Spirit of the Nation ★ Female America

15. The Troubles

March 26, 1982

Dublin, Ireland

Department of the Taoiseach

"And, you're a coward!"

I bit my tongue. Ireland's glare was glued to me as she paced restlessly around the conference room. My fingers ached from squeezing my hands together under the table. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

"Ireland—"

"Shut it," she hissed. "I don't want to hear another word out of you."

I closed my eyes, resisting the urge to point out that I had barely gotten a word in edgewise over the last half hour. Taking a verbal lashing was the least I could do for an old friend, but enough was enough.

"Tell me, why do you stand up for him?" she demanded, coming to a halt and crossing her arms. "Why, after everything he's put you through?"

I took a deep breath before speaking. "Ireland, your friendship is more important to me than all of this," I said desperately. "Please, let's end this."

With the grace of a predator, she moved to stand in front of me and planted her hand on the table. My nerves flared as I looked up to meet her eyes.

"You can do that, right now," she stated. "Denounce him."

My eyes involuntarily flickered to the door. Knowing that he was sitting just outside made it all the more impossible. I shook my head. "You know I can't do that."

Her upper lip curled back. "Bullshit."

The word, spat with so much venom, practically burned me.

"Oh, take that puss off your face, Meiriceá. You're not the victim here."

I bit the inside of my lip.

When she abruptly backed off and sat down, I felt like I could breathe again. Ireland slumped back into a large wooden chair and held her forehead in her hand. Her shoulders drooped with tiredness, and she heaved a long sigh. Her voice was monotone.

"If you give a damn about me and this country, go tell him off. Right. Now."

My heart ached in my chest. I had no choice but to stand and leave.

I closed the door behind me as quietly as I could. England rose from his seat and crossed the room with an expectant look on his face. I began to shake my head.

"She's not budging," I said under my breath.

He bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Cupping his arm, I led him back to the table. He sat heavily as he covered his face with his hand. I pulled his other hand between us, holding it loosely in mine.

"England...just let her have Northern Ireland."

"No," he said emphatically. "Northern Ireland belongs in the United Kingdom."

I stared hard at the blue veins on the back of his hand.

"No amount of violence or emotions or words will ever change that."

I slowly shook my head. "She won't stop."

"Neither will I," he stated.

When his other hand joined mine, I lifted my gaze. His fiery green eyes were fixed on some point between us, and his furrowed brow and flared nostrils showed emotions that were so unlike him. I reached up and cupped his cheek, wanting to capture his full attention. He hastily brushed my hand away and then, with a regretful flicker of his eyes, snatched it up and held it tight.

"I shall not," he softly said, shaking his head repeatedly. "That is one part of Britain I shall never give up."

I stared at his faraway gaze. Untold centuries of turmoil existed between England and Ireland, yet they were bound together by the same. It wasn't unlike our own, albeit short, past.

"I know you care for her," I whispered.

Vulnerability spilled onto his face.

"And she cares for you too, in her own...you know...dysfunctional way."

As if on cue, Ireland's muffled shout came through the closed door, "And tell the bleedin' bastard to get out!"

I pressed my lips together as England released both of my hands and stood. If anything, he was absolutely right about words not helping the situation. He roughly grabbed his suit coat off his chair and shot his eyes to the door one last time.

"With relish," he ground out.

He left.

Alone, I leaned my elbows on my knees and massaged my fingers through my hair. Maintaining my friendship with Ireland while unable to support her cause would be a feat. For once, I wasn't entirely sure that I could pull it off.