Notes: Kinkmeme de-anon, for the prompt asking for something with USfemUK based on: Brad Paisley -Little Moments. Man, this song gives you so much to work with! Fem!England's foibles and America finding it absolutely endearing and adorable.

The first time Alfred met Victoria, he literally fell head over heels in love with her, mostly since she knocked him down the stairs. He was late to class and she was still getting used to heels; he turned the corner of the stairwell and looked up as he heard a yelp. He only caught a glimpse of pigtails so pale brown it was nearly blonde before she crashed into him.

He gave a short yell as he was pushed off his feet. His back slammed first into the concrete steps and then they began to tumble down the rest. Instinct caused him to toss his arms around her head. Thankfully they only rolled down a few steps before one of the bars of the hand rails caught his shoulder with a crack, halting their descent.

He moaned in pain—every inch of him hurt and he was fairly certain that his graphing calculator had snapped, its jagged remains poking through his backpack and into his side. "Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, what happened?"

There was a tiny squeak coming from his chest. He blinked and looked down—or up rather—straight into the terrified green eyes of the girl who had tumbled into him. "Oh god, are you hurt?"

"Um. Kinda—your elbow's smashing my kidney for one."

She practically leapt off him, asking if she should call for an ambulance. At first he refused, but then he realized that it hadn't just been his calculator that smashed; his leg was in complete agony and he was pretty sure his shoulder was dislocated.

She was pale as she sat next to him and waited for the ambulance. A pair of teachers shepherded students away from the stairwell and another professor was sitting at his head trying to talk to him. Honestly, he was more worried about her. "I've been through worse scrapes then this," he tried to tell her cheerfully.

The professor snorted and tried to get him to sit still.

"I'm not sure I want to ask how much worse," she admitted, clinging to his hand.

"Oh, nothing big! In high school I was big into football—that'd be American football, not that soccer shit you all seem to like so much here," he added. "Broke both my legs once doing that. It was a really nasty compound fracture too, so you could totally see the-"

"Mr. Jones, I do not think Miss Kirkland needs to hear the rest of your inglorious battle stories," Mr. Bonnefoy reminded him, tapping his cheek. "And will you please stay put?"

"Aw, I'm sure it's not all that bad—my shoulder pops out all the time!"

Victoria went a little green.

"Oh no; that's okay! I just go to the hospital and they'll pull it back into place. No worries."

"Mr. Jones, please stop trying to make Miss Kirkland sick—we don't want the paramedics slipping on vomit on the way up, you understand."

"I'm not trying to make her sick-"

"You're doing a good job of it," she grumbled.

He tried to give her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand. "Honestly, don't worry about it."

All the same, she met him at the hospital as they finally released him. She stood there staring down at her feet, to his relief she had changed into sensibly flat shoes, before looking up anxiously as he made his way to her.

"They gave you a cast?" she noticed glumly.

He shrugged the best he could without jarring his arm in the sling or dropping his crutch. "Yep. Definitely broke it." That didn't seem to console her at all. She looked like a kicked puppy and all he wanted to do was reach out and pull her into a hug. He bit his lip and used his crutch to gently tap her ankle. "Hey, you wanna sign it? You'll be the first one to get to."

She helped him sit down and a helpful nurse gave her a marker. He raised his brows when she finished. "Is something wrong?" she asked, biting her lip.

"Nah—you just have really good penmanship," he grinned.

For the first time that whole day, she smiled and something in him damn near melted. That night, after they finished the dinner she insisted she pay for, he grinned down at the phone number she later sprawled under her name.

He found out a month later that she had road rage like you wouldn't believe. He bummed rides off his friends for the first few weeks, but when it came time to actually get his cast removed, no one was available. Despite whatever his family or friends (or coworkers, or fellow students, or professors or… well, pretty much anyone) would think, he could think ahead and take other people's feelings into thought. Sometimes. It was why he hesitated so long to ask Victoria for a ride—she always looked so guilty whenever she saw his cast or sling, and he hated to see her like that.

But there was no one else and she had insisted he call her if he needed help. To be fair, she seemed eager enough to help. She promptly drove over to his apartment and helped him get into her car. For awhile, Alfred thought things were going good.

So of course, just as he was about to ask her out to dinner, they hit traffic. And not just any traffic, but traffic so terrible Alfred almost thought he was back home. It was bumper to bumper, cars barely crawling an inch every five minutes.

Alfred's lips quirked in bemusement. "Damn. Of course traffic would get terrible when I have an appointment to get to. Some luck, huh?" he started to laugh as he turned to her.

She, on the other hand, didn't look so amused. She glared at the cars in front of her, rapping her nails against the steering wheel. "Hurry up, damn you."

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

She glanced at him then back at the road. "I'm fine."

"Okay then-"

"-it's just ridiculous how crammed in everyone is."

Alfred's eyes darted from her to the cars then back to her. "Oh. 'kay. Well, I'm sure it'll be fine in a bit—nothing to worry about, right?"

She didn't answer.

"…mind if I turn on the radio?" Maybe he would find something they could talk about at least. She shrugged and waved nonchalantly as she watched the cars.

Ten minutes of relative silence later, Alfred was starting to get worried. She looked down right murderous and Alfred couldn't help but watch as the radio's clock ticked closer to his appointment time.

"Get off the road, get off the road, get off the bloody road," she muttered like a chant.

Finally, the cars in the lane next to them began to move. With a triumphant cackle—seriously, she cackled. Alfred nearly shoved a fist into his mouth to keep from laughing—she switched her turn light on and started to change lanes.

Only to be cut off by another car speeding so close by that Alfred nearly jumped. "Holy shit, that guy was close! Asshole. You okay?" Next to him, she shivered in her seat, face pale. He frowned and started to reach out to her.

And that was when she unleashed a torrent of curses and swear words so blistering Alfred was shocked that the offending car hadn't burst into flames on the spot. She shrieked and beat her steering wheel before remembering the horn. She slapped it as well, rolling down her window so she could yell more pointedly. Alfred hadn't seen someone so mad since the one time his mom caught him vacuuming up his grandmother's ashes after he broke her urn. (What? The thing had didn't have a bag; all he planned to do was dump the ashes into a vase until they could buy a new urn. It wasn't like he was going to toss them out. Mothers.)

She settled down into seething in her seat, breathing heavily as she glared out the window.

"Wow," he murmured, genuinely impressed. "You okay?"

She froze and glanced at him. Her eyes were comically wide and her cheeks bypassed pink, shooting straight to cherry red. Alfred had to fight the urge to pinch them as her hand fluttered up to her lips in shock. "I…"

He grinned. "You got a potty mouth, huh?"

That wasn't the best idea he had ever had. The minute the words left his mouth her blush spread up her ears and her other hand clapped over her mouth to smother her shriek. She turned her head downward, so that her pigtail hung in her face, hiding her from view.

Oh, you stepped in it this time, Jones. He sighed and tried to pat her shoulder. "Um, sorry? Are you okay? You're not mad about the potty mouth thing are you? Cause, don't worry—you should see my brother's one friend! He cusses like a sailor and-"

"You didn't hear anything," she yelled, her head whipping back up to face him. "I didn't say anything, and you didn't hear anything, understand?"

He blinked slowly. "Hey, man—um, lady, whatever—don't worry. Ain't like you the first person to get mad about getting cut off in traffic before. It's cool."

She groaned and put her face in her hands.

"Hey, hey, c'mon," he tried again, curling an arm around her shoulders. "I promise, I won't even tell anyone!"

She dropped her hands but let her face hang down. "First I break your leg, then I can't even get you to your appointment on time. And now you heard me…" She didn't bother to finish; instead she just groaned again and let her head fall against her steering wheel. However, she landed straight on the horn and it began to blare loudly, setting off the person behind her who began to hit his horn as well. She sighed.

Alfred tried not to laugh at her melodramatic angst and patted her shoulder. "Oh, it's not that bad."

"Yes, it is."

"No, I promise you it's not," he chuckled and tugged her closer. "Cause see, here's what we're going to do. First, I'm going to call the hospital so they won't think I blew them off. Then we can just sit here and talk until traffic gets moving again. And after that, I promise to take you to a nice restaurant and swear to never tell anyone else about your road rage issues. Ever. Deal?"

"I don't have road rage issues," she sniffed before looking up at him. Her eyes were large and glassy, her lips pouting just a smidge. He had to resist kissing them. "… just please, not a French restaurant."

He grinned. "Fine by me—food's too rich for me anyway."

She brightened at that at least. "It is, isn't it? And it's so expensive!"

They ate at McDonald's later and kissed just before he got out of her car. The minute she was gone, he punched his fist into the air. Best date ever. Even if she did curse the air blue at the drop of a hat.

Shortly after they began to date seriously, Alfred discovered Victoria's complete inability to cook anything more complex than toast and tea. He ended up eating toast a lot for breakfast, but she agreed to let him handle lunches and dinner.

When his birthday rolled around, however, she refused to let him cook dinner. He couldn't convince her to just eat out either. She was dead set on making him a proper birthday dinner. In the end, he shrugged, prayed desperately, and did his best to tell her that really all he needed was a hamburger.

His apartment was dark when he got back. For a moment, he wondered if she had forgotten or just gone out to buy something. When he saw that all the windows were open and there was several fans in the kitchen, he scratched his head in confusion.

She was sitting at the table, glaring down at what he thought might have been burnt tree bark, a surprisingly large charcoal brisket, all smothered in what was either gravy or cranberry sauce. Judging by the color, he hoped it was cranberry sauce.

She didn't look up as he took the seat across from her. "Hey, babe. How's your night been?"

She promptly burst into tears.

Well, that's a new record, an unhelpful part of his brain announced as he stared in shock. "Oh, shit, honey, I'm sorry! Are-are you alright?"

"No, I'm not," she snapped, slapping her hands against the table. "Your damn stove burnt the steak-" (That's what the tree bark was?) "-your stupid oven fried the potato-" (Aww, she remembered he like baked potatoes.) "-and, and the stupid directions for the gravy were too complicated!" (Eww. So it wasn't cranberry sauce?) "And then the burner caught fire and I couldn't find the baking soda to put it out, and-"

He was still wincing from the comment about the burner—his stove was electric—that he almost missed seeing her bottom lip tremble. Fearing true hysterics, he reached out and snagged her hands, rubbing and caressing them as comfortingly as he could. "That sounds like hell."

"It was."

He tried not to smile. "I bet. But are you okay?"

She sighed and nodded. "Yes… Ludwig from next door ran over with his fire extinguisher and helped."

"Ha! He must have been glad to see Feliciano wasn't the one starting a fire this time!"

She gave him a glare that could have peeled paint off the walls. "What does that mean?"

He nearly slapped himself upside the head. "Nothing—so, dinner's no good, right?"

She deflated, face falling again. "Yes… I'm sorry, Alfred. I wanted to your birthday to be special and now…"

"Whoa, hey, it's okay," he began, rising from his seat to walk to her side and pull her into a hug. She tucked her head into his neck with a sniff. "I've never had anybody go out of their way to make me a special dinner before, you know. That seems pretty special to me."

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "That was very corny."

He couldn't help but laugh then. "Okay, say what you will, but it's totally true."

"…really?" she asked, pulling back a bit so they were eye to eye.

He smiled and pressed his forehead to hers. "Really really," he murmured before he finally gave into the urge to kiss her. He hummed thoughtfully as he pulled back and grinned. "Come on. Let's forget about this and just go out."

She frowned. "But it's your birthday—it should be special."

"It will be," he insisted as he tugged her to her feet. "If you spend it with me. What do you say?"

She stared for a moment before raising her chin. "No hamburgers."

"Ah, come on!"

"No hamburgers. Some place special."

"You're killing me, babe," he groaned and laughed all at once, pulling her towards the door. "I'm a man of simple tastes, and I gotta have my burgers."

"Simple tastes is a gross understatement."

"Better a gross understatement than just gross though, right?" he grinned as they slipped out the door.

She just shook her head and smiled. "No hamburgers."

He just laughed.

They decided that she would fly back to the States with him for Christmas. Apparently the holidays were nothing but a nightmare with her brothers around, and he was desperate to have his family meet her. They would love her, he was certain.

Now if only they could find the airplane tickets.

"They were right here this morning!" she snapped, checking the nightstand once more. "I made sure of it."

"Did you check your pockets?" he suggested as he scoured the trash cans again.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" she snapped back. "I know they're here! It's not like they could just get up and walk off."

Half an hour later, she was nearly in tears. The bathroom and kitchen were a mess, the bedroom and living room looked as though a tornado had blasted through. Alfred even checked under the stove to see if they had slipped under it.

Finally, he caught her hands as she tried to tear the couch apart again. "Tory, baby, we're not going to make the flight."

She glared. "Yes, we will—just let me check the sofa one more time-"

"Victoria. Sweetheart, they're not there."

Her glare morphed into tears.

"Oh, baby, don't cry. It's okay. We'll just…try and rebook the flight, okay?"

"Alfred," she sobbed, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I don't know where I put them. I know you've been looking forward to seeing your family, and now I've ruined it."

"Hey, hey," he soothed, rubbing her back. "Nothing's ruined. I'll call the airport and see if we can get on another flight. Just sit down and relax. If we have to, I'll call my parents and tell them we'll see them at New Year's, okay?"

Glumly, she nodded. He kissed her brow and sighed as she snatched up the coats she had set out earlier on the back of the couch. They wouldn't be needing them anymore.

Just as she turned, she paused, looking down at the coats. He watched her curiously as she reached into her pockets.

And pulled out a pair of tickets.

He laughed in spite of his shock as she yelled in triumph. They barely made the flight.

There were certain things he knew he was going to love in particular about Victoria forever. He loved the way she would fuss with her uncooperative hair even if they were running late. He loved that she would never admit defeat when it came to learning how to drive a stick shift. He loved that she saved buttons almost obsessively. He loved that after twenty years she still could not cook a steak.

He loved that when they got married, she refused to not only not see him the day of the wedding, but he didn't even get to catch a glimpse of her the day before. He loved that she nearly tripped twice up the aisle because of her high heels, which she still could not master. He loved that she nearly chucked a champagne flute at her brother's head when he tried to make a speech about her being a grubby whine baby as a child at their reception.

He loved that she had him curled right around her little finger, even when she almost crushed it when she gave birth.

Those little moments, those tiny imperfections that could ruin anyone's day made him smile. He grinned as he buried his face into his wife's shoulder.

Yeah, I live for little moments like that.