Time After Time

(Kay so this is one of the first things I ever put online besides my role-playing...all my other fanfics and stories that are older than this still reside in my many notebooks ;/ Hope you like...let me know what you think of it please...Oh yes, it should be noted that I do not own the characters in this fanfic, nor do I own the song or the lyrics used. The song is Time After Time by Quiet Drive)

America waited impatiently in front of England's door. Earlier that week, before the G8 meeting had begun, America had made the Brit promise to go clubbing with him. America was fully aware of the fact that England could play a guitar. So here he was, in front of England's door, one Guitar in a case slung over his back and another in his right hand. He also knew that England wasn't really too enthusiastic about this whole thing but with the G8 meeting taking place in Vegas…well it just had to be done. America had scouted out a club where he and England could play on stage (He was friends with the manager), even though he hadn't bothered asking the other if he wanted to play a guitar in front of a crowded club. America sighed and forced a smile on his face, so long as he got to play a song with England before the date changed everything would be spectacular. For now though, America stood in front of the door, tapping his foot impatiently. Patience was NOT his strong point.

The door finally opened and England stood behind it, looking slightly reluctant.

America's grin became genuine and he waved, "Ready to go?" He asked excitedly.

England looked a bit sick, "I know I said I'd go but, I don't think this is a good idea…"

America raised his eyebrows, scanning the British man in front of him, "Well DUH, not in that clothing anyway, geez have you really never been clubbing before!"

England frowned, his eye twitching slightly. He was wearing slightly formal black pants with a long sleeve white dress shirt and a dark green sweater vest. Perfectly normal clothing that he was comfortable in.

America on the other hand was grinning stupidly and wore baggy black cargo pants with a double red stripe down each leg. He also had on a grey long sleeve shirt with a black t-shirt pulled on over it. The black t-shirt had a red skull on it. Then the obnoxious American had a golden chain around his neck and goggles pushed up, slightly past his forehead.

England mentally facepalmed as he eyed America critically, "No, I haven't and I don't really want to go now."

America blinked, a slight frown on his face, lip jutting out in a very childish pout.

"This is all France's fault for making fun of you at the meeting isn't it!" He asked, the thought that maybe England was just uncomfortable never crossing his mind.

England said nothing, just drew his caterpillar eyebrows closer together and glared at the ground.

The silence hung over the two nations for a moment before America finally spoke up.

"There'll be alcohol…"

"…Really?"

"Yup."

"…Give me five minutes."

The door closed and America was left alone in the hall, staring blankly at the door in front of him.

England paused after closing the door, his head was back against it, arms plastered to his sides. He was shaking slightly tears rolling down his face as he slipped down and sat on the floor, hugging himself as he tried to stop the shaking.

It took a moment but England finally stopped shaking and was able to push himself up, moving away from the door and quickly towards the bathroom, passing a calendar along the way. X's crossed out the days that had come and gone. The third day of the month was circled, indicating that that was the current date. The month? The top of the calendar read July.

The clock next to the calendar read 8:00 PM. In four hours, the third would be over and England would have to spend the fourth with America most probably…he was going to need the alcohol. Maybe if he knocked himself out with it, he could just sleep through the fourth.

England fell against the sink, gripping the edges tightly, tears still rolling down his face as he struggled to push himself up and dry his eyes. A minute or so later, England's face was dry though his eyes were bloodshot and it was obvious he'd been crying. Shaky hands ran through messy hair in a futile attempt to make it lie flat. England sighed and glared at his reflection before finally leaving the bathroom and opening the door to his apartment. He stepped out and closed the door behind him.

America's smiling face met his own scowling one and he crossed his arms stubbornly in front of his body.

"Right," England began, extremely glad his voice didn't hitch, he still felt like crying, "So how are we getting there…and do I even want to know why you brought your guitars?"

"Taxi, and we're gonna play a song…you can choose of course, but we're gonna play a song!"

"Going to," England corrected, following America down a flight of stairs (he was only on the second floor of the hotel), and out of the building, "We're going to play a song."

America shrugged, "Same difference."

"No it's not, and there is NO way I'm going to play a song."

"Aww, c'mon England, ya gotta play a song with me!"

England cringed, he wasn't even going to attempt to fix all the problems in that sentence.

"No, end of conversation." The Brit said, re-folding his arms across his chest.

America frowned and raise his arm, flagging down on of the many taxis rushing by.

"Hmph!"

England raised an eyebrow at the sound from the American but decided not to comment as the cab driver got out and opened the door for them.

England clambered into the back quickly, the sky was cloudy and he had no intention of getting wet tonight. He heard the taxi drivers' voice and America's as the brownish-blonde haired man explained where they were going before America followed him into the cab. The door shut behind him and soon the driver was in his own seat and the pulled away from the curb, into traffic.

America tried for a while to start a conversation with England who pointedly ignored him, instead choosing to stare out the window, arm propping up his head.

It wasn't long before the dark grey sky let the promised rain fall and England sighed. He was going to get wet tonight…despite having wanted to stay dry. At least the rain wasn't all bad…it sort of relaxed the Brit.

America had fallen silent, stopping in his attempts to start a conversation with England a few minutes before the rain started. He was therefore rather surprised when England spoke.

"I like the rain…" He murmured.

America blinked and looked out the window, clutching both guitars to his chest, the thought of them getting wet made him shudder.

"Huh? Really? Doesn't it like always rain where you live!" He asked in surprise. He'd always assumed England hated rain.

England nodded, "But it's nice…"

Old, painful memories flooded through the minds of both men. There had been rain on that day…it had rained when America had won his independence from England. It hurt both men when it rained, but neither one would tell the other. On the other hand, the rain was nice. It washed away filth…it had cleaned the battle field where they had fought and while it tore open old wounds…it also healed them.

America snapped out of his daze first and shrugged as the cab driver pulled off to the side, stopping the engine and turning around in his seat to look at America and England.

"Right, well here we are sirs."

England sighed and unbuckled his seatbelt as America handed the driver a wad of cash before hopping out of the taxi, waving.

"Keep the change!" He cried as he darted into the club, protecting his guitars from the rain.

The driver blinked and looked at England "Have a good night sir!"

England nodded and left the cab. With a heavy sigh as the rain began to hit his head, the blonde British man turned to face the club. He readied himself with a big breath and then pushed himself into the club, hoping it wasn't really crowded.

That hope died in a second as England entered. People milled about, drinks in hand, shouting to each other over the roar of the music that apparently switched from live performers to recorded tracks. Cigarette smoke hung in the air, making the place smell terrible…well not entirely, England could smell alcohol. The wonderful scent that promised unconscious bliss. As the door closed behind England the lights dimmed and a strobe light began blinking in time to the fast paced music. Cue the migraine.

Without even bothering to look for America (who had seemed to vanish into the crowd of people), England grabbed his head and weaved his way through the crowded club to the bar. He pushed through two rather large men and collapsed against the counter.

"Can I get you anything?" A bearded man behind the counter asked.

"Rum." England said automatically.

The man nodded and disappeared behind the counter, appearing a few moments later with the drink.

England thanked him and downed the drink in one gulp. He put the glass on the counter and called for another drink, his vision already slightly blurred, though England had a nagging feeling that it wasn't the alcohol but rather the tears that had started to form in his eyes. The glass was refilled and England made short work of it.

The cab ride had taken half an hour and it was nine by the time America found England at the bar. He sighed and took a seat next to the other nation.

"You're already drinking…?" He asked, somewhat disappointed.

England shrugged, "It's good rum."

America sighed and ordered a shot of whiskey, turning and propping himself up against the counter with his elbows, watching the people in the club. Some were dancing, some were playing cards at little tables, nearly all were drinking.

"You could go have fun with someone else…" England's voice was dripping with pain as he ran his fingers along his glass, staring at the table.

America shook his head and downed the shot, twisting and setting the cup back on the counter, studying England's face for a moment before replying.

"Nope, I came here to have fun with you."

England frowned but nodded, "Sure…fine…"

America smiled and draped an arm across the other's shoulders, "Glad ya came…"

Two hours later, England was drunk. He'd had more cups of alcohol than either America or England cared to count. None of that mattered at the moment however as the man was a happy drunk. America watched England, amused, as the nation danced in ways he was sure the older man would never dance if he were sober. For this America was happy he was drunk, and damn did he look like he was having fun! America checked his watch, it was nearly midnight. Nearly the fourth. He bit his lip and grabbed both his guitars, he still needed to play a song with England before the date changed.

After a quick word with his friend, the manager, America had arranged to get himself and England on the stage after the current song ended.

England looked up confused when it did, and no other music started playing. Others in the club were looking around in confusion as well.

America grabbed England from behind and dragged him next to the stage behind a curtain, pushing a guitar with the Union Jack on it into the Brit's hands and slipping one of those microphone/headset things onto his head. He took out his own American flag printed guitar, slung the strap over his shoulder and placed one of the headsets on himself…all while the manager explained that there was going to be a special performance by a good friend of his. America smiled to himself.

England blinked and then shook his head as he realized what was going on.

"But I don't want-" The Brit began.

"Please!" America cut him off, "Just one song!"

England frowned, sighed and finally nodded, "One song then, follow my lead for cues."

America nodded excitedly and grabbed England's wrist, dragging him onto the stage and waving to a cheering crowd.

"Ah…here they are, Alfred F. Jones and Arthur Kirkland, Enjoy the show!" The manager said, leaving the two alone on the stage with a drummer from the previous band, America had asked the man to stay and play with himself and England.

England blinked as the lights dimmed in the club and bright lights in front of the stage illuminated it, he spun on his heel and looked at the drummer, "Follow my lead…" He mumbled taking a deep breath.

England stood paused on the stage for about thirty seconds, his back to the club before he hit the first chord and spun around, a bright green fire in his eyes.

America's face burst into a smile and he quickly picked up the chords, joining England before the man began to sing.

England noticed a microphone at the front of the stage but ignored it, he had on that ridiculous headset, that now that he thought about it, fit snuggly on his head. England closed his eyes and began to sing...

"Lying in my bed I hear, the clock tick and think of you. Caught up in circles, confusion is nothing new!"

England's eyes blinked open, pain evident in them as he continued, voice wavering as he adjusted the volume and intensity of the chords he was playing so the music and his voice blended together.

"You saaaaay go slow…I fall behind."

England's voice slowed and he took a breath, "The second hand unwinds."

America slammed the next chord on his guitar and stepped up closer to England who had done the same. England's face was twisted into a look of concentration as the music intensified, wrapping around the American's strong voice.

"If you're lost you can look and you will find me"

"Time after time." England cut in, eyes closed again.

"If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting!"

"Time after time."

"Time after time." America sang the words this time as the music slowed again.

"Time after time." Both voices rang through the club during the short break.

England took a step back and America took over the next verse, blue eyes shining in the light that fell across the stage.

"Sometimes you picture me, I'm walking too far ahead. You're calling too me I can't hear just what you've said!"

A short pause and America continued, eyes squeezed shut as both he and England willed thoughts of the revolution from their minds.

"You saaaaay go slow…I fall behind, the second hand unwinds!"

England stepped forward again, blasting the chords on his guitar as he and America switched roles in the chorus.

"If you're lost you can look and you will find me!"

"Time after time." America chimed in.

"If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting!"

"Time after time."

Both singers stopped and broke into a short, complicated break, eyes closed as they put everything into those chords, leaning against each other, back to back. Right from there, together they launched into the next verse.

"After my picture fades and darkness has turned to grey, watching through windows, you're wondering if I'm okay!"

The intensity of the music ebbed and America and England spun to face each other sapphire and emerald eyes opening as one and locking with each other.

"You saaaaay go slow." England began.

"I fall behind…" America sang, eyes closing as briefly as both singers held their breath before continuing.

"The drum beats out of time…"

The intensity picked up for the last time as both singers, America and England, poured everything they had into the last part of the song. This was no longer a song that England had been forced into singing, nor the song for fun that America had planned. The two were singing it for each other, healing old wounds in themselves and the other.

"If you're lost you can look and you will find me! Time after time. If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting! Time after time. If you're lost you can look and you will find me! Time after time. If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting! Time after time."

America dropped out and England's voice rang through the club as the music all but stopped.

"Time after time…"

"Time after time…" America joined for the last line, his forehead pressed gently against England's, as the song ended, both were panting slightly and England had closed his eyes.

A bell rang somewhere, signaling midnight, tears ran down the cheeks of both men as the changed…from the innocent third of July to the fourth.

"I miss you, you git…" England whispered, choking on his own tears.

"I know…I miss you too." America replied, supporting the Brit as he collapsed from exhaustion and probably all the alcohol in his system.

"I miss you too…" America said as he carried England and the two guitars out of the club.

The rain had stopped and America flagged down another taxi, ready to head back to England's room, the clearing sky promised a good day…but only if he America was awake to enjoy it with the man in his arms…the he loved more than anything else in the world. The man he loved more than hamburgers. England.

:( so sad