Work Text:
Title: queen of hearts
Fandom: Hetalia, The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
Date written: Nov. 2009
Warnings: Violence. Character death. Themes.
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America is very pretty, she thinks. Even when he's all beat up.
(That was probably an inappropriate thought. She doesn't know for sure.)
His hair is a mess. The blood makes it crusty and stringy. There are smears of blood on his face from his split lip, dirt on his clothes. Texas is cracked; there are riots there, death toll still rising.
They hold his arms behind his back and force him to his knees. He glares at her - how impolite, didn't his parents ever teach him any manners? Of course, most Nations don't have parents, not in the human sense of the word.
Still. How rude. Even though his eyes are beautiful, the same blue as her own. She wonders if she inherited the color from him.
Hi, America, she says. She feels like she should say something. Shooting him without saying anything would be awkward.
Go to hell, he growls.
No, I don't think so. But maybe you will.
Are you going to shoot me or not?
She is sad. Why is she sad? She should be happy. She is bringing a new world, a better one.
She wishes she could have known America better. She tells him so.
No god, no kings, he whispers.
She aims the gun. It is too big for her child's fingers, but her hands are steady.
Close your eyes. Pull the trigger.
~~~
It's too loud.
He is still there when she opens her eyes, slumped and bleeding. She hadn't expected that. All the blood. Why won't he just disappear?
She turns and retches; nothing comes up. When she looks up again, America is gone.
~~~
She is at her first UN meeting, not that they mean much anymore, these days. Diplomacy is a play, and they are acting on its stage.
It is her first time seeing so many Nations together. There are fewer of them now than decades before, she is told. She thinks they all look very tired. Europe is dying out. She should tell them to do something about their population.
Israel refuses to look at her the entire time. Perhaps he is still bitter about what she did with her Jews. She thinks she was being fair. The Jews are Sons of Jacob, after all.
It doesn't matter. She is stronger than Israel.
Nevertheless, it is still tiresome when everyone gives her the cold shoulder for two hours straight. They hate her, she can tell, and it hurts.
She doesn't care, she decides angrily. Let them hate her. She doesn't need to justify herself.
She is still jealous of America, even so.
~~~
England has wrinkles around his eyes. He didn't have them when she first saw him ten years ago, or maybe she just hadn't noticed back then. His people must be aging. She considers giving him advice, then decides against it. Her people are fleeing to him, and she doesn't like that.
Her escort has left to take a phone call. She is alone with England. They are discussing trade arrangements. He does not meet her eyes, but stares at the documents before him.
Why do you hate me, she asks when he falls silent.
It should be obvious, he replies. You killed America.
Gilead would be sad if someone killed her child, so she thinks she understands. But she has no child, so maybe she doesn't understand, really.
~~~
Canada looks a lot like America, but softer, somehow. She would like to touch his hair. She represses the thought.
She stands over him. He looks smaller that way. You will hand over my citizens, she says. They are escaped convicts. I will have them back.
Canada adjusts his glasses and stares back, quietly defiant. With all due respect, Gilead. (His tone is flat, unyielding, and oh she wants to strangle him but that would be unladylike) I am a sovereign nation and I am not subject to your laws, nor your demands.
Then stay out of my business, she snarls. My people stay within my borders.
Of course, he says softly. I would not infringe upon your authority.
She turns abruptly and leaves, slamming the door behind her.
~~~
She leaves her house less and less, sending representatives to future meetings. A woman's place is in the home. She will take care of her people, her charges. Her children.