Bittersweet - USUK SongFic - 'Hear You Me'

Summary: America/Alfred hadn't meant to remember so much of what he wanted so badly to forget. Just a simple glance left his head swimming with memories of someone who he couldn't find the words to say to, no matter how hard he searched for them. SongFic, one-shot. - USUK.

The song is: 'Hear You Me' - By Jimmy Eat World ( .com/watch?v=9pQo9OQlIB8 )

* I understand this song is prominently about death but I think it quite suits America and England - this story focuses on the whole grieving over a loss and regret of lost chances aspect etc.

- So anyway, just a one shot about Alfred's general feelings towards Arthur, the current obstacles in their relationship and his confusion at how memories of the nation are affecting him...and my first ever fic!

And just to clear this up, I don't own anything! ;)

There's no one in town I know,

You gave us some place to go.

I never said thank you for that,

I thought I might get one more chance.

Alfred glanced desperately at Arthur during the world conference, overwhelmed by a sudden nostalgia. It wouldn't be the first time Arthur forced him to remember - there were different kinds of memories which mapped out the two countries past. There were good ones - of growing up under England's gentle care, being softly sung to sleep and the feeling of kind hands ruffling his hair, patting him on the back, pulling up the covers at night. There were bad memories too, of not being good enough, strong enough. Wanting to be England's equal rather than his pet. It was always during these that America would remember that day...

Then there were the bittersweet. The most confusing kind. Both the best and undeniably the worst kind. The kind that made him soar a little inside at first - before getting a plummeting feeling in his stomach and wanting to cry. How can a memory be so powerful? Just a thought - a brief image - a smell - can shake you out of reality and change you, if only for a few seconds.

It's better to block most of them out. Alfred thought to himself stubbornly. Particularly where Arthur was involved. The ground was still too rocky - the wounds too raw. What was the point of living in the past anyway? Alfred was a lot more comfortable with the present. It was something he could mostly control. The past was out of his hands now - and besides, why dwell on something that makes you feel like dirt a lot of the time?

...I never said thank you for that,

I thought I might get one more chance.

Despite trying to firmly avert his mind from the emerald eyed nation and reaffirm his beliefs about resurfacing the past, America was gripped by the flood of memories that seemed to drown him, simply from glancing at the country who had meant so much to him.

- The way he laughed - the warm, sound it seemed to make in his throat, his downtrodden expression when he had burned the toast to charcoal for the fifth time. The softness of his hair - the way it shone in the light of morning. - The crumpled expression and the deafening sound of his tears on that fateful day which seemed so far away and yet still so unbearably close.

He felt almost nauseated by the vividness of the memories.

He watched England sit uncomfortably, his eyes downcast, his hands clutching a mug of tea a little too tightly. It was his expression that made America feel as if the air were choking him in his throat. He just looked so...sad. Alfred was overwhelmed by the want to know what was going through the other country's mind right at this moment. He looked broken - and it shocked him.

What would you think of me now?

So lucky, so strong, so proud.

I never said thank you for that.

Now I'll never have a chance.

The image of Arthur was clear now. Of him kneeling before the country he raised so lovingly, the heels of his palms pressed into his eyes and his shoulders shaking.

'Why are you doing this to me? I never wanted it to be like this! ...I-..'

'Not here'. Alfred thought, grimacing and closing his eyes for a second, vaguely hoping that when he opened them again the image would have dissolved. Why now was he remembering? Of course when he was around Arthur the air was filled with mingling memories and unspoken feelings, but the two could be around each other. They could be in the same room, they could have a conversation, they could have an argument. It would never be the same obviously...it could never be the same...

It was as if the American was finally realising the truth about his relationship with England. This was the extent of it now, nothing more, nothing less. They were frozen in time it seemed.

'You used to be so great...'

Alfred's own words resonated against the walls of his skull.

He glanced at Arthur once more. He'll never fully forgive me, he thought. We can be allies, we can be 'friends'. It won't melt the ice that has set in around Arthur's heart. Sure, Alfred would joke, he'd poke fun at him and go out of his way to irritate the Brit. The fact remained stiflingly clear though, in moments like this, when the smaller country was sure no one would look his way, he was broken and it was America who had broken him.

Alfred felt the first pang of guilt. It hit him unexpectedly, like a cold hand slapping him on the face. He had never wanted Arthur to feel that way, he never wanted him to be hurt or crushed. He had just wanted his freedom god damnit! He would never want someone to feel that way, especially not England, not someone he lov- . His thoughts paused momentarily,

yes, he had loved England, he had been his father and his big brother all rolled into one. He had been the one who cared for him and loved him back.

- It was something Alfred had taken entirely for granted - to love and be loved in return. However, sometimes when he looked at the green eyed nation now he wasn't thinking of the love of a father - nor that of a brother. He wanted to be as close to England as he had been - yet he felt as if his feelings had altered- he had veered off track and ventured down a different path. A path he wasn't familiar with . It left him stumbling and breathless, unable to keep up with the turns and obstacles it presented him with. He had been in denial for so long of this creeping feeling but this had grown since into confusion and Alfred was anxious and nervous as to whether the day would come when this blossomed into a full understanding of his mixed up emotions.

All of that aside, the blue eyed man had one profound thought at that point. He had never thanked Arthur. He had told him of his problems - of his desires, he had voiced his disappointments and regrets. He had demanded change and reform. He had never looked the man in the eye and thanked him wholeheartedly for all he had done. And he had done so much...

May angels lead you in.
Hear you me my friends.
On sleepless roads the sleepless go.
May angels lead you in.

Alfred had got what he wanted. He was independent. Not only that, he was strong. He sat among the other countries at the world conference and deserved to be there. He had power, status, he had freedom. Weren't those all the things he had wanted? It wasn't that America wasn't content with this now. It was just that it suddenly all tasted so bittersweet in the back of his throat as he stared at Arthur, now raising his hand to his head as if he had a migraine.

Smile for me. He thought suddenly, unable to remember the last time he had seen the nation truly smile at him.

Alfred saw before him Arthur beaming, standing in a field, his hand outstretched to help his young colony up. His face illuminated by afternoon sun, his forest green eyes so big and filled with light. He yearned for the old smile he once knew so well. Smiling wasn't so hard was it?

So what would you think of me now?

So lucky, so strong, so proud.

I never said thank you for that.

Now I'll never have a chance.

Alfred metaphorically shook himself. He wasn't this guy. The one who was so caught up in the past he forgot about the present. He lived for the moment - no regrets!

He still felt unsettled as he raised his coffee to his nervous lips. Just pay attention to the conference. He told himself firmly. However, although it was rare for him to let memories get to him like this, Alfred knew full well that once the claws of the past had gripped him, it wasn't so easy to break free of them. His mind subconsciously filtered the discussions between of the other countries, the words seemed to blur together - all too serious, too official. He had been thankful for this filter setting before - finding the conferences extremely boring at times. Now he wished he could tune into it. Anything to distract himself.

The younger country felt his eyes wander yet again to the melancholy British nation. He thought long and hard for a moment, how could I make you understand? how could I let you know why I did those things to you? you know I never want to hurt you, right? How can I thank you for all you did for me? Telepathy, it seemed, unfortunately wasn't one of Alfred's skills.

Or was it? Arthur's eyes rose from the point he had been contemplating on the table abruptly and connected with the Alfred's. It was some kind of electricity. The Deep emerald of England's eyes merging into the bright sapphires belonging to America.

His eyes are beautiful. I had forgotten how beautiful his eyes were. Alfred couldn't halt the thought before it entered his mind. He felt himself flush a little and the green eyed nation's brows furrowed slightly in confusion.

May angels lead you in.

Hear you me my friends.

On sleepless roads, the sleepless go.

May angels lead you in,

May angels lead you in,

May angels lead you in.

Alfred panicked inwardly, he opened his mouth slightly as if to mouth some logical reason for him to be staring at England. He closed it again.

The other nation blinked at him and for a second it seemed as if time stood still. This odd link was quickly destroyed when the brisk voice of Germany broke through his thoughts.

"End of Conference. You may go."

It only took this moment for America to look up at the other countries discarding their chairs, chatting and laughing as they left the conference room.

"Hey, America!," Called someone cheerily, "You coming for drinks later?"

"huh?..um...Yeah! You bet I am", Momentarily distracted, the Blue eyed country offered an enthusiastic agreement although he had barely heard the proposal. He was scanning the room for a certain blonde. He finally spotted him walking through the door hastily - a slight scowl on his face.

Why do you do that? He asked inwardly, why do you walk away?

On sleepless roads, the sleepless go.

May angels lead you in.

America needed to speak to England. Now. He was filled with the overwhelming sense that he had to say something to the country, anything, before the chance slipped away from him.

And so he found himself running from the room. It wasn't until he had left the building that he caught sight of England again. The shorter nation was soaked through from rain that Alfred hadn't even realised was falling. He made for the other man, darting through the crowd. A woman yelled at him for knocking hot coffee down her shirt, but he barely heard.

Finally the older country stopped moving so fast.

He turned fiercely, quickly - a glance, a glare? A flash of hurt in his eyes?

"Alfred," He said angrily, but his shoulders sagging from some kind of mental exhaustion, "why are you following me?"

Alfred's mouth opened. He prayed for words he could not find and did not know how to search for.

"I..."

Silence. It hung thick and heavy as the water that pelted the taller country's tensed back. What, Alfred? what do you want him to know?

And if you were with me tonight,
I'd sing to you just one more time...

A song for a heart so big,
god wouldn't let it live.

'I...I wanted to tell you thanks, I don't really do it often- I never did but...well I appreciate you, you meant- you mean a lot to me, Arthur...so, well, thanks...and...I'm sorry...' He spluttered most of this awkwardly, muttering the last bit quietly, his voice faltering slightly.

Arthur sighed, he turned his back.

You're doing it again. why are you walking away? Is it because I walked away from you? Is this what it felt like when I turned my back? I want to see your face, I want to see you. Smile for me. Just once more...

Alfred watched as Arthur took a few steps away from him, his hands clenched by his sides. Dumbstruck and suddenly hollow, there was nothing for America to do but watch his previous father-figure retreat further away from him. It would only be so long before he disappeared completely. Lost in the busy, insensitive crowd, and lost from Alfred who now needed him so badly.

He counted the steps, 1, 2, 3, 4-... there they surprisingly halted. Arthur turned for the final time, eyes piercing through Alfred with a kind of accusation which almost, almost, masked the hint affection lurking behind the stare.

'Come on then, don't just stand there like an idiot,' He demanded impatiently, avoiding the other country's confused gaze, ' It's bloody freezing out here. We're soaked - let's at least go somewhere dry.'

Alfred blinked. He heard a strange half gasp, half laugh from somewhere and realised it was from his own throat. He felt himself overwhelmed by an undiscovered, unlabeled emotion which made him want to cry.

Alfred fell into step with his friend. They were silent as they walked but this silence was no longer heavy with the weight of unspoken regrets and desires. It felt light as air between them - much was still left unsaid, but the few words uttered held long awaited significance. It was refreshing to Alfred. To Arthur too. It was as if they had both been locked up in dark rooms - feeling their way through each day - the air stifling and choking, leaving them mute and bitter. Now they had opened their tightly sealed doors and taken a peek - just a glance - at the fresh, new but still familiar world awaiting them outside, just the way they had left it. It was a small action but enough for both of them to get a lungful of the sweet, clear air they had missed so much. Finally letting them breathe.

May angels lead you in.
Hear you me my friends.
On sleepless roads, the sleepless go.
May angels lead you in.

Then there were the bittersweet. The most confusing kind. The kind that lead you forward, staggering - blind. That fed you and fed off of you. The best and undeniably the worst kind. The kind that lead to thoughtless actions, capable of changing everything. The kind that lead you to another, capable of changing everything.

On sleepless roads, the sleepless go.
May angels lead you in.

Then there were the bittersweet. The most confusing kind. The kind that makes you remember the things you need to hold onto - but also those which you must let go.

A/N: So this is my first ever fan fiction. A bit of a ramble to be honest ;/

Please review! I'm curious to know what people think, seeing as it's my first. Don't worry about going easy on me - I just want to know people's real opinions.