'Tis Queen Cyanide!

Now, what is this, you ask? My two – shot?

Fem!EnglandxAmerica lies ahead. Based on the American Revolution.

Summary of Chapter 1: Alfred's memories of one of his worst battles keeps plaguing him until he is left with one thing to do; confront the fem!England about feelings buried.

Summary of Chapter 2: Amelia is suddenly plagued by fainting spells, which take her back to her time with England. Then she sees something she wishes she didn't involving the Englishman. When face-to-face with the male country, what choice does fem!America other than to be honest and

Read at your own expense!

Disclaimer: Ugh, if I owned Hetalia, I'd totally add all the countries in the world… That'd be badass, huh? The companion chapter comes outtomorrow :D

"No, America! Don't do it," Alice cried, tugging on his white shirt's sleeve. "You really don't want it to happen this way, do you?" She was desperately pushing back the tears that were starting to gather near the corner of her eyes. When he said nothing, she began clenching her teeth tighter in anticipation. Agitation.

"England. You have repeatedly run over me without a second thought. You've stopped listening to what I have to say. I'm sorry, but I can't live under your oppression anymore. I'd like to be free of you and become a new country." Alfred closed his blue, blue eyes. He could feel her trembling hand against his bicep.

"You're going to regret this," she threatened softly. "You won't be able to win against me. I will become your worst nightmare. I will destroy you, Alfred. I will destroy you!"

"Bring it on, Alice. Bring it on."

Alfred shut his eyes against the painful memory. He knew how she pretended to be strong at that moment. Throughout the whole battle. Even now, she pretended, every time she saw him and argued. It was all just a simple front that almost nobody saw through.

He did, though.

He so did.

Swallowing, he remembered the first battle at Lexington and Concord. The one that started it all.

"Come on, keep marching! We're almost there. Don't start slacking off now, when we're so close." She pointed her gun forward, and yelled the same thing, louder.

Alfred watched as the blonde female steadily neared, constantly barking orders. He held his breath as he realized her eyes were bloodshot, and circled by a deep, bruised purple. Were those bags?

He'd done this to her.

It was a terrible thing.

And the damned war hadn't even started yet.

He watched that same female sitting next to him as she slammed her hands on the table and stood, her yelling at France for some vulgar comment he'd pulled about her body.

Alfred's own hands tightened where they rested on his lap. He was tempted to say something, but he knew better. She could take care of herself. Besides, Alice would just get mad at the American that was simply trying to help.

"-And don't you ever say that again, you bloody shithead!"

Ok, so England had her own kind of vulgar.

America sighed, leaning back. Usually, he and Alice would be the one's arguing until their vocal chords had run dry. But she hadn't spoken a word, or even looked his way, the whole day.

That wasn't too weird, considering that it was the Fourth of July.

"Just calm down! Please, listen to me; we can basically call it quits and make a truce. We don't have to keep fighting like this," Alfred tried, watching as the various scratches on Alice's body bled in a constant stream. The red coat looked a little damp and darker in her left shoulder.

A bullet wound, maybe?

"No way! You started this, but I will be the one to finish it. I promise you that." Suddenly, her eyes widened, and she dropped to her knees before the distressed male, clutching that same shoulder he'd been eyeing earlier. She let loose a soft whimper and looked up at him, eyes burning with a thousand silent emotions, questions, and answers.

"What's wrong?" He leaned down to help her up and take her to a doctor or something, but she slapped his hand away. Fast as she possibly could, she staggered to her feet, swaying precariously.

"Don't you dare touch me with those bloody hands of yours. Not now, not ever!" She did this stumbling/running thing, surprising him.

Finally, his wits caught up to his body, he was chasing after her.

She wasn't wearing a single speck of red today. Or blue. Or white.

Alfred shouldn't have been so surprised, after all these years. It's a miracle she even showed up to the meeting that was unwittingly placed on his independence day.

"France, that's enough!" she roared, tackling him to the ground. She attempted to pound him down, but the sex-crazed man simply laughed every cuff. "You fucking wanker! By the end of today, your head will be delivered to me on a platter and I'll feed it to mint bunny!"

America turned in his chair to haul the furious female off poor Francis, but he noted how none of her punches were all that hard. She seemed very distracted.

By what, though?

The answer was clear.

"England, stop running! You'll only hurt yourself more. Let me check your wound. Please!"

She turned around, casting him a fleeting glance. "Go away! This damned war isn't over yet! We. Are. Enemies! You're not allowed to act so bloody concerned," she hollered. She reached some door, and slammed it, just as Alfred reached it.

He placed both his hands on the door, leaning his head against the wood. "England."

He didn't receive any type of response for a few seconds. Unexpectedly, making him jump slightly, he could hear her sobs breaking loose, and his heart broke.

"England… Alice…"

"Just bloody stop it! Don't you understand that you need to just go? Leave already! We're enemies. We're enemies. We're enemies!"

She leaned her too heavy head against the door, placing her gun powdered hands right on his, without even knowing it.

Only a slab of wood separated them, physically.

A never ending abyss stood between them, emotionally.

"Ugh, this is ridiculous! If you people aren't going to say anything worth my time, then I'm taking my leave. I have better things to do," Alice said, lifting herself off of the bruised and cut France.

She looked every country in the eye, but America and gave a tight smile. "Until the next meeting, then. When is it going to take place again?"

"Two weeks from now," Germany said, narrowing his eyes. "You really shouldn't leave, England."

"But I'm going to," she told him, gathering her skirts and strolling out, pausing at the door way. She sighed, and went on, the tapping of her heels gradually fading.

"Before we were so rudely interrupted," Austria prompted, raising his eyebrows.

"Oh, yah. Anyways-" And on went Germany, immediately loosing Alfred's interest. He was too busy thinking of Alice's odd behavior.

"You will be the death of me," she hiccupped on, hunching her back. "I bloody swear it."

He remained ever mute, shutting his eyes against the torrent of pain.

Guilt. Terror. Shame.

"Stop doing this to me," she bawled, banging her clenched fist repeatedly against the wooden door.

Alfred turned around, sliding down the same door that split him from the person that was the most important to him. He placed his arm on his knee, which was bent, with his foot on the floor. His head drooped onto his chest.

A long period of time passed where neither of the countries could find the correct words to say.

"America… Alfred. Merely come back to me and I promise – I promise – I can't – Alfred."

He'd never heard anyone so terribly melancholy and miserable.

She covered her face, weeping getting more desperate with each passing second. She twisted herself and leaned back against the door, throwing her head against it as well. She was utterly dejected.

Another millennia purely filled by Alice's frantic moaning and sobbing passed.

Once more, she whispered his name.

That was the last thing he could take. He left her there as she let the darkness and turmoil swallow her up whole.

"Meeting dismissed," Germany finally concluded with a sigh.

Alfred jumped from his seat and high-tailed it out of the suffocating room.

He had to get out.

He had to do something.

That something inevitably involved a certain female country.

But where would she be? He considered asking the people still hanging around the meeting room, but he knew they'd either tease him or give him attitude or a little bit of both.

He decided he only had one option, and that was to search for the bad-tempered woman around all the areas she was most likely be found in.

What would he even say when he caught up to her, though?

America figured that the correct words would come pouring out, somehow. But right now, he needed to see Alice. Something in him was just aching; he knew the pain wouldn't go away until he spoke to her.

"So it's come to this, America?" England asked, head akimbo. Her eyes were shattered green glass, penetrating deep into his soul. She was the only one standing on her side, her lone gun pointed straight at him.

"So it's come to this, England?" America repeated, his own gun positioned exactly as hers was. His troops had fallen as well.

He was the sole avenger left. As was she.

Now, it was a battle of the wills.

Now, it was a battle of their consciences.

Now, it was a battle of endings and beginnings.

The rain hammered down on the two countries, each on opposite spectrums of the field. So many unspoken memories and words hung in the air between them.

"Alice!" he called, slamming open the gate of his own mansion. He knew how she liked to sneak into his house when she was depressed. He wasn't that oblivious. "Alice, are you here? I want – no, scratch that. I seriously need to talk to you!"

Unfortunately, he received no response. He searched all throughout his home, checking in his basement and in every damned little nook and cranny. Where the hell was she? He knew, he knew, that she wasn't at her own dwelling. She, quite obviously, didn't want to be bothered on a day such as this. Logically, then, she would not be in her house where it would be too easy to go bug her.

But was England always a very logical country? That was a question that could be debated for years without a pause. She had enough intelligence to leave, didn't she?

Perhaps.

But was England always an incredibly smart country? Well, that was another question that could be argued about for a very long time without stopping. For the most part, however, she was pretty brilliant.

Alfred knew her well enough to confidently say that she was, in no way, inside her residency.

He sighed, defeated. Where else could she be? He really felt something in his heart, head, and soul tell him that she was someplace in the surrounding area, though he'd already looked everywhere.

Should he trust his gut feeling, or was it some silly sensation his mind conjured up to make him feel cooler?

Screw it.

He'd listen to his gut.

If it knew how awesome hamburgers tasted, then there wasn't a doubt in his mind that it could lead him to Alice.

"It seems we've walked far down the road of destruction, right?" America asked, nodding at her and the mess of bodies around them. "I believe we've come to that path's end."

"Your land is soaked with the blood of my own. And your own. How does that feel? To know that you caused all of this?"

Her voice was dangerously wavering with every word uttered. Weak, fluctuating, and pusillanimous.

"None of this would've occurred had you not become a tyrant," he responded with a shrug. His voice was the perfect contrast to hers: strong, steadfast, and fearless.

"It's because you never listened to me!"

They both knew that was a complete lie.

"Bloody hell, Alfred! Screw it, this ends here,now!" she screamed. Her hair was falling out of her signature pigtails, and her bright red and white uniform was torn everywhere. He was seeing more of her skin then he'd ever imagined possible.

France would've been so jealous.

She charged frontward, raising the knifed part of her rifle with an incoherent battle call, her nose scrunched up in a peculiar position.

He dropped his own gun to the ground, hearing the dull, muffled thud even through the deafening downpour.

"Yo, Alice! I know you're hiding around here. And I will find you! Even if it takes fifty-six hundred thousand years, I'm going to find you. We need to talk already. This game of arguing and tiptoeing around each other is over. So stop hiding like a coward; come out and face me!"

He'd issued a challenge. He was aware of the fact that she couldn't stand turning down such a challenge. It just wasn't in her nature. Now, he was left with the tedious task of waiting for her to give up hiding and accept his dare.

Alfred felt his nerves bunch as he sat on the grass and remained in place, patiently hanging around for her inevitable appearance.

"No, England. Don't do it," Alfred whispered as she closed in on him. "You really don't want it to happen this way, do you?"

He'd repeated the same thing she'd said when he had claimed he was a free country.

He knocked the rifle out of her hands, and grabbed her right wrist with his left one, lifting it above her head and holding it there. Her other, free hand clutched at his soaked jacket, leeching of color as she continuously tightened her grip.

He looked down at her, his eyes a stormy blue. But she couldn't tell from what.

The most likely reason was because of how pathetic she was being. He was embarrassed to have been under her control, wasn't he?

Her head fell onto his large, powerful, muscular chest. She cried and cried and cried into it, body quivering from the strength of her sobs. "Pl-p-p-pl-please! D-do-don't leave m-me!"

He let her wrist go, and she slid down his body, landing in a crumpled heap at his feet. She wrapped her arms around his knee and laid her head on his upper thigh, clutching him to her chest.

"I-I-I'm beg-g-ging you-u! I-I-I ca-an't b-be w-w-wi-without y-you! W-w-what'll I-I d-do?" Her forlorn, distraught sobs were cutting up her words. "A-Al-Alfred!"

He stroked the crown of her head, feeling his own warm tears sliding down his face. "I'm sorry, Alice. I really am. But I have to go. It's over. You have lost."

"N-n-no! A-A-Al-A-Alfred!"

She looked up at him, and he couldn't find a single word in any language to describe how absolutely despairing she looked.

There will never be any words to portray it correctly, he thought. Her expression cut deep into him and wounded him further than any physical blow or weapon had during his whole lifespan.

"England. Alice. Alice, all you need to do is let me go."

Her answer was garbled, stolen by her fierce sobs. She began to choke from the force of the sound shoving its way past her throat.

The strongest militia in the whole wide world had been defeated by a rag – tag team of the poor, rich, and those chained by shackles of slavery.

America gently pried her arms from his legs. He spun around, walking off the battle field. Plainly leaving her there to, once again, be devoured entirely by the shadows of anguish and all she'd lost.

He had gained his independence that day.

He had lost his greatest friend that day.

He had gained his bragging rights that day.

He had lost a part of himself that day.

England stood before Alfred, a dull sort of smile settling into her features. The loudmouth was snoring to his heart's content and muttering things about hamburgers.

That didn't really surprise her. What surprised her was that he'd waited for her since the meeting had finished, roughly around eight in the morning. It was already ten forty – six! Sure, he'd fallen asleep, but to Alice, it still counted.

She debated with herself whether or not to wake him up. He had, after all, been the one that had called her a coward and forced her to show up here.

After a quick inner battle, however, she decided against bothering him and leaned down, close to his face. Lightly, with her fingertips, she traced the contours of his features, eyes flooding with unshed tears again. As if crying all day hadn't been enough

He was so beautiful.

Her fingers reached his lips. Lightly, she trailed them across his top, then bottom lip.

She was in love with the American.

She was bloody in love with the American.

"England!" he gasped, jerking up. Their lips connected and she immediately moved away, frightened about what could transpire.

Nonetheless, the bold American wasn't about to let her slip away.

He pulled her closer to his body, placing his hand on her hips with a low, possessive growl. "Don't try to get out of this," he whispered, barely pulling back. "I'm physically stronger than you and we both know it."

He crushed his lips to her, not caring to be gentle. So many years of these pent-up emotions made both throw caution out the window. Alfred found himself baffled by how intensely Alice responded.

She leaned into him, hands clutching at his shirt. Urging his mouth open with her tongue, she felt a hurricane of emotions arouse from deep within her being. There were too many feelings for her to properly deal with at the moment. She was far too distracted for that.

She pulled him closer, closer. Closer still. Alice couldn't get enough.

His scent.

His lips.

His body.

His essence.

Her hands slid up his chest and into his wild hair, tangling into the silky strands beyond removal. With a gasp when he slammed their hips together, she ultimately, accidently, gave him entrance which he gladly accepted.

She pulled back slightly, whispering, "A-Alfred-"

But he cut her off with another passion-infused kiss, humming with pleasure in the back of his throat. He skimmed his overheated lips down the side of her mouth and to her neck; he began to nip the skin at her neck, licking every time she let loose a slightly pained whimper. Her head fell back into his waiting hand, giving him more access when he glided over her collar bone.

Massaging her scalp, the hand still strategically placed on her hip was using the thumb to rub sensual, slow circles.

"S-stop, please," she murmured in a breathy voice.

"Don't talk. I'm not finished!" he responded, leaning down to give her a gentle, slow kiss. He leaned his head one way, urging her to do the same. She complied readily, giving him a great angle to continue on his antics.

After thoroughly searching every crevice in her mouth with his tongue, he pulled back, leaning his forehead on hers. They were both gulping in oxygen, not used to be deprived of the gas for such long periods of time.

"You've not the slightest idea what you do to me…"

"You bloody wanker! How dare you kiss me like that!" She tried to shout, but her voice was too raspy from the lack of use and the air sawing in and out of her lungs.

"Hey, calm down," Alfred said, engulfing her hands with his own. He'd understood her intent before she'd actually managed to slap him silly.

"I will not calm down! How dare you just kiss me like that, out of the blue! I'm going to seriously slaughter you. Let me go so I can do just that!" She began to struggle against him, expression showing her shock at how strong he really was.

"Just pause in your endless, senseless babbling for a second and listen to me. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so, completely, utterly, terribly, irrevocably sorry. I didn't know how much I cared about you or what I wanted from us. You always knew how to get under my skin like no one else could. You were everywhere and nowhere, and whenever I tried to just forget you… There wasn't a single bone in my body that wanted you out of my thoughts. You annoy the hell out of me, but I almost can't stand being away from you for too long a period of time. I've come to realize that I'm absolutely in love with you. Not just the United Kingdom. Not just England. Not just Alice Kirkland. I love all of you!"

"You-You asshole!" she shot back, eyes a blazing peridot fire. "You're not allowed to make some sort of mushy love confession! I can't believe the audacity- Damnit. To hell with you, you bloody, selfish you have any idea what I've been through? All because you waltzed in and royally screwed. Me. Over. I'm not going to let you off easy, but curse it all, you blue-eyed git!I love you, too, alright? Alright? I. Love. You. Not just the United States of America. Not just America. Not just Alfred Jones. I love all of you."

They were still breathing hard, but not from this kiss this time. It was the intensity in the air. It crackled like lightning, back and forth between the two. The heated stares they were giving each other were enough to make their adrenaline spike. But, looking deeper into that, there was an undercurrent of sexual tension as well.

"So many years. I've loved you for so many years, and you barely have the balls to tell me you harbor the same feelings for me now?" Alice continued, stabbing him with her index finger.

He stumbled back, letting her go. She was on such an emotional high that she didn't even think to slap him. Shoving him back every word, Alfred found eventually found himself against the wall, arms up near his head in an I – am – innocent pose.

"And… And… Ugh!" she exclaimed, leaning up to capture his lips with another bruise inducing kiss, shutting her eyes upon his groan of satisfaction. She let out her own mewl of delight as he wrapped his arms around her.

Abruptly, she jolted away, shaking her head to clear her head. "U-um, I, uh, sorry for… that. I hadn't intended to be so rough," she mumbled, blushing to the fiber of her being as she pointed to a drop of blood on his lip. But America wasn't looking into her eyes. He was staring at her throat. "W-what? What're you gazing at?"

"Hell yeah! You're officially mine. You have my mark! I gave you a hickey," he crowed with deep satisfaction.

"You bloke! You gave me a love bite?" she cried, shoving him into the wall again.

"I prefer the term hickey."

"Guh, shut up! You know what? Just – just kiss me again!"

And so he complied.

"And then what happened?" Sealand shouted, jumping up and down in his seat with excitement.

"Well, the rest is a secret. But we're still together, almost a thousand years later," Alfred Jones said, leaning down and giving his petite almost – wife a peck on her forehead.

"It's a miracle we've lasted so long," she mumbled, embarrassed. "He irritates the life out of me."

"But you know you love me," he proclaimed, giving Alice puppy eyes.

"That's totally beside the point," she argued, tiptoeing to bestow a chaste smooch on his cheek.

"Ick. That's really nasty," Sealand said, face contorted in a disgusted expression. He stood, leaving the pair to complete their make – out session devoid of any interruptions.

And you know what happened after that? They lived happily ever after.

Most of the time.

"You bloody wanker, France – wannabe! Don't try and slip your hand up my shirt like that!"

"But… But Aaaaaalice!"

There you have it!

SURPRISE!

This is dedicated to you, Misuki-luvs-Link! HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I HOPE YOU LOVE YOUR PRESENT :D The next installment is coming tomorrow, on your real bday ;)

Leave a review for little ol' me, please? How was it? Are you looking forward to the next chapter?