Yay, it's an epilogue - the long and awaited, haha. Finally, almost two months later, we can lay this story to rest.

Thank you to: Zeplerfer, Phantasmagoric Kaleidoscope, Tamitan, saketini, Iggy Butt, PrincessSaphire1, Xenia van Hausen, Guest, foxymaloxy, Symphonyk, Lamashtar Two, oblivious fantasizer, Helisse and jagaimo-chan!

Glad you all agreed that Arthur deserved a smack in the mouth. XD

Epilogue

April, 1917

"Well, I think that's just about everything," the American general drawled; he was a Southerner with a low, lazy accent, the sort that tended to put Alfred to sleep. "...Unless you had anything to add, Lieutenant Colonel?"

Alfred, who had been fidgeting with his tie, straightened sharply. All eyes were on him, it seemed, and he glanced about like a cornered rabbit before shaking his head.

"Ah, no, I, uh... think we about covered everything." He patted his hands on his knees. "Here we are, gentlemen, ready to fight."

"In that case," one of the British officers said briskly, "we can bring this meeting to a close. Lieutenant Colonel Jones, a car will take you up to the Front tonight."

Alfred nodded and they all stood, exchanging salutes. The office was a small one and the leaving was undertaken in single file, Alfred hanging towards the back. The truth was, he had no intention of leaving-

Given that Arthur was the only person who had not moved, remaining in his seat by the window. He hadn't said much during the meeting, barely noticing Alfred, who had spent much of his time sneaking furtive glances at him.

Arthur, it was fair to say, was rather worse for wear. He had a bad cough, which he had apologised for and accounted to his trench being gassed the week before; this certainly seemed to have some merit, for his eyesight seemed also to have been badly damaged, with angry blistering around his left eye socket. He also had crutches propped against his chair, although he had already been seated when Alfred and the other Americans had entered the office and so the extent of physical damage was yet unknown.

"You coming, Jones?" the general asked, pausing at the door.

"Uh, I'll hang back a moment," Alfred replied. "I just want to talk to Arthur."

The general nodded and left pulling the door behind him. Swallowing, alone with Arthur for the first time since that May morning in 1915, Alfred turned towards him, tugging his jacket straight. The uniform was brand new and still very stiff with starch, so much so that he fancied he could hear it creaking whenever he moved. He stayed where he was.

Arthur, at length, turned his face towards him; his gaze was a little off, as though he couldn't quite make out where Alfred was.

"Don't just stand there," he sighed; his voice was scratchy from the coughing and he sounded exhausted. "I shan't bite you."

Alfred breathed out, steeling himself, and padded over to him, pulling the chair adjacent before him. He sank into it, Arthur tilting his head towards him - following the sound, it seemed.

"...Are you blind?" Alfred asked softly.

"Not completely," Arthur replied airily. He gestured to the badly-blistered eye, the white of it stained yellow and the green gone pale. "This one's shot but the other's still got a bit of vision. I'll be alright in a few days, I expect. It was a particularly bad mustard gas attack."

Alfred tipped his head back, breathing out through his nose.

"Good to know what awaits me," he sighed.

"Oh, it was always awaiting you, love," Arthur said dryly. "Though I must congratulate you for dragging it out quite this long."

Alfred snorted.

"You're lucky I came at all."

"For god's sake, Alfred, we both know this isn't about me." Arthur sounded very impatient, coughing a little. "The Germans are getting desperate and they're doing crazier and crazier things. Proposing an alliance with Mexico?!" He actually laughed, though it was wheezy. "Ludwig's completely off his rocker and there's your proof."

"About that..." Alfred twisted his fingers together, glancing towards the window. "...Thanks. I know you had your motives for passing it on but still... it was good of you. Es-especially after I ignored every letter, telegram and Christmas card you've sent since 1915."

"Oh, I expect you'd have found out sooner or later," Arthur replied lazily. "It's just that later wouldn't have benefited me much."

Alfred gave a stiff nod.

"That sounds about right."

Arthur smiled wanly at him.

"...I trust you're still angry about the Lusitania?"

Alfred bit at his bottom lip, staring intently out of the window. There wasn't much to look at, just dismal grey concrete and barbed wire.

"I am," he sighed at length. "...But I understand why you did it. I've had almost two years to mull it over, after all." He eyed Arthur warily. "I hope that's enough. I can't forgive you for it, Arthur, but I do understand. I... I know this war hasn't been easy on you."

Arthur gave a thoughtful nod.

"That's something, at least." He coughed into his fist. "And somewhat fitting, in the end. It seems that Germany only proposed the alliance with Mexico because they knew that their announcing unrestricted submarine warfare once again would put you ill at ease with them. The Lusitania incident might not have brought you lot into the war but I shouldn't imagine it did much for Germany's image in the States."

Alfred shook his head.

"No, there's been talk ever since about taking revenge," he agreed. "Wilson's had a bit of a job convincing everyone that neutrality was the best stance. Maybe it was only one hundred and twenty-eight Americans in the end - less than Titanic, even - but that's still one hundred and twenty-eight Americans too many."

"And here you are in the end anyway," Arthur sighed.

"Oh, don't gloat," Alfred said disgustedly.

"I'm not gloating." Arthur shrugged. "It was inevitable, I think. You're not one to let an attack like that go, even if your response was... delayed, we'll say."

"You know I never thought that the Central Powers were right," Alfred said, low-voiced. "...It's just that you're as bad as them."

"What choice do I have?" Arthur sighed, rubbing at his blistering absently; it was weeping, slick and grimy over his cheek. "I'm not going to lie down in the mud for them, much as they'd like me to, I'm sure." He gave an impatient snort. "And I'm certainly not going to buy my way out like Ivan."

"Yeah, that was rotten of him, leaving you in the lurch like that..."

"Well, I suppose he can't let it fester untreated," Arthur said grudgingly; he frowned hard at Alfred, as though trying his utmost to see him clearly. "Besides, we have you now, at least."

Alfred gave him a watery smile.

"Guess you're glad to see me, huh?"

Arthur frowned.

"You have no idea," he sighed, "just how glad am I to see you, Alfred - Lusitania grudge and all."

Alfred rubbed at the back of his neck, embarrassed by the candidness, the rawness, of this admission. He suddenly felt very guilty for all those burnt letters and cards. God only knew what they had said.

"You're a spoilt brat," Arthur went on calmly, as though intercepting his thoughts, "but I suppose I only have myself to blame for that." He smiled. "And besides, we'll soon work that out of you."

Alfred stood up.

"We should go," he said briskly. "They'll be wondering where we are."

"Or what we're up to." Arthur raised his eyebrows at him. "It was a hardly a secret, you know - and if you will insist on disappearing for two years into the half-tamed wilderness with another nation, people are going to talk."

"We've gone two years without even communicating," Alfred said lamely. "O-or, rather, I ignored your every attempt-"

"What's two years to creatures such as us?" Arthur put out his hand. "Would you help me? I don't really need the crutches anymore, to be honest, I was in worse shape last week - our trench was shelled, too, would you believe it?"

"What are you, a magnet?" Alfred took his hand and hoisted him up. "I sure hope I'm not in your trench."

"You won't be - you'll have your own trench with other Americans; and hopefully, with a bit of luck, the Germans will see you as a lovely new target and leave off me for five minutes."

"Gee, thanks." Alfred looked at Arthur, who was fumbling a bit beside him. "...Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." Arthur took hold of his arm. "Just let me hang onto you to get out of the room, will you?"

This, Alfred suspected, was a bit of a front, for Arthur didn't seem to be able to see very well at all (it was little wonder with that sort of damage); he was careful in escorting him, trying to steer him around the furniture, and it felt like those early years after the Civil War, helping men who bodies had been destroyed in battle, many of whom could no longer walk.

Arthur stumbled a bit against the table and Alfred caught him, righting him again; and he held him close for a moment, putting his face against his shoulder. His uniform, by contrast, was well broken in, worn away, and he stank of mud and chemicals, probably the gas and who knew what else they were throwing at each other, gunpower and blood and damp. He smelt of the men, of course, and a nation he may have been - but they were caged in human bodies and that was that.

There was no real escape.

"What's the matter?" Arthur asked softly, stroking Alfred's hair. "Are you crying? There's no need for that."

"I'm sorry," Alfred mumbled, wiping his face, knocking his glasses askew. "I just... you n-needed me and I ignored you, I-"

"Sshh." Arthur took his face. "It's alright, love. You're here now."

Alfred looked helplessly at him.

"Aren't you angry?"

"A little bit - but you're angry about the Lusitania. It's all even in the end." Arthur shrugged. "Maybe we don't have to forgive each other for everything. We are nations, after all; and we have long memories."

"But I'm afraid," Alfred said miserably. "You're the most powerful nation in the world a-and look what this war's done to you...!" He touched Arthur's cheek, noting that he flinched just a little. "...What hope have I got?"

Arthur seemed surprised, pushing Alfred's hand from his face.

"My dear," he said, "you have all the hope in the world."

Alfred looked away.

"Don't be so-"

"I mean it." Arthur took hold of his chin, forcing him to look at him. "You don't see it; you're too young, I fancy, and too naive. But you are what we have been waiting for, Francis and Belle and I, shivering in the trenches since 1914. Why? Because with your help, we will win."

Alfred rolled his eyes.

"Ugh, it's just money, it's-"

"Money means nothing. The Titanic was the most expensive thing on the planet when she sank. I had everything I could possibly want in the world when I almost destroyed myself."

"That's-"

"I might be half blind," Arthur said gently, putting both hands to Alfred's face, "but do you think I don't know strength when I see it?"

Alfred smiled weakly at him.

"You're getting as bad as Wilson," he teased.

Arthur grinned.

"Well, maybe the Old Romantic does talk some sense after all." He pinched Alfred's cheeks. "Though I'll thank you to keep any and all Divine Liberty to yourself."

"Do I have to keep my mouth to myself?" Alfred asked, pulling his head free.

"That is at your discretion, Lieutenant Colonel," Arthur replied primly.

"Good." Alfred leaned down, pressing a kiss to Arthur's mouth; it was quick and dry, perfectly-formed, and he pulled back with a bit of pout. "...I don't want to talk about the Lusitania ever again, okay?"

If Arthur had any comment to make regarding this being naive or childish, he kept it to himself; instead he nodded once, dipping his head as though bowing to a king. He took Alfred's arm.

"Let's go, love," he said. "We've a war to win."

"You always put such faith in me," Alfred said softly; feeling lost and led to the slaughter. Arthur was holding on to him very tightly indeed.

"Of course, my dear." Arthur smiled at him. "This is your century, after all."

The 20th Century, also known as the American Century, of course.

The proposed alliance between Germany and Mexico was detailed in the Zimmermann Telegram, wherein Germany - aware that the resurgence of unrestricted submarine warfare would cause unrest in the US, given the Lusitania incident - offered Mexico help in reclaiming territories taken by the United States if Mexico sided with Germany. British Intelligence intercepted the telegram and passed it on to Washington, more or less bringing the United States into the war on the side of the Allies.

To answer Zeplerfer: Yes, Alfred's beloved RMS Carpathia did in fact also sink, torpedoed in 1918 by a German submarine - an unjust end for the rescuer of Titanic's survivors. More chillingly, there is actually a photograph of her sinking.

...I'm not going to write a fic about that. Or about Britannic sinking in 1916. Or about Dr Robert Ballard finding Titanic's wreck in 1985 (I expect Alfred would flip the fuck out - admittedly her wreck is fascinatingly creepy, the way her bow is just sitting upright on the seabed... o.O)

Anyway, my point is, I am finished with this universe; although I am glad I revisited it for this story, in some ways I feel that this one was actually the more interesting one, there was certainly a lot more at stake between the boys as nations, at the very least...

Well, anyway, thank you all so very, very much for sticking with me through the long delays in getting these chapters out - and for all your kind comments, too. It's been a pleasure and I hope that everyone enjoyed it...?

...Even if no-one cares about Lusitania as much as Titanic. Where's James Cameron when you need him?