[A scoff.] Well, that's true. I'm certainly not going to carry all that rubbish. [England returns that with more of his characteristic dryness, grateful for the opportunity to say something normal before he makes this all soppy.

Still, his eyes are trained elsewhere. He always has a tough time looking at America when he's about to say something stupid. As the silence grows from seconds to minutes, England grits his teeth and fusses with the cuff of his windbreaker.] ...you're the one who said that friends work together. I'm not going to just...

[More furious picking, and his shoulders raise slightly, or maybe he's just lowering his chin closer to his chest in his best effort to withdraw into himself as much as possible.] ...I prefer not to abandon my allies. It's— ungentlemanly.

[Of course he would say all of this in the most roundabout way possible.]