Stranded [England] [Complete]

[England]

England shook his head at America's refreshing innocence, and could not help but think that he was so cute, even after all this time. At least he seemed to be returning to the usual. England was glad that they had this talk, even if it ended up with America in tears. All the better for a while, but now, it was time to get up and keep going. Even the receding rain seemed to think so.

"I wouldn't have divulged a thing, even if you'd neglected to instruct me of such beforehand," he chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead and letting it linger a second longer before pulling back and slicking his wet hair back. To his surprise, and slight horror, the obnoxious cowlick on top of his head still stood upright, strong and unwavering against whatever had been thrown at it. "Now toughen up a little. It won't do to keep feeling so downtrodden."

He then sighed and laid back against the short wall on the edge of the roof, closing his eyes and letting the rain patter comfortably on his eyelids, soothing the tired eyes underneath. Oh, how glad he was to have America around. Not only because he loved him, but because he needed the ray of hope, and endless charisma, and the powerful nation by his side in order to feel comfortable. No, a world without America was definitely inconceivable.

"The day we lose you to some other country is the day that the Earth would explode. It just won't happen. Besides, the most immediate countries across the Atlantic are way too tight on their budget as they are, so there is no way that governments would even consider sparing capital and labour to go conquer your or Canada's land. The only potential threat would be the Asian countries across the Pacific, but even them would not want -no offense- a country that is broken, dangerous, and not exploitable anymore. If anything, governments would try something after you've cleaned up and have begun settling back in. And by that time, you will fully be able to count on my, and on other Europeans' contributions to the protection of your land," England explained, patting his shoulder encouragingly.

"That being said, let me insist that the country is broken, but the nation is not. Your people, your spirit, your culture and your values... They are all going to survive through whatever happens. Haven't they proven that already?" he nudged behind his shoulder at all the broken homes and stolen lives, but reminded him of how many more still survived and waited for the day where they would return home and carry on like nothing had tried to decimate their bodies and spirits in the first place.

[America]

"I'm toughening up, I'm toughening up," America assured, letting the rain continue to wash his sorrows away. Apparently, though, there weren't many sorrows left, for the rain appeared to finally be dying out. America didn't know if he would be happy about that or upset. His clothes were sopping wet, and he fared no better. Still, he supposed it would do the both of them some good to get a considerable amount of rest. He felt exhausted, and wanted to do nothing more than shut his eyes and fall asleep.

Still, he listened to England talk, his eyes becoming far brighter, far more hopeful, far happier the more he took in of England's words. He found himself nodding in agreement, even smiling in agreement, and the smile soon turned into a grin. He felt better by grinning. He wanted to just laugh and kiss England all over, because England desperately needed to be kissed at that moment. America felt such flood of affection running through his body as he leaned up against the island nation. England had always been there to comfort him. He was the only person America would ever want such comfort from. No one could make him feel as special and perfect as England could, and America was determined to show him just how much it all meant, because it really meant the absolute world.

"They always prove it," he responded, glancing back at the buildings and imagining the day when he could look at them and see life once more. "They're difficult people to break. And they band together whenever disaster strikes." He sighed, face proud, and looked towards England once more. "Every time something bad happens, I start getting down about it. I start thinking that it might not be worth it. But my people only allow me to think that way for, like, half a second, and then they're roaring and ready to go face whatever came our way. I think this is the same. We'll finish our job here, and once I get set with the whole rebuilding thing..." He snorted. "Looks impossible, doesn't it?"

He knew, though, it wouldn't be impossible. "And then they'll come together and help everything become normal once more." He laughed shakily, still trying to throw off the hiccups and wipe his cheeks free of the streaks of tears.

"England, thank you so much," he whispered, placing a peck on England's lips. "For helping me cry, for letting me cry, and for cheering me up again. You're, like, a cheering charm for me, I think." He knew everything England said was true, and he knew it had always been true, but he just needed someone close to him to re-apply that information and make it stick. England was the perfect candidate. England was the only candidate.

"When we get back to the warehouse, can we just spend a day in our beds, being all nice and cozy? Can we just spend the day kissing each other and arguing about whose movies and books are better? I'd like that, I really would."

[England]

"Yes, well, if we're stuck here as much as I estimate we will be, I'll have plenty of things to catch up on once we get back." The unanswered question of If hung in the air. "We will have to write a report about our situation as well, as protocol calls for. We'll be busy when we get back."

No, he reminded himself all of a sudden. Looking into America's eyes reminded him of a promise he'd made to himself and to America; that he'd be a much better lover, what America deserved. He hadn't even begun working on that promise yet, though he sorely wished to see it come true. He could not let his mind be a barrier anymore.

"But..." he caught himself before America could, most probably object. "It... It can all wait, I suppose," he scratched his cheek, unsure. "I... I bet that the others will force us to take some time off to recover, so we can always... do all that stuff during that time," he coughed, embarrassed. "That being said, of course I would accept the time off in order to quell their worries. It's not like I'm pleased to leave my work behind or anything like that."

It was embarassing to admit that he was looking forward to slacking off, so he just hoped that America looked past the apathy and saw how excited he really was at the prospect of having a day just to himself and to the love of his life. A sudden wave of affection overran his senses, and before he knew it, he was drawing America close and kissing him deeply, hoping somehow to convey his adoration he felt.

"I'm so proud of you," he sighed between kisses. "Your continuous efforts will pay off, I swear to you. And I... I will keep you safe until they do."

[America]

Giving a hum of approval when he felt England's lips on his own, America gladly kissed back, smiling at the words. England always had a way with words. He might not say what he wanted to say all the time, but when he did, he never failed to make America feel so incredibly happy. "Mm, and vice versa," he murmured, wrapping his arms around England's smaller body. "I'm gonna keep you safe and make sure all the sacrifices you've made don't ever go to waste."

Because he loved England more than anything, and he would put his own life in danger to save him. It had gone past the heroism of the situation. It was now to the point where he had to save England, because he was so connected to his lover that the thought of letting England fall and doing nothing to save him was too much to bear.

"I really can't wait to get back now." He drew away from the kiss, resting his wet forehead against England's. "I know we got work to do, but I just want one day where we can relax. We'll take a warm shower, then curl up on your bed. I wanna hold hands, too. I mean, we can do that now, of course-" and he took England's hand to prove his point, grinning all the while. "-but I wanna hold your hand underneath the covers and just be all giggly and shit, like high school kids."

That was becoming more and more desirable. Of course, everything was desirable at the moment. Sure, the rain was receding, but America was getting colder by the second. His arms had visible goosebumps, and he could only move his toes around to keep them from freezing. No warmth anywhere, save for the fluttering of heat in his heart, just from looking into England's eyes and just from feeling his skin.

[England]

"Oh, and here I was, telling myself that you'd become so mature." England rolled his eyes, smirking challengingly. "Guess I was wrong. Then again, I don't know if seeing you so serious all the time would do me too much good." To back up his point, he lifted their joint hands up and kissed the back of America's palm tenderly. "I like you just the way you are, and I wouldn't change you for the world."

He kissed America again and drew back, taking his other hand and entwining their fingers lovingly.

"Compared to yours, my sacrifices are hardly worth being considered. You've given up so much and hoping for so much in return, whilst I am not giving up so much and hoping for the same. Not just that, but you are being incredibly sweet, and your positive attitude at all times needs to be commended somehow. I often feel guilty that I cannot match your enthusiasm," he admitted, blushing slightly. "I cannot show you how much I love you as effectively as you proclaim your love, because I'm not sure how to love you, and oftentimes that becomes a problem. I really do want to keep you by my side and kiss you whenever I want, but I'm not too sure how to go around to doing that."

Sex was his forte, and he did know plenty about it. Sex was just physical. All he had to do was procure pleasure and get some in return, and that was all there was to it. But then came love, waltzing around the corner and into England's life as suddenly as possible, and throwing him into a constant state of confusion and worry. He didn't know how to please America. He didn't know how to return his advances. His flirting was awkward, at best. And he literally had no idea how to return America's affection with as much energy and enthusiasm and passion as he had.

He wanted to show America that he loved and cherished him just as much. He just did not know how to love him right.

"You need to tell me what to do," England whispered, turning his eyes away, ashamed. "I don't know what I would do, otherwise."

[America]

"I don't hafta tell you anything," America assured, peppering kisses along England's cheek. "I like you just the way you are right now. I just wanna spend time with you, is all, and you give me that. I wanna be able to hold you all I want, kiss you all I want, talk to you all I want. And, c'mon, we're doing that now, aren't we?" He smirked, shrugging his shoulder. "I mean, minus the rain and all. And zombies. And being stranded and hungry and cold." America glanced around and raised his eyebrows. "So, basically this, 'cept in the warehouse or something. Somewhere warm."

Of course, he did understand their duties. He wasn't blind to the fact that they both had their own responsibilities to their own countries to attend to, and, therefore, couldn't afford to spend every waking moment with each other. He knew there would be days when they weren't able to push things aside and show the sort of intimacy that America longed for them to always show. It irritated him sometimes, but he was no idiot; he knew the reasons, and he respected those reasons.

Still, he longed to prove to England that just the simple things had pleased him. "Today is kinda an example of, you know, just how great of a boyfriend you are. Minus the zombie thing, you've been, just, perfect." He grinned brightly. "You took the time to discuss my, um, lack of sexual experience with me. You helped me set limits, you gave me instructions on how to do certain things, and you held my hand and walked me through everything, even though I was real embarrassed and awkward about it." Embarrassed and awkward was a bit of an understatement, but America decided not to dwell on that longer than necessary.

"Then, you let me, you know, lose my heroic stance for a little bit. You helped me feel better by doing that, and you didn't judge me. You lifted away this huge burden I had on my shoulders and just made me so relieved. I mean, I was sobbing into your shoulder, and you just held me close, and that was sweet. That's how a lover should be." He gave England a kiss, then continued right on talking. "You called me such amazing names, gave me all sorts of compliments, and made me feel like I was on top of the world. Sometimes, gosh, I feel I don't deserve you. I really don't deserve you sometimes."

Because he didn't. England was able to weave words of gold, and the only gold America could say was, "I love you."

[England]

England couldn't help but let out a small laugh at America's honesty, finding it absolutely endearing. When he was like this, America was the sweetest person on Earth, and England was forced to swallow all those times when he'd complained about America being immature. America was just too cute sometimes. So much, that he suddenly felt the urge to lurch forward and seek his embrace by setting his cheek against his chest.

"It was all my pleasure. Every single bit of it," he assured, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. The smell of fresh rain in his nostrils dissipated all of his worries, and for a moment, he believed that he was back home, standing under a soft London rain and watching people hurry home before they got wet, children splashing in puddles, bright red buses slowing down as not to splash pedestrians... Everything felt good at that moment.

Someone was holding him. Despite the rain, a strange kind of warmth ran across his skin. It wasn't physical, as he was definitely aware of the fact that he was freezing to death, but it was more of a comforting feeling. Something that made him feel like nothing would ever harm him again, as long as he was in this person's arms.

Exhaustion now making way into his brain now that all emergencies were over with, England hummed softly and let himself melt in America's arms.

"Look at what you do to me..." he whispered, finally opening his clouded eyes and drawing patterns lazily on America's chest with his finger. "And sometimes, I don't know why I would ever, in my life, deserve someone as good as you. You are... Marvelous. Enchanting. Magnetic," he chuckled again and kissed his chest where his heart was beating strong and free. "And despite what I might sometimes say, I love every single part of you."

[America]

When America felt England rest his head against his chest, the younger nation drew him even closer. Sure, it was for the physical warmth that England was providing, that he could provide England, but it was also just because he wanted to feel closer. He wanted England to hear the beating of his heart, to feel it, to just be there with it. With him. He chuckled as he buried his face into England's wet hair, rubbing comforting circles across his boyfriend's back.

"Yeah," he drawled out, rolling his eyes at their cheesy words and emotions. He wouldn't ever get tired of hearing such things, though. He wouldn't ever get tired of feeling that cheesy sort of love he felt for England. "I make that impact on people sometimes." He giggled (and later he would deny the fact that he did sound like a high school student) and kissed England's hair, overcome with adoration for the country in his arms.

"I think that you're silly." He grinned and continued. "Like, you're always showering all these praises and sweet words on me, and, I mean, you don't really seem to expect anything in return. See, when I give compliments, I wait like some sort of deranged puppy for something back, but you just give 'em, and that's that." He smiled, rocking himself and England back and forth slowly, waiting for the drizzling of the rain to die down (and pleased it wasn't a massive downpour any longer).

He was going to change England's stance on things. He was going to make sure England was complimented.

"I love every single thing about you," he whispered. "I love how messy your hair is, even when it's soaking wet. I love your eyebrows and how big they are, and how much they show your personality. I love your green eyes, and they're usually real serious, but whenever you look at me, I can see 'em soften, just a little bit, and you sometimes just throw away all the seriousness and turn into some love-sick fool." He raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Can I go on? That's just, like, three out of a bazillion compliments. And a bazillion is a huge number."

[England]

"Bazillion is also a non-existing number, I'll have you know," England raised a brow, not passing up his chance to make a snarky comment. "Although it does sound like a number that would be rather high, if it did exist. I am aware that we won't be moving from here for a while now, but you should get started on the rest of those bazillion compliments if you want to finish before we go back," he patted his upper arm, smirking cockily. "Let's see if you can express yourself as clearly as you probably want to. Complimenting is an art, you know."

Speech was an art in itself. It was not given to everyone, to be able to talk to someone and come up with every expression that fit all their concepts down to a T. England knew that America had a bit of trouble being serious, and that when he did get serious, he often stumbled over his words slightly because he'd get emotional, but he was also sure that deep inside, America was a great speaker, and all he had to do was express himself without shame or doubt. England wished America weren't so insecure sometimes. It was endearing, but it also broke his heart when done in excess.

So until then, he'd have to set the example, and show America that words are made to communicate ideas and that they were a gift that he could use to paint the most beautiful pictures and tailor the most exquisite stories.

"Your courage is admirable, for example. You are able to suppress fear and work logically when worse comes to worst, and this ability to willingly detach yourself from fear is not given to everyone. You are also willing to put yourself in danger in order to save others. You may run around proclaiming a hero, but I am sure that nobody has ever actually considered that if you got serious about it, you really would be a hero. You're..." You're my hero, he wanted to say, but he really did not want to embarrass himself.

"You're..." he stopped again, at a loss of words. How did he describe the amount of joy that America brought into his life without sounding desperate. For someone who had spoken so eloquently about the art of speech, he sure was hitting a roadblock.

Truth is, England couldn't find the appropriate words to describe America. None of the adjectives he used even came close to matching up to how beautiful America was and how enthralling his presence was. He needed something that would encompass the hope reflected in his smile. The joy that would try to fight the haunted look in his eyes. The bounce in his step when he was happy. Dimples when he smiled. Crinkled nose when he mused. Palms calloused by work. Scars on his back. Infinite humour. Enchanting voice. Fears. Tears. Laugh. Optimism. Innocence. Will.

Everything about America was just so...

"Radiant," he finally finished with a soft whisper, as if pulling the word from the depths of his soul instead of a vocabulary list imprinted in his brain. He then turned to America, and gazed at him, noting every single little detail, and nodded. "You're... radiant."

[America]

"No, I'm...I mean, sure, if you want me to be, but..." America trailed off, giving England a small smile. While he enjoyed compliments, he felt as if this one was a little too deep. Sure, he was admirable, he was whatever else it was that England had called him, and he could have been radiant had the implications of it not been so high. It wasn't difficult to see that England just wasn't grabbing words from a vocabulary list. That one carried a weight to it, and even America, with his refusal (and, sometimes, inability) to read the atmosphere, was able to tell.

He felt as if he didn't exactly deserve such praise. After all, what good had he done? He had gotten them discovered by zombies, then he had argued with England for no reason other than the fact that he felt awkward, then he had snapped at England for, again, no reason, and, finally, he had sobbed like a child.

How did any of that equate to him being radiant?

"It applies to you more," America stated, bending over to leave a light kiss on England's forehead. He couldn't spin words of gold like England could, but he was sure as hell going to pull something up from the heart, something that would carry just as much meaning as England's words did. "You've stood strong, even through centuries of fighting and blood. You've never given up. Whenever everyone around you had fallen, you were left standing, and you were never brought down. You fought for them, too, and made sure that everyone was protected.

"I might be the one who goes around calling myself a hero, but you've proved that you are one. Not me. If..." He sighed. "I mean, I hardly ever...fight for anyone other than myself, if you haven't really noticed. It took a lot of prodding to get me into the first World War, an-and, even then, I did it more for personal reasons than anything. World War Two, you know, I was kinda getting back at Japan and just decided to go ahead and...help everyone else." He gave a sad smile. "And, you know what? I was happy because that, too, was for personal gain. It helped my economy. I was happy I got to go to war and send my people off to die because then everyone else at home could, you know, get bigger paychecks."

He shook his head. "I might look radiant, England. I might be all bubbly and happy and shit, but, c'mon, I'm a selfish little bastard." He laughed, not harshly, and kissed England again. "You're beautiful, though."

[England]

England thought that it was surprisingly sweet of America to turn his compliments against him, but he was able to distinguish his strengths from his faults. England enjoyed a compliment just as much as the next guy, but didn't need them, since he could tell for himself what he had done right or wrong. And in this situation, America was just glorifying a lot of things he'd done wrong.

"I've always liked picking fights with the world and that certainly is not an admirable trait. I've always been such a merciless opponent, too. Sure, I've not fallen through wars where I've stood with allies, or even alone, but that hardly makes me comparable to a hero," he shrugged lamely. "You've seen me fight in numerous situations, and I dare you to tell me that I have not been ruthless no matter the happenings. It's in my blood and in my character to be cold. It's taken me centuries upon centuries to integrate into society, and it only happened because I was pushed into it by political leaders in order to establish alliances. I'm not someone that people would like to have as a friend."

And yet America had managed to look past all of those unforgivable faults and had wormed his way into England's heart. Sometimes, England still wondered why America had fallen in love with him. How he'd fallen in love with him.

"It's nice that you think so highly of me, and I really am honoured to know that you do find qualities in my otherwise less-than-pleasant character, but I'd much rather consider both sides of the topic, not just the bright side."

Raising his eyes to the sky, he glanced at the dispersing clouds, and the moon brightly lit behind them, waiting for its opportunity to come out. The rain had finally lowered to something akin to a drizzle. It was the kind of rain that England usually enjoyed. Of course, he didn't enjoy it much when he was the one standing under it, soaking wet and miserable, but he was still relieved to find that the weather, at least, was calming down. The monsters prowling the streets below them had not and would not, though, and that was the entirety of the problem.

"Let's not talk about this anymore once you finish what you'd like to add. I'm rather tired, so I wouldn't want to talk so much about such heavy topics. Besides, with the rain letting up soon, we'll have to speak in very low tones, or not speak at all, so I'd rather end on a slightly more cheerful tone."

[America]

He hadn't exactly been expecting for England to take his compliment, so it came as no surprise when his partner began dismissing it. At least, America assured himself, he knew the truth, and that was all there really was to it. He'd make England believe such things one day. Perhaps if he lavished him with enough compliments, then it would all work, but until the day when England agreed, America would never stop trying.

Okay, even after that day, he would still give words of affection and adoration.

"Then can we end on the note of how much I love you?" he asked, nuzzling his cold nose into England's cheek. "'Cause I think that's a good note to end on." It was really the only note he needed to end on. Love wasn't something that he could really expand on much. He loved England, and that's really all there was to it. He was in love, and he did love, so why elaborate when it was simple enough to understand?

Of course, there was the fact that he, too, was growing very tired. Running from zombies could do that to people. He sighed rather cheerfully and held England closer to him, glancing up at the rainclouds and mentally asking them to just hurry up and leave. His leg was feeling a bit sore and heavy (he supposed that was from how tight the makeshift bandages were wrapped), and he just wanted to sleep that off, sleep the cold off, and sleep whatever tears he had shed that day off.

Besides, if they were lucky, he might dream up a brilliant escape plan and they would be home by the next evening.

[England]

England couldn't help but roll his eyes, amused at America's affectionate behaviour. Of course, he had to go and fall in love with the stickiest one of the bunch. Then again, he hadn't chosen, and even if he could choose, he wouldn't have picked anybody else. America was just right for him. He might have doubted that for a while, but now he was sure: America was the only one who could put up with him and his faults.

''I suppose it's an acceptable end to this topic. I love you, too, and sometimes I wish I had the courage to shout it out to the world. I often feel like relationships should be kept a little in the dark from others, I've always thought that way, but now I understand. Now, I sometimes want the entire world to know about us, so that when they look at us, they can tell that we are a thing. I want them to look at us, sometimes, and think that we are an appropriate match for one another. This is all so foreign to me, since I don't usually like to share my personal life details, but you... you make me feel so differently about everything.'' He gave him a sheepish smile. ''What have you done to me?''

He'd changed for America. Or had he changed because of him? Whatever it was, he was happy with who he'd become.

''Right, well, when the rain lets up, we should get some sleep. We need our energy for tomorrow. Perhaps we'll be lucky enough to find a way out tomorrow. They haven't gotten up here just yet, so I'm still hoping that they've been delayed, or that they are blocked. I don't think we want anybody to crash our moment,'' he glanced at the door worriedly, then drowned his worry in a kiss he pressed sweetly to his lover's chapped lips.

[America]

"That'll be an interesting take on all those romantic movies" America muttered in thought, already wondering if there was going to be a movie made about this whole ordeal. If Hollywood shot back up and had anything to say about it, there would probably be quite a few. "Usually, you know, it's family members or friends, or some comic relief. We got zombies." He snorted. "Not exactly a comic relief, but we can make do."

He nodded and rested his head on England's shoulder, humming slightly. "When we get back to the warehouse, you should shout it out. I'll hold your hand and pass all my courage back to you." He smiled with the mere thought of imagining England yelling out words of affection. That wasn't something America ever pictured his partner doing, and while he was okay with that (more than okay, really, because England doing something from his norm was rather worrying), he could probably live without it.

A yawn forced him to stop thinking so much and to just cuddle even more closer to England.

"I'm gonna find a way out," he assured in a mumble. "See, I'm already thinking up a plan." He tapped his head as if to prove his point, though there really wasn't any point to prove, for he really wasn't thinking up a plan just yet. He was thinking how nice it would be to actually get to sleep with his arms wrapped around England. They hadn't really done that, if he recalled correctly, and while it wasn't the best of circumstances, he wasn't going to complain.

[England]

''Of course you will. You're the hero, after all,'' England chuckled, smirking challengingly before leaning in to peck America's cheek. ''But even amighty heroes need to sleep to get their brain cells working again. How about we start thinking of sleeping arrangements?'' he glanced around, disappointed at the sight of the flat, empty roof. They didn't even have a small slope they could use for better comfort, or some kind of softer surface. He already counted his blessings for the floor to have been tiles, and not gravel. Sleeping on gravel would have made him miserable to the point of tears. He'd even take trench mud over gravel for the night.

''Right. We should save our energy so that we don't have to eat through all of our provisions. I guess we could have dinner, since we haven't really had lunch, either.'' England's stomach had not begun to make embarrassing noises yet, but he was sure that they were imminent and wanted to spare himself the embarrassment of having to admit that he was hungry indeed.

Lifting his butt off the ground, clothes squelching as he moved, he grabbed the bag from below him, and unzipped the first layer, and then the second. Delving his hand deep into the bag, he fumbled around a bit until he pulled out two protein bars with a satisfied smile.

''Have one. We'll get to sleep after this,'' he suggested, unwrapping his bar and staring at the small drops of rain rolling down the smooth chocolate covered surface before he began wolfing down his dinner.