There had been a long meeting that afternoon and Arthur wasn't much in the mood for conversation. He had followed Alfred back to his apartment just the same, and was glad to see that the younger nation felt fine about leaving him alone.

Arthur was reading Nicholas Nickleby as part of his promise to reread his way through the complete works of Dickens. Alfred was happily poking at his I-pad, undoubtedly playing some idiotic game that he'd downloaded off the internet. He was also watching the news, looking up every minute or so and then changing the channel. He had switched between Fox, MSNBC, and CNN countless times by this point.

"What are you playing?" Arthur asked with mild interest. The gentleman in him was feeling rather rude for simply throwing himself on Alfred's hospitality without giving so much as a word.

"Oregon Trail," Alfred answered simply. He sighed heavily and slunk down into the couch dramatically. "Life was so much simpler then."

"You look to the past with rose colored glasses," Arthur told him, smiling slightly despite himself.

"An eagle ate my daughter," Alfred responded miserably. The Englishman had no real response for this, so he simply went back to his novel.

Eventually Arthur lifted his eyes, once again, from Dickens. Alfred was thoroughly distracted from his I-pad. He was watching the news intently. Curious, Arthur followed Alfred's gaze to the screen. The news anchor was talking about some Mosque that was going to be built in New York City.

He had heard a little about it before, and he knew enough to tell that many Americans were raising a fuss because of how close it was to the place where the world trade centers had once stood. The Anchor was saying that the vast majority of Americans were firmly against the construction, but Arthur could have guessed as much from the way Alfred's hand hovered unconsciously over the scar he had received on 9/11.

"What are you thinking?" he asked anyway, curious to see exactly how everything was sitting with him.

"It's like they're rubbing it in my face," Alfred said in a low growl.

"Who?" Arthur pressed.

"Muslims," Alfred said, but he seemed mildly uncomfortable.

"They're Americans you know."

"Oh shut up, Arthur. You knew what I was gonna say. Did you ask just so you could sit there and be all smug?" the young nation snapped. There was some truth in what Alfred had just said, but Arthur had not asked solely so that he could feel superior. He was also curious as to exactly how Alfred would react, and he guessed by his response that Alfred knew he was being unreasonable.

"All I'm saying is that they're your citizens, and as such they are entitled to religious freedom. They have every right to build there," Arthur told him flatly.

"It's not fair!" Alfred said suddenly, and the older nation could not figure out quite what he was talking about. Alfred glared at the floor before turning to Arthur again, "It's not fair. Whenever I do something like this, whenever I freak out and treat some group of people differently, the whole world gives me hell. It's not fair. I'm not the only one who does it. You do it. Every nasty thing my people ever did to Irish immigrants was learned from you. You still have trouble with immigration too. You have people who are unfair. You have moments when you're unreasonable. Everybody does it. Most of Europe is freaked out about Muslim immigrants, and gypsies or whatever. I never had any problem with gypsies. Asia has problems like that too. You know as well as I do that you can't walk around Japan with blond hair and be treated normally. No one accuses him of anything. Why does everyone expect me to be perfect?"

Arthur was taken aback. He had no idea that Alfred had been sitting there simmering with these sorts of emotions. "Alfred, you're not the only one who gets looked down on for these sort of humanitarian problems."

"But everyone still expects more of me. Why do I have to be perfect?" Alfred seemed honestly upset. There were tears of deep emotion in the corners of his eyes, and though Arthur did not expect them to fall, he was still stunned to see them there. He put aside his book and held out an arm to the young nation, much as he would have when he was still a child.

"Alfred come here," he said gently. Alfred came to him slowly, but let Arthur run his hands soothingly through his hair. The older nation did not continue until Alfred's breathing had regulated. "It's not a bad thing to have people expect more of you. It means that they think you're capable of more."

"But I'm not," Alfred said moodily, "Not when it comes to being reasonable anyway."

"Yes you are," Arthur told him, although he was sure he would regret it later. "Alfred, that constitution of yours and that damned declaration, they mean something to the rest of the world. You were the first country to take all the pretty ideals that we were cultivating in Europe and put them into practice. The ideals you were founded on are truly beautiful and so many nations have followed in your footsteps since then. Alfred, there is nothing so many of us want from you more than for you to live up to those ideals. Your people and the rest of world, or most of the world anyway, we want you to succeed in what you set out to do.

"When people hate you, when they look down on you or turn up their noses, it's because of the things you do that go against your promises. Alfred people give you hell because you've made promises that you haven't lived up to. They're disappointed in you because you've given them such wonderfully high expectations."

Alfred stared at Arthur as though he were stunned. The older nation so rarely complimented him, and to hear these words of faith was quite unexpected. But his ego was still feeling weak and his next words were quiet.

"Do you think I'll ever be able to live up to it, to the promises and everything I was founded on?"

"You've made a lot of stupid mistakes in your life time, but you seem to improve with each of them. I suppose eventually you'll run out of groups of people to be afraid of. Let's see how you're doing in the next four hundred years."

Alfred smiled at him, seeming almost grateful to be teased like that.

" I suppose I have gotten over a lot of my old problems, at least mostly. It gets better every year doesn't it?" He said sounding like his old optimistic self. "I suppose someday I won't be so… nervous about Muslims anymore, or illegal immigrants."

"Immigrants my ass, you have a problem with Mexicans," Arthur said picking up his book again.

"Do not!" Alfred snapped defensively, but his mood was much to improved to feel anger for long. "I bet there's other stuff I'll get over too."

"The gay thing, I hope," Arthur said looking at him.

"You can't talk any. You still just have civil unions or something like it, I at least have gay marriage in New England. So you can stop acting all high and mighty and progressive and crap," he settled back into the couch happily.

He was silent for a long time, looking thoughtful and strangely at peace. A look of determination flashed across his face and he turned to Arthur. "I'll try too; I really will. Even when I'm scared and I feel hateful and unreasonable, I'll try my hardest to be all logical and stuff. If I try and be bigger than my fears, if I try remember my promises when I most want to ignore them, well then I suppose someday I won't be afraid of anything."

Arthur smiled at him honestly, "I hope so."