Sequel to "Tranquility". Can be read separately, though.

Disclaimer: USUK smut would be canon if I owned, duh.

Warnings: Maybe historical inaccuracies, minimum angst (is there any at all?), and lots of fluff if you're allergic.

If there was something America never quite understood as clearly as he wanted to, it was the kiss that happened the day he won his independence.

To be precise, it had been the day after all the battles had ended and peace was restored to his land. The British soldiers were preparing to return to their homeland, much to the glee of America's people, and America had visited to see them off (and yes, he admitted to himself that he was there to make sure nobody pulled off any last-minute tricks).

He had not expected to find England so easily, so plainly there, considering the horrid circumstances they had parted in last time, but nevertheless the empire had been waiting for him.

"Hello, England." America had greeted him suspiciously shortly, since his mind had short-circuited the moment he came face to face with the man who had cried in defeat only a day ago. England, on the other hand, had seemed very calm and collected. Rather indifferent, so to speak.

"We will be leaving soon," England had stated matter-of-factly.

"I see," America responded, not trusting himself to speak without messing up if he spoke more than three syllables.

At that moment, something had shifted in England's eyes. They glinted with an emotion America could not quite place, and soon his former guardian was beckoning him closer. Being as dumbstruck as he was at the moment, America silently complied.

Standing up on the tips of his toes, England pressed a single kiss to America's lips.

It lasted for perhaps a second, maybe less, and then England was simply standing there, straightening his collar and ready to walk away.

"What was that for?" America whispered hoarsely.

England merely glanced back. Perhaps a tinge sorrowfully. Or maybe it was a trick of light.

"Goodbye, America."

With that said, England had walked away without looking back. Even when he set sail back to his country, England did not set his eyes on America, who could not tear his eyes off the empire until the ship was gone beyond the horizon.

It was a mystery America pondered every once in a while. Sometimes it infuriated him to the point it nearly drove him mad. Sometimes the implications made him feel sorrowful beyond comprehension. Sometimes he just wanted to give up and forget about the entire incident.

But he couldn't bring himself to lose that memory.

Though he wished to ask England what that kiss was for, he never really had any time to privately converse with the other nation. It was as if England was purposefully avoiding him. Not that it would be surprising if he really was avoiding America, since the Revolution had driven a wedge between them, but it was unfair.

America had so many questions he wanted to ask.

What did that kiss mean, England?

Did it mean goodbye?

Do you kiss other nations too?

Do you kiss your other colonies goodnight like you used to kiss me?

When America had somehow reached that last question in his mind, sometime around the late 1800s, the jealousy that flared up in his chest brought him to a mind-boggling revelation: he was in love with England.

(That night, America repeatedly slammed his forehead into his pillow as he muttered about how on earth it took himself over a hundred years to realize such an important fact like that.)

Sadly, the revelation did nothing to improve the relationship between him and England whatsoever.

The next several decades were passed by with America's attempts to somehow communicate with England, failing at doing so, and then the tables turning when the first World War reared its ugly head and swallowed the European continent whole. America locked his doors and refused to talk to any of those who begged for him to help. Yet his mind still lingered on England, who had kissed him the day fate had sent them on different paths.

After spending countless years pining after his ex-guardian, America quite suddenly found England on his doorstep. With the Zimmerman telegram.

It didn't take his government a long time to decide whether to join this European war or not; the Germans would have to be stopped before the conflict spread to American soil. That was that.

While his politicians bickered and scrambled through the processes or preparing for war, America had sat a weary England down and scoured about for some tea that the Briton would hopefully accept without complaint. After a good ten minutes of searching and finding something that seemed half-decent, America set down a cup of watery tea in front of England and sat down next to the other nation. It seemed like the perfect timing to ask about that mystery kiss all those years ago.

"So England," America began before England even moved to take the cup, "I wanted to ask you something."

The answer was immediate and utterly wrong. "No, I am not glad that I am dragging you into this war. I am not proud. But I need you, dammit."

America stared as England hung his head and sighed. He was not sure what kind of question England had anticipated, but America was pretty sure this had nothing to do with kisses and such. Oh great, now it would be too awkward to ask about the kiss incident.

"Er, well, I don't like the idea of going to war, either. But we can't let them bomb us, so I guess it's time to go to war after all." America scratched the nape of his neck. "At least I'll be able to help you."

England simply scowled and looked away.

On an impulse, America blurted out what was probably the most random thing he could have said at the moment.

"Hey England, give me a kiss."

The European nation had turned and stared at America with such incredulity that America suddenly felt very small and very stupid. Of course, the awesome hero couldn't possibly be small and stupid, but…heroes messed up sometimes, right?

"What." The question was flat.

"Like, a quick little kiss for good luck?" America improvised.

England looked at him strangely, and then leaned in to peck the American on the lips. The older nation quickly sat back down properly and picked up his cold cup of tea.

"For luck." America didn't miss the muttered comment.

"Yeah, for good luck." America grinned and stood up. He had a war to go to.

(Later, it hit him that possibly that kiss in the 1783 could possibly have been a kiss for good luck, but then that didn't really make sense, because why would England wish his rebellious ex-colony good luck right after a war that had caused said ex-colony to earn independence?

No, good luck was probably not what England had meant.

Even if America sort of really wished that was the case.)

After the war, England and America had separated and went their own ways once more. This time there were no kisses involved, and only Canada and Lithuania heard how much America wished England had given him another kiss before their farewells.

Yet again, Europe was torn in war. America stayed neutral as always, not really quite eager for such brawls when he was barely keeping himself together for that damned Great Depression and whatnot.

He ignored the small part of his mind that suggested he could go to fight that wretched war if England gave him another kiss.

He was not that desperate, dammit.

In the end, it was not England's people begging for help or the news of massacres or the promise of a kiss that made America enter alliance with the Allied powers. It was Japan and Pearl Harbor. It was his damaged ego and land and people who drove America to go to war against the Axis forces.

When America first arrived at the headquarters bristling with rage and anticipation, he had come face to face with England.

Whatever fury America had felt evaporated that moment.

"Arthur?" America had not used that name ever since the night before his revolution, and the name sounded foreign on his tongue after so many years. Moreover, this England seemed foreign to America.

He was terribly thin, for one thing. Arthur had always been on the lean side, what with his rather narrow bone structure and all, but this was sickeningly thin. His skin had developed a ghastly pale hue, marred with scars and burn marks that mapped his body extensively. Bandages were wrapped around his head, fingers, and most likely other body parts that were covered by clothing.

America stared at him in what could be only described as horror. "Arthur, is that you?"

Green eyes, dull compared to the days they used to be bright and burning. Narrowed and glared at him. "You're late, you wanker."

There was no appropriate response for that, so America opted to kneel down next to the sitting nation and gently cup his face. The nation that used to be the strongest nation in the world went rigid in America's hands.

"Jesus, Arthur. Germany did this to you?" He had heard about the Blitz, but he had not imagined this. Never this.

England gave no response but a cold, broken glare. America felt a stab go through his heart.

He licked his lips. "Arthur, I swear, I'll bash these assholes into the ground. I'll win this war for you. I'm going to protect you from now on, so pl—"

A hand on his own silenced America. Keeping his hand on America's, England turned his face slightly and sighed into America's palm. Blue eyes watched in fascination as green eyes fluttered shut, basking in a moment of peace.

"Alfred." England opened his eyes again and turned to face the other nation directly.

America felt his heart skip a beat at his name coming from England's mouth. It had been over a century since he had heard the older blonde call him that, and it was the first time since America had realized that he was in love with England. The very thought made his heart skip another beat.

At this rate, he was going to get a heart attack before he even went to war.

"Give me a kiss," England's voice broke a little, "it makes me feel safe."

At that moment, America realized that England needed him. Really, truly needed him like no other. Like how America needed England.

Like how he loved England.

"Why, Arthur? Why does it make you feel safe?" America brushed his thumb gently across the other nation's cheek. He could feel every tremor, every shudder and sigh that escaped England whenever he was touched. Every reaction screamed vulnerability. Willingness to show such vulnerability. Honesty.

"Because," England sighed into America's mouth, "even if I die tomorrow, I'll know that you loved me tonight."

That night, after America met the other nations and the conference was over, America kissed England again and again. Every kiss was for good luck, for victory, for safety, for protection. Every kiss was a declaration of love.

By the time both blondes were asleep in each other's arms, they were both safe in the knowledge that they were in love.

It is no surprise to America when he opens the door to a scowling face and shopping bag holding a wrapped present.

"Hey, Artie! I was wondering when you'd show up." America swoops in to steal a quick kiss, much to the chagrin of the spluttering nation whose face is on fire.

"I mean, I know that you hate this day and I still love you despite of it all, but it's still a pity you don't come see the fireworks and all that fun stuff. Hong Kong has mad skills with those—oh sweet! I wanted these!"

America chirrups in glee at the sight of the unwrapped present, and soon he is sliding into the seat next to England's, snuggling into the other nation's side with excessive energy and affection.

"I refuse to participate in those tasteless parties of yours. Especially after you made such a ridiculous fuss that one time I actually did decide to come along after all."

"Awe, but Artie, you throttled me for that. Isn't that enough?"

"No. I should have throttled you harder."

"Ouch, harsh."

"Hardly."

America pouts. "Well, not my fault I want to brag that my boyfriend comes to my birthday party."

England rolled his eyes. "I hardly think that such a thing is boast-worthy."

"Come on, we're talking about someone who doesn't talk to me for practically a century after a war where the last thing he does is—"

and then America suddenly remembers.

"...Alfred?" England blinked at the sudden shutdown of noise.

"Hey, Arthur," America began slowly, "remember how you kissed me the day after I won the Revolution?"

It takes less than the blink of an eye for England to remember. "…Yes."

"Why did you kiss me?"

After a few moments of silence, England finds himself pulled onto America's lap, face to face with an uncannily serious America. The ex-empire finds himself swallowing thickly and slowly finding the words to explain one of the most difficult moments in his life.

"You know how you said that, you felt safe when I kissed you goodnight?" America nods, remembering his more youthful days under England's wing. "Well, I suppose it was like that. For you to be safe."

America briefly is at a loss for words. "Like…a good luck charm?"

England averts his eyes. "More like a blessing."

For a minute, they are both silent.

"I mean," England caves and elaborates, "it was my way of giving you my blessing as an independent nation. I wanted you to prosper, be strong, be happy. I…I loved you and that felt like the best way to wish you the best."

Under America's shell-shocked stare, England feels himself blush hard. "Besides, you said you felt safer that way!"

The ex-colony slowly blinks and smiles. "Damn, Artie. I, uh, I don't know what to say."

There is not much England can say back to that when America is looking at him with such adoration and a blinding smile on his face, and any sarcastic retort the Brit has in mind flies out his mental window as he feels himself give in.

England brushes his lips against America's forehead, his nose burying in wheat-gold hair.

"Happy Independence Day, you git."

America's laugh is loud and unbridled and free, as free as those white stars against blue and red stripes against white are on his flag. The sound rings in the room like church bells.

It is the sound of liberty.

"I've always been yours, Artie. Always have, always will."

Yes, England nods in understanding. He knows what America means.

"Kiss me, Arthur," America demands with that lovely smile of his. England cannot bring himself to even snort at the request.

"Because it makes you feel safe?" England teases.

"Because it makes me feel happy." America adds in immediately.

England pecks America lightly on the lips, and the taller blonde pouts at the relatively chaste show of affection.

"Awe, Artie! What about a real kiss?"

America wiggles his eyebrows a little with the comment. Unable to stop himself England snorts and flicks the other's nose.

"Brat."

"Ow, that hurts!"

England slides a little further into America's lap while the bespectacled nation makes a show of rubbing his affronted nose. It takes that one motion for America to go rigid and immobile, which England takes as a chance to remove the hand covering the bottom half of America's face and slide his arms around the unmoving superpower.

"Well then, give me a real kiss this time," England purrs.

America is suddenly very cooperative, what with his hands circling around the British nation's waist and all.

"So that even if you die tomorrow you'll know that I love you?" America grins.

England leans forward, his voice dipping low and wanting.

"So that everybody knows that I'm yours and only yours, and that you're mine and only mine."

Blue eyes twinkle in mischief.

"Actions speak louder than words, babe."

Jade eyes gleam with mirth.

"So shut up and give me a kiss."

/Sorry, this is what happens when I'm writing at 3 in the morning with no coffee and a plot idea and sleep deprivation.

The pacing of the story is sort of off, and it bothers me to no end. Maybe I should get with the beta program.

Happy Independence Day, America! The hero of my imaginative life, lol.

Much more happier than Tranquility, that's for sure. I used a ton of similar elements between the two fics (if you notice any you are awesome) like the 'trick of light' or stuff like that. It was fun.

I'm going on a three day trip for fun, so see you in a few days!