet Union, could he trust Ivan to keep a secret, especially if said secret could be used to his advantage? On the other hand, if he lied and Russia found out, there would be a diplomatic crisis on his hands...
He was in very, very deep shit.
-
America was terribly afraid of being alone. Because when he was alone, his thoughts would wander, and he would think of the bygone years -
("War is never pretty, is it, Alfred? Not that you've fought a real war, against a real enemy, without my help."
He wants to tell England that it's not true, because what about all those rebellions they've fought over the years? But of course the Empire would never count those, just like he'd readily swept every one of India's uprisings under the rug, buried it beneath layers of flowery text and fancy language.
Instead, he watches, silent, as England drags the cloth across his midsection, pulls it tight against the wound. He's tired of fighting for England - because now China hates his guts, can't look at his face without screaming about 'opium pushers' and 'Anglo-American bastards' - and he feels sick, disgusted with himself.)
"Amerika! How unexpected, to see you here."
America froze, recognizing the voice. Damn - did it have to be Russia? Of all the nations that he could've come across, it had to be Ivan.
Even if this Russia wasn't like the one from his world - England and Japan had explained that he wasn't communist (any more) and that the other America had never been scared of Russia he'd had too much practice being afraid of the world, and England's (other England) stories of Russia hadn't helped. ("He's a right bastard, Ivan. I saw him threatening Lithuania with a knife the other day - right bastard, like I said.")
"Um...hi, Russia," he managed, looking at mirror behind the nation.
"So," Russia said, trying to look casual, "You know about this financial crisis that has hit the world recently, yes?"
"Yeah, I've, uh, heard a lot about it. It kinda sucks, doesn't it?"
Russia gave America a curious look. He'd heard about it? It was quite odd that America would claim having heard about it when he'd clearly experienced it himself. Still, no matter, he had to move on with the plan - "It does indeed 'suck', as you put it. I have been having so many problems; it is quite a trying time. Thus, I was wondering if I could request a little favor out of you."
Russia smiled, and America looked tense. "I want you to annex me."
America backed away, feeling alarmed. Annex Russia? What was the catch here? Because Russia may not have been communist anymore, but England hadn't said he was friendly with Russia either. "Tolerably cordial" was how England had put it, and tolerably cordial did not translate to willing annexation. Was Russia simply insane or was there something missing in this equation?
"Um, Russia, I don't - I don't think this is a good idea..."
"And why not? I think it is a perfectly fine idea. Think about it, Amerika - you will be able to double the output of your economy and get free access to all the oil you need. I do not understand how you can say 'no'."
America fidgeted, feeling anxious. So apparently this Russia had a lot of oil too - and if he annexed Ru - wait, what was he thinking? This was insane. Why would Russia, the largest nation in the world, want to be annexed? Even if his economy was failing, it was hardly a good reason to ask for annexation! (After all, he thought, the Empire had never asked China to annex him when things got bad, and things had gotten incrementally worse over the years...)
"I...I still don't think so, Russia. What - what would you gain from this?"
Russia raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Me? Oh, I get to take a break from having to deal with economic woes. It will be nice, having someone to protect me for once."
"You're - you're not serious, are you?"
Russia smiled, almost serene.
Then, without warning, he grabbed America's collar and slammed him into the nearest sink. "I am curious," he said, leering, "How did you dispose of Amerika, impostor?"
-
notes:
I apologize for not updating sooner. :( There's lots of reasons, but I'm not going to abandon this, I swear. It's the longest story I've ever written, and I do want to make sure I can see one project out.
- varenyky - a type of Russian dumpling
- smetana - a heavy sour cream
- "51st State" - to quote Wikipedia, "The United Kingdom has sometimes been called the 51st state due to the close and 'special' relationship between the two countries."
- The British Empire used various colonized groups to fight their wars for them (i.e., the British Indian troops fought against China during the Opium Wars)
- Russia's question is not quite that literal
Also, it'll be hard to incorporate current events from here on out because:
(1) March had way too many events that I'm not sure I actually want to use (the tone of this fic doesn't match)
(2) It doesn't fit into the timeline (how can that many events happen in a few days?)
I actually always thought that remaining a British colony would not necessarily have been terrifying (Britain treated colonies like Canada and Australia pretty well, right?). The key reason behind colony!America's unhappiness is that the UK never properly transferred to being a democracy. He went the other way instead. (which also explains HK's odd behavior at that dinner...more on that later.)
Thanks for keeping up with me for this long! Feedback is very appreciated.