Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I am merely a fan who appreciated the ingenious glory of such masterful tomfoolery.

Warning: Angst

Characters:

-America/Alfred F. Jones

-England/Arthur Kirkland

~Thank You~

One thousand and sixty names were carved into the walls of the tallest headstone in the cemetery. The warm glow of chandeliers above illuminated each rank, division, and home state of the lost. Here, beneath this ivory chapel in France, were the still manned trenches of a war that ended one hundred years ago; but, five months too late for these brave souls.

This memorial was a solemn place, decorated with stars and stripes, and wreaths of poppies that lined small, empty pews. Rain outside beat against the tall stained glass windows emblemizing six American divisions of soldiers and Marines, men who came to be known as "Devil Dogs" by their foes, and the "Rock of the Marne" by their allies. Many of the dead would have laughed at such monikers because, truth be told, they were all just "kids from No-Where's-ville USA" determined to go down swingin'.

None of them deserved the way they died, but deserved nothing short of this testament of gratitude for their sacrifice.

The chapel door opened and sounds of the downpour were punctuated by the even footsteps of someone approaching. Though there was a large ceremony planned for later in the day, and he had intentionally come here before the break of dawn for the chance at uninterrupted communion with old friends.

He didn't acknowledge the man coming to a stop beside him, water dripping down his trench coat and making puddles on the floor. They were silent for a long while, neither bothered by the other or in a hurry to disturb the peace.

All company present was ally.

Finally, Alfred turned his head and looked tiredly at the Englishman. "Did they send you?"

Arthur slipped his gloved hands into his pockets, still appraising the altar before them. "On the contrary, I volunteered to retrieve you. It took some convincing, but I'm here alone…sans the armed motorcade waiting outside."

He wasn't surprised. The added security was less about his protection than it was keeping him contained. These days, he wasn't allowed to venture anywhere without official escorts…it vexed him to no end.

It was the last thing he wanted to think about right now.

"After that disastrous speech back in '18, I changed uniforms and slipped into the caravan of troops heading here," Alfred stated in a wistful tone. "For all the hell we went through, I never regretted that."

Arthur smiled, "I was there when they wrote that speech. Your version was, to say the least, more honest."

Alfred took pride in that, though the feeling waned remembering that the men interred here had been his audience in Paris that day. The commanders had wanted him to stir their morale, get them to hold their heads high before being sent off to a front none of them could ever have been prepared for. Despite all their coaxing and pressuring, he couldn't deliver the carefully worded message written for him. Instead, he told the truth about what was out there, then, to the horror of his superiors, promised to be with them, his soldier, every step of the way. He kept that promise…he helped bury many of them here.

"You're a terrible soldier, you know," Arthur commented off-handedly. "You can't follow orders to save your life."

"I follow when I agree with them," Alfred replied half-heartedly. "I even started listening to you after a while, didn't I?"

He didn't have to see the look to know Arthur found the notion of that bitterly amusing, "About as well at the end as you did at the start. Disobedience is what landed you in the thick of Passchendaele, just as it did 'hog-tied' by your bootlaces under a bed."

The unexpected mention of such a long-forgotten memory made him chuckle, "I don't even remember how it came to that. You must've ordered me to do something stupid."

"I told you to leave my room," Arthur replied. "You were being a brat and wanted to fight me for it."

Alfred took the snub with good-humor and shrugged, "You weren't exactly the shining example of a gentleman either. I think a couple of the guys here had the pleasure of meeting you in that mess tent when we first got to France. Contrary to popular belief, a good ol'fashion American 'howdy' doesn't involve brawling."

The Brit returned a soft hum, before silence descended again.

It had been a long time since last either had reminisced about what happened at that largely forgotten turn of the century. Over the years, there had been no shortage of nightmares or decisions made based on the harsh experiences of the past. But to remember something light-hearted, or even positive amid so much pain…it went without saying that it was a welcome reprieve.

"I've never really been one to share war stories," Alfred confessed.

"Me neither," Arthur replied, sighing as he did so. "If I do, it's often to the ghosts dredged up from the bottom of a bottle. Or, in my darkest hours, with Francis."

Their eyes met, and the unspoken question prompted Arthur to soften, "There are things best left to the few cursed to remember it."

In the past he might have rolled his eyes and accused Arthur of babying him, but those days were far behind. If anything, he had finally grown to understand the true burdens of their kind. There were things he knew of, had seen first-hand or done himself that he wouldn't, and couldn't tell Arthur. It was hard to accept how naïve he had been in The Great War, and how much he resented his peers for things he now knew were inevitable, even vital parts of who they were.

It made the sweeter memories more precious.

"Forth name from the top, nineteen-year-old from Illinois, he taught me that you could use Tabasco sauce to keep rats away from just about anything," Alfred began, then pointed to another name on the wall, "And him, twenty-three-year-old from Michigan, he could repair just about anything with floss – it was pretty impressive how many boots he sowed back together and they held up."

Arthur looked to each name Alfred pointed to and listened to each story. Alfred spoke so fondly, even admiringly of them all. He described many well enough that he could picture them as they had been in life, and he smiled as Alfred recited jokes they once told while battened down on the lines of Belleau Wood. He talked about each man's families, and amusing stories of life before they volunteered or were drafted into basic training.

Arthur knew what it was like to stand at a memorial and feel the memories of the past flow through him. It was natural that even after one hundred years for the souls of their people to gravitate to them, as they once did in life. Sometimes the experience was bitter and painful, with so much resentment and sorrow that it overwhelmed even the oldest among them. But right now, in this place, Arthur could see the warm and welcoming response Alfred was receiving.

It reminded Arthur of just how great Alfred's connection to humanity was.

"I still have that pocket knife. It's seen better days, but I keep it safely stowed away with other gifts friends have given me," Alfred said, his words trailing until coming to a moment of silence. "It's right next to the penny a young man returned to me during the second war. I had almost forgotten about it…"

In the descending melancholy, Arthur placed a hand on Alfred's shoulder. He could see Alfred's eyes mist for the first time, and he squeezed him reassuringly but before he could speak, Alfred continued. "I remember Walker too, and what he did for both of us. He deserved to make it home."

The words caught in Arthur's throat, and for a moment he felt an old regret rise within him. He did remember; some humans, even when the time together is brief, are never far removed from thought. "He'd deck you for crying over him."

"Yeah," Alfred acknowledged, sounding no less morose but making an effort to take a deep breath. "I wrote to his fiancée, Harmony, after the war. I had to send it to Gavin to make sure she got it, because the government was still refusing to acknowledge he even existed. She never wrote back, but…Gavin said she was happy to know his service wasn't in vain."

Arthur found himself at a loss for what to say. His hand began to fall away, but Alfred reached up and held it in place. Alfred didn't want words right now, he just needed someone ease the burden of remembering alone. It was a quiet understanding, and Arthur remained close and allowed Alfred to feel as he needed to.

It was enough for them both.

A knock at the door broke the tranquil silence and two men entered. Alfred slowly, and reluctantly, released Arthur's hand. He took a moment to affix the mask in place and Arthur watched in sadness at how seamlessly Alfred had mastered the art.

"Mr. Jones."

"I'll be right there," he said firmly, taking another breath before looking to Arthur. "They've reassigned me to the main ceremony in Paris, after that I'll be travelling to another ceremony close by. I know you'll have already returned to London by then…but I'd like to join you once things conclude…if that's alright."

Even with an expression of business, Arthur knew the man beneath well enough to see the request for what it was: the need for camaraderie with another who understood. He would be lying if he said that Alfred's company wouldn't be welcomed for the same reason.

All of them, every nation impacted by that terrible war grieved the horrific losses. Generations of people had been lost in but a few short years. The landscape of Europe had been changed forever, and all but a few were left to remember a world before the red-washed Fields of Flanders. It was a burden their kind would carry forever – and most of them, despite the outpourings of love and solidarity from their people, did so alone.

"It would be an honor."

The mask lifted long enough to see that beautiful, sunny smile, and it lasted as long as it took for Arthur to begin heading for the door.

Rather than following, Alfred turned back to the altar, flanked by the names of his fallen citizens – his brothers, and squared his shoulders. With the ease of hundreds of years behind the motion, he snapped a crisp salute and stood at attention for every one of them, regardless of rank.

For every one of them that never made it home. For every one of them that did their damnedest to fight through the horror and go down swingin'. For every one of them that died and deserved to be remembered…

"Thank you…for never abandoning our allies or turning your back on a world you hardly knew. Thank you for being the best of us; thank you for giving humanity something to be proud of.

"May the world you fought for never stop endeavoring to be a legacy worthy of you."

~Fin~

Notes from the Author:

To fans of the NYH-universe: thank you, from the bottom of my heart for coming back. To those of you finding this for the first time: please know that this short fic is part of a much, much larger universe I created almost 8 years ago. Admittedly, it's been several years since my last upload to the NYH universe, and for that I owe my returning fans the deepest and most sincere apologizes. Though this is not the final chapter of NYH, it is something of a personal challenge to (what I hope) will jump-start me back into finishing the long awaited Chapter 26. I made a promise long ago to finish the fan-novel I started in 2010, and I intend to keep that promise.

In honor of the 100th anniversary of the Armistice that took effect on the 11th hour, or the 11th day, of the 11th month in 1918, I vowed to commemorate this day with a small glimpse into the NYH-universe in modern times. Yes, this fic is set today. I did my best to separate the current political atmosphere from the importance of remembering those lost, and to present something somber, yet hopeful – in true Alfredian fashion. Typically in my NYH fics, I include many research and reference points that are relevant to the fic. However, due to the late hour and my determination to share this fic before the end of Armistice Day (EST), I encourage anyone to message me on or Tumblr if you have any questions. I do my very best to respond to every message, and thank you for your patience in advance.

I wish you all my absolute best and all my love. To any and all veterans, all over the world, thank you for your service. Your sacrifices and those of the fallen matter, and we are all your living legacies.

:') Thank you,

G.K.G./Kelbora