[England just lets out a mirthless scoff; not defensive, but definitely disbelieving.] That's what she said, as well.
[Even if he could absolve himself of the blame he's taken, she took a great weight off of his mind, and what did he do for her? He certainly wasn't able to help her.]
[America folds his arms across his chest and picks idly at the leather of his bomber jacket for want of anything else to do.] So you should at least believe her.
[At that, for once, England falls silent. At first, it's simply because he doesn't have anything to say to that, but slowly he starts to allow the idea into his mind. And as he does, he starts to feel guiltier; her death wasn't about him, and here he is moping about it like a child, anyway. And he gave America her real name, which he's sure she wouldn't appreciate too much.
He sets his jaw, tiredly eyeing the fairy flitting about the corner of his tablet screen.] ...she's still dead.
[It's not really an argument. Even if he's not at fault, it's hard not to be affected by something like this.]
She'll come back. [America can't know that, of course, but believing otherwise is just too depressing. If he starts thinking about people not coming back, then anyone might not come back, and they still have to wait for Sealand.]
But England doesn't say that. America will never believe him, and he's already going to have enough of the possibility that Sealand might not come back when he tries to get to sleep tonight.]
So, does that mean that what happened to her doesn't matter?
That's not what I meant. [He answers automatically, defensively, but it's an interesting question. It matters, but--well, she'll come back. It sucks, but there's a shallowness to his concern that he can't place the origin of. He does care about England feeling bad, though, so he's going to have to try to clarify.] You can't just think she won't come back and feel bad about it until she shows up again.
[England doesn't deal well with being told what to do or how to feel. He prickles, his shoulders tensing and his eyes narrowing into a glare at nothing in particular. The way he speaks about her makes England angry, but it's more than that; does he think the same way about Sealand? A stranger that America had no connection to is one thing, but America knew Sealand well, and he was their shared responsibility.
It's only natural that his anger bubbles to the surface again. His response seems quite the jump from what America's actually said, but it makes perfect sense to England if it means getting a real reaction out of America.] Well, I'm glad to know you shan't be losing any sleep if something ever happens to me.
When did I say anything like that?! [America's response is immediate again, but this time backed by something closer to anger. As far as America is concerned it's not connected at all to what he was saying. It's just ridiculous hyperbole that England is using to get under his skin, which England does, but not usually about stuff like this, so America is even more upset than he might otherwise be.]
No point feeling bad about it if I'm just going to come back, right? Sealand, as well— he'll come back, so it's perfectly fine! Just— just fucking fantastic!
[England's voice breaks tellingly as he raises it toward America. Behind his anger, there's a part of him that really does worry that America would feel nothing in his absence. Which, loathe as England is to admit it, is a bit of a painful notion to consider.
Don't put words in my mouth! [Of course he'd be upset if England died, and he still feels terrible about not being around to help keep an eye on Sealand, but there's nothing he can do about it now and assuming the worst isn't going to make anything better. He's fidgeting more obviously again, shifting from foot to foot, as his energy levels ramp up again.]
Then stop being such a fucking prick about this! God, I don't—
[All that lip service he gave Shepard about not wallowing and doing something productive instead, and this is how he's acting. What a joke. He lifts his hands and presses his palms to his eyes, reminding himself that he's England, he was the great British Empire, and he doesn't need anyone.
It was a mistake to say anything. To think that America might understand.]
Fine. [America is still heated, and his energy has pushed itself into sudden pacing, but it doesn't sound like he wants to push the issue. He's still upset England is just making assumptions all over the place when he was just trying to make England feel better. Trying at all was pretty stupid. He paces, restless, following the outline of the house.]
[Though England tries not to think about it because it makes him feel juvenile, he's struck with a desperate yearning to return home. Where Sealand is alive and there's no need to try to reach out to America, because these sorts of things don't happen.
He takes in and pushes out a few shaky breaths before lowering his hands from his face. His eyes are still blessedly dry, but his head pounds as if he's just had a proper cry anyway. Glowering at his tablet is preferable to wasting his painkillers on this self-induced headache, though.
America's pacing quickly becomes very annoying, but England doesn't bother engaging him about it. It's so trivial compared to the bigger issue he's still stung about.]
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[Even if he could absolve himself of the blame he's taken, she took a great weight off of his mind, and what did he do for her? He certainly wasn't able to help her.]
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He sets his jaw, tiredly eyeing the fairy flitting about the corner of his tablet screen.] ...she's still dead.
[It's not really an argument. Even if he's not at fault, it's hard not to be affected by something like this.]
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But England doesn't say that. America will never believe him, and he's already going to have enough of the possibility that Sealand might not come back when he tries to get to sleep tonight.]
So, does that mean that what happened to her doesn't matter?
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It's only natural that his anger bubbles to the surface again. His response seems quite the jump from what America's actually said, but it makes perfect sense to England if it means getting a real reaction out of America.] Well, I'm glad to know you shan't be losing any sleep if something ever happens to me.
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[England's voice breaks tellingly as he raises it toward America. Behind his anger, there's a part of him that really does worry that America would feel nothing in his absence. Which, loathe as England is to admit it, is a bit of a painful notion to consider.
They're supposed to be friends, after all.]
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[All that lip service he gave Shepard about not wallowing and doing something productive instead, and this is how he's acting. What a joke. He lifts his hands and presses his palms to his eyes, reminding himself that he's England, he was the great British Empire, and he doesn't need anyone.
It was a mistake to say anything. To think that America might understand.]
Ugh. Just forget it.
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He takes in and pushes out a few shaky breaths before lowering his hands from his face. His eyes are still blessedly dry, but his head pounds as if he's just had a proper cry anyway. Glowering at his tablet is preferable to wasting his painkillers on this self-induced headache, though.
America's pacing quickly becomes very annoying, but England doesn't bother engaging him about it. It's so trivial compared to the bigger issue he's still stung about.]