A/N: So, I exist. Yes, someday I will finish Insignificant. I just don't know how.

State of the Nation is my angst/drabble fic, with no plot still, but I think people like it. Let's play what current events I'm referencing.

…

Arthur never caught on. Arthur, with his furrowed brows and a look that stated he might know more as Alfred hugged the only throne he's ever known, how could he possibly admit anything resembling the truth. He, who had lived so many years, surely withstood more anguish in millennia. "Just a cold, I geuss." Feeble lies; shouldn't his brother know? Does Alfred want him to understand? To feel as gilded, insides corroded away with vomit, as Alfred did?

…

Years pass in a blur; for a nation, a year can seem like a day. For Alfred: a lifetime. Political unrest boiling over, and Alfred has only added to his personal self destruction. The reminder of days truly long ago—before America—he's slicing each memory apart, each trickle of red, a piece of himself. Of her. Native America. Mother. Would she grieve what he came? Another slice. So young, but feeling so weary. Mother Native America said she felt so tired when Britain appeared. What if he feels so mentally tired all the time? Will he make it to 300 years?

Just a little deeper. He can breathe for a moment. Now he's back at the civil War, and that's okay. At least he can find comfort in this crude maladaptive coping mechanism. He, the nation, is at the brink of war (what does one call war when its victor is the same as the loser). The last century and a half: a mere stop gap for his people's rage. Over a third of himself wants his collapse. And wouldn't it be so easy?

Tired eyes soften in the mirror, and Alfred lets the sleeves of his oversized jacket slip over the scars. When he no longer has the energy to purge, five minutes unnoticed in the bathroom puts the smile back in his façade. The mirror effigy is perfectly composed. After all, he just has to get through the rest of the meeting, the rest of the day, and he can return the forever peace of the night.