England woke to find every cell in his body screaming at him to stay still. He groaned softly, wincing as even that grated in his head. Jesus. He kept his eyes closed, praying desperately for sleep to drag him back into oblivion. Before it could, a stray thought squirmed its way to the forefront of his mind, followed closely by a vague but strangely urgent unease that prompted him wider awake. Last night. He prodded his memory tentatively, rummaging through the few fragments he could summon. Something about shields. White shields and… Oxen? He snorted. Useless. He groped for the pad of paper he knew would be on the bedside table, bringing it close to his gritty, blurred eyes.

There, in horrible scrawling handwriting, were the words "Call Matthew. Apologize."

England let the pad fall and closed his eyes again.

So it had been that kind of night.

He sighed.

Eyes still closed, he eased himself into a sitting position. He ignored the way his pulse had started to thrum in his temples and bent to gather his coat from the floor, fumbling as he fished his cellphone from the front pocket. He held the infernal device in front of him, squinting hard to make out the screen without letting in too much bloody light. Canada… Canada… He poked at the menus with his finger, bringing up his recent call list and scrolling quickly to the end. The page stopped, and he blinked.

He scowled at the thing, flicking insistently to scroll further down. The list gave a bouncing shift, settled again at the bottom of his screen.

He blinked again, rapid and desperate, but the letters refused to resolve into anything else.

1:48am.

America.

The phone fell to the floor with a clatter.