Oh my goodness, thank you so much, everyone, for your warm praise. This is my first time writing USUK, so seeing how much everyone likes it is really heartening. However, I would like to apologize for the ending… Endings are not my strong suit, I'm afraid. Side notes: The battle to which England refers is the Battle of Towton, during the English War of the Roses, in March 1461. Meanwhile, the Battle of Antietam (September 1862) is considered the bloodiest single day battle in America history (22,700 dead, missing or wounded on both sides combined). 1946 is a reference to the special relationship between the US and UK, the phrase first mentioned that year in a speech by Winston Churchill. TW: mentions / discussion of miscarriage
In the end, it wasn't the conference that did England in; it was a comment, well meant but poorly timed, during a tea break.
How far along were you supposed to be?
America bit the inside of his cheek, wanting to swoop in and deflect the question, change the subject, but it wasn't his conversation to have. Besides which, England would have no doubt gotten on him about his "tendency to play the hero."
All things considered, he noted as he watched her set her teacup aside and quietly excuse herself from the conversation, and then from the room entirely, he would have preferred being gotten on about his tendencies. For several minutes, he kept half an eye on the door, waiting for England to return, to be the picture of poise and grace and all those other fine English adjectives she liked to embody. When she didn't return after fifteen minutes, he promised himself another five; when the another five passed in the same, England-less manner, he gave up on his tea and his conversation and left the hall to find her.
It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be, and he wasn't sure if that was good or bad. It cut out a lot of worrying, but he was following quiet little half-cries and sniffles that said a lot more than he could ever hope to describe. Eventually, America did find her sitting on a bench outside an unused conference hall, dabbing at her eyes and cheeks with tissue. He settled onto the seat next to her, and when he spoke, it was soft, as though he was afraid of intruding. "Hey, are you—"
"That—" England dried her eyes and sat up a little straighter. "That was out of line. I'm sorry."
"Why are you apologizing?" America asked, genuinely surprised.
"I'm a Nation." England twisted the tissue in her hands. "I'm made of sterner stuff than that."
"England—" America started.
"God, what the hell's wrong with me?" She balled the tissue up in her fist.
America sighed deeply, considered his shoes for several moments, before looking at England out of the corner of his eye. "Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie out my ass to make you feel better?"
"I don't need your sass, Alfred Jones," England replied archly.
"I'm being serious," he said, reaching over and laying his hands on hers. "Do you want a truthful answer?"
"You're not giving yourself time to grieve," America said, his voice soft, almost respectful, but straightforward. He brushed his thumb across her knuckles, the gesture somewhere between soothing and languid. "You want to convince everyone you're tough—and that includes yourself—and it's not working."
England pulled back from America—more specifically, from his suggestion. "I've lost almost twenty-eight thousand soldiers in one battle and gotten over it with little to no grieving at all."
"That's not the same thing," America pointed out quietly.
"Why?" Her voice was starting to rise, almost imperceptibly to anyone who didn't have the ear for it, with emotion. "Those men lost were someone's children, were they not?"
"That's a different kind of grief," America said, thinking briefly of Antietam and the subsequent outpouring of grief. He pushed the thoughts away, took another deep breath, and continued. "Those mothers got to know their child." He reached over and took her hands in his once more. "We didn't get that chance, and no one's going to blame you for grieving for it."
"Was it something I did?" England asked. "Sometimes I feel like if I had—"
"No," he cut off, knowing more or less what was on her mind. "It wasn't anything you did or didn't do."
"Then… why?" She laid her head on his shoulder and, for what America could only guess was the first time, started to quietly cry.
"…I don't know," America admitted, loosely wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Maybe she would push him away, maybe not, but wasn't the point to try to make her feel better? That was one of the things he signed on for when he first said I love you in '46?
Ultimately, she didn't push him away, or pull him closer. She remained where she was and took America up on his suggestion to let herself grieve. Though he didn't say anything on the matter, he knew that England knew he was grieving with her.
The grieving process is very important. It can be actually hurtful to not allow yourself to grieve. Though, people do so in different ways.
I think you approached this topic very well. You have me crying here. And, it's not just that I'm such a sap. This was a very heartfelt and emotional piece.
You also stayed very true to the essence of the characters. I'm almost glad you didn't indicate who asked the question that caused England's breakdown.
(A!Anon replies very late. Sorry.) First of all: Thank you so much for your warm praise. It really means a lot to me. <3
I've only gone through grieving process three times, and those were all very different experiences. However, it's an important thing-- as with any strong emotion, keeping it bottled up ends terribly. (Trust me on this on.)
I'm very glad you liked the piece, but I am sorry it made you cry. This is going to sound really weird, but I wasn't making an active effort for it to be really emotional. A little sad, but nothing to make people cry.
Trying to keep everyone true to spirit was a fun challenge, and I'm happy you think I did that. As to who asked the question, I thought long and hard about who it was going to be, but I ultimately decided against it for two reasons: I didn't want to demonize or make any other character seem like a jackass, and it ultimately didn't matter when the focus was on America and England.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Grief Laid Aside [2a/2]
(Anonymous) 2013-06-14 03:45 am (UTC)(link)Side notes: The battle to which England refers is the Battle of Towton, during the English War of the Roses, in March 1461. Meanwhile, the Battle of Antietam (September 1862) is considered the bloodiest single day battle in America history (22,700 dead, missing or wounded on both sides combined). 1946 is a reference to the special relationship between the US and UK, the phrase first mentioned that year in a speech by Winston Churchill.
TW: mentions / discussion of miscarriage
In the end, it wasn't the conference that did England in; it was a comment, well meant but poorly timed, during a tea break.
How far along were you supposed to be?
America bit the inside of his cheek, wanting to swoop in and deflect the question, change the subject, but it wasn't his conversation to have. Besides which, England would have no doubt gotten on him about his "tendency to play the hero."
All things considered, he noted as he watched her set her teacup aside and quietly excuse herself from the conversation, and then from the room entirely, he would have preferred being gotten on about his tendencies. For several minutes, he kept half an eye on the door, waiting for England to return, to be the picture of poise and grace and all those other fine English adjectives she liked to embody. When she didn't return after fifteen minutes, he promised himself another five; when the another five passed in the same, England-less manner, he gave up on his tea and his conversation and left the hall to find her.
It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be, and he wasn't sure if that was good or bad. It cut out a lot of worrying, but he was following quiet little half-cries and sniffles that said a lot more than he could ever hope to describe. Eventually, America did find her sitting on a bench outside an unused conference hall, dabbing at her eyes and cheeks with tissue. He settled onto the seat next to her, and when he spoke, it was soft, as though he was afraid of intruding. "Hey, are you—"
"That—" England dried her eyes and sat up a little straighter. "That was out of line. I'm sorry."
"Why are you apologizing?" America asked, genuinely surprised.
"I'm a Nation." England twisted the tissue in her hands. "I'm made of sterner stuff than that."
"England—" America started.
"God, what the hell's wrong with me?" She balled the tissue up in her fist.
America sighed deeply, considered his shoes for several moments, before looking at England out of the corner of his eye. "Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie out my ass to make you feel better?"
"I don't need your sass, Alfred Jones," England replied archly.
"I'm being serious," he said, reaching over and laying his hands on hers. "Do you want a truthful answer?"
"Of course," England answered.
Grief Laid Aside [2b/2]
(Anonymous) 2013-06-14 03:46 am (UTC)(link)England pulled back from America—more specifically, from his suggestion. "I've lost almost twenty-eight thousand soldiers in one battle and gotten over it with little to no grieving at all."
"That's not the same thing," America pointed out quietly.
"Why?" Her voice was starting to rise, almost imperceptibly to anyone who didn't have the ear for it, with emotion. "Those men lost were someone's children, were they not?"
"That's a different kind of grief," America said, thinking briefly of Antietam and the subsequent outpouring of grief. He pushed the thoughts away, took another deep breath, and continued. "Those mothers got to know their child." He reached over and took her hands in his once more. "We didn't get that chance, and no one's going to blame you for grieving for it."
"Was it something I did?" England asked. "Sometimes I feel like if I had—"
"No," he cut off, knowing more or less what was on her mind. "It wasn't anything you did or didn't do."
"Then… why?" She laid her head on his shoulder and, for what America could only guess was the first time, started to quietly cry.
"…I don't know," America admitted, loosely wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Maybe she would push him away, maybe not, but wasn't the point to try to make her feel better? That was one of the things he signed on for when he first said I love you in '46?
Ultimately, she didn't push him away, or pull him closer. She remained where she was and took America up on his suggestion to let herself grieve. Though he didn't say anything on the matter, he knew that England knew he was grieving with her.
Re: Grief Laid Aside [2b/2]
(Anonymous) 2013-06-14 03:11 pm (UTC)(link)I think you approached this topic very well. You have me crying here. And, it's not just that I'm such a sap. This was a very heartfelt and emotional piece.
You also stayed very true to the essence of the characters. I'm almost glad you didn't indicate who asked the question that caused England's breakdown.
Re: Grief Laid Aside [2b/2]
(Anonymous) 2013-06-22 06:20 am (UTC)(link)First of all: Thank you so much for your warm praise. It really means a lot to me. <3
I've only gone through grieving process three times, and those were all very different experiences. However, it's an important thing-- as with any strong emotion, keeping it bottled up ends terribly. (Trust me on this on.)
I'm very glad you liked the piece, but I am sorry it made you cry. This is going to sound really weird, but I wasn't making an active effort for it to be really emotional. A little sad, but nothing to make people cry.
Trying to keep everyone true to spirit was a fun challenge, and I'm happy you think I did that. As to who asked the question, I thought long and hard about who it was going to be, but I ultimately decided against it for two reasons: I didn't want to demonize or make any other character seem like a jackass, and it ultimately didn't matter when the focus was on America and England.