Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, nor would I be able to keep the amazing quality up if I did.

I got this idea ages ago, and typed up most of this over vacation last year. I only just pulled this up from my desktop a few days ago, and decided to continue this. Hong Kong is one of my favorite cities in the world, and I really wanted to write something on Hong Kong. So here it is, another one of those "Why did America leave?" fics.

"Alright, I declare this meeting over. You may leave now," Germany announced, packing his briefcase and walking out of the room. All the other nations rose, and filed out of the room, the chatter becoming louder than the quiet whispers that had been evident throughout the meeting. America laughed happily. The meeting was over! He could go home and eat all those hamburgers he had prepared earlier! He stood up, collecting his papers and making his way to the door. Suddenly, he stopped as a quiet voice called out.

"Excuse me."

Well, America thought, he's probably a young nation who's lost. And it just wouldn't be American to leave him confused. America turned around, and saw a small boy with messy black hair and large, brown eyes. America stared at him blankly.

"Would you happen to be the United States?" The same voice asked him, but now America frowned. He could've sworn he heard that voice somewhere. America nodded slowly, staring quizzically at the young boy.

"Why yes I am, and you are…" He trailed off, scanning the boy once again. Suddenly he noticed the Chinese characters written on the boy's palm. He squinted, trying to make out the neat calligraphy.

"Xiang Gang!" America declared triumphantly. The boy looked at him with the same calm expression that he had a minute ago, but nodded to America's happy announcement.

"Yes, but I am known as Hong Kong to everybody else," The boy answered. America looked at the boy again.

"You must be one of China's folks!" America said, noting the traditional Chinese apparel the boy was wearing. The boy shook his head.

"No, not any more," The boy murmured sadly. America paused, running through all of the recent events he could remember.

"Oh! That's right, you're one of Iggy's newbies!" America snapped his fingers as he realized, shooting an apologetic look to the boy. The boy nodded.

"Yes, Mr. Britain now 'owns' me," Hong Kong said, wincing slightly.

"Sorry about that, got kinda confused there. So, was there something you wanted?" America asked. Hong Kong suddenly looked nervous.

"Actually, yes. You were a British colony once, no?" Hong Kong asked, biting his lip. America nodded slowly, the smile still on his face.

"For a while, yeah."

"I was just wondering, what is Mr. Britain like? To his colonies?" Hong Kong questioned, scratching the back of his head. America paused, the gears in his head turning as he wracked his brain for an answer.

"Well, Iggy doesn't treat his colonies badly, if that's what you're worried about…" America trailed off. Hong Kong didn't look satisfied.

"But how does he treat them? Does he try to flirt with them, like I have heard about Mr. France?" Hong Kong pressed. America shook his head hurriedly.

"By Washington, no. He treats his colonies like actual people. Sure, he won't visit much, he's a pretty busy guy. But all in all, he's a real gentleman, and doesn't treat you in ways you don't want him to," America answered quickly. Hong Kong seemed unsatisfied.

"Did you like being his colony?" Hong Kong urged, his expression intent on getting what he wanted. America stopped, drooping back down onto his chair.

"Yes. I did. A lot," He answered softly, fiddling with his thumbs.

"Then why did you become independent?" Hong Kong quizzed. America didn't answer, simply doodling eagles on a spare sheet of paper he had.

"It's a weird reason." America shrugged lamely. Hong Kong gestured for him to continue.

"Well, I like England. I really do. He's a great guy, and I really loved being under his care. He has that thing about him, you know, that makes you want to stick with him because he can make you feel so safe. It's just that, and I guess I'll sound pretty stupid, I was sick of him seeing me as a little kid, y'know?" Hong Kong nodded slowly, trying to picture the man sitting in front of him as a young boy, striving for freedom.

"He was just so, well, strong. He was kicking ass back and forth and what was I doing? Playing house with some little wooden soldiers he made when I was a kid. I felt so weak and stupid somehow. So I did it. I told my president I wanted out, I told the soldiers I had secretly been recruiting, I told everybody but England," America breathed, memories flashing through his mind. The rain. The eyes, the eyes that looked almost unnatural on anyone but him. The fateful document that had changed his life.

The silence that he had endured for so many years, even when he was battling himself.

"In fact, I don't think I ever told him face to face. The next time he saw me was on the battlefield, running toward me with his musket," America murmured, the memory as fresh as if it had happened the day before. "He could've easily killed me then, gotten rid of all his problems and never give me a second thought," America mused, a small smile playing on his lips. The smile disappeared as he thought of the next event. "But he didn't. He fell. His empire fell. Everything fell," America knitted his eyebrows together, thinking of all the battles his former mentor had lost after him.

"I see." Hong Kong's words were short, and he nodded. "I thank you for your time." He bowed his head, and left the room. America sighed, the appetite for a hamburger gone.

"Well," He muttered to himself, "That was a real blast from the past." He got up, and made his way to the door. Suddenly, he found himself staring at a pair of familiar green eyes.

"Did you mean it?" England's voice was deadly quiet, his need for an answer clear.

"Mean what?" America said curtly, trying to sidestep the shorter man.

"You felt weak and stupid?" America didn't answer, trying to find another door out. Unfortunately, the room only had one door, and the British man was blocking it.

"Yes, I felt weak and stupid. Happy? Lemme out," America snapped, feeling the helpless mood in him grow.

"You were neither of those things," England said calmly, crossing his arms.

"Oh, I suppose that's a real compliment, coming from the man who's the king the world. Do I get a medal with this?" America was shocked at his own outburst. Couldn't he just avoid him, like he had been doing ever since his independence?

"No need for the lip, boy. You weren't weak, or stupid. You knew what you were doing," England said, a sour expression overcoming the neutral one he had before.

"Not as well as you did." America felt anger bubble up inside him as he turned his back on England.

"You were young," England shrugged, sitting down.

"How many colonies did you have, anyway? Why did you care? I was just another one of them, what's so special about me?" Suddenly, America was just that little colony who would wrap his arms around England's legs, begging him not to go. He felt just as helpless, just as weak as he had felt long ago. England kept a steady eye on him, observing the slight shakiness of his shoulders, the heavy, yet almost silent breaths that left the nation's lips.

"Would you like an exact number, or would you like me to keep it to myself?" England asked drily. America glared at him, Texas shining off the bright sunlight that radiated from the window.

"A number, thanks," America growled, trying to restrain himself from hitting his former mentor. How was he staying so calm, while he himself was trying to stop himself from committing murder? England pursed his lips, America could see him mouthing numbers as he calculated.

"I've owned about eleven million, two hundred and sixty-five thousand, four hundred and eight kilometers, if my maths is correct," England answered. America froze.

Right then, he felt so inadequate, so small compared to the man sitting across from him, keeping the green-eyed gaze on him.

"Would you like me to answer any other questions?" England said suddenly, standing from his seat, "Or would you like me to leave?" America thought, finally meeting England's gaze.

"Why didn't you shoot?" America asked suddenly, as the Brit had started to turn toward the door. Finally, England froze. He turned, and locked eyes with America, seeing the same innocent blue eyes that had always shone and sparkled in his presence, now flaming. Any words he tried to say wouldn't come out, the speech he had planned in his mind was all jumbled.

"I… couldn't," England whispered, seeing the same rain blurring his vision, the same cold feeling that hadn't come entirely from the heavy rain that pounded on his back. He felt the comfortable weight of his musket in his hands, he sensed every thought of his soldiers.

He felt that same heartbreak he had felt back then.

"Why not?" America asked, the dark expression feeling unfamiliar to him, "You could've killed me there, gotten rid of all the trouble, stopped everything from disappearing." He almost sounded like he was taunting him, with the anger in his tone, the fury that was evident on his face. England shook his head, turning back towards the door and making his way to it. He felt a heavy gloved hand grab his shoulder, and he was flipped around, staring into the pale blue eyes that he had found himself staring into more often than acceptable.

"Why," America breathed, "Not?" The only sound for a few seconds was the humming bird thrum of England's heart, and America's quick breaths.

"I couldn't shoot you. You were special, you were my favourite, because you'd always run to the door when I arrived, you'd always be grateful for my presents, you'd always have that happy gleam in your eyes when I played with you. You were my favourite. You always were," England hissed, feeling the steady crawl of anger rising within him.

America stared at him with eyes that were darker than usual. They stayed silent, staring at each other.

"Am I still your favorite?" America blurted. He slammed a hand on his mouth, feeling the regret boil inside him. England looked surprised.

"You aren't a colony. You proved that to me through eight years of war and bloodshed," England answered bitterly.

"Am I still your favorite?" America repeated. England felt his heart speed up; he hadn't realized that it could until it felt like it would fall out of chest right then and there.

"… Yes." The answer was out. England felt the redness rise to his cheeks. Oh, bloody hell. Couldn't he have said Ireland? She was nice enough while she was sober. Or his brother, good grief, what ever was his name? He knew that the brother was nicer than the angry American standing in front of him.

Yet he hadn't expected the American's reaction, which had been to grab him by the jacket and kiss him roughly, then shove him away.

"Thanks for answering," America said gruffly. England couldn't breathe.

He suddenly felt all the feelings he had for him, the ones that he didn't even know he had, flash to his consciousness. That was what made him shove America toward him and press his lips to his. This wasn't like the first kiss, where the spontaneity had added to the thrill felt vaguely like fireworks erupting within him. This was sweet and slow, and he felt jacketed arms wrap around him. He pulled away, and they stood in silence.

"So…" America started, "What does this mean?" He asked. England shook his head.

"I have to get back to Hong Kong," He muttered, and took off. America sighed softly.

"Bye, gaol," America murmured to himself, gathering his things and leaving the room, switching the lights off on his way out.

Notes:

You're free to guess when this takes place, for a little background information, Hong Kong was colonized by Britain in 1841. This would be late, depending on the time period you choose, but I'd think Iggy would've been so busy around this time that Hong Kong wouldn't be able to get the gist of his personality.

The statistics of Iggy's colonies is converted from miles, and is from about the 1870-90s. There are probably other answers for this, but this is just the statistic I found from the website I was using.

I like using British spelling for England's thoughts and speech. Heh.

Gaol - Love ; Gaelic. I like thinking that England taught America a little Gaelic, as there were also some Scottish settlers in the New World, along with the fact that back then the United Kingdom was just England and Scotland. As you can tell, the UK's evolved quite a lot, eh? (Typo in previous upload. Never write at three in the morning without proofreading the next day, kids)

Finally, my research on Hong Kong has benefitted this New Yorker. Anyway, until next time! ^^