Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Three days had passed since the arrival of the strange necklace of knotted lines of metal strung with leather. It had joined the growing number of artefacts they had placed in UN hands since the bomb; a numerical value to their cluelessness.

It was the third time in as many nights England woke up in the early hours in a cold sweat, gasping and trembling. And it was the third time in as many nights India was jerked awake by the sound, ridiculously light sleepers as they both were, and turned to see England next to her, fingers splayed over his eyes, half-coiled in his half of the duvet. And for the third time, India smoothed his hot hair and watched his breathing calm and listened to her questions being dodged and waved away.

But tonight, she broke the cycle. She propped her pillow against the headboard, leaned on it and took one of England’s hands in hers.

“England, you’re going to have to give me an explanation for this sooner or later.”

He smiled up at her slightly, “I’ve done quite a good job of avoiding it so far, haven’t I?”

She pushed a few strands of gold hair away from his still-pale face and raised an eyebrow.

“Really, I’m fine, India. I think I just need to get some air.” It had been his parting comment for the last two nights.

He made to get up but India pulled him back with the hand she was still holding.

“’Getting some air’ hasn’t seemed to help for the last two nights.”

“It helped me get back to sleep again.”

“Maybe talking to me might help too,” she suggested lightly.

England examined the stripes on his pillowcase silently.

India sighed. “Shall I…shall I call Wales or Scotland?”

England looked up in alarm. “Why on earth would you do that?”

India shrugged, “Perhaps you’d rather talk to them?”

England looked at her incredulously until she said, “Your brothers might be able to help more than I can. I know how much you enjoy suffering in silence but I’d like to spend a night without waking up thinking someone’s strangling you.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you up.” He didn’t say anything else.

They were quiet for a while. India drew him in so his cheek lay against her shoulder. They looked down at their legs, side by side, his stretching out past hers.

At last she said, “I know – I know there’s a lot we still don’t know about each other, but I’d like to think that there’s quite a lot we understand – or could understand – as well…”

She heard England smile, “I’m sure you understand the things I do better than I do myself. But this…it’s not…this isn’t…”

She stroked the hair at the nape of his neck.“What is ‘this’ we’re talking about?”

“Nothing really. Just a memory.”

“And this memory gives you such bad dreams?”

England traced the shape of her slender collarbone with a fingertip. “Look, India, it’s not that I don’t trust you or don’t want to tell you. It’s just that you know how awful I am at talking about these things.”

“Practise makes perfect.” They both laughed quietly.

“England, you’re not alright. I’d like to know why.”

“You don’t need to worry. It’s just a silly dream.” She could sense his embarrassment.

“Try and tell me. I don’t need a War and Peace sized tale. I just want to know about this silly dream.”

England was quiet again for a while. She waited for the thoughts in his head to form something coherent.

“Did you know Rome very well?” he asked at last. He could feel her surprise at this beginning.

“We weren’t close.” Her voice was measured, “We traded a lot and we talked a little. We were diplomatic enough, I suppose.”

“That makes sense.” England curved a hand lightly around her hip and moved his forehead closer to her jaw.

“I suppose you knew him far better than I did.” India continued, laying a hand on his back.

“You could say that,” he answered. India waited for him to rearrange his thoughts again. “You know, around the time of my empire, some of my people liked to compare me to Rome.”

“I remember that.”

“Well, I suppose we had our similarities. But – but I never…never quite did what he did. Not – not to colonies. Not to children.” His voice fell into a harsh whisper at the end.

India frowned. “What do you mean?”

England chewed on his words like they were cold meat. “He – he liked to have his way with his colonies. The younger they were the better. I suppose they were more scared when they were younger. “ He swallowed and spoke in a garbled rush. “I know my empire was cruel. I know I treated people badly when they were my colonies. I know I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But – But I never…never went that far with my colonies. Any of them.

India felt something cold twist in her stomach.

England continued, “He’d let you stay in his villa when he visited you. And he’d come in at night. He knew where all the rooms were, where all the guards were, so there was no chance of anyone ever…ever, you know.”

England swallowed.

India was silent.

Suddenly she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his head, holding him tighter than he could remember anyone else holding him. “I’m sorry.” she said softly, something new in her voice. “I’m sorry. No-one should ever…no-one should have to be treated like that.”

Chapter Text

England let her hold him. “It’s okay,” he said, “it was a long time ago. I’ve dealt with it in my own ways, I suppose.” 

She didn’t let go of him but moved a hand up to cup his neck. “How old were you?” she whispered.

“Umm, about 150 odd years I would imagine when he, you know, when he started. He stayed for a little over 300 years but he was rather preoccupied towards the end so it got a lot better.”

“And…physically? How old were you physically?”

“About 5. At first. But I had quite the growth spurt just after he’d invaded.”

He felt her let a long breath out and shake her head.

“When America found that necklace,” England began, “I – I couldn’t believe it. It was just like a necklace I used to wear after he’d properly colonised me. It was a Brythonic design. He hated it, because it wasn’t Roman.”  His voice, steady throughout, finally tremored.

India stroked his hair. “So whoever left that necklace for us knew you wore one like it.” She said.

“It can’t be a coincidence. They must have known I’d recognise it. Maybe they’re trying to tell me something.”

“Or they’re trying to give you a scare. Or make you feel alone.” India’s arms tightened around him.

“I didn’t think seeing the necklace would bring the dreams back.”

“Back?” India lifted her head from his. “You’ve had these dreams before?”

England shrugged. “Not for a very long time. They got less and less frequent after he left.” He shivered suddenly.

India arranged the duvet over him.

“He wasn’t a bad man, India.” England blurted out suddenly.

She looked at him. “Well you knew him better than I did,” she said coolly.

“He taught me how to read. He gave my people words and culture and laws and beliefs.”

“Of course,” India said laconically.

England persisted, “Sometimes, after he’d won a battle in the East or down in North Africa, when he’d visit he’d be in such a good mood. He’d let me go to the basilica or the governors’ houses with him and he’d tell me why he’d built his roads straight or why there were walls around cities.”

“Was he always in a good mood after he killed people?”

England felt something nettle inside him at that. He pushed himself away from her arms.

“That’s not fair, India.”

Her mouth turned down. “You’re not usually this forgiving in judging people.”

His face hardened. “I’m just being fair.”

India splayed her fingers in a ‘what can I say’ gesture. England, with no more words in his mind that he could let out through his mouth, half-rolled over as if going back to sleep.

They were quiet for a while. Separated of each other’s warmth, their bodies stung in the cold air of the night.

“Do you wish he hadn’t invaded?”  India asked suddenly, speaking into the night, something heavier in her voice.

England took his time in answering. “He made me who I am.”

She seemed to be waiting for him to say something else.

“I wouldn’t be where I am without him.” He turned back over to see India’s eyes glittering in the dark, following his words intently. “He was cruel, definitely, and cold sometimes. When my people fought his swords and legions and gold with spears and blue tattoos he cut them down like the forests and fields that got in the way of his famous straight roads.  But he was clever. He taught my people things. He didn't intend to, but he helped them.”

India nodded at this, not altogether consciously.

England shrugged and continued. “But I can’t say I haven’t wondered what things would have been like if he hadn't invaded. I might not have amounted to much, but I would have been…happier. He thought we were backward. We were just peaceful. ” He shrugged again and whispered self-consciously, “I wouldn’t have spent so long hating him. Or being terrified of him. I wouldn't have spent so long hating myself.”

He waited for the fanfare, the spotlights, the glaring announcement that he, England had finally shown himself for the weeping child he fought so hard not to be. He blushed scarlet and waited, at the very least, for India’s jeering.

It didn’t come.

India took his hand and squeezed it. She nodded slowly, staring off into the middle distance.

England watched her, feeling quiet relief wash through him.

Not quite consciously, he scooted closer to her and concentrated on the familiar feeling of her arm running by his. He swallowed until he was sure his voice would sound normal and said, “I think it’s time to move past it.”

India looked up at him. “I spent so long hating him and then missing him and then idolising him and then trying to be him. I just don’t want to care anymore. It all happened far too long ago for that.”

“So you want to forget him?”

“Not forget. I won’t forget what he did. But I don’t think I really understood why he did it for a long time.” He looked carefully at the opposite wall while India watched him. “I think he was just lonely. And he’d found this one thing he was good at and it happened to be empire-building. And he threw himself into it.”

India laid her cheek against his shoulder. He felt her breathe, and smelt the soft jasmine-and-dust perfume of her hair.

“He loved one of his writers, Virgil.” And England recited the passage easily, voice thrumming, recalling the image of his book, whose spine automatically fell open at the page.

Others, I do not doubt it,

Will beat bronze into figures that breathe more softly. Others

Will draw living likenesses out of marble. Others will plead cases

Better or describe with their rods the courses of the stars across

The sky and predict their risings. Your task, Roman, and do not

Forget it, will be to govern the peoples of the world in your

Empire.  These will be your arts – and to impose a settled pattern

Upon peace, to pardon the defeated and war down the proud.

The end of the passage placed a quiet reflection on the room, but England could feel India’s scepticism. “He wasn’t all that into pardoning people, actually.”

India snorted quietly. “I know.”

Suddenly, England asked, “Do you wish I hadn’t invaded you?”

India laughed at that, shaking against him, the sound betraying a leak of embarrassment.

“Goodness knows what the world would be like if you hadn’t.”

England waited.

“I wouldn’t be where I was and you wouldn’t be where you were. It’s like something you said once – if we hadn’t met, maybe we would have gone on our own separate ways, quite happy. But we did meet and since then, by the gods or God or fate or pure tenacity, I think this was the only way we would ever have ended up eventually,” she explained, stroking his cheek tenderly to show what she meant.

Her dark eyes met his blue ones and they smiled.

“We should sleep,” she said, “It’s been a long day.”

They settled against each other and their breathing slowed and drew on evenly until the sun pierced through the cloud of dawn and beat down hotly on them. England slept through the night, hand loosely wound with India’s, mind free of any dreams.

It was only after he woke up that he realised that she had avoided his question.