Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

8. Special Relationship

January 8, 1959

Croydon Airport

London, United Kingdom

Though good at many things, I had never been good at clearly stating my feelings. Reducing my emotions, large as they were, to mere words always seemed impossible. I was well aware that no one on this planet understood me, and I was equally aware that it was almost entirely by my own hand.

These thoughts occupied my mind as I robotically handed my US passport to the British customs officer.

"Good evening, ma'am. Ahem...good evening. Ma'am...?"

Snapping back to the present, I gave the young man an unconvincing smile. "Yes, how do you do?"

Perhaps suspicious, he scanned through my visas for a bit longer than usual. He chuckled when he noticed the most recent one.

"I thought I recognized you," he said, reaching for his stamp pad. "Couldn't stay away for a full twenty-four hours, oi?"

I lifted my eyebrows, surprised that such a short amount of time had passed. The back-to-back flights felt like an eternity. "Family matters," I said by way of explanation.

"Of course." He returned my passport with a flirtatious smile. "Welcome back, Miss Barlett."

The taxi ride was excruciating. My ears strained to hear the too-quiet radio as my sightless eyes gazed out my icy window. The lights of the city blurred by like an endless kaleidoscope. After so many hours of deep contemplation, the only explanation I had mustered for my return was a bizarre force of nature.

Finally, we stopped near the gate to Downing Street.

A night sentry eyed me from the gatehouse as I approached the shiny security gate. I lifted my hand to shield my eyes from the flurrying snow that soon melted on the ground. I knew the guard would despise a surprise midnight visitor, and a foreigner no less. I narrowed my eyes at the gate meant for pedestrians, unable to make out whether it was locked or not.

The guard slowly emerged from the warmth of his post in response to my suspicious behavior. My eyes darted back to the gate.

Without further hesitation, I put my head down and made a break for it.

The gate made a loud, bassy clang! when it slammed shut behind me. Patches of ice on the sidewalk became obstacles as I ran as fast as my boots would carry me. Within moments, the guard gave chase, wailing on a whistle and yelling something absolutely ridiculous.

A burst of manic laughter clouded in front of me.

I didn't dare look back until my fists were pounding on No. 14. The guard had covered a surprisingly good amount of ground. The smile melted off my face.

Suddenly, the door gave way, and I stumbled forward.

England stood there in a robe, t-shirt, and boxer shorts with a look of utter bewilderment. Realizing someone was shouting bloody murder outside, he stepped out to investigate and pushed me across the threshold with a gentle shove.

The hollering immediately stopped. "Um, s—sir...?"

"All's well, Hodges!" England shouted, giving him a reassuring wave. "Goodnight."

He stepped back and shut the door. Suddenly, only the sound of my dripping wool coat and ragged breathing filled the dim foyer. My heart hammered inside my ribcage, racing faster still when England turned around.

Confusion and concern chased each other across his face. "What...what on Earth—"

I threw myself at him.

My arms barely reached around him as I pressed my face into the warmth of his chest. After a moment of shock, he hesitantly returned my embrace. When I didn't let go, he breathed out in disbelief and tightened his arms around me. He whispered my name, hesitant.

Happiness and fear battled inside of me. The deep connection I felt transcended words. It was not only that of progenitor and progeny, but of something far greater. I squeezed my eyes shut as decades of memories raced through my mind, bringing tears of joy and sorrow. One latched to me like a vice.

"England...," I said with trembling lips. "That day...the Lusitania..."

He froze.

I paused to sniffle, and his familiar scent comforted me slightly. "You know...after Pearl Harbor, I thought about that day...for years. How I treated you—"

My voice hitched in my throat.

"So b—bitter and s—selfish," I sniveled breathlessly. "I regret it so. And I'm...ashamed that I never...told you that I'm...I'm..."

The word got stuck in my throat.

"...Sorry," I croaked.

His hand began to rub my back up and down as I cried in his arms. I clung to him like a rock in the middle of a violent river.

"I forgave you," he said, his voice muffled by my hair. "A long time ago."

My eyes shut as peace washed over me. "I'm so glad," I breathed out.

He continued to hold me as my tears subsided. I wanted to stay in his arms for the rest of my life.

When he suddenly pulled back, I felt a rush of anxiety. He lifted my chin with warm fingers, and I blinked up at his blurry face. He leaned down and gently brushed his lips against mine, and I gasped. Cupping my tear-stained cheek, he attempted to kiss me again. This time, I hid my face in his chest.

"America," he breathed in frustration.

"I just..." I balled his shirt in my hands. "I just can't look at you."

"Then close your eyes."

I did. Everything was still, save for the loud beating of his heart.

His heat was replaced by the warmth of his breath on my lips. My lungs froze. With deliberate slowness, he pressed his lips to mine, and, suddenly, all was right in the world. A feeling of completeness filled me as I melted against him. His mouth was all warmth and softness, and his fingers threaded through my hair as he kissed me tenderly.

I almost forgot to open my eyes when he pulled back.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to do that?" he asked with a heady smile.

My head was spinning badly. "Versailles?"

He shook his head and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His eyes traveled every inch of my face as he leaned down again.

"Close your eyes, darling," he murmured.

~

A/N: Finally :')