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"Great is the guilt of an unnecessary war."
– John Adams
"Forgiveness does not change the past, but it does enlarge the future."
- Paul Boese
With a swift gesture he turned the handle for the faucet making his steaming hot shower end. He stood in the bathtub feeling each droplet of water gently cruise down his clean peach skin. For some reason a weird sense of deja vu was spreading across him as the chill of the summer evening invaded the room. He stepped out of the tub carefully onto his bathmat then sauntered over to the mirror, firmly placing his hands on the countertop of the sink. That is when he allowed himself to stare at his reflection as flicks of water dripped from his blonde hair, making his own personal rain shower as he glowered at himself.
His eyebrows had gotten thicker then his brother's.
What an accomplishment.
Though, he found it sickening to just stare at himself in a mirror like a narcissistic girl, for some reason he couldn't pull his grass green eyes away from the mirror's image. He hated the one glaring imperfection that graced his face in all its hairy glory. He loathed his eyebrows, so much that rather then drying off, dressing himself and getting to the UN Security Council meeting, he'd prefer to stand there clothed in nothing more then a towel around his waist and glare at the caterpillar abominations that rested soundly above his eyes, and possibly catch a nasty cold in the process.
Bloody hell, he was becoming a girl.
"Arthur!" a voice shouted from outside the small washroom.
"Mr. Kirkland!" another called in a panic, "We're going to be late if you don't get out of there."
He continued staring trying to remember how he used to deal with the hair on his face before the world became so...Connected... Only to find himself reminiscing about the days of his youth. The days where he would sail the seas without a care in the world really. Then it hit him, faster and harder then a cannonball, which had been launched to destroy an enemy fleet. If he wanted to deal with this hairy situation, he'd have to go see one of his old colonies... One which he didn't dare to even greet at the Halloween party last year...
"Mister Grant..." He said carefully, "I don't think I'll be needed at this meeting. Go on ahead without me."
"Oh... Of course Mr. Kirkland."
He heard one set of footsteps briskly move away from the door and head off to the meeting in Geneva, while he moved his eyes to the crack beneath the door. One set of feet stayed carefully planted by the door and seemed to refuse to move from that spot.
"Scotland." England spoke firmly, "Aren't you suppose to be voting on your split from our United Kingdom?"
"Not when you're takin' such a bloody long time in the John ya' twerp."
England lowered his head and laughed a bit before turning his eyes back to the door with a small grin.
"Then maybe once I'm done in here would you like to accompany on some UK business?"
There was a pause before the elder responded, "Sure, I'll join ya'. But you need to get your arse out of the damn John before I piss on th' bloody door alright?"
And they left it at that.
---
As soon as they arrived he watched the Scotsman dash off into the local markets on the hunt for the rare whiskey that only military officials were allowed to have in their possession. He remembered the name vaguely from the days where he was leading the security forces of the colony; McDowell's No.1 Reserve Premium Whisky. Leaving the Brit all alone to find the one person he was looking for. It had been a while since he had last been on the dusty streets of his former colony. The nostalgia was almost deadly as he looked down roads and saw his past actions reanimate right before his eyes. The guilt was making him ill, as he remembered the protests, the deception, and the conflict that was almost as bad as the one he faced with that darn punk America. While reliving the past the short Brit banged into one of the scared animals roaming the streets without a care in the world. He stared at it for a long while before the angry bovine smacked it's face into his chest knocking over the Brit, leaving him lying there on his back in the middle of the dusty road. He lay there for a few moments staring up into the blue sky trying to remember why he even bothered coming here when the tables of fate turned in his favour for once.
"England bhaji?" The Brit's back stiffened at the face leaning in his field of view.
His face must've looked so comedic as the light brown face of thick accented teen began to chuckle then held out a pastel brown hand.
"What are you doing lying in the middle of the road bhaji? Here, get up before the officers get here."
He relaxed and quickly grabbed the hand and allowed himself to get hoisted up. The brown teen quickly let go of the pale hand and adjusted his clothes before returning his almost hazel eyes to the Brit.
"Uhm..." he hesitated, "Would you like to come to my house? The forecast says it should be storming here soon."
There was a moment of deep thought before the Brit replied, "Uh, yes. That would be a good plan."
Just as the officers arrived to the scene of the potential assault on a cow the assumed criminal and the locale's favourite man were headed out of the streets and into the suburbs.
---
They arrived at the luxurious house just before the afternoon shower began and England found himself enjoying the colorful textiles around the flat. Before long he soon smelt fresh chai being brewed and heard his former colony shout from the kitchen.
"Please bhaji, take a seat. Make yourself at home!"
"Ah! Y-Yes!"
He sat on the chaise and stared out the wide window wondering what mischief his older brother had gotten himself into this time around. Was he in a tavern? Or was he with a... He stopped himself as he heard a clatter come from the kitchen then saw the simply dressed man come out of the kitchen with two mugs of piping hot chai in his hands.
"Oh, thank you India bah-gee." England said carefully.
"No problem." the man replied sharply, "And not so harshly bhaji. The words should flow naturally off your tongue. Plus, I am younger than you, so the 'bhaji' is unnecessary."
England nodded as India sat across from him on an ottoman, shoulders slightly hunched over as his gently shaped brows knotted tightly. The Indian was staring him down taking deep gulps of his tea, his brown eyes seemed bitter. This could turn nasty very quickly if he didn't choose his words carefully. As he maintained his gentlemanly composure he racked his brain for a way to make this awkward air a bit more natural. Before long he knew what was the best way to turn this around. If he complimented India on something, it would just be a natural, light hearted conversation and he remembered hearing that compliments were the best way to start a conversation. After all, everyone likes a good compliment. This tactic was fail-safe.
"The Chai tea is delicious."
"Thank you. But you said chai wrong, and pretty much just said 'tea tea' bhaji..." India responded flatly.
England felt a drop of sweat retreat down the back of his neck as he swallowed nervously, watching his no-fail plan fail. His brain and heart were racing in a panic filled daze. He knew he had made a mistake coming here. The past still formed an impenetrable barrier between the two of them; a barrier that would never collapse because he was such a damn possessive brat in the past. Dammit. He was so frickin'-
"Your eyebrows have become thicker bhaji..."
His internal self-loathing stopped for a moment as he took in the comment. "Pardon me?"
India sipped his chai calmly, "Your eyebrows have become thicker." He looked up at the Brit with a smirk, "Looks like your curse on Hong Kong rebounded and made your eyebrows worse."
England found himself flabbergasted by the comment and began to rub his eyebrows absent mindedly earning a laugh from the once bitter teen. They sat there across from each other in a melancholy silence once the laughter ceased, and the messy blonde man turned his head to stare out the glassless windows out over the city that had slums at the edges. He saw the clouds in the sky slowly drifting along, while waiting for the moment to strike. Despite the fact that the sky was blue, the man had a feeling that a storm was brewing. As his green eyes continued to observe the condensed water that continued to float on outside of the room, a voice made his head rotate back to hear the conversation at hand.
"…fix them…" was all he caught coming from the pale brown lips across from him.
"…Huh?" he found himself spewing.
God, save him instead of the Queen, he sounded so incompetent right now.
"What is wrong with you today England? Seeing flying rabbits again?" the Indian gave a hearty chuckle. "I said I could fix your eye brows. That is why you visited after all right?"
He knew it.
A storm must be brewing for sure if the teen across from him was being so agreeable. England turned his forest green eyes to look out the glassless window and saw the bright blue sky, which had clouds littering it in the distance. Thunder called out like a vicious tiger in the distance preparing for the eventual conflict, which made the lion return his gaze to the gracious teen. That is when the question was answered with a swift yes, and the chai was quickly finished.
---
It was… Strange.
He found himself lying on his back staring up at the white stucco roof, which was being assaulted with the afternoon shower, while he heard India scurry about looking for sewing thread. His thoughts continued to drift between the past events and the present; news articles flickering through his mind while a message continued ringing out within his mind.
He shouldn't be here.
Especially when he knew that India and America were currently planning to work together for military purposes. His two colonies that fought back with their own types of force were going to be teaming up. Yet, the feminine 'I must have thinner eyebrows' side of him got him stuck lying on a bunch of cushions looking up at a roof while his brother was off getting drunk and possibly hooking up with a-
"I sincerely apologize for the wait!" India shouted as he came back into the main room.
England's shoulders stiffened as India came over with another cup of chai in his hands. Speaking of which. The cardamon from his cup was still resting heavily in his mouth; he should've declined the tea. It was an unkind taste to have in one's mouth during such a stressful situation. He looked up at the cheery teen and felt the chai swirl in his stomach; this was a situation that he couldn't avoid. In fact, it almost seemed to be inevitable that he wound up back in this open air space as the thunder rumbled in the distance signaling a start to an unlikely encounter. India dabbed some rubbing alcohol on a cotton ball and ran it along the Brit's brows making the smaller man twitch a bit.
"You know, it might be a bit easier if you closed your eyes…" the teen spoke sincerely.
England's eyebrows knotted at the comment.
"Also, don't do that."
England relaxed, taking the teen's advice and closed his eyes taking in the smell of rubbing alcohol that was assaulting his nostrils. He felt the gentle brushing of baby powder along his brows that slowly soothed the burning sensation that was in his nostrils. As he took a deep breath in he could hear the careful unraveling of sewing thread from it spool. England tensed as he heard India mutter something between clenched teeth and slowly bring the thread to his eyebrow. What followed was unexplainable. He heard the sound of each individual hair carefully being pulled out with the thread. The more he thought about the sound, the more he began to think of guitar cords. It was an orchestra of tiny bee stings, as he soon began to feel the throbbing pain of the threading begin to sink in. Before long, he felt the gentle brushing of the thread passing through his eyelashes making him tense up a bit; forcing the practiced thread master to stop.
"England bhaji, please put your hand here, and the other here… Good, now hold it tight."
England lay there holding his left hand on his eyelid pulling the delicate flesh down, while his right hand carefully tugged the skin above his eyebrow upward making the skin taught. In a few short seconds he heard the thread uncurling again, and his body tensed for the impending pain. The thread ripped out every tiny strand with the utmost speed; almost as if the hair was virtually non-existent on his brow. He tried to slow his breath, though, a strange sensation was rising in his chest. One of temptation to open his eye to see the serious, pre-occupied look on the teen's face, as he bit down fiercely on the sewing thread. It would be quite the sight to see, but the scent of sandalwood washing over him from the slim neck above him made memories of the past surface.
The Battle of Plassey…
The Indian Rebellion of 1857…
And worse of all…
The Jallianwala Bagh Massacre…
"Why am I here again?" he thought within his cranium as his entire body tensed up.
Blurred memories of the massacre began to rip through his mind with the speed of a flying bullet. The terrifying moments began to paint his eyes red as he remembered all the casualties. The atrocity of the actions of one man ended up ruining the lives of tens of thousands. To this day, there hasn't been a true apology. In fact, the entire story of the revolution that occurred in his former colony was littered with false claims and bloodshed. If there was one word to describe his nation's track record with it's colonies it had to be one that started with the fearsome letter which resembled a cross, like the many that adorned his nation's flag.
terrifying.
He suddenly felt a jolt of pain radiate from his left brow and an impressive amount of heat begin to radiate in waves across his newly shaped brow.
"England! I told you to relax! Now you have a cut." India cursed in his native tongue.
The younger man carefully got up; his bones cracking from sitting crossed legged for so long as he began to look for his first aid kit. England took this moment to open his eyes and relax his now rigid arms. His shoulders responded with a satisfying crack, making him sigh as the memories continued to overflow like a cup that was unable to hold all of the liquid that was being spilled into it. He felt the blood escaping his tiny open wound above his eye and began to wish that he didn't even step into this third world country. It wasn't until he smelled the scent of sandalwood soap return to the space around his that he placed his hands over his sullen eyes.
"I'm sorry…" he muttered as his teeth began to clench tightly.
There was a moment of silence before he heard a voice stutter in response, "P-Pardon?"
"I'm sorry.." The emotion rising in him caused him to shout out the words that we're choking his throat, "I'm sorry for everything that I did to you!"
Thunder roared in the background, and lightning lit the room, as the rain outside poured even harder making the scent of sandalwood become drowned in the clean scent of wet grass. The two stayed quiet, carefully assessing the situations they both were placed in as two entities and as a pair. He could feel the brick brown eyes of the teen focusing on him, making his body overheat with embarrassment. He never apologized to anyone before, so in this situation where he didn't even dare to look at the victim as he uttered such important words… Not only did he feel ashamed he also felt utterly defeated as his jade eyes began to water with guilt painting his hands a liquid peach. Warmth suddenly flitted along the misshapen mop upon his head, sending a sensation of comfort throughout his fibers, coaxing him to open his eyes. Once open he saw the gentle frown of India quickly rise in one corner to give a lame smile.
"Let the past remain where it is…" was spoken between a careful exhale.
The late to arrive lightning lit the room with a ferocious crack illuminating the older man's face in the darkening room. He saw the younger man jump at the sight then relax once the room took on it's mid afternoon shade of grey, allowing the two to retreat within their minds once again. Silence rendered the afternoon a depressing scene as India's breathing fell in line with the droplets of rain hitting the tin roof of the villa next door. England took the moment to cover his exposed weakness until he felt the scent of sandalwood return.
"Let me finish the other brow." India breathed as his voice was drowned out by thunder, "Then I suggest you stay for the night, the storm has yet to pass."
A beat passed as England thought of a reply, "Do you have rum?"
"Of course." A chuckle came from the milk chocolate lips of the younger nation.
"Then I think you better bring out the bottle."
The Indian left the room and begun rummaging through the kitchen with a smirk on his face.
The eye of the storm had yet to pass, and he didn't want to be awake when it reared it's ugly head and spoke words of truth once again.
---
He woke up to find himself lying on the dusty wooden floor amongst lovely tapestry, cushions, cigarette butts and empty bottles. He picked up the first bottle near him which read "Old Monk: 7 Year Old Rum", he placed the bottle down feeling a odd tingling sensation in his stomach then grabbed the next one which read "McDowell's No. 1 Celebration Rum". A bit of bile rose in his throat as a feeling of dread mixed in with the pain rising in his head. A thought then popped into his mind dulling the pain as he began crawling along the floor looking at all the empty bottles that lay scattered across the floor.
"Shivas XXX Rum".
"Shivas Fine Brandy".
"Day Night XXX Rum".
"Capton Rum".
"Capton Whiskey".
"Sea Breeze Brandy".
"British Empire Premium Matured Brandy".
The Englishman sat up groggily holding the empty brandy bottle in one hand while resting his elbow on his knee, looking to see if the bottle named after him had any of it's precious contents left. He then held the glass loosely in his worn out hand as he brought his palm to his forehead and let out a long sigh.
"What the fuh-?"
As the thought concluded he smelt chai beginning to boil in the kitchen, and with every so wiggly legs he slowly brought himself up and waddled to the next room. There, with bags under his eyes and thread tossed about his hair and clothes was India slaving over a hot stove for a single cup of the traditional tea. He watched the teen yawn, stretch then look toward the Brit looking like a ray of sunshine parting the grey clouds that still hung in the sky, which made the vomit that was tempted to come out begin to bubble dangerously. What could've possibly happened after all the alcohol he poured into his stomach began to take affect? As the tea was poured into the white ceramic mug another thought echoed like a gong in his mind, his older brother was probably out in the city plastered to the floor of a dingy bar or night club, and very close to getting locked up. The more England thought about this, the more he began to feel nauseous.
"You still hold your liquor well I see." India mused as he handed the paling blonde his cup.
"Ah? Why yes, I guess I do." His response was pained.
India smiled a bit making England's stomach feel less ill.
"Your eyebrows look very good bhaji."
He looked up from the brown liquid's void as the comment sank in. He then quickly put the cup down on the steel counter top and grabbed a nearby pan looking at it's pristine sheen to be greeted by a man with slimmer brows then his own. A bullet train raced through his mind with various composed responses to say, though only a few words stumbled out of his mouth in the most ungracious manner.
"Oh my god…"
India's smiled widened as he brought his own mug to his lips to take a sip of the steaming tea. England continued to make faces in the reflective metal, taking pride in the shapely and thinned out brows. As he continued to pose for the invisible camera the paining thought of his brother in a puddle of whiskey made him decide it was time to leave. He looked to India with eyes of despair explaining himself and thanking him for the favor and accommodations.
"Alright, but take the tea with you." India spoke smoothly.
"May I ask why? You have such an exquisite cup. Are you alright with parting with it?"
India nodded his head then spoke once again with his melodic voice, "Your brother will need it much more than you do after all."
Taken aback by the sharp retort England looked to India then the ceramic mug before agreeing and departing with quick goodbyes making sure to keep his blazer between his thumb and forefinger as he strolled onto the street. As he walked, the Englishmen was vigilant to make sure he had no sharp encounters with any bovine roaming the roads. A droplet of rain fell on his shoulder, then another into the tea he kept close to his chest.
The gentle shower began to bring back feelings long forgotten the gentleman clothed in black. Feelings that he began to think that could be expressed in the form of a song. He'd definitely need to pick up his guitar when he got home after years of leaning it against a wall, or maybe he'd play the citar like he used to back in his pirate-
"Oi! Oi, England!"
The feelings quickly shifted as he saw his brother stumble out of a local club looking like the devil himself. His red hair spiked ironically on the sides as he grinned looking incredibly sinister as he fiddled with his pants that hung around his ankles. Geeze, he still wondered whether or not they were really related or if he was possibly adopted. He made his way to the stumbling fool handing the mug to the Scotsman who stared at the mug for a long time. Once the man took a sip a look of satisfaction came across his usually stern face. England then felt a strange heat come across his hair as Scotland smirked devilishly.
"And jus' what were ya' doing last night little brother?"
"N-Nothing…"
"Oh really?" The Scotmen snickered, "Then where'd t'his come from?"
Dangling right in front of his deep green eyes was a long strand of sewing thread tied into a careful loop. A thread that helped to trigger a long flow of memories of just what exactly happened last night along with the brighter memories, which India and England spent together. His lips curled up in a familiar delightful feeling, despite the fact his face was heating up in embarrassment. He must've isolated his mind from the conversation happening around him because soon he felt himself get smacked upside the head with a large hand.
"Hey! Ya' didn't answer me ques'tion." His brother shouted as he then took another sip of tea.
"I guess I must've… Gone to a friend's house?"
Thunder cracked as his brother stared at him for a long time, letting the rain fill in the emptiness within the void. England carefully pried the thread from the uncaring hands of the older nation who contently sipped his chai without a care in the world, while England reminisced with the thread of cheery memories he held in his now chilly hands.
The storm had passed, and the thread had finally unwoven.