[USxUK] Special Relationship
Feb. 8th, 2012 03:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedTitle: Special Relationship
Genre: Romance/Angst.
Characters/Pairing: America, England. USUK
Rating/Warnings: U, none.
Summary: Shortfic. Arthur feels smaller than ever, but there's always one person who can cheer him up.
He didn’t know why he came to these things anymore. It was getting harder and harder to show his face in front of other countries as the idiots elected to run his own continued to embarrass him. When he’d slunk into the room a brief hush had fallen, and he’d hurried to his seat without meeting the eyes of anyone. He’d been sat there since, watching Alfred, Yao and Ivan arguing in his peripheral. It was no doubt about the situation in Syria, and Arthur couldn’t really blame Alfred for being angry. The young American nation was deep in irate discussion with Yao, while Ivan stood a little to one side looking eerily serene.
Scotland had been glaring at him since he’d walked in, and he couldn’t bring himself to glare back, instead dropping his head to the table and flipping a file up against it in a vain effort to hide. He shut his eyes and let out a low, frustrated groan, then stood up and hastily shoved his paperwork back into his briefcase. What was the point, he was just humiliating himself, he thought as he grabbed his case and headed for the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alfred look at him, his conversation with Yao faltering, but Arthur was out of the door before he could be followed.
Or so he thought.
“Arthur! Hey!”
He slowed, and came to a stop, and within moments a hand fell on his shoulder, gripping gently. Though he could feel the curious, searching gaze on his face he didn’t look up, and after a moment Alfred let out a soft, slow sigh.
“Arts, man, what’s wrong with you? You never walk out like that.” Arthur had been known to storm out of meetings, to start or be drawn into brawls with Francis or his brothers and be kicked out, but never to simply get up and leave without uttering a word. “It’s not about that thing with the flotilla is it? Man, I told my bosses not to cave to Francis because I knew you’d want in too but i--”
“No, no it isn’t that,” the older man muttered. It was only half a lie – it was partly that, but it was more that it had made him realise how insignificant his presence as a nation was now. It was all well and good to try and act like a superpower, but he knew he wasn’t one any longer. He had realised it, realised that it was time to hand over the reins to larger, more capable nations, to younger ones like this eager man stood beside him, trying to comfort him when he was part of the problem. The politics needed to catch up, that was all, and then he’d just be another island nation clinging to the edge of obscurity. The thought was enough to clamp a tight, uncomfortable vice around his throat, and his shoulders tensed.
Alfred tilted his head to one side, rubbing his thumb across the other’s shoulder. He didn’t understand, Arthur knew that, and how could he understand. He was at the height of his power, a state that Arthur hadn’t seen for decades.
“Arthur, don’t be so difficult, just tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, pushing the heel of his hand up against his eye and shaking his head. “Nothing’s wrong, Alfred, this is just how it should be. You should go back before you’re missed.”
“I…” The American nation faltered, and Arthur didn’t realise how tired he appeared as he glanced up at the man. “I… okay, Arts. Okay, but… wait for me, right? Wait for me, and when I’m done we can go back to my place and I’ll make beans on toast and we can watch whatever stupid film you want. Just wait for me. Please.” He had hold of both of Arthur’s arms now, looking at him earnestly, trying to catch his eyes as Arthur did his best to avoid looking at him. Eventually, Arthur nodded.
“There’s a coffee shop across the road, I’ll wait there.”
“Do you promise?”
“What? I--” He looked up, frowning, and Alfred’s gaze immediately locked to his. There was worry in his eyes, and Arthur felt his cheeks heating. Clearing his throat, he forced a smile and patted Alfred’s arm gently. “I promise. I’ll be there.”
“Okay, just…” Alfred looked around, looked over his shoulder, then peered past Arthur. “Just… don’t forget, Arts… I still need you, even if my bosses don’t. I’ll always need you.” He pressed a quick kiss to the smaller man’s forehead, muttered a quick ‘love you’ then shot off back down the corridor, leaving Arthur feeling dumbfounded. His eyes closed, and a faint smile twitched at his lips. An idiot though he was, Alfred knew just what to say to make him feel better.
-----------
Events referenced can be read here:
Britain had to plead with US to take part in Iran flotilla @ The Telegraph
Anger after Russia, China block U.N. action on Syria @ Reuters
Genre: Romance/Angst.
Characters/Pairing: America, England. USUK
Rating/Warnings: U, none.
Summary: Shortfic. Arthur feels smaller than ever, but there's always one person who can cheer him up.
*****
He didn’t know why he came to these things anymore. It was getting harder and harder to show his face in front of other countries as the idiots elected to run his own continued to embarrass him. When he’d slunk into the room a brief hush had fallen, and he’d hurried to his seat without meeting the eyes of anyone. He’d been sat there since, watching Alfred, Yao and Ivan arguing in his peripheral. It was no doubt about the situation in Syria, and Arthur couldn’t really blame Alfred for being angry. The young American nation was deep in irate discussion with Yao, while Ivan stood a little to one side looking eerily serene.
Scotland had been glaring at him since he’d walked in, and he couldn’t bring himself to glare back, instead dropping his head to the table and flipping a file up against it in a vain effort to hide. He shut his eyes and let out a low, frustrated groan, then stood up and hastily shoved his paperwork back into his briefcase. What was the point, he was just humiliating himself, he thought as he grabbed his case and headed for the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alfred look at him, his conversation with Yao faltering, but Arthur was out of the door before he could be followed.
Or so he thought.
“Arthur! Hey!”
He slowed, and came to a stop, and within moments a hand fell on his shoulder, gripping gently. Though he could feel the curious, searching gaze on his face he didn’t look up, and after a moment Alfred let out a soft, slow sigh.
“Arts, man, what’s wrong with you? You never walk out like that.” Arthur had been known to storm out of meetings, to start or be drawn into brawls with Francis or his brothers and be kicked out, but never to simply get up and leave without uttering a word. “It’s not about that thing with the flotilla is it? Man, I told my bosses not to cave to Francis because I knew you’d want in too but i--”
“No, no it isn’t that,” the older man muttered. It was only half a lie – it was partly that, but it was more that it had made him realise how insignificant his presence as a nation was now. It was all well and good to try and act like a superpower, but he knew he wasn’t one any longer. He had realised it, realised that it was time to hand over the reins to larger, more capable nations, to younger ones like this eager man stood beside him, trying to comfort him when he was part of the problem. The politics needed to catch up, that was all, and then he’d just be another island nation clinging to the edge of obscurity. The thought was enough to clamp a tight, uncomfortable vice around his throat, and his shoulders tensed.
Alfred tilted his head to one side, rubbing his thumb across the other’s shoulder. He didn’t understand, Arthur knew that, and how could he understand. He was at the height of his power, a state that Arthur hadn’t seen for decades.
“Arthur, don’t be so difficult, just tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, pushing the heel of his hand up against his eye and shaking his head. “Nothing’s wrong, Alfred, this is just how it should be. You should go back before you’re missed.”
“I…” The American nation faltered, and Arthur didn’t realise how tired he appeared as he glanced up at the man. “I… okay, Arts. Okay, but… wait for me, right? Wait for me, and when I’m done we can go back to my place and I’ll make beans on toast and we can watch whatever stupid film you want. Just wait for me. Please.” He had hold of both of Arthur’s arms now, looking at him earnestly, trying to catch his eyes as Arthur did his best to avoid looking at him. Eventually, Arthur nodded.
“There’s a coffee shop across the road, I’ll wait there.”
“Do you promise?”
“What? I--” He looked up, frowning, and Alfred’s gaze immediately locked to his. There was worry in his eyes, and Arthur felt his cheeks heating. Clearing his throat, he forced a smile and patted Alfred’s arm gently. “I promise. I’ll be there.”
“Okay, just…” Alfred looked around, looked over his shoulder, then peered past Arthur. “Just… don’t forget, Arts… I still need you, even if my bosses don’t. I’ll always need you.” He pressed a quick kiss to the smaller man’s forehead, muttered a quick ‘love you’ then shot off back down the corridor, leaving Arthur feeling dumbfounded. His eyes closed, and a faint smile twitched at his lips. An idiot though he was, Alfred knew just what to say to make him feel better.
-----------
Events referenced can be read here:
Britain had to plead with US to take part in Iran flotilla @ The Telegraph
Anger after Russia, China block U.N. action on Syria @ Reuters
