Canada took a deep breath, cuddling Kumajiro close to his chest as the taxi pulled away. This wasn't a big deal, really. There was absolutely no reason why the short walk up to the modest, white-shuttered plantation home should be intimidating

He just happened to be in town a little early for the meeting.

Okay, a week early.

For a meeting that wasn't actually in this town.

"Just admit that you're worried about him," Kumajiro piped up. The bear twisted around to peer up at Canada's face. "He won't mind."

"I know, it's just…" Canada's soft voice trailed off, discomfort twisting in his stomach. "I mean, he's never invited me here before. I wouldn't even have been able to find him if Jen hadn't told me..."

Letting out an annoyed huff, the small bear cub wriggled, squirming free of his companion's arms and dropping to the ground. He strode purposely towards to front door, fuzzy legs moving briskly forward.

"Oh no," Canada groaned as he watched the small, fluffy, white tail bob back and forth. Sighing, he pushed his nervousness down and grabbed the handle of his red rolling suitcase, hurrying after the white bear.

Kumajiro was already pounding on the door as Canada walked up the stairs to the front porch, his suitcase bouncing up the steps behind him.

Soft thuds suddenly sounded from inside the house.

"Coming!" a muffled voice called.

The thumps grew louder, then the door suddenly flew open.

America stared out at them, clearly startled. His glasses sat askew on his nose, matching the disheveled look of his clothes. The oversized black t-shirt emblazoned with the Batman logo sported several holes and his cargo shorts were noticeably on the threadbare side.

"Canada! Dude, you didn't tell me you were coming over!" The startled look on America's face melted into surprised delight. He beamed, shifting to the side as he opened the door wider.

"Come on in!" He waved an impatient hand at the northern nation and his companion, encouraging the pair to step inside.

Kumajiro didn't hesitate, trotting in without hesitation. After a momentary pause, Canada followed, heart pounding as he dragged his suitcase over the doorway.

"This a passing-through visit or do you wanna bunk up for a while?" America shut the door behind them and cocked his head to the side. "If you're staying, which is totally cool, I gotta change Laundry Day plans."

"Oh, we were hoping to stay until the meeting in New York next week. Er, ride up together," Canada replied in a small voice. He was imposing. He was totally imposing and being demanding and disrupting America's life. Why did he have to be such a terrible person?

"Sounds awesome!" America grinned and reached out suddenly, seizing the suitcase. He slung the large bag over a shoulder as though it was as light as a feather and waved his free hand towards one of the nearby doorways. "Just chill there! I'll drop your bag off and get the spare sheets in the wash. Be right back!"

Canada stared as America raced up the stairs facing the entry, quickly disappearing from view. Listening, he could somewhat follow his brother's progress through the house, the sound of his rapid stride floating throughout the structure.

"I'm a terrible person," Canada groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

"You're dramatic, that's what you are," Kumajiro retorted with a roll of his eyes. Dropping to all fours, the bear heading towards the room America had indicated.

Sighing once more, Canada's hands fell back to his sides and he slowly followed, stopping only to toe his shoes off.

It had only been about a year since the horrible incident in Austin. The incident that had revealed to the world that the United States of America did, in fact, have a living personification. America had taken charge during that awful day, dashing about like a Hollywood action hero as he took on the enemy.

Canada and Prussia had managed to avoid the trap set for them. And with the help of America's friend Tony, they had joined forces with the then unknown personification and stopped the terrorists' plan in its tracks and freed the captured nations from torture and death.

The biggest shock of all, at least for Canada, was discovered that America was nearly identical to him. More so than could be seen in any of the other "sibling" groups throughout the world. Even before they met face-to-face, a connection had formed. Without being able to articulate why, Canada had known the exact moment he and Prussia needed to act - a moment far ahead of the schedule they and America had set by phone earlier that day. In person, that connection was even stronger. America's presence was like a part of himself had been returned, a part he hadn't even realized was missing.

Since then, it had been . . . nice, Canada had decided. When the burgeoning relationship wasn't stressful, full of misunderstandings, or just plain confusing.

He glanced around as he entered a large living room. The furniture was an eclectic mix of antique and modern chic. The wall on one side of the room was lined with weathered looking built-in bookcases packed to the brim with books, VHS, and DVDs and BluRay discs. The stone fireplace showed signs of various repairs over the century and the rugs on the floor were soft and inviting under his feet.

In contrast, however, the entertainment center next to the fireplace looked more like something out of Star Trek. Sleek black and glass shelves groaned under the weight of a massive, curved TV. Gaming systems of all sorts were peeping out from every shelf above and below the TV and there was a precarious stack of media players leaning against the console. A blu-ray player sat on top a DVD player on top a VHS player and so on. A tangled mess of wires peeped out from behind the console and Canada could see at least two massive surge protectors festooned with plugs sitting behind everything.

Canada rounded the large couch that filled most of the room and gingerly took a seat. The soft, gray microfiber was soft and welcoming, much more so than the Edwardian looking loveseat that sat perpendicular to the couch in front of the bookshelves.

The room was clearly in currently use and, judging by America's earlier comment and the pile of clean laundry piled on the Edwardian, he was in the middle of an all-day laundry affair.

The television was on and currently playing muted commercials. The glass coffee table had a stack of mail and newspapers shoved to one side, leaving a small open space for a plate with a half-eaten sandwich and several boxes of various chips, crackers, and cookies. And next to the table, a sizable carton of beer sat open.

"So!" America's voice suddenly boomed behind him. "How've you been?" he asked brightly.

Even as Canada was turning to look back, the couch let out a worrying creak as America vaulted the back and landed next to him.

"Oh, everything's been fine." Canada paused. "Aren't you considered underage in this country?" he asked. The United States' drinking laws had taken a strange turn following Prohibition.

America blinked, then cast a sheepish glance at the 24-pack of beer.

"Of course not! I'm over 300 hundred year old!"

"And according to you driver's license?" Canada inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"... That's not important." Leaning forward, America pulled out a can of Bud Light and offered him one. "I'm working on my election-year alcohol problem. Care to join me?"

Alfred kept a surreptitious eye on Canada as he flipped from one cable news station to another. His brother had started hitting the beer much harder once the actual debate started. By the time the debate finally ended, he was definitely buzzed headed towards drunk.

Not that Alfred was judging. He really wasn't that far behind him.

Suppressing a grin, Alfred flipped from the news stations to a random movie and leaned back against the couch cushions.

Beside him, Canada groaned and blinked bleary eyes as the excited post-debate media discussions changed to a cheesy animated movie.

"Why do you do this to yourself," Canada grumbled. He turned and gave Alfred an accusatory look. "This has been going on for over a year. Why can't you just set time limits to it all like everyone else?" he begged.

Alfred couldn't help but laugh. He drained the last of his beer, gulping down the final drops, and added the empty can to his relatively modest tower.

"What can I say," he chuckled, :my people are passionate about politics! They always have been!"

"So passionate that it leads to you drink? You?" Canada jabbed an accusatory finger at Alfred. "You're practically a teetotaler at all the meetings. Even when you join everyone else at the bar, you just get soda!"

"Yeah, well, it's not professional to drink on the job."

Canada snorted, causing Alfred to roll his eyes.

"It's not! And even the pub crawls are a kind of work. Besides," he paused briefly, rocking his head back and forth for a moment before continuing. "A lot of those guys have boundary issues when they're drunk. And if they go to gropes-town one me while I'm drunk? Hello, diplomatic incident!" He gave a short, satisfied nod then made a vague gesture at himself. "This is a no-groping zone." Another pause. "I'd probably accidentally break a few bones. I'm a little more . . . impulsive . . . after I've had a few."

"I suppose that makes sense," Canada replied slowly, turning America's words over in his head. He'd wondered if America was still hiding more about himself than just his solitary history. There had been a few moments here and there that made him wonder just how strong the other nation was. And then there'd been the ... incident with Germany and Italy the summer before last. Regardless, broken bones didn't seem outside the realm of possibility. Not with America.

Canada flopped back against the couch, taking a long swing of his beer. He blinked suddenly, something America had said earlier coming to mind.

"What did you mean by your "election year drinking problem?" he demanded. "You said that earlier, before the debate started."

"Oh, that?" Alfred chuckled. "Like I said, my people love politics. I learned a long time ago that it's just easier to sit back and let them sort it out. Trying to get involved just gives me a headache. And if that's going to happen, then I'd like to earn it first!"

Alfred grabbed another beer, absently noting that they only had a few left. Popping the tab and opening it, he took a swing, then pointed at Canada.

"Jackson versus John Quincy Adams, 1828. That's how little time it took for me to decide just drinking was easier."

"What happened in 1828?"

"Truly epic mud slinging. This stuff right now? A playground scuffle by comparison." He took another drink. "Jackson had lost to Adams in 1824 and man, did he hold a grudge. He had already accused Adams and the Speaker of the House Henry Clay of making a "corrupt bargain" back in 1824, so when the next election rolled around he didn't pull any punches.

"Adams was accused of pimping a girl out to some Russians. And Adams," Alfred shook his head. "He swung right back and accused Jackson's wife, Rachel, of being a "convicted adulteress" because she married Jackson before the divorce with her previous husband was settled.

"She died after the election, unfortunately," Alfred grimaced. "Jackson blamed Adams and his supporters of all but murdering her and swore he'd never forgive them.

"Greeley versus Grant in 1872 was also crazy." Alfred was picking up steam now. "Greeley actually died before the electoral college votes were finished being counted. They ended up splitting his votes between the other candidates.

"And back in 1920, Eugene Dobbs ran as a third-party candidate of the Socialist Party from prison!" He grinned at Canada, his Hollywood smile gleaming under the LED bulb overhead. "Now that's crazy! Can't do a lot of campaigning from behind bars! And you don't want to get me started on the downticket and the local stuff!

"So, yeah," Alfred laughed, "I just drink instead and accept whatever happens. It's easier."

Canada sighed and nodding in quiet agreement. In truth, he was a little envious. His boss insisted he take a much more active role during elections and he'd asked more than once to be allowed to just stay out of it.

"So, your turn," Alfred suddenly said, eyes focused intently on Canada. "Why're you here? You don't just drop in on folks, not from what I've seen."

The sudden change in topic was jarring. Canada blinked, then, as the America's words filtered through his brain, began to blush.

"Oh, well, it's just . . ." he bit his lip. "Well, the election is almost over and, well, I know it's been a rough one. Plus all the stuff with work and the state of the world right now and I thought that, well, you might want some company." His voice trailed off, embarrassment filling him.

Alfred stared at Canada, astonished and more than a little touched. He'd been alone for most of his life. Tony's companionship over the last few decades had been wonderful but the alien didn't, couldn't, understand the additional stresses that the national personification endured.

He swallowed, trying to force down the lump that had appeared in his throat. Canada was checking on him. Not because he wanted something political or because he was digging for information. Just because.

"Oh." He blinked several times then gave himself a shake. "I, uh, I appreciate that. I mean, it's nothing a hero can't handle!" he quickly added.

Canada stared at him for a moment before snorting.

"Right," he replied dryly. "Everything's tip top here." His eyes drifted to the neglected pile of laundry. Kumajiro had turned the large pile into nest and was snoozing away. "Everything's under control."

"Hey, it's Laundry Day! There's no judging!" Alfred retorted, defending his unfolded laundry.

"Oh, there is judging," Canada drawled. "Lots of judging. You can't even begin to understand all the judging going on right now."

Stymied by the sudden snark, Alfred gaped at his brother. Finally, no other recourse available, he tossed his (empty) beer can at the northern nation, nailing him squarely on the head.

Canada's eyes went wide in shock.

Several minutes later, Kumajiro grumpily stalked out of the living room. Behind him, the two brothers were wrestling on the floor, giggling drunkenly as they bumped into furniture and electronics.

The bear glanced around the entryway for a moment. Kitchen, office, formal dining room, and the now rowdy living room. Grumbling under his breath, he stalked up the stairs.

As he paused at the top of the stairway, Kumajiro paused when a door down the long hallway creaked open. A moment later, a small, wiry, gray form appeared. The bear stared back at the pupil-less red eyes, scents both familiar and alien filling his senses.

"I've got some of Al's candidates for Funniest Home Videos," the being offered in a high pitched voice. "Want to check 'em out?"

"Sure," Kumajiro agreed after mulling the question over for a minute.

"Awesome."

As the door swung shut behind the two companions, more laughter floated upstairs. The sound rose until it filled the house. And in the living room, two hearts were warmer than before.