Ohh my gosh, it's over! ;A;
The blaring of an alarm clock jolted Alfred out of his hamburger-dotted dream, the blonde man groaning as he sat up in his bed, streaks of golden sunlight striping across him on golden yellow beams that rivalled the vibrant colour of his hair. His hand blindly reached out for the alarm clock on the bedside table, slamming down his palm on the snooze button right on top of the display that blared out the time: 7:00AM. Bleary bright blue eyes opened slowly as he rubbed each of them in turn, his mouth opening wide as he yawned, before stretching wide, warming up his stiff muscles from the night before.
Smiling weakly, Alfred, clad only in Stars And Stripes boxers, sat up in bed. He slung his legs over the side, his feet landing in the warm woolly white carpet underneath his large king-sized canopy bed. He wiggled his toes in the warm fluffy softness as he groped at the bedside table for his glasses.
Slipping them on, he smiled as he looked around his bedroom—pristine and neat, thanks to the maids that came in here regularly to clean up.
A phone on his bedside table rang, and his hand shot out to press the speakerphone button.
"Good morning, Mr. America," a woman's voice spoke from the speaker as he stood up, walking over to the windows to pull aside the night curtains.
"G'dmorning to you too, Agent McTaggert," he smiled, grasping the heavy velvet of the dark blue curtains and pulling them aside, letting the sunshine flood into his room, filling it with golden light. Outside, he could see the garden, where Michelle was already jogging a few rounds. His smile widened, before he turned his head to look at the phone on his bedside table.
"Today, after breakfast, at 9, you'll be meeting with the CIA with the President," she reported, "And then later, you're to attend lunch with some of the WWF officials to talk about conservation of Yellowstone."
"What else's up?" he asked, walking around, looking for his iPhone. He found it on his study table, next to his laptop, where it had been charging the night before—that is, if him sleeping at 3AM after gaming for hours on end was still the night before. It wasn't finished charging, so he let it be.
"You'll be having dinner with the ambassador from Iraq, sir. Mr. Iraq will be there too, so please be on your best behaviour."
"Oh, you know me," Alfred chuckled. "I've got gold stars for behaviour."
"Exactly how many stars?" Alfred laughed, he had liked Agent McTaggert for her snarky disposition that appeared at times when Alfred decided to act like a little boy. It reminded him so much of Arthur when he drove the older country up the wall.
"Fifty golden ones, Agent McTaggert," Alfred snickered, "One for each of the states, baby."
"So you say, sir." The woman chuckled on the other side. "Please get ready for this morning's appointment. I'll be coming by to pick you up at 7:30 for breakfast. Oh, and don't forget Texas this time. You know what happened last time when that happened."
"Oh, God, no." Alfred shook his head, laughing. "See you later," he said, before hanging up. Barefoot, he padded into the bathroom, stifling a yawn as he stripped down and stepped into the shower.
"Agent Carter, the folders, if you please," Arthur spoke up, bringing up yet another cup of tea to his lips. It was his third one in this afternoon alone, and he really needed it, what with all the stress coming right at him in waves, and the Olympics just around the corner—the bloody torch was coming home in the next week, for the love of God—he needed to focus if he wanted to get this thing done with as best as he can.
Stress did a lot of things to him, really, and to let it all out, he would cry it out, now more so than usual, making it rain more than usual in several parts all over the United Kingdom. His brothers were chewing him out over it, but really, what was he to do in stressful situations like this?
"Mr. England," the brunette agent said, handing him a thick manila folder with several documents in it, and the blonde nation sighed.
"Alright, let's get through them, then." He said, opening the folder up and pulling out a monstrous pile of paper. He paled, and the woman with him chuckled, patting his shoulder slightly.
"Do your best, sir," she said, and he nodded.
"Right," Arthur chuckled, "Lie back and think of England, right."
Alfred stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist and another held up in his hair by his two hands. He rubbed his towel into his hair, drying it out, as he walked over to his iPhone, still charging.
Whistling absently, he unlocked the screen—0216 was his pass code, a tiny grin on his face as he remembered why, and the screen unlocked to the menu, the background of his phone a photo of Arthur's smiling face.
He jabbed at the phone application and called Arthur, putting him on speakerphone before walking to his cabinet to pick out a suit as the dial tone rang.
In this collision of worlds
Watch the new day dawn on a distant shore
Arthur jolted slightly when suddenly his phone rang, his hands letting go of the papers he was holding as his phone vibrated on top of his desk. Quickly, he reached out for it (pulling it close to him by the Stars and Stripes phone strap Alfred had tied to it) and answered the call, putting it on speakerphone without looking at the caller ID.
"Hello?" he asked, pushing his phone away slightly from him, the Union Jack silicone jacket of it rumpling slightly as it bunched up underneath the device.
"Hey, babe. Good morning."
A soft smile made its way to Arthur's face as a pink hue coloured his pale cheeks. Agent Carter saw her country's reaction, and smiling knowingly, she excused herself and went out of his office.
"Good afternoon, Alfred," he smiled, "What made you call so early today?"
He smiled. They both knew Alfred called every day, once in his morning, and once again just before Arthur went to bed.
"Oh, nothing. Just thought I'd love to hear your voice again."
Arthur's blush intensified. Alfred was always saying sweet things to him like that, but he could never, ever get tired of it. Every time Alfred would compliment him, or say something utterly cheesy at him, he would blush and get all flustered just like the first time Alfred had told him things like that.
Just like that time in the ruins of a Blitzed church. He, Alfred and a handful of men were hiding out under whatever they could, away from enemy sight after their air carrier was shot down into the graveyard right behind the church.
The two countries were bundled into the confessional by their concerned citizens—their children—before going off to hide themselves.
Cramped together in a tiny space, Arthur had found himself straddling Alfred's lap, arms wrapped loosely around Alfred's torso, their faces close to each others' as their bodies were pressed tightly together to accommodate each other in the small compartment spade.
The British country had spluttered out flustered apologies, his cheeks turning bright red, but Alfred had merely laughed, wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist and pulling him closer.
"Hey, babe, calm down," he had said, smiling slightly as an embarrassed blush spread across his face. "It's just me."
"Wh-wh-did you just call me babe?" Arthur asked, incredulous, his blush intensifying, and Alfred laughed quietly.
"Shh, you're going to call the Nazis here and we're screwed." He whispered. "Keep quiet."
"B-but, but," Arthur bit his lip, and Alfred chuckled.
"Wohin sind sie gegangen?" suddenly they heard a Nazi officer yell outside. The two nations stiffened up, alarmed. "Finden sie!"
"Shit," Alfred hissed, pulling Arthur closer to himself protectively, his hand snaking around the back of the smaller nation's neck, pulling him close to his neck, pressing himself fully against the smaller nation.
Arthur let out a small squeak of exasperated alarm, and outside they heard one soldier let out a sound of alarm.
"Ich glaube, ich hörte etwas!"
Arthur's eyes widened, and reflexively, he hugged Alfred close to himself, his fingers balling into tight fists in Alfred's uniform's back. Unbeknownst to him, the country's eyes widened and he looked down at Arthur, who was clinging onto him like he was a lifeline. A fond expression crossed his face and he hugged Arthur back.
Arthur lifted his head to stare at Alfred, thick eyebrow raised. He opened his mouth to speak, when Alfred shook his head wildly, before slamming their lips together in a kiss to shut him up.
Arthur's eyes widened and his grip tightened on Alfred's uniform, and before he knew it, he began to kiss him back, his eyes slipping closed as his fingers untangled themselves from the larger nation's back and buried themselves in Alfred's surprisingly soft hair, stroking golden blonde locks between his fingers gently, like he was petting a large dog.
Alfred smiled into the kiss, his hand snaking up to Arthur's nape and gently held him there, pulling his head closer, deepening the kiss.
Outside, their gaggle of RAF troops and American Air Force soldiers sprang out from their hiding places and ambushed the small Nazi squadron that had been dispatched to search for any survivors following their plane crash.
They pulled away from each other at the sound of gunshots, their eyes widening as their acute senses tied to their own flesh and blood—their men, their children, told them they were under fire.
Quickly they untangled themselves from each other and burst out of the confessional to help them out.
In the end there were no casualties, and they bundled themselves in the army truck the Nazis had brought with them with the intention to leave Occupied France to head for the English Channel.
Alfred was at the wheel, Arthur in the front passenger's seat as their men took up the space in the back. They came to a stop for a short break a few hundred miles away from their crash site, and that was when Arthur decided to talk.
"About that kiss, Alfred, I…" he stopped, blushing violently again, and the American laughed, before leaning in to kiss Arthur again. Their lips barely brushed against each other and Arthur quickly pulled away, eyes avoiding Alfred's as pointedly as he could.
"Well, you were just so cute I couldn't resist." He shrugged, and Arthur's blush intensified. "And that's how we shut people up in America." He winked, and Arthur buried his face in his hands in a vain attempt to hide his growing blush, the tips of his ears going red.
"… You bloody git," Arthur mumbled, and Alfred snickered.
"I love you too, babe."
That was the first time of many times Alfred had told Arthur how he had felt about him.
"Oh, hush, you," Arthur replied, turning the page over to continue reading the other side. He made a face—Beckham bringing the torch to the stadium, really?—and wrote in red his opinion on the matter: utter bollocks, I want to see David Tennant bringing the bloody fire to the cauldron.
"Why? Can't I say sweet stuff to my lovely Artie?" Alfred snickered on the other side, and Arthur shook his head, smiling fondly. "Bet you're blushing all cutesy and stuff, babe. I'd love to see that."
"W-well, frankly, you won't," Arthur replied, slightly flustered, "I'm right across the pond, I'm afraid."
Add a footballer with Beckham on the Jet Ski. Arthur wrote, his writing looping elegantly at the margin, stark red against the white of the paper.
"Fucking pond and its fucking big space," Alfred said, "Miss you so much."
"G-git, we talked last night." Arthur stuttered, his blush intensifying, "Wasn't that enough?"
"Never, babe." Alfred laughed. "Oh, shit!"
A loud thump was heard on the other side, and Arthur's smile fell, a worried look crossing his face.
"What's wrong, love?" Arthur asked, looking worriedly at his phone, frown crossing his face.
"I'm okay, I'm okay!" Alfred called, and the sound of thumping continued on the other side. The country's tone sounded like he was jumping up and down, and Arthur raised an eyebrow.
"Alfred, are you hopping on one leg, love?" he asked, and on the other side, he heard the country let out a squeak (that he was sure his lover would forever deny he made, "it was a freakin' gasp of alarm that's totally manly and shit, babe, totally not some girly as fuck squeak, swear!") in surpise.
"Holy shit, do you have an eye on me or something? Or your fairy friends stalking me?"
"Don't push it, git. I can hear your fat arse thudding up a storm all the way here." He scoffed, putting the paper away on the pile of finished documents and picked up another one, reading it through.
"I am totally not fat! I have manly muscles and shit, and everything—fuck!" Arthur rolled his eyes. He really needed to have a word with his former colony regarding his language (although, he should really speak for himself, he thought bitterly, thinking back at his days as a delinquent). "Why are designer pants so fucking hard to get into?"
"Because you're a fatty, love," McAvoy is fine as a torchbearer in Glasgow. I don't see why not celebrities shouldn't be included. He wrote, smiling to himself.
"Am not a fatty!"
"You're my fatty." Arthur chuckled, "Now go and… oh, I don't know, fix some mess you've probably made. Be good if you're going to meet anyone."
"Yes, dear," Alfred laughed. "I love you."
"I love you too." Arthur smiled, and Alfred hung up. He ended the call on his phone as well, before turning his attention fully back to his work.
A few weeks later, Agent McTaggert found herself standing next to Alfred inside Tiffany's, awkwardly keeping at his side as she felt the judging stares of the jewellers pointed at her.
"Mr. America, what exactly are we doing here?" she asked, peering at her country oddly as the blonde man walked along the glass cases displaying beautiful jewellery that she perfectly knew was way beyond what her salary could pay for.
"I'm planning something, see," Alfred winked at her, gesturing her over. She walked up to him. "What do you think about those?"
He was pointing at a pair of rings—they were gold, and dappled with large emeralds, and her eyes widened, almost boggling out of her head.
"M-Mr. America, what the heck…?"
Alfred leaned closer to her, cupping his hand over the side of his mouth to whisper conspiratorially into her ear.
"You see, I'm going to ask England to marry me," he whispered, and her eyes widened.
"Mr. America…" a smile slowly crossed her face, and Alfred grinned at her. "… But, aren't you two married already? Uh, I mean, the Special Relationship?"
"Ah, that's the thing," Alfred chuckled, "I want to marry him as a human, as Alfred F. Jones, to have and to hold till death do us part," he sighed, looking down at the rings. "I'm going to ask him during the opening ceremony of the Olympics this Friday."
"Oh, Mr. America," McTaggert sighed, "That's… that's so sweet."
Alfred blushed, grinning sheepishly. "You gotta help me, though. I'm absolute shit at this kind of stuff, so, yeah…" he ran his hand over the surface of the glass casing. "What do you think? You know, about the rings."
"Well, Mr. Britain's already had his fair share of wealth; I think it's pretty good to go simple." She said. Alfred looked at her, eyebrow raised. "You know, just a simple gold band for the wedding. Why not, right?" she smiled, and Alfred chuckled.
"Girl, I don't even know if he's going to say yes."
"Oh, of course he's going to say yes," McTaggert giggled, before pulling Alfred to a case that she had stood next to earlier. "See that ring over there?" she pointed down at a singular ring displayed by itself, placed apart from the others. It was a simple silver band that looped like a sideward-eight all around, in the middle of it a small diamond placed at a link.
"… Whoa." Alfred blinked at it. "It looks like the… infinity sign."
"Forever." McTaggert nodded. "Until death do you two part, right?"
Alfred looked at her, and slowly a smile spread across his face.
"You are the best PA-bodyguard ever," he chuckled, before pulling her into a hug.
Arthur was going crazy.
Weeks and weeks of tumultuous planning were coming down to this, this singular event happening at 9 o'clock sharp, with the whole world watching, listening, and judging.
Breathing quickly, he paced and paced around his office in the Buckingham palace, worrying about everything as he held two phones in each of his hands—one was a BlackBerry, his local relations work-phone, and the other was an iPhone, his international relations work-phone. His personal phone lay by itself quietly on the desk in front of him, as the other two (pressed against both his ears each) were buzzing with life as he was getting bombarded with alerts, reports of oh my god what do you mean the boat won't start and updates of every single little thing that was going on that day.
The pressure was heavy, so very heavy, and Arthur felt angry tears threatening to fall from his face. He hung up both of his phones and he came to a stop at the window, pressing his forehead against it, breathing shakily.
No, he told himself, he would not cry, he would not cry, not ruin the happiness that had been buzzing around his children, no, no, no—
A teardrop slid down his face, and suddenly someone burst into his room.
Arthur turned around, his eyes wide, to see Alfred walking into the room, worry etched onto his face.
"I heard that the clouds were getting pretty dim around London. Are you okay?" he asked, quickly striding across the room and grabbing Arthur's shoulders, turning the country to face him. His eyes widened upon seeing the tear track that ran down Arthur's cheek. "Shit. Here, it's okay," he softly said, pulling the blonde nation into a hug. "It's going to be okay."
"A-Alfred," Arthur choked, "I'm so nervous, so, so, nervous, I can't do this—I can't," he whined, pulling the taller nation into a hug. "I can't be strong enough to push through, this is just so difficult—"
"Ah, shit." Alfred suddenly said, and Arthur halted, his eyes welling up with tears.
"Looks like I'm going to have to break it to you early," he grinned sheepishly at Arthur, who blinked at him owlishly. "You want backup? I can give it to you, all you have to do is say the right answer."
"… Wh-what are you talking about—oh my God."
Alfred knelt down in front of Arthur, taking out a box from his coat's jacket. He opened it, revealing to Arthur the infinity ring he bought from Tiffany's.
"Arthur Kirkland, will you marry me?"
"O-oh, I," Arthur began to stutter, his cheeks flaring red.
"Not as a country, babe," Alfred chuckled, "I want to marry you as a human. You know, 'til death do us part?"
"Oh, Alfred, yes!" Arthur cried, launching himself into Alfred's arms, laughing happily, throwing his arms around Alfred's neck, pulling him into a tight hug. "Yes, yes, yes!"
Alfred laughed, pulling away to slip the ring onto Arthur's finger, smiling warmly at him as tears threatened to spill from Arthur's eyes.
"H-hey, don't go cryin' on me, babe," Alfred chuckled, wiping them away before they fell. "Wouldn't want to ruin the Olympics, yeah?"
"You shouldn't have asked me such a silly question, then," Arthur replied, but there was no venom in his words, only fondness, happiness, and love.
Alfred laughed. "That's how we do it in America, babe."
"I love you too, git." Arthur smiled, before pulling Alfred into a kiss.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we hope you enjoyed the 2012 London Olympic games."
All the countries ran up to Arthur, laughing brightly, but Alfred got to him first before anyone else did, lifting him high up onto his shoulders, earning him bright peals of laughter from the small island nation.
"That was amazing, England!" he heard the countries call out to him, and a wide smile spread across his face, giving him a much more youthful look.
"That's how we do it in England, babe!" Alfred laughed out loud, jumping up and down, bouncing Arthur on his shoulders, making him giggle brightly.
"In England and America, love," Arthur smiled down at Alfred, holding his fiancée's head in his hands and leaning down to plant a kiss on his head. "Just like a collision of worlds."
"Collision of worlds," Alfred repeated, like he was tasting the words. "I kinda like that."
"Indeed." Arthur nodded. "Now, go take me to Her Majesty, I want to show her I've got you under me again after all these years."
"Hey!" Alfred yelled at him, but Arthur only laughed, happier than he had ever been.
Aww, it's over! Wait for me for the 2012 USUK Summer Olympics! (HAHAHA WHY DO I KEEP DOING THIS TO MYSELF)