I hate making excuses...so I won't. I just feel so bad though. I almost cried last night because I know it's been a while and people were (hopefully) waiting. How could I just leave Arthur dead like that? I'm cruel. I couldn't do anything about it then though. I was too busy partying until the morning at an anime convention. Don't you wish you were me. By the way first person is Arthur this time, and I also made him kind of...a *cough* whore. By the way, he's uke in this. He seems like he should be seme the way I'm writing him...oh well, I like him. He's saucy and he likes his mom!

Disclaimer: I'm not Japanese, nor have I ever been, so it's safe to assume that I don't own Hetalia.

Arthur Kirkland was having a rather terrible morning. As soon as his bright green eyes flickered open he could sense something looming. Something dark and dangerous, yet exciting was going to happen that day.

Ignoring the overwhelming feeling that he should stay home that day at all costs, he slowly pushed himself up from his bed and let out a groan at the stiff pain in his back. Only 23, and already his body was giving out like he was an old man.

He chanced a look at the mirror across from the bed and scowled at his reflection. In his own mind, there was nothing special about him. Nothing that could be viewed as beautiful or even remotely handsome. Of course this wasn't true, as he was a handsome man. Maybe not the most exotic of men, but not ugly.

Edging closer to the mirror his frown deepened as he saw deep bags running under his eyes from exhaustion. He'd just traveled from London to this small, American town last night, and it seemed like this stress was already taking a toll on his body.

Silently cursing jet lag, airplanes, and the 'great' country of America, he shuffled off towards the bathroom to get ready for the morning business meeting with his father.

His father was James Kirkland. An incredibly serious and boring man with an even more serious and boring job. Arthur wasn't exactly sure of the details of his father's work, but from what he could gather from the few times him and his father talked, it wasn't pleasant. His father lived in America, away from Arthur, his second wife, and older sons, in order to keep this job.

Apparently it was a high paying position in the American government, along with having something to do with scientific research as well as weaponry. That's as much information Arthur could get pertaining to the job, but he didn't care much anyway. What his dad did was certainly none of his business, nor anything like what he aspired to do.

At least that's what he thought before last Tuesday.

The world was spinning around me. I wasn't sure when my eyes had opened, but I wish they hadn't. Feeling my own heartbeat through my eyelids was enough to make me consider sleeping for a few more hours. That certainly would have been acceptable because I have no where to go; I have no one waiting for me. But something was nagging at my mind, and it was forcing me to get off the couch I was currently lazing on.

Pushing myself on to my elbows, I looked at my less-than-gentlemanly appearance in the mirror across from me. Hair mussed and sticking in all directions, eyes bloodshot with bags underneath them, skin paler than usual, clothes wrinkled and most likely ripped in some places, and I don't even want to mention what I smelled like at the time. Most likely hard alcohol and vomit.

After scrutinizing my haggard appearance, I stood up slowly and tried to push back the wave of nausea that overcame me to look at the room around me. The spinning had slowed down enough for me to take in the fact that I had absolutely no idea where I was. It appeared to be a small, one bedroom flat, probably owned by a man judging by the lack of feminine touch and the slight odor of sweat.

Wouldn't my parents be proud of their baby boy. Waking up in a strange man's apartment with no recollection of the night before.

Oh well, not as if it's the first time.

Not in the mood for a rather awkward talk about the night before, I raced out of there, gathering my discarded jacket on the floor and what was left of my dignity.

Once the door was shut I started to get the nagging feeling again. It was the voices of my parents telling me how much of a failure I was. It started out as a quiet background noise, but now it had grown to an almost deafening roar, and it certainly wasn't helping with the hangover I was trying to nurse.

I pressed the heel of my palms to my eyes and frowned. The voices in the head were only telling the truth, but it wasn't exactly the kind of thing a person wants to hear in the morning. Even a failure of a person like me.

It's not like I'm some uneducated druggie living on the streets, or a sleazy male prostitute. No, I'm Arthur Kirkland, a college graduate from Oxford and son of an important American government worker. I have all the opportunity in the world to be whatever I wanted to be, and that's why I'm a failure. I have so much potential, but I used none of it.

Instead of having a decent job, I sit around all day on my father's salary and the the occasional paycheck from an odd job to drink and have sex with both men and women. I'm selfish and exactly the kind of person I hate. Not that this changes anything. Hating myself and what I have become, and actually doing something about it are two completely different things.

With this in mind, I started the long trek back to my parent's lovely country home, which i was visiting, to sit around for the rest of the day like I normally do. Even I think I'm a loser.

A loser with a sore ass to boot.

After a long and particularly uncomfortably silent taxi ride back to my parent's home, I was not in the best mood. Not only was I in pain, but I wasn't exactly proud of whatever had happened the night before. It's not that a one night stand was unusual for me, quite the opposite, but for some reason I felt especially dirty.

I swallowed thickly and walked up to the door as if it was perfectly acceptable to walk in to the house at noon with disheveled clothes and unruly hair, and no recollection of the night before.

Upon opening the door, I was pleasantly surprised that no one came up to me asked of my whereabouts last night. Honestly, I couldn't tell them if they did ask. I slipped inside and quickly locked the door before running up the stairs for a quick shower. I attempted to, that is.

"Arthur, sweetie. What are you doing coming in so late? Where were you last night?"

Well shit.

I turned around slowly to meet the eyes of a short, middle-aged woman. Meet Anna Kirkland. Born and raised in Houston, Texas, she married James Kirkland at the age of 36 after the terribly tragic death of his wife of 13 years, Elizabeth Kirkland.

She has this sort of unruly curly, brown hair and soft green eyes. Her figure is nice, but she's not exactly a size two super model, if you know what I mean.

She was as much a mother as my biological mother was, and probably more considering I was 6 at the time of my mother's death. Don't get me wrong, I loved Elizabeth, and she'll always be in my heart, but I was a lot closer to Anna. Even with her southern drawl and slightly annoying American ways. That didn't mean I was in the mood to talk to her though.

I let out an audible gulp and took a step closer to her. Really, I shouldn't be afraid of my own step-mother, but unfortunately I was. She was a tough bitch when she wanted to be.

"Yes mum? What is it?" I inwardly congratulated myself on using 'mum' when addressing her. She knows that I'm the only one of her step-sons that called her 'mother' and it always brought a little smile to her face when I did so. Though at that particular moment it didn't seem to work.

"Arthur, hun. Why in God's name are you doing coming in at noon looking like you went through a goddamn tornado?" She gave me this long, hard look as if daring me to lie to her. Not having the guts to lie to her, I decided to go with the most truthful statement I could.

"I'm coming back from a long night of partying and fornicating with a male." I tried not to quiver at the look she gave me. It's not that she looked angry at me. She happened to be the only one in the family that knew I was bisexual and was ok with it. She didn't even blink at the fact that I had been having sex. The look she gave me wasn't a surprised one, but rather a disappointed one.

She walked over to me and placed her hand on my shoulder before letting it drop, as if it had been an accident. Anna had this weak smile on her face, and she used one hand to cup my cheek before placing a kiss there. I really wasn't sure what to think, as she doesn't often show these displays of affection, but I didn't do anything to push her back. If anything, I felt rather comforted by her and even leaned in to her touch a little.

The moment was soon gone however, as she took a step back from me and looked up in to my eyes. Yeah, when I said she was short I wasn't lying. I won't be the first to admit this, but I'm actually pretty short. I know, hard to believe, right? But Anna was at least a few inches shorter than me, making her look younger than she actually was.

I looked back down at her and frowned. Why did she move right when we were having a bonding moment? Did she want her son to have mommy issues?

I heard her sigh, and I was brought out of my thoughts as she straightened out a crease in the dress she was wearing and swiftly turned away from me. Thinking the strange exchange was all over, I spun around to shower when I heard her yelling behind her back.

"I'd change clothes hun because your father wants to talk to you. 5 minutes in his office. If you're not there he said he's not paying you squat for a month!" I widened my eyes at this and hurried up the stairs, muttering quiet curses as I ran up to my room.

5 minutes later and I was dressed in presentable clothing, and I'd gotten a comb through my hair to at least attempt to get it to lay flat. It didn't do much.

I all but sprinted up to my father's office, making sure to slow down right in front of the door and knock politely. I heard a gruff British voice yell, "Come in son." and I turned the glass knobs on the door before pushing the french doors open.

I was a bit confused at first because my father was nowhere to be seen, but then I noticed a small movement with my left eye. Turning towards my father's chair, I saw him turn around slowly towards me and give off a creepy smile.

"Hello son." I wasn't exactly sure what to think. That was a pretty lame entrance for him to make, even by his standards, so I just shuffled a bit and muttered a quick, "Hello father." before sitting down across from him.

Messy blond hair was pushed out of his eyes to reveal large unruly eyebrows as he stared at me. Meet James Kirkland. A taller, better version of yours truly. I'm not putting myself down either. He might not be the best father or person for that matter, but he was a well accomplished man with a wife and children. I wasn't much of anything.

He leaned back in his plush, leather chair as he stared down at me. I took his lead and leaned back a little, staring straight in to his bright, green eyes.

"Son, do you know why you're here?" He asked, suddenly leaning in towards me. Not sure what to say, I shook my head slowly and hoped that was an appropriate answer. Apparently it was because he nodded and suddenly stood up, coming to stand right behind me. I tried to swivel around and face him, but he placed a hand on my shoulder and kept me in place.

He leaned down closer to me, while ruffling my hair a bit. I sat as still as possible, wondering what the hell he was getting at by doing this, but the moment was soon over, and he was back to standing straight.

"Arthur, you're my youngest son. And I've always been proud of you. You do know that, right?" Highly doubting his statement, but not wanting to start an argument, I nodded again. He gave my shoulder a small, almost imperceptible squeeze, and he continued. "Yes, well while I am proud of you, I have been noticing you...haven't been doing much. You tend to go out and party all night, and sleep all day. You're not married, and I know you're gay, or bisexual, or whatever nonsense, but even a husband would be nice at this point. Not to mention you don't have a suitable job, and it looks bad on my part."

About to defend myself, I was interrupted by the clearing of his throat and another squeeze on the shoulder, this time harder. "Arthur, I do not mean that in a bad way. Your mother and I love you, but we're just prefer if you did something worthwhile with your life." He cleared his throat again, and I swallowed thickly. This wasn't sounding good.

"That's why your mum and I have decided it would be best if you worked with me in America." At the word America, I shot up and glared at him. To hell with manners. To hell with respect.

"I'm an adult, father, and I decide what I want to do with my life. And I absolutely refuse to go to America to work in the government. I'd rather die than move away from England." I knew I was being a little childish with the last bit, but really I hated America with a passion. The people there are annoying, and no one speaks proper English. Not to mention the fact that Americans just love English accents. I'd probably be pestered every day to say lines for girls hoping to bang a nice English gentlemen. Not my cuppa tea. And I like tea.

My father looked at me with this condescending sort of smirk, and I could see him staring down his nose at me. "Too bad Arthur because I happen to have the ability to cut you off. Would you like to live off the streets? Now, your mum would be cross with me, but she'd see my way eventually. So, which is it Arthur. Live comfortably in America, or become homeless trash on the side of the road?"

I widened my eyes and gaped a little at him. He was willing to have me die on the streets, so that I would work for him and fix his reputation?

The silence was long and drawn out, but after a few moments, he patted my cheek and smiled. "Knew you would see it my way, son. You're going to love it in America!" And before I could say anything, he ushered me out of his office and shut those damn french doors in my face.

I stood outside, staring through the glass at my father, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Spinning around, I came face to face with Anna again.

Scowling, I placed my hand on her's to try and shake it off, but instead I kept my hand there. Covering her hand with my own, I noticed she had a sad apologetic look in her eyes. I knew she wouldn't come out and apologize to me, but I could tell she wanted to.

We simply sat there for a few moments before I sighed heavily, and she slid her hand down my arm. "I know sweetie. I know." And with that, she left me standing there. Arthur Kirkland, proud English gentleman, soon to be proud American gentlemen.

Lovely.

Arthur was sitting in the bathroom in front of the mirror, brushing his hair as he recalled the tearful parting between himself and Anna. Arthur had gotten ready to leave the day before, and just as he was about to leave, his step-mother made her appearance.

She'd ran up to Arthur and thrown her arms around him, all but jumping straight in to his arms. He'd stumbled a bit, but managed to stable himself long enough to put his own arms hesitantly around Anna in a warm embrace. They'd stood like that for a few minutes, while his father grew impatient outside, before Arthur deemed it time to go.

He had taken a step forward to leave the house when Anna threw her arms back around her son and held him tightly to her. Arthur felt hot tears against the front of his shirt, and it made him a little teary-eyed himself. Yes, he lived in a different house from his parents, but it wasn't very far from them. Now with him moving to America with his father, Anna was going to be alone in the house for months to come.

Anna had reached out a hand and pulled it through Arthur's hair before burying her face further in to his chest and squeezing the life out of him. Starting to feel a little uncomfortable, Arthur gently pried her off of him and childishly pressed a kiss to her cheek. She returned the favor, and muttered her last goodbye as she saw her son walk out the door to her husband's waiting car.

Arthur splashed a bit of water in his eyes and checked the time again. Cursing loudly as he realized he had read the time wrong when he had woken up, he rushed out of the bathroom and in to the large closet in his hotel room. Shuffling frantically through the clothes, he decided fuck it and he pulled the first shirt and pair of pants he could get a hold of.

Grimacing at the large American flag printed on his shirt coupled with the slightly too-long tan slacks, he considered changing, but one more glance at the clock wiped those thoughts out of his mind. He stumbled a bit as he slipped the shirt over his head, and fell against the door when he pulled the slacks over his boxers.

Taking a moment to grab only the most essential of items, Arthur rushed out the door of his hotel room with a loud bang. He skipped the stairs two at a time, and thankfully landed down in the lobby without killing himself. He took one glance around the large hotel lobby he was in before settling his eyes on the glass doors in front of the hotel.

Shit.

Arthur groaned as he noticed large, fat rain drops were falling from the sky at a rapid pace. He cursed his lack of a jacket and an umbrella, as he quickly looked for some sort of protection from the rain.

Smiling at a conveniently placed stack of free newspapers, he took a few an lifted them over his head. Arthur knew they wouldn't block much of the rain, but it was something. He braced himself for the harsh weather, and then dashed out of the hotel doors quickly, not once looking back.

He was unaware of the coming danger, and unaware of the fact that his life was about to change forever.

Matthew was having an enjoyable morning. After having to carry Alfred, who wasn't the lightest person, all the way home last night, he'd crashed on the the closest object to the door. This just so happened to be the couch.

He'd woken up to a terrible backache and a bit of a hangover from the few beers he'd had the night before. He should really work on his alcohol tolerance. Or his ability to say no to going out with his brother.

That particular morning, he was feeling a little mean, so he decided to leave Alfred behind and not wake him up at the appropriate time. He deserved it for relying too much on his brother.

Of course, said brother, happened to be a huge pushover and ended up making Alfred a stack of pancakes and writing a note. Not exactly the stern message he wanted to send, but oh well. He'd just kick his ass when Alfred came in late. At least then he could get some kind of pleasure out of the situation.

But, other than taking care of his incompetent twin, Matthew was having a great morning. He'd gotten coffee with extra maple syrup on the way to work, and he'd been able to make pancakes. It also helped that he'd had no interruption from any customers in the past 30 minutes, so he was able to just sit back, relax, and-

Rip...

Matthew suddenly felt something strange in the air. It was as if everything had slowed down except for him. Suddenly the colors around him were muted, yet the objects themselves were super clear. Sound was deeper, but it sounded clogged, like he was underwater. Matthew tried to stand up, but found himself unable to as he felt the Earth shake a little underneath him. He gripped the edge of the table he was leaning against, and fought off the urge to panic.

I'm sure everything is fine. I'm sure this is just an earthquake. This definitely isn't what I think it is. He hasn't done this since three years ago. There's no way that-

Matthew's thoughts were interrupted as he felt a strong headache come on, forcing his eyes closed, and making him grip the sides of his head in an effort to stop the pain. It was like his head was slowly being ripped apart, atom by atom, and it was enough to make him want to vomit.

About to just give in and get sick all over the floor, the pain suddenly stopped and Matthew fell down at the sudden change in atmosphere.

Everything around him was completely back to normal with no trace of the previous events. His head no longer ached painfully, and he no longer felt the need to empty his stomach. Taking a quick look around, he also noticed that everything was moving at the normal speed and colors had returned back to their original hue.

Shakily standing up, Matthew stared outside in shock. He knew this feeling. He knew what he had just experience was not an earthquake or a headache. He knew exactly what was going on.

Alfred had just used his powers.

"Fucking shit."

There was a flash of light in the alley Alfred had jumped in, and exactly one second later, Alfred arrived back in the alley by a drop a few feet above the ground.

Alfred landed on his back and groaned lightly. It'd been a long time since he'd time traveled, and he'd forgotten that when he did, he often fell from high places. Rubbing his sore back, Alfred stood up and glanced at his wristwatch.

He was unable to contain the grin that overcame him as he noticed the time. It was exactly 30 seconds before the stranger was going to get hit by the car. It seems Alfred hadn't lost his touch after all.

Alfred allowed himself a few more seconds of silently congratulating himself when he realized something. 30 seconds. He only had 30 seconds.

Cursing loudly, Alfred ran out of the alley quickly. He knocked over a few garbage bins on the way out, but it didn't really matter. All that mattered was that stranger. He had to get to him in time.

He searched madly for the mop of blond hair that had enchanted him before, but he could barely make out anyone in all the rain.

15 seconds.

Alfred ran forward to the curb, still searching for the stranger from before, while periodically glancing at his clock with worry.

10 seconds.

Suddenly, a thought came to him, and Alfred stood in the same spot he'd stood before. Any second now..

5 seconds.

And then Alfred noticed him. The same stranger from before ran by him quickly, too fast for Alfred to pull on him and stop him. Looks like he'd need to do a rather dramatic rescue.

3 seconds.

Alfred wasted no time in running out in to the street. He could already see the car coming towards the man, barreling through without any care for the man right in front of it.

Feeling a burst of energy, Alfred pushed forward until he was right next to the stranger. He had stopped in the middle of the road for a second, his eyes wide as he saw the lights coming at him. For some reason, he wasn't moving at all, but Alfred saw this as a blessing. It made it easier for him to push him out of the way.

1 second.

Realizing he didn't have enough to push the man out of the way and jump out of harm's way himself, Alfred did the only thing he could do.

He threw his arms forward, wrapping around the smaller man, and pushed them both forward and out of the way of the car.

Alfred couldn't feel the car rushing behind him. He couldn't see the crowd starting to form around him, or hear the concerned whispers. All he could see was this stranger he was holding.

Alfred was on top of him, still holding the smaller man in his arms. He'd been smart enough to put an arm behind the stranger's head so that he didn't get hurt hitting his head on the sidewalk, and he could feel a bruise forming where he was hit. It was worth it.

The stranger looked up at Alfred with wide green eyes. His mouth was parted slightly, and he was breathing heavily on to Alfred, fogging up his glasses with each breath. His arms were hanging listlessly by his sides, but his hands were shaking slightly against the pavement.

Slowly, he moved his face a fraction of an inch, and his nose brushed up against Alfred's. Alfred held in his automatic reaction-to gasp- and instead took a sharp breath in.

This was worth it, Alfred thought. He was worth it.

YES! Alfred saved Arthur! Can you believe it? He's not dead! But Matthew seems pretty pissed at Alfred...wonder what's going to happen. Is Arthur going to fall in love at first sight with Alfred? Is Matthew going to murder Alfred for time traveling? Will we find out what Mr. Kirkland's job has to do with this story?

Find out next time! :D

Reviews make me barf rainbows. True story.