Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You first met them as a toddler, barely able to walk or speak. Your father, young and ambitious as he was, impressively snagged a prestigious position as a senior UN employee earlier in his career than most. Of course, you didn’t understand anything at the time. Your world was far different from most people, but the extensive traveling, homeschooling, and lack of interaction with people your own age was all you knew. 

That wasn’t a bad thing, either. You were immensely proud of your father’s accomplishments, as well as how your mother took charge of charitable operations across the world. The life you led until your father’s retirement from that position wasn’t something you would have given up for anything.

One reason for that - no, the biggest reason - was them. Your first memories were somewhat hazy, but you could recall it still; the warm, smiling faces of the men and women you loved so dearly. Few people that worked for them had little children, so you were pretty spoiled. You remembered how much you demanded attention, how often you tried (and sometimes succeeded) to escape your nanny to seek them out, how you always tried to sit on their laps on planes. Maybe you were just too trusting as a kid, and your parents surely lamented your lack of sense more than once. But you always felt safe with them. You always knew you could trust them.

Yes, those blissful recollections stuck with you for your entire life, perched on your shoulders as you grew and changed and watched the world ever so slowly turn under you. You felt left behind somewhat, but you didn’t mind. There was nothing you would exchange your isolation for, no matter how bitter and lonely it could be. The memories only became more precious as time wore on, like glittering diamonds that guarded your heart. 

Your experience guided you to where you stood now, at the path that would lead back to the happiness you yearned for. As you watched an airplane roar across the clear blue sky above, sailing past your college campus, you smiled into the wind. The firmament sparkled with the prelude of fall, and in that moment, you made a wish to that cusp of the world, where the deep azure faded into dazzling cyan.

Please. Let me see them again.

The passion that burned in your every nerve guided you to where you needed to be, through years of heartache and sweat and effort. It didn’t take long to make it back home through the tumult of life, and soon you found yourself sitting triumphantly at the desk of a recruiter representing the UN, seeking ambitious young souls for internships, which you would take on between your freshman and sophomore years of university.

With exuberant enthusiasm you explained your excellent GPA studying international relations and political science, how your childhood influenced your passion to pursue those degrees, your fluency in multiple languages, and how you wanted to better experience the world as an adult with a deeper understanding of culture and politics. It was hard to keep back a joyous proclamation of your longing for the men and women you had come to love so dearly, that you wanted to see again more than anything. But you didn’t want to risk revealing any biases, so you kept calm and quiet.

When your acceptance letter came, there was immense celebration. Your parents were beyond proud of you, although they were unaware of the depths of your feelings. You couldn't shake the idea that they wouldn't quite understand your intense desire to see those people again, so you kept silent, presenting the guise that you were only influenced by your father and nothing more. In the nine years you had been apart from the people that held over two hundred fragments of your heart, the wait to begin the internship was the longest.

Finally, the day came that you stepped inside the massive British Embassy in Washington, DC, taking in an example of a prestigious institution. Your heart was pounding as you registered the familiar surroundings, and it was hard not to give in to the nostalgia of frolicking about the halls so carelessly as you did as a child. You crossed into a threshold of warm dreams and languid memories, and for an instant you were four years old, donning a baby blue dress and pigtails.

But now you were wearing a suit and tie, and you were marveling at the intricate paintings of British landscapes on the walls that you ignored as a child. So much was different now, and you knew that you had changed. You were a woman, and surely no one would recognize you. That was okay. You understood. No matter how closely you stood beside them, your worlds were entirely different.

You wished you had time to linger on those cherished moments, because now butterflies were beginning to churn in your stomach. Your most beloved people didn't often associate with mere interns because they were far too busy, and it was hard not to despair at how close yet far they remained. Maybe it was cruel, but you would have to pull a few strings to enter the classified territory you had been ejected from when your father retired. Fortunately, you already had an idea in mind.

Your group was ushered across checker tiled floors and under crystal chandeliers, up winding stairs and past arching glass windows, and finally into a modern conference room along a wall of windows that gave a lovely view of the courtyard garden. You met the eyes of Ambassador Henry Gottfried, your father's English friend who continued his international work after your father’s retirement. He had kept in touch with your family, and apparently had gone out of his way to be there to meet you. The stress of work had worn him down some, giving him receding gray hair and wrinkles you didn’t recall seeing before, but the kind smile he offered you was the same, and it made your heart skip.

You were home.

After the morning session of orientation you approached him during lunch, and embraced him with glee. Upon closer inspection he had become a bit rounder as well, and there were some spots on his pale, balding head, but that only made him look all the more grandfatherly, and in turn you felt your anxiety settle.

“Look how much you’ve grown!” he said in delight, holding your arms. “It’s been too long, dear. How is your family?”

"Everyone is just fine, Ambassador Gottfried," you replied. "But we do miss you. How have you been?"

"Old," he laughed. "I plan on retiring in a year or two. Now that I'm a grandpa, I figured it's good to spend more time with the grandkids."

“Oh, that’s awesome! I’m so happy for you,” you exclaimed earnestly, and he reached into his pocket to pull out his wallet, proudly showing off adorable pictures of toddlers.

After admiring his grandchildren, you sat down and ate lunch together in a cafe near the embassy, talking about your college education and how excited you were to begin your internship.

“So, what part of your internship are you most excited for?” he finally asked.

Your heart swelled at the mere thought of your deepest, most intimate desire. You looked down at your food and swallowed. You never told anyone this. Your feelings burned your every nerve with intensity, and it felt nearly impossible to put into words. But with quiet urgency you whispered, “I want to see them again. More than anything in the world.”

“‘Them?’ Who’s ‘them?’” Ambassador Gottfried leaned forward to hear you, and maybe detected your desperation.

“You know...the country-people.” Your voice trembled as you gave away what you cradled so deeply in your heart all your life, finding it hard to speak about it for once. But even so, you felt the weight of your secret easing from your shoulders. You looked into the ambassador’s eyes imploringly.

“I know it’s selfish on my part to ask, and I know I’m just an intern right now, but do you think you could help me? I….” You swallowed again, pushing back tears. “I want to see them again so badly.”

He leaned back, placed his hands on the edge of the little round table, and sighed. “I see now. I guess they did have a hand in raising you, huh?” He chuckled, reflecting on your childhood antics, and you nodded.

“When Dad retired, I told myself I would work with them someday, just like he did.” Your tone became more urgent now, bolder. You could feel your heart accelerate with tremendous love and admiration. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I figured.”

You gasped in shock, taken by complete surprise. “What do you mean?”

Ambassador Gottfried smiled warmly. “Well, you didn’t exactly keep it a secret that you missed them. Your father told me all about the tantrums you threw when he retired, and how you cried about wanting to see them again all the time. You would say you didn’t need friends your age because you had them. He told me he thought you were motivated by those people.”

You were stunned. You had nearly forgotten about how upset you were when your family exited the political field nearly a decade ago. You had recollections of your fits, but your mother had placated you by explaining how hard the job was on your father. Although, you never once understood what they meant when they tried to tell you that they wanted you to have a “normal” life. There was nothing wrong with your childhood.

“I see.” You turned pink, a little embarrassed to have been caught red handed. “Well, um, do you think you could help me, then? Like, maybe I could help out at a meeting! I’ll do anything. Are any of their other secretaries still working? I’m sure they’ll remember me!” It was hard not to raise your voice childishly, but you felt like opportunity was being dangled in front of your face, and it was beginning to drive you mad.

>To pursue America, Canada, Germany, or Italy, go to “A Shining Chance.”

>To pursue China, England, France, Japan, Prussia, Romano, or Russia, go to “Impatiently Waiting.”

Chapter Text

Ambassador Gottfried leaned back in his chair contemplatively. “I can’t guarantee anything,” he warned. “Usually you need to be many years into a Foreign Services career to work directly with them - decades, even. Some ambassadors have gone their entire careers without working closely with them in any meaningful capacity. When your father was an intern, his journey was far different from everyone else’s, and mostly by chance. He made a lot of connections early on because he was at the right place at the right time - and he’s very charismatic - and he befriended some of them in chance encounters. He paved his way to a higher position at a respectable age.” He paused and added with a laugh, “Of course, he worked very hard, too.”

You nodded. Yes, you were immensely proud of your father’s accomplishments. Security and trust were of highest priority to act as a secretary for the nation-people, so achieving that in his mid-thirties was no small feat, especially when he juggled a family and spent so many years studying for a PhD in international relations. And, of course, he volunteered tirelessly, which you had a head start on. From a young age you had a keen interest in helping others, and your parents were more than happy to take you to soup kitchens and churches and hospitals to donate your time. Your altruistic endeavors looked promising on your own application for this internship as well.

“So...is that a no?” you asked timidly, scared to hear the answer.

He held up his hand. “I can’t give you an answer just yet,” he replied, and then he smiled easily. “Like I said, it’s atypical. But you’re atypical, aren’t you?”

His vague words left you at the edge of your seat, and you waited with bated breath for him to continue.

“I’ll see what I can do, my dear,” he concluded, his grandfatherly eyes twinkling. Your heart skipped a beat. “Let me send out some emails today. Klein still works for them, so I’ll reach out to him about you. Beginner interns such as yourself are given a tighter itinerary than more advanced level interns, but you’ll be traveling all the same. I can see if your schedule lines up to meet any of them. If that’s the career path you’d like to take, there is some training involved. It’d be nice to get a head start, eh?”

You just barely swallowed down a boisterous yell. “Yes, yes, I’d like that very much! Oh, Ambassador, thank you so much!"

You were so ecstatic you leapt out of your chair to give him a hug. He patted your arm and noticed your watch.

"It's about time we go back to the embassy, my dear," he said, and you helped him get to his feet. You gave him your contact information before leaving, and you felt like you were walking on clouds as you returned to orientation. You were well aware that he may not be able to help you at all, but so long as there was a chance, you felt satisfied - no, delighted.

The rest of the day was a blur. Your internship coordinator, Mrs. Clifford, explained that the summer would consist of extensive traveling to various UN centers to learn more about the multitude of departments the organization has. For the next week you would be in D.C., getting a chance to meet numerous ambassadors and visiting the many different embassies to see all the careers the United Nations had to offer. There would be a test at the end of each week, as well as an essay due about what you learned and how you felt about it - nothing too difficult, but still tedious.

It was going to be busy, but that was okay. You were desperately trying to talk yourself down from your discussion with the ambassador earlier, struggling to prepare to be let down, to be disappointed. You needed a distraction.

The first day of orientation drew to a close, and your group walked a few streets over to a nearby inn, generously paid for by the program. The dozen or so interns you were with were chatting excitedly, sharing their ambitions and talking about where they were from, but your thoughts were elsewhere as you headed up to your room and sat on the bed. Being in DC reminded you of how little you cared for meeting the President when you were five, and it brought an amused smile to your face.

But you were especially preoccupied with thoughts of him; after all, you were in his capital . His bright blue eyes, his cheerful demeanor, the glasses you almost broke on more than one occasion, and the blonde hair with the ahoge you’d always pull when it was within reach. His warmth and absolute joy when he played with you was unforgettable. Of course, you were too old and too big to be held now, but damn, you would give anything just to receive one more hug from America.

“Hey, you’re ___________, right?”

You were jarred from your thoughts by your roommate. You looked up at a young woman of African descent and about your age standing over you, with medium brown skin and cornrowed hair that was tied up into a bun. She was wearing a magenta blazer and matching pencil skirt, and she smiled with blindingly white teeth and extended her hand. “I’m Keyanna. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, right,” you replied absentmindedly, and shook her hand firmly. “Yes, that’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“This is so exciting, isn’t it?” she gushed with an endearing Southern drawl. “I’ve never been to DC before! Have you?”

You nodded. “Er, yeah, a few times.”

“Oh, that’s awesome! I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the National Mall with me and the others? We were talking about it on the way over.”

You barely suppressed a sigh of relief. Your only other plans were to sit and wait in agony for a message from Ambassador Gottfried, so her suggestion was the distraction you so desperately needed. “I’d love to!” you replied with a smile.

“Cool! Let’s go change.”

A few minutes later, the two of you had dressed into casual clothes and headed to the lobby, where you met up with your peers and headed out. Vendors lined the streets selling merchandise and food, and you bought a small hand sized meal to eat en route to the subway station. You were trailing behind your classmates, all chattering excitedly and looking at maps, but for all your effort you just couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm. Your mind was wandering to thoughts of a man named Alfred F. Jones, and those memories were making your heart ache.

You first met shortly after your father became a secretary that worked directly for the nation-people: coordinating their travels, meetings, hotel accommodations, and general business expenses.

You were in New York City for the UN General Assembly, but of course, you had no part in it. Your three-year-old self was pretty confined to the basement levels, left in the care of your babysitter. But shortly before the World Conference started, your father walked you around.

At the time, you were pressing your face to the glass, gawking at the East River as it slowly churned far below where you stood on the thirtieth floor of the building. “We’re so high!” you squealed in delight, watching motor boats pass by. You waved to the people in them.

Absorbed in the scenery, you didn’t realize your father was talking to someone until he called out to you by name. “Come here.”

You turned your head curiously and spotted a younger man in a suit and tie beaming down at you. His eyes and hair were bright in color, and you trotted over to your father and clung to his leg, peering up at the stranger cautiously.

“Don’t be shy. This is Daddy’s friend, Alfred. We work together now. Say hi.”

You looked away and pursed your lips. Your parents had been teaching you about stranger danger lately, but if your dad said he was a friend, then it was okay, right? “Hi….” you mumbled quietly.

“Sorry, she’s normally not this shy,” your dad said. “Are you tired?”

“No!” you cried immediately in response, and jumped away before your dad had the chance to grab you and haul you away for a nap.

Alfred laughed. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” He turned to you, then lowered himself to one knee.

“Hi,” he chirped. “I’m Alfred. I like your dress!”

Your lips rounded in surprise, and for a moment you stared at him blankly.

“What do we say?” your father interjected in mild exasperation.

You rocked on your heels, and the words finally clicked. “Thank you,” you mumbled, and Alfred’s grin widened.

Then he turned his gaze to the window. “It’s fun being so high up, isn’t it?”

You nodded tentatively, and he looked back to you. “Well, how about after your daddy and I get done with our meeting, I’ll take you to the very top floor?”

Your eyes widened. That was possible? To go even higher up? “To the tippy top?” you asked incredulously.

Alfred nodded with a chuckle. “To the tippy top,” he confirmed.

“But only if you’re good to your nanny,” your father added with a small smile.

“Okay!” Now you were smiling in absolute joy, your little teeth poking out. How exciting!

Your father checked his watch. “It’s about time to go. Come on, honey.”

Alfred straightened, and you scampered after them towards the elevator, only to stumble and sprawl onto the ground with young clumsiness. You hit your knee hard, but you were too stunned to do anything at first. But then you felt some pain in your legs, and no matter how minimal, you could register that crying was the appropriate reaction.

Yet you didn't have the chance. "Oops!" you heard Alfred say, and you were snatched up in an instant, held to his hip before you could shed a single tear.

"Hey, you're okay," he said confidently, and it made you realize you were okay as he carried you into the elevator.

"Thanks, Alfred," your father said, but you didn't look at him. You were staring at Alfred in wonderment.

He laughed. "Don't worry about it!" He smiled at you, and it was dazzling.

Alfred didn't put you down until you were on the right floor, and from there your father took your hand and led you down the hall to your nanny. He waited for your father at the elevator, and you looked over your shoulder at the bright, sunny man named Alfred until you turned the corner and he was out of sight.

You were antsy throughout the day, but you were obedient to your nanny. Not that you were a particularly troublesome child to begin with, but you were experiencing something new. A desire to see someone again, and not because he was someone you were familiar with. There was just something about him that drew you in, an undeniable charisma. You had never felt that way before. It was something you wanted to explore.

Of course, your thoughts were only in hindsight. As you grew older, you replayed that day again and again, desperate to hang on to every detail to carry you through the tumult of life. But what you remembered most was what came later, when Alfred took you and your father to the roof.

The sun had been setting, and the wind was whipping your hair around. It thrilled you more than frightened you, and maybe it was because you were a child that knew nothing of death, but you liked to think it was because of Alfred. He held your hand so firmly, but not frighteningly so, and his grin was so pure and radiant. It was an unspoken promise to keep you safe, and now as an adult, you wanted to feel it and understand it in the present.

You thought you fell in love that day.

---

You shook your head to clear it. It wouldn’t be any good to think about him, but you knew how terribly futile it was. Your heart was hurting, and you understood that yawning loneliness would only deepen the following week, when you’d go to New York City and visit the exact building you had first encountered many nation-people in. They often overlapped their conferences with official ones, and there was no such gathering to occur while you were there. You still wanted to go, knowing how empty it would feel, because you hoped that the nostalgia of it all could soothe you as you waited to know the fate of this decisive summer.

Keyanna called your name and tapped your shoulder, making you jump. You were walking downstairs into the subway station.

“Uh, what?” you asked, dazed.

“Are you okay?” Keyanna asked worriedly. “You look a little pale.”

“Oh, uh, I don’t like being underground,” you lied. Well, maybe it did make you a little nervous. “But I’ll be okay! I’ve done this before.”

It didn’t occur to you that you were gripping your phone for dear life until it dinged just as you got off the subway at the Smithsonian station. It was an email from Ambasador Gottfried.

Dear __________,

I received your itinerary from Mrs. Clifford. I’ll be staying here while you’re gone, but I have emailed some secretaries about your situation and where you’ll be. I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of forwarding your email address to them. It could take a few days for a response. Hang in there and enjoy D.C.!

Best Regards,

Ambassador Gottfried

Your stomach was churning. It was a reasonable and expected email, but you knew you were a fool, and you foolishly hoped that you would be given a chance to jump straight into a joyous reunion.

Well, you weren’t so arrogant that you thought everyone would be ecstatic for your glorious return. You were hardly even a footnote in their lives. But that was okay. You understood that. In fact, it didn’t even matter. So long as you could see their faces for what remained of your short life, you could be happy.

And that happiness is going to start now, you decided firmly as you approached the National Mall with your group. The terrible buzz in your every nerve needed to calm down. You were quite aware of time, and you had enough of it. You needed to remember that. Just a little longer, for just a little longer you had to hold on. After nine years, your deepest desire could be fulfilled now, and if not, what was a few more years? Yes, that was the way to think. It was the only way you could think.

You were going to keep thoughts of them in your dreams to nurture, and you would focus on what was before you. You were going to befriend Keyanna and the other interns, you were going to enjoy your time in D.C. and New York, and you were going to patiently wait, because that was all you could do.

Well, you would try to be patient, anyway.

>To continue from here, go to “New York, Same Place”

Chapter Text

To your dismay, Ambassador Gottfried shook his head. “I’m sorry, __________, but I can’t disregard procedures. You won’t be considered ‘trustworthy’ enough to be with them regularly until several years into a Foreign Services career. Not to say you’ll never see them during your internship, but participating in big events like G7 or G20 meetings is strictly out of your capacity, and the World Conference goes without saying. You’ll just have to wait if you want to be a secretary like your father.”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach, and you fell back into your chair miserably. You knew it was a long shot, and you told yourself time and time again to prepare for this, but the bite of disappointment didn’t hurt any less. “I had to try. Thank you, Ambassador,” you mumbled.

He reached across the table and patted your hand sympathetically. “You’ve worked hard to be here, so don’t let this get you down. You’ll see them again, maybe even this summer. They all tend to live near government buildings and hang around embassies when things are going on. I’ve even bumped into a few on the streets! It’ll be okay. I promise.

“Now then,” he grunted, standing up. “It’s about time we get back.”

Knowing that there was nothing more you could do, you walked back to the embassy with him, struggling to keep your head up. You found it difficult to focus, because your mind was beginning to fill with fantasies of seeing them again, how none of them would appear any differently, how they wouldn’t recognize you, how they might even be indifferent to seeing you again. But that was okay. As long as you were by their sides, you could be happy.

The first day of orientation drew to a close, and your group walked a few streets over to a nearby inn, generously paid for by the program. The dozen or so interns you were with were chatting excitedly, sharing their ambitions and talking about where they were from, but your thoughts were elsewhere as you checked into your room and sat on the bed. Being in DC reminded you of how little you cared for meeting the President when you were five, and it brought an amused smile to your face.

But you were especially preoccupied with thoughts of him; after all, you were in his capital . His bright blue eyes, his cheerful demeanor, the glasses you almost broke on more than one occasion, and the blonde hair with the ahoge you’d always pull when it was within reach. His warmth and absolute joy when he played with you was unforgettable. Of course, you were too old and too big to be held now, but damn, you would give anything just to receive one more hug from America.

“Hey, you’re ___________, right?”

You were jarred from your thoughts by your roommate. You looked up at a young woman of African descent and about your age standing over you, with smooth medium brown skin and cornrowed hair that was tied up into a bun. She was wearing a magenta blazer and matching pencil skirt, and she smiled with blindingly white teeth and extended her hand. “I’m Keyanna. Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, right,” you replied absentmindedly, and shook her hand firmly. “Yes, that’s me. Nice to meet you.”

“This is so exciting, isn’t it?” she gushed with an endearing Southern drawl. “I’ve never been to DC before! Have you?”

You nodded. “Er, yeah, a few times.”

“Oh, that’s awesome! I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the National Mall with me and the others? We were talking about it on the way over.”

You paused. It was past five, so there was plenty of time to see everything, and now that you thought of it, you never saw any of the monuments at night before. But you were tired, and honestly kind of sad. It was a serious blow to know it would take a long time to see America and the others again, and despite the good ambassador’s encouragement, you remembered that America lived in New York City and not DC. Any hope you had of reuniting with him was dashed, and that made you miserable enough to want to stay in.

>To decline the offer and pursue France, Prussia, or Russia, continue reading.

>To accept the offer and pursue China, England, Japan or South Italy, go to “The Far Off Purpose of Existence.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I'm pretty tired. That bathtub is calling my name, you know? I think my high heels gave me blisters.”

Keyanna’s bright smile never wavered. “I totally get it. Tomorrow I was going to go see the Basilica and look around from there. Will you come?”

You nodded; hopefully you could be shaken from your sullenness tomorrow. “Yeah, that sounds awesome!”

A few minutes later, the two of you had changed into casual clothes and headed to the lobby. “Are you sure you don't want to come?” Keyanna asked, joining the rest of the new interns.

You nodded. “I'm sure, thanks. I'm just gonna grab a bite to eat and lay down. But I'll join you guys tomorrow, I promise.”

“Okay. See you later!” Keyanna left and you turned, heading for the restaurant at the back of the hotel.

After eating, you treated yourself to a warm bath, complete with a soothing candle you had brought. As you soaked and took in the sweet vanilla smell that permeated the air, your thoughts drifted up with the steam. You closed your eyes, your memory still sharp despite the years of separation. Amazingly, you could still recall the first time you met.

Your first encounter was shortly after your father became a regional secretary that worked directly for the nation-people: coordinating their travels, meetings, accomodations, and general business expenses.

You were in New York City for the UN General Assembly, but of course, you had no part in it. Your three-year-old self was pretty confined to the basement levels, left in the care of your babysitter. But shortly before the World Conference started, your father walked you around.

At the time, you were pressing your face to the glass, gawking at the East River as it slowly churned far below where you stood on the thirtieth floor of the building. “We’re so high!” you squealed in delight, watching motor boats pass by. You waved to the people in them.

Absorbed in the scenery, you didn’t realize your father was talking to someone until he called out to you by name. “Come here.”

You turned your head curiously, seeing a younger man in a suit and tie beaming down at you. His eyes and hair were bright in color, and you trotted over to your father and clung to his leg, peering up at the stranger cautiously.

“Don’t be shy. This is Daddy’s friend, Alfred. We work together now. Say hi.”

You looked away and pursed your lips. Your parents had been teaching you about stranger danger lately, but if your dad said he was a friend, then it was okay, right? “Hi….” you mumbled quietly.

“Sorry, she’s normally not this shy,” your dad said. “Are you tired?”

“No!” you cried immediately in response, and jumped away before your dad had the chance to grab you and haul you away for a nap.

Alfred laughed. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” He turned to you, then lowered himself to one knee.

“Hi,” he chirped. “I’m Alfred. I like your dress!”

Your lips rounded in surprise, and for a moment you stared at him blankly.

“What do we say?” your father interjected in mild exasperation.

You rocked on your heels, and the words finally clicked. “Thank you,” you replied quietly, and Alfred’s grin widened.

Then he turned his gaze to the window. “It’s fun being so high up, isn’t it?”

You nodded tentatively, and he looked back to you. “Well, how about after your daddy and I get done with our meeting, I’ll take you to the very top floor?”

Your eyes widened. That was possible? To go even higher up? “To the tippy top?” you asked incredulously.

Alfred nodded with a chuckle. “To the tippy top,” he confirmed.

“But only if you’re good to your nanny,” your father added with a small smile.

“Okay!” Now you were smiling in absolute joy, your little teeth poking out. How exciting!

Your father checked his watch. “It’s about time to go. Come on.”

Alfred straightened, and you scampered after them towards the elevator, only to stumble and sprawl onto the ground with young clumsiness. You hit your knee hard, but you were too stunned to do anything at first. But then you felt some pain in your legs, and no matter how minimal, you could register that crying was the appropriate reaction.

Yet you didn't have the chance. "Oops!" you heard Alfred say, and you were snatched up in an instant, held to his hip before you could shed a single tear.

"Hey, you're okay," he said confidently, and it made you realize you were okay as he carried you into the elevator.

"Thanks, Alfred," your father said, but you didn't look at him. You were staring at Alfred in wonderment.

He laughed. "Don't worry about it!" He smiled at you, and it was dazzling.

Alfred didn't put you down until you were on the right floor, and from there your father took your hand and led you down the hall to your nanny. He waited for your father at the elevator, and you looked over your shoulder at the bright, sunny man named Alfred until you turned the corner and he was out of sight.

You were antsy throughout the day, but you were obedient to your nanny. Not that you were a particularly troublesome child to begin with, but you were experiencing something new. A desire to see someone again, and not because he was someone you were familiar with. There was just something about him that drew you in, an undeniable charisma. You had never felt that way before. It was something you wanted to explore.

Of course, your thoughts were only in hindsight. As you grew older, you replayed that day again and again, desperate to hang on to every detail to carry you through the tumult of life. But what you remembered most was what came later, when Alfred took you and your father to the roof.

The sun had been setting, and the wind was whipping your hair around. It thrilled you more than frightened you, and maybe it was because you were a child that knew nothing of death, but you liked to think it was because of Alfred. He held your hand so firmly, but not frighteningly so, because his grin was so pure and radiant. It was an unspoken promise to keep you safe, and now as an adult, you wanted to feel and understand it in the present.

You thought you fell in love that day.

---

You heard the door to your room open and close, making you jump as the bath water splashed dangerously close to the edge. Keyanna's return shook you from your thoughts. You looked down at your hands and realized your fingers were remarkably pruny. Well, it was better to get out in case your roommate needed to use the restroom.

So you clambered out of the tub, put out the candle, and prepared for bed. When you exited the bathroom in your pajamas, Keyanna was waiting patiently.

"DC is so cool!" she cried. "I got to see so much stuff! I wish we were here for longer. I want to see everything."

You weren't in the mood to smile. In fact, you were desperately holding back tears. But you were terribly aware that someone like Alfred was difficult to talk about, and you weren’t ready to answer the million excited questions you were sure would follow if you revealed your connection to someone as fascinating as him. You’d surely start crying.

"There's always next year," you suggested kindly in a soft voice, looking away from her. "We'll come back for a level two internship if we do well this year."

Even without looking at her, you could tell that Keyanna was beaming. "Yeah, that's true! I'm so excited. Well, I'm gonna get ready for bed. We start at eight tomorrow, right?"

You nodded, desperately trying to hide the strain in your voice. "Yeah. I'm going to bed now."

"Okay, I'll try to be quiet. Goodnight!"

"Don't worry about it. Goodnight."

But you couldn't sleep. In fact, you took the opportunity to quietly cry while she was in the bathroom. Now more than ever, your dreams felt impossibly far away. Logically, you knew it was on the horizon, close enough to brush with your fingers. Yet the yawning emptiness of their absence tended to eat away at you every now and then, and this was one of those times.

It took awhile to calm down enough to rest, because all you could see was Alfred's smile when you closed your eyes. It was the exact smile you saw when he took you to the roof of the UN building on that fateful day, the day you were on top of the world and tasted the bitter, fishy wind while he held your hand. That moment carried you through so much for your life, and many times your heart swelled with so much adoration that by now it wasn’t even a debate about your love for him, even at such a tender age.

To know that you were still years from seeing such a sweet, joyous, and pure expression of glee directed towards you again broke your heart. For how much longer could you bear to only keep it in your mind?

>To continue from this point, go to “The Timeless Calling.”

Chapter Text

But when you looked up at Keyanna’s bright smile, you figured that maybe it was best to get your mind off it by accompanying the group. “Yeah, I’d love to.”

“Cool! Let’s go change.”

A few minutes later, the two of you had changed into casual clothes and headed to the lobby, where you met up with the others and headed out. Vendors lined the streets to serve dinner, and you bought a small hand sized to eat en route to the subway station. You were trailing behind your peers, all chattering excitedly and looking at maps, but for all your effort you just couldn’t muster the same enthusiasm. Your mind was wandering to thoughts of a man named Alfred F. Jones, and those memories were making your heart ache.

You first met shortly after your father became a regional secretary that worked directly for the national people: coordinating their travels, meetings, accomodations, and general business expenses.

You were in New York City for the UN General Assembly, but of course, you had no part in it. Your three-year-old self was pretty confined to the basement levels, left in the care of your babysitter. But shortly before the World Conference started, your father walked you around.

At the time, you were pressing your face to the glass, gawking at the East River as it slowly churned far below where you stood on the thirtieth floor of the building. “We’re so high!” you squealed in delight, watching motor boats pass by. You waved to the people in them.

Absorbed in the scenery, you didn’t realize your father was talking to someone until he called you by name. “Come here.”

You turned your head curiously, seeing a younger man in a suit and tie beaming down at you. His eyes and hair were bright in color, and you trotted over to your father and clung to his leg, peering up at the stranger cautiously.

“Don’t be shy. This is Daddy’s friend, Alfred. We work together now. Say hi.”

You looked away and pursed your lips. Your parents had been teaching you about stranger danger lately, but if your dad said he was a friend, then it was okay, right? “Hi….” you mumbled quietly.

“Sorry, she’s normally not this shy,” your dad said. “Are you tired?”

“No!” you cried immediately in response, and jumped away before your dad had the chance to grab you and haul you away for a nap.

Alfred laughed. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.” He turned to you, then lowered himself to one knee.

“Hi,” he chirped. “I’m Alfred. I like your dress!”

Your lips rounded in surprise, and for a moment you stared at him blankly.

“What do we say?” your father interjected in mild exasperation.

You rocked on your heels, and the words finally clicked. “Thank you,” you replied, and Alfred’s grin widened.

Then he turned his gaze to the window. “It’s fun being so high up, isn’t it?”

You nodded tentatively, and he looked back to you. “Well, how about after your daddy and I get done with our meeting, I’ll take you to the very top floor?”

Your eyes widened. That was possible? To go even higher up? “To the tippy top?” you asked incredulously.

Alfred nodded with a chuckle. “To the tippy top,” he confirmed.

“But only if you’re good to your nanny,” your father added with a small smile.

“Okay!” Now you were smiling in absolute joy, your little teeth poking out. How exciting!

Your father checked his watch. “It’s about time to go. Come on.”

Alfred straightened, and you scampered after them towards the elevator, only to stumble and sprawl onto the ground with young clumsiness. You hit your knee hard, but you were too stunned to do anything at first. But then you felt some pain in your legs, and no matter how minimal, you could register that crying was the appropriate reaction.

Yet you didn't have the chance. "Oops!" you heard Alfred say, and you were snatched up in an instant, held to his hip before you could shed a single tear.

"Hey, you're okay," he said confidently, and it made you realize you were okay as he carried you into the elevator.

"Thanks, Alfred," your father said, but you didn't look at him. You were staring at Alfred in wonderment.

He laughed. "Don't worry about it!" He smiled at you, and it was dazzling.

Alfred didn't put you down until you were on the right floor, and from there your father took your hand and led you down the hall to your nanny. He waited for your father at the elevator, and you looked over your shoulder at the bright, sunny man named Alfred until you turned the corner and he was out of sight.

You were antsy throughout the day, but you were obedient to your nanny. Not that you were a particularly troublesome child to begin with, but you were experiencing something new. A desire to see someone again, and not because he was someone you were familiar with. There was just something about him that drew you in, an undeniable charisma. You had never felt that way before. It was something you wanted to explore.

Of course, your thoughts were only in hindsight. As you grew older, you replayed that day again and again, desperate to hang on to every detail to carry you through the tumult of life. But what you remembered most was what came later, when Alfred took you and your father to the roof.

The sun had been setting, and the wind was whipping your hair around. It thrilled you more than frightened you, and maybe it was because you were a child that knew nothing of death, but you liked to think it was because of Alfred. He held your hand so firmly, but not frighteningly so, because his grin was so pure and radiant. It was an unspoken promise to keep you safe, and now as an adult, you wanted to feel it and understand it in the present.

You thought you fell in love that day.

---

Your focus returned to the world around you as your group descended into the subway station, and it didn’t take long to arrive at the Smithsonian station. The sun was setting beautifully, glimmering crimson and orange with pleasant pink clouds. You wished you could remember if the sunset on that day had been as spectacular as it was now.

The Washington Monument looked particularly striking in front of the sun, and everyone pulled out their phones or cameras to start looking for the perfect angle as you crossed the streets towards it. You decided to go around and head for the Reflecting Pool on the other side of the obelisk, and figured you should take a nice picture on your phone to send to your parents.

You absentmindedly kept walking past the other interns, glad you had the forethought to wear a hoodie as a blustery wind cascaded into you from the imposing tribute to the first President. It was mid May, so it would start warming up soon, but the evenings were still cool.

As you stopped to take a picture of the Lincoln Memorial, your contemplative thoughts returned to you. Even after your father’s retirement, you rarely connected with people your own age. It wasn’t that you refused to get along with others or never made friends - it was just that you grew up in an environment where you were always substantially younger than the people around you. You developed a more formal and polite way of speaking, because that was what was appropriate and that was how you often heard your parents communicate. 

You were also rather spoiled because, well, you were cute, and many of your father’s coworkers (average humans or otherwise) and fellow Foreign Services agents were old enough to be grandparents. You reminded them of their own children when they were young, and of the grandchildren they didn’t get to see as often as they liked. Your clumsy motor skills and vocabulary in your youngest years were humorous and endearing, and your mature yet energetic demeanor was impressive as you grew up. You were used to being the darling of the room, and losing all of that in the presence of peers your own age had been a harsh reality check when you stopped being home schooled. As it turned out, most people weren’t instantly charmed by your mere presence.

Of course, that didn’t absolve you of doing troublesome things as a child, mainly wandering off. Your poor nanny probably got her gray hair early because of you and your amazing propensity to slip away right under peoples’ noses. You never did it maliciously, but when you wanted to go out, you somehow always found a way. Even now you couldn't recall doing anything special to escape the rooms you would always be left to study and play in (which, as all spare rooms are, were quite boring). The fact you sometimes even managed to get outside was especially impressive.

I guess I haven’t changed that much, you mused inwardly as you finally reached the end of the pool opposite the Washington Monument, alone in your thoughts as always. You jogged up to the entrance of the Lincoln Memorial and turned. The monument now looked like an obsidian shadow, a perfect black that contrasted beautifully with the colors of the sky. A picture of a solitary structure, and the loneliness of it reminded you of yourself. You had willfully separated yourself from the group, but not because you had a particular urge to get away from others. You just wanted to do what you wanted when you wanted to do it.

After taking a few pictures, you returned to the edge of the pool and idly looked at your reflection. You always had a reason when you were a child, a motivation. You wanted to explore, wanted to learn, but most commonly, you wanted to be in the presence of those very special people. Even before you understood what made them so extraordinary, you were inexplicably drawn to them, as though you had some sort of instinct that they were unique. That was the only reason you could think of that explained why you were so persistent to be close to them when you were still too young to properly comprehend your surroundings.

It was a marvel to see how your motivations had stayed the same, but the methods were different. So many steps you took now were unsure, with no point or drive behind them. There was no reason for you to be standing at that exact spot at that exact moment. But there was a deep, meaningful, and profound reason to be in Washington, DC, and your presence there was the result of years of labor, learning, and yearning.

Your phone buzzed, jarring you from your thoughts. It was your parents replying to the picture you had just sent. It really was pretty, but the sun’s warmth wasn’t soothing you anymore. Maybe it was best to call it a night and go back to the hotel early.

Just minutes later as you passed the Washington monument, you thought that maybe, if only for a moment, you had been touched by the Hand of God.

Shaggy honey colored hair. A messy cowlick. One slight turn revealed a side profile highlighted by small rectangular glasses and a sky blue eye. He turned into your direct line of sight to face someone and pointed, seemingly offering directions to a couple in stereotypical tourist attire. Blindingly white, sparkling teeth to accompany a beaming smile. Then he resumed on his path, leaving you behind.

Your heart stopped

Your ears rang.

An eight billion and one chance.

Your feelings were strong enough to flood the earth.

You bumped into someone. “Excuse me.” Your tone was monotone, clipped. Your vision tunnelled. You didn’t look at anyone else.

The crowd was thick with tourists cooing in awe as the various lights surrounding the monuments turned on, and residents were walking home from work along the road. Different languages, different colors, different clothing. None of it mattered.

The urgency in your chest threatened to collapse your heart. You scarcely dared to breathe, afraid that this moment was fragile enough to fall apart in the wind. He could disappear if you blinked.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to live without you. Please take me to where all of you are.

The masses continued to grow. His hair, his back was blending in as he walked down the sidewalk, as he made his way across the street. He was molding with the people coming and going, touring and shopping and eating. No, no, this couldn’t happen. It was a problem, in the back of your head you knew it was a problem to think this, but down to your marrow, you thought you would die.

“Alfred….” Your voice was low, meek, unsure. It was too unbelievable, wasn’t it? Despite his circumstances, was it really possible for him to change so little? Could such amazing irony exist in this world?

“Alfred.” You didn’t have the time to doubt. Your stomach was knotted tightly. There were butterflies in your head. But you began to run.

“Alfred-!” You were slithering through the throngs of people. Someone yelled at you as you pushed him out of your way. There was a park before you now, with freshly cut grass down the middle and clusters of trees on either side. He was cutting through it, headed for Smithsonian Station. He could go anywhere once he was in there.

“Alfred!”

?To continue, go to “The Choice of Fate.”

Chapter Text

It was the day after your fateful encounter with Alfred F. Jones that your father learned the hard way that it was best to hold you until you developed some sense of restraint. As soon as he put you down inside the United Nations Headquarters, you barreled straight for a man with blond hair and glasses that was standing adjacent to you and rummaging through a briefcase.

“Af-ed!” you cried with mischievous glee, stopping just short of running into his legs. You had done that once before and although you couldn’t remember to whom, the chiding you got was severe enough to last for a lifetime. Still, that didn’t stop you from grabbing at the hem of his gray suit and tugging on it. “I wanna go to the top!”

The young man you had accosted jumped in surprise, then turned to face you. It was definitely him - same hair, same glasses, and maybe the same eyes? That funny curl in his hair was now even crazier than yesterday, but it delighted you.

“Wh-What?” he gasped.

“Let’s go to the top!” you repeated loudly. Some heads turned.

He stared at you for another second longer, dumbfounded, before releasing a knowing sigh. “Oh.”

Before you could reiterate your demand for a third time, you heard your father cry out your name in a mix of horror and anger. He barked your name sharply, storming up to you. “That is not how you talk to people! Let go of him right now.”

You released ‘Af-ed’ immediately, shrinking back under the sting of your father’s words.

“I am so sorry, Matthew.” His tone immediately became amicable and sincere when he addressed the other person. “She’s still learning her manners.” He looked down at you. “That was very rude. What do we say when we’re rude?”

You didn’t understand much besides that your father was angry, but you wanted to appease him. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered to him, and the tension in your father’s shoulders relaxed.

“Not to me,” he continued to reprimand. “Grabbing someone like that is wrong, so you should apologize to Matthew.”

“Mattew?” You looked up at him in confusion. Wasn’t that Alfred?

Your father opened his mouth to respond, but a soft voice interrupted him. “No, it’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

The young man in gray stooped down to one knee, facing you with a kind smile. “You must be the little one I was told about. My name is Matthew. I’m Alfred’s brother. We look a lot alike, huh?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Are you sure?” you blurted.

He laughed and nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Will you take me to the top?”

Your father sighed behind you, but Matthew’s expression didn’t change. “Well, let’s see...if you’re a good girl today, then I will.”

“Oh, no, Matthew, you don’t have to do that,” your father tried to say, but he waved him off.

“No, it’s okay. She’s very persuasive.”

You were jumping on your heels in excitement now. The wind, the sights, the sounds, the smells were still in your memory. You couldn’t wait to experience that again! “I’ll be good, I’ll be good!” you promised.

Matthew stood and nodded approvingly. “Then I’ll see you after the meeting, okay?”

“Okay!”

After that, the day proceeded much as it had before: following your best attempt at good behavior, both Canada and America accompanied you and your parents to the top of the building, where you felt the breeze against your skin and through your hair, and their hands holding yours. Despite the cold sensation, that was yet another moment forever burned into your memory that shaped your crucial formative years. It was after that you came to know, love, and adore the others, that you came to understand your purpose in this world:

You were meant to stand beside them, until the moment every piece of you crumbled away.

“Hey! Earth to __________!”

You jumped, barely suppressing a small scream. Whirling around from your view of the East River, you saw Keyanna and Vincent laughing at you. “What?” you gasped.

It was your second day in New York City; your group had arrived in the evening yesterday. This marked a little over a week into your internship, and in that time you had come to better know and befriend Keyanna among your other peers. Vincent was a second-generation Italian immigrant from Baltimore, and it was evident in both his accent and curly black hair accompanied by a thin beard and dark eyes. He was equal parts handsome and friendly, though every time you looked at him you would think about Italy and Romano and ponder how their features weren’t as dark. There really was no escape from them, though you excused your wayward thoughts by accounting for your current environment.

“You were totally zoned out,” Keyanna observed, and you flushed. She definitely wasn’t wrong; it felt as though there was no way to free yourself of the onslaught of reveries you were experiencing, though you knew you couldn’t let it get to you if you wanted to perform well on your summer work.

“Uh, sorry.”

“No worries, but you’re gonna get in trouble if you don’t pay attention.”

“Yeah, I know,” you sighed, getting up and following the two, presumably to find a place to eat close by. You were vaguely aware that the morning lecture on the UN General Assemblies held in a small conference room on the second floor had concluded for lunch, but were too lost in thought to act. Now that you were stirred, you realized that you did feel pretty hungry.

“What’s on your mind?” Vincent asked.

You shrugged helplessly, though you were grateful that he cared. “I was just remembering stuff.”

He snorted playfully. “Oh, right, I guess you’ve been here before, Miss Secretary.”

Keyanna lightly shouldered him with a grin, and you smiled. You had earned a bit of a reputation among the interns because your father had worked for the UN, which was discovered when you were spotted having a pleasant chat with Ambassador Gottfried back in DC and felt forced to fess up. You were careful to say little more than your father was a secretary, offering a half-truth that he oversaw the work and expenses of other UN members, and that you were hoping for the same career.

You stuck your tongue out. “I’ve been here a few times, actually. Although, it doesn’t look like much has changed.”

Indeed, it sometimes seemed as though the entire world had stayed frustratingly stationary while you grew up into something normal, mortal, and finite. Sometimes it made you feel crushingly small and insignificant, like a blip on the map of history. Sometimes knowing you were loved, even if forgotten, by those people that had excruciatingly large hearts felt like the only thing that could keep you going. Not that anyone knew that; it threatened to devastate your compassionate parents, and what therapist could possibly understand your emotions towards immortal beings that you alone had such a special connection with?

Unaware of your inner ruminations, Keyanna cheerfully pointed out a Shake Shack over on 3rd Avenue, an easy ten-minute walk away. Since you had an hour for lunch, there was plenty of time to enjoy a simple, all-American meal. Thinking about it made your mouth water.

It still wasn’t quite hot yet, but the river pressed its humidity against your back, making you glad you wore a black blazer over your cream button-down blouse to conceal sweat, and the fishy, oily breeze felt good against your knees and down, the rest covered by a matching dark pencil skirt. Though now you had to take care to not make a mess.

As you ate, you again recalled slivers of memories of the area and going out to eat with America and Canada while in New York. Actually, you had gone out with just about everyone at one point or another, but being in America’s hometown directed your thoughts mostly towards him, though wayward flutters of thought drifted to Matthew as well. The two of them really felt like big brothers when you were young, though now you identified your feelings as something much deeper, intensely more intimate, and all yours. They were no longer siblings, but they weren’t romantic, either - that was a disaster you knew to avoid at all costs - and it wasn’t just platonic. It was simply much, much more, and it simply made you happy.

You started to wonder if there really was a chance to see anyone again as Ambassador Gottfried had mentioned. America lived in Manhattan, but you didn’t know exactly where, and you knew better than to ask. You didn’t want to be creepy in your approach, especially when you were already slightly fearful that you would be considered strange for wanting to take your father’s place in their lives. Your inability to be open to anyone about this obsession you knew was questionable could be quite crushing in its lonesomeness.

The day meandered along, though you perked up at an announcement at the conclusion of your meeting.

“Alright, tomorrow we’ll vote on where everyone would like to go next,” quipped your travel coordinator, Mrs. Clifford. The traces of wrinkles hinted that she was early-fifties, and she always wore her blond hair up in a professional and tight bun that didn’t dare let a single hair stray in the line of sight of her blue eyes. She was a very enthusiastic woman and understandably strict of her charges. Any horsing around would be grounds for immediate dismissal of the program without a chance for a future opportunity, and you had a feeling she took that very seriously.

She continued, “All of the departments participating in this year’s internship program are coordinating with other programs of different levels and from different countries, so they’re ready for us at any time. However, because you’re all level one interns, you get the last pick. Your choices are Montreal, Bonn, or Rome. You have until the end of class tomorrow to decide. Please work together and vote on your visits of choice, but remember, we will go to all of them eventually.”

With that, she finished gathering up her things and whisked away, hitting the switch to raise the curtains as she left. Intense red-orange light poured into the room from the wall-length windows, casting deep shadows on everyone’s faces as laptops and notebooks were put away.

The young man across from you spoke up immediately. “We should decide right now since we’re all here anyway.”

Some sighs passed through the rooms from students in stuffy clothes and with growling stomachs, but no one moved to disagree. A girl volunteered to count the votes, tearing out a sheet of notebook paper and quickly scribbling the locations down. It occurred to you that with sixteen students, one person could be the deciding factor.

“Alright, I’ll start. Raise your hand if you want to go to Bonn.”

He raised his own hand, and four others followed. You shrunk in your seat as the girl started her tallies.

“Okay, Montreal?”

More hands, equal to Bonn.

“And Rome.”

Yet another equal amount. Everyone noticed right away, without needing the girl to say anything. Suddenly, you could feel eyes boring into you as intense as the sun on your back, despite staring at your hands on your lap.

You didn’t care where you went. You didn’t care about the facilities in each unique city; you had been to all three already in your life. You didn’t have a passion for climate change response or civil aviation or agricultural development. You didn’t want any of the kinds of jobs your peers yearned for.

“I’ll make up my mind tomorrow,” you swore quietly.

Fortunately Vincent, who was beside you, clapped your shoulder. “No problem! We’re all adults here. Since we’ll go everywhere, it doesn’t matter what comes first.”

“But I don’t want to be stuck going to Rome in July,” a girl protested, crinkling her nose. “It’ll be too hot! I’ll sweat straight through all my clothes.”

Her point was well taken, but Vincent replied, “Then don’t wear your expensive stuff. Relax, Italians expect you to dress light for business.”

The girl muttered, “You’re not even from Italy,” before quickly getting up and leaving. It was awkwardly quiet for a moment, but soon everyone shuffled out of the building, pouring into the endlessly busy streets of New York City alone.

“Ugh, don’t listen to her, either of you,” Keyanna spat. “ Please, we’re supposed to be young professionals but she’s acting like a kid. If she does that again I’ll tell Mrs. Clifford.”

“Ooh, tattle-tale,” Vincent teased, unfazed.

Keyanna flipped her hair dramatically. “No, I just expect professionalism from potential UN leaders. God knows an organization for world peace needs a brat.”

They laughed, but your mind was occupied. How were you supposed to choose where to go?

>To go to Montreal and pursue America or Canada, go to ‘No Time for Festivals.’

>To go to Bonn and pursue Germany, go to ‘Visit With a SPIDER.’

>To go to Rome and pursue Italy, go to ‘Emboldened and Brash.’

Chapter Text

However large the emptiness in your heart was, you had to wait. Time was surely your greatest enemy in more ways than one, and it was suffocating to be so helpless to it. Every day made you feel weary, yet the promise that it would pay off with eternal happiness kept you going sunrise after bitter, lonesome sunrise.

You focused intensely on your goal, more motivated than ever. You aced your internships, threw yourself into your classes, took up a student administrative job during the school year, and made sandwiches for the homeless before dawn twice a week, with additional charitable work during winter and spring breaks. It was exhausting with little reprieve, but there was also a sense of exhilaration. All of it was meaningful work, benefitting your community and helping you to realize your aspirations.

Even so, on those summers of exotic travels, you were repeatedly disappointed. The insidious years hadn’t fulfilled a surprise reunion like Ambassador Gottfried convinced you to hope for, though fortunately you were able to keep in contact with the ambassador and his successor, Miriam Bonds, who replaced him when you were a college junior. She was a friendly and competent British-born Vietnamese woman that you considered a friend, despite how rarely you spoke and the twenty years she had on you. Actually, in hindsight, she made you think of a spunky aunt whenever you thought of her.

Of course, Miriam didn’t exactly have all the time in the world for you, but she knew of your circumstances and joked about how she hadn’t known Arthur Kirkland and company personally until she was appointed ambassador by the Crown. “You’re more qualified than me!” she once chortled while you were on your third internship in London, having dinner with her at a restaurant (unfortunately, England was out of the country). “You could probably bring them all together to get things done better than any diplomat.”

Such words made you flush with anticipation and pride, though she then lowered her voice, beckoning and foreboding. “But there’s one thing I’ve thought about. I’m sure they were all on their best behavior around you because you were a child, but I need you to understand that they fight a lot, just as the press claims . They can be really hard to manage. You need a strong spine to work with them. I don’t want you to be disappointed later.”

Your back straightened and you smiled politely. “I appreciate the concern, Ambassador, but I’m prepared for that. When I told my dad what I wanted to do with my career, he told me the constant fighting was one of the reasons why he retired. It really stressed him out. But I’m different,” you boldly declared.

“He wasn’t prepared for them because he didn’t know how they behaved around each other. But I know, and I used to see the bickering from time to time if they didn’t think I was there.” You giggled, then concluded, “No matter what, I want to work for them. I know that they’re all very good people, and they were always good to my parents. Before I had to leave, the other assistants told me they were great to work for, too, so I know that some in-fighting won’t bother me.”

Miriam regarded you closely, as though probing you for an ulterior motive in case you were a clever terrorist. Or maybe she just thought you naive. Well, you were starstruck, but not ignorant; if everyone’s relationships improved simply because you were there, that would be quite the dream come true. It only took one person to change the world, for better or worse, and as a reflective adult you believed that your child self kept everyone in line to a degree. So maybe, just maybe, you could leave behind a genuine impact in their long, long lives that promised they’d remember you. That kind of thought gave your life purpose.

Eventually the ambassador took a long sip of her tea, then smiled. “I can see how seriously you take this. I think they'll be in good hands with you.”

You beamed, unable to ignore how that made your heart skip a beat. “Thank you!”

Now it was June, but the temperature was pleasantly mild as cool winds cascaded down the slopes of the snow-capped Alps. You looked out across Lake Geneva, admiring the Swiss city stretched out before you in all its peaceful, yet bustling glory. The air was fresh and clean, and you inhaled until your lungs threatened to burst. Unfortunately, despite the blindingly bright blue sky and cheerfully chirping birds, your innards were twisting and shriveling in every terrible manner.

“There you are! It’s fortunate your flight was only delayed an hour, isn’t it?” Miriam greeted you warmly on the paved sidewalk directly in front of the Celestial Sphere Woodrow Wilson Memorial, making her way through the large collection of people gathered in Ariana Park to enjoy the early summer day despite it being midday on a weekday. She stuck out like a sore thumb, foregoing casual clothing for a tight black tea-length dress with matching heels and glossy hair pulled back into a tight bun. Everyone around you was in merriment, but you just couldn’t share the sentiment.

The smile on the ambassador’s face waned. “You look green.”

“I think I’m gonna pass out.” Your voice was shaky.

“Now, now, none of that.” Miriam clapped her hands on your shoulders and steered you towards the Palais de Nations*, an intimidating monolith of charming European architecture you could hardly bear to look at. “You’ve been looking forward to this for ages, my dear! Aren’t you excited?”

You begrudgingly let her usher you past the lines of national flags and into the building for a quick security check. At the other end of the long, sparkling hallway that dawned impressive artwork or landscapes and portraits of political figures, there was an opening back into daylight. Knowing what was beyond, you slammed to a halt.

“Miriam.” You rarely addressed her so informally, but your mind was buzzing and you couldn’t think straight. “How do I look?”

She seemed a little surprised by the question, but after a slight pause she cupped your hand and patted it affectionately. “You look positively radiant, dear. Swear it on my life.”

You took another deep, deep breath. Thanks to the delay to Geneva you had little time to get ready after checking into your hotel, and rushed to change into a yellow gingham dress and wedge sandals with straw-colored sun hat before racing back to the street to hail a taxi. You were absolutely in love with the feminine yet classy style of the garment, reaching just past your knees and complemented with ruffled white chiffon across the off shoulder straps and your chest, concealing any scandalous trace of cleavage. The fitted bodice accentuated your hips perfectly, leaving no doubt that you were now grown. It really was perfect, yet you were strongly tempted to run and hide in the restroom you saw at the corner of your eye.

“My hair and makeup aren’t too messy?” you continued weakly. Struggling to get everything smoothed and applied just right proved to be quite the struggle in the cab rides from the airport to the hotel and then to the venue, and you hardly felt as glamorous as you wanted to be. Even so, Miriam assured you once again that you looked lovely.

For a moment the two of you stood together as you tried to recover your wits and stop your hands from sweating so much as you tightly grasped a white handbag. It was customary for the people you were about to work for to meet up at least once a year for fun rather than politics. Usually it would happen during the holidays, but not always. Thanks to the spacious courtyard behind the Palais de Nations as well as its prime location for the European countries, it would host these events often, though Washington DC was apparently the second most frequent location for such revelry. If only! Then maybe you wouldn’t be fashionably late to your own debut if you had flown there instead.

In your most self-centered dreams you liked to imagine yourself sauntering back into their lives as if it were no big deal, at an event just like this, causing a racket with your glorious return. But now that you actually were going to reappear unannounced, you never wanted to disappear more. According to Miriam, everyone knew that the replacement for Mr. Gunter Althaus, one of just six secretaries that oversaw the travel and meetings of the immortal diplomats (one for each habitable continent, though there was much overlap in duties and it wasn’t required that one oversee his or her continent of origin), had been chosen, but they didn’t know it was you.

You had reunited with Gunter and met the others in your virtual interview process, but even you knew it was a mere formality at that point. You had multiple letters of recommendations ranging from the aloof professors of political science and international relations to the knowledgeable former Ambassador Gottfried and Miriam herself. There was no one, not one person in the whole world, more qualified than you - or at least you liked to think that.

Now you were to meet your new coworkers formally - all of them, and you weren’t sure your heart could take the strain. “I just know I’ll burst into tears as soon as I see them,” you warned, stomach bubbling uncomfortably. “And then they’ll think I’m crazy because I know they don’t remember me!”

Your shoulders were grasped firmly, forcibly bringing your attention to Mirim’s stern face. “None of this ‘poor me’ attitude, alright? I know you’re nervous, and that’s perfectly fine. But think of how happy you’ll be in just a few minutes!”

That was a comforting way to put it. After taking another moment to collect yourself, as well as stealing a sip of cold water from the nearby fountain, you figured you were as ready as you could be.

“That’s it, love,” Miriam cooed as she gently led you the rest of the way to the arched doorway ahead of you, blinding you with sunlight and the sounds of casual conversation.

You were grateful that you wore a hat, preventing you from making too funny a face as your eyes adjusted to the light that you swore wasn’t as hot just minutes ago. The courtyard was neatly trimmed without a trace of leaves from the massive trees that hung at the edge, offering a bit of shade. Unassuming white tables were lined with food and drinks at the far end, and a few extra tables with chairs were scattered across the lawn under tents. In the middle was a small but charming fountain, the gentle bubbling sound it made drowned out by cheerful chatter that made your ears ring. There were faces and bodies you immediately recognized, but there were numerous dignitaries as well. It was certainly possible you knew some of them, but admittedly you didn’t pay much attention to the average human growing up.

With a jolt a memory flooded over you, and your cheeks burned. “I jumped into that fountain once,” you muttered. “I got bored at one of these things and dived right in.”

Miriam stared at you, then burst into laughter. “For once I wish I was older! I would have loved to see that!”

So she said, but you still remembered receiving the scolding of your life after your father hastily fished you out of the fountain and your mother rushed you to the restroom in a vain attempt to salvage your appearance. Everyone else found it hilarious, at least. Though now you were fairly certain your dad made sure no one (namely America and Denmark) laughed in front of you lest you considered becoming a repeat offender.

Her voice drew the attention of a painfully familiar face, and suddenly your heartbeat was pounding in your ears.

“Ah, there you are.” Arthur Kirkland, of course, hadn’t changed a bit in eleven years. He had the same shaggy yellow hair, the same dark and thick eyebrows, the same green eyes, the same posh accent that always regarded you so gently even seconds after snapping at someone else, just barely restrained of obscenities for your innocent sake. Despite spending more of your life away from him than with him, and although you avoided all mention of him in the public domain for fear of breaking your heart again, you remembered everything you had known about him.

You couldn’t decide if you wanted to cry, hug him, or pull your hat low over your eyes and pretend you weren’t there as he and Miriam firmly shook hands and he kissed her cheek. For the first time you realized how suffocating your nostalgia was with dreadful clarity. While not often, his hands had held yours, had held your small body to his hip, had wiped away tears after scraping your knee once upon a time. Yet to him such treasured moments likely meant nothing, and were already too far gone to recall again. It was dizzyingly sad, but you chewed the insides of your cheeks to ground yourself, halting the spiral of melancholy you didn’t foresee when you imagined seeing him - all of them - again.

“And this is that ‘special VIP’ you told me about?” England’s attention turned to you, and you froze as he raised a brow quizzically. He was dressed business casual, in a long sleeved green button-up and brown slacks, and to your own surprise you realized that his clean clothes yet untrimmed hair made him look dashing in an almost rugged way. Was he always so handsome?

He extended his hand, and it took a polite elbow from Miriam to react appropriately. Damn it, you were sweating so bad!

“She sure is!” Miriam replied, beaming.

Your throat was completely dry, yet you somehow managed to squeak out a pathetic introduction.

“Arthur Kirkland, nice to meet you.” He looked to the ambassador again as he dropped your hand. While his voice was still clearly within earshot, it dropped as though to exclude you. “A bit young, don’t you think?” Indeed, it just wasn’t probable for you to be in the field working for them.

Miriam was unfazed, in fact she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying this, although you started to think she was less happy for you and more amused by you. “I told you, she’s very special!”

“How so…?” His voice dripped with doubt, but you didn’t blame him.

You stiffened again, head spinning. This was it, the next chapter of your life. Your hard work was going to pay off at this exact moment. You turned your gaze to Miriam, and she nodded encouragingly. You felt faint again, but you took a breath and set your jaw.

“A-Arthur.” You could finally say his name again, to him. Just his name was like a shot of adrenaline racing through your veins. You finally composed yourself and smiled, albeit with a touch of hesitation.

“Actually, we’ve already been acquainted,” you explained, opening your handbag. Inside was your most precious possession: a picture of you with the former G8**, the last meeting you attended before your father’s retirement. Everyone looked happy enough, including your eleven-year-old self, but that day was a miserable one. The picture was slightly creased, but you were agonizingly careful with the original digital image, saved on a memory card you kept in a safety deposit box until you needed it for the numerous images of you with the nation people inside. You reprinted this particular one for this exact moment, though it was so ingrained in you to keep it close that it was almost hard to turn it over to him.

England seemed absolutely bewildered, but before he could ask questions you explained. “Do you remember that little girl one of your secretaries had? It was a little over ten years ago, and, well...she’s grown now,” you added that last part a bit bashfully, offering the picture to him. “And she wanted to see you all again.”

He didn’t even need to see the image. His eyes grew wide as saucers and he sputtered, “Wait a tick…” He said your name, more suggested it, and you were on top of the world.

>To continue, go to “Reunion.”

Chapter Text

He heard you. America finally spun around, eyes wide in bewilderment. Perhaps he expected a confrontation from a fan of his due to his social media presence (which you could not watch, because each time you tried you’d promptly burst into tears from how badly you missed him), or maybe you were someone that took great issue with the state of the country’s political affairs and wanted to take it out on him. Yet this - you, and the reason you called out to him - were something completely different. The rarity of this moment was unprecedented, and that was why you knew to cherish every breath, every particle that buzzed around you.

Adrenaline was making your fingers tremble, and you couldn't stop the tears from forming in your eyes. “I'm...sorry,” you gasped, fumbling for your phone in your jeans. On the back was a pocket with your ID and credit card, as well as a small paper delicately folded in half.

“I didn't mean to startle you,” you continued, offering the paper to him as you caught your breath. “I don't know if you remember me, but my father...he worked for all of you. When I was little.”

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, your mouth went dry as you opened the parchment, revealing a priceless artifact. It was a picture, one of the last you had been able to take before your father’s retirement. You were eleven, still prepubescent and in a dress, standing happily beside your dad. Surrounding you were the members of the former G8* - but not the politically elected attendees. Alfred was to your immediate left, sparkling with joy as always.

He gazed at it carefully, digesting the information. In that pause, you felt like you were tumbling between indecisions, unsure whether to speak more or stay quiet.

Before you could make up your mind, Alfred’s gaze snapped back to you. The surprise grew, then morphed into an expression that set your heart ablaze - recognition.

“No way!” In an instant, you were nearly tackled in a hug. You yelped on reflex, but you had dreamed of this moment on more than one occasion, hoping against hope that you could feel his heat again, feel an embrace that spoke of hellos compared to the bittersweet goodbye you received from him eight years ago.

Your exclamation became a squeal as he lost the composure to keep your feet on the ground. As you threw your arms around him he spun in a half-circle, carrying you for a second and no more. You smiled with your whole heart, feeling the weight of loneliness shake off with his momentum.

It was too brief. He pulled away and eyed you from head to toe. He was dressed casually, in a red hoodie and jeans similar to you. You hadn’t often seen him in anything less than professional, so it stuck out to you. Oh, how fortunate you were to have seen him in the crowd. Certainly, it was more than coincidence.

“I can’t believe it’s you!” America’s voice was as booming as ever, but you didn’t mind. It carried comforting surrealism. “You’re all grown up!” He planted his hand on your head and ruffled your hair, a familiar gesture that almost made you burst into sobs then and there, but you managed to smile and laugh even more instead.

“I am,” was all you could mutter as you choked back tears. “I didn’t think I’d see you here. Are you still living in New York?”

“Yeah, I was just visiting for business, but what the heck are you doing here?”

You cleared your throat, giddy and barely restraining yourself hopping from foot to foot. “I’m in the UN internship program!” your voice was far louder than necessary, but you couldn’t contain yourself.

“Are you serious?” His mouth fell open, but there was no maliciousness to be heard. After a second, he seemed quite pleased. “Well how about that! That’s great! Man, what a coincidence we met up like this.”

“Right?” you shouted, then quickly covered your mouth, flush with embarrassment. However, he chuckled.

“U-Uh, I mean,” you rushed, “I actually met with Ambassador Gottfried today and talked about seeing everyone again - because I want to be like my dad - but he told me I’d have to wait. I thought I’d have to stick it out for the next few years and get a full-time job, so I’m so happy to see you. I didn’t think I would for...for a long time.”

Alfred’s eyes sparkled with mirth and kindness. “It’s great to see you, too! But man, it’s kind of weird hearing you want to take your dad’s place. We’ve never had the kid of a secretary try to get the same gig.”

“It’s...weird?”

“Not at all!” his response was immediate, enthusiastic, and reassuring. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed what he said. That seemed like him. To your shock, he then took your hand. It wasn’t the gentlest touch, but it was kind, and it sent a wave of nostalgia crashing over you. “You hungry? I could use a bite to eat. Let’s go catch up!”

You flushed. Truthfully, you weren’t hungry at all, but you didn’t hesitate to nod.

“Sweet! I know this great food truck nearby, and they’ve got the best ice cream!” With that, he led the way.

As you walked beside him, you realized you were gaping at him. Snapping your mouth shut, you used his hand as an anchor to keep you grounded to reality. This was real, he was here and you were with him. It felt too good to be true, and it was difficult to not squeeze with all your might.

As the hazy fog of euphoria began to clear into the dusk, your clasped hands started to take on a rosier color. As much as the feeling reminded you of your childhood, being gently guided to and fro by Alfred among others (particularly when you were caught wandering unsupervised), you were acutely aware that now you resembled the same age.

“Does your driver’s license still say you’re nineteen?” you blurted.

“Yep,” Alfred replied with a humored smirk. “And I still wish my boss would let me change it to twenty-one.”

You laughed, but the pressure of age threatened to cleave away your arm. Anyone would assume the two of you were a couple, and why wouldn’t they? You would, too. It just wasn’t common for people to platonically hold hands in America. Yet you were going to grow older still, while he wouldn’t age a day-

Your foot hit an uneven slab of pavement and you stumbled forward, but Alfred quickly pulled you upright.

“I thought you’d be a little less clumsy when you got older,” Alfred teased, and you smiled sheepishly.

Those intrusive thoughts had been buried deep inside of you, and you were desperately stomping them down again. There was no avoiding the inevitable, but you were determined to focus on the present, on his striking face as the orange hue of sunset cast deep shadows along his cheek.

There was not a doubt in your mind that you loved America dearly, but for a brief moment you were captivated by a handsomeness you hadn’t known as a kid. But you also knew with certainty that your love was not, would not, could not be romantic. It was not a daughterly or sisterly or familial bond, but something precious, something special, and something that belonged to you and you alone.

“I resent that. I’ve practiced walking in heels a lot for this internship!” you replied.

He apologized merrily, and together you rounded the corner. The smell of sizzling meat soon reached your nostrils, and a food truck was soon in sight, teetering between the sidewalk and the busy road.

“Get whatever you want,” he offered, opening up his wallet and ordering a burger and fries with a drink.

“You really haven’t changed,” you mused affectionately, and moments later your hands were now filled with his fries and an ice cream cone. You could think of several people that would call it rude to make you hold his food, but in this dreamy runion, there was nothing wrong. “I feel like I can hear England yelling at you for this.”

America groaned good naturedly after taking a sip of Coca-Cola. “Yeah, I know. Anyway, you sure you’re good with just that? I thought you said you were hungry.”

You shrugged. “Actually, I ate just before running into you. But this ice cream is really good! Thank you.”

The two of you crossed the street and found yourselves in a small park with sparse trees and some benches lined under the lighted street lamps. In the center was an unoccupied gazebo, and you sat down across from each other. Offering him back his French fries, the two of you enjoyed your meals with comfortable companionship.

“So, how is everyone else?” you asked.

“Aw, same old, same old,” America said between bites. “What about your folks?”

“They’re fine. Mom’s been the president of a local charity for a couple years now, and dad’s a professor for international politics.”

“That’s good to hear! And you know, I’m kind of surprised to be honest. I mean, I get wanting to work for me, but you really wanna be around all those old farts again?”

You giggled. This was the America you knew, the one you had loved so intimately for sixteen years. Loud, arrogant, nosy, yet he was equally vocal in his kindness and compassion. You knew his words were only in jest. “Actually, I’d like that very much.”

He hummed thoughtfully, finishing up his food while you began biting into the wafer cone. “Well, let’s see...I know I would hire you, but it’s not like I get to decide that kind of thing. Plus you’re still in school, and there’s no workaround for that. You’d have to wait until graduation, at least, but no one’s ever jumped straight in secretarial work right after college.”

You glanced down, trying to hide your bittersweet smile. “Yeah, I know,” you sighed.

“But!” Alfred snapped his fingers in excitement. “You’ve already cleared a big hurdle, and that’s being familiar with us. I think you’ll be all set as long as you keep doing well in school and keep up with your internships.”

“You sound just like my dad,” you mused with a roll of your eyes, and he chuckled.

“How about this then?” He leaned forward in his seat excitedly. “Send me your resume and I’ll see if there’s something I can do.”

Your heart almost fell out of your chest. “Really?”

He reached out to pat your head affectionately. “Sure! I mean, I can’t have you start now , but I can at least let the guys up top that handle the recruiting know about you. I mean, you’ve made it this far, right?” He winked.

You took a deep breath, collecting your tumultuous thoughts. Only one thing threatened to tear you down from your high, no matter how reasonable it was. “Um, that would be amazing! Thank you so much! I - I know I’d have to wait no matter what, but, er, that doesn’t mean I can’t ever see you again until then, right?” Your voice dropped from exuberant cacophony to low hesitance. If America left you now, you weren’t sure you could find the strength to even stand.

Fortunately, he seemed empathetic of your uncertainty. “‘Course not! Here.” He fished his phone out of his back pocket. “Let me give you my number and email.”

It took every ounce of willpower to keep your hands from trembling as you punched his contact information into your own phone. For so long you had yearned for him, dreamed of him, and now he was right here in front of you when you least expected it. There was so much more you wanted to say and do, but it was like your mind had completely shut down.

After exchanging information, Alfred took note of your surroundings. “Sun’s almost gone already? Kinda feels like it’s only been a few minutes since we met up.”

You were suddenly aware of a chilly night wind passing between you. Looking up, the sky was indigo and violet, a half moon and some stars glimmering among the lights of the capital.

He stood and beckoned you with a jerk of his head. “C’mon, let me walk you back to your hotel.”

Begrudgingly, you headed out of the park, walking side by side with him. Admittedly you were a little lost, but America had no trouble navigating your way back to the subway station you had come from.

Along the way, you became acutely aware of how cold and empty your hand felt, and you felt your cheeks grow hot. You weren’t a child anymore, and you were again reminded of the romantic undertones, yet you were also aware that it could be quite some time before you saw him again. You were standing at the precipice of a yawning chasm where you would be forced apart once again. That fear outweighed your embarrassment.

“Hey, America?” Even so, your voice was small. He looked at you questioningly. “Can we, um...hold hands again?”

He blinked in surprise. Maybe he hadn’t even realized that he had walked hand in hand with you earlier. After a couple paces you were worried you spoke out of turn, and opened your mouth to apologize, but he gave you a mesmerizing, blissful smile and delicately clasped your hand once more. Your heart skipped a beat.

As the last traces of the sun dipped below the city skyline, you walked together in that manner until you reached the subway station. The crowd was smaller than before, now lacking the businesspeople, so the two of you were able to be in your own bubble, knees touching. It took every ounce of your willpower to resist the temptation to lean your body against his, to grow closer still, knowing he would soon go away again.

Once you sat, the two of you chatted idly, mostly about yourself - the university you were attending, your studies, how boring your life had become once your father retired. He asked if you followed his HetaTube channel, to which you had to honestly answer that you were very behind on his videos, but you promised to catch up. He let you take a selfie with him, which left you overjoyed.

The day finally had to come to an end. By the time you reached the hotel, the sun was completely gone, and streets were far more sparse of people than people, giving the entire world a cold, isolated sensation.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” you asked.

Unfortunately, America shook his head. “Sorry, but I have a morning flight to catch tomorrow. I’m heading back home.”

Not willing to let any more chances pass you by and ignoring how obvious your desperation was, you stretched up on your toes and proclaimed, “Then next week! Next week we’re going to New York. Can I see you again then?”

He seemed a little caught off guard by your insistence, but then he smiled his self-assured, comforting smile. “Of course! I’ll show you the best restaurants in town.”

Then he hugged you, and your heart skipped a beat. “But seriously, focus on your work, okay? I’ll keep in touch.”

You nodded, embracing him in return. “Yeah, okay. Be careful on your way home.”

He gently pulled away, and you hoped that the affection you felt radiate from him wasn’t fake, that even though you were so insignificant to his life, you meant something, anything, to him.

"I will. Have a good night."

"Goodnight," you whispered, watching with growing anxiety as he gradually blended into the night. You placed a palm to your chest, chanting inwardly that you would not be forced to endure the world without him ever again.

>To continue, go to, “The City of Nostalgic Dreams”

Chapter Text

"What has you in such a good mood?" Keyanna asked you as you skipped down Notre-Dame Street.

"Let me guess, more memories?" Vincent chuckled.

You looked over your shoulder at your companions with a smile. "Nah, not really. I mean, I've only been here once or twice. But it's such a nice day!"

Indeed, you chose to vote for Montreal on account of how few memories you had of the area. The city seemed to sparkle under the cloudless May sky, and your class was gifted with a beautiful day after two days of rain and boring (to you, anyway) lectures about international air transport at the Quartier international de Montreal in the heart of downtown. The three of you were walking alongside the Saint Lawrence River for an hour lunch break, admiring the line of shops and restaurants parallel to the river.

“I really want to check out those antique shops,” Keyanna marveled. “Maybe I’ll find a good souvenir for my family.”

“We’ll do that after class today,” Vincent offered as he scrolled through his phone. He scoffed in disappointment. “What the heck? There’s just a ton of Italian places on this street!”

You and Keyanna peered over his shoulders. “Really? Nothing French? No poutine?” Keyanna asked.

“I don’t mind Italian. There’s a pizza place around the corner,” you offered, but they shook their heads in unison.

“I’m not really feeling the Italian since we’ll probably go to Rome next,” Keyanna explained, and Vincent hummed in agreement.

You looked up and examined your surroundings. “We’re ten minutes into our break already. Vincent, what’s the closest non-fast food place?”

He checked Google Maps, then laughed. “Notre-Boeuf-De-Grâce* is just across the street.”

Keyanna perked up hopefully. “Ooh, sounds fancy.”

“It’s a burger joint.”

She deflated and you chuckled. “Hey, maybe it will be fancy French hamburgers! Come on, let’s go before we run out of time and have to go to McDonald’s.”

You steered the two into the building, immediately greeted by a myriad of tantalizing smells. It was a small space with brick walls, black tables and chairs, and a bar stocked full of alcohol with labels in French. It looked like a lot of people were there for lunch, and the three of you could only find seats at a six-top, with you facing the bar and the others sitting across from you.

People zipped in and out of the restaurant in a steady lunch rush stream, and fortunately, you were served your food with plenty of time to eat. Towards the end of your meal, however, your party was interrupted.

“Excuse me. Do you mind if we sit here?” someone behind you asked in English. His voice was chipper and loud, and it immediately stirred something within you, like igniting a spark. You froze, unable to turn around and face him.

“Not at all!” Keyanna, ever so friendly, didn’t hesitate. But you could hardly bring yourself to raise your head to see the people now next to you. Your heart seized, and its frantic beating pounded in your ears.

“Thanks!” The two sat, and suddenly Keyanna exclaimed,

“Oh my god, are you guys America and Canada?”

You almost fell out of your chair at the sheer force of her declaration, but instead, you completely froze in place. Both of them? You screamed inwardly.

“You recognize us?”

Keyanna gushed, “Of course! I love your HetaTube channel!” She then proudly flashed the security pass the three of you had pinned to your jackets to give you entrance to Quartier international de Montreal. “I’ve always been interested in other countries and politics, so I’ve kinda followed every country-human with social media. And speaking of politics, the three of us are actually here for an internship program with the UN. I’m Keyanna. This is Vincent and that’s __________. It’s great to meet you!”

You jolted upright, boring into Keyanna with wide eyes. You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. Her brow creased in confusion.

“That’s great.” The man directly beside you finally spoke, his voice soft and polite and unmistakable. It made heat swell throughout your body, set a blossoming inferno of incredulity and love coursing through your veins. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Finally, you dared to peek at him from the corner of your eye. There already was no doubt, yet seeing his profile made goosebumps rise on your arm. Slowly, ever so slowly, you angled yourself more towards the two newcomers, both dressed casually in jeans and T-shirts, a style you rarely saw them wear as a child.

Matthew Williams met your gaze, and he caught the wonder and amazement you knew was present there. He blinked, puzzled, then offered a gentle smile that broke your heart. It was pure torture to avoid hugging him then and there and affirm that he had indeed casually strolled back into your life for a burger and fries.

“Matthew…” you said, as quietly as he often demonstrated. He regarded you for a moment longer, though you could easily tell he was not as thrilled to see you, simply because he didn’t know you. That didn’t bother you a bit: after all, you were prepubescent still when you separated.

“That’s awesome!” America stole the spotlight. “Always happy to meet a fan. What got you guys interested in working for the UN?”

You wondered why he asked such a question: was it genuine curiosity, or was he scouting? You hoped for the latter. This was your only chance; you couldn’t let it slip by…!

As the thought crossed your mind, words fumbled out of your mouth in a desperate torrent. “My dad!” you blurted, interrupting Vincent. Everyone looked to you, and you were locked on Canada’s fascinating violet eyes.

“My dad worked for the UN...he was the secretary for you guys...but he retired eight years ago when I was elevent.” You dragged out each word carefully, imploring for some sense of familiarity. “And I want to have the same job.”

Keyanna gasped. “What? You know them? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You didn’t answer. You knew this was hardly a noble pursuit compared to your peers, who were genuinely interested in addressing matters such as climate change and systemic racism, but it was all you wanted. Working for the people that were pursuing those positive changes with sincere compassion and no corruption would give you the contentment you hadn’t known in almost a decade.

Vincent and Keynna watched as you, America, and Canada silently stared at each other. Gradually, something akin to recollection passed over their faces, and your heart skipped a beat. Then, Canada whispered your name. You nodded, swallowing thickly, unraveling with relief.

“I missed you.” Your voice hitched, and you stopped yourself from saying anything more. You could feel the sobs swelling in your throat.

“Holy shit!” America cried, appearing both stunned and elated.

You wanted nothing more than to leap out of your chair and hug the two of them, but the restaurant was too crowded, and just then your phone’s alarm rang in warning that you had just fifteen minutes to return to class.

You bit back a curse and frantically grabbed a pen in the pocket of your dress pants and jotted your number on a napkin. You forced it into Canada’s hand in a flash then shakily got to your feet, food half untouched

“Call me?” you said, not even hiding your pleading tone.

For a moment America looked ready to object your departure, which thrilled you, but you were painfully aware that now more than ever you had to prioritize your internship. When you glanced at Canada he was smiling again, that soothing grin that had brought you so much comfort as a child. He nodded, and you took a deep, refreshing breath.

It was impossible to not keep looking over your shoulder until your group finally exited the restaurant, all three of you sleepwalking in disbelief.

“You have some explaining to do!” Keyanna said immediately. Vincent, slack-jawed, could only nod in agreement.

As the sudden adrenaline began to wear off, you almost collapsed. “It’s just like I said back there,” you muttered. “I just want to work for them like my dad did.”

---

You could barely sit still for the rest of the day, your mind filled with sweet reminisces that spun through your mind deliriously. You were practically vibrating with joy, and it took every ounce of willpower to avoid spinning in your chair or otherwise acting in a distracting manner. You held your phone in a vise-like grip, waiting and hoping impatiently for a message of some kind.

It was beyond unbelievable. The chances were so slim that it was unfathomable. Your wildest dreams had come true, then ended just as quickly.

No! you told yourself with a start. I won’t wake up from this. I will see them again, no matter what.

As you stared out across the river, you recalled the first time you met Canada again, and how that was unfortunately not the first time you mistook him for his brother. It took maybe about a month to realize that Canada was the quiet one, and another month to tell them apart when side by side. Now it seemed funny that you ever mixed them up at all, though you knew it was a common problem for them (mostly Canada) among both the average citizen and their kindred associates.

You remembered the times Canada patiently watched over you when you wanted to color for him, how he never turned you down when you wanted to hold his hand, how he sometimes comforted you on the myriad occasions you got hurt (running into a door when you were five came to mind), and most importantly, how he taught you to ice skate. You were so stubbornly determined to learn but very scared to do so at seven years old, and he expertly guided you with a firm hold on both hands that made you feel incredibly safe. Even if it wasn’t the most successful first skating attempt in the world, you just knew that it wouldn’t have been any fun without him.

The class ended, and a pleasant river breeze kept the heat of early summer at bay as you followed the group back to your hotel in a daze.

“You’re gonna break your phone,” Keyanna, pointed out,now sated after a length conversation that took you the whole walk back to the building to explain. You relaxed your dangerous grip. Canada hadn’t sent any kind of message yet, but you knew he would. There was no possible way that Matthew Williams of all people would ghost you. And on the off chance he did, you would tear him a new one whenever you saw him again as a secretary.

Finally, just as you had changed into comfortable jeans and a T-shirt, your phone began to ring. You dove for it, hardly daring to breathe, telling yourself to not cry or yell and let your voice shake. The last thing you wanted was to scare him off. You waved to Keyanna, who was departing to go sightseeing and get dinner with the rest of the group. You liked her well enough, of course, but you were glad for the privacy. The conversation would be too intimate for wandering ears.

"Hello? Is this Canada?" You couldn't help but speak first, fumbling over your words despite how much you tried to reign yourself in.

“Uh...no?”

You nearly collapsed to the floor in disappointment, but after a second you realized that the person on the other end sounded familiar.

“Wait - America?”

He laughed, and it amazed you how quickly you felt soothed. There was no doubt about it. Even so, you still sputtered in exasperation, “Don’t do that to me! I've been waiting all day!”

“I’m sorry.” A soft voice cut in, and you realized the brothers must be on speakerphone. The thought of the two of them made your heart thunder in your chest. “I wanted to wait until I thought you were done with your program for the day, and he insisted he be on the call. Anyway, I can’t believe we met like that. I was so surprised!”

You could feel yourself bursting at the seams. “I know! It was unbelievable! I thought I was gonna pass out. And then you actually remembered me….” You trailed off, biting your tongue. Your eyes suddenly started to sting.

“Of course we did,” Canada assured you, and you could see his calm, collected expression in your mind’s eye.

“Yeah!” America added excitedly. “I mean, maybe it took me a second longer than Canada, but that’s only because you’re so grown up now. I still remember when you were little. It’s been like ten years since your dad retired, right? Where are you? We need to meet up, right now!”

“I’m at the Marriott on René-Lévesque Boulevard,” you explained, already grabbing your purse and heading out the door.

America laughed incredulously. “Well then, hurry up to the lobby! I bet we’ll beat you.”

You nearly sprinted down the hallway and jabbed the elevator button forcefully. “What? Are you guys staying here too? What’re you doing in Montreal anyway?”

“Just sightseeing,” America replied. “A summit just ended, so we’re on break for a couple of weeks.” The doors slid open, and you almost dropped your phone. Canada and America blinked at you, and you at them. You had sworn to yourself that you wouldn’t do it, but there was no stopping the short, excited scream that escaped your throat as you leaped at them, throwing your arms around one shoulder each. Even if it was only the two of them, you finally felt that you were home.

>To continue, go to “A Familiar Bond”

Chapter Text

You marched up stairs and across halls listlessly, your stomach churning so much there was no hope of eating anything during your lunch break. “I can’t do this,” you muttered anxiously, stopping only when the clack of your heels against the tile floor of the UN-SPIDER building began to give you a headache. You promptly sat down on a plush bench outside a large room filled with people working diligently at their cubicles, trying not to draw attention to yourself. You took deep breaths, but there was no quelling the pounding in your ears.

You hadn’t expected to feel so overwhelmed. True to his word, Ambassador Gottfried had spread the word about you, and you received an email from the secretary Gunter Althaus about an upcoming meeting at this very building, the United Nations Platform for Space-based Information for Disaster Management and Emergency Response. That was ultimately why you had chosen to go to Bonn, all so you could see the country-humans again and get a headstart to your career.

You had been excited to see the building again at its beautiful location along the Rhine. Yet from the moment you saw the campus with its signature semi-circle-shaped skyscraper, you felt like you had been punched in the gut. There were so many memories, so intense in their nostalgia and love that you had to collect yourself in the restroom. It was so bitingly terrible that you couldn’t focus in class at all and sent your new friends off to lunch without you.

Maybe that was a mistake, because you were beginning to feel anxious in kind. So little had changed, which only made you all the more aware that you were aging. Suddenly, despite only being nineteen, you felt like you had so little time left to reunite with those special people, like decades working for them wouldn’t be enough. Worst of all, you knew how selfish that was. Though you were too young for serious discussions of mortality back then, you had a better understanding of how burdensome their lives were now. It was quite possible any one of them wished they could take your place.

No, they’re too kind for that, you realized, and almost burst into tears there and then. That’s right, those sweet nation-people would surely never want anyone to go through what they had time and time again. They would not want to know the secret buried in your heart, kept even more closely than your wish just to see them again. If you had the chance for immortality, no matter how much it pained or disappointed others, you weren’t sure what you would choose. That indecision alone, you felt, would break their compassionate hearts.

You knew you were just putting words in their mouths, but for eight lonesome years, they had occupied your mind so fiercely. Thinking of such things as Italy’s joyfulness, Germany’s steadfastness or Japan’s calmness played a crucial role in your outlook on life, on your decision making, on your personality. Their words, their faces influenced you as greatly as a parent or protagonist in a favorite book would. They had almost become imaginary friends, fragments of your consciousness, and that scared you. You wanted to be grounded in reality, yet you also felt you couldn’t do so without them. It was humiliating; would anyone even understand that?

You stood abruptly, deciding you had to go somewhere, anywhere . Of course, your main priority was the conference you were supposed to sit in on, but your class wasn’t over until four o’clock. However, you knew where they were. Part of you understood that, for all their bickering, they were working and shouldn’t be interrupted if it was unplanned. On the other hand, maybe they were on lunch, too? It couldn’t hurt to at least peek, right? The thought made blood roar in your ears.

As you reminisced, you arrived at the ground floor via elevator. According to your phone, you still had thirty minutes left of your break, so you had plenty of time to maybe drop by the meeting and get a quick snack or two at the vending machines. Then you had to focus. Your dreams of working for them would never come to fruition if you didn't knock your internship work out of the park. You had to be the absolute best, unquestionably qualified for the job as a secretary.

The elevator you had taken was at the back of the building, furthest from the main doors. Lines of doors to conference rooms dotted the hall, and you followed the numbers to the largest one. With each step, your heart rate quickened and your pace increased. You were starting to feel dizzy. The people dearest to you, the people you had been separated from for almost a decade were within arm’s length. How would they react? Would they be happy to see you? Happy to know you wanted to work for them?

Finally, you reached the door. You could hear many people talking, and it brought back so many memories. There were many times you impatiently waited for your father and the others to finish their work so you could play or eat, and on some occasions, you burst in thoughtlessly. You smiled. You had such a wonderful childhood, one uniquely yours and no one else’s.

You started to space out again, and that was why you failed to notice the vibrations of someone stomping towards the door. Too late, it flew up and promptly smacked you in the face.

“Ow!” you yelped, stumbling backward and holding your nose.

“Oh, Jesus!” your accidental assailant shouted. He caught himself and spoke in German next. “I am so sorry. Are you alright?”

You peeked at him and blinked, once, twice at Arthur Kirkland, with his bushy eyebrows and stylishly unkempt blond hair and eyes so green it was as if they were a clue that he wasn’t exactly human.

Before you could make a sound the door opened again, hitting England from behind. “Ow!” he cried, stepping away and holding the back of his head. Well, at least that made it up to you.

“Well hell, England, why are you standing there?” France asked, smiling easily. He was wearing a suit and brown tie, the pants and jacket a matching shade of navy. He looked just as striking and familiar, down to the handsome stubble that dotted his chin. The door began to close, but he casually held his arm out to keep it open. “Germany called for lunch because of your hissy fit.”

“Hissy fit my ass!” England barked with a glare. He turned back to you, and the anger instantly fell away and was replaced with concern. France followed his gaze, and his eyes widened.

You didn’t even realize you were misty-eyed until your vision blurred with tears, which began silently rolling down your cheeks. You couldn’t breathe. You knew they were here, but seeing them in the flesh was like taking an injection of dopamine. All the pain in your nose vanished, and through the torrential emotions of disbelief and joy, you managed to croak out, “England...France….”

You sometimes thought about how funny and exciting it would be to stumble into any of them by chance, but to truly see them in front of you was like this, even though it was expected, took your breath away.

Before either of them could say anything you lunged, throwing your arms around their necks. “I missed you so much!”

You were smiling so widely your cheeks threatened to tear, though you knew they were confused. But you had to feel them, to sense them fully and register that you weren’t dreaming.

They were completely frozen, but after a moment England managed to speak. “Wait a tic...__________, is that you?”

“Yes!” Gunter must have told them about you. You owed that man the world.

At that, France broke into a grin and suddenly took you into his arms, shoving England out of your gasp and giving an exaggerated kiss to your cheek.

“My God, look at you!” France said, squeezing you. You didn’t mind at all; in fact, your head was full of fluffy clouds and the stray thought of how much closer you were to his face in terms of height. “My dear, I didn’t think we’d meet again! We were all so shocked when Gunter told us you were in town.”

You almost broke down completely, but swallowed your tears and nodded wordlessly. It was hard to resist clinging to him like you once did as a child, back when he told you to see him as a big brother. You never did call him that or see him that way, because in your mind he was too old, but he really did take great care of you. He held your hand, carried you around, shared stories, and even taught you a bit about cooking. He had been a great comfort figure to you.

But England meant a great deal to you as well, so you finally broke away and grabbed him without waiting for reciprocation. Fortunately, he did hold you in return after another second of frozen shock.

“Blimey!” he gasped, finding his words. The hug was brief, and he looked you in the eye and said, “Is that really you?”

You nodded rapidly. 

He sighed. “Of all the people to hit with that damn door,” he muttered, and you burst into laughter.

“It’s okay, it surprised me more than anything!”

Just then, someone inside the room cleared his throat awkwardly. You looked in and squeaked despite knowing what - or rather, who - would be there. You were staring into a massive assembly hall, bright and shiny, with rows of long curved tables with computers facing a podium. Dozens of eyes were on you, staring quizzically, and all looking exactly as they did when you last saw them in the flesh.

“What? _________?” Belgium, who sat closest to the door and heard your exchange, got up and walked over to you.

“Yes! Just like Gunter said,” France answered excitedly.

Her eyes widened, and you smiled hopefully. Belgium, like most of the other girls, had doted on you with the occasional ‘girl time’ like shopping or slumber parties. It didn’t happen often given you were so young, but you still had vivid memories of playing simple card games and learning to read children’s stories in different languages with the girls.

“Belgium!” you squealed as she embraced you happily.

Chatter resonated in the room as a few more familiar faces rose to greet you with disbelieving and enthusiastic eyes. Even as you faced them, touched them, you knew you were perfectly reflecting their incredulous expressions. You weren’t entirely sure you weren’t lying unconscious in the hallway even as America nearly crushed you in an overenthusiastic hug. If all of this was a dream from the moment you were told everyone was in Bonn, you didn’t want to wake up.

“Hey, hey, hey! Where’s my hug?” When you turned to see who interrupted, you laughed and obliged him.

“Hi, Prussia! Oh my gosh, I missed you - all of you!”

Apparently, Prussia only occasionally appeared at conferences in Europe, but his attendance had increased when you were around. He was great with you out of a fondness for children, and often sated your boredom with grand stories of his past. He had been almost like a brother to you back then like France, though now as an adult it didn't feel right to still regard him as such. Your relationship with him required evaluation at a later time, but for now, you were going to savor this moment.

“This is awesome! Look who it is, West!”

Germany looked stunned, his mouth hanging open in a way that equally surprised you. Germany was always so put together, but he was at a loss for words. You offered a smile, and that seemed to snap him to attention.

“Yes, I heard that you would be here,” he muttered, shaking your hand firmly. It was hard to not hug him, too, but you managed to respect his personal space. Even when you were little, he always recoiled a bit when you sought his affection, though he never outright denied you.His reactions led to your mother needing to talk to you about boundaries. “It’s hard to believe it’s been so long.”

"I thought you were going to come later?" England asked once everyone was settled, and you suddenly felt bashful.

"Well, I’m on lunch," you confessed, looking down humbly, “and I kind of just...wanted to see everyone sooner, if I could. Is - Is that weird?”

There was a moment of silence, but just as you were starting to feel sufficiently awkward Belgium spoke up. 

"That's wonderful!" She clapped her hands together. "So you were having class in this building? I didn’t know that!"

"Yeah, and you guys are reviewing your information sharing contracts since they’re due for renewal, right?"

France rolled his eyes dismissively. "Yes, yes, all that boring stuff. But let’s not talk about that! So you decided to become our next secretary, eh? Well, it’s good you know how the job works!”

You smiled and nodded firmly. Per your father, you understood that these people often conducted the preliminary work for deals between countries. They were the ones to take the first step to formal and public processes of international relations. It was incredibly important, though maybe a bit underappreciated by the masses. Your father and other secretaries would put the meetings together and attend for note-taking purposes, and would sometimes run errands like responding to emails, relaying information, or just grabbing lunch. Organizing transportation, accommodations, and catering was also a part of the job. In the grand scheme of things, it seemed almost completely insignificant, but these people in front of you were more than worth it.

The way France spoke as if you were guaranteed the position riled up your emotions again, and just then your phone played an alarm. You had five minutes to return to class. Overwhelmed by the sudden reunion, your logic went out the window as you were struck by a wave of fear that these beloved people would disappear just as quickly.

“Oh, no,” you sputtered, teetering dangerously close to sobbing. No, you couldn’t throw a temper tantrum! You weren’t a child anymore! “I just...I just met you all again….”

Scared to make a fool of yourself, you were grateful as some of the girls promptly pushed you out of the room to recover.

“Now, now, no need for tears,” Hungary tutted as she hauled you into the restroom.

You feebly wiped at your eyes. “I know, I’m sorry. But...but….”

You heard someone next to you sniffle, and Czech rolled her eyes. “Geez, Ukraine, don’t you start!”

“I can’t help it! It’s been so long since I’ve seen little __________,” the motherly nation replied. Ukraine was such a wonderful figure to you growing up, a dutiful big sister you could always rely on. With a strangled cry, the two of you embraced. Fortunately, your growth prevented you from being smothered in her bosom.

Belgium grabbed your arms and forced you apart. “And she has to get to class!” she barked. Then she smiled and started straightening your clothes as Liechtenstein dabbed at your eyes with a handkerchief. “Listen, you’ll come back at four o’clock, and then once the meeting ends we can hang out! How does that sound?”

A shudder wracked your entire body as a strangled cry rose in your throat. The last thing you wanted to be when you saw them again was a mess, but that was exactly what was happening. “Can I? Really?”

Czech clapped her hands together.“Of course! You’re grown now, so that means we can have some actual girl time!”

“I might cry again when I come back,” you admitted sheepishly, but the girls only laughed.

Hungary hugged you. “You’ve grown into such a lovely young lady.” She gently pushed you towards the door. “I’d love to see you become our new secretary, but you have to put your schooling first! Now shoo!”

You were in a stupor as you staggered out of the restroom and back up the stairs to class. Without thinking you pinched yourself the entire time, still shocked breathless by what had transpired. It had been a whirlwind, there and gone in the blink of an eye. None of it felt real quite yet. But you did know one thing for sure: it was about to get a lot harder to pay attention in class.

>To continue, go to "A Dinner to Remember"

Chapter Text

You stepped out of the Food and Agriculture Organization headquarters and stretched, relieved to be freed from the confines of class with plenty of time to explore Rome. You were exhausted (who knew learning about food security could be so boring?), but hopefully the Italian iced coffee you and your friends picked up at the cafe inside the building would keep you energized. It was a perfect day for sightseeing, with a cloudless blue sky and a sun that wasn’t quite caught up to summertime temperatures just yet.

“Ugh, I don’t know how we’re supposed to bear this,” Keyanna bemoaned. “There’s way too much to do here, even if I didn’t have to take this class!” You nodded sympathetically.

“I’m sure that’s part of the plan,” Vincent mused with a knowing smirk. “The UN wants to weed out all the partiers before they get a reputation.”

Keyanna glared at him. “I’m not a partier, I just can’t afford to go to Rome every year unlike you, Mr. I-have-relatives-in-Tivoli.”

He put up his hands. “Whatever you say. Just don’t be late to class because you overslept in an Italian guy’s bed!”

She sneered playfully. “Is that sexual harassment I smell? I wonder what Mrs. Clifford will think.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Not if you buy me a panna cotta.”

“Hey, that’s just quid pro quo!”

The two chased each other around the stairs, but the mention of Italian guys brought two people to mind. “Italian guys…” you muttered without thinking. Your friends stopped in their tracks, exchanged looks, then promptly burst out laughing.

“I didn’t take you for that kind of girl!” Vincent chortled. “More into the guys than the views?”

Keyanna replied, “Well can you blame her? I’m sure plenty of the guys are nice views-” Vincent winked and she quickly added, “-but you don’t count!”

You flushed sheepishly. That was most definitely not what you meant, but like with New York and America, you just couldn’t get the Italy brothers out of your head. Italy was so energetic and childish, so you had many fond memories of playing with him. He even taught you some Italian and cooking skills. But you could also remember how he wasn’t very put together, and you recalled one instance specifically in Rome where you had fallen on the sidewalk and scraped your knee. Poor Italy had no idea what to do when you started crying and was close to tears himself when your mother intervened. His heart was so soft that it could be a detriment, as he wasn’t at all prepared for emergencies.

Romano, however, was a tougher nut to crack. He bore a scowl much of the time, and he scared you when you were little. He rarely spoke to you or made eye contact, always observing from a distance. However, unlike Netherlands or Belarus, he wasn’t apathetic to your fear. Once more, a particular moment stuck out to you.

Actually, it was at this very building. At five years old and with no sense of danger you had managed to make your way to the doors, sneaking by your poor nanny while she was in the restroom. You thought your parents were outside, though in hindsight you weren’t sure why you believed that in the first place. Regardless, somehow with everyone’s back turned, you had slipped right through the front door.

Fortunately, you didn’t make it far, as the meeting had just adjourned for lunch. “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” someone behind you snapped, and before you could look you were snatched up from under the arms

Startled, you turned your head to see Romano glowering at you, holding you at a distance as if you stunk. “Haven’t you been taught not to go off on your own? Stranger danger? Do ya want your parents to worry sick about you?”

You didn’t really understand what was happening, but he was clearly angry. You had met Romano before in New York but hadn’t really interacted with him. To you, he was the stranger you were meant to be wary of, and so your only option was to cry.

He nearly dropped you as his eyes widened, like he was scared he’d get in trouble. “Hey - wait, don’t start cryin’ on me!”

You cried louder.

“Romano, what are you doing?” A concerned Italy suddenly appeared. “Why is she crying?”

He flushed, aggravated. “I caught her tryin’ to run off!”

Italy shook his head with a frown and carefully removed you from Romano’s hold into his much gentler one. “That’s no good, fratello! You can’t yell at her like that.”

Romano crossed his arms and huffed. “Well someone has to tell her she can’t go runnin’ around Rome by herself!”

“There, there.” Italy patted your back, but he seemed at a loss of what exactly to do for you. Directing the conversation back to his brother he continued, “Can’t you tell her in a nicer way?”

Romano sputtered, then seemed to deflate. “Wh-Whatever! I was just tryin’ to help, you bastard!”

Italy gasped. “Don’t curse! She’s just a kid.”

As your cries died down somewhat, all the wind was taken out of Romano’s sails. He turned on his heel and stormed down the street, muttering angrily under his breath.

That brief incident had remained in the back of your mind for your whole life. It was the kind of situation you suddenly remembered when you were about to fall asleep. In hindsight, poor Romano was obviously just worried about you, and he had never been thanked for catching you. He could have very well saved your life at that time, and while you still scampered away sometimes, you never tried to leave a building without permission from that point on.

The snap of fingers in front of your nose jostled you out of your nostalgia. “Dreaming again?” Keyanna quipped with a grin.

Your shoulders sagged as you gathered your wits. Bless them, your friends weren’t too weirded out by your constant spacing out. Thinking about your past always made you somewhat sad because of how desperately you missed that part of your life. Wanting to lift the mood, you sighed dramatically and lamented, “Sorry, I was thinking about Italian guys.”

They laughed. “Hey, who knows? Maybe you’ll get your movie romance here?” Keyanna teased, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

You snorted. “Yeah, right.” As your group finally descended the stairs, you chose to make a point. You deliberately tossed your binder full of notes and paperwork onto the ground and said dramatically, “Oh, no, I’ve dropped my things. If only a handsome Italian man would come and help me pick it up.”

Of course not expecting anything, you squatted down to retrieve it yourself as Keyanna laughed - she was pretty easy to amuse. Only for a hand to reach out and grab it instead.

You looked up, surprised you didn't notice an approaching stranger, only to not see a stranger at all. Rather, you were looking directly into the friendly face of one Feliciano Vargas.

To say you were speechless was an understatement. It was like the breath had been sucked out of you with a vacuum.

"I count, don't I?" he asked, offering the binder to you with a cheery smile. It took you a second to realize that not only had he overheard your conversation, but stranger still, he was trying to flirt with you. Was he the kind of guy to do that? You couldn’t remember, though that was probably because you could feel your brain short circuit.

That wasn't all. Noticing a shadow cast across your face, you glanced up to see Romano, looking away with an annoyed expression, barely tolerating his younger brother’s shenanigans. There was no mistaking it; the same sun-kissed skin, the same light and dark brown hair, the same amber and green eyes, the same silly stray hair. They weren’t in suits like you were used to, but rather Italy wore knee-length white chinos and a sky blue collared shirt, and Romano wore navy slacks with an elbow-length white button-down. Both looked stylish in their own ways, and maybe even handsome. It was the first time you thought that about them.

You were so confused it was dizzying. Before you could think your jaw dropped and you began to say, "Italy-?!"

Any other words were caught in your throat. Just seeing one would be insane enough, but both of them?

The two were anything but subtle. Pleased to be recognized, Romano puffed up and Italy’s smile broadened.

“You recognize me?” Italy said.

For a moment you all stared dumbstruck until you heard Vincent whisper behind you in awe, “You summoned them.”

Keyanna grew excited, being a minor fangirl of the country-people herself. “Oh my god, it’s the two Italy brothers!”

You bolted upright, forgetting to take your binder back. You grabbed Italy’s wrist and started pulling him away, completely ignoring Keyanna. You hardly heard her in the first place. The conversation you wanted to have was too intimate to take place in front of your peers. You never even told them who specifically your father worked for, so they couldn’t understand your shock. Italy yelped in surprise, but you ignored it.

“You two go on without me!” you called to your friends over your shoulder and disappeared around the corner with poor Italy and a flabbergasted Romano trailing behind. You wondered if you were officially too weird for your classmates now.

Once they were out of sight you ducked between two buildings and released Italy. It wasn’t too crowded, but people dotted the sidewalk and you didn’t want to risk anyone eavesdropping, not even if you spoke in English. In a flight of incredulous fancy, the two of them suddenly belonged to you and you alone, a close secret despite the fact that any Italian would recognize them.

“I’m sorry,” you gasped, voice shaking as Italy rubbed his wrist with a frown.

He opened his mouth to speak, but to your surprise Romano moved in closer, blocking you from the sidewalk. He placed his fist above your head and stared. It wasn’t a glare exactly, but you could tell that he wasn’t happy. “Alright, talk. Who are you and what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You weren’t afraid of him, and it didn’t seem he was trying all that hard to be intimidating - or maybe he was but was bad at it? This was the same man you had heard squeal in terror when you jumped out of a broom closet to scare him at the age of seven. So that was why the edge of your lips pulled into a shy smile as your heart quickened. As the adrenaline wore off, the joy sunk in.

Romano’s expression fell, clearly not expecting you to simply grin like a fool. “You know me!” you shouted excitedly, and you threw your arms around him.

“Wha-?!” He staggered back, almost falling over. Oops, you had acted without thinking again.

You leaped back just as quickly and rushed to explain before the brothers decided you were officially crazy. “You had a secretary for six years, his name was __________, remember? And he had a daughter. You remember, don’t you? It’s me. __________!”

As you spoke, you dug around in your purse and fished out a picture of you at the last meeting your father supervised, the last time you ever saw them when you were eleven. It was a G7* meeting, and you stood in the middle of the country-people with a brave smile, with both Italy brothers behind you. You always carried this picture, and you had gone through multiple copies from the wear and tear of holding it and imagining better days. For eight long years, it had been your comfort item, your reminder of the people that had left so many indelible impressions on your heart.

In perfect sync, they looked at the picture, then at you. Their stunned expressions made butterflies explode in your stomach. Romano made a strangled sound like he was choking on his own words and Italy gasped.

You waited expectantly for a second, then it was Italy who pounced on you. “Oh my gosh! Is that really you? You’re all grown up now! And so pretty!”

You couldn’t resist crushing him against you a little, but it assured you that he was indeed real, he was here, and you weren’t dreaming. Mr. Gottfried had been right all along!

He kissed your cheeks and you did the same, the feel of his skin lingering on your lips. He grasped your hand with his free one, turned to Romano, and chirped, “Romano, can you believe it? It’s her!”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish and he looked horrified, as though he couldn’t believe he had just attempted a Mafia-styled shakedown on you of all people.

He called your name tentatively, and you nodded.

“I missed you. Both of you,” you replied. Your words caught in your throat as their meaning crashed over you, reminding you of the years of bitter loneliness you had to endure.

“Ah - don’t cry!” Italy’s smile broadened, as dazzling as the sun, and it comforted you. “I know! Come to our house for dinner! Please? You have to!”

You sucked in a breath. “I’d love to!”

You both looked to Romano hopefully, and he recovered his wits enough to grin shakily and say, “Of - Of course! If it’s her, we gotta treat her well! Ain’t that right, Veneziano?”

“Yep!” Italy directed himself back to you and whispered, “I think Romano’s upset that he was rough with you.”

“Veneziano! Shut up!”

Well, Italy wasn’t the best whisperer. You laughed, pushing the threatening tears away, and Italy gave you back your binder. You tucked it under your arm and looped your arms through both of theirs, unable to resist the urge to feel them. You felt dreamy, euphoric, light as air. To think your deepest wish would come true so easily! You couldn’t wait to tell Ambassador Gottfried and your parents. But most of all, you couldn’t wait to spend this perfect summer evening in Rome with two brothers you loved dearly, arm in arm as you trotted down the street.

>To continue, go to “Antique Dreams”

Chapter Text

All you ever wanted was to hear him say your name again, but you still couldn’t help but stiffen with apprehension. Your smile tentatively broadened. “You remember me?” you asked with a trembling voice.

“Do I remember you? How could I possibly forget?” he replied incredulously. He firmly grasped your arms, making you jump as he looked you up and down. “Why, I’m chuffed to bits to see you again, love! You’re so grown! How long has it been?”

He grinned radiantly, and your knees began to shake again. Your walls of yearning and loneliness were finally crumbling, and your emotions couldn’t keep up. Still undecided on whether to laugh, cry, or run away you answered with relief, “Eleven years.”

“I can’t bloody believe it.” He shook his head.

Just then Miriam cut in smugly. “Arthur, I thought given the circumstances that this would be the perfect place to introduce Mr. Althaus’s replacement, don’t you think?”

His eyebrows threatened to raise off his head entirely. Looking back and forth between you and her he cried, “What? Miriam, do you know her?”

She nodded. “Gottfried told me all about this one. We’ve had a few chats over the last couple of years, actually. I think you’ll like her as a secretary. She worked bloody hard for it!”

You looked down, smirking awkwardly but pleased to be praised.

“I’d certainly hope so!” Arthur released you with a withered expression. “Are you telling me you two and Gottfried planned all this without telling me?”

Before you could respond, Miriam spread her fingers. “Surprise! Don’t you give her any lip now. She wanted to be absolutely sure she got a job before anything else, and what’s a better place to introduce the new hire to everyone? Or reintroduce, I should say.” She winked at you, and the nervous yet hopeful flutters in your stomach stirred again.

“Right...Right, of course!” Lightening up, Arthur turned to you with a familiar warm gaze and took your hand. “To think we’d meet again under these circumstances. You are your father’s daughter all right. I’m pleased to work with you.”

Really, you swore it wasn’t so hot outside earlier. Trying to will yourself to not sweat on him, you mustered up what confidence his mere existence didn’t snatch from you and nodded. “Yes, I’m really excited, too!”

He gently tugged you along towards the crowd of guests and called out to the closest one, who had his back turned. “Hey, Canada. There’s someone here for us to meet!”

With each step, more and more memories came to you. You had held Arthur’s hand many times before, had been to this very courtyard before, and hadn’t seen Canada’s face since preadolescence. You felt like you were shrinking back into those days, and suddenly the tight coil you had spun yourself into came undone. Forgetting that you were no longer a child, your excitement overwhelmed you and you leaped forward to embrace Canada when he turned, which knocked your hat off.

“Matthew! I missed you so much!” You couldn’t help yourself. His fluffy, wavy hair and beautiful violet eyes were too much for you to bear. You had to feel him against you, to be absolutely certain that this was not a dream nor a recollection.

Poor Canada nearly fell over. He yelped but managed to keep his footing. You tilted your head up and realized how much closer his face was to yours compared to the last time you hugged him, how easily your arms now wrapped around him, but his reaction was the same. In the past doing this always flustered him, but unlike those times he didn’t smile and gently pat your back now. His expression was actually quite funny, but you soon realized that this was in no way an appropriate way to greet your new coworker, or rather, your superior.

You stepped away, now grinning like a deranged fool. “I’m sorry! It’s just...it’s been so long,” you explained as you carefully crouched down to retrieve your hat. Once you put it back on, you realized that the picture you had tried to show England earlier was no longer in your hands. You looked around frantically. “Where-?”

“Ah!”

To your right was another figure holding that exact image next to England, who had his arms crossed. It appeared that you had dropped it and England handed it off to America. Said young man - not a day different, as expected - looked between you and the print once, twice in amazement before flashing a dazzling white smile.

“No way!”

“She’s our new secretary,” England announced proudly to the curious crowd that had gathered, and to hear it affirmed from him felt like a bolt of lightning. You had really returned! You were home!

Now it was your turn to nearly fall to the ground as America tackled you in a crushing but welcoming hug. You breathed him in, laughing ecstatically as all those solitary years lost their significance. Excited murmurs permeated the birdsong in the air as England was probed for answers.

What proceeded was a whirlwind of excitement that came straight from the deepest desires of your heart. As your identity and your reason for being there rippled through the gathered guests, you were swarmed with affection that exceeded your dreamiest expectations.

“Look at you! All grown into a beautiful woman! I don’t think any of us thought we’d see you again,” France cooed as he kissed your cheeks and embraced you. Pulling away to look you in the eyes he added with a delighted warble, “And to think that now you want to be my secretary!”

“She’s not your anything!” Germany protested. He turned to you and offered a slight smile that seemed somewhat awkward. “It’s been a long time. It’s good to see you’ve done well. I look forward to working with you.”

You could still vividly recall the first time you met him and ran away in fear of his intimidatingly serious face, but at least he wasn’t the only one to receive your toddler trepidation. Fortunately, you were able to grow out of that phase, and you came to love him and the other stony characters in your life just like everyone else.

He held out his hand and you clasped both of yours around it, returning his firm shake. “Germany, I’m so happy to see you. I’ll do my best!”

He nodded, seeming pleased with your response, and then sweet and childish Italy cut in. “But France is right, you’ve become so pretty!” He hugged and kissed you. “And now we get to work together. This is great! Romano, say hi!”

Said country looked perplexed like he didn’t know what to make of you, but he immediately snapped, “I was about to, you bastard!” Realizing he swore, his mouth shut and his ears turned red. He took one of his hands out the pockets of his stylish casualwear and thrust it at you awkwardly, looking away. “Whatever. I guess we’re coworkers now.”

You shook his hand, a little surprised. You knew Romano had a ‘potty mouth,’ as it were, but he did at least try to hide it around you back in the day. You also knew that he never really seemed to know what to do with you, but as you grew older you thought that it was just because you were a kid upon reflection. You didn’t necessarily expect him to act in the same awkward way as an adult, but this was going to be an adjustment period for everyone. Hopefully, the two of you would get along in the future.

Just then someone else shouldered his way into view, and you gleefully jumped into his open arms without hesitation as he proclaimed, "There's my girl! When did you get so big?"

Prussia laughed in that strange yet nostalgic way that only he could, pulling you away but holding you tightly by the shoulders. "Let me look at you. I never thought I'd get to see you like this! This is awesome!"

"Prussia! I missed you so much."

Apparently Prussia only occasionally appeared at conferences in Europe, but his attendance had increased when you were around. He was great with you out of a fondness for children, and often sated your boredom with grand stories of his past. He had been almost like a brother to you back then, though now as an adult it didn't feel right to still regard him as such. Like with everyone else, your relationship with him required evaluation at a later time.

Next to greet you were Spain, Finland, China, and most of the girls in attendance, all of which particularly spoiled you - some because of their histories as older siblings, and some out of a desire to have that experience for the first time. Nevertheless, like with Prussia, they were now your coworkers. You were too big to ride on their backs or hold their hands now, and while that was a bit sad to consider, you were more focused on the joy of seeing them again. The chances had been so slim, yet finally, your effort paid off.

The day proceeded with a shower of even more kisses and hugs and handshakes and squeals, and you could scarcely find the breath to tell everyone about your rather boorish life between then and now. Eventually, you were able to fill them in on the whereabouts of your parents - your mother having become the president of a local charity and your father an esteemed political science professor - and spoke of your internships that felt so comparatively boring against this one coveted day. You met the other secretaries and a few diplomats in attendance, but it was hard to give any focus to them. By the time you noticed the sun was setting, you were thoroughly exhausted. 

As you tried to not make a glutton of yourself at the chocolate fountain, you were interrupted by the gentle clinking sound of a champagne flute struck by silverware. The talk quieted down, and you looked up just as France slid next to you and deftly passed champagne into your hand. You smiled at him appreciatively and he winked.

England cleared his throat, standing just in front of the tree line. The sun was setting behind him, casting dark shadows across the courtyard and accentuating his sharp facial features. His eyes looked darker and his hair had taken on streaks of twilight. Even though no one had changed, they all seemed more radiant, richer in color and depth.

“First, as always, I’d like to thank you all for coming, and to thank the staff for providing us with this wonderful area and excellent food.”

“The food would be much better if we were at UNESCO,” France whispered in your ear. You giggled. The cute fruit bowls and finger sandwiches were probably too plain for him, who you understood to have extravagant tastes even when you were small (though it helped that he told you as much whenever food or fashion came up).

As if instinctual England gave a sharp, near imperceptible glare in your direction before continuing, “I’d also like to thank Gunter for his years of service to us, and wish him a peaceful and healthy retirement.”

Everyone, politicians and countries alike, clapped politely and you looked over at his gray, small frame as he graciously took in praise and well wishes. Germany and Prussia - likely because he was from Berlin - approached him with a plastic-wrapped basket loaded with treats, alcohol, and several cards. The applause heightened and the two brothers shook hands with him and exchanged a few private words.

Once the sound died down, England smiled your way this time, and your heart fluttered as he raised his glass. “Last but not least, I want to welcome __________ as our new secretary with a toast. Even after seeing how... difficult the job can be at times, she rose to the challenge, and we all look forward to seeing her follow her father’s footsteps.”

You flushed under the wild applause, looking at your feet as you soaked in all the attention you craved for so long. A few people in attendance whooped and hollered their approval as glasses clinked together, and France put his arm around your shoulder.

“A toast, madam,” he purred with a playful smile. Surprised, you could only feel flustered by his words. He was definitely expressing a different kind of affection than what you knew previously, but you were grateful to be treated as a woman, too. Still, was he always so sultry?

You tapped your champagne flute to his and took a sip. Just then, a voice behind you said, “Aww, no fair. I wanted to toast to her first.”

You jumped and spun around, coming face to face with Russia, wearing his scarf with a white dress shirt and gray pants. How he didn’t melt in the afternoon sun, you didn’t know. France relinquished you, and you smiled up at Russia calmly.

“Cheers, Russia! I know I said it a hundred times already, but I’m really happy to start working with everyone. I’ll do my best!”

He smiled in a satisfied way and you clinked glasses. Russia was yet another figure you had many memories with, but now was no time to reflect on them. He leaned forward until you were almost eye level - a habit he must have hung onto from all the times he stooped down to you as a kid - and replied, “Yes, I’m excited, too.”

More people gathered around to congratulate, welcome, and toast with you, and you had to continuously fill your glass to keep up. At some point you became teary-eyed, overwhelmed by their love and kindness. You desperately tried to wipe them away, but by the time the caterers returned to clean up the venue and people began to leave you were teetering on the edge of being overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffed as you dabbed your eyes with a handkerchief provided by England, “I’m just so happy...to be welcomed by everyone like this. I really thought th-that a lot of you wouldn’t even remember me….”

“Of course we remembered you!” America insisted. "We don't usually have employees with cute little kids running around. We were super sad to see you go!"

You just barely managed to choke down a sob. "I was sad, too!" you replied. You were so touched to be remembered fondly, even though you knew the depths of your feelings were not the same. You only ever had them to think about, but they all had fulfilling lives of their own to live for a long, long time.

"How many glasses of champagne did she have?" England whispered urgently to France behind you.

He shrugged unapologetically. "Oh, maybe...seven? She really liked it."

England sighed and approached you, gently holding you steady by the shoulders. “Alright, alright, let’s get you back to your hotel. Which one are you staying at?”

You told him and he replied, “That’s across town from where I am.” He then called out to those that remained, “Hey, is anyone staying at her hotel or close by? Help her get home, will you?”

Several hands were raised, and through your blurry vision you stumbled towards….

>To go with France, go to, “Memories of France.”

>To go with Prussia, go to, “Memories of Prussia.”

>To go with Russia, go to, “Memories of Russia.”

Chapter Text

You were so fidgety as you stepped off the plane in LaGuardia Airport in Queens that it was a wonder you could walk at all. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you dialed America’s number. You had his phone number! You still couldn’t get over how excited that made you.

He answered on the second ring. “Yo! You here already?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m at LaGuardia now.” You sucked in a deep breath, pleading with your nerves to settle down as you headed to baggage claim with your group. “We have a free day today, so once we get to the hotel I’ll be available.”

“Sweet! And you’re staying at the Hilton just down the road, right?”

“Right.” Ah, you said that one word far too seriously. You closed your eyes and focused. Lighten up! You were in New York City, about to spend the day with America! There was no reason to feel so anxious.

Thankfully he didn’t seem to notice. “Perfect, that’s the go-to place to stay for everyone, and I live nearby. I can meet you in the lobby. Just let me know when you’re ready!”

You smiled nervously, butterflies swarming in your stomach. You weren’t sure you wouldn’t be able to tackle and hug him when you saw him. You subtly pinched yourself to be sure you weren’t completely delusional and imagining the conversation. “Yeah, I’ll do that. I should be there by dinnertime, so you can take me out to a restaurant like you said.” 

“Of course! I already have a plan of action. You’re gonna love the place I picked out.”

“Let me guess, it’s a burger joint?”

America paused. “How come everyone guesses that?”

“Was I wrong?”

“Well, no….”

You laughed, the lighthearted conversation easing your worry. It was just so different but pleasant to be able to have a more adult conversation with him. You felt your age, and you felt like you were talking to any other college-aged peer.

“I can’t wait,” you assured him. “I’ll text you when I’m at the hotel, okay?”

“Sounds good. See you later!”

You hung up and practically skipped the rest of the way to get your luggage as Keyanna slid beside you.

“Who was that? Your long-lost boyfriend?” she teased.

You flushed. You had been so excited to meet America that day that you couldn’t help but gush at her. She was a bit of a nation fangirl, and a subscriber to his HetaTube channel, so she was both excited for you and a little jealous. She kept you up late with dozens of questions about your childhood and the country-people, and so many of those you had to dodge. Your past wasn’t a secret, but you were taught from the moment you were conscious of the world around you that you needed to respect the confidentiality of your father’s job and the privacy of those that didn’t want to have a media presence. You learned to always keep your mouth shut whenever someone asked you questions, and to run away if you were approached by anyone with a microphone. It was a little extreme in hindsight, but it stuck with you for your whole life. Fortunately, Keyanna understood and backed off when you were able to explain your feelings on the matter.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you muttered quickly. You bonded with Keyanna while in DC, but you weren’t prepared to discuss romantic attraction with her. Plus, America had been like a brother to you. There definitely weren’t any romantic feelings!

She nudged you playfully. “I’m just teasing. It’s so cool you ran into him like that. I’m sure you’ll have fun!”

You nodded gratefully, and the conversation continued as she excitedly chatted about her sightseeing plans while boarding the subway for Grand Central Station after collecting your bags. You didn’t mean to be rude, but you were only listening with one ear. You had been to New York many times, and sure, you wouldn’t mind revisiting some places, but now that you reconnected with America, all thoughts were on him and the other people like him. You were so close to your dream career you could taste it, and the city was giving you some serious nostalgia.

As the subway rumbled on through the tunnels, you thought of the UN headquarters where you would have your next classes for the week. That was where you first met everyone, so it had an extra special place in your heart. As your mind wandered, you recalled how you first met Canada the day after encountering America.

On that day your father learned the hard way that it was best to hold you until you developed some sense of restraint. As soon as he put you down inside the lobby, you barreled straight for a man with blond hair and glasses that was standing adjacent to you and rummaging through a briefcase.

“Af-ed!” you cried with mischievous glee, stopping just short of running into his legs. You had done that once before and although you couldn’t remember to whom, the chiding you got was severe enough to last for a lifetime. Still, that didn’t stop you from grabbing at the hem of his gray suit and tugging on it. “I wanna go to the top!”

The young man you had accosted jumped in surprise, then turned to face you. It was definitely him - same hair, same glasses, and maybe the same eyes? That funny curl in his hair was now even crazier than yesterday, but it delighted you.

“Wh-What?” he gasped.

“Let’s go to the top!” you repeated loudly. Some heads turned.

He stared at you for another second longer, dumbfounded, before releasing a knowing sigh. “Oh.”

Before you could reiterate your demand for a third time, you heard your father cry out your name in a mix of horror and anger. He barked your name sharply, storming up to you. “That is not how you talk to people! Let go of him right now.”

You released “Af-ed” immediately, shrinking back under the sting of your father’s words.

“I am so sorry, Canada.” His tone immediately became amicable and sincere when he addressed the other person. “She’s still learning her manners.” He looked down at you. “That was very rude. What do we say when we’re rude?”

You didn’t understand much besides that your father was angry, but you wanted to appease him. “I’m sorry,” you whimpered to him, and the tension in your father’s shoulders relaxed.

“Not to me,” he continued to reprimand. “Grabbing someone like that is wrong, so you should apologize to Matthew.”

“Mattew?” You looked up at him in confusion. Wasn’t that Alfred?

Your father opened his mouth to respond, but a soft voice interrupted him. “No, it’s alright. Don’t worry about it.”

The young man in gray stooped down to one knee, facing you with a kind smile. “You must be __________. My name is Matthew. I’m Alfred’s brother. We look a lot alike, huh?”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Are you sure?” you blurted.

He laughed and nodded. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Will you take me to the top?”

Your father sighed behind you, but Canada’s expression didn’t change. “Well, let’s see...if you’re a good girl today, then I will.”

“Oh, no, Matthew, you don’t have to do that,” your father tried to say, but he waved him off.

“No, it’s okay. She’s very convincing,” he chuckled.

You were jumping on your heels in excitement now. The wind, the sights, the sounds, the smells were still in your memory. You couldn’t wait to experience that again! “I’ll be good, I’ll be good!” you promised.

Canada stood and nodded approvingly. “Then I’ll see you after the meeting, okay?”

“Okay!”

After that, the day proceeded much as it had before: following your best attempt at good behavior, both Canada and America accompanied you and your parents to the top of the building, where you felt the breeze against your skin and through your hair, and their hands holding yours. Despite the cold sensation, that was yet another moment forever burned into your memory that shaped your crucial formative years. It was after that you came to know, love, and adore the others, that you came to understand your purpose in this world:

You were meant to stand beside them, until the moment every piece of you crumbled away.

You arrived at the Millennium Hilton while reminiscing, and as promised you texted America. By the time you returned to the lobby from your room, you were stunned still mid-step. He was there, just like he said, but next to him was another familiar face.

“Canada?!” you gasped. He was smiling, gentle and calm, appearing like any average person in jeans and a T-shirt save for his unique curl and near-violet eyes. Your heart skipped a beat, but then lightning raced down your spine and you rushed to hug him, almost knocking him over.

“Canada! Oh my gosh, I missed you!” you cried.

He wheezed - you must’ve run into him a bit too hard - but he hugged you in return, and you immediately felt warm all over. “I can’t believe it’s really you. It’s good to see you again.”

You pulled away, grinning from ear to ear. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprise!” America cut in. His eyes twinkled mischievously. “I told him all about what happened last week, and he said he wanted to see you!”

He flushed, but you were immensely flattered, moved almost to tears. “I’m so happy! I didn’t know when I’d be able to see anyone else again. To think you came all this way just for me….”

You sniffled and Canada panicked, shooting a sideways glance at America quickly. “Ah, d-don’t cry! When America told me you would be here for your internship, I just thought it was the best time to catch up with you. You want to be a secretary like your dad, right?”

You nodded, sucking in your lips to keep the happy tears at bay.

He smiled again, that sweet smile that comforted you so much as a child. “I think that’s great. I’m cheering you on!”

Ah, there were the waterworks. You blubbered incoherently and, unable to find words to express how happy that made you, you hugged him again.

You had to take a moment to collect yourself, with Canada saying encouraging words about your studies while America laughed and ruffled your hair affectionately. Your heart felt so full of love that it threatened to burst. This moment made all those years of tireless studying and longing worth it. You wouldn’t have felt this burning joy without the time you had spent apart, and it had made them and the others all the more precious to you. You felt more motivated than ever to knock your internship out of the water so you could continue on your career path.

The three of you finally left the hotel, and it was hard to resist skipping down East 42nd Street or holding onto them. You were sure the people of New York City would have seen far weirder, but you didn’t need America and Canada to think you became delirious. You understood that your life goal was a bit obsessive - or maybe very obsessive - and you weren’t sure how anyone would take it. It was strange, it was unusual, and it felt awkward to let the country people know that you had thought of them every day, how you never once questioned what your future job would be. You were carving your path in stone yourself, and there was never an alternative option.

You were dependent on these people. You needed them like you needed air. They were more important than friendship and there was no content future with a spouse and children without you traveling the globe and assisting them with their conferences. It was simply the way your world had to work. But you knew how off-putting that could sound, so you never even told your parents how deep your conviction ran. 

Plus, you understood that it was likely several countries had forgotten all about you, either due to the passage of time or simply because there was little chance you’d be in their lives again, and frankly, it wasn’t like you were a particularly significant kid worth remembering. The fact that America and Canada welcomed you back into the fold so warmly went better than anything you had imagined. You didn’t want anyone to feel bad for not thinking of you, but you did want them to remember you from now on, preferably forever. After all, you knew you would keep your love burning until death put it out.

You arrived at an American bistro and had an admittedly fantastic meal of hamburgers and fries, and afterward you explored the city, mindlessly catching up and window shopping. The days had grown longer still in the short time between when you reunited with America and now, and the orange-pink sky glowed radiantly as streetlights and neon signs began to flicker and twinkle. As people bustled about you heard every language, smelled every food as you passed restaurants and street vendors, and music played from a jazz band performing just outside Central Park. You weren’t sure you would have noticed how spectacular the city was without America and Canada at your side.

It became late all too soon. You wanted to stay out longer, but Canada reminded you that you had class to think about. They took you back to the hotel where you reluctantly departed.

“Can I see you guys again tomorrow?” you asked tentatively, hoping you didn’t sound too needy.

To your relief, America answered without hesitation. “Of course! You said you have class from seven to four, right?”

You nodded. “I have an hour lunch at noon, though.”

The brothers exchanged glances. “Perfect!” America continued. “We’ll meet you in the lobby, and after that, we can hang out! Wanna go to the zoo?”

If he asked you to go to Mars with him you would’ve said yes. “I’d love to! Canada, will you be able to come?”

Before he could respond, America threw an arm around his shoulder. “‘Course he will! He’s crashing at my place for the week.” Canada looked at him in exasperation.

You didn’t know he was staying so long. It made you ecstatic! “Great! Then I’ll see you both tomorrow!” You suddenly realized you had never been able to make plans to hang out like this with them before. You were too young and they were too busy. Almost all interaction had been restricted to formal get-togethers, airports, hotel mischief, and before and after conferences. You were positively giddy to be able to casually talk and meet up. Being an adult was great so far!

“Rest well,” Canada murmured, and America also wished you a good night as they left.

Once they left you went to your room, where Keyanna was also getting ready for bed. “I saw you earlier walking around. You got two boyfriends now?” she giggled.

You smiled warmly, ignoring the implication as you looked out at the Empire State Building raised high in the night sky. “I thought you’d be able to tell that it was Canada.”

“Of course I could tell! They look exactly alike! Seriously, you’re killing me. I didn’t realize they’re so cute up close. If you don’t date them, could I take one? Maybe both?”

The two of you laughed, and although there was so little you could tell her, you were happy to at least talk about them with her. Growing up, you struggled to make meaningful connections with your peers, so you had no one to speak to. “You can try!” you teased.

As you crawled into bed, you wondered if you would be able to sleep. You felt so energized, so renewed; all of your convictions had been reborn tenfold, and you couldn’t wait to see them again. Yet as you smiled to yourself you quickly drifted off to sleep, dreaming not of America and Canada but of all the other country people you knew and loved. Every day, more and more, you came closer to being in their lives again. With hard work it was guaranteed, but if you were lucky, that day would come sooner than later.

>To continue, go to “A New Day”

Chapter Text

You were so happy you could kiss them, but you managed to restrain yourself. There was a whirlwind of chatter between you and America as you rushed to catch up, and it felt like there was too much yet so little to talk about. At some point, you reluctantly pulled your arm away, but you didn’t even notice you were still half hugging Canada until you felt him gently shrug his shoulders. A little embarrassed but mid-conversation, you wordlessly dropped your arm to your side.

The three of you spilled into the lobby, and you hurriedly told them why you were in Montreal once again. “I just...I had so much fun with everyone growing up, and Dad told me all about the job, so I decided I wanted to do it, too,” you explained, struggling not to tear up at the unbelievable sight of their unchanged faces. Ambassador Gottfried had said he had run into the nations randomly on occasion, but this was surely fate. Without a doubt, you were born to be in their lives for whatever remained of yours.

“That’s so sweet of you,” Canada murmured, and America ruffled your hair. It was a bit rough, but you knew he would never hurt you. You were safe here in their presence.

“Sweet? It’s totally sweet! And completely awesome!” he crowed, and you laughed. He was as loud as ever, but it was music to your ears. You missed him - both of them, all of them - so much!

“Anyway, we totally have to go to dinner! We have so much to talk about!” he continued. “Hey, Canada, where’s a good place to eat?”

You looked at Matthew and he was still smiling at you. Did your heart beat even faster, or was it still racing from when he called?

“What do you feel like having?” he asked you.

“I’d love something French!”

“Then I know the perfect place. It’s just down the road.” To your delight, he offered you his arm, and you graciously accepted.

America suddenly linked his arm through your free one. “That’s his France influence coming out,” he muttered in your ear, and you laughed again as the three of you made your way down Rue de Bleury.

Montreal was abuzz with people emerging from their offices and tourists seeking dinner. It was surreal to see the modern glass buildings directly across ancient brick structures with swaths of construction sites in between. You tried to enjoy the scenery, but you were simply savoring meandering down the boulevard arm in arm with people you hadn’t expected to see for several more years. You could have been walking through the Sahara and your feet would have felt just as light as you nearly skipped your way to the restaurant.

At the corner, the road opened up to a thoroughfare of old square structures, and you were taken to a building dotted with charming arched windows and stately flora climbing up the beige bricks. The red cover over the ground floor windows read Hotel Le St-James*. The three of you separated and Canada ushered you and America inside, down the narrow marble and wood lobby so polished it almost hurt against the light of the chandeliers that hung from the domed ceiling. He was walking towards your destination as if he owned the place. You and America exchanged dubious glances.

“Uh...do you come here often?” you asked Canada, noticing a cozy library to your right.

He chuckled, his smile seeming a bit nostalgic. “I’ve stayed here a few times, but it’s one of the most expensive places in the city. It wasn’t in the budget this time.”

You groaned. “No wonder my group isn’t here. This place is nice.”

At the end of the hall was a set of double doors that Canada pushed open to reveal a beautiful modern restaurant that juxtaposed the rest of the hotel. Each black table had a lit candle as the centerpiece and plump, cozy-looking chairs. Massive chandeliers were strung up high to allow the candlelight and setting sun that shone through large windows behind luscious booths to offer a comfortable, moody atmosphere. It was already mostly full, but you spotted a few empty tables.

America whistled low in appreciation and you gasped. “It’s so pretty! Is it really okay to eat here? I feel like I’m underdressed,” you said, although all three of you were dressed similarly.

“Of course it is,” Canada promised just as the maitre d' appeared from behind the bar shining with rows upon rows of fine wine and spirits. The two of them spoke in Quebec French for a moment, then the three of you were quickly seated.

“This place used to be a banker hall,” he explained. “Rue Saint-Jacques was Montreal’s financial district back in the day.” Canada pulled out your chair for you, which was an unfamiliar gesture that flattered you a little. It must have been France’s influence coming out again, because you could definitely see him doing that, too. (Though you were certain England would have taught America the same...it could be funny to mention this once you saw him again.)

You shot a smug glance at America and he snorted. “Geez, dude, didn’t realize I was third-wheeling on a date here.”

The implication made you blush, and when you looked at Canada he was doing the same. It was cute, but there was no way this was a date. You felt incredibly fond of both of them, but you knew that you didn’t actually know them. On that note, you quickly changed the subject. “When you say ‘back in the day’ you mean…?”

As Canada sat across from you he replied, still blushing from what you could see in the dim light, “The late eighteen hundreds.”

“I bet it was amazing,” you offered kindly. That was it. He could probably still remember those bygone days, those days completely beyond your comprehension. And you knew America was the same. You truly didn’t know these two, but you hoped you could at least understand them and everyone else who wasn’t restricted in their day-to-day lives by time.

Upon perusing the menu, you quickly realized that the price matched the ambiance. Well, today was the perfect day to treat yourself, wasn’t it?

Just as you were about to ask Canada if he had any suggestions, America spoke up. “By the way, don’t worry about the tab. I’ll take yours.” He playfully added, “You can pay for your own, right, Canada?”

“No, I couldn’t!” you protested with a shake of your head.

“Yes, you can.”

“No, really! My parents gave me a huge allowance for this internship, way more than I could possibly spend in one summer….” You jumped in your seat as realization dawned on you. “My parents! Oh my gosh, I need to send a picture of you two to them, like, right now!”

You fished your phone out of your purse and sprang out of your seat, looking for that perfect angle. “Say cheese!”

America threw up double peace signs and a beaming grin, but Canada smiled shyly. It was funny to see how different they were. Once you took the picture you immediately sent it to your parents with the caption, LOOK WHO I RAN INTO TODAY!!!

Just after placing your orders your phone rang, and you weren’t surprised to see it was your father. “Dad! Are you with Mom?” you asked immediately.

“Yes! Put us on speakerphone!” he demanded, and you obliged.

“What’s up, Mr. __________?” Alfred asked as you held the phone in the middle of the table (and being careful not to burn yourself on the candle). “It’s been a while!”

Your parents, America, and Canada quickly started to catch up, and you were moved by the familiar camaraderie. The conversation wasn’t about politics and upcoming meetings, but about the years in between. Those isolated, lonesome years suddenly seemed insignificant as you heard the smiles in your parents’ voices and saw the way America and Canada simply glowed with life, right in front of you. Even though it was such a simple, mundane moment in a restaurant, it was ethereal to you.

“How are you? And everyone else?” your father pressed.

“Oh, we’re all fine. Same old, same old,” America replied.

“You and your family were missed when you retired,” Canada added. The fond look he gave you made your heart skip a beat.

“We were missed?” your mom said incredulously. “We’ve always kept you in our thoughts, __________ especially. She was miserable for years; I thought she’d never forgive her father.”

“Mom!” you hissed in embarrassment, heat rising to your cheeks. The boys laughed and you sank into your chair.

“Well, I can’t say we were surprised when she told us she wanted to be your next secretary,” she continued dismissively. “It was just a matter of time before she forced her way back into your lives, really.”

“Mom!”

“We’re more than happy to have her back.” Canada spoke diplomatically, but you were touched all the same. If it was true - and you hoped more than anything that it was - then you were more motivated than ever to be the best damn secretary in world history.

America nodded resolutely. “We sure are! I missed the little tyke,” he teased and he ruffled your hair, which he did often when you were little. You giggled.

You heard your dad chuckle as well. “She’s not so little anymore, I’m afraid, and now she’s off globetrotting all alone. I feel a lot better knowing you two are in town to take care of her for the time being. I’m leaving her in your hands, alright? At least while you’re all together.”

You rolled your eyes. Now your dad was embarrassing you? It sounded like he was giving them his blessing for marriage! “I’m with a group, Dad,” you reminded him curtly.

“I know, but I don’t know your chaperone! Or the crowd of kids that you’re hanging out with.”

“They’re all smart, sophisticated young adults that want to work at the UN. They’re not exactly the party type.” You looked at America incredulously, and he suppressed a snicker.

Your dad thought about it for a second.“Point taken,” he relented. “Even so, I trust Canada and America. Talk about a lucky break to bump into them!”

You glanced at their smiling faces and felt a familiar lump in your throat. “The luckiest,” you agreed.

Dinner arrived and you hung up, and the conversation drifted towards the details of your internship. When you explained that you had some say in which UN facilities you would visit and when America became quite excited.

“Dude, we’re gonna be back in Europe in two weeks!” He turned to Canada. “Where the heck are we going again?”

Canada seemed to barely suppress rolling his eyes. “Vienna. Seriously, when will you learn that if it’s not New York, it’s usually Vienna or Geneva?”

“Yeah, that place!” America snapped his fingers and turned to you excitedly. “You totally have to make it there!”

There was no question that you wanted to, but you reminded him that it would be up to a vote. “Vienna’s on the list of places we’re visiting this summer, so I don't think it'd be too hard to get the timing right.” You paused when you realized something. “Wait a second...is there a conference in Vienna coming up?”

He nodded. “You know it! CITRAL and all that junk. You have to come! I bet everyone’s gonna freak.”

The thought of being pleasantly welcomed by more people filled you with renewed energy, but you weren’t so sure. “Can I really? I mean, I don’t work for you guys.”

America waved off your concern. “Of course you can! It wouldn’t be a problem if I gave you permission, you know? Don’t worry about the details; just trust me!”

You couldn’t argue with that logic, especially when Canada nodded encouragingly. “Okay,” you agreed, beginning to feel jittery. “We’re probably going to stay in Europe for the rest of the internship, so I think it’ll work out either way...or at least, I hope it does.” 

After dinner, it occurred to you that you didn't know how long either of them intended to stay in the city, and their answer made your stomach sink.

"I leave in two days," America admitted, scratching his head. "I asked to swing by Montreal 'cause I haven't been here in a while, but I wanna crash back at my place, ya know?"

You managed to suppress a sigh. “Yeah, I get that.” You really did; America deserved to decompress at home with his movies and video games until he had to travel again, but you found yourself to be somewhat anxious. It would have been nice to spend the entire week with him.

“I was going to leave in three,” Canada added, and it was even harder to not visibly deflate. It was as if they were vanishing as soon as they appeared, slipping right through your fingers despite the fact that you had mapped out plans to see them again less than an hour earlier. You knew it was silly and childish, but their presence was nostalgic enough to recall those simpler feelings of years past. 

You wore your bravest smile, but Canada caught on to your feelings. “You’re free to call me whenever. I don’t really have anything going on until the conference.”

“Me too! Me too!” America suddenly waved his phone in front of your face, and his enthusiasm cheered you up. You knew your feelings were strong, so it was a relief to see that they wanted you in their lives as well.

At this point, taking a hiatus from the nations’ crazy antics was out of the question. This was officially the first summer of the rest of your life, and you would make sure of that. Every moment of your life had led up to now, and you could see a new world opening before you as you nurtured the deep and profound love for the country people within your heart.

>To continue from here, go to "The First Step"

Chapter Text

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted, burning with embarrassment to be caught so obviously tipsy. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't clear the fog from your mind that made your body tingle and emotions feel more pronounced. “I’ll just go back to the hotel with France.”

Said country smiled. "Yes, yes, of course. Let's go get a cab."

France offered his arm and you gratefully accepted, strolling with him back through the halls of the Palace of Nations. Ariana Park was even busier than before, filled with playing children and families laying down blankets for a picnic dinner. It was a blissfully charming day, but it felt like only the cherry on top when next to France and several others that were heading back.

As you descended the hill towards the main thoroughfare, France took a deep breath. “The air here is always so fresh. Geneva is a lovely place, isn’t it?”

You nodded, trying not to stumble in your high wedge sandals. “Yeah, I still remember the palace and courtyard really well. It kind of feels like nothing has changed, but it also feels like it has. It’s like I’m a kid again, except, you know, with alcohol.”

He laughed, and the two of you stopped walking. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I come here and feel like I was just here yesterday, and sometimes I feel like it’s been ages. When you get to be my age and see the same parts of the same city developed and demolished over and over, it all blends together. You get used to it. But it must be much different for you, including the drinking.”

“I’m so embarrassed. I didn’t mean to drink so much or sniffle like that. I wanted to make a good first impression.”

France patted your hand affectionately. “You worry too much. I know a bit about how intensive it is to get to the position you’re in now. You must have worked so hard all these years, and all for me!” he added with a flourish, placing his free hand on his chest and winking at you playfully. You laughed.

“There’s that smile. Now that is something that has grown more beautiful with age.”

You were so surprised you could swear you felt yourself short circuit. Flattered and confused to be flirted with (seriously, was he always like this?) you could only stammer, “You remember my smile from when I was a kid?”

“Of course I do,” he replied immediately. He was still smiling easily, but you had a feeling that he was being serious. “You were so cute and innocent back then, and it’s been a very long time since I got to spend any quality time with a child. England, Italy, Russia, Germany - they’ve all been grown for centuries, and they stopped being any fun. Ever since the UN was formed, all of our secretaries had been working in politics for years, and their children were fully grown - your father was the youngest ever until now. It was such a delight to feel like a big brother again.”

Just when you thought you had gained a bit of sobriety, you were pushed right back into an emotional wreck and felt tears well in your eyes. “Why do you want me to cry so bad?”

He covered his mouth with his hand, but couldn’t disguise a bark of laughter. “I’m not trying to, dear. I’m only saying I’m happy to have you back.”

His insistence was an immense relief. You didn’t think your parents or Ambassador Gottfried or anyone in the whole world could understand just how badly you had missed globe-trotting with this group of outlandish people. Even if you were never spoiled again, even if you worked yourself to the bone for them, you knew that the attention and affection you received had come from a place of genuine compassion. They were lovely and fun people, whether you played with them regularly or rarely interacted at all. 

You knew that the peace and joy you had felt then came from a place of childhood innocence, from a lack of responsibility. There was no getting that back. But you could already feel those sweet embers beginning to ignite in your chest, and it promised a lifetime of happiness. Just to see all of their faces again today made the stress of the last eleven years vanish. You felt fulfilled, and you felt so fortunate to have satisfied your ambition at only twenty-two. So many people lived their entire lives without finding a passion or purpose even if they tried, and you wouldn’t forget to be thankful for where you ended up, whether by coincidence or your own effort.

“Thank you,” you murmured, not sure you could verbally convey how much his words touched you.

“And I’m so glad,” you continued. “I mean, it’s just - you all have lives of your own. I knew I couldn’t expect everyone to just remember me. Like, I’m pretty sure Belarus didn’t. And Netherlands looked at me funny.”

France chortled. “Point taken.”

“It didn’t bother me when I thought that, though. I just figured I’d do my job and leave a bigger impression than I did back then.” You shrugged nonchalantly, but France shook his head.

“You already have. Like I said, you were a first for us. You went from the only young child of a secretary to be closely involved with us to becoming the youngest secretary.”

You pondered that. The UN was less than a hundred years old, so it wasn’t so out of the realm of possibility that you could be a first for them - however, the probability was staggeringly low. “I guess I didn’t think of it that way. But I’m not here because I think it’ll be easy or I’ll get special treatment. I really, really want to travel the world again. I’m excited about all the new things I can see and do now that I’m older. But most of all, I really care about the work my dad did. I want to help make everyone’s job easier. I just...you and everyone else are great people, so I want to help.”

The alcohol must have loosened your lips, because you didn’t mean to say so much. Flustered, you looked away from France. You trusted him completely, of course, but that didn’t mean you had to pour your heart out to him.

In response France gently took her hand, removing it from holding his arm. Surprised, you looked into his eyes and were shocked to see the sharp orange angles of the sunset strike his angular features, his flawlessly wavy hair, and his expertly manicured stubble. It was at that moment you realized he could have passed for a model; he was handsome, and you had never once noticed that before.

“I’m glad to have you working with me,” he said gently before giving your hand a soft kiss, eliciting a helpless squeak from you.

“Wh-What was that for?” you managed to stammer.

He released your hand and shrugged easily, as though he hadn’t just come close to giving you a heart attack. “Well, you just sounded so serious about it, so I had to give you a serious response, no?”

Your heart skipped another beat. “That was...serious?”

“Maybe?” He winked, and you felt heat flood to your cheeks.

“D-Don’t tease me like that!” you cried.

France laughed and stepped away from you to hail a cab. During your conversation, the lingering countries had managed to find a way back to their hotels, so it was only you two that remained. Suddenly you wished there was someone else with you to intervene, but you weren’t sure why. France made you feel safe, and you didn’t feel upset, but butterflies were stirring in your stomach.

A taxi pulled over and France held open the door for you. You crawled inside and France followed, telling the driver to take you to Hotel d’Angleterre*.

“Feeling a bit better now?” he asked. It took you a moment to realize he was referring to the alcohol, because you definitely weren’t recovered from whatever he had done to your stomach a moment ago.

“Um, yeah, I don’t feel as dizzy. But I think I need a real meal, not snacks.”

He agreed. “Well, I hear the restaurant at the hotel is excellent. It’ll be my treat.”

“Are you sure? My parents were so excited for me that they gave me an insane amount of money to use for the next two weeks once I reach my budget cap. They told me to treat myself.”

France offered a familiar, warm smile that immediately calmed your awkward nerves. “Of course I’m sure. I am a French gentleman after all.”

You knew he was pretty old-fashioned compared to a lot of other countries, so you supposed there was no use rejecting the offer. “Well, I can’t argue with that,” you chuckled. “I’m looking forward to it. You haven’t stayed there before?”

“Not this one, no. Geneva has so many wonderful four and five-star hotels that I mix it up every now and then. I have my favorites, and frankly, I wanted to avoid a hotel with the word Angleterre in it, but Spain and Portugal insisted I stay here just once. I suppose it is nice,” he added reluctantly.

You pursed your lips incredulously. “You...didn’t want to stay at a five-star hotel because the name has the word ‘England’ in it?”

He looked at you strangely. “But of course! Why would I want anything to do with England?” He cleared his throat and changed the topic. “Anyway, you’re staying here for the meeting, right? Are you officially starting the job tomorrow?”

You were caught off guard, but you were also excited to discuss your new career. “Yep! I already had some training with Cheryl the last two weeks, but this week I’ll mostly just be taking notes and fetching coffee.”

Cheryl Graham, a secretary from Victoria, Canada, had taught you about hotel bookings, budget distributions, how to navigate emails, arrange catering, but most of all, the quirks of the more...particular countries, France included. You didn’t mind if some were insistent that they stay in the nicest hotels or were never within five hundred feet of someone else outside of a conference - after all, they sincerely worked long hours and deserved to relax as much as possible. You also understood that centuries of bad blood couldn’t easily go away. But you didn’t realize that France could be so...petty.

“Ah, well, we all start somewhere,” he offered. “By the way, I prefer two creams and one sugar.”

You giggled. “I’ll make a note of that. But seriously, I’m excited! It’ll be my first time inside a meeting.”

He gave you a strange look. “You do know that’s the most boring part, right?”

“Boring, but important,” you reminded him, and he shrugged. You knew that the anticipation would wear off, but you also knew that it would never wear you down in the same way it had to your father. 

Though you prioritized the people you now worked for above all else, you highly respected their work. They were the first to review drafts for tariffs and international contracts or law and bring suggestions for new ideas or problems to the table. The time it took to edit, rewrite, and create new documents often bled into their daily lives, often for longer than forty hours per week. However, they were compensated with a very comfortable salary, considerable vacation time, and high-quality insurance for travel and healthcare. 

Similarly, you were subject to being on call twenty-four-seven, and there would be days where you would spend hours preparing accommodations. But that also meant that you got a share of the generous benefits that the UN provided, and you were looking forward to the aimless holidays you were afforded. If you could spend even more time visiting countries and people you rarely spent time with as a child, the better. Come to think of it, you had gone to French beaches a few times, and each one was really nice. Maybe you could do that this summer.

There was a comfortable lull in the conversation, and you arrived at the stately hotel.

“Shall we go straight to dinner, or would you like to change into something more comfortable?” France asked as the two of you breezed into the lobby. Your head felt much clearer, and his inquiry made you aware of your empty stomach.

“Let’s go now. I don’t think I’d feel very comfortable there with sweatpants on.”

He escorted you to the Windows Restaurant in the back. True to its name, the far wall was lined with windows overlooking Lake Geneva and Mont Blanc, the setting sun and low hanging chandeliers casting a moody orange glow throughout the space. It was just after seven o’clock and the restaurant had rolled out the evening menu, so the place was full of smartly dressed gentlemen and women enjoying the expensive dining.

You were led to a small table close to the windows, and France pulled out the upholstered seat for you. The table was already laid out with an array of plates and silverware, and you thanked your past self for attending the dinner etiquette lessons provided by your college, even if they seemed somewhat silly. Though France said you didn’t need to worry about impressions, you didn’t want to look sloppy in front of him.

As you pursued the menu, you kept glancing at the charming scenery of boats gliding along the lake. “This is great. I’m glad my parents talked me into going with a more expensive hotel,” you said.

France, scanning the wine selection, peeked at you mischievously. “You’re only saying that because I’m buying.”

“No, I’m not!” you said quickly, catching on to his playful tone.

“Then you’re saying you’re happy to spend the evening with me?”

The implication made your cheeks burn and you rushed to refute him. “No, the only thing I missed about you was your cooking.”

That answer seemed to make him happy. “Ah, I must cook a full course meal for you sometime! Then you’ll be properly initiated as a secretary.”

Once again, you knew it would be fruitless to decline out of politeness. “I’d love that!”

“Then it’s settled!” He folded the menu. “Have you decided what to eat?”

>To continue, go to my new series: “Beyond One Life - France Route”

Chapter Text

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” you insisted, walking towards Prussia with uneasy steps. “I’ll just go back with Prussia and Germany.”

“Sure thing!” Prussia replied immediately, clapping a hand on your shoulder.

He grinned, and you returned it. “Thank you. I’m surprised you’re staying at the d’Angleterre*, though.” Immediately realizing you had just left a vaguely negative implication, you rushed to correct yourself. “I mean, like, there’s only thirty rooms, you know? So it’s a coincidence. And I remember that Germany always used to say that he didn’t need any super fancy accommodations. Like - I totally didn’t plan on staying there, but my parents gave me extra money and told me to treat myself, so I went for it.”

Unbeknownst to you, several people that remained exchanged glances. Prussia graciously chose to spare you. “Nah, we’re not staying there. We’re at the Eastwest** across the street, but I figured we’re close enough to make the offer.”

You stared at him blankly, resisting every temptation not to burst into laughter at the irony. If you had any more alcohol you would have surely fallen apart, but you were able to hold yourself back.

“Oh! Okay. Sounds good to me.”

“Er, right.” Germany stepped close to you. “Come on, you two. Let’s go.”

You headed back through the hall of the Palace of Nations and into Ariana Park. It was even busier than before, filled with playing children and families laying down blankets for a picnic dinner. It was a blissfully charming day, but it felt like only the cherry on top when you were between Germany and Prussia, walking along with the others that were heading back.

“It’s good that the weather cooperated,” Germany mused.

You tilted your head almost to your shoulder in tipsy contemplation as the three of you descended the hill towards the road. “I can’t think of a single time when Geneva wasn’t totally perfect when I was here. And I was here a lot.” You sighed. “I was always so bummed that I never got to see any of you guys during my internships. I totally thought I had a chance of having class overlap at a conference or something. Or even just running into Switzerland.”

Prussia snorted. “What would you want with that guy? He’s super boring!”

You didn’t know about that, but it was true that you were never close to him. “But if I met him, then maybe I could have met Liechtenstein. And I love her. We went clothes shopping and she helped me learn German and French and we played games together all the time. Ugh, I missed her so much. I missed everyone so much.”

Prussia snickered, amused at your ramblings, but Germany looked at him sharply before reverting his attention to you. “Let’s get you something to eat at Eastwest,” the latter suggested.

You flinched. His tone was as brusque as ever, and in your tipsy mind you thought he was being harsh because he disapproved of your overindulgence. You scrambled to put yourself together mentally. “Yeah, that sounds great. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was so excited about everything that I didn’t watch how much I drank. I’m so embarrassed.”

That seemed to soften Prussia a bit. He patted your shoulder. “Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s no big deal, promise!”

You looked at him glumly. “You mean it?”

“‘Course I do! It’s no problem. Right, West?”

Germany was visibly uncomfortable. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”

You hanged your head in shame. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry.”

Prussia glared at him. “Geez, man, that was harsh.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

To your surprise, Prussia protectively put his arm around you. “I mean you can’t be rude to her. It’s __________!”

The way he said that reminded you of how he treated you as a child. You had gotten along with him so well in the past, and he even freely kept an eye on you despite your parents’ protests. Sometimes he would opt to skip a conference just because he felt bad about you being bored. He helped you with homework and gently chided you when you disobeyed your nanny. Prussia would tell you to be a good girl and work hard, and once you transferred to a normal school you would hear his voice whenever you felt an attitude or desire to skip school creeping up on you. Growing up had been so much harder without him around, but deep down you credited him for showing you the work ethic you needed to be where you were right now.

Being next to him just feels right, you thought, then immediately felt heat rise to your cheeks. Thank goodness you managed to keep that to yourself, because that would have come out in a suggestive way you weren’t prepared to defend.

Germany looked at Prussia sternly, and you burned with chagrin. “And now she’s employed to work for us. I’m only saying she needs to be careful in the future.” With that, he turned to hail a cab.

Prussia made a face in his direction, then focused back on you. “Ignore him. Not like he hasn’t let loose when he didn’t mean to before.”

You couldn’t hide your surprise. “I can’t imagine him tipsy, let alone drunk. I only remember him being super serious.”

“Pfft, that’s just what he wants you to think. He knows how to party!”

You weren’t quite sure what to do with that information, but before you could think of a response he broached a different subject. “Eh, whatever. He’ll get over it. I just can’t believe you’re all grown up!” He peered at you closely as though to make sure you weren’t an imposter, and you smiled shyly.

“Sometimes I can’t, either. It felt like it’s been forever since I last saw you guys, but today it was like nothing has changed. I was so happy that so many people remembered me; I didn’t realize that I stuck out so much as a kid.”

“Well yeah, your dad was the youngest secretary we’ve had since the UN formed. No one else brought a little kid to work all the time, and you were so cute!”

You flushed. You had no idea you were so highly regarded, and you could feel your heart melt from knowing you were held dear for that short time you had been in their lives. “I guess I get to be the youngest staff member now, though, huh?”

“Yeah, but I’m sure you’ll be fine! Do you start tomorrow or somethin’?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but I’ll just be taking notes and grabbing coffee. I’ve been shadowing Cheryl the last couple of weeks, so I’ll get to help coordinate everything for the UNESCO meeting that’s coming up.”

Cheryl Graham, a secretary from Victoria, Canada, had taught you about hotel bookings, budget distributions, how to navigate emails, arrange catering, but most of all, the quirks of the more...particular countries. You didn’t mind if some were insistent that they stay in the nicest hotels or were never within five hundred feet of someone else outside of a conference - after all, they sincerely worked long hours and deserved to relax as much as possible. You also understood that centuries of bad blood couldn’t easily go away. You looked forward to learning more about these people you cared for.

“Sweet.” The way he said it suggested he had zoned out, but regardless, you were ecstatic to talk about finally starting your dream job that you had pursued for eleven long, lonely years.

You heard Germany call out for you. You turned and saw that he had flagged down a taxi. He held the door open for you and you crawled inside, Prussia following while Germany got into the passenger seat. He told the driver where to go and you sped down the streets of Geneva.

The talk about work made you vibrate in your seat. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight. I’m really looking forward to tomorrow. It’ll be my first meeting.”

Prussia huffed and crossed his arms. “Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty of sleep during the meeting. It’s definitely nothing to be hyped about.”

You couldn’t suppress a chuckle despite (or maybe because of) the glare Germany sent his way. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

He cupped one hand around his mouth as though he was trying to share a secret despite the close capacity with his brother. “I’ll cover for you!”

His positivity was infectious, and the distraction from your buzzing mind was helping to abate the sensation. You shook your head firmly, knowing he was being playful but wanting to convey how much this meant to you, to both him and Germany. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m not here because I think it’ll be easy or because I want special treatment. I really, really want to travel the world again. I’m excited about all the new things I can see and do now that I’m older. But most of all, I really care about the work my dad did. I want to help make everyone’s job easier. I just...you and everyone else are great people, so I want to help.”

Prussia’s mouth parted in surprise and he fell silent. Germany didn’t respond, either. You started to feel flustered. “Um...I just want you and everyone else to know that I’m taking this seriously. That’s all.”

Though you prioritized the people you now worked for above all else, you highly respected their work. They were the first to review drafts for tariffs and international contracts or laws and bring suggestions for new ideas or problems to the table. The time it took to edit, rewrite, and create new documents often bled into their daily lives, often for longer than forty hours per week. However, they were compensated with a very comfortable salary, considerable vacation time, and high-quality insurance for travel and healthcare. 

Similarly, you were subject to being on call twenty-four-seven, and there would be days where you would spend hours preparing accommodations. But that also meant that you got a share of the generous benefits that the UN provided, and you were looking forward to the aimless holidays you were afforded. If you could spend even more time visiting countries and people you rarely spent time with as a child, the better.

You didn’t think your parents or Ambassador Gottfried or anyone in the whole world could understand just how badly you had missed globe-trotting with this group of outlandish people. Even if you were never spoiled again, even if you worked yourself to the bone for them, you knew that the attention and affection you received had come from a place of genuine compassion. They were lovely and fun people, whether you played with them regularly or rarely interacted at all. 

You knew that the peace and joy you had felt then came from a place of childhood innocence, from a lack of responsibility. There was no getting that back. But you could already feel those sweet embers beginning to ignite in your chest, and it promised a lifetime of happiness. Just to see all of their faces again today made the stress of the last twelve years vanish. You felt fulfilled, and you felt so fortunate to have satisfied your ambition at only twenty-three. So many people lived their entire lives without finding a passion or purpose even if they tried, and you wouldn’t forget to be thankful for where you ended up, whether by coincidence or your own effort.

By the time you reached the hotel, it was just past seven o’clock, and the sun was casting a deep summer glow. Despite the exterior appearing old with its square shape and iron latticework fences in front of the windows, the stylized signage above the glass doors hinted at the modern chic within.

“Oh, wow, this place is nice. ” You let out an appreciative whistle as you entered the sleek, dark lobby. The lights bounced off the shiny walls and floor, almost painfully so, and small tables with vases of pink flowers accented the space with much-needed color. “Have you guys stayed here before?”

Prussia came up beside you as you were guided to the restaurant. “Nope. I wanted to stay somewhere fancy for once, but it was a bitch to get Germany on board.” He laughed, but Germany only sighed. It made you smirk; their chemistry was so unbalanced it was almost obvious that they were brothers, because you couldn’t imagine two people sticking together otherwise.

“That’s right, you don’t normally go to conferences.”

“Eh, sometimes I help West with work, but mostly I go if I feel like it. It’s best when someone else pays to send me to a whole different continent, right?”

You understood what he meant. It was hard to pass up a chance to have travel and accommodations to a faraway place paid for. “Why did you come to Geneva, then?”

He tilted his head. “When I heard it was kind of like Gunter’s retirement party, I wanted to make sure to send the old man off properly. I’ve known the guy for years, so it wouldn’t be right not to show.”

That was thoughtful of him. “That’s nostalgic,” you admitted. “I was so happy you said goodbye to me when my dad retired.” More than that, he had pulled you aside and made you promise to be good and study hard. He told you to make friends, do extracurriculars, and just live your life happily. But those final words of wisdom weren’t enough for you. You wanted to hear his voice again, see his smile again, listen to his strange laugh again.

“I couldn’t pass that up if I tried,” he replied, pulling you away from your thoughts. 

He ruffled your hair in that playful way he always did once upon a time, and your heart swelled with affection. You wanted to hug him again, you wanted to just sit with him and talk aimlessly about all kinds of things again. Despite his lackadaisical demeanor, he was very well-informed and would explain the political discussions happening behind the closed doors of the auditoriums in a way you could understand, and he didn’t sugarcoat that things were very tense sometimes and not everyone got along. He answered all your inane questions when you were four and five and at the most curious stage of your life. He taught you enough history to earn you a degree, and you learned about the inner workings of cars. (Which reminded you that you needed to tell him about the time you helped a high school peer get his car working when it refused to start after school one day.) In every way, he was like a reliable big brother.

You were looking forward to dinner, and you were looking forward to living the rest of your life with Gilbert Beilschmidt in it.

>To continue, go to my new series: “Beyond One Life - Prussia Route”

Chapter Text

Russia stuck out to you the most, so it only felt natural to approach him. “I’m okay,” you promised with a warble in your voice. “But if we’re going to the same place then I may as well go with him.”

He smiled widely. “Of course. I’ll make sure you return safe and sound.”

Unbeknownst to you, everyone that remained exchanged uneasy glances. France awkwardly raised his hand. “Um, are you sure? I’d be more than happy to-”

Russia’s gaze snapped to him and France faltered, though Russia was still smiling. 

You tilted your head, confused. “Sure I’m sure.”

“No.”

You were shouldered away from him and staggered back, barely managing to avoid falling over. To your shock, it was Belarus that had pushed you, and she looked furious.

“Ukraine will take you back,” she snapped, her voice cold enough to make you shiver. 

You rarely spoke to her when you were a child; she was very quiet and never seemed focused, but you always thought she was incredibly beautiful. You had never been alone with her, and she didn’t often join you and the other girls for pajama parties and card games. You didn’t think of her as icy, and it wasn’t until you were ten that you learned about what it meant to be introverted. You thought that she was just that and nothing else, but it was because you knew so little about her that you couldn’t understand why she was glaring at you.

Maybe she didn’t appreciate that you, upon your arrival after an eleven-year absence, had too much to drink at the impromptu reunion. Your mind felt foggy and the sunlight felt harsh enough that you were the only one squinting, but you were aware and embarrassed. You didn’t mean to give anyone the wrong impression of you. You were a secretary now, a working woman, and you were at a gathering of valuable political figures. To say your etiquette was atrocious was an understatement.

Burning with shame, you rushed to mend your mistake. “I’m sorry, Belarus. I - I’m fine, really. I just got caught up seeing everyone again, and everyone was toasting with me and I couldn’t say no. I didn’t mean to seem irresponsible or anything like that.”

Russia looked uncomfortable as Belarus was posed in front of him, but her expression hadn’t changed. “I don’t care about that. Just go back with Ukraine,” she repeated. “I’m going with my brother.”

The good cheer was gone, and you were even more confused. Technically you worked for her now, so you didn’t want to offend her. You decided it was best to placate her, sobered by her barely suppressed anger. You turned to Ukraine, who looked gorgeous in a tea-length sage green dress. “Yeah, okay. Ukraine, do you mind?”

“Not at all, dear!” she replied immediately. Her smile comforted you. You spent much more time with Ukraine in comparison to her younger sister, and you looked up to her a lot. It was close to seven o’clock, so it felt too early to retire for the evening; you hoped you could spend some time with her.

When the four of you started to head for Ariana Park, you noticed that everyone else had dispersed. You didn’t blame them; it was seriously awkward a moment ago. “What did I do wrong? I don’t want her to be mad at me,” you whispered to Ukraine, making sure Belarus wouldn’t hear.

“Ah, um,” Ukraine stammered for a moment, avoiding eye contact as she carefully considered how to respond. “She’s just - protective of him, that’s all.”

You looked at your feet. It didn’t make much sense to you, but you knew they had all led lives you couldn’t begin to comprehend. Their bonds were special, whether they were blood-related or had been allies and enemies through various wars. It wasn’t up to you to judge how their experiences manifested.

“I didn’t realize she could be so...intense. Cheryl hadn’t mentioned it.”

“Cheryl?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s been training me the last couple of weeks, and she told me about some, um, peculiarities some of you have?” That sounded bad, but you weren’t sure how else to word that.

Ukraine seemed to understand, but not in a good way. “Oh, no, what did she say about me? Am I troublesome? I must be a bother, aren’t I?”

You had been feeling too sorry for yourself to remember that Ukraine was extremely sensitive - which Cheryl did tell you. “No! She said you’re a delight to work with.” Fortunately, that was true.

Cheryl Graham, a secretary from Victoria, Canada, had taught you about hotel bookings, budget distributions, how to navigate emails, arrange catering, but most of all, the quirks of the more...particular countries. You didn’t mind if some were insistent that they stay in the nicest hotels or were never within five hundred feet of someone else outside of a conference - after all, they sincerely worked long hours and deserved to relax as much as possible. You also understood that centuries of bad blood couldn’t easily go away. However, she hadn’t mentioned anything about Belarus being so defensive for the sake of her big brother. Though what had just transpired bothered you, you still looked forward to learning more about these people you cared for.

Ukraine sighed with relief. “Oh, that’s good. Cheryl’s very nice. I would be just devastated if I gave her any trouble.”

You didn’t want to say any more about Belarus for fear she’d hear you. Instead, as you passed by children playing and parents preparing for picnic dinners, you changed the subject. “So, you’re staying at Hotel d’Angleterre*, too? I’m surprised. It’s so small that I hear it’s really hard to get in. I wouldn’t even have bothered trying if it weren’t for my parents. They were so excited for me that they gave me extra money to stay somewhere nice.”

She shook her head. “No, we’re staying at the Tor Hôtel Genève**. It was cheaper. None of us are very picky about where we stay for a few days.”

Cheryl was right once again: Ukraine was needlessly worried about spending money. “You know you’re supposed to use the budget the UN gives you, right?” you chuckled.

“There’s still a whole six months in the year!” she fretted. “What if a great opportunity comes along but I’m out of money? What if there’s an emergency? Oh, no, I know what we receive annually doesn’t roll over, but I just have to save what I can just in case.”

You doubted you’d be able to easily deter her line of thinking, and to her credit, she was very responsible. Though you weren’t sure what could be considered an emergency for an immortal figure, maybe it was better to wait until the end of the year to splurge. You chuckled to yourself, remembering a time you wandered into a heated conversation between your father and France, where the latter complained that he had already spent his entire food allowance for the year by September and simply needed to have more.

All of you stopped on the sidewalk, watching the cars and pedestrians go by. Talking about work started to make your stomach flutter. “I’m so excited for tomorrow. I can’t wait to work with everyone.”

“You are starting tomorrow?” Russia asked, his smile seeming a bit off in a way you couldn’t be sure of. Belarus and Ukraine were between you two, almost as if to block him off. Ah, no, that couldn’t be it. You were thinking too much was all.

“Yeah! Though I’ll mostly just be taking notes and getting coffee. But it’s my first time being in a meeting, so I’m glad I’ll finally get to see what it’s like. I always tried to sneak in when I was a kid.”

His expression softened. “I remember that. I caught you a few times.” You both laughed. “I think you will like it. Everyone’s very energetic.”

You wondered if he really meant that or was trying to avoid defeating your expectations.  “I’m sure I’ll have fun no matter how it turns out,” you offered graciously.

Your father had been honest with you about why he retired - not only was it difficult to be on call twenty-four-seven, but it became too stressful to be involved in such intensive political conferences. For the first year away, you had been terribly hard on him, but you regretted that now and had apologized long ago. Your father’s happiness came from his family and he found purpose in being a professor, teaching future generations. There was nothing wrong with that.

But you truly believed you were different, because you loved these immortal people with all your heart, and you sincerely wanted to spend time with them both in and out of work. Your happiness came from these strange, eccentric, compassionate nation-people that smiled through centuries of burden, and you felt your purpose was to make their lives a little easier, a little more joyful. You wanted to spend what little time you had left having fun and returning every bit of their kindness that had left a lasting impression.

During your conversation, Ukraine had pulled out her phone. “Ah, I found the number for the nearest taxi service. Let me call so we can get two cabs at once.”

She stepped aside and you dared to glance at Belarus. She appeared completely stony now, almost like she was looking through you. You swallowed.

For a moment, no one said anything. Russia’s eyes kept moving to look down at his sister and then back to you. You really weren’t sure what was going on, but her eyes were seriously boring into you, and you felt uncomfortable.

“Um, anyway, today was a lot of fun, too.” It came out awkwardly, but you were beginning to feel desperate.

Russia nodded amicably. “Yes, it was. I always enjoy attending parties. It was nice to say goodbye to Gunter, but I never expected you to show up or be his replacement. I was very surprised!”

Belarus exhaled sharply through her nose and you could have sworn Russia flinched.

“I didn’t think so many of you would remember me,” you continued, trying to ignore her. “I mean, I was just a kid, and it was so long ago.”

“Not us,” he chuckled. “My sisters and I don’t spend a lot of time with children, so it was very fun to have you around, even if you were a bit of a troublemaker.”

You scratched the back of your head, a little embarrassed. It was true you had a propensity to wander as a kid, and Russia once had to physically snatch you up to stop you from wandering after a man you had mistaken for your father. You were a little intimidated by him when you first met because of his height, and you recalled it now. 

“Do you remember when we first met?” you asked. 

He laughed awkwardly. “I remember you were afraid of me.”

Indeed you were. At first, he simply towered over you and said hello, but that was enough to make your three-year-old self throw a fit. Your poor father desperately tried to get you to stop crying and Russia had looked mortified. 

“What did I do?” he said in despair. Fortunately, Ukraine was there to give Russia some advice.

He slowly lowered himself to one knee, bringing his eyes much closer to yours. Your cries died down to sniffles as you watched him warily.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said softly, doing his best to give a comforting smile. “I just wanted to say hi so we could be friends.”

You swallowed and looked up to your dad, who nodded encouragingly. “Russia is very nice,” he promised.

“O-Okay,” you whimpered.

Then slowly, gently, as though trying not to scare a wild animal, Russia patted your head. “I’m glad. It’s very nice to meet you.”

And so it went. From that day on he was very friendly and always smiled. He’d pat your head and call you little, which you thought was really endearing in hindsight. Looking at him now, you thought maybe one of the reasons why you overcame your fear so easily was because of his youthful face. He looked somewhat childish with slightly chubby cheeks and big, round eyes, and shaggy hair.

It’s cute, you thought suddenly, which almost made you jump with how greatly that shocked you. That was so weird to consider! Why would you ever think that?

Ukraine returned from her call, sparing you from your confusing thoughts. “The dispatcher said it would be another ten minutes or so.”

“Thank you,” you said. Then you had a great idea. “Hey, can we all go to dinner instead? I’m starving.”

Belarus’s face darkened, but Ukraine interjected with a clap of her hands before she could say anything. “That would be wonderful! There’s still so much catching up to do. Don’t you think so, Russia?”

Again, he had an odd expression on his face. “I would like that,” he agreed, but he seemed a bit hesitant. That hurt a little. Did he not want to spend time with you?

“If my brother is going, then I am going.” Belarus’s tone was close to a sneer, and you felt even worse. There was no way her behavior was just out of protectiveness for Russia. You must have really pissed her off, and you started your career off on the wrong foot. You desperately wanted to please her - and everyone else - but now you would have to go into it working extra hard to earn her favor. She said she hadn’t cared that you were tipsy, but clearly, something was bothering her!

Crestfallen, you tried to appease her once again. “Belarus, I know I messed up today, but I’m not here because I think it’ll be easy or because I want special treatment. I really, really want to travel the world again. I’m excited about all the new things I can see and do now that I’m older. But most of all, I really care about the work my dad did. I want to help make everyone’s job easier. I just...you and everyone else are great people, so I want to help.”

The three of them stared at you silently, and you could feel your cheeks burning. “Um...I just want you and everyone else to know that I’m taking this seriously. That’s all.”

Though you prioritized the people you now worked for above all else, you highly respected their work. They were the first to review drafts for tariffs and international contracts or laws and bring suggestions for new ideas or problems to the table. The time it took to edit, rewrite, and create new documents often bled into their daily lives, often for longer than forty hours per week. However, they were compensated with a very comfortable salary, considerable vacation time, and high-quality insurance for travel and healthcare. 

Similarly, you were subject to being on call twenty-four-seven, and there would be days where you would spend hours preparing accommodations. But that also meant that you got a share of the generous benefits that the UN provided, and you were looking forward to the aimless holidays you were afforded. If you could spend even more time visiting countries and people you rarely spent time with as a child, the better.

You didn’t think your parents or Ambassador Gottfried or anyone in the whole world could understand just how badly you had missed globe-trotting with this group of outlandish people. Even if you were never spoiled again, even if you worked yourself to the bone for them, you knew that the attention and affection you received had come from a place of genuine compassion. They were lovely and fun people, whether you played with them regularly or rarely interacted at all. 

You knew that the peace and joy you had felt then came from a place of childhood innocence, from a lack of responsibility. There was no getting that back. But you could already feel those sweet embers beginning to ignite in your chest, and it promised a lifetime of happiness. Just to see all of their faces again today made the stress of the last twelve years vanish. You felt fulfilled, and you felt so fortunate to have satisfied your ambition at only twenty-three. So many people lived their entire lives without finding a passion or purpose even if they tried, and you wouldn’t forget to be thankful for where you ended up, whether by coincidence or your own effort.

>To continue, go to my new series: “Beyond One Life - Russia Route”

Chapter Text

You paced the shiny hall of the UN headquarters in front of the main stairwell, your heels making echoing clacks on the marble floor that threatened to drive you as insane as the waiting. You held your phone in a vice-like grip, waiting for a call or text or anything from America.

“Ooh, you jerk, if I didn’t love you so much I’d hit you,” you muttered to yourself. During class in a conference room on one of the upper floors of the building, America had texted you to meet him in the lobby at noon. Of course, you obeyed; you never wanted to miss a chance to see him or his brother. And, assuming that you were going to lunch, you hadn’t eaten. Yet it was now twelve-thirty and there was no sign of him, nor had he responded to you asking where he was at twelve-fifteen.

Finally, annoyed by the sound of your own shoes, you leaned against a support pillar and sighed. You watched people move in and out of the building in their pressed suits and laminated badges hanging from their necks, trying to find a familiar face. He may have paid for your dinner last night, but he definitely owed you now! Well, only America, not Canada. Despite the years apart you knew the latter would never do this to you.

Staring straight ahead at the main entrance and hoping you could enjoy the beautiful sunny day with your future coworkers, you didn’t notice someone approaching you at first. You caught him out of the corner of your eye and turned, not expecting anyone you knew. Instead, you dropped your phone in shock.

Romano was swaggering towards you, dressed as fashionably as you remembered him to be in brown slacks with a matching jacket and white button down. You remembered his brown hair and amber eyes and strange curl and your stomach fell right alongside your phone as the air was sucked out of you. How and why he was there didn’t matter, and you couldn’t even think of the obvious reason why he would be at the UN headquarters. Everything in you stopped and reset like he used a defibrillator on you.

Not noticing your brief lack of breathing, Romano smiled at you easily. “Careful there, bella ,” he said as he plucked your phone off the ground and offered it to you. Maybe because you had already been surprised to death by running into America in DC, you were able to unfreeze yourself and take the phone back. It also occurred to you that his Italian accent was very thick - was it always like that?

“Thanks…” you replied quietly, trying to figure out how to introduce yourself to him and what the implication of him being in New York meant.

Before you could say anything, however, he continued. “Name’s Lovino Vargas. Would you happen to be on your lunch break right now? I’d love to spend mine in your company, if you don’t mind.”

Holy shit, you thought, all decorum flying out the window. Taken aback again and a bit morbidly curious to see where this was going, you managed to stammer out your name. “I’m, uh, __________.”

He repeated it. “A beautiful name for a beautiful young lady,” he purred, and you couldn’t decide if you wanted to stop him, ride it out, or just die. You weren’t the least bit offended, but you had no idea that this was what Romano was like around grown women, and you never imagined him acting this way, much less towards you . 

When you were a child, Romano treated you well, although you didn’t interact with him quite as much as you did with his brother. Italy just had that natural childish charm and energy that drew you to him more. Despite that, you had fond memories of playing soccer, practicing Italian, and learning some cooking techniques with the two of them. But it wasn’t as if you had known them - or any of the nations, for that matter - on a deeply personal level. Despite that, you loved them, and you were just as happy as you were stunned to see Romano here in front of you.

He was waiting on you. You were frozen stiff as waves of nostalgia crashed over you and you had to give him a concise answer. You had to explain that, sure, you’d love to go out for lunch, but actually you already know who he is and you were waiting on America and Canada and you only had a half hour of your break left. “Uh….”

You were spared from trying to make a more succinct remark when you heard someone call your name. You looked to see the very people you were waiting on wearing suits and ties that appeared much more familiar on them.

“America! Canada! You’re late,” you chided. Startled, Romano took a step away from you.

America also didn’t look too happy, but he was pouting more than anything else. “Sorry, we got caught up. I wanted to surprise you, but Romano’s ruined it!”

“Surprise?” You looked between the three of them, and now that you were regaining your senses, it finally clicked. “Oh. Oh my gosh!”

Said Italian looked between the three of you in confusion. “Wait, wait, wait, what the hell are you guys talking about? You know these two?”

Now America was puzzled. “Wait, you didn’t tell him?”

Realizing this was quickly going to spiral, you rushed to explain. “We just met - or, rather, were reintroduced to each other.”

You smiled up at Romano, but he stared back warily.

“Romano, do you remember our last secretary that retired about ten years ago? The one with the little girl?” Canada spoke up.

He thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, come to think of it, I do. But what’s that got to do with her?” He pointed a thumb in your direction.

You exchanged glances with America and Canada. “You’re so slow, dude!” America said, which noticeably ticked off the Italian.

“Huh? What the hell, man? I was just asking a question!”

Deciding you didn’t want to risk an argument, you gently tugged on the cuff of Romano’s jacket. “Romano, it’s me. I’m that little girl.”

Now he understood. You could practically see the lightbulb go off above his head as his face fell in shock. “You-! You’re kidding me, right? This ain’t a joke, right?”

You shook your head, and you felt your smile broadening. “It’s not, I promise. It’s so good to see you again! I missed you.”

For a moment he just stared at you, and then you watched his cheeks turn an endearing shade of red as it finally sunk in that he had asked you out. “Ah - right, right! That’s amazing! I can’t believe it’s you.” He was speaking quickly, and you hoped you were able to telepathically convey that, honestly, you were flattered by what had happened and not bothered at all. It was kind of nice to know that he saw you as someone pretty enough to hit on.

“I’m sorry we were so late,” Canada added. “We were supposed to break for lunch at noon, but the conference was held up. America and I got out of there as fast as we could.”

“Romano only beat us ‘cause he had to use the restroom,” America snickered.

“Shut up!” Romano fumed.

Ignoring that bit of information, you recalled plenty of times that your father and the nations adjourned from meetings late, but that wasn’t what was at the front of your mind. “So then, if you three are here…then everyone else is, too?” you ventured to ask now that the situation had been cleared up.

America returned to his usual beaming grin. “They sure are! Great timing with your internship, huh?”

You felt like you had been struck by lightning. Forgetting all about your empty stomach you asked, “Where are they? Can I see them?”

“Of course! They’ll be filing through in a second. Canada and I totally slipped out before England was done talking.”

The mental image made you giggle. “I don’t think he liked that.”

He shrugged. “He’ll get over it!”

“I’m still lost,” Romano cut in, and you could have sworn his accent lost its heaviness. Maybe that was a tactic to get women? You’d have to ask him that later. “What’s this about an internship? And how did you three meet? Did you guys stay in touch or something?”

You shook your head. “No, my family didn’t keep contact with anyone. I ran into America in DC the other week and-”

You were cut off. “America! Canada! Why the hell did you two up and leave like that?” England, dear England stormed up to the group, not noticing you at first. You felt your heart swell with love, and it took every bit of willpower to avoid hugging him like you did so often as a child.

America laughed at him. “Sorry, dude, but you were so boring!”

“Would you grow up already?”

Canada, always the mediator, stepped in. “That’s not it. It’s because we had left __________ waiting.”

England finally noticed you, and he was startled at the sight of a completely normal person. “Oh, uh, hello.” He offered his hand. “I’m England. Apologies for interrupting.”

You took his hand and resisted squeezing too hard, your cheeks threatening to tear. “England, I didn’t think I’d see you for a few more years. I’m so happy you’re here!”

His eyes widened. “I’m sorry, but you are…?”

You looked between the four men, and past their shoulders you saw a few more familiar faces. Your heart started to race in earnest as Japan also joined.

“Excuse me.” His voice was just as calm as you remembered. When he noticed you, he politely bowed at a slight angle. “England, are you ready to go to lunch?”

Not wanting the situation to spin out of control, you offered to start from the beginning. “Okay, wait a second. Romano, I’m in the UN internship program. I have class here this week, but I didn’t know there was a World Conference. England, Japan, it’s been eight years since we last saw each other. My dad was one of your secretaries.”

America folded his arms with a satisfied smirk. “And now she’s gonna be our new assistant!”

Hearing him say that so confidently made your heart skip a beat. As you stood there surrounded by loved ones, you felt your dream become truly tangible for the first time. They were right there! You could see them, hear them, reach out and touch them. You were so close, just a few years away from making this a regular occurrence. The afternoon sun shimmered through the window walls, casting angelic glows on their faces, and you truly felt you were in heaven now.

You nodded firmly, mimicking his resolve. This was the only plan you had for your life, so there was no doubt that you would achieve your goal. “Of course! I’ve been working towards this for years! And this is such a great surprise. America, Canada, thank you!”

You were equally humored and delighted to see both England and Japan become slack jawed. “My God - I do remember you!” the former said, stepping forward to hug you. “I can’t believe this. Are you really that sweet little thing? You’re so grown now!”

You wanted to bury your head in his chest and take a deep breath of his cologne and reminisce about all the times he had ruffled your hair and held your hand and picked you up. But as he wrapped his arms around you in a friendly way you were instantly aware of how much closer his face was to yours compared to the last time this happened. The innocent, childish yearning for skinship couldn’t be there anymore, so you let him pull away just as quickly.

Though the nostalgia made you a bit sad, it was impossible to linger on it as you saw the familiar details of his face in a new light. “I am,” you replied, fighting down the rising lump in your throat, “but you haven’t changed at all.”

He laughed. “I suppose not. And what’s this about being our next secretary?”

You didn’t often talk about it out loud. Only your parents and Ambassador Gottfried knew of your ambition, but even then you weren’t sure they realized just how much it consumed your entire life. Getting it off your chest now, even if only a little, was as refreshing as a spring breeze.

“I always wanted to,” you confessed, a little embarrassed. “I know it’s a lot different from being the secretary’s daughter, but I always had so much fun with everyone. I figured I may as well come back.”

“That’s wonderful!”

If someone said you were glowing, you would have believed it. You were home.

“Japan, it’s great to see you, too,” you said, offering your hand.

He accepted it with a polite smile. You knew him to be very kind, but also very quiet. He did talk to you, but he didn’t exactly play with you, either, and he didn’t offer you any physical affection like America or Italy did. Even so, you could remember times he would tell you to be careful or to study hard. One time he helped you practice for a spelling test. He cared about you in his own way, and that was endearing all the same.

“Yes, I’m glad to see you in good health. You must have worked hard to get this far.”

You straightened up with pride. “I did, and I’ll work hard for my internships in the coming years, too. I know it’s probably a long shot, but I thought that I would have a chance to jump right in as soon as I graduate since I already know everyone.”

Romano scratched the back of his head thoughtfully. “Maybe. Everyone that’s ever worked for us already had a political career first. But I guess you do know what the job’s all about. And you can obviously keep a secret.”

“Don’t worry about it!” America said immediately, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “As long as your grades are good, you’re in! And I’ll vouch for you!”

“Me, too,” Canada agreed kindly.

It really was like they wanted you to cry, and you had to hold back tears. “You guys are the best.”

Just then, your phone began playing an alarm. Your lunch break would be over in fifteen minutes. Your heart sank a little. “I have to get back to class now.”

“Sorry we couldn’t take you out to lunch,” America said, his comforting arm sliding off you. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing you a five dollar bill. “Here, there’s a vending machine at the other end of the hall. Go get yourself a snack.”

His consideration touched you, and you just knew that if he hadn’t acted first, one of the other men gathered around would have done the same. Was it really any wonder that you wanted to surround yourself with these people for the rest of your life? “Are you sure?” you asked.

He flashed a grin. “‘Course I’m sure! I was totally planning on paying for lunch anyway. I wanted to introduce you to everyone then. Guess we’ll have to save that until you’re done with class. I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces! They’ll be totally shocked! England and Japan looked so funny earlier.”

“Stop that,” England snapped as Japan became a bit red. Romano did, too, probably remembering how similarly he reacted.

You had no choice but to accept the money, and you giggled. “Well, it does sound kind of fun….” Seeing everyone’s reactions thus far had been pretty amusing, but you didn’t want to say anything that would make you seem immature. “Where should we meet up when I’m done?”

“Go to room 202. Our meeting should be wrapping up then,” Canada advised.

You felt an odd sensation in your chest. On one hand you wanted nothing more than to go there straight away and see everyone again, but on the other, you hadn’t prepared for a full scale reunion with over one hundred people. You needed to mentally fortify yourself first.

“Right then. We’ll see you in a bit, dear,” England said. He kissed your cheek, and you knew he was just saying goodbye, and it wasn’t the first time he had kissed you, but it had been so long that it made you feel flustered.

As quickly as they came the group fell apart, leaving for one of the myriad of restaurants around the corner or heading to the cafeteria. Romano lingered for a moment, and your eyes met. You were reminded of what happened earlier and tried not to show your embarrassment. He blushed even harder before wordlessly departing. You weren’t sure if it was best to forget that he asked you out or not. It felt good to know he thought of you as attractive - or at least, he did. Maybe it would be harder to see you like that now that he associated you with the little girl he knew a decade ago. That was probably for the best anyway; you were going to work for him one day, and it’s not like any relationships he had with women could go very far.

You wondered if you could change that. Not romantically, of course - that was obviously not an option when you were just a regular human - but you genuinely wanted to be someone that these hard working, burdened people could rely on, even outside of work. All of them had an influence in raising you, some more than others, so they meant more to you than what you could put into words. You wanted to repay these people that didn’t ask for anything in return. You wanted to make their lives easier. You wanted to be there for them through everything, in the hopes that they would remember you even years after your death, in the same way you always thought of them during your time apart.

You shook your head to clear your mind of morbid thoughts. There was no need to think about death. You had plenty of years ahead of you, and all of them promised to be fun and full of love. You were on your way to experience more happiness in one lifetime than many people could only dream of. And you couldn’t wait.

>To continue, go to “A Promise to You”

Chapter Text

The sun was still up once you were done with dinner, casting warm orange glows with hints of purple through the streets. It was a spectacular, perfect evening, as if the heavens were rejoicing in your reunion with you. You asked Canada what else there was to do.

"I have an idea," he replied. “It’s a bit of a walk, but I think you’ll like it.”

The streets were still crowded with people, and you thought of all the cities to come that you’d be able to walk through, casual and without worries alongside the people you loved most. Now that you had a taste of it, you were more impatient than ever for that dream to be set in stone.

Canada pointed out the buildings that made up the old financial district as you walked, telling you the stories of the low and elegant structures with marble columns and brick domes. America lackadaisically followed behind with his hands behind his head, nodding along every now and then. He must have been painstakingly familiar with Montreal’s history, even if it wasn’t a part of his own country. All because he was old enough to have a wealth of knowledge you could only dream of tapping into, for better and for worse.

“I can’t believe I never really hung out with you guys before this,” you said, completely relaxed. “I mean, I spent so much time with you, but since I was just a kid it wasn’t like we actually went anywhere together.” You surprised yourself by how natural this felt, almost like you had been doing this your whole life. You were excited to be able to have more complex conversations and be out without a curfew now; really, there was just so much to look forward to that you could have rambled about it all night.

“That’s true, isn’t it?” America mused. “Like, I remember eating together when we were at the same hotel, but I think we only went out with your family a few times, right? Gosh, I seriously can’t believe it’s been almost a decade already. We can do all kinds of stuff now! It’s awesome!”

More than anything else, to have been welcomed back into their lives so readily like this was what made you teary-eyed. You were accepted and wanted, just as you were back then. America’s and Canada’s friendliness was so immediate that it was as though you never left. Maybe it was slightly twisted, but you felt you would quickly become addicted to this camaraderie - if you weren’t already.

“I remember playing card games together,” Canada added with a smile.

You felt yourself beaming in return. “Me, too! I even have a fresh deck of Uno in my luggage for this trip.”

“Oh, hell yeah! We gotta play sometime while we’re still here. I’ll totally kick both your asses,” America shouted. You almost never heard him cuss before, so for a moment you were stunned, but his energy made you laugh.

Streetlamps and store signs began to light up, adding splashes of white and yellow to a gorgeous violet and tangerine twilight. The sidewalks were wide enough that the three of you could easily veer around the crowds of people that were huddled around for selfies or sitting at the numerous benches near the road, under trees, or around statues and fountains. Despite being in the heart of downtown, the air smelled clean, with just a touch of river water. To see so much life filled you with both enthusiasm and peace. Things weren’t perfect, but this was the bliss that Canada worked so hard for, a time better than any other, and you’d do anything to help him maintain what was good and work through what needed to be changed.

You arrived at the square of the Notre-Dame Basilica, a gorgeous monument to Gothic Revival architecture surrounded by people mingling and taking photos in Place d’Armes square. As you took a moment to admire the structure, you recalled France showing you the cathedral in Paris. You missed that place, and Rome, and Vienna, and Copenhagen, and Helsinki; you missed the travel, the long uncomfortable flights made bearable by the excitement of promising adventures through magnificent cities and spending more time with the people your father worked for. You missed the detours, like visiting the Giraffe Centre in Nairobi and vacationing in Victoria at Seychelles’s insistence, far removed from anything related to the United Nations. You missed the biting winter in Oslo and oppressive humidity of Bangkok. You missed the beautiful yet haunting beaches of Normandy and the humbling Rossoschka Memorial Cemetery, those covert trips for your schooling that you didn’t fully understand at the time but knew not to speak about out loud.

How many times today did you find yourself close to tears? You needed to be tougher than this, and not make things awkward for your companions. You took a deep breath to compose yourself, dispel those memories you no longer needed to cling to in order to survive, then turned to Canada. Without noticing, you had stopped walking while staring at the church. “Is this what you wanted to show me?”

He smiled. “Not quite, but we’re almost there.”

The smell of water grew stronger as the piers of Old Port Montreal came into view. Along the street people were streaming in and out of the restaurants, waiting in line at food trucks,, shopping at the boutiques, throwing clothes over their swimsuits after a day at Clock Tower Beach, and families rode by in quadricycles. You heard the whistle of the little children’s train within the treeline above the excited holler of someone ziplining over the water. Off the piers you could see a massive ship with people sipping wine at the terraces in their robes after an evening at the spa, and beyond that children happily skipped out of the Montreal Science Centre. Along the water were boats of all shapes and sizes; a ferry was returning from a tour along the St. Lawrence River, and people on pedal boats waved to their fellow tourists.

But what really stood out was the massive ferris wheel, La Grande roue de Montréal, slowly spinning and changing colors from hot pink to neon green before switching to a spiral pattern of red and white.

The sights, sounds, and smells were overwhelming, but in all the best ways. This could - no, would - be your life now. The people that lived here may not have been too fond of tourists overwhelming the best areas, but you were excited to be a visitor to so many marvelous jewels of the innumerable cities that hosted UN facilities. There was no way you could experience everything you wanted to during your stay in Quebec, but that didn’t matter, because you’d be here over and over again to see every season and the activities that followed.

“This is so cool!” you gushed. “It’s been so long since I’ve been here. I think I went to the Science Center when I was pretty young. What should we do?”

“You’re still young,” America teased.

Canada was clearly pleased. “I wanted to take you on the ferris wheel, if you’d like. It’s the biggest in the country.”

You nearly jumped for joy, feeling the same energy you had as a child come rushing back to you. “I’d love that!”

America was excited, too. “Same here! I haven’t been on it yet.”

With a lighthearted bounce in your step, you made your way towards the grand ferris wheel. Canada kindly paid for your ticket; he was a real sweetheart, just as you recalled. The vibrant atmosphere of Old Port Montreal surrounded you as you joined the queue of people waiting for their turn. The line moved swiftly, and before you knew it, you found yourselves stepping into one of the spacious, enclosed capsules of the ferris wheel.

As you ascended higher, the panoramic view of the city unfolded before your eyes. The sparkling St. Lawrence River stretched out in one direction, reflecting the colorful luminescence of the buildings and bridges. To the other side, the bustling streets of Montreal spread out, alive with the spirit of the city's nightlife.

The ferris wheel rotated slowly, allowing you to savor the scenery from different angles. You couldn't help but feel a sense of reverence and gratitude for the experiences that lay ahead. The world was full of wonders, and you were eager to explore it alongside your dearest friends and future coworkers.

As you reached the pinnacle of the ferris wheel's ascent, you were greeted by a breathtaking view of the cityscape against the backdrop of a dusky sky. The sun had finally set, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the city, while the fluorescence of the buildings and streets created a mesmerizing tapestry below.

"It's incredible," you whispered, in awe of the beauty that surrounded you.

Canada smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting the same feelings you were experiencing. "I'm glad you think so. Montreal really is a nice place."

America chimed in with his trademark enthusiasm. "Yeah, this ferris wheel is in a great spot. I should put one in New York!"

“It does remind me a bit of Coney Island,” you said. “Do you guys remember going with my family that one time?”

“I do!” America replied. “You were finally big enough to ride the tallest roller coaster. I remember catching you begging your dad to go, and I couldn’t let him say no!”

You chuckled. There had been a lot of pleading to go out and have fun, and fortunately your parents usually acquiesced, not wanting you to miss out on the chance to become more worldly when they both knew that your time globe trotting would eventually end. You were doubly excited when America inserted himself into the conversation to declare that he would go, too, and he’d make Canada come along whether he wanted to or not.

That day was easily one of your favorites.

“Hey,” you said suddenly, a new thought coming to you. “If I’m able to go to that conference in Vienna, what would I do?”

America and Canada exchanged glances. “Probably getting coffee?” America said aloud, obviously unsure. Canada’s expression became a withering look.

“That’s fine. I’ll do anything,” you replied quickly.

Canada said your name tentatively. “Listen, I’d like you there as much as America, and we’ll both try, but I think it’s a bit too soon to make any promises.”

You smiled. Unbeknownst to him, you were already planning to move any mountain to make sure your group was in Vienna in two weeks time. Morals be damned, you were prepared to bribe your chaperone at this point. “I know. But even if I can’t be in the meeting, I can meet everyone after class, right?”

“Sure you will!” America interjected before pouting at Canada. “Quit being such a downer, dude.”

Canada’s brows furrowed, but he said nothing.

You giggled and turned your attention back to the cityscape. As you gazed across the landscape, you were filled with a renewed sense of excitement and purpose. The world was vast, and there were countless places to explore, cultures to discover, and memories to create. This journey with Canada and America and everyone else was only the beginning, but it was already shaping up to be a remarkable chapter in your life.

The ferris wheel slowly descended, and you took one last glance at the breathtaking panorama before stepping off, ready to continue your adventure in the coming days. Sometimes you were nervous at the thought of seeing the country-people again, but now, you felt a profound sense of belonging, and it soothed the years-long ache in your heart.

However, you were quickly reminded that the hard part wasn’t over. Both America and Canada agreed that you should all turn in - mostly you on account of your morning class and assignments - and you had no choice but to concede. They entertained you with a couple rounds of Uno in the lobby upon returning to the hotel, but you and Canada were no match against America’s kind-hearted competitiveness.

“We should have bet money on this!” he chortled after his fourth victory in a row.

Canada glared at him. “Don’t be rude to her.”

You only laughed along. “I’m glad I didn’t!”

You bid the two of them goodbye with a hug when you reached your floor. As you walked in the door, Keyanna was just stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel.

“Hey! I saw you in the lobby with America and Canada earlier, but your back was to me,” she said. “I can’t believe your dad worked for them. I didn’t even know being their secretary was an option! Now I’m rethinking my career path.”

“It was pretty cool.” You tried to sound nonchalant, but you couldn’t hold in your excitement.

It felt good to have someone you could gush a little to, but you were taught to not say too much about the conferences or the country-people themselves. You had such a personal insight into their lives, relationships, and personalities, that you didn’t know what was supposed to remain private or not. You were informed that, in the face of such uncertainty, it was best to keep your mouth shut. You learned to dodge all media presence and never said a single word on the occasion that paparazzi spotted you and had the audacity to try and grill a child for juicy gossip. Even though it wasn’t unnecessary to never speak about your experiences, no one was very interested, and those that were, were left disappointed by how little information you were willing to divulge. Your childhood was a bit like a grand secret, as though your dad was a spy rather than an assistant to immortal dignitaries.

That night was the hardest of all, because how could you possibly sleep after getting a taste of the lifelong excitement you were so close to? Not to mention America’s promise that he’d find a way to get you to everyone else in a matter of weeks. Even when you tried counting sheep, you wound up recalling the times various countries counted for you, and your heart swelled with tenderness as you thought of how safe and comforted you felt at those moments.

So maybe you wouldn’t get a good night’s rest this time. That was okay. Although you didn’t want the brothers to leave so soon, you’d definitely refocus on your work once they were gone to ensure you could have more days like this, at every corner of the globe.

>To pursue America, go to, “International Exchange”

>To pursue Canada, go to, “Trading Hearts”