Pairing: England/Fem!America

Warnings: Character death, human AU, student Arthur, teacher Fem!erica, almost no dialogue.

This AU is completely based off of my own head-canon, so it may seem a little OOC (especially on Fem!erica's part, she's a little more shy and insecure).

There will be three short chapters, the POV switching with each one. This one is Arthur's POV.

Chapter One: Her Death

I like you. I love you. Stay with me. Don't leave me. They're such simple three word sentences. So, why couldn't I say any of them? Why were they so hard to express? It's too late. She'll never hear them now. I'll never have another chance.

Being born, living, dying…they're all such amazing things. They're miracles. People tend to take them for granted. Why are we born? Why do we live? Why do we die? Everything happens for a reason, it isn't meaningless; it isn't for nothing. I don't think anyone really realizes the significance of life and death until they either experience a great loss of their own, or until they actually lose themselves to the unbeatable tide called destiny.

Even though I know this now, back then, while the two of us watched the clouds pass across the stars overhead, I wouldn't have understood it. The next day, when I went back to that same spot to watch the stars without her, I hopelessly wept, though trying not to let my voice be heard. I cursed her for leaving me behind; I couldn't understand why she had to die; I couldn't comprehend what purpose her death could have served. Now, I am strong enough to look at those stars in that spot without shedding any tears.

I know that this is how it had to be, it was fate. Those events, her birth, her life, and her death, they weren't without meaning.

It wasn't anything big, nor was it something expected to happen. Her death was actually rather anticlimactic and befitting of her and her personality. She didn't die a hero (though, that's how she probably would have preferred it), nor did she die a victim. It was a very simple, very casual accident that could have happened to anyone at all.

She was a fairly shy yet charismatic woman, as contradictory as that may sound. She often wore heels, tall high heeled shoes; she loved them and somehow never seemed to trip or stumble, a well balanced woman. She was a teacher at the local university. She wasn't particularly athletic, a bit over weight, to tell the truth; and she would always use the elevator, as many people do. She seemed nothing out of the ordinary. She worried unnecessarily over her looks and would diet on and off constantly. Even though she was overweight and sometimes had a troubled wrinkle on her brow, she was still a very beautiful, I might even say, a majestic woman. She had a natural glow to her that would attract people, like moth to a flame; as cliché as that sounds, there is no greater truth that I can think of. After all, I too was drawn in by that glow. The glow of her sun kissed skin, her vibrant blue eyes, and golden locks; but stronger than those, was the glow of her heart.

She was twenty-eight years old and had a foul relationship with her parents; the reasons are unknown to me, she never said anything more than that despite how I pressed her. Her younger brother, Matthew, was married to her best friend of five years with two children between them. After the two of them had divorced, her brother, having nowhere else to go, moved in with her. She and her friend continued to maintain a healthy friendship despite that separation.

Her nephews are a year apart from one another and still visit their father every other weekend. She would often speak of them fondly with a gentle smile on her lips. She showed great ardor to the people she loved, and would immaturely ignore those that she disliked. She was jealous and had a temper, but still, she was kind. Despite her lack of eloquence, she was somehow an amazing speaker and shined the brightest during the lectures that she gave at the college.

Even though she was twenty-eight, she was single and always had been. Though she hated admitting it, she was picky and shallow in every sense of the word. She once told me, "I want to get married, but I'm not suited for it. I want a man who will love me and only me, a man who is handsome, smart, kind, and athletic; the perfect man. How can I be satisfied with anything less? But, I'm not sure that sort of man would be satisfied with me." Hearing her say that, I realized just how superficial, self conscious, and fragile she was. I loved her, her imperfections; I loved her everything. I still do.

It was a rainy March day, only a week away from her twenty-ninth birthday. Once again, she was feeling insecure and was dieting. For the first time in a long while she was experimenting with exercising along with her dieting.

On her way up the stairs, to a lecture hall on the fourth floor, her wet hundred dollar heels slipped beneath her. The stair case was empty and the sound of her body as it toppled and cracked against the linoleum stairs seemed to echo into an air of nothingness; at least, that's how I imagined it.

That woman, who was both rather shy and charismatic, who lacked elegance but shined brighter than the most aristocratic women, the woman who cared so much about the way she looked and was so picky about the way others looked, the woman I had fallen so deeply for; the bone of her neck protruding through the skin, the echo of her fall resounding off of the walls, and the heels she loved broken and wet, she was dead. She had died alone in an empty stair well.

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