Around the World

:1: Hero (America/Alfred)

As much he hated to do it, America knew paperwork was a very important thing to do. Thus, reluctantly, the spectacled young man was currently sitting at his desk in mansion working diligently on said paperwork. One thing the blonde hated more than paperwork was being scolded by his superior for not doing the paperwork.

Suddenly, startling him, causing his hand to steer off the page so his pen created a huge, disgusting mark, the door of his office was slammed open.

“Alfred!” came the frantic and feminine cry.

At his name and the abrupt noise, America lifted his head only to come face to face with the familiar face of Bridget O’Reilly or Ireland.

“Bridget?” It had been quite some while since he had seen the European.

Actually, now that he took another look, Ireland didn’t seem as familiar as he thought.

She were different. And most definitely not in a good way.

Her usually brilliant and well-kept fiery, wavy locks were disheveled and lifeless. Ireland’s big emerald-hued eyes that were normally twinkling and smiling were glassy and bloodshot with deep, dark bags beneath them. The her complexion that was pale, but rosy was paler than before making her seem very sickly and made her freckles to be more obvious. As well, she had always been skinny yet, she looked too skinny now as if she had lost a lot of weight.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Even America, who was terrible at reading the atmosphere of various situations could see that.

“Al-Alfred, you have t-to help me!” Ireland rushed towards to his only for her knees to give out as a body-rattling coughing fit took over her.

“Bridget!” America exclaimed, shooting up from his seat and rushing over to the redhead.
He gathered her in his arms and rubbed her back soothingly until herr coughing stop or at least settled down.

Through calmer, but still deep coughs, Ireland spoke, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes, “Al-Alfred, m-my…my people…Y-You have t-to help th-them…they’re dying…” she choked out.

“Dying? What are you talking about, Bridget?” he asked, concern and confusion taking over him.

“F-Famine…Th-They’re starving…There’s no food…N-No potatoes…Pl-Please help th-them…Pl-Please allow…allow th-them entrance…” she sobbed, gripping at his jacket tightly—or as tightly as she could in her weakened state. The young woman buried her face in his chest, tears streaming down her face. “I-I don’t…I don’t know who else t-to…to turn to…Al-Alfred…”

It was sort of hard to understand the country through her coughing and crying, but America got the general message.

Ireland needed him. Her people needed him. He had to help.

And what kind of country would be if he declined to such? Then again, why would he?

Ireland meant the world to him and it broke his heart to see her like this.

Smiling comfortingly, America gently—carefully—pushed the other country back her shoulders a little bit. With his thumbs, he wiped her tears away. “I’ll help ya, Bridget. I’ll do everything in my power to help ya.” he told her.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, Alfred! Th-Thank you!” She threw her arms around him graciously. “Thank you so much!”

He chuckled. “Of course.” He closed his blue eyes and kissed her clammy forehead. “What kind of a hero would I be if I didn’t help the damsel in distress?”

Ireland just wetly laughed.

America was definitely her hero.