A/n: Hi guys! I'm not dead, but I am pretty sick. I'm sorry if this sucks, but I wanted to give you all something.
It was during the fourth day that week that America found himself heaving his guts out into the spare chamber pot as soon as he awoke that he decided there was no point in denying it anymore. Feeling numb, he stood and placed his hand on his stomach, wondering dully how long he had until he'd barely be able to recognize it.
"Is something wrong, love?" England asked, propping himself up with an elbow. "Other than the obvious, I mean."
"I'm pregnant, aren't I? Like really, actually, pregnant."
England sighed. "You have been, America. I told you, there's no point in fretting about it. After all, you and that child are going to be better taken care of than any other nation and child in history."
"But I-"
"No buts!" He sat up, "You trust me, don't you."
"Of course I do." He looked down, "You know that."
"Then trust me when I say- America look at me!" America looked up to meet England's eyes, already so bright before the sun had as much as peeked over the horizon. He placed his hands over his stomach reflexively, his mind focused on how he felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, "Trust me when I say that everything will be alright."
"O-okay," America said, holding his eye contact long enough not to get scolded.
"Now," England smiled again, letting America feel less exposed, "I know it's a bit late, but are you coming back to bed?"
"No," America took his newfound freedom to turn away and stretch, "I'm plenty awake now. Besides, it's gonna start getting cold soon, so I wanna be outside as much as possible."
England shrugged and laid back down, "Suit yourself."
America dressed himself quickly in his work clothes, wanting to get away from the room and the disgusting smell of his own vomit as quickly as possible. He paused only to take a drink from the pitcher of water on the bedside table to try to remove the foul taste from his mouth before leaving the house.
There was already a chill in the air. It pressed against his skin in an unwanted embrace. He pulled his cloak closer to shake it off. He knew it would only be a matter of time until he was stuck indoors with a blanket wrapped around him all day every day. What great timing God had to give him two sources of misery at once! He stopped walking and took a deep breath. Not yet, he told himself. Not yet.
He went into the stable and walked over to his horse. She was a beautiful palomino, and although she had once been highly athletic and energetic she'd slowed and fattened up a bit with age.
"Hey, Carrot," He said, gently petting her muzzle, "How've you been? Sorry I haven't been out here much, baby. I've had other things on my mind."
She leaned down to nuzzle his stomach, and for a moment America was struck by the ridiculous idea that somehow she knew. "No, that's stupid." He thought, "She's saying 'hi.' That's how she always says 'hi.'" Still, though, he couldn't quite shake the feeling. Instead he took a step back and went to feeding her and England's horse.
He watched them as they ate, feeling as though he was standing two feet further back than he actually was. Once they had finished he went to gather his gear.
"You ready to go for a ride, girl?" He asked, placing the old, faded blanket across her back. "It's not gonna be too far, just out to the cliff. Just you and me. It'll be fun."
She gently prodded his arm with her muzzle, which he took to be a yes. He finished getting her ready and led her out of the stable before climbing into the saddle. America gave her strong neck one last pat before urging her forward into the woods.
A Year of Surprises [4a/12]
September
A/n: Hi guys! I'm not dead, but I am pretty sick. I'm sorry if this sucks, but I wanted to give you all something.
It was during the fourth day that week that America found himself heaving his guts out into the spare chamber pot as soon as he awoke that he decided there was no point in denying it anymore. Feeling numb, he stood and placed his hand on his stomach, wondering dully how long he had until he'd barely be able to recognize it.
"Is something wrong, love?" England asked, propping himself up with an elbow. "Other than the obvious, I mean."
"I'm pregnant, aren't I? Like really, actually, pregnant."
England sighed. "You have been, America. I told you, there's no point in fretting about it. After all, you and that child are going to be better taken care of than any other nation and child in history."
"But I-"
"No buts!" He sat up, "You trust me, don't you."
"Of course I do." He looked down, "You know that."
"Then trust me when I say- America look at me!" America looked up to meet England's eyes, already so bright before the sun had as much as peeked over the horizon. He placed his hands over his stomach reflexively, his mind focused on how he felt like a bug under a magnifying glass, "Trust me when I say that everything will be alright."
"O-okay," America said, holding his eye contact long enough not to get scolded.
"Now," England smiled again, letting America feel less exposed, "I know it's a bit late, but are you coming back to bed?"
"No," America took his newfound freedom to turn away and stretch, "I'm plenty awake now. Besides, it's gonna start getting cold soon, so I wanna be outside as much as possible."
England shrugged and laid back down, "Suit yourself."
America dressed himself quickly in his work clothes, wanting to get away from the room and the disgusting smell of his own vomit as quickly as possible. He paused only to take a drink from the pitcher of water on the bedside table to try to remove the foul taste from his mouth before leaving the house.
There was already a chill in the air. It pressed against his skin in an unwanted embrace. He pulled his cloak closer to shake it off. He knew it would only be a matter of time until he was stuck indoors with a blanket wrapped around him all day every day. What great timing God had to give him two sources of misery at once! He stopped walking and took a deep breath. Not yet, he told himself. Not yet.
He went into the stable and walked over to his horse. She was a beautiful palomino, and although she had once been highly athletic and energetic she'd slowed and fattened up a bit with age.
"Hey, Carrot," He said, gently petting her muzzle, "How've you been? Sorry I haven't been out here much, baby. I've had other things on my mind."
She leaned down to nuzzle his stomach, and for a moment America was struck by the ridiculous idea that somehow she knew. "No, that's stupid." He thought, "She's saying 'hi.' That's how she always says 'hi.'" Still, though, he couldn't quite shake the feeling. Instead he took a step back and went to feeding her and England's horse.
He watched them as they ate, feeling as though he was standing two feet further back than he actually was. Once they had finished he went to gather his gear.
"You ready to go for a ride, girl?" He asked, placing the old, faded blanket across her back. "It's not gonna be too far, just out to the cliff. Just you and me. It'll be fun."
She gently prodded his arm with her muzzle, which he took to be a yes. He finished getting her ready and led her out of the stable before climbing into the saddle. America gave her strong neck one last pat before urging her forward into the woods.