Okay, this is my first Hetalia fic, so most of the people reading this (if not all of you) probably don't know who I am.

Well, hello. I'm Ren. ^^

This, like most of my stories, will be 3rd person, present tense (though his chapter is in past tense because it is all about America reminiscing how England first became a Whovian). And if you aren't a Doctor Who fan, you may be able to understand this, though there will be A LOT of references. Not much for Classic Who, as I'm unfamiliar with most of that, but certainly a lot of spoliers for the first seven series since Doctor Who restarted in 2005. I may even write about Series 8 so...

... River: Spoilers!

And yes, this is a multi-chaptered fic. No angst ('cause I'm bored of that , currently. Comedic USUK is what we all need right now! XD). Well, unless you count the sad moments of Doctor Who as angst (Doomsday, End Of Time P2, The Angels Take Manhattan, The Time Of The Doctor etc.)... but other than that, no angst!

So, uh... allons-y!

One

Sure, there have been lots of clues here and there. It doesn't need a genius to pick up on that.

And as far as the countries are concerned, America is no genius. That's one of the many things he'll be guaranteed to hear from the other nations at World Meetings, especially when he comes up with another one of his crazy ideas.

America doesn't care, though. He thinks the lack of imagination in the other countries is funny.

But when exactly was England's strange, secret personality born? Some time in the early 1960s, America guesses. That's when England began to show a love of an invention he had previously been impressed but not really interested with (because apparently, books are far more fascinating, England will always remind America).

Around 1963, England began to appreciate the wonders of the television.

At the time, America didn't think much of it. Great, so the old man is finally realising that stories are much more fun when you can watch them happen instead of reading loads of words, America had thought back then. There was nothing more to it. What exactly had caught the smaller nation's interest? It seemed unimportant to America.

None of my business, that's what.

But over the next few years, England became more and more fond of the television. America can remember numerous times where he called England up on a Saturday night and the latter would reply that he was 'busy'. Busy doing what? Watching boring documentaries about architecture in the late 1890s or some crap like that? That sounded like something England would watch. None of the supernatural horror movies America likes (and is not scared of, thank you very much).

America had first begun to properly notice some peculiarities about England around the mid 1970s. Up until that point, England had always worn the usual smart, expensive suits to world meetings, so why in God's name was he suddenly showing up in a scarf? Wasn't that Russia's style? But oh no, this wasn't just one colour- no, it was stripy, and he had also apparently taken a liking to waistcoats, a frock coat (whatever the hell that was) and... well, eccentric clothing, to put it lightly.

And all of a sudden, as if in some weird, fantastical twist, England's new favourite food was suddenly jelly babies. He even offered America some a couple of times. Seriously, what was going on? America was beginning to wonder whether he should be worried about his former mentor.

Then there was late March of 1981.

There was a World Meeting on one of the last days of the month. There wasn't really much content of significance about it; after all, the usual shenanigans took place, and no discussion ended without an actual fist fight. But certain countries like America and France noticed that England was even grumpier than usual.

The island nation was dressed in a black coat, with a black suit underneath and a black tie. Plus, the stripy scarf was replaced with a black one. What was his fixation with black all of a sudden? Was he mourning or something?

And it certainly did seem like he was mourning. England was apparently very irritated about something. And when America (acting casual as per usual to enforce the illusion that he didn't really care) asked England what was wrong, the small nation replied with a sulky 'Another one bites the dust.'

'Meaning?' America had prompted, rolling his eyes at the vagueness of England's answer.

'Meaning,' England had growled, not even bothering to look up from the paperwork he was rearranging at his spot at the table, 'that four have regenerated now. Tom Baker was brilliant. Why did he have to go?' he added in a mutter, mostly to himself.

'Uh... okay...' America said slowly, not having the faintest clue what England was on about.

'It's just a bloody show... this shouldn't bother me...' England could be heard murmuring very quietly to himself during the rest of the meeting.

And that wasn't the last of England's strange behaviour. Oh no.

England had always liked cricket, but now he was very fond of it, all of a sudden. And once (America swears this is true) the blue eyed nation actually caught sight of England wearing a vegetable.

A vegetable.

'England, why are you wearing celery?' America has asked as England walked into the living room, dressed in a cream coloured frock coat (the odd fashion sense really hadn't died) and the certain green food item quite visible, tucked into his shirt pocket. The bigger nation had proclaimed a couple of days earlier that he would be staying with his former mentor for a week or so because he was bored of paperwork (and he was secretly hoping England might do it for him. The guy did overwork, after all).

'I'm going out.'

'… Wearing a vegetable?' No one could blame America for being this sceptical.

'Peter Davison wears one,' England said, quickly striding over to the mirror over the mantelpiece so that he could examine his appearance properly.

'Who?'

'The Doctor. I'm going to go see him now.'

'Yeah, I think you really might need to see a doctor, Iggy. Good call.'

England scowled. 'Not a doctor. The Doctor. The latest series starts tonight, and the BBC have invited me to watch the premier. Peter's been making an excellent Doctor so far in the last series.'

'Uh huh.' Now that America had internally confirmed that England had completely lost it, he had concluded that anything and everything that the smaller nation might be saying was complete nonsense, and so he wasn't really listening. He stretched out on England's couch, lifting up a comic book he'd brought with him for him to read.

'I probably won't be back until late,' England called as he strode over to the doorway.

America pried his eyes off the comic book. 'Whoa... you really are going dressed like that.'

England turned around defiantly. 'Yes. What of it?'

'Dude, it's a vegetable. You're wearing a vegetable.'

'You're skills of deduction never cease to amaze me, America.'

'Okay, let me get straight to the point: why are you wearing celery?'

England rolled his eyes. 'I would have thought that would be fairly obvious. The premier, of course.'

'What premier? What are you talking about?'

England sighed. 'You really weren't listening, were you? Not that I'd expect you to understand. I'm aware that it is aired in your country, but this is a British matter, and it's clearly irrelevant to you.'

America gave an annoying laugh. 'Dude, I have no idea what you're talking about.'

Irritated, England muttered, 'Bloody git... Try not to ruin my house while I'm gone.'

And when he finally returned, maybe about three hours later, England was in a good mood.

Something very strange was clearly happening.

England went through many fazes over the years, mostly to do with the outfits and occasionally little tweaks in his personality. But he was still the same Iggy at the end of the day. The guy who would yell every curse word known to man in matter of seconds after an insult to his cooking. That was completely and utterly normal for him. That's why America didn't worry too much. Besides, it was if England was actually... happy.

The grumpy Brit? Happy? Ha! … But... yes. He was. Especially at weekends. But everyone loves weekends. A lot more than weekdays, anyway.

One night in the late 80s, America was lounging around his big house in New York. He'd actually completed all his paperwork (as he had continuously had to remind his boss so as not to get yelled at) and he found himself with an evening of free time.

The problem?

There was nothing decent on the TV.

'Aww, man...' America complained to himself as he flicked through the channels. There had to be something worth watching, right? He continued searching. Finally, he came across BBC America. He had no problem with that; he liked a lot of the British TV shows, especially the comedies (but there was no way he would ever admit that to Iggy).

'Doctor Who,' America breathed, staring at the screen. He'd heard of it before- some British Sci fi involving one of those weird police boxes you used to see in London. America didn't know the plot at all- after all, he'd never really given it much thought? Why name a sci fi 'Doctor Who'? Wasn't it about aliens or something, not doctors? Talking of aliens, perhaps he should ask Tony about it, as he would probably know more than America did.

This episode was a repeat from a few years before called Robots Of Death (America was immediately intrigued, though he was beginning to suspect he'd have trouble sleeping tonight) and it starred a guy he'd heard of before- Tom Baker. Hadn't England mentioned him before? America decided to check it out, and was completely shocked when a man with curly hair came onto the screen, wearing...

That very same scarf that Iggy used to wear. Wow. The rest of the clothes were the same too- very eccentric, rather odd. And- holy crap- was this Tom Baker guy really actually offering another character a jelly baby or was it America's imagination?

Just like England used to do...

Whoa. It looked like England really was a fan of something.

America didn't really understand much of what was happening in the storyline (he was too busy contemplating whether he should call his former mentor up and announce that he'd discovered England's secret (even though it wasn't much of a secret anyway)). He screamed rather loudly when the so-called 'robots of death' (correctly dubbed, unfortunately) began strangling the people, and was quickly forced to switch off the TV.

'Thank you very much, Brits, for the nightmares,' he muttered to himself. Despite this, he was still amused with the whole situation. So, this was the sort of thing England liked to watch? America never would have guessed.

Well, Doctor Who was a British show. England must have accepted it because it belonged to his people.

For a few years, England stopped wearing the weird outfits (albeit it wasn't very often anyway to begin with. Usually only on certain Saturdays. What was up with that, anyway?). It was like he had lost his passion. America later found out that these were the years when Doctor Who just stopped.

Then, 2005 came.

And all of a sudden, England was striding into the next world meeting in a denim jacket, looking, America thought with a small blush and an amused smile, rather badass (as he put it inside his head).

And damn, the Brit was freakin' happy.

America didn't actually associate this cheerful behaviour from England with Doctor Who (urgh, how the hell had he even managed to fit the words 'cheerful' and 'England' into the same sentence?). After all, it had been years since America had worked out about England's 'secret'. He'd pretty much forgotten it, actually.

'Angleterre? 'Ave you suffered a brain injury or something?' France mocked as England sat down at the meeting table, smiling (yes, that's right: smiling. As if he didn't have a care in the world).

'Shut it, Frog,' England replied, but it was good natured. Nothing was killing the Brit's mood. Absolutely nothing.

'Dude... your mouth is doing this thing it hardly ever does,' America pointed out jokily. 'It's all... curled up at the sides.'

'It's called smiling, America. And I do smile quite often.'

'I know. Evil smirks and stuff when you outwit France or something. But your eyebrows aren't pointed down. I can see then quite easily, you know, considering.'

Oh no, wait- now he was frowning.

'Considering what?' England asked.

'Considering 'ow big those monstrosities are,' France chuckled.

'You bloody wanker!'

And now England was back to being his normal self. America felt a little relieved... but also a little sad. It was nice seeing England smile, while it lasted. That hardly ever happened anymore.

'Well, I suppose this is all because you've got your precious Doctor Who back, non? So, are you going to be dressing up like a clown again, Angleterre?'

'What do mean by that?!'

'You know, wearing a scarf and looking completely ridiculous-'

'I wear a scarf. Does mine look ridiculous?' Russia stated in an innocent but chilling voice, appearing behind France like he was there all along (hell, maybe he was).

France shivered visibly. 'Non, non, not at all!' he said quickly, not daring to turn around and face the creepily smiling Russian.

'Such idiots, aru,' China muttered from the seat next to England.

'So,' America began, taking a seat on the other side of the Brit as other countries began filing into the meeting room, 'Doctor Who's that sci fi of yours with the guys who dress up strangely, right? And that old phone box?'

England smiled again. It was brief but genuine. 'That's right. It started again about three weeks ago. The comeback has been an immediate success. You remember it?'

America looked thoughtful. 'Sure. I watched an episode once, but it was really creepy and stuff. You dressed up as one of them once. With a vegetable.' He laughed. 'Man, the story and the characters are really weird. I don't really get why you like it.'

England's smile froze on his face. He didn't speak to America for the rest of the entire meeting.

Just over a year later, on July the 8th, America had to deal with one of his worst nightmares:

A drunk, emotional England.

And this had absolutely nothing to do with America's birthday.

'Dude, you're a few days too late,' America chuckled as he pulled England away from his stool at the bar, rolling his eyes as the smaller country staggered a little, completely wasted. And England was always handling early July better every year. Over the last fifty years, he'd even been showing up to America's parties. What was the problem now?

'She's gone...' England whispered as they stepped out of the pub England had been spending the last couple of hours in, and out into the late night air. America was shocked to see that England was actually tearing up a little.

'What are talking about?' America asked, spinning England around to face him by holding onto the smaller country's shoulders.

'Rose... she's trapped in another bloody- hic- universe...'

America just stared at him. '… The hell are you talking about?'

'Why am I bloody crying?' England asked, his words slurred together, scrunching up his eyebrows in confusion. 'It's not like a -hic- bloody war or something. London hasn't been destroyed or- hic- something catastrophic like that. Though the Cybermen and the Daleks took a pretty good shot at it. I was dealing with it perfectly okay,' he continued, waving his arm exaggeratedly to make his point, 'but it was still sad, so I- hic- thought I'd bloody take my mind off it, but now I feel worse! Why do I- hic- feel worse, America?'

''Cause you're more wasted than I've ever seen you before?' America guessed, chuckling as England continued to blather on about complete nonsense. Seriously, what the hell were Cybermen and Daleks?

'And now,' England ranted, 'the Doctor's all alone again. 'Cept for that woman in the wedding dress who suddenly appeared. Catherine Tate was in the- hic- TARDIS!' he added with a drunken giggle.

America nodded and wrapped one arm around England so he could pull him along back to the Brit's house. 'Whatever you say Iggy. Dude, you've completely lost it, haven't you?'

'He burned up a sun to say goodbye, America! He- hic- loved her! But he didn't even have time to- hic- bloody say it! How unfair is that?' England promptly collapsed against the bigger country, still moaning about something called the 'Cult of Skaro'. Should he be seriously worried about England's mental state? Sure, the Brit was drunk, but he had to be complaining about something; there was no way he was just making all these weird words up.

America shifted the smaller and now unconscious (thank God. Now England had properly shut up) country onto his back. England's Hampstead house was roughly a fifteen minute walk from here and there was no way America was taking England on the tube like this.

He said something about a doctor, America thought to himself. Then he stopped walking and thought about it. It must be that sci fi he likes... Doctor Who...

America chuckled to himself. Seriously, England was at the point of crying about this show? Man, the smaller nation must really have a soft spot for this sci fi.

That was when America began to wonder whether it was worth checking out again...

… once he could get past the fact that he found it absolutely terrifying. There was a bit of a problem there.

So, uh... review? Please?

(And thanks for reading!)