* ~ Before We Get Much Older ~ *

Suddenly, America felt two hands shove at his chest and push him away. The surprise of it knocked him off balance and he almost fell head first off the bed.

When he righted himself again, it was to find England standing on the other side of the bed, breathing heavily and bracing himself on the mattress. Many emotions competed for dominance on his face, but none of them were the rueful tenderness he had expressed a minute ago.

America was thoroughly confused, until his eyes fell on the clock half hidden behind England now, and he noticed the hands both pointing to 12.

Ah. That would explain it.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL, AMERICA?"

America's mouth flapped like a fish's. How was he supposed to explain himself when that was all England's fault right there?

"I-I didn't…I mean, that wasn't – "

"No, go on, you're going to have to get it out eventually and I'm just dying to hear it!"

"Look, I'm sorry! But that was no way my fault. You were the one who kissed me!"

Now it was England's turn for his jaw to drop. His eyebrows lifted in surprise and confusion, and then he quickly looked away, understanding and horror dawning on his features.

"O-oh. I see…Ah, yes, I suppose you met the, uh, teenage version of myself then."

"Yeah, I did. You don't…remember anything?"

To be honest, the thought had not occurred to America before: whether or not England would remember everything when he woke up. That was probably something he should have considered before he went around making out with Iggy and practically confessing his love for England right to his face. If England did happen to remember the events of the past few days…then boy, was America going to have to find a big rock to hide under, and fast.

"No. That would be point of a memory loss spell, now, wouldn't it?"

America let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Right. Cool. I mean, cool that your spell worked," he added quickly, trying not to look too relieved about the situation. "But look, before you get all worked up and start thinking badly of me, we didn't…I mean, he didn't…do anything bad. He was cool. That…what we were doing just then…I'm pretty sure he was just being a dick and trying to get me in trouble with you."

Or trying to set up a situation where America had no choice but to confess, the blue-eyed nation thought to himself. That sneaky bastard…

England chanced a glance up at America through lowered lashes, hoping against hope that this was America's clumsy way of saying 'No, we did not have sex.'

"Really?"

"Yeah. He was definitely a little…creepy at first. I really got the whole pirate-y 'raping and pillaging' vibe from him, you know? But I set him straight pretty quick." (Best not to go into details about their near-misses just yet…) "We just hung out for a few days. I kept an eye on him for you." America offered a nervous grin, and England's stiff body relaxed, but barely. The smaller nation nodded slightly, and then looked around the room, as if it would provide him with something to say.

"He kinda…made a mess in your house before I got here," America said, trying to ease the atmosphere back to something resembling their normal quarrelsome dynamic. "Sorry 'bout that. Looks like you'll have some cleaning to do. I got here Friday night, but I don't think he actually did any damage before that. Saturday we went around London, and today we just watched movies and shit. I…I hope you don't mind?" He wasn't sure what else to say.

"Sounds like you had fun," England murmured, looking too upset and jealous for it to be an off-hand comment, and yet America didn't dare hope… "He must have been a nice change from me."

"He was awesome." America took a deep, dramatic breath. Well, better start somewhere, he prepped himself. Iggy had given him the push, and now he had to keep going. "I missed you, though."

America was staring at England's lowered face, willing him to look up.

"You don't have to say that."

"I know I don't. That's not why I said it."

England looked up at that, and America's attention was so focused on the green of his eyes that he didn't notice the emotions struggling to contain themselves from the other's face.

"Why are you here, America?" England sighed, defeated.

"I was worried," he admitted.

These were things he never wanted to have to say, made him feel so uncomfortable putting himself out on the line. But if there was any chance it could help England, any chance at all – and teenage-England had seemed to think it was worth it…

He would risk making a fool of himself for England.

"You weren't on Twitter for days, and I thought something bad had happened to you so I came to check up on you and you were all…like that, and I wanted to stay and make sure the spell broke properly and you turned back to normal." Okay, that was just babbling. Surely he could make it through this and manage to be coherent, too?

England's impressive eyebrows drew up and wrinkled his forehead. "You didn't have to go through the trouble. I know you don't believe in magic, anyway, you must have thought it was ridiculous."

"Whatever it was, I wanted to be there for you," America said boldly, at the risk of sounding ridiculous.

"Why you, America?" England exclaimed at that, fists banging and bouncing on the mattress. "Why you of all people? No one was supposed to be here! Why did you have to come looking for me?"

"Because it's my fault," America said, hanging his head and staring, unseeing, at the bed, scrunching the duvet in his fists. "I get that now. You're unhappy because of me, and I wanted to make it up to you. But I'll go now. You're back to normal, so I'll leave you alone."

Teenage-England had been wrong. America had known it all along: England didn't care about him. He was sick of him, in fact, wanted to forget all about him. Teenage-England had tried to help, but he didn't know the situation well enough. He was wrong about the two of them. Wrong about the way England felt for him.

America slipped off the bed and left the room in silence. He began silently gathering and packing up his things in the guest bedroom where he had spent the first night. The one in which Iggy had locked himself last night after their little...whatever it was. America didn't have the energy to think about it anymore.

As he grabbed a few stray items that had been scattered round the room and in the bathroom, he wondered why teenage-England had been so desperate to get them together in the future. Surely, if he was the one who wanted some company, like he'd implied, then he shouldn't be encouraging America to confess to the future-England.

Iggy had clearly had issues, been lonely and unhappy and a little lost – and hiding it all behind the scariest, most ruthless persona he could muster. (Which was pretty sizable.)

Why was this England so much more unhappy, America wondered, morbidly. Sure there were more wars added in that four hundred years in between them, but there were good things, too. Progression and peace and understanding and enlightenment, the likes of which the teenage-England had never known, never dreamt possible. Did the bad really outweigh all the good?

It was as he hefted his backpack over his shoulder and prepared to leave that an answer blossomed in his head, making him fall completely still.

It wasn't the burdens of the past 400 years that had made England unhappy. It was the good times.

It was during that time that England had found happiness at last. Met a little blonde-haired, blue-eyed nation and found an ally, a companion, a brother he thought he would never have. Something unbelievable, Iggy had called it.

England had found happiness, something he had never expected to happen. And then it was taken away. America took it away. The one who had given it to him unconditionally, decided to take it away, after all.

It wasn't the revolution that had made him unhappy. It was the fact that he had had something great, and then lost it again.

No wonder England hated him so much. No wonder he was unhappier now…

"America?"

England was standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom, voice soft and unsure and fingers fiddling nervously with his sleeves – though his customary scowl tried to offset the vulnerable demeanour.

America let his rucksack slump off his shoulder to the floor, but he remained staring into space, unable to look at England.

"I'm sorry for whatever my younger self said or did. If he did anything inappropriate. I know what I used to be like, so I'm sure he was…a handful. And that kiss…I…I do apologise. I know it wasn't your fault."

"Is he coming back?" America heard himself ask.

"Wha…?" England whispered, almost to himself. Then comprehension dawned on him – or rather, he let himself jump to conclusions. "Do you want him back?"

"Not if it means losing you," America said, so loud and firm that it jolted his listlessness back to life. He turned to face England, and looked him in the eye. "I would never want that."

"Then why – "

"That's why you did the spell in the first place, right?" America urged. "You wanted to forget me. And everything," he added quickly, so as not to make England feel guilty. "So you could…go back to when you were happiest and have a better life from now on."

England looked at him for a moment, face unreadable.

"Don't be an idiot."

America's eyes snapped wider. "What?"

"You think I did it so that I could erase all my memories permanently? So I could swan around like an arrogant teenager without a care in the world? How is a 17th century privateer supposed to run a 21st country? Honestly, that's preposterous!"

America couldn't help the smile that flashed onto his face, even if it was inappropriate.

"That's just what he said."

"I was just testing it," England said, and it took America a moment before he realised England was talking about the spell. "I did it in December so that no one would get suspicious. It was actually for…for the summer."

America frowned at him, trying to read his thoughts through his furrowed brow and lowered eyes.

"For the week before my birthday?"

"Um, yes, I tend to get sick around that time for some reason. I thought if I…lost all my memories, I might…um…"

"Yeah, I get it," America interrupted kindly, saving England from having to babble some lame excuse.

England looked up with a determined frown which even America could tell was a mask for something. "I know he's more fun than I am. I know you two must have gotten along well. And if you miss him then I can – "

"Don't ever do that."

England's defensive frown was swept off his face at America's harsh tone and serious glare. "I'm sorry you're unhappy, because of me," America said. He felt strangely calm, despite the decades of build-up and anxiety behind the words he knew he had to say next. "But I…I love you, England, and I never wanted to hurt you this badly. I'll do anything to make it up to you. Just don't ever go away."

England was visibly shaking, and his knuckles clutching the doorframe were white as he tried to support himself.

Trying to look bolder than he felt, America walked towards him, took his hand, and led him to sit on the guest bed. These conversations really were more suited to sitting down, anyway.

"I'm sorry for putting this pressure on you," America said calmly, once they were both sitting on the edge of the bed. They were still holding hands because neither had the courage to move and disturb the awkward calm surrounding them.

"I'm not asking for anything. I just want you to know…it kills me that you're sad. It kills me that I can't do anything about it. But even though you're unhappy, you're perfect just the way you are, England. You don't have to go back to when you were a teenage empire to be worth anything. Nobody can replace you – not even him."

England was staring at the carpet, but his gaze was seeing something much further away. America really didn't know what else to say, so he just waited until England was ready to reply, to tell him 'Thank you, but your love doesn't make me feel any better.'

"Is that true?"

America's eyes shone, his honesty trying to seep out and reach the other through every fibre of his being. "I know you think I'm young and stupid, but I take this just as seriously as you do, England. I know it might be hard to believe – after all we've been through, and all you've been through. But I'll never be more serious about anything in my life."

"That's not saying much," England said, feeling awkward, trying to brush him off.

"England," America reproached. "Please. At least pretend you'll try and believe it. It would mean a lot to me if you didn't just brush it off."

In reply, England squeezed his hand. It was weak: the touch of a man trying to control every emotion he had. But America felt it, and felt his heart clench tightly. He knew England was listening to him.

"You're wrong, by the way."

"What?" America tilted his head in confusion.

"Being a young, free empire: that wasn't the time when I was happiest." England looked at him sideways, then quickly away again. "That honour falls to my time raising you."

America's heart felt just a little lighter in his chest.

"And then I ruined it. I'm – "

"Don't you ever say that," England said firmly, shaking his head to himself. "You can't blame yourself. This is how it goes for us. Don't you think I would have done the exact same in your situation?"

"But I hurt you," America asked, in disbelief.

"Dreadfully so," England said, closing his eyes to shut out the memory of the pain, always so ready to surface. "But you didn't do it to be hateful. I can't help being sad that we're not so close anymore, but I don't blame you."

"You'd better not blame yourself then, either."

"Believe me, I don't."

They both smiled ruefully, and glancing at each other, shared the look between themselves.

"Is it okay that I love you?" asked America. It was surprising how natural it felt to have it out in the open between them. He was genuinely happy to learn how relieving it was to have this weight off his chest – to have England know that America worshipped him. England had the right to know something like that, he shouldn't have kept it secret for so long. "I know it must seem like a dick move: I go and become independent and then later claim that I love you. But I mean it."

"I…I suppose you do," England said, lips quirking into a crooked smile for just a moment. "Is it okay if I don't quite believe it? I don't mean to make light of your feelings, it's just…well, rather new to me. Might take some getting used to."

"I figured you wouldn't quite get it," America smiled, and found it easy to do so. There was still a pang and an ache in his chest when he thought how his feelings would never be returned, but he seemed to have made England a little happier, a little more confident. And that was just fine. "Iggy told me – oh, yeah, he didn't mind that nickname," America grinned when England turned red, first in fury, then embarrassment. "Iggy told me he would never be able to believe it if somebody cared about him. You seem to have had it rough, England. But just so you know, I'll always care – whether you believe it or not."

"Git. Saying such things…"

America smiled.

"I suppose that…" England trailed off for a minute, clearly searching for the words, or perhaps the courage. America felt the smaller nation squeeze his hand again, and he squeezed back, earning a tiny gasp from England. "I suppose the least I can do is be honest with you, too," he gushed.

This brought a frown back to America's face. What could possibly be left to say now?

"It means a lot to me, that you say you love me. And even though I find it hard to believe, I want to show you that I still value those words. I'm willing to trust you, even if I don't quite believe any of it. So, to prove it, I suppose I should tell you now that…I love you, too, America. Of course I do," he added, seemingly to himself, with a little smile that the blue-eyed nation couldn't figure out.

It was America's turn to be speechless again.

As lovely as it should sound to him, it was something he had never, ever expected to hear. And he suddenly found out exactly how England felt when he said he 'couldn't quite believe it.'

"Really?" was the only thing he could safely say.

"I would have thought it was bloody obvious."

"Not to me."

"Well, there's a surprise!"

America knew he was being insulted, but he also knew it was half-hearted at best, and that England was just being his blustery self to avoid the awkwardness for as long as possible.

"But we're so different, England," America said, almost pleading, as if hoping to bring the other back to his senses. He didn't want to get his hopes up for nothing. "How can you possibly want me? I don't understand anything you've been through or how to help you through it; I could never give you what you need. You're better off with someone who can understand you, someone like France – "

"Don't EVER say that again!" England shouted immediately – as usual, any mention of his ancient rival snapping him out of the soberest of moods.

"Okay, sorry," America said, holding one hand up in surrender while the other was clasped in England's death grip. "I just mean, you know everything about me, but I don't know anything about you. I see that now – after being with him. How am I…Just how am I supposed to be anybody important to you when I don't understand your past? When we have nothing in common?"

England stared at him, looking incredulous. It was quite off-putting.

"You're a right imbecile." America began to protest but England pushed his free hand against America's mouth to shut him up. "If I said any of that to you, what would you think?"

America looked at him patiently, until England blushed in realisation and took his hand away from the other's mouth.

"I'd think it was a load of bullshit."

"Exactly. I don't know about you but I didn't…fall in love with you – " (he said that part rather quietly) " – just because we have an awful lot in common. You have to stop putting me on a pedestal, America. Lord knows how you got me up there in the first place."

America wanted to protest, but found his tongue oddly tied up.

"It doesn't matter to me that you don't understand my past," England carried on, looking away again, a blush dusting his cheeks and finally America was allowed to stare at it. "That's one of the reasons you're so precious to me, actually. You have nothing to do with that terrible time. Everything changed when I met you."

He looked embarrassed to be saying this, but now the door was open apparently he just couldn't close it.

"The fact is, before that – in the life that 'Iggy' knew – I'd…I had never met anyone like you, America." England threw him a sidelong glance, and suddenly America was very aware of the fact that they were holding hands. "Humans were not in our league. I barely gave them a second thought as individuals, save for the few that stood out – the giants among men. And as for our kind: I didn't have any friends, and my real brothers were a mess. The other nations were either my enemies or possessions or tools to get what I wanted.

"And then, suddenly, there you were," England said, locking green and blue gazes with America for a moment before turning away again. "Something I could barely believe but so bright I couldn't ignore it. You were lovely and you cared and you were sweet and honest...I've had other colonies, so it wasn't that which made you stand out. You were just always special to me. At first I didn't know why, but now I do. You're everything I could ever want, America. You fill every space inside me: you were the perfect family, then my most valuable ally, then a loyal friend. And now, maybe you can be the one I…love." Again, this word was practically whispered, as if England thought saying it too loud would kill it. "None of our other relationships have ever worked out for us, so maybe this is what we're supposed to be to each other. But I still can't even believe it. Having someone like you in my life, after all the disasters I've been through, the terrible way I used to live. Why would I not want you? How could your differences possibly turn me away? They're what make you a better person than me."

America laughed, much softer and warmer than his regular boisterous noise. England looked at him, worried he had said too much, been too emotional and embarrassing.

"You told me not to put you on a pedestal. I'll only agree if you promise to do the same for me, okay?" England looked slightly confused, as if he really believed America to be all that he said he was, so why shouldn't he talk about it? "I'm happy you love me, England, don't get me wrong. But you're the one who's lived centuries more than me, and I still don't see how I can be enough for you. Don't assume I'm everything you need, because I don't wanna let you down. And if your past really was all that bad, then I don't know how to help you through it…"

"Idiot." England rolled his eyes. "Nobody can 'help me through it', America. It's over now; that's the point, it's all in the past. And it's not the past I'm worried about. It's the future.

"Yes, I lived a long time without you, but is that any reason to deny me a future with you? It's not my fault that I'm older than you so don't hold it against me in some misguided sense of righteousness. And, look, for all you know, we could end up spending more of our lives together than we did apart, so it wouldn't matter in the end, anyway."

America's eyes widened. He had never thought of it like that before. He had been so caught up in wondering how he could help England get over his troubled past that he hadn't even thought about the future. He had missed out on a lot, it seemed. But he could be there every step of the way from now on. Make sure England was happy for the rest of their long lives.

"Look, if you don't want to, I understand," England said with a frown. "But you said you loved me. I hope you're not getting scared now." America was about to protest that heroes never get scared, until England captured his attention with that deadly hook in his bright green eyes. "Because I want to risk it."

"You do?" For some reason it surprised America. It was one thing to admit that they loved each other, but another thing entirely to actually attempt being together like that. The thought of it sent his mind and heart reeling, dizzyingly.

"Yes, America. Let's just…let's get together before we get much older. I-if that's…what you want?"

America stared at him, too bewildered to get a hold of himself. Then he felt England's hand twitch in his, and his mind came screaming back to life.

"Sounds awesome to me." It would have sounded non-committal, but the face-splitting grin that he couldn't rein in made his heart's answer clear enough.

England smiled back, and America had never felt more important and proud and happy than he did right now for causing that smile. He was looking forward to more of this.

They sat there grinning stupidly for a while, letting relief and hope wash over them, and wondering at how quickly decades' worth of tension and worry had disappeared in an instant, without them barely noticing.

They felt a little ridiculous, too: if they'd known it was this easy to get rid of all that pent-up stress and anguish, they would have done this a lot sooner. How foolish of them both for being so shy and insecure.

"Well, it's, like, 1 a.m. We should get some sleep," America said finally, though he made no move to stand up or let go of England's hand.

"Yes, of course." England also didn't move.

"Do you…" England blushed, and America grinned, knowing exactly where the perverted nation's mind was going. "Can I sleep with you, tonight? And I really mean just sleep. I'm exhausted."

"A-are you sure?"

"Yeah. I wanna be right next to you. All the time. You're gonna get pretty sick of me, let me tell you."

England's giddy smile and blush must have embarrassed the older nation, if his quick cough and fidgeting were anything to go by. But they looked perfect on him, America thought.

They had to let go of each other's hands, and it was pathetic how much America missed it already – like he couldn't breathe properly without that contact anymore. They changed in separate rooms and when he was sure England was done, America headed into the master bedroom to join him.

For a moment they stood awkwardly on opposite sides of the bed, but then England noticed the rumpled covers that had obviously not been made properly in a week. His complaining relaxed America immediately and he laughed and apologised and promised to help clean up tomorrow. And then they were lying in bed next to each other.

Not close, not even looking at each other. They were both on their backs, staring up at the canopy of England's four poster bed. And it wasn't what America wanted from this first night together.

He rolled over on to his side, looking at England and waiting for the other nation to summon the courage to look back. When he did, America withdrew a hand from under the blankets and laid it palm up on the mattress space between them.

England rolled over to face him, and rested a hand in his.

And America thought it would be okay to lean in and give him just one little kiss, so he did, and even though it was a tiny brush of the lips, not even remotely romantic, it didn't feel like a little kiss to him.

"Good night…Arthur."

England smiled again, and America knew he would never get tired of it.

"Good night, Alfred."

Oh, yes. This was it. The one with whom he really belonged.

This was his England, alright.

A/N:

It's over!

I hope the ending was satisfying. The rest of the story was so angsty I had to work really hard to make sure the ending was happy and emotionally satisfying. Didn't want to leave you all feeling like there were loose ends left to be tied up, or feeling worried that these two would not get their happy ending.

Because they do.

A hugemongous thank you to everyone who reviewed. Your words and encouragement and support made me so happy, and gave me so much confidence that I now can't wait to start my next story! (It won't be anything like this one – this was really far outside my comfort zone, let me tell you. But since it was a 'Secret Santa' I had to attempt it.)

Thank you for reading, everyone! You're all awesome!