Note — I know, I know. You're probably like another two-shot? What's with this author? I guess I just enjoy coming up with premises and seeing which get a bite.

Now for something sad…

Summary —

After the Great Catastrophe wiped out most of the world's population, the few remaining nations chose America to find a new world. This is a two-shot of his lonely, tragic journey through the cosmos as he attempts to remember England.

Do You Remember America?

I read in the history books that before the Great Catastrophe the Earth was green, the sky was blue, and humans were numerous. There were also many Nations and they had World Meetings where they would argue for hours over nothing. Among them, was America who led the world with his brilliant ideas and inventions.

That last part America wrote himself.

I have often read his words and studied his pictures. His blue eyes always seem to shine in photographs. They are so alive. They aren't like mine: blood red and empty. I have the eyes of a Nation who represents only the memory of his citizens, not their living embodiment.

The wheat-colored blond always grins in his photos. I wish I could do that. My smile never looks right, never looks natural.

Although England tried to help me, I could see it in his green eyes that mine didn't look like America's. I always saw him searching for a shred of his America in me, but I am merely a poor imitation. A shadow of the Hero, if you please.

They altered my — his — brain in order to turn the Nation of America into an immortal that could exist off the Earth and pilot the starship, Liberty Never Dies, through the Door to the next star system. A journey no human could survive, one necessary to find a new Earth. A place where we could have again what we lost.

I have America's body, but I am not him. I wish I could remember being America. I wish I knew why he volunteered to be Changed and why England always looked me so sadly.

Then maybe I would know why England's sadness caused my chest to ache. Why I wanted to remember.

(When I Woke Changed)

England loomed over me, a blur of light and shadow.

"Git." The sound of his voice scraped against my ear. The death of most of his people had taken a toll on his health. Like most nations, he had become aged and sickly. "Are you awake?"

My vision cleared. His two sparkling green eyes stared down at me. Thick, sandy-blond hair stuck out around his long, drawn face.

"Do you recognize me?" he asked.

I frowned and almost said, no, until a word popped into my head and I said, "…Iggy?"

He smiled in relief and then frowned, bushy brows drawing together. In a slightly-annoyed voice, he said, "It's England." He cleared his throat. "D-Do you remember who you are?"

After a long pause of consideration, I answered, "No."

England's smile fell off and he swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair. "Try to remember. You're America. You're a Nation like me. We are…" he fidgeted with a golden band on his left index finger, "we were very close."

"I am America?"

"Yes. You also had a human name, Alfred F. Jones. Do you remember?"

"Alfred," I repeated, staring at my lap. I was clothed in white pants and nothing else. "What does the F stand for?"

England bit his lip and looked away, patting at his eyes with the sleeve of his crisp, white lab coat. "How can you not remember? You always joked it meant… erm… fucking… you were the only one who that never got old for. Remember?"

I slowly shook my head.

"You must," England said, grabbing my wrists and squeezing almost painfully. "You promised you wouldn't forget. Don't you remember? Git, you promised!"

A warm droplet plopped on my palm, followed by another. They fell from England's crying face. I tried to lift my hand, but the steel bands binding me to the stiff metal chair prevented that. EKGs were hooked up to my bare chest, along with a circular steel band around my head. All the electronic devices around us monitored me.

I wanted to remember, I really did, but I couldn't.

I gazed beyond Arthur, a plexiglass mirror took up half the wall. I examined the reflection of my squarish face. My eyes were blood-red and I had no hair, for some reason, that didn't feel right.

"That… that's not me," I said.

"What do you mean?" England said, glancing at the mirror.

"That's not me. My eyes are blue and I have hair! An ahoge!" I said, shaking my head, struggling with the bindings. "That's not me."

Panic rose in me.

"Shush," England said gently. "It'll be all right." He placed a hand over mine. The pressure felt comforting and I relaxed. For some reason I trusted him. "That's right. America has blue eyes like the sky. You do remember. I know the git's in there. He'd never abandon me."

An image appeared in my mind of England knelt in mud, wearing a red coat and holding a musket. The rain fell in sheets, drenching him, and his head was bowed. Then it was gone, whatever it had been, yet it left something inside me. A strange, empty feeling.

I wanted to touch my chest, as if to be sure my heart still worked fine.

"What happened to us?" I asked.

In an unsteady voice, he said, "I'm sorry, git. I'm so sorry." He leaned forward, holding himself up with the arm rest. I wanted to hug him. "It's too horrible…"

And he sobbed softly for some time, his warm teardrops wetting my forearm.

(Present)

The first star system I arrived to through folded space had no habitable planet. No planet to replace Earth. I constructed the next Door, the next tunnel through folded space, to the next system. My loneliness treated with the occupation of my task.

No sooner did I activate the Door when an encrypted file, one that had been hidden deep in my ship's database, unlocked.

My eyes — usually fixed on the vast hull of my ship — turned inward to a screen monitor and I used my own body's eyes to view it instead of the ship's cameras and sensors.

Arthur appeared on the screen in what was clearly a pre-recorded video. He wore his old, familiar green uniform and sat in front of a grey background, one hand holding a saucer and the other the handle of a gold-rimmed porcelain teacup. Steam rose from the tea.

Although he smiled, his eyes were sad.

"Git," he said. "I knew they'd never approve of these videos. But I know you, and you must be lonely even if you won't admit it."

I was startled by that and by my instinct to deny any negative feeling.

"These videos are hidden in your database," Arthur continued. "Certain events will trigger them. This one," he sipped his tea, "was when you activated your first Door.

I know myself and I know I likely didn't give you a proper goodbye. Expressing myself, being honest, were never my strong suit. They were yours. I hope…" he stared grimly off camera, chewing lightly on his lower lip, "…you'll understand why I show you these. What I'm trying to say… Do you remember this day?"

The video changed to a grainy, home video with a time stamp in the bottom right corner that read:

12/25/1985

The face of America appeared, grinning into the camera. A cracked plaster ceiling was visible above him and the angle showed up his nostrils. He glanced off-camera and said, "Oh shit! It's on. See, Iggy!"

After the blurry movement and shaky sounds in the background, the lens focused on England who sat at a square kitchen table, arms folded across his slim chest, and a scowl on his face. A christmas tree, barely visible in the upper right corner, twinkled with gold and red lights.

"Really, Al. Do I look like I wanted one of those infernal contraptions? I still use a quill and ink pot for heaven's sake!"

"Oh, c'mon Iggy. Japan showed me how to use this. It's a sony Handyman camcorder. It's not even hit market yet. It's real easy. The light glows red when it's recording. See?"

"And what would I record?" England asked, sipping from his cup, rimmed with red and gold designs.

"Well… maybe the things you want to show me when I visit. The stuff we couldn't experience together."

England almost choked on his tea and looked up, expression softening. A small smile lifted the sides of his mouth. Before he could answer, America said, "Here! Film me!"

The camera shook and wobbled in a blur of light and color and then it was in England's trembling hand. There was America, sitting down quickly and clasping his hands together. The light reflected off his glasses, making his eyes impossible to see. He grinned and waved at the camera.

"Erm… git… I…"

"Hey, Iggy!" America waved and stuck out his tongue and made several funny faces.

England snickered. "You're being ridiculous," but he sounded unmistakably happy. "You… you really bought this… for me?"

England didn't seem to realize the tip of his finger was slightly blocking the top of the lens. He cleared his throat. "Th-thank… you."

"I'm glad you like it." America blushed, rubbing at his nape. In a flustered voice, he said, "But don't get jealous when you see the one I got for Canada."

The camera fell and landed on the wooden table, cracking the lens.

"Iggy!"

There was a sound of a chair scooting out and then America grabbed the camera, turning it to himself. He stared down into the lens, looking heartbroken. "It's cracked."

"I don't want it," England said, voice tight.

"Why not? You don't like the color? I can get the lens fixed." Although difficult to see America's expression clearly from this angle, his tone suggested deep hurt.

"I've told you I don't need such things. I don't want gifts from you."

"What's wrong with my gifts? Why are you so against them?"

"Because you give them to everyone!" England snapped. He was breathing heavily. "You smile and say 'this is only for you' when it's really for everyone."

"This camera is only for you. Canada has a different model."

"Just stop," England said, voice breaking. "Stop confusing me! Stop making me think I'm special!"

"You are special. That's why we have a Special Relationship."

"No, we don't!" Iggy yelled, slamming something — maybe his fist — on the table. "I can't take this. Please just leave."

"Fine. I don't know what you're problem is," America said, setting down the camcorder. The length of the table could be seen and England's left side. "I don't know what you're problem is. Spend Christmas alone if that's how you want it. I've got better stuff to do. Heroic stuff!"

There was the stomping noise of America leaving, then a door slammed loudly. After a few moments, England sank down into the chair and put his face into his hands, softly sobbing.

"Why don't you understand, git? I love…" he trailed off, his tear-streaked face turning toward the camera. His brows furrowed as he scowled. "Is this still on? Dammit, git!"

He reached over and the film stopped.

When it was over, America gazed for a long time at the blank screen, trying to understand what England wanted to show him.

Then the gravity of the newly-created Door latched onto the Liberty Never Dies and America shifted his focus. However, in the back of his mind, he felt as if he could almost remember something. Then it came to him.

He remembered that America had lied about giving Canada a camcorder.