Blind Carbon Copy (10/?)
Title: Blind Carbon Copy (10/?)
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
chapter 10: of democracy and everything else
-
The faded flag of the United Kingdom clung desperately onto the mantle, its limp and lifeless nature in sharp contrast with the harsh exchange of words in the doorway.
Canada sat in the balcony, hands clasped and head bowed, waiting for the inevitable. His eyes were half-lidded, a far cry from being focused, because the future was obvious. For in the intricate dance of colonizer and colony, there was only one fate that would dare unfold.
-
England was shouting.
His cheeks were a dirty red, courtesy of the snowstorm outside and made no better by the pulsating anger in his head. His eyes, however, betrayed the vestiges of fear, of paranoia, like a parasite had gnawed away his sanity.
"If you have a problem with me," England snapped, "you can say it to my face. You want to protest? You want to waste hundreds of millions of pounds watching a few useless, entitled bastards protest againstme in a foreign country? Is that how it works, Alfred? Is it?"
Canada watched as America shrank back, confused, unsure.
The gun in England's hands suddenly tipped up, and the Empire pressed it casually under America's chin.
"Your knowledge of Russian is rather uncanny," England continued, and Canada could tell from the saccharine quality of his voice that he was barely suppressing his rage. Then he heard a door - the rear door - slam and England growl, "Perhaps you would care to tell me more? How much have you learned in the last few months on Russian culture, Russian architecture, the state of Russian affairs? "
"Nothing," America spat, "I get that I messed up today - it was wrong, wrong of me to wave a gun about in a crowded protest and contemplate shooting people. I swear I won't do something that stupid again. But you can't possibly be accusing me of collaborating with that communist bastard. That's just not possible - it's not in my nature."
"I don't need to accuse you of anything. You know perfectly well what you've been doing, America."
"If I were working with Russia, why the hell would I shoot at his guards?"
"Russia," England laughed, "doesn't give a damn about sacrificing a few for 'the greater good'. It's in his nature. Clearly having you as his little spy is by far worth a few measly guards. You - have you no sense of honor? After all that I did to help you, to change your economy to a functional one, to protect you from enemies far and wide, this is what I get in repayment?"
"I didn't betray you, I didn't - "
America suddenly cut himself off, as though he knew it was a losing a battle.
"Look," he began again, voice softer and bit resigned, "I'm not going to say anything to convince you, am I? I mean, in your mind, I'm already this disobedient little shit who can't follow orders and who already betrayed you. You can accuse me of telling Russia all your secrets, fine, whatever. It doesn't change the fact that I didn't tell him a thing - and if I told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, you would call me insane. Whatever you do to spies, I don't know, but - "
"We execute them," England supplied helpfully, "but in your case, I suppose you could humor me with this 'nothing-but-the-truth' explanation of yours. If it's not quite up to par - well." England pressed the gun closer to America's skull, tightening his grip on the weapon. Above them, Canada stood up, terrified. If England shot America point-blank, what would happen to his brother? He tried to imagine the sharp metal piercing the side of his brother's face, burying itself through his skull. He'd never seen nations shot in the head before - presumably they didn't die if their countries were still intact, but what would he know?
And worse, the 'truth' was nothing short of idiotic. What fool, besides himself, would believe in multiple universes and travelling between them, of all things?
"Alright," he heard Alfred say, "I hope you believe me, but I guess I don't blame you if you don't. I, uh, you want to defeat Russia, right? Communism's a bitch and all that. And you can't defeat the enemy until you know him, right? So I figure if you speak his language, if you break his codes, it'll get you somewhere. And you probably know plenty of Russian, but I didn't know any, so I thought it'd be useful to learn. Then if we've got many eyes on the same data, it's - well, it's always better than one, right?"
There was another tense silence, with England staring at America, looking for signs of deceit.
"Your explanation is incomplete," he said at last, "Why were you in the Soviet Union's general meeting area? Why did you believe we were in Antarctica and not Moscow? You've been utterly inconsistent today - don't you dare think that a single statement about your desire to learn Russian will explain things away."
America sighed.
"This is the part where you really won't believe me. I got this weird email this morning. It sounded urgent - hell, it claimed to be from you, but now I'm starting to suspect you never sent it. The email said something about how our meeting was moving to Antarctica, but I didn't need to worry 'cause you'd already rearranged the plane tickets and everything, and all I had to do was show up for that same flight at the same time. There was also this map of the meeting place attached - it was - I guess the map was misleading. And, on top of all that, I can't access my email anymore. I'm assuming someone hacked into our email servers..."
Canada realized that his hands were beginning to feel numb from gripping the railing the way he'd been doing, but this lie of Alfred's was just - ludicrous - mad.
Because the bit about not being able to access his email was true. The bit about someone having 'hacked into their email system' was also true. It was just that, if the Empire found out exactly who had hacked into their system, he would probably exile Canada to some damp, dark prison on one of the hundreds of small islands he'd laid claim to. But maybe, if they played their cards properly, they could convince England that someone else had hacked into the official email servers of the British Empire, that the security compromise was affecting everyone's emails.
That would give Alfred enough time to get into his actual email and produce a fake message from the Empire to corroborate his brother's little lie...
He realized belatedly that England was speaking again, with a sickly-sweet smile to accompany the speech: "So I suppose this email of mine also proclaimed that you were no longer my colony, correct? That you should prepare a speech for today, because it would be your proper inauguration speech as a 'nation', yes?"
He lowered the gun slightly so that it was directed at America's chest and then snapped, "Turn around."
"Wha-but, I - "
Canada could see the confusion on America's face as he sputtered out a response. Was America trying to decide whether or not to fight England with all that he had? That was a terrible idea, because England would only be more suspicious and even if this America wasn't afraid, battles were never won on bravery alone. The Empire had too much at his disposal, more than enough to take care of a single rebellious colony.
"Turn around!" England snarled again, and Canada found himself wishing desperately that America would obey.
(Though there was that small part of him that wondered if this was just his default response because he was afraid, because he didn't dare be brave. And he'd done that time and again, hadn't he? Because this was hardly the first time he'd tried to reign his brother in, tried to drive the concept of 'independence' from both their minds...
And it was always later - they would gain their independence later, they would be free of England later, even if later was just a euphemism for never.)
To Canada's relief, America did turn.
-
Dinner was a somber affair.
His colonies seemed largely aware of what had transpired with America and remained quiet, as though afraid of intruding on the uneasy silence.
When they were done eating, each of them excused themselves and left, and the numbers at the table dwindled down one by one. Eventually, Canada was the only one remaining, and he had a left a sizable portion of his meal uneaten. England watched as he sliced a portion of the beef, dipped it in the gravy, slathered the whole thing in a lump of mashed potatoes and - it was then that Canada came to the sudden realization that there were only two of them at the table. He quickly put his fork down, wiped his mouth and said, "I … sorry, I don't have much of an appetite today. I'll do the dishes as soon as I'm done, you can go, I mean - you don't have to ..."
Stare at him eat.
"Are you trying to excuse me from my own table?" England asked, almost amused.
"No! Just that - you don't have to wait for me..."
"What if I want to wait?" England asked, leaning back in his seat.
Canada stared back blankly, but England could see the apprehension woven into the boy's face. Sometimes it was good to be feared, yes, but this level of fear was surely unwarranted? It wasn't as if he was going to do anything terrible at the dinner table - he just wanted to talk. Sure, a few hours ago, he'd wanted to question Canada about the whole 'lapdog' business, maybe even give him a warning worth remembering, but he'd decided to put that on hold until he figured out what was wrong with America. Because it was entirely possible that America had made up that accusation to deflect from his own wrongdoings, and looking at the anxiety on Canada's face - well, there was no point exacerbating that unless the accusation was actually true. Instead, it would be more to his advantage to offer Canada an opportunity, one that he could hopefully use to win the boy to his side...
"Matthew," he began, "We need to talk about tomorrow."
Canada looked a bit alarmed and suddenly began shoveling roast beef and mashed potatoes into his mouth at an unprecedented rate. With his mouth full, he lifted his head and gave England a quick nod. England just raised his eyebrows - why was Canada this jumpy?
"There's no need to hurry," he continued, mildly entertained, "In fact, I'll do the dishes tonight. I just have a quick proposal about tomorrow. I'll be in a meeting with the Soviet Union for most of the day, because Switzerland - the meddling fool - has insisted that we resolve our differences in Arctic sovereignty before we attend the general congregation. This is a matter that you take great interest in, am I correct?"
Canada looked back at him, surprised about the topic he'd brought up. "Uh, yes. Some of my explorers have complained about - about Russian flag-planting."
"Tomorrow would be a good time to do something about that," England continued, "And since you've spent more time in the Arctic than I have, I think it would be best if you accompanied me. We would have a better chance of negotiating successfully with Russia."
Despite the dazed look on his face, Canada quickly nodded his assent. How could he pass up an opportunity like this one anyway?
England nodded. He collected a few nearby plates and spoke again, "There's something else I ought to warn you about..." He placed the dishes in the sink and continued, "It's your brother. He does not seem to be of sound mind - almost murdered a man today. He said he was caught up in a fit of uncontrollable rage, and his speech was like that of a madman. If I were you, I would stay well out of his way."
Canada looked frozen for a moment - there was (again) too much food in his mouth that he was desperately trying to swallow in time to answer England. "Yeah," he managed to grunt out after a moment, "Yeah, sure. I'll do that."
"Good," England said, smiling.
Sinker.
-
There was something off about his brother? Well, that was the understatement of the year. And now that he'd made a stupid promise to not speak to Alfred, he would have to be especially careful. He heard the familiar sounds of shower curtains sliding about and bathroom doors creaking open and shut. It was almost time - almost. Once he was sure the Empire was in bed, Canada headed for the basement. Alfred was sure to be in there, handcuffed and left alone in some dirty cell - who knew what mysteries their borrowed house held?
It was only during his descent into the basement when he realized that he should've brought along a lamp.
"Al?" he called out into the darkness, a touch unsure.
"Uh, Matt? That you?"
"Yeah," he said enthusiastically, "it's me. I saw you guys earlier, and I figured - well, I'm sorry you had to deal with that - the Empire is freaking insane."
"Hah," America managed to choke out, "A fact that we're both very familiar with by now."
"Right," Canada agreed. "You know, if you need anything, just let me - "
"It's better if you leave me be," America cut him off, "I mean, I've kind of decided that I'll just go along with this - this whole business of being his colony. It feels a bit weird, after all these years, but I can adapt. And it's safer this way, because if I told him the truth, he would just think I'm an impostor, and technically, he'd be right."
"I suppose so," Canada mumbled, sounding unsure. Then - "So when did you start learning Russian?"
America grinned faintly in the darkness. "It was a long, long time ago. I really hated Russia's guts then, you know? Especially after he managed to pay off a number of Americans with high-level security clearances to turn into Russian spies - that really pissed me off. And he knew so much English and could get info on me anytime, while I knew no Russian whatsoever, outside of the whole 'da' and 'privyet' stuff you hear in movies."
Canada nodded. "That's...interesting. So you learned Russian fluently?"
"Well, I wouldn't say fluently, but good enough to semi-communicate. I probably learned more bad words than good ones." America chuckled lightly at the memory, "So what happened with the machine?"
"Oh, that? It's...it's in my room. I doubt England would have any desire to go in there. He was being rather disturbing at the dinner table though - kept staring at me."
America snorted. "Forget him. I bet he just wants to intimidate you or something. Maybe he gets some sick sense of self-satisfaction by putting other people down, 'cause he's too stupid to feel good about himself without hurting other people in the process. Or maybe," America said, looking thoughtful, "Maybe that's what happens when you've got an empire."
"Maybe," Canada conceded, "So was England like that in your memories?"
America grinned. "For a while, sure, but Golden Ages don't last forever, you know."
Canada smiled at the thought of the British Empire collapsing. It was a dirty thought, really, but he couldn't help but imagine England - England fading against the blinding sun, England shrinking back to his rightful place on that small, rocky island. The muted flag on the mantle could finally be ripped apart with impunity...
America must've caught on to his thoughts, because he said, "Don't think like that, Mattie. It's not England, it's his empire. Once any nation gets that kind of power, it all goes downhill from there. I remember you - you really hated me once. You said I was a jerk, hell, everyone said I was a jerk. I attacked countries whenever I wanted, I propped up dictators because they supported me. I did it 'cause I believed I was right and Russia was wrong and that the ends always justified the means."
Canada tried to look at America in the darkness, tried to see his brother's face and find that shred of regret. Would England be able to look back at this and - regret?
"So you..." he said, voice barely a whisper, "You were an empire, in your own right."
America shook his head. "That's not what - I'd rather not call myself that. Empires are a thing of the past, and I'm not - I'm not - "
I don't want to be an empire. But what was the purpose in repeating that? To deny reality? To save face? The world was weaved by contradictory opinions - he was imperialistic, but not an empire, he had military bases and unincorporated territories, but not colonies. He was late to the imperialism game, and yet the amount of proposed 51st states were staggering.
His stomach chose a terrible time to growl.
"Sorry," Canada gasped, "I was freaking out at dinner today, so I forgot, but I should've brought you food. Wait, maybe I can get some now, if you want leftover bread or mashed potatoes. There's still quite a bit left."
"Yeah!" America said enthusiastically, glad to put depressing speech behind them, "Mashed potatoes and gravy! Man, I'm starving."
Canada nodded. "I'll be back in a moment, Al, just - "
They both froze, because there were footsteps - and they were coming down towards the basement.
"No," Canada breathed, "Someone is - crap, it's probably Arthur."
He had to find a good hiding spot, because if England was coming down, he had probably brought a flashlight, which meant he would most certainly see Canada. And yet if he couldn't see anything, how was he supposed to find a good place to hide? Perhaps behind the basement door?
He didn't have time to think, because someone had shined a blinding flash of light in his face.
"Interesting," a voice said, "I didn't expect there to be a gathering."
Canada shielded his eyes from the sudden light and let out a sigh of relief . It wasn't England, right? It certainly didn't sound like him - the voice still had a child-like undertone, not that throaty accent of the Empire's. He blinked a few times, clearing the tears out of his eyes, and saw -
Hong Kong.
Well, that was unexpected.
"America," Hong Kong said, fumbling with the lock on the cell door, "England told me to inform you that he may have been a bit … irrational earlier. He says to be careful, because someone has compromised our email system and none of the data in our inboxes can be trusted." Then he turned to look at the both of them and said, "He also said he would not rest until he found exactly who chatted in his name."
Canada gulped.
-
The thing about having allies is that they're supposed to tell you if you do something idiotic. Which, of course, was exactly what America was doing for Canada.
"You can't confess, Matt! That makes no sense whatsoever and it sure as hell won't win England over. Think about it - if you confess, he's going to accuse you of sending that email to me, the one where you claim the meeting's in Antarctica and I'm not a British colony and stuff. England is going to murder you over that last bit alone!"
"Then what's the alternative? Wait for him to figure out who did it and then murder me anyway? Maybe he'll even hack apart my corpse for hiding from him - "
"I meant figurative murder, Mattie."
"...Y-yeah, I know," Canada mumbled, cradling his face in his hands. "I'm really losing it..."
America patted Canada on the back and grinned, "Don't worry, it'll be alright. We're going to come out of this one unscathed, 'cause I've got this brilliant idea. We should get in touch with your contacts in the Soviet Union - who do you have again? The Baltics? Ukraine? We can let them know that the revolution starts now."
"What?"
America snorted. "Oh come on, how can you not realize? England will be too distracted to pursue the case of the email hacker if he has to fight us. And by the time he figures it out, we'll be free from him altogether. It'll be awesome!"
Canada attempted to pry America's limbs away from his shoulders and gave up when he realized the impossibility of that task. "Alfred," he cut in instead, "So your proposed plan for solving my predicament is to get me into an even bigger predicament?"
-
It's said that a decent breakfast consists of democracy (in quotes), scrambled eggs, and an economic crisis of great magnitude. That was England's early morning meal, in a small diner mostly catering to international businessmen. Normally, he'd eat at home, presumably save a few pounds, but yesterday night had confirmed his instincts about getting out of the house. Besides, he had chosen this particular establishment with care - it gave him a decent vantage point over Russia's house, so if any unsavory characters were to enter (Alfred, for one), he would know straight away.
Meanwhile, of course, he had a crisis to tend to. Or rather, multiple crises.
There was the issue with America - despite the fact that the email incident had turned out to be true, there was still something off about Alfred that he couldn't place. The boy was wilder, easily angered and controlled by the tides of his emotions. In some ways it was welcome, because England was tired of the empty stares and fake smiles, but it made his task as an empire that much more difficult. Because now, on top of dealing with the harpy that was Russia, he had domestic unrest to contend with as well.
And speak of the devil, there was China, standing casually in front of him. Perhaps England should never have chosen a restaurant that catered to the international business community...
"Two drinks, please," China said, turning to the man at the counter, "Oolongcha for me, and - "
"I'll have bubble milk tea," England cut in, putting on a smile, "Make it Earl Grey, warm, with green grass jelly and large tapioca pearls."
China looked back at him quizzically.
"What?" England asked, "I do enjoy what the kids have nowadays - and this is their latest fad. Those who live forever in the past, well, the present does not look kindly upon them."
China said nothing. Instead, when his plain tea came, he cradled his cup in silence, temperated with occasional sips. England busied himself with the crease on his shirt sleeve, because he knew the real reason behind that look. China was disappointed - annoyed, perhaps a touch angry, because as indebted as he was, he'd ordered a terribly fancy drink on China's dime.
"England," China said, and England thought of a hundred ways to diffuse the debt situation, "I saw you."
So it wasn't the debt. "Whatever are you talking about?"
"I saw you earlier," China repeated, "You were with a colony of yours - America, was it? And you had a gun at his head."
The Empire took another sip of his grass-jelly infused tea. "What I do with my colonies is none of your business."
"Except when it is. Do I need to remind you that Hong Kong is in your care, and that if anything happens to him - if you point a gun at his head - "
"I have never pointed a gun at his head," England answered swiftly, "Hong Kong has never done anything to merit such treatment."
"And what if he did do something to merit such treatment? What if he did something terrible - would you have - shot him?"
England pressed his fingers tightly against the glass cup in his hands, trying to keep his voice calm. What right did China have to talk to him about Hong Kong? It wasn't like China had truly given a damn about the city when he gave the kid away - what was with the belated mother-henning now?
"For heaven's sake, you are being absurd - no, I would not have shot him. Did you see me shoot America? I do not shoot those under my care at random. The weapons I carry on me are for self defense and for defending the world against a particularly invasive brand of communism." At this, he took a large gulp of his drink and continued, "America was being a danger to everyone living under my roof, and I have every right to maintain peace in my own house."
China just stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line. Then he pulled out his wallet, reached in for a thin roll of cash, and dumped it unceremoniously across the table.
"When Hong Kong comes back," he snapped, "he'd better be in pristine condition."
England said nothing in return. Instead, he picked up the stash of bills and held them up to the sky, checking to make sure they were genuine. By the time he'd set the bills down, China was already halfway out the door.
"Hong Kong," he said in a low voice, looking pointedly at China's back, "You miss him, don't you?"
China suddenly jerked back, frozen, and England loosened his grip on the wad of cash. "He's grown into a fine lad, you know," he said, voice a soft murmur, "Never shirks his duties, always composed in the face of trouble … " He smiled faintly. "I think you'd be proud of him."
England watched as China set his wallet on the table, dropped it with a low thud. He bit down on his smile, because he couldn't let on that he knew. China hadn't cared in the early days, but as the years wore on, as Hong Kong grew from a small town into a major commercial center, he'd been angry that he'd missed out, distraught that one of his liked England more. And now he would want to reconnect with Hong Kong, to redeem his title of 'parent' at any cost.
"How interested are you in taking him back now, a good seventy-nine years early?"
Then he smiled and whispered, "20 trillion, let's shake on it."
-
notes:
I was rather floored that many people wanted to see this updated. And I apologize for my lack of updates for...the longest time ever. :( School just about mauled me last semester and I'm quite glad that's over.
- There were a few issues with flag-planting in the Arctic that Canada brought up to Russia in ‘07. The U.S. was not particularly enthused with Russia’s actions either...
- Russia did manage to pay off a number of Americans to become Russian spies during the Cold War. That’s not to say that Russian spies didn’t also defect to the U.S...
- That 20 trillion number was found by multiplying Hong Kong's nominal GDP (225 billion in 2010) by 79, the number of years England was giving him up early. That yields ~18 trillion (17 775 000 000 000), but I figured England would round up for the sake of bargaining. Keep in mind that this is enough to pay off the current US debt and then some...
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
chapter 10: of democracy and everything else
-
The faded flag of the United Kingdom clung desperately onto the mantle, its limp and lifeless nature in sharp contrast with the harsh exchange of words in the doorway.
Canada sat in the balcony, hands clasped and head bowed, waiting for the inevitable. His eyes were half-lidded, a far cry from being focused, because the future was obvious. For in the intricate dance of colonizer and colony, there was only one fate that would dare unfold.
-
England was shouting.
His cheeks were a dirty red, courtesy of the snowstorm outside and made no better by the pulsating anger in his head. His eyes, however, betrayed the vestiges of fear, of paranoia, like a parasite had gnawed away his sanity.
"If you have a problem with me," England snapped, "you can say it to my face. You want to protest? You want to waste hundreds of millions of pounds watching a few useless, entitled bastards protest againstme in a foreign country? Is that how it works, Alfred? Is it?"
Canada watched as America shrank back, confused, unsure.
The gun in England's hands suddenly tipped up, and the Empire pressed it casually under America's chin.
"Your knowledge of Russian is rather uncanny," England continued, and Canada could tell from the saccharine quality of his voice that he was barely suppressing his rage. Then he heard a door - the rear door - slam and England growl, "Perhaps you would care to tell me more? How much have you learned in the last few months on Russian culture, Russian architecture, the state of Russian affairs? "
"Nothing," America spat, "I get that I messed up today - it was wrong, wrong of me to wave a gun about in a crowded protest and contemplate shooting people. I swear I won't do something that stupid again. But you can't possibly be accusing me of collaborating with that communist bastard. That's just not possible - it's not in my nature."
"I don't need to accuse you of anything. You know perfectly well what you've been doing, America."
"If I were working with Russia, why the hell would I shoot at his guards?"
"Russia," England laughed, "doesn't give a damn about sacrificing a few for 'the greater good'. It's in his nature. Clearly having you as his little spy is by far worth a few measly guards. You - have you no sense of honor? After all that I did to help you, to change your economy to a functional one, to protect you from enemies far and wide, this is what I get in repayment?"
"I didn't betray you, I didn't - "
America suddenly cut himself off, as though he knew it was a losing a battle.
"Look," he began again, voice softer and bit resigned, "I'm not going to say anything to convince you, am I? I mean, in your mind, I'm already this disobedient little shit who can't follow orders and who already betrayed you. You can accuse me of telling Russia all your secrets, fine, whatever. It doesn't change the fact that I didn't tell him a thing - and if I told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, you would call me insane. Whatever you do to spies, I don't know, but - "
"We execute them," England supplied helpfully, "but in your case, I suppose you could humor me with this 'nothing-but-the-truth' explanation of yours. If it's not quite up to par - well." England pressed the gun closer to America's skull, tightening his grip on the weapon. Above them, Canada stood up, terrified. If England shot America point-blank, what would happen to his brother? He tried to imagine the sharp metal piercing the side of his brother's face, burying itself through his skull. He'd never seen nations shot in the head before - presumably they didn't die if their countries were still intact, but what would he know?
And worse, the 'truth' was nothing short of idiotic. What fool, besides himself, would believe in multiple universes and travelling between them, of all things?
"Alright," he heard Alfred say, "I hope you believe me, but I guess I don't blame you if you don't. I, uh, you want to defeat Russia, right? Communism's a bitch and all that. And you can't defeat the enemy until you know him, right? So I figure if you speak his language, if you break his codes, it'll get you somewhere. And you probably know plenty of Russian, but I didn't know any, so I thought it'd be useful to learn. Then if we've got many eyes on the same data, it's - well, it's always better than one, right?"
There was another tense silence, with England staring at America, looking for signs of deceit.
"Your explanation is incomplete," he said at last, "Why were you in the Soviet Union's general meeting area? Why did you believe we were in Antarctica and not Moscow? You've been utterly inconsistent today - don't you dare think that a single statement about your desire to learn Russian will explain things away."
America sighed.
"This is the part where you really won't believe me. I got this weird email this morning. It sounded urgent - hell, it claimed to be from you, but now I'm starting to suspect you never sent it. The email said something about how our meeting was moving to Antarctica, but I didn't need to worry 'cause you'd already rearranged the plane tickets and everything, and all I had to do was show up for that same flight at the same time. There was also this map of the meeting place attached - it was - I guess the map was misleading. And, on top of all that, I can't access my email anymore. I'm assuming someone hacked into our email servers..."
Canada realized that his hands were beginning to feel numb from gripping the railing the way he'd been doing, but this lie of Alfred's was just - ludicrous - mad.
Because the bit about not being able to access his email was true. The bit about someone having 'hacked into their email system' was also true. It was just that, if the Empire found out exactly who had hacked into their system, he would probably exile Canada to some damp, dark prison on one of the hundreds of small islands he'd laid claim to. But maybe, if they played their cards properly, they could convince England that someone else had hacked into the official email servers of the British Empire, that the security compromise was affecting everyone's emails.
That would give Alfred enough time to get into his actual email and produce a fake message from the Empire to corroborate his brother's little lie...
He realized belatedly that England was speaking again, with a sickly-sweet smile to accompany the speech: "So I suppose this email of mine also proclaimed that you were no longer my colony, correct? That you should prepare a speech for today, because it would be your proper inauguration speech as a 'nation', yes?"
He lowered the gun slightly so that it was directed at America's chest and then snapped, "Turn around."
"Wha-but, I - "
Canada could see the confusion on America's face as he sputtered out a response. Was America trying to decide whether or not to fight England with all that he had? That was a terrible idea, because England would only be more suspicious and even if this America wasn't afraid, battles were never won on bravery alone. The Empire had too much at his disposal, more than enough to take care of a single rebellious colony.
"Turn around!" England snarled again, and Canada found himself wishing desperately that America would obey.
(Though there was that small part of him that wondered if this was just his default response because he was afraid, because he didn't dare be brave. And he'd done that time and again, hadn't he? Because this was hardly the first time he'd tried to reign his brother in, tried to drive the concept of 'independence' from both their minds...
And it was always later - they would gain their independence later, they would be free of England later, even if later was just a euphemism for never.)
To Canada's relief, America did turn.
-
Dinner was a somber affair.
His colonies seemed largely aware of what had transpired with America and remained quiet, as though afraid of intruding on the uneasy silence.
When they were done eating, each of them excused themselves and left, and the numbers at the table dwindled down one by one. Eventually, Canada was the only one remaining, and he had a left a sizable portion of his meal uneaten. England watched as he sliced a portion of the beef, dipped it in the gravy, slathered the whole thing in a lump of mashed potatoes and - it was then that Canada came to the sudden realization that there were only two of them at the table. He quickly put his fork down, wiped his mouth and said, "I … sorry, I don't have much of an appetite today. I'll do the dishes as soon as I'm done, you can go, I mean - you don't have to ..."
Stare at him eat.
"Are you trying to excuse me from my own table?" England asked, almost amused.
"No! Just that - you don't have to wait for me..."
"What if I want to wait?" England asked, leaning back in his seat.
Canada stared back blankly, but England could see the apprehension woven into the boy's face. Sometimes it was good to be feared, yes, but this level of fear was surely unwarranted? It wasn't as if he was going to do anything terrible at the dinner table - he just wanted to talk. Sure, a few hours ago, he'd wanted to question Canada about the whole 'lapdog' business, maybe even give him a warning worth remembering, but he'd decided to put that on hold until he figured out what was wrong with America. Because it was entirely possible that America had made up that accusation to deflect from his own wrongdoings, and looking at the anxiety on Canada's face - well, there was no point exacerbating that unless the accusation was actually true. Instead, it would be more to his advantage to offer Canada an opportunity, one that he could hopefully use to win the boy to his side...
"Matthew," he began, "We need to talk about tomorrow."
Canada looked a bit alarmed and suddenly began shoveling roast beef and mashed potatoes into his mouth at an unprecedented rate. With his mouth full, he lifted his head and gave England a quick nod. England just raised his eyebrows - why was Canada this jumpy?
"There's no need to hurry," he continued, mildly entertained, "In fact, I'll do the dishes tonight. I just have a quick proposal about tomorrow. I'll be in a meeting with the Soviet Union for most of the day, because Switzerland - the meddling fool - has insisted that we resolve our differences in Arctic sovereignty before we attend the general congregation. This is a matter that you take great interest in, am I correct?"
Canada looked back at him, surprised about the topic he'd brought up. "Uh, yes. Some of my explorers have complained about - about Russian flag-planting."
"Tomorrow would be a good time to do something about that," England continued, "And since you've spent more time in the Arctic than I have, I think it would be best if you accompanied me. We would have a better chance of negotiating successfully with Russia."
Despite the dazed look on his face, Canada quickly nodded his assent. How could he pass up an opportunity like this one anyway?
England nodded. He collected a few nearby plates and spoke again, "There's something else I ought to warn you about..." He placed the dishes in the sink and continued, "It's your brother. He does not seem to be of sound mind - almost murdered a man today. He said he was caught up in a fit of uncontrollable rage, and his speech was like that of a madman. If I were you, I would stay well out of his way."
Canada looked frozen for a moment - there was (again) too much food in his mouth that he was desperately trying to swallow in time to answer England. "Yeah," he managed to grunt out after a moment, "Yeah, sure. I'll do that."
"Good," England said, smiling.
Sinker.
-
There was something off about his brother? Well, that was the understatement of the year. And now that he'd made a stupid promise to not speak to Alfred, he would have to be especially careful. He heard the familiar sounds of shower curtains sliding about and bathroom doors creaking open and shut. It was almost time - almost. Once he was sure the Empire was in bed, Canada headed for the basement. Alfred was sure to be in there, handcuffed and left alone in some dirty cell - who knew what mysteries their borrowed house held?
It was only during his descent into the basement when he realized that he should've brought along a lamp.
"Al?" he called out into the darkness, a touch unsure.
"Uh, Matt? That you?"
"Yeah," he said enthusiastically, "it's me. I saw you guys earlier, and I figured - well, I'm sorry you had to deal with that - the Empire is freaking insane."
"Hah," America managed to choke out, "A fact that we're both very familiar with by now."
"Right," Canada agreed. "You know, if you need anything, just let me - "
"It's better if you leave me be," America cut him off, "I mean, I've kind of decided that I'll just go along with this - this whole business of being his colony. It feels a bit weird, after all these years, but I can adapt. And it's safer this way, because if I told him the truth, he would just think I'm an impostor, and technically, he'd be right."
"I suppose so," Canada mumbled, sounding unsure. Then - "So when did you start learning Russian?"
America grinned faintly in the darkness. "It was a long, long time ago. I really hated Russia's guts then, you know? Especially after he managed to pay off a number of Americans with high-level security clearances to turn into Russian spies - that really pissed me off. And he knew so much English and could get info on me anytime, while I knew no Russian whatsoever, outside of the whole 'da' and 'privyet' stuff you hear in movies."
Canada nodded. "That's...interesting. So you learned Russian fluently?"
"Well, I wouldn't say fluently, but good enough to semi-communicate. I probably learned more bad words than good ones." America chuckled lightly at the memory, "So what happened with the machine?"
"Oh, that? It's...it's in my room. I doubt England would have any desire to go in there. He was being rather disturbing at the dinner table though - kept staring at me."
America snorted. "Forget him. I bet he just wants to intimidate you or something. Maybe he gets some sick sense of self-satisfaction by putting other people down, 'cause he's too stupid to feel good about himself without hurting other people in the process. Or maybe," America said, looking thoughtful, "Maybe that's what happens when you've got an empire."
"Maybe," Canada conceded, "So was England like that in your memories?"
America grinned. "For a while, sure, but Golden Ages don't last forever, you know."
Canada smiled at the thought of the British Empire collapsing. It was a dirty thought, really, but he couldn't help but imagine England - England fading against the blinding sun, England shrinking back to his rightful place on that small, rocky island. The muted flag on the mantle could finally be ripped apart with impunity...
America must've caught on to his thoughts, because he said, "Don't think like that, Mattie. It's not England, it's his empire. Once any nation gets that kind of power, it all goes downhill from there. I remember you - you really hated me once. You said I was a jerk, hell, everyone said I was a jerk. I attacked countries whenever I wanted, I propped up dictators because they supported me. I did it 'cause I believed I was right and Russia was wrong and that the ends always justified the means."
Canada tried to look at America in the darkness, tried to see his brother's face and find that shred of regret. Would England be able to look back at this and - regret?
"So you..." he said, voice barely a whisper, "You were an empire, in your own right."
America shook his head. "That's not what - I'd rather not call myself that. Empires are a thing of the past, and I'm not - I'm not - "
I don't want to be an empire. But what was the purpose in repeating that? To deny reality? To save face? The world was weaved by contradictory opinions - he was imperialistic, but not an empire, he had military bases and unincorporated territories, but not colonies. He was late to the imperialism game, and yet the amount of proposed 51st states were staggering.
His stomach chose a terrible time to growl.
"Sorry," Canada gasped, "I was freaking out at dinner today, so I forgot, but I should've brought you food. Wait, maybe I can get some now, if you want leftover bread or mashed potatoes. There's still quite a bit left."
"Yeah!" America said enthusiastically, glad to put depressing speech behind them, "Mashed potatoes and gravy! Man, I'm starving."
Canada nodded. "I'll be back in a moment, Al, just - "
They both froze, because there were footsteps - and they were coming down towards the basement.
"No," Canada breathed, "Someone is - crap, it's probably Arthur."
He had to find a good hiding spot, because if England was coming down, he had probably brought a flashlight, which meant he would most certainly see Canada. And yet if he couldn't see anything, how was he supposed to find a good place to hide? Perhaps behind the basement door?
He didn't have time to think, because someone had shined a blinding flash of light in his face.
"Interesting," a voice said, "I didn't expect there to be a gathering."
Canada shielded his eyes from the sudden light and let out a sigh of relief . It wasn't England, right? It certainly didn't sound like him - the voice still had a child-like undertone, not that throaty accent of the Empire's. He blinked a few times, clearing the tears out of his eyes, and saw -
Hong Kong.
Well, that was unexpected.
"America," Hong Kong said, fumbling with the lock on the cell door, "England told me to inform you that he may have been a bit … irrational earlier. He says to be careful, because someone has compromised our email system and none of the data in our inboxes can be trusted." Then he turned to look at the both of them and said, "He also said he would not rest until he found exactly who chatted in his name."
Canada gulped.
-
The thing about having allies is that they're supposed to tell you if you do something idiotic. Which, of course, was exactly what America was doing for Canada.
"You can't confess, Matt! That makes no sense whatsoever and it sure as hell won't win England over. Think about it - if you confess, he's going to accuse you of sending that email to me, the one where you claim the meeting's in Antarctica and I'm not a British colony and stuff. England is going to murder you over that last bit alone!"
"Then what's the alternative? Wait for him to figure out who did it and then murder me anyway? Maybe he'll even hack apart my corpse for hiding from him - "
"I meant figurative murder, Mattie."
"...Y-yeah, I know," Canada mumbled, cradling his face in his hands. "I'm really losing it..."
America patted Canada on the back and grinned, "Don't worry, it'll be alright. We're going to come out of this one unscathed, 'cause I've got this brilliant idea. We should get in touch with your contacts in the Soviet Union - who do you have again? The Baltics? Ukraine? We can let them know that the revolution starts now."
"What?"
America snorted. "Oh come on, how can you not realize? England will be too distracted to pursue the case of the email hacker if he has to fight us. And by the time he figures it out, we'll be free from him altogether. It'll be awesome!"
Canada attempted to pry America's limbs away from his shoulders and gave up when he realized the impossibility of that task. "Alfred," he cut in instead, "So your proposed plan for solving my predicament is to get me into an even bigger predicament?"
-
It's said that a decent breakfast consists of democracy (in quotes), scrambled eggs, and an economic crisis of great magnitude. That was England's early morning meal, in a small diner mostly catering to international businessmen. Normally, he'd eat at home, presumably save a few pounds, but yesterday night had confirmed his instincts about getting out of the house. Besides, he had chosen this particular establishment with care - it gave him a decent vantage point over Russia's house, so if any unsavory characters were to enter (Alfred, for one), he would know straight away.
Meanwhile, of course, he had a crisis to tend to. Or rather, multiple crises.
There was the issue with America - despite the fact that the email incident had turned out to be true, there was still something off about Alfred that he couldn't place. The boy was wilder, easily angered and controlled by the tides of his emotions. In some ways it was welcome, because England was tired of the empty stares and fake smiles, but it made his task as an empire that much more difficult. Because now, on top of dealing with the harpy that was Russia, he had domestic unrest to contend with as well.
And speak of the devil, there was China, standing casually in front of him. Perhaps England should never have chosen a restaurant that catered to the international business community...
"Two drinks, please," China said, turning to the man at the counter, "Oolongcha for me, and - "
"I'll have bubble milk tea," England cut in, putting on a smile, "Make it Earl Grey, warm, with green grass jelly and large tapioca pearls."
China looked back at him quizzically.
"What?" England asked, "I do enjoy what the kids have nowadays - and this is their latest fad. Those who live forever in the past, well, the present does not look kindly upon them."
China said nothing. Instead, when his plain tea came, he cradled his cup in silence, temperated with occasional sips. England busied himself with the crease on his shirt sleeve, because he knew the real reason behind that look. China was disappointed - annoyed, perhaps a touch angry, because as indebted as he was, he'd ordered a terribly fancy drink on China's dime.
"England," China said, and England thought of a hundred ways to diffuse the debt situation, "I saw you."
So it wasn't the debt. "Whatever are you talking about?"
"I saw you earlier," China repeated, "You were with a colony of yours - America, was it? And you had a gun at his head."
The Empire took another sip of his grass-jelly infused tea. "What I do with my colonies is none of your business."
"Except when it is. Do I need to remind you that Hong Kong is in your care, and that if anything happens to him - if you point a gun at his head - "
"I have never pointed a gun at his head," England answered swiftly, "Hong Kong has never done anything to merit such treatment."
"And what if he did do something to merit such treatment? What if he did something terrible - would you have - shot him?"
England pressed his fingers tightly against the glass cup in his hands, trying to keep his voice calm. What right did China have to talk to him about Hong Kong? It wasn't like China had truly given a damn about the city when he gave the kid away - what was with the belated mother-henning now?
"For heaven's sake, you are being absurd - no, I would not have shot him. Did you see me shoot America? I do not shoot those under my care at random. The weapons I carry on me are for self defense and for defending the world against a particularly invasive brand of communism." At this, he took a large gulp of his drink and continued, "America was being a danger to everyone living under my roof, and I have every right to maintain peace in my own house."
China just stared at him, lips pressed into a thin line. Then he pulled out his wallet, reached in for a thin roll of cash, and dumped it unceremoniously across the table.
"When Hong Kong comes back," he snapped, "he'd better be in pristine condition."
England said nothing in return. Instead, he picked up the stash of bills and held them up to the sky, checking to make sure they were genuine. By the time he'd set the bills down, China was already halfway out the door.
"Hong Kong," he said in a low voice, looking pointedly at China's back, "You miss him, don't you?"
China suddenly jerked back, frozen, and England loosened his grip on the wad of cash. "He's grown into a fine lad, you know," he said, voice a soft murmur, "Never shirks his duties, always composed in the face of trouble … " He smiled faintly. "I think you'd be proud of him."
England watched as China set his wallet on the table, dropped it with a low thud. He bit down on his smile, because he couldn't let on that he knew. China hadn't cared in the early days, but as the years wore on, as Hong Kong grew from a small town into a major commercial center, he'd been angry that he'd missed out, distraught that one of his liked England more. And now he would want to reconnect with Hong Kong, to redeem his title of 'parent' at any cost.
"How interested are you in taking him back now, a good seventy-nine years early?"
Then he smiled and whispered, "20 trillion, let's shake on it."
-
notes:
I was rather floored that many people wanted to see this updated. And I apologize for my lack of updates for...the longest time ever. :( School just about mauled me last semester and I'm quite glad that's over.
- There were a few issues with flag-planting in the Arctic that Canada brought up to Russia in ‘07. The U.S. was not particularly enthused with Russia’s actions either...
- Russia did manage to pay off a number of Americans to become Russian spies during the Cold War. That’s not to say that Russian spies didn’t also defect to the U.S...
- That 20 trillion number was found by multiplying Hong Kong's nominal GDP (225 billion in 2010) by 79, the number of years England was giving him up early. That yields ~18 trillion (17 775 000 000 000), but I figured England would round up for the sake of bargaining. Keep in mind that this is enough to pay off the current US debt and then some...