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March 19th, 2028
Sitting in the cockpit once more made America feel almost human.
“America?” he heard Mission Control through his headset. Trying to fight back the sinking feeling in his stomach at the exhausted voice that had aged five years, he was reminded that it had only been him that had been suspended in time.
“I’m here. Houston,” he hastily added. “You can tether me out when you’re ready.”
March 19th, 2023
With the arduous World Meeting having concluded two hours prior, he was more content to unwind in his office, two massive red, white and blue flags covering the light streaming in from the grand windows. A uncapped pen was lying underneath his hand where he’d just crossed off every other engagement for the rest of the day, waiting for the rest of his hours to be filled by his person. Said person was the only one other than him to possess the key to the room in a neatly embroidered purse, so when the lock clicked he saw thick eyebrows and messy hair even before they appeared in his doorway.
“What sort of bizarre space program are your government trying to hatch off?” Barely fending off a smirk, England strolled in like he owned the place, which he partly did due to him owning America’s heart. Placing the manila folder of the Space Exploration Initiative at America’s desk, he leaned in and straightened his tie with a gentle tug. “Honestly. You need to learn how to say no to them more often.”
He didn’t resist England’s unique brand of affection; it wasn’t like he was ever going to stop. “Yeah, but space travel is so cool!”
“Planned space travel is, yes,” he said, perching over America’s massive desk. The mahogany bookshelves, stretching floor to wall, were armed to the teeth with archaeology dig site locations, astrophysics, and bull rearing books (to name a few). An incredibly fitting backdrop for his beloved Brit, who was currently nagging him as he did after a World Meeting. “However, I’m almost certain your NASA has rushed into it in order to appease your boss.”
America shrugged, fiddling with his pen. “Sure, I guess,” he replied nonchalantly, “Funding's been drying up for years. But I still wanna go. At least, they said they’re considering me, but with all the humans they’ve already enlisted, my chances are zero to none, right? I’m needed back in Washington for diplomatic stuff. Also, to keep a certain grandpa company.”
“You overestimate yourself, darling,” England retorted, but he couldn’t help but tug at his tie and bring him in for a quick kiss, green eyes glittering after they pulled apart. “I’m more convinced that you could not function without me, though I may be older.”
“Hey! The strongest country in the world is gonna do f-”
“I’m perfectly capable of-” England strode over to America’s plush swivel chair and threw his legs over one of the handles, positioning himself in his lover’s lap, “-Living without you. Instead of attempting to create a silly endeavour for ferry services across the Atlantic daily just for the sake of seeking passage to visit me on the regular.”
There was no way a hero like America would let England sprawl himself all over him, so he took control, winding his right arm around his waist and pulling him closer, their eyes meeting. “Sweetheart…” he drawled, not bothering to tilt his glasses back up when he was so besotted with England, England, England, right here in his lap and in his arms and teasing him, “Who was the person who wrote me pretty verses, with a letter and everything, about how it might be a good thing to fill up the Atlantic, so you could just walk over it and hold me whenever you wanted to? Or the thing about my North Atlantic current keeping you warm all winter in place of me?”
“I…I thought you threw those away,” A light blush appeared on his pale cheeks, and America couldn’t help but grin widely at his cute response. “That’s, er, that’s beside the point. Just don’t get caught up in your government’s foolish whims and let them send you out there. As you said, there are several other candidates-”
America’s blue eyes softened behind his glasses, and he reached out for England’s bony hip, pulling him even closer. “Are you worried about me?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” England said sternly, and detached with great effort his hand from America’s chest and pinched his cheek, eliciting a yelp from the younger nation. “I’m doing so only to protect the great profession of being a personification. You are not a test dummy, you are the United States of America. We are fortunate to not be chained to whatever government wants to do our bidding for.”
“But I’ve already signed up…” His voice faltered as he spoke.
Kissing his forehead, England leaned further into him, just like every time he did when he knew he had America completely and utterly wrapped around his finger. “My darling, you’re smarter than everyone else takes you for. Use that and ensure that you are not caught up in their ministrations, yes? You’re too desperately needed here. Everyone needs you.”
The conversation continued without America reassuring England that he, too, was needed.
July 9th, 2023
“Wait, so you’re serious that everyone else has dropped out?”
The official fidgeted in his shoes, the squeak resounding around the sterile room. “Yes. Mr America…as our representative, it’s our only choice.”
“That’s preposterous,” England practically spat. Like usual, he’d attended his annual birthday festivities and stayed for another week, but unlike the usual, America had been invited to the NASA headquarters the day after. There was no way to fight the unsettling feeling in his stomach, but there was no way he’d admit to it existing to England, so he’d agreed to bring him along.
The harsh light fell unnaturally on England’s blond hair. “There must be another alternative. Is there a specific reason as to why all the human volunteers resigned from the project?”
“Mr England, you know I cannot disclose that information to an foreign country representative.”
“I’m not here on business. I’m here as America’s…” The two of them had never dared to breach the topic of marriage between them, and as a result the line of their relationship in human terms was never really quite defined. Frustration clear on his face, he continued. “As a personal matter. I’m here for his best interests as a person, not a personification. Why has your sudden abundance of volunteers suddenly dried up?”
“Without Mr America’s aid, the project cannot continue, and space exploration will cease.” The official swallowed audibly before continuing. “There - there will not be a human physically capable of retaining consciousness once the vessel is launched into rapid orbit. All the calculations have been completed, and with the funds allocated to us by the federal government, NASA is out of time. And money. And power. There is no one else capable of performing this feat except Mr America.”
He could have said certain death and it would have cost him less words. There was no one else registered to the space program, and with America’s reckless, carefree adoration of the field, it would be the one thing to spell his doom, and he hated how it was written all over his face. He couldn’t even be strong in the face of the person who needed to see his strength the most.
“England, I…it’s-”
“You don’t need America specifically, correct?” Both America and the official stared at England, who’d just stood up, scraping the metal chair behind him. “You don’t need him to be there. He doesn’t need to perform any sort of experiments inside the vessel.”
“No.”
His gaze fell to his sides, and he wished it hadn’t. England’s gloved hands were trembling. “Stop this nonsense. I’ll go in his place.”
“What?”
“What?” America practically leapt out of his chair and grasped his shoulders. “What the hell are you saying-”
“America is needed here on Earth,” England repeated stoutly, pointedly not meeting his gaze. “As the representative of one of the few superpowers still remaining, his presence and strength is needed to maintain stability. Risking all of that on a foolhardy space mission is worthless.” Pushing past America’s arm, he faced the official directly. “If you have any love for your country…let this be done.”
America shook his head angrily, applying pressure on England’s thin shoulders. “England, you can’t. I’m a hero, and this is exactly what heroes do. You’re not doing that sort of thing, and I won’t let you!”
The official said nothing.
“My darling-”
“No! No, I won’t let you!” he cried, banging the table so forcefully a red pen clattered onto the floor, the sound ringing through America’s ears. “God, I won’t let you, England. I got myself into this fucking mess. What kind of hero would I be if I let you take this?”
“…” Exhaling raggedly, England tried to speak, but he wouldn’t let him.
“I wouldn’t! I wouldn’t be a hero. A total piece of shit is what I’d be. I wouldn’t sacrifice anyone, especially not you. I…I can’t,” he said, then suddenly he felt hot, stinging tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “I can’t. I won’t let you do this.”
“America,” he said, softly, so softly that he almost lost his composure, right then and there, clutching onto England like he was a lifeline. “Do you know what a gentleman is?”
“You,” America answered without hesitation. Maybe earlier, he’d hesitate, but everything was falling apart at the seams and it was all his fault.
Slowly, England’s trembling hand reached up to cup his cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear that he didn’t even know that had gathered at his eyes. “Yes, and a gentleman always walks in front of a hero.”
“England?”
Fidgeting in the Mission Control room, America could barely hear England call back to Houston. Though there were only a few kilometres between them, which was nothing compared to the Atlantic Ocean, he felt the gap claw at him like the mark in his bayonet, run down his face in rivulets, bury him like the wet mud of that day.
He’d been there up until the moment England trudged into the spacecraft. The last time he’d held hands with him was sitting in the dingy quarantine room, touching every single dip and notch of England’s slender fingers, touched only by old books and tea leaves and rose petals and America himself. Like the stubborn nation he was, he’d refused to quarantine with anyone else. Said a goodbye and one last insult to France. Patted Canada’s hair and wished him well. Drank one last cup of tea with Liechtenstein. Made sure Sealand was taken care of by Sweden and Finland. Spent one last day with his fairy friends, Norway and Romania. Had one last dinner with Hong Kong, India, Seychelles, Australia and New Zealand. Fixed all his affairs.
No one asked why he did it. They all knew why.
“Yes. Please, start the count.” Even through the grainy scene of whatever technology had been put to help shorten their distance, it felt more potent than ever that England’s green eyes were gazing at him from a point of no return.
The count started, syncing with America’s heartbeat until it ran away into oblivion, ran away like he wanted to all the way back across the sea and into England’s garden and his warm arms, pleading for him to remember that though he was now free, he’d lost England. And that was almost too much of a price to pay.
Mission Control was filled with the sound of nothing but the roar of the rockets, echoing all those sounds of gunfire that never changed even as nations fell and people rose. Clapping, cheering. Patting each other on the back for a liftoff that should have never worked. It worked. They were going to make it, England was going to make it. The papers were already heralding a miracle in US-UK relations, one nation taking a worthy mantle to prove the worth of the personifications to Earth.
“America.”
“America. America? My country? Won’t you come celebrate this success with u - wait, wait, what’s going on-”
“What in God’s name just happened?”
“But I thought since it left our atmosphere, it-”
“Stop, no, wait-”
“England? Mr England? Houston, this is Houston, calling in. Can you hear us? Is there-”
The static was searing, deafening, burning in his ears, almost louder than the screams and frenzy of the entire room, sirens going off, cameras flashing, darkness searing. He didn’t need to hear England’s voice to understand what happened. He’d played it over and over in his mind, watching the sun set on the British Empire, who was a man curled up in his bed, sheets pulled up to his chest, turned against the window of the setting sun, green eyes sparkling with mirth, reflecting the world as he leaned over to hold him.
“Goodbye, America.”
A long time ago, when he was still wandering in Dover, when he was still Albion, he saw a baby animal much like himself, crying for their mother. Bound in a nesting bed, tiny wings straining to unfurl, straining to get free of something that was bigger than himself.
Remembering the creature’s helpless cries, mirrored by his own agony, England curled up, waiting for it to end, until it didn’t. Perhaps after all, he was destined to be like that helpless animal, calling for the things that were impossible to obtain. The stars. Unending happiness. Companionship. A mother. Freedom.
“Hey, England. I want-”
Two wings, stark white against the endless night of space, spurted from England’s back, holding him intact amongst the destruction of the vessel.
“Freedom. I want freedom, after all.”
Had the Earth always been so blue from space? It was a good thing, practically the best thing to see before one died.
Of course, nothing like America’s eyes. His were still wrapped in the waves of the vast sea, the same sea that had always tried to conquer their love like the two of them had tried to conquer it. England need not think of anything else when his eyelids fluttered shut, embracing the afterglow of his last act of freedom.
Who needed the blue of the sky, the blue of the sea, the blue of the stars, when even at the very end of the world, there would be nothing else but America?
March 19th, 2028
“He’s out there somewhere, I’m sure of it. We all saw those wings. Let me. Now.”
Hearing the hatch of the spaceship open, America exhaled once, placed down the toy soldier he’d brought on the floor of the cabin, and let go.
Though space had wanted England so desperately for themselves, as a hero, he wouldn’t let it happen. From now on, he’d decided, only he was allowed to do all the heroic stuff. England wouldn’t have to try to prove himself as one anymore; surely he’d know after this that he’d always been America’s hero, whatever he did.
America shifted his head forward. He needed to find the person who’d stubbornly let himself be turned into an angel just so he could be his hero one last time, the person who still had the only key to him, who’d let him be free at all costs.
“England. Before I forget, I, uh…I’ve never regretted two things. One is declaring my independence, and…”
Pushing past the sight of the Earth, still gleaming behind them, his sight couldn’t help but catch on the tiny island stranded in between Europe and the Americas, lonely as always, gaping from the blue sea. He’d conquer it, for England. He’d conquer the Earth. He’d conquer more than the Earth just for him. It was green, though. Green like the verdant forests of his home, green like the tea that had sunk into the water, green like the ribbon around his straw hat that he wore in his garden of roses.
“And one is falling in love with you.”