Chapter 1 - Small Miracles

"What do you want, America?"

"Haha, wow England!  How'd ya know it was me?"

"I repeat:  what do you want, America?"

England's voice drawled slowly and meticulously though the telephone and America couldn't help but laugh obnoxiously at the way he said things funny.  He could just picture England's scowl deepening and sure enough –

"What the bloody hell is so amusing?"

America grinned and his sky blue eyes twinkled mischievously behind his glasses.  "Uhh, nothing!  D'you wanna come over and play some video games with me?  I'm sooooo bored!"  America stopped talking and squeezed the phone and hoped – no, wait, he didn't hope – totally not –

"No, America.  I'm busy."

"But Englaaaaaaand!"

"But nothing.  And stop whining.  I really haven't the foggiest why you are so disappointed."

America answered right away.  "No, no – that's okay, really.  I know you have a schedule.  And I'm so not disappointed."

"Of course not."  England paused in case the boy had it in mind to cut him off again.  Miraculously, he remained silent.  England cleared his throat.

"Right.  Well.  Goodbye, America."

"Yeah, okay.  Good luck and stuff."  America was secretly glad that England wasn't around to witness his glum expression.  The phone clicked with a sense of finality and America slammed the receiver down enthusiastically.  Whatever!  He'd just visit Canadia…or something.  He had hardly taken two steps before the phone rang.  He whipped around and snatched it up, hoping the cord was still attached.

"England?!"

The man on the other end spluttered.  "Idiot!  Do not assume such things.  What if it was someone else?"

America, for some reason, couldn't stop grinning.  "But it is you."

England spluttered again and America had to physically cover his mouth to stop himself from guffawing, lest he anger the old man.  "That is absolute hogwash.  You have no logic whatsoever."
England trailed off as America exploded in laughter, unable to contain himself anymore.  "'Hogwash,' England?"  More laughter.  "Dude, you are soooooooo weird."

England scoffed loudly enough to interrupt the continual snorting.  "Firstly, don't call me that.  Secondly, kindly shut it so I can speak."  America obliged – with some difficulty – to the second command, but never would he to the first.

England waited, choosing to ignore the random chuckles and chortles and continued.  "I just want to say that the reason I didn't accept your invitation is because I am not prepared to book a flight and sit on a plane for six hours just to play those horrendous video games."  A pause.  "And you surprised me."

America fiddled with the unbroken phone cord.

"But you knew that it was me."

A sigh.  "Yes, I did.  But I did not expect you to actually invite me somewhere, as ridiculous the invitation might be."

"Oh…"  Oops.  "I mean, well of course that'd surprise you – no one else does it, haha!"

A near growl sounded over the phone, but America cut it off.   "But you actually called back!  I guess you're nicer when you're surprised.  Maybe I should do it more often!"

Another drawl.  "I should hope not."

"Aw, come on!  Come over!"

"No."

"Englaaaaand!"

"I assure you, boy that I am not worth whining over."

America frowned at that, but only for a second since England kept talking.  "I don't see why I should come over there.  Why not you come here for a change?  If you're so desperate, that is."

England knew America would refuse before he even made the suggestion.

"No way, dude!  Your place is weird and rainy and full of invisible unicorns and shit.  Besides – it's so messed-up seeing all the McDonalds there.  So not you, man."  England twitched on the other side of the Atlantic and pinched the bridge of his nose.  "If you are quite finished."

"Haha, you're so frumpy."

"Moron."

"Weird British guy."

"Half-wit."

"Stodgy old man."

"Ugh.  Enough of this nonsense."

America threw his fist up in the air.  "I win!"

"What?  There was nothing to win, you fool!"  England scoffed…again.  "There is obviously no point in conversing with you any longer."

America blanched, but didn't really.

"Wait!"

"What?"  England sounded genuinely annoyed now.

"Uhhh…"  America let go of the phone cord and scratched at the back of his head intelligently.

"Merry almost Christmas."

"Oh…"  A throat was cleared.  "You as well, America."

"See ya soon!"

Click. 

 Shit, thought America.  England actually had won the insulting game when he had called him a fool.  Daaaanm!

Meanwhile, England grimaced as he put the phone down gently.  He hadn't been fast enough to escape that last statement.  He scratched at the fake white moustache adorning his lip before peeling it off entirely along with the matching beard.  How people could stand to dress up as Santa Clause for hours on end was certainly beyond him.  The heavy coat and hat were next off, followed by the large black belt and velvet trousers (over his own.)  He hadn't bothered with the stuffing.  That was not worth his energy.

Bollocks.  America should not have been worth his energy either.  But the boy always found some way to weasel his way into England's life without the slightest warning whatsoever.

England folded the costume with a bit more vigour than he usually would use with clothing.  He supposed he would have to see the lad sooner than later.  Knowing America, (how England wished he didn't know the child) he wouldn't give up until he had got what he wanted.

Why does he always want to see me?

The thought popped up suddenly and England tried to banish it from his mind…without success as he forced the Santa Clause costume deep into the corner of his bedroom closet.

Well…it wasn't like America always wanted to see him, (God help him if that were the case) but when he did…he was certainly very adamant about it.

England sat down on his bead.  He ran a hand through his messy blond hair and it then flopped down to rest on top of the covers.

"Bloody hell."

Why did the boy have such an impact on him?  England could go for days without even remembering those wiser-than-you-would-think blue eyes, that puppy dog face or that obnoxious mouth and then the insufferable sod would just up and give him a ring…for video games of all the insignificant, redundant things.

At this moment, a concerned pixie crept from around a pillow and flew daintily to rest on England's shoulder.  He smiled at her, his expression thin and worn and he extended his pinkie finger to touch her tiny green hand in greeting.  He stiffened slightly as she moved to whisper in her ear.  Odd…  In modern English, too.  It was a rare event that the Fae chose to speak and even rarer for it not to be in old English.  Her voice was surprisingly clear for such a small entity, like the bells of Saint Clements ringing in the morning sunrise.

"Go.  He is your friend, I know.  Do not tarry; do not be slow for I cannot bear to see your spirits so low."

And just like that she smiled, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and flitted away.   England closed his eyes and sat.  When the Fae were not playing tricks, it was wise to listen to their advice.

His large eyebrows twitched.

But it was America, after all.  And he just didn't know what to call him these days.  A friend, she had said.  England re-opened his eyes and stood up, the bed creaking slightly.

"Stupid blighter."

He made his way downstairs, arms stiff at his sides – through the empty hallways and into the kitchen where he busied himself by moodily brewing a cup of tea.  As the water boiled in his electric kettle, (thank God for small miracles) England looked out the window at the cloudless sky.  Ha.  It was not always raining here.  Come to think of it, the sky did resemble the lad's eyes –

Thankfully, the whistling of the kettle snapped England out of his reverie and firmly back to reality.

He stirred the milk and lemon into his cup of Earl Grey and eyed the brandy 'hidden' on the corner of the counter.  It would ruin the taste, but…  "Just a tad," England muttered to himself and splashed 'a tad' into his cup.  He placed it on a saucer and made his way to the couch in the next room, sitting heavily upon it.

He drank his (alcoholic) tea and tried to think of things that had nothing whatsoever to do with America.  When this plan failed utterly, England closed his eyes and decided that – since his brain would not comply with reason – he would think about America as a young child.  When he wasn't rebellious, obnoxious, rude, aggravating…

England must have fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, night had fallen and an annoying buzzing sound was rousing his from slumber.  He vaguely noticed his cup and saucer sitting on the small glass table in front of the couch; probably a stray brownie looking out for him.  The annoying buzzing sound, he realized, was coming from his cell phone vibrating against the glass.  How lovely.

With a sigh and a sinking suspicion of who the caller was, England stood slowly, stretched, and crossed the room to pick up the phone.  He opened it and had it halfway to his ear with a biting retort in mind when he realized that it was a text.

Oh.

That, at least, confirmed his suspicion.  Who else but America would have the gall to text him?

Right.  Best get this over with.

England squinted in the dark to read the small, glowing screen.

Hey Artie!  sup?  come over – im bored.

England took a minute to compose himself before replying.

Don't call me that.  And no.  It's currently 10:00 at night.

Buzz.

no its not.

Send.

*It's*  YES, it is.

Buzz.

not here!  come oooooon!  and you type really slow :P

Send.

Too bad.  Go away.

At this, England turned off his cell phone and closed it with a snap, praying America wouldn't have the audacity to actually phone him on the home phone.

Thankfully, he did not.

And England spent the first few hours of the night not sleeping.  He really shouldn't have had that kip on the couch.  Or the alcohol.

~          *          ~

Over the next few days, England received texts (because he had to turn his phone back on for work) from America; (duuuuuude, i'm not gonna stop bugging u!) phone calls from America; (Kiku comes all the way from Japan, England.  I mean, come on!) and passed on messages through other Nations from America. (T'Américque dit que tu dois – stop speaking in that bloody language, frog!)

Until, one day, ten days from that first phone call, England received an e-mail from the stupid lad with only one word:  "Surprise."

England stared at it.  "What the devil?"  He stared at it some more, confusion being the predominant emotion in his mind and most certainly not surprise.

"Tch."  England frowned as he lowered his fingers to the keys to reply.

America,
I cannot believe that I am replying to this, but what are you talking about?
England

Hardly fifteen seconds had passed after he had hit the send button and he had a reply.  The boy was probably waiting at the damned computer.

With a sigh of resignation, England opened the e-mail.  And nearly had a heart-attack.  It read:  

Arthuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuur!  The next meeting is in NEW YORK!  Hahahahahahaha, now you HAVE to come see me.  Surprised now?
Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuv from Alfred.  >8D

England stared slack-jawed at the screen as an e-mail notification from his boss floated up serenely to greet him, confirming the meeting to be in New York City, New York State, bloody fucking America.

England closed the e-mail and then his eyes, breathing heavily.  When he opened them again, they shone with a playful malice.  Okay.  America wanted to make this a game.  A game of surprises.  Well, two could certainly play at that.  Quite easily, in fact.

England grinned, rose from the computer chair and went to plan his counter-attack.