Disclaimer: I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia.

Summary: After Alfred accidentally breaks a precious gift that had been given to Arthur by Francis...all hell breaks loose. (There is much more to the summary... but I do not want to give away anything that I have planned for upcoming chapters.)

A/N: This is my first Hetalia fanfiction... so I hope you like it. The chapter is short... which is an oddity in my writing, but I'm trying something newer. I'm hoping if the chapters aren't 2000+ words, I'll be able to update sooner... in comparison to my other stories that are currently in progress. ^_^

"Broken"

"Get the hell off of my ship, Alfred." Arthur was straight-faced, looking at the idiot before him with nothing less than contempt. The American did not obey, and continued to handle the miscellaneous, but memorable oddities in the English captain's cabin.

"Dude! Check this out! Hey, Arthur, how in the world do they get the ship inside the bottle? It's way too big to fit in there." A look of confused awe passed over his features. "You didn't use any of your creepy occult magic to get it in the bottle, did you?"

The older man rolled his eyes. "No, you twit, I did not. Now—hey! Put it down—you can't shake it like that; you'll bre—" He stopped as the delicate bottle slipped out of Alfred's fingers, landing in a shattered mess at his feet. Glass and broken wood pieces from the miniature ship lay desolately in scattered heaps. The shock of the impact silenced Arthur, his rage unable to express itself in neither words, nor actions

This was the precise reason he loathed the insolent American standing before him. The ape was accustomed to intruding upon everyone's affairs and using their possessions as toys. Perhaps that might have been okay when he was just a boy—when he was still cute and not an annoying fat-ass. Now, however, propriety had to be considered. Alfred was not a child anymore; he had to think before he ruined everything.

Surprisingly, Alfred did not butcher the moment further by speaking, which almost produced a tingle of thankfulness from the older man. If the English man was not so wholly enveloped with seething ire, he would have questioned what had produced a force large enough to silence Alfred; however, no such thought could be spared.

The ship that was enclosed in that bottle… it had been a gift. It was not a mere trinket used for collecting dust, nor a toy for the self-proclaimed American hero. It was a gift—a memory—a promise. That bottle contained a history that was more treasured than any past military success. It had been given to the sea captain by him.

Arthur took a shaky breath, as the thought of him pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. His voice quivered as he forced himself to speak—to command. "Get." Another shaky breath. "Out." The sea captain felt his eyelids connect violently with his upper cheeks as he silently ordered himself not to lose control—not in front of the American.

Words were vomited from Alfred's mouth as he tried to salvage the situation, "Yo man, you know I didn't mean to…it was an accident! You forgive me, right?"

Each word felt like a silver dagger ripping down his back. He unwillingly forced his eyes open, setting Alfred with a murderous glare that promised every imaginable infliction of pain if he did not obey—immediately. Fortunately for himself, the American did not stay more than ten seconds longer. He lowered his eyes, while murmuring a dejected "sorry," and slipped silently out the door.

The instant Arthur found himself alone, he shrank into himself, allowing himself a moment of uncommon weakness. He would not cry. The captain drew himself to the floor, staring at the shattered memory before him. He would not cry. Timidly, he captured the top half of the miniature ship's figurehead between his fingers, holding it delicately, as if fearful to destroy it further. He would not bloody fucking cry. He had pride as a gentleman: he would not succumb to the feminine urge to show such pitiful emotion.

Arthur caressed the broken segment with his fingers once more. What will I tell him when we see each other next? His gift… his promise…it is destroyed.

A cord snapped within the English captain as he abruptly rose and disregarded the littered memories displayed on the floor. Arthur made his way to the cabinet in the north corner of his quarters. With a violence he had not used in many months, Arthur threw the cabinet doors open, reaching for the hard liquor they concealed. He took a hearty gulp from the bottle, tipping his head back to gain as much leverage over his drink as he could. What will he think?

Arthur made his way to his desk, lavishing in another swig before dropping heavily into

his chair. He glanced once more at the destroyed bottle and the ship it once contained, and then indulged himself in several more mouthfuls of liquor. What will he say? How will he respond? Now that his gift has been destroyed, his promise has been destroyed, and with it, my own.

"Oh fuck it all," Arthur concluded, a single tear threatening his visage. The captain continued his drinking well into the early hours of the next morning, choosing not to end when the first bottle became dry, but to retrieve another to finish off as well. The hours progressed, and Arthur grew weary and more desolate; his blood-shot eyes quivered as he drifted further and further toward a welcomed unconsciousness. As the sea captain finally replaced one comfort for another, he was left with a final wretched reflection. I'm sorry, Francis.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading A Priceless Gift-I promise it will pick up from here. I really hope you enjoyed reading this first chapter; it was certainly fun to write. Please review~~I'd love to hear your opinions on it; keep in mind that if I don't update for a long time, the more reviews I get, the more I feel like a dirtbag for not updating quickly enough...which then prompts me to update sooner. ^_^

Much Love~~