Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arthur Kirkland's home was unnaturally quiet for the time of day, especially with all the commotion the more recent world meetings brought about. France hadn't tried to sneak in through the garden like he so often attempted to do, and even America hadn't stopped by to pester him about heroism-this and hamburger-munch-munch-that. Normally, he would find such invasions of privacy a nuisance, especially when it took away further time he could be spending with (Y/N).

At the thought of your name, England looked over at the plush couch that he kept off to the side in his study, giving a weary sort of smile at seeing your sleeping form curled up comfortably along its length.

Today had been one of your better days, so he thought. You were more easily able to move about on your own, and your coughing fits weren't as draining on your stamina as they had been earlier that week. This was one of those days that he cherished, a day where he could take you outside to the garden you so loved to run around in, a day where your health wasn't as big of a concern as it normally was because you were feeling so much better....

A frown came to the country's lips. It was because of your earlier activities frolicking outside that had forced you into a dizzy spell, hence why you were currently napping in the study where you had demanded you be taken. It was, after all, the place he would be spending his time while you rested, and you had refused to be away from his side all that day.

Now more than ever, Arthur wished his normal nuisances were there to keep his mind from unwanted thoughts.

You were gravely sick. None of the doctors he had taken you to could figure out what sort of illness had befallen you, nor could they conjure up a cure. Even he, desperate for anything that could help you, dabbled in his dark magic for weeks only to come up unsuccessful. There were some days, such as today, that you were well enough to do daily tasks. There were far too many days, however, that you were so ill you could barely get out of bed without assistance.

As much as England didn't want to think about it, he couldn't deny the fact that your time was nearly at its end.

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes momentarily while rubbing at his brows with the palms of his hands. His mind was straying too long to the negative nowadays. If he continued that, then he wouldn't be able to complete his project before the inevitable.

~*~*~*~

"Why do you love me, Arthur?"

England stared at you with wide emerald eyes, slightly taken aback by such a question coming from your paler than normal lips.

"What exactly do you mean by that, Love?"

You smiled sweetly at him, further confusing the British country.

"I mean exactly what I said, silly. Why do you love someone like me? I feel as if I've been nothing but a burden to you since our relationship started, and when I moved in...."

"I'll have none of that talk, (Y/N)."

He hadn't meant to sound so harsh when speaking, but he hated to see you so sad about something so unimportant. Really, there had been no trouble at all, not from what he could see. Things happened; it wasn't like you were able to stop yourself from catching this sickness or predicting you would hardly be able to do anything on your own.

"Sorry, Arthur."

There was a long silence that followed as Arthur continued to look down at your hand, the same hand he had been holding for the past hour or so as you continued to have violent coughing spells.

"There are so many reasons why I love you, (Y/N), that I'm afraid I couldn't count them all even if I tried."

A small smile graced your lips as you gently squeezed his hand in reassurance. You understood that feeling.

~*~*~*~

England's eyes lit up as he reached for his pen, gracefully beginning to write out the very last thing he needed to complete his project, one he had dedicated to you. There had been something missing from it for the past three days, something he hadn't been able to think up until that very moment. It was amazing how the mind could draw inspiration from the slightest of things.

"Arthur?"

England dropped his pen instantly at your meek voice calling his name, worried eyes looking over your form as he stood from his chair and quickly made his way to your side. His project would have to wait; right now, you were his main priority.

"I'm here, Love. Would you like to sit up for a bit?"

You gave a small smile while nodding your head lightly, allowing the British country to carefully pull you into a sitting position on the couch.

"There we are. How are you feeling?"

"I'm...I'm fine, now. Not so dizzy, maybe a small headache? Nothing I'm not used to by now, though."

You tried to come off as joking, but England didn't seem all too thrilled with the attempt at humor. You couldn't really blame him.

"I'll get you some peppermint tea, then. It's been helping with the headaches, hasn't it? Just wait here a moment and I'll have it ready."

Your smile brightened considerably as England leaned forward and gave the slightest peck to your lips before leaving the study. You didn't really want him to go, at least not without you by his side. He was already worried enough about you, however, and you didn't want him to fret over you simply walking to the kitchen when he could easily get you whatever you needed.

Sighing, you slowly stood from your sitting position, taking a moment to let your legs adjust to your own weight, before carefully beginning your walk around the study. You were still feeling fine, though your dizzy spell had drained you physically. It would take a moment for your legs to adjust to you moving again. This was also something you knew you could do on your own, despite England insisting he be with you in case you tripped up or your legs gave out.

He worried about you so much already; you wanted to prove you were able to take care of some things yourself, even if it was just a small little walk around a room. Half-way around the study, however, you were beginning to think that your idea wasn't such a good one, and by the time you reached England's desk, you had to have a seat before your legs really did give out on you.

"Honestly, what use am I if I can't even walk around a room by myself?" you asked aloud, letting your head rest against the cherry wood desk in front of you that contained several piles of paperwork that you assumed was for the world meetings England had been frequenting. It was a wonder he ever had time for anything nowadays. If he wasn't at home taking care of you, he was at a world meeting with all the other countries trying to get things settled (and never really succeeding in the end).

At this point, you wondered why he even bothered.

You sighed once again while leaning back in England's chair, tired eyes gazing about the office. It was at this time that a single, lone paper in the middle of the desk had caught your attention, something you were surprised you had missed only moments ago. You weren't one for prying into England's political matters as it was his own business, but this piece of paper was different, all because of what was scrawled boldly in pretty cursive at the top.

My Dearest (Y/N).

You hesitated for a moment, torn between not wanting to meddle with England's personal things and wanting to know what was on the paper that so lovingly had your name written across the top of it. In the end, your curiosity got the better of you, and with a pale, slightly shaking hand, you picked up the piece of paper and began to read.

You could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You had to stop reading for a moment just to get yourself under control.

The next line and the lines that followed, however, were your undoing, and you allowed the emotional rollercoaster that followed to course through you at full speed.