"You've gotten fat, America."
"I have not!"
England fixed his former charge with a look that clearly said: "Yes, you have America, you're an idiot for not noticing it, everyone else has, bloody git.". The unvoiced thoughts completely went unnoticed by America as the nation began on a tirade as to why he was not in fact fat nor had he gained any weight. To prove his point, America even went so far as to lift the hem of his shirt. To America's dismay, and England's delight, once the soft under belly of America was exposed, the entire conference room was greeted with the slight swell of a growing belly. Mortified, America quickly yanked the hem of his dress shirt back down.
Red in the face but as stubborn as ever, America pointed a finger England's way, "This is your fault! You used your voodoo magic shit on me!"
England scoffed, allowing himself a childish roll of the eyes as he sat back in his chair with arms crossed, "I certainly did nothing of the sort."
"Lies! Lies! Lies!" America chanted, still embarrassed as he jabbed a finger into the other nation's shoulder.
Such was the way meetings went for the nations. In the background, France was attempting to lure Seychelles over, his intentions clearly impure. Switzerland was eying Estonia after having seen the Baltic nation glance Liechtenstein's way, no doubt ready to miraculously pull force a rifle despite the obvious ban on firearms in the conference room. Russia watched from his post near the head of the table, head in hand and thoroughly amused with the other nations antics as the Baltics collectively shrank away from him, Germany attempted to shush two irate Italians, and the Northern European nations bickered amongst themselves. Such was the way of meetings.
Germany was red in the face. He had grown weary of soothing North Italy's ache for pasta and trying to quiet down a quite livid, and spiteful, South Italy. Spain had sat by, letting his proclaimed amor go off on the undeserving German. Amidst his own personal, chaotic hell, the background noise of growing arguments was certainly not helping the headache beginning to bloom behind his eyes nor the fraying edges of his nerves.
Thankfully, the room went blissfully quiet, though the serenity was not to last. America just couldn't stay silent for long, still bothered by the argument he and England had been engaged in just moments before. The nation sprang from his seat, eliciting a groan from Germany as the man let his head flop onto the tabletop. Worriedly, North Italy tugged at his sleeve, questioning him as to whether he was alright or not. Any other occasion, the gesture would have been endearing, now, after dealing with Prussia and Austria for what seemed an eternity and the passing of one of his most beloved dogs, it only succeed in increasing the pounding within his skull.
"I am not fat, damn it! Russia is way bigger than I am!" America declared, pointing a finger the Russian's way.
Russia didn't seem enthralled to be pulled into conversation as he began the ever-frightful chant of kolkolkol while smiling far too pleasantly America's way. The nation did not back down, merely ignored Russia's obvious aura of displeasure. He turned to England, finger shifting it's midair position to point at the Brit as America continued on, already having lost the pink tinge to his cheeks.
"It's muscle I say! Just loose muscle!" he cried, attempting to defend himself.
England stood, his own finger out as he jabbed the digit into America's chest, "Bollocks, America! It's all those god forsaken burgers and soda you shove down your gob!"
"Please, Angleterre, Amérique, make love, not war!" France cried. He seemed at ease as he flung his arms outward in a grand gesture.
"You are fat, get over it!" Denmark snickered from his seat near the end of the table.
A few of the other more bitter countries, namely Turkey, joined in on the argument as those who could careless began their own discussions, some heated and others rather tame. The room soon filled with noise once more. While everything seemed disorderly and disorganized, all those present knew well enough that this was nothing out of the norm. All the fighting and obnoxious behavior was as much a part of meeting as the inevitable break Germany called.
The nations all sped out the door, eager to get away from one another and join in on their respective groups for a relatively quieter lunch break. Russia had been especially quick to jump up and race from the room as Belarus fixed him with a possessive stare and quickly followed after, hands riding up the hem of her dress as she went. One could only presume she was going to pull forth a knife with which to more firmly proclaim her love and want of marriage. Ukraine, smartly, stayed behind the two and silently followed after as she toyed with the edge of her sleeve and worried her lip.
As usual, America exited the building and strutted onto the streets of Berlin, shoulders back and always present grin threatening to split his face in two as he casually walked to the nearest McDonald's. He silently thanked whatever higher being there may be for the fast food chain's sudden and, in his mind, wonderful global spread. Now all the countries could enjoy the wonderful, greasy goodness he so dearly enjoyed. Besides that, whenever visiting the aforementioned countries, he could easily grab one of his favorite meals.
There was a certain bounce to his step as he approached the counter of the restaurant, eyes just barely glancing over the menu. Already knowing what he wanted but attempting nonchalance, America waited a few moments before looking back at the cashier and flashing a smile. The girl blushed before inquiring as to his order.
"Big Mac with a large Coke and large fries," he answered, glancing back at the menu.
For a moment, the girl seemed puzzled, face contorted as she translated the bits of English in her mind. Once completing her mental translation, she punched in the correct order and gave the total. America fished around in his pocket, pulling out a wad of Euros. Hell if he could understand the damn currency. Carelessly, he flung a good bundle of the bills onto the counter top and made, what he hoped, were hand gestures for her to just take it all.
Eventually the message got across and America got his meal. Grabbing his bag and drink, he made his way back to the conference building and up to the meeting room. In his haste to flee the accursed room, he had forgotten his notes and paperwork sitting on the table. While he would normally join France, England, and. . . Wasn't there someone else who sat with them? America took a moment to ponder that before he shrugged and pushed open the heavy doors. He normally sat with others to eat during lunch, but he figured some peace and quiet in the empty conference room wouldn't be so horrible.
Plopping down in his seat, America swiftly opened his bag of goodies and pulled forth his meal. One burger, a heaping container of fries, and a giant plastic cup of soda sat before him. America marveled at his fast food treasures before tearing open the container for the burger and diving right in. It all tasted delicious, as it always did, but America couldn't help but crave something just a little more.
"Ahhh, so that is why, aru."
America was hoisted from his eating induced stupor as Japan and China came through the conference doors. Japan's gaze went from China to America, just a flicker of surprise crossing his features. The nation bowed, offering a quick apology and explanation. He was quickly cut off as America raised a dismissive hand and attempted to talk around the straw shoved in his mouth. Needless to say, it didn't go terribly well.
"Ah, America-san, I cannot understand you," Japan calmly informed the nation.
He paused mid rant, blinking owlishly at Japan before pulling his mouth from his soda cup and laughing, "Man, sorry you guys. Always forget to, you know, get stuff outta my mouth when I talk."
"It happens to the best of us," China added in, masking a grimace when America reached for his burger and opened his mouth to speak all at once. "Perhaps that is not such a good idea, aru."
Another wide eyed, vacant stare, then America realized his soon to made mistake. Instead of another confident and boisterous apology, his cheeks flushed a slight pink and he looked away sheepishly, scratching at the base of his skull all the while. The nervous gesture was common when it came to America, but certainly the blush dusting his cheeks was not. Japan said nothing, looking on with mild curiosity, while China quirked a brow.
"Thanks, China. You're pal. Uh, if you guys were gonna come eat in here," America gestured vaguely to the containers of food the Asian duo held, "you can join me or I could go away or something."
"Hai, we will join you, America-san," Japan quickly put in.
China, looking a bit on the reluctant side, pulled out a chair three seats from America, "Shi. The break is almost over now anyway."
America's grin was soon back as he chuckled and watched as Japan took a seat beside the other Asian nation. Picking back up his burger, he was set to polish the thing off when something in Japan's hands caught his eye. He had already swallowed a chunk of burger and the ensuing question became a garb of sounds, indecipherable babble. With more vague hand gestures and pointing to the bottle of soy sauce in Japan's hand, silent communication was achieved. Japan handed the bottle over to his friend, watching in mute horror as America's Big Mac was doused.
The now soaking bit of burger left fell victim to America's maw as he crammed the remains in, savoring the taste. For some reason, that had just hit the spot. Now he had that last bit of fries and he would be good to go. Glancing down at the rest of his meal, uncaring towards the quiet conversation taking place beside him, America's gaze darted out to the Asian pair's meal once more.
"Hey, China, think I could snag some of those pickled whatever the hell they are?" America asked, pointing to the small jar sitting beside China's food container. "Baicai, or whatever?"
So impressed was China with America's memory, seeing as to how he had actually gotten the pronunciation and dish title correct. Silently, he slid the jar across the table, instantly regretting it. From the bowels of the cardboard fry holder, America fished out the last bits of the fried food. His other hand worked on the jar, opening it as he used his straw, now devoid of use since his soda was gone, and fished out a rather unhealthy amount of the cabbage. Said unhealthy amount of cabbage went straight onto the fries then America's mouth, disgusting both Asian nations watching in mute horror.
Japan seemed to regain his composure before China could, "America-san, you have always eaten strange things."
The addressed nation grinned, sliding the jar back to China and patting his hands on a napkin, "Yea, maybe!" He paused and laughed, gathering up his trash just as the others began filing back into the room. "But, hey, you like what you like, right?"
"That is true, aru," China added in, quickly putting away his meal. All semblance of an appetite had gone right out the window with America's display. "It seems the meeting will begin once more in a few minutes, aru."
America glanced to the clock as he stood to throw away the remnants of his lunch, "Yea, you're right." His tone sounded unsure, wavered; it was something wholly not America.
Prussia, though distinctly not invited to meetings but usually trailing behind Germany in the corridors, came into the room. When Germany questioned him as he strode confidently across the threshold, he shrugged carelessly and gave a half assed excuse of the hallway not being awesome enough for him. It was his attempt at getting into the Berlin meeting though, by the look on Germany's face, Prussia would certainly not be in the meeting room for much longer.
He was about to take a seat, and completely avoid his stuffy younger brother, when he saw America distinctly lean to the left, eyes half lidded. Unable to contain himself, the ex-nation taunted, "Hey, American, are you high or something? 'Cause that may just be ballsy and pretty awesome. West'll kill you though."
America raised a hand, intent on telling Prussia to piss off, but his body violently lurched to the right. Any intelligent statement he could have uttered was cut off when his jaw snapped shut, eyes rolled to the back of his skull, and he crumpled like a forgotten rag doll. The normal clatter of nations reentering the conference room took an abnormal chaotic air as Prussia cursed loudly and attempting to catch America. Seizing the nations sleeve, Prussia quickly jostled the nation and brought them both to the ground, smacking America's cheek and telling him fainting was decidedly not awesome.
Japan had dashed over when America went down, a flash of concern marring his face before the stoic mask slipped back into place. He, England, Canada, Germany, and Italy all stood or knelt beside America and Prussia, crowding them. The others, standing behind the main cluster, began an uproar of questions. Already rumors were flying. Someone had said Australia finally got maimed by his own pet. The nation was quick to call out the invalidity of the statement.
"Shit, would you guys just back off!" Prussia growled, thoroughly annoyed. He didn't want to be playing mommy or doctor for some kid. As it were, he had been the first to get to America. Just his luck. "Get me some water or something."
England didn't need to be told twice. With a mixture of annoyance and concern painting his features, England grabbed up his near empty water bottle from the table and dumped the remaining contents on his ex-charge's face. America sprang to life, sputtering as the cold liquid splashed across his face. Eyes opened wide, mouth sputtering, America quickly shot away from Prussia and wiped at his face.
"You should be thanking me," Prussia put in quickly, standing and dusting himself off. "You so did not deserve my awesome self treating you."
America didn't answer. He was still focused on swiping all the water from his face. Luckily, the nation wasn't expected to answer. Quickly and efficiently, Germany corralled the others to take their seats and be quiet. With a firm but insistent hand on Prussia's upper arm, the ex-nation was led from the conference room, despite his rather loud and crude protests. From over his shoulder, Germany directed England and France to assist America back to his hotel room.
"Hey! What! I can walk on my own!" America quickly put in, stumbling to his feet and looking indignant and stubborn.
One hand grasped his elbow and an arm looped around his waist, hovering dangerously above his bum. Any further protests were cut off as England expertly directed America's attention his way as the European pair led the American from the room. Too caught up in arguing, America hardly noticed as he was steered towards his room. So miffed at England's remark about his "horrid fast food", America paid no mind as France took his card key from his back pocket, stealing a feel in the process, and swiped it. Unceremoniously, America was shoved into the room, key soon flying after, and the door slammed shut.
"Fuck you guys!" America fumed, rising and batting his clothes in an attempt to rid himself of some imaginary dust.
Huffing, he rolled his shoulders and lost the scowl he had adopted moments before. He looked on the bright side. At least his sudden fainting spell got him out of the meeting. He would be saved from further pestering by England, because America always insisted it was England who started the fights, and he didn't have to sit through mind numbing lecture after mind numbing lecture. Aside from feeling a bit sleepy, everything felt fine and dandy.
America grinned, "Well, screw 'em! I'll just take a nap."
The nation found himself taking just a bit more than a nap, though. When America finally pried his eyes open on the second and last day of the short conference, a soft stream of sunlight was filtering through the dusky and musky air of hotel room. Blinking blearily, he sat up sluggishly and rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. He stood on unsure legs, hips and knees protesting with loud pops. From the nightstand, he grabbed both his cell phone and Texas, the former being jabbed on his face as he peered at the screen of his phone. Apparently it was seven forty three on a Thursday in mid-June. How lovel-
"Shit!" America cursed.
Somehow, he had slept through not only the alarm he had set for dinner, but also his alarm to wake up at seven. Now, with just over fifteen minutes to shower, dress, eat, and get his ass to the meeting room, America was running extraordinarily behind. To save time, he forwent the shower and instead grabbed up an abandoned and well worn sweatshirt, dress pants, and slipped on a pair of flip flops before tearing ass out of his room.
Appearance be damned! He could just say he wasn't feeling well. The others would buy that excuse, wouldn't they? His mind told him that yes, they would believe that, now grab a muffin on your way up. Who was America to disobey his own consciousness? Speeding past a rather sleepy looking hotel worker, effectively waking the young man up, he went by the continental breakfast stand and snagged two muffins.
Bringing one to his lips, he bit down. Chocolate, no good. He tossed the muffin and bit into the next. His eyes lit up as the savory flavor of a blueberry muffin washed over his taste buds. America had hit the jackpot. The muffin was eaten in relative quiet as he continued his mad trek to the conference room, cursing that his room was by far the farthest from their meeting place. And the others wondered why he was always so late.
America was completely distracted by his desire to prove everyone wrong and not be late, he didn't notice the building ache in his lower back, too concerned with reaching the meeting room before Germany called everything to order and commanded them to begin. His complete ignorance of his surrounding worked. America dramatically burst through the double doors, effectively bringing all eyes to him, just as Germany was standing to commence the meeting for the day. Jogging over to his seat, America plopped down with a half eaten muffin in his hand.
"I'm totally here now," America informed them, a triumphant grin curling his lips.
"What in the bloody hell are you wearing?" England hissed from beside him, looking completely irritated at America's antics.
The nation shrugged, taking another bite of his muffin and shifting in his seat. He said nothing, instead allowing Germany to clear his throat and get things under way. After all, if he played nice during the conference, the sooner he could return to his New York apartment and lounge about, generally ignoring his work till absolutely necessary. His former guardian huffed, crossing his arms at being ignored. Canada smiled wryly from beside his North American brother, amused but slightly embarrassed.
Throughout the meeting, America attempted to be on his best behavior. When a scathing remark was directed his way, he either shrugged or completely ignored it. His fingers drummed against the tabletop, fulfilling his need for constant movement when not speaking. The finger tapping would have been enough to sate him if only his back didn't throb so persistently. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair from time to time, the adjustments coming more frequently as the pain grew. Every once in a while, his face would scrunch up in discomfort. Eventually, England could stand it no more.
The nation elbowed America, leaning over as Austria pointedly ignored them while he was speaking. Quietly, England hissed, "What are you doing, git? Sit still; you're acting like a four-year-old."
Peeved but showing no outwards signs of it, America leaned close and attempted to reign in his voice to a quieter level, "My back hurts. Leave me alone. I must've just slept wrong or something."
"That's your own fault! You're distracting me," England fired back.
A particularly painful wave sped up America's spine and he lurched in his seat, crossing his legs and twisting towards England in an attempt to lessen the pain. Whatever he had done, America was surely getting the impression he had screwed up his back pretty good. Never again would he sleep so much in one go.
"I can't help it," America whined, jolting when another wave of pain erupted.
A look of mild concern came upon England's features as he took in America's appearance. It was obvious the nation had rushed this morning. His mismatched attire was proof enough, as was the half eaten muffin that had been completely devoured hours ago. He hadn't seen America at dinner, figuring the poor lad had still been sick. Surely, if America were ill, he would have been informed by the nation. At least, someone would have been informed.
Canada leaned over from his spot beside America, whispering, "Hey, are you alright, Ameri-"
The addressed nation yelped, face blanching as he quickly glanced to his side. Upon seeing Canada, his heartbeat slowed. He had forgotten the man was even there. Relieved, he was about to tell Canada he was fine when another shot of pain cascaded across his nerves, making him cry out, "Ow!"
Again, all attention came to him as the room quieted momentarily and the others stared. Those who had continued conversing quickly recognized the sudden quiet and silenced themselves. While America's heart as slowed, his face was still pale. A thin sheen of sweat slowly began to gather across his flesh. The nation bit his lip, keeping himself from another embarrassing shout when more agony sprouted in his back.
"Are you alright, lad?" England questioned, entirely sincere.
America flashed him an irritated grin, "Yea, I'm fine. Just musta hurt my back while I was sleeping or something."
He would have gone on to assure the others that he was perfectly hunky dory when his back persistently shot wave after wave of mind shattering pain up his spine. Maybe hurt had been a mild way of putting it. Whatever he had done, it must have been serious because America could hardly think straight anymore. The sudden, and currently unwanted, attention became even more bothersome when a wetness came forth from between his crossed legs. Horrified at having just wet himself, America sank down in his seat. That moment, he wanted to shrink away. This Thursday was quickly becoming mortifying.
"May we continue, America?" Germany questioned tensely, standing once more.
America worried his lower lip, nodding and hiding the pained look threatening to cross his features. The pain was honestly driving away all thought as he coiled in on himself, head near his lap. The liquid soaking his dress pants was not urine, of that he was sure. There was a distinct lack of ammonia in the scent. Rather, there was a twinge of copper. Springing back up, he locked eyes with Germany. Something was going on and he had a pretty good idea what it was.
Germany stared back impassively, waiting for America to say what the man obviously wanted to. Instead, for a few moments, America's mouth opened and closed, face pale. He shook slightly, drawing worried glances from those in the room. The gears inside America's head were clearly spinning, the confusion and realization dawning in the nation's clouded blue gaze. At last, America finally spoke. The room was deathly quiet, all hearing his words clearly.
"I think I'm having a baby."
The room went into chaos once more.
"What the-! There's no way, America! Don't be daft," England chided, clearly disbelieving as he balked. He found the game America was playing ridiculous and uncalled for. The man had obviously worried some in the room, including himself. "Idiot."
America eyes flashed towards England, expression clearly stating this was no joke or prank. There was an uncharacteristic dark look, angry and brooding, "I'm not fucking joking."
He could say no more. In his attempts to stifle any noise, America bit through his lip and was forced to yelp once more when the pain over took him. He doubled over only to be lowered from his chair to the floor. Glancing over, he found Canada looking near frantic as the man urged America to lay back. The nation could do nothing but comply as he mewled.
Yes, he was definitely in labor. After popping out fifty little ones, he could draw no other conclusions. The pains were now easily recognizable. They became familiar as he lost himself in a haze. Faintly, America couldn't help but snicker at the irony. Sure, he could take a bullet, no problem. He had been beaten, brutalized, and gone through a fair number of nasty illnesses, but childbirth always took number one in the pain category. Then he simultaneously cursed nations' odd ability to produce offspring and praised women for doing the dirty, baby birthing work.
How in the hell was he having a fifty-first child though? There was a distinct lack of land to make way for another state. Unless he had completely ignored his paperwork and Congress had admitted another state, there was no way this could be happening.
"Shit, fifty-first state," America groaned, fighting the urge to curl inside himself as the pain began to spiral away from his back and engulf his entire pelvic area.
"Oh god, lad, how?" England cried from his side.
The man was pulling his suit jacket off, balling it as he stuffed it under America's head in an attempt to make him more comfortable. America would have teased him any other time for showing such care and balked at being helped, but, right then, he couldn't find it within himself. Moaning softly, America pulled his legs up and parted them, knowing the procedure all too well. As Canada reached to pull his pants off, France knelt between America legs and pulled the garment off.
"Cheri, you are such a minx!" France crowed jovially, tossing America pants to the side. "Why did you not tell any of us? Oh, would anyone care to hand me their coat? A large one, please."
Russia stepped forward, familiar coat already in his arms as he handed it over to France. There was a mixture of mild concern and mirth held in Russia's violet gaze. The slight curl of his lips spoke of giddiness rather than the usual foreboding. When America looked, the look still made his skin crawl. He supposed, with more time, that impulse would fade.
The coat was draped across America's bent legs, covering his lower regions from the many pairs of prying eyes. Another groan escaped America's lips as his head pressed against the make shift pillow, "Fuck, fuck, I didn't even know."
"How do you not know, mate?" Australia questioned lightly, grinning as he sat atop the table.
Beside him sat New Zealand, looking fascinated. On his other side, both North Korea and Hong Kong looked on, Thailand hanging just over their shoulder to get a view. China and Japan stood not too far enough, attempting to keep the crowd of nations back along with Switzerland and Netherlands. Germany was not present in the mob control squad, too busy keeping Prussia out of the room. Apparently, the ex-nation thought something entirely enthralling was taking place without his awesome self.
Hungary looked about ready to burst as he leaned over Switzerland's arm, trying to get a glimpse of a male nation giving birth. There was a glint of devilish satisfaction in her eyes. Ukraine was wringing her hands behind Russia. His younger sister, Belarus, looked absolutely furious as Russia knelt closer to America and grasped the nation's hand. There were outraged cries from her, only silenced by Sweden as the towering nation stood over her, pointedly glaring with an arm flung around Finland. The smaller man was squirming, attempting to escape the embrace and get a better view.
There were others gathered, each trying to get a peek at the happenings towards the front of the room. A secure line had been drawn though. It prevented the others from coming too near, allowing only Canada, England, Russia, and France near.
"I didn't know," America moaned, closing his eyes and attempting to will away the situation. No such luck. He would have given anything for an epidural or pain medication of any sort. "I didn't get a belly like all the others time or morning sickness or anything."
"Shhh, hush, America," France soothed, placing a finger over England's lips just as the man was about to question further. Bringing his hands back and ignoring the deadly glare being shot his way, France ducked beneath the cover of the coat. He popped back up quickly, slapping his hands and looking pleased. "It's time to push, dear Amérique."
The term of endearment was lost on America as he lifted his head and glared coldly at France. He, in fact, did not want to push. Knowing he had no choice, America let his head drop back as France ducked beneath the coat once more. Both England and Canada knew what to do, having been with America enough times during his other states' births. Each grabbed one leg and pulled it back against America's chest, stretching the slightly inflexible limbs.
"Push!" France called, sounding far too excited for America's taste.
He obliged though, just wanting to get it over with. Curling into himself and face contorting, America squeezed Russia's hand viciously and pushed. Faintly, he could hear Canada quietly informing Russia he may want to pull his hand free before America completely obliterated the bones on accident. The utterance of kolkolkol soon followed after, Russia apparently not liking being told to, inadvertently, go away. America hardly paid attention to the going-ons around him. His whole body slackened for a moment, then constricted once more when France yelled for another push.
Centuries passed in which America pushed, a bit rusty in the whole baby birthing department after decades of apparent infertility. Really, with all the world's land pretty much claimed, America had thought himself completely incapable of ever having another state. Obviously, he was wrong and, for that, America hated the world. Really, a badass hero like himself shouldn't ever have to be put into such vulnerable positions.
"One more time, Amérique," France cooed.
America did as told, giving one final, mighty push. The pressure that had been mounting in his lower regions evaporated as he heard and felt the all too familiar, and slightly sickening, sounds of a baby coming forth. France popped back out, rubbing at the new born's nose and mouth in an attempt to clear its airways. There was quiet from the baby as France began to rub at its chest.
Letting his head flop back, America silently prayed for the new born to be alright. Sure, in the olden days, prenatal care and all that hadn't really existed. Nations still gave suffered from stillbirths, miscarriages, and infant deaths though. America himself had gone through that far too many times, namely, the most painful of all the losses, Kansas. A mantra of 'be okay, be okay, be okay' filled his mind.
A soft cry sounded through the loud din of the room. Shrill cries, almost bleating like noises, soaked through the overly joyous and anxious atmosphere. The baby was alright and crying. It made America smile softly, weary and worn out. He didn't bother watching as France severed the umbilical cord.
France handed the child over to Australia, telling him to grab another coat or call for some towels to be delivered quickly so the baby could be wrapped up, cleaned, and warmed. The Aussie took off his own suit jacket, casually shrugging it off his shoulders, and wrapped it about the baby. He used the hem of his dress shirt to wipe the child's face before handing it over to New Zealand to hold.
"Good on you, mate," Australia cheered, warmth radiating off him. Let no one ever accuse him of not liking children; it would be the farthest thing from the truth. "Who's the father?"
France smacked the nation's leg, bending down under the coat once more. From below, he sing songed, "Amérique cannot speak now. One last thing to do."
America groaned tiredly but complied as France instructed him on what to do. Soon, the whole very messy busy was over with. His entire lower half ached dully, speaking of the act he had just preformed on the meeting room floor. The crowd around them shifted their attention from America to the new born. They fought tooth and nail to get a look-see while New Zealand clutched the child gently, keeping it from prying eyes and grabbing hands.
The French man came forth once more, hands bloodied. There was a catlike grin upon his features as he sat back on his hunches and inquired, "Now, who is the father?" The room quieted so they could hear the answer.
Perhaps it was England's upbringing or the many repressive religious groups floating about his history, but America went red in the fact. Let no one accuse him of being shy about sex, but he would be lying if he said he enjoyed discussing in front of others. Acting and speaking were two different things in America's mind. He tilted his head back and away from the intense stares of the others.
"I don't know," America allowed, sheepish.
"How can you not know?" New Zealand questioned, rocking the new born. "It's easy. Whoever you banged last is probably the father."
America's face reddened further. There was a collective sigh from the rather quiet crowd and a chorus of "It's me" rang out. Were there a hole, America would have crawled into it. New Zealand stared at him then to Australia who had been in the America's Baby's Daddy International Chorus.
England fumed, "What the hell! I'm clearly the father! America would never have relations with you all!"
There was a dark laugh from beside England. Russia was smiling far too sweetly at the Brit, rubbing his aching hand absently, "Oh, but England, I am the father, da? America and I had celebrated our renewed friendship."
"Aye! It's me, clearly! Look at the babe's face," Australia put in, pointing at the new born. "'sides, America and me like to hook up every now and again. Hell if I can remember the last time, but it wasn't that far off."
More protests came. Canada attempted to say he was, considering he and his brother had reaffirmed their shared border many times. From beside America, England was firing off questions towards the American, trying to affirm that he was the father. After all, they had a special relationship, right? France shrugged, wiping his hands on his pants and casually remarking he could be the father as well. South Italy looked livid as Spain professed he might be as well. As if on cue, and fighting to get through the door, Prussia declared it could be his awesome baby too. Somewhere, the back of the crowd, Turkey and Denmark had attempted to assert their place as more could-be-the-father candidates.
America was beat red, allowing the others to argument amongst themselves until, surprisingly in sync, all the could-be-the-father candidates all questioned America, "How many people have you slept with?"
Sitting up on slightly shaking arms, America attempted to will away the wildfire taking over his face. Head ducked and a shy smile on his lips, he gave his best shot at a shrug and weak laugh, "Well, you know. When you're feeling down. . . It's kinda a, uh, pick me up?"
France laughed, "Amérique, you truly are a minx! I knew I had some influence on you."
England didn't seem quite so amused. The Brit launched himself on France, aiming toe strangle the man with vicious cries of "You corrupted him!" The usual noise and chaos of their world meetings soon took over. Every argued and chatted amongst themselves, heedless to Germany's calls for order. Though America still couldn't bring himself to look up and meeting the obviously judging eyes of the others, he did accept his new baby when New Zealand handed the child over.
The once embarrassed grin gracing his lips melted in a smaller, softer smile. While he still ached and figured, if he tried to stand, he would fall back down, America couldn't help but be pleased with himself. The baby quickly recognized, it was being held by it's parent as its eyes hesitantly opened, blinking against the harsh light as it cried out and shifted. America chuckled, ignoring all the others as he addressed his child.
"Hey there, girl. Welcome to the world. It's kinda noisy, huh?"
The baby gurgled, silencing its cries as it reached out a wavering hand and grasped America's pinkie. A soft, lilac gaze locked with clear, sky blue. They stared at one another and America knew who the father was and, boy, wouldn't the daddy just be giddy as all get out when America finally told him. For the time being, America was satisfied with everyone ignoring him and his child. The big news would come later but for now, America didn't want the moment to end. So, he hated having babies, but holding them and knowing they're yours was an entirely different story.
A/N: THERE IS A REASON FOR THIS. MY MOTHER MADE THE TV SO IT WOULD ONLY PLAY I DIDN'T KNOW I WAS PREGNANT. It's all I had to watch for three days straight. Hence, this idea was born. A friend helped me come up with the meeting room part and it was beta'd by a friend (who is not a native English speaker either, so excuse lingering mistakes). I was lol'ing so much while writing this, though I doubt anyone else will. Welcome to my odd sense of humor. Anyway, this is just a one-shot. Definitely not going to become a series unless I like. . . decide to do a chapter with each nation getting their baby on. Yes? No? Stop warping science so men can have babies? Oh yea, I have an addiction to whore!America; sue me. Read, review.