Chapter Text
The world meeting was going just like normal, which is to say, nothing was happening at all. However, there was one noticeable difference: America was absent. Ludwig kept scanning to crowd for the obnoxious blonde man, but he still came up with nothing. “Alright, does anyone know where America is?” he called into the room. Arthur frowned and shook his head, several nations following suit. It wasn’t unlike America to be late, but he was always present by the time roll call came around. Then, a gasp of surprise came from the corner of the room, and everyone’s gaze snapped to Matthew Williams, the personification of Canada. “Today’s April 9,” the Canadian said, and Mexico and Brazil nodded in understanding.
Arthur furrowed his brow, “What’s so special about April 9?”
Canada stared at him, “Anniversary of the end of the Civil War.” The nations bristled in apprehension and surprise, the African nations in particular looked varying degrees of uneasy and angry. After a heavy silence, Ludwig called for the meeting to continue, without a reasonably excused America.
After the meeting, Arthur pulled Francis, Antonio, Ludwig, Gilbert, Kiku, and Matthew aside. “I know this is a painful day for America,” he started, “But he’s shown up to meetings on painful days before. Hell, I even got him to come on 9/11 once. But staying away the entire day, without even a call, this is unlike him.” The other nations nodded in agreement, all except Matthew, who was trying very hard to leave unnoticed. Normally, this would have been easy for the soft-spoken Canadian, but now Arthur was focused on him. “Matthew, where is your brother?” Arthur asked sharply, and Matthew gave a resigned sigh.
“He’s probably at the graveyard,” Matthew said, and he started walking away, motioning for them to follow. After a brief drive, they came to the somber gates of Arlington National Cemetery. As they started up the path, it struck Arthur that he had never been to Arlington before. It wasn’t one of the sights Alfred insisted on showing him whenever he came to visit. He’d known of the cemetery’s existence, of course, but he’d never actually seen it. When they reached the top of the hill, Arthur’s breath caught. For miles, a rolling expanse of bare hillside was filled with starch white headstones. Thousands upon thousands of the things, all marking the remains and sacrifices of American soldiers. At the top of the hill, a massive American flag stood at half-mast, overlooking the solemn hillside, and gleaming in the setting sun. It didn’t feel right, having Alfred’s flag at half-mast; Arthur knew it was a show of respect for the dead, but Alfred was normally so jovial, it was hard to remember that he had negative emotions as well. Arthur also knew that some of the graves were from the Revolution and the War of 1812. Guiltily, he wondered how many men he had sent to the gates of Arlington.
As Matthew lead them down the hill, the mood was incredibly cowed. Even the normally rambunctious Gilbert was withdrawn, and even looked a little guilty as they passed graves from the World Wars. As they got into some of the older burial sites, Antonio blanched as they passed a mass grave for the crew of the USS Maine, the destruction of which had started the Spanish-American War. Ludwig put a hand on Antonio’s shoulder sympathetically, an unusual display of affection from the uptight German. Then Arthur remembered all the graves that read World War I and World War II. Ludwig probably felt responsible for a good 60% of Arlington’s occupants. As they continued walking, Francis sighed sadly as they passed a monument for Marquis de Lafayette, the Frenchman that had been a prominent general in the American Revolution. Kiku inclined his head in recognition at a monument to the Battle of Iwo Jima. Finally, they came to the Civil War section of Arlington, and started hearing sobbing.
They were greeted by a familiar and unsettling sight. A black-haired man with a scruffy goatee in a grey military uniform, a grey cotton cap pulled tight over his head, and bearing on it a tarnished copper insignia of the now defunct Confederate States of America. Now, though, the former CSA had his left sleeve pinned up against his shoulder, no arm present at all. The cost of the Civil War. Beside him, Alfred had his head in his hands, crying his eyes out.
It was shocking, honestly, seeing Alfred sobbing and crying like a child, with the personification of his greatest enemy standing next to him as a silent sentry. “Alfred?” Arthur asked in disbelief, and both men swung around to face the new arrivals. Alfred frantically tried to compose himself, wiping at his eyes while the Confederacy deftly handed him a previously unseen handkerchief. The Southerner looked somewhere between sad, guilty, alarmed, and angry.
After a short while, Alfred managed to get a hold of himself. “E-England, Germany, Japan, France, Spain, Prussia, Canada. H-hey, how’s it goin?”
“America,” Ludwig said, reverting back to a straightlaced stance, “We were worried about you. You did not show up to the meeting.”
Alfred swore, “Damn, was that today? I’m sorry, guys, I’m a little distracted this time of year.”
Finally, England overcame his surprise, “America, who is this?”
The Confederacy looked hurt, “Truly, sir?” he asked, his voice the same stereotypical, lilting accent of the American south, “I invited you to a ball. I sent you so many letters. You truly don’t remember me?”
England winced, as several memories flooded back to him, “No, yes, of course I remember you, Alexander,” he said quickly, recalling the Confederate's human name, “I’m just surprised that you are… alive.”
Alexander lowered his head in shame, his hand drifting up to his missing arm, “So am I, sir,” he said sadly, “I’ve been shimmering in and outta’ limbo for a while now. I managed to stick around in the 50s and some o’ the 60s, but mainly it’s just been… flickering, you know?”
Gilbert inclined his head in understanding. After the dissolution of the Free State of Prussia, he’d gone through much a similar experience.
Alfred looked a little sheepish, “He manages to make it here every year, so sometimes we talk, sometimes we don’t. It’s just, nice, to see him again.”
Alexander shook his head, “Alfred, we tried to kill each other. You shouldn’t be happy to see me. No one should be happy to see me.”
Instead of answering, the northern American pulled his brother into a rib crushing hug. Alexander’s eyes flew open in surprise, and he awkwardly patted his brother on the back. “If you felt that way then you wouldn’t keep showing up here every year,” Alfred murmured, and the Europeans shifted uncomfortably. They felt they were intruding on quite the private moment.
Then, from behind them, they heard the sound of shattering glass. All the assembled nations turned in surprise, only to see a young woman in a modest black dress, staring in shock, a small glass bauble lying in pieces at her feet. Her eyes became teary, and her lip trembled, “Pa?” she asked, her voice wobbly with emotion.
Alexander’s eyes softened, then went to stricken alarm. “V-Virginia,” he stammered, his voice betraying him. Arthur looked at the others in shock, and by their faces, he guessed he had heard correctly. This young woman was the personification of the state of Virginia.
Alfred, for one, looked nervous, “Olivia, dear, I can explain-”
He didn’t get through it far enough, as Virginia ran forward into her father’s arm, breaking down into tears of joy. “I knew it!” she cried, “I knew you weren’t gone! I could feel you, in Richmond, all that time-” At first, Alexander didn’t know what to do, his mind going into red alert, but then, years of paternal instinct kicked in, and he returned the embrace.
“Shh,” the former Confederate cooed soothingly, rubbing her back, “Shh, Virginia, it’s alright, now…”
As Virginia continued to sob, Alexander looked, for the first time since the Europeans had arrived, happy. Obviously, he wasn’t happy that his daughter was crying, but he was happy to be able to see her again, to hold her again. His eldest child, his sweet Virginia. As Virginia winded down, she seemed to remember something. “Oh, Lordy, I’m so embarrassed,” she said, her face heating as she pulled herself away from her father, “I dropped your violin!” She quickly walked past the nations to sweep up the broken glass of what was indeed a small sculpture of a violin.
Alexander smiled fondly, “I always wondered who was putting those little things on my grave. Thank you, Virginia.” He took the shards from her and tucked them into a leather pouch on his belt. Then, the two remembered that there were other nations present. “Right!” Alexander exclaimed, turning to them, “England, France, Prussia, Japan, Germany, Canada, this is my eldest daughter, Olivia Jones, otherwise known as the great state of Virginia.”
Virginia curtseyed, "A pleasure to make your acquaintances, sirs." The assembled nations stared in response. Luckily, their ingrained senses of proper manners overcame their curiosity that states could have personifications, and they gave hastened pleasantries in reply. After acknowledging them, Virginia turned to her other parent, who was currently trying to slink out of view unnoticed. Sadly, he was not as accomplished at that particular skill as his northern brother, and Virginia slapped him across the face, hard enough to leave his cheek red and turn his head. Her face was a deep scowl, and in a voice that would send the bravest soldier running for the hills, she roared, “ALFRED F JONES, YOU’VE GOT SOME ‘SPLAININ TO DO!”
England would never admit it, but he shivered at the rigor of the angry Virginian. There were few things more terrifying than an angry American woman. Perhaps maybe an angry Jewish woman, or an angry Russian woman. Or an angry woman, in general. Point being, Arthur would much rather fight the Great War all over again than face the wrath of Olivia Jones. Alfred, for his part, just rubbed his cheek in shock. Virginia was still furious, and she pressed on, “Why didn’t you tell me my father was still alive, uncle?” she said the word as if it were an insult, and slowly Arthur realized it was. Olivia was angrily reminding Alfred that he was not her real father. Alfred and Alexander caught the slight as well, and while Alfred’s expression crumbled, Alex tried to calm his daughter down.
“It wasn’t his call, Olivia,” he said, gently pulling her away from her uncle, and Virginia turned to him. Alexander sighed, saying, “I asked Alfred to tell you all I died, I thought it would be easier for everyone. Better that than what actually happened…” His eyes drifted down to his missing arm, and Virginia started tearing up again.
“Oh, Pa,” she murmured, hugging him again. After she calmed down, Alex turned her towards Alfred.
“Now,” he said, putting his ‘Dad Voice’ back on, “Is there anything you’d like to say to your uncle, young lady?”
Virginia had the grace to look bashful, “I’m sorry I slapped you, Uncle Alfred.”
Alfred rubbed his cheek a little more, smiling at her reassuringly, “It’s no worry, you had a right and a reason. Now, if I’m not mistaken, you have business to attend to in Richmond, don’t you?”
Virginia’s expression became panicked, and she frantically checked her watch. “Damn, I’m late,” she swore, “The state legislature is debating a new bill today, and they wanted my opinion. I’m so sorry, I have to go. Pa, it was wonderful to see you again, don’t be a stranger. I love you, too, Uncle Alfred. A pleasure to meet you all. Goodbye, everyone! Oh, the governor’s going to have my head for this…” With that, Virginia hurried off to what was presumably a rather large chewing out from her governor.
“Alright, I think it’s time to go back ourselves, eh?” Matthew asked, and Arthur noticed his right hand was fidgeting toward his back pocket, and his expression looked more strained than usual.
“I believe you’re right, Matthew,” Arthur agreed, “It’s good to know you’re alright, Alfred. Alexander, it was good to see you again. We shall take our leave.” After the last of the goodbyes were given, the Europeans walked back through Arlington, leaving the Americans to grieve together. Finally, after watching Canada stop himself from reaching into his back pocket a total of six times, Arthur said, “Matthew, are you feeling quite alright?”
The Canadian jumped at the sound of his voice, the turned to face him with an obviously fake smile. “Just fine, Arthur,” he said a little too quickly, “Why do you ask?”
“You keep reaching for something in your back pocket like your life depends on it,” Arthur said flatly, and Francis and, less normally, Gilbert started to become concerned.
Matthew’s expression faltered for just a moment, enough for Arthur to know something was wrong, but soon in was cheerful again. “Oh, it’s nothing, Arthur,” he said breezily, “Just itching to listen to my music. Cemetery’s really bumming me out, y’know?”
“Hmm,” Arthur nodded, appearing to agree, and he dropped the subject. However, he noticed that Canada tried extra hard not to reach for whatever was in his back pocket. Gilbert frowned like he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue.
They reached the parking lot and went their separate ways, and as Arthur started the car, he turned to Francis. “Matthew is hiding something from us and Gilbert knows what it is,” he said simply. Francis’s eyes widened in surprise.
“But, Angleterre, how can you be sure?” he asked as they started to pull away.
“When he was stressed, Matthew reached for something in his back pocket,” Arthur started, not taking his eyes off the road, “When I confronted him, he deflected. However, Gilbert seemed to know something, but acted as if he were sworn to silence. As rambunctious as that Prussian bastard is, he can keep a secret if asked.”
Francis looked speechless. “B-but,” he stuttered, “What would Matthieu tell Gilbert that he would not tell us?”
“Maybe Gilbert found out by accident,” Arthur reasoned.
“Perhaps…” Francis agreed reluctantly, “Or perhaps…”
“Perhaps what?” Arthur questioned as he took a turn to the hotel.
“Nothing, nevermind,” Francis said dismissively, “It was a stupid thought.”
“Well now I’m intrigued,” Arthur chuckled, “You know I can’t pass up the chance to call you stupid.”
Francis smirked dryly, “You’re going to laugh at this one.”
“Out with it, Frog, what was your utterly stupid thought?” Arthur pressed.
“Well,” Francis said, starting to laugh a little himself, “I actually thought Matthieu and Gilbert might be in love!”
Arthur laughed aloud, “Oh, that’s rich, old chap. Our Matthew? Quiet, shy, Matthew, in love with Gilbert!? They’re the complete opposite of one another!”
Francis laughed along with him, “Oui, I know, right? It was so stupid of me! I really must be overly romantic!” The two continued laughing together as they walked inside the hotel, because really. Matthew and Gilbert together? What a silly concept.