A/N: Hello again! I'm sorry about the wait, but this chapter just wouldn't go how I wanted it to and I'm still not overly sure of it, but hey! Anywho, italics are Scotland's thoughts.
"You wanted to see me," a broad shouldered man with wild fiery hair and piercing green eyes sauntered through the doors of a drab looking politician's office. "You'd better not be wasting my time again."
"I'd appreciate you not taking that sort of tone with me Scotland," Mrs. Dourton a stick-like, crow faced woman drawled from behind her desk, dark beady eyes boring into the redheaded nation in the doorway. This was the woman Her Royal Majesty had appointed to keeping an eye on her Nations – this arrangement was going quite well too; there was only on problem:
The British Isles couldn't stand this woman and this woman couldn't stand them either.
"And I'd appreciate your resignation," the Scotsman quipped back, lighting a cigarette purely to irritate the woman before him. "Either you tell me why I'm here or I'm going home."
"Your brother," she used the word contemptuously – she resented the way nations made family bonds with one another, seeing them as abominations, not people. "England, Britain or whatever you want to call him, should've been home earlier this morning, but he hasn't checked in with Her Majesty or me; where is he?"
"How the hell should I know you daft broad," he growled, flicking ash on her pale blue carpet, earning him a frosty glare from Mrs. Dourton. "Do I look like his fucking keeper?" – Her eye twitched in irritation, causing the Celtic nation to smirk with satisfaction – "You're supposed to be intelligent, why didn't you just try calling him; you didn't need to drag me down to your shitty little office."
"Do you honestly think I haven't tried that already," she sighed in expiration as she rubbed her temples. "You all refused to give me your personal numbers, so how could I possibly contact him anywhere but his office or home?"
"You can't," the redhead's smirk widened to reveal his sharp, cat-like teeth; his acid green eyes alight with mischief. "I just like watching you squirm."
"Are you going to co-operate, or am I going to have to call security again," she shrilled. This was such a regular occurrence with Scotland and Ireland that a team of elite body guards had been hired solely with keeping the pair of them in check.
"Call them if you like," Scotland laughed, enjoying every second of discomfort he was causing this woman. "They won't be an issue."
A steely glint passed through the woman's eyes as she flicked a switch on her desk phone; moments later, four hulking men in black suits charged into the room, pouncing straight for the nation.
"Eejit," the Scot heckled as he sidestepped the first goon, tripping him up as he passed. A sadistic laugh escaped his lips as the husky brute face planted into the desk. "You're going to have to try harder than that!"
"Don't just stand there," Mrs. Dourton shrieked, standing from her chair to try and seem more imposing. "Grab him, throw him out, and teach him his place!"
The burly suits lunged once more; one aiming for his back whilst the other tried for his knees. Scotland jumped, bringing his foot up to meet his rear assailant's jaw and receiving a sound crack for his efforts. The man who aimed at his knees landed on the carpet. The Scotsman brought himself down onto the man's back. The final man grabbed the Scotsman from behind, trapping his arms to his sides. Scotland's mouth quirked into a devilish grin before he brought his head back as hard as he could, making contact with the guard's nose. The man dropped, both hands cradling his now bleeding nose.
"So," Scotland jumped onto Mrs. Dourton's desk, crouching down to look her in the eye where she stood; a cocky smirk covered his face. "What did you want to ask me?"
"Could you call England and see where he is for me," she said dryly, refusing to be intimidated in her own office. Scotland raised one fiery eyebrow expectantly. "Fine… please?"
"Alright," the Scotsman smiled, taking his phone out of his pocket.
"Really," the woman wore a dumbfounded expression. "You mean it was as simple as asking nicely?"
"Not at all," he smirked down at her. "I just want to see the look on your face when you thought you'd won."
"Oh, you brute," she hissed, pitch rising again as it always did when she got annoyed. "Honestly, what would your mother think of you boy; if she saw you acting like this!"
"Don't you say a fucking word about our mother," he grabbed the front of her blouse, pulling her forwards until their noses were touching, grinding his words out through clenched teeth. "You have no idea what she went through for us, so don't you dare utter a word against her name. You hear me?" Mrs. Dourton could only stare at him in shock as his poisonous green eyes tunneled to the core of her resolve. She numbly nodded her head and he released her, letting her fall back into her chair.
"Now shut it," he growled, standing up and getting off of her desk. "I'm going to call Arthur." Coming to the conclusion that she wouldn't be a problem, Scotland whipped open his phone, hitting his speed dial.
"Iain, now isn't a good time, could you call me back," No pleasantries today then; Iain thought to himself. Arthur sounded stressed and tired. "Hush poppet, I'm still here, don't worry." Or calm and soothing; too bad either way!
"No, I will not call you back," Iain growled back at him, still wound up from his confrontation with Dourton. "Where the hell are you, your plane landed two hours ago and you weren't on it."
"I got sidetracked by something more important," Arthur yelled back. He's fine, Iain thought to himself, allowing a small smile to grace his lips. "Oh shit. Shush, it's alright, you're both okay, nothing's going to hurt you."
"Who're you with," now his curiosity was going wild: was that sobbing he could hear? "What happened, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Thought so, but I still have to check; doesn't tell me who's crying through the phone though. "I'm with the twins; they've both gone through hell today. I know I should've come home already, but I'm sorry, I can't leave them like this." Twins… no, he couldn't mean…
"Paddy and Molls," Iain couldn't stop the names from escaping his lips, but why would Arthur go to Ireland? He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye, catching Mrs. Dourton trying to grab her desk phone and call more security guards whilst the nation was distracted. He pinned her with an icy stare, stopping the woman dead in her tracks as she gave an odd cry, somewhere between a sob and a protest.
"No, no," the blonde assured him quickly. "To the best of my knowledge, Ireland and Northern Ireland are both fine. I'm with America and Canada."
"I understand Artie," So that's who must be crying on the other end and why he didn't get in his plane this morning. Iain thought to himself as he realized Arthur wouldn't be able to handle both of the North American Nations on his own – not when they were both at the stage of tears. "Where are you?"
"Matthew's home," Arthur sighed. "I'm not sure when I'll be able to come home yet."
"No," Iain muttered distractedly as he caught the sour elderly woman once again trying to summon her bodyguards. "It's fine. Stay where you are, I'm coming to join you."
With that, he hung up, turning his full attention back to the silver-haired woman sneaking towards the phone on her desk again.
"Hey Margret," he bellowed, his voice easily filling the room – years on the highlands, shouting war cries. "I'm leaving now." the mischievous glint came back to his poisonous eyes.
"You will be going nowhere just yet," she scowled, irritated by the redhead stood before her and the amount of confidence he held in his voice. "I still need to speak with you and I cannot afford to have two of Her Majesty's nations running wild!"
"You couldn't stop me if you tried," the nation became bathed in a soft emerald light, his body growing slowly more translucent. "Goodbye Margret, we all wait for the day you retire, Imionn!"
As the Celtic vanished, a new group of black clad muscle burst through the door, greeted by nothing more than the sound of fading laughter and the woman who called them staring in amazement at the air before her.
A/N: So, there you have it; one big Chapter about Scotland being awesome. I don't know why, but I felt like I needed to explain why Scotland was calling England - he's not the type to get panicky when his brothers are gone for a little longer than they said; hell, he spent a couple centuries fighting them to the death.
So, yeah. What did you think? Was it on par with the usual standard or was it a little confusing? It feels rushed to me...
Simply x x