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England sat on the edge of the pristine, old-fashioned, white, porcelain bathtub with her fists clenched so tightly at her sides that her nails dug crescent-moon-shaped marks into her soft palms while she waited for the results of the test. The cold porcelain caused gooseflesh to appear on her bare legs as they brushed against its surface as she impatiently swung her legs back and forth in nervous agitation. The ticking of the clock almost sounded deafening in the otherwise silent room, and the plastic shopping bag with the Boots logo seemed to mock her as it sat perfectly still upon the white marble vanity sink in her bathroom. Although the allotted time for the test results was only five minutes, it felt like hours, and the hand of the clock appeared to move so slowly that it almost seemed immobile. England sighed in resignation and pushed herself off the tub’s edge and into a standing position. With grim determination, she forced herself to observe the results of the test. Her eyes widened almost to the size of saucers, and her stomach clenched in painful knots at the bold words displayed across the small screen of the device.
Pregnant: 1-2 weeks*
In retrospect, the first sign that something was amiss had happened several days prior. Her period, which had almost always been regular, was a couple days late, but she had paid it no mind since she had been thoroughly distracted by America. The next night, she had discovered that her breasts were slightly tender. However, she had merely shrugged it off as America becoming too arduous during their lovemaking, which she had teasingly reprimanded him for. To his credit, he had looked genuinely shamed at the prospect of hurting her, and he had treated her like a delicate piece of expensive china for the rest of the duration of the night. The next morning, she had woken up with a bit of queasiness; America had held her pigtails away from her face and rubbed soothing circles into her back as she had knelt in front of the toilet and voided the contents of her stomach. She had chalked this up to the late night snack at McDonald’s that America had orally persuaded her to get with him. After the incident, America had insisted that she go and rest while he attended the meeting in London that they were both scheduled to attend. England had naturally and vehemently protested this, but her boss had sided with that tattletale America after America had informed him of England’s condition. England had begrudgingly allowed America to tuck her back into bed. Before he had left, he placed the rubbish bin next to the bed and a cup of hot tea, a glass of chilled water, and a plate of warm crumpets on the bedside table within her reach.
“Bye sweetheart; I hope ya feel better, babe!” America had said affectionately and kissed the top of her head before hastily making his way out of the bedroom and nearly knocking the cup of tea from the bedside table in the process.
“Good-bye, you bampot,” England had groused for appearance’s sake.
By late afternoon, she was feeling better and wandered down to the kitchen to make a light meal, which she had managed to keep down with a moderate bit of difficulty. Upon noticing that the kitchen needed to be restocked and feeling spiteful, England showered and made herself presentable to go grocery shopping. America would be home early the next morning, and the poor lad would probably have a panic attack if he thought they had run out of food. She inwardly smirked at the thought of it; the boy ate enough to feed several people. She grabbed her keys and purse off the counter and proceeded to drive to the nearest supermarket. Once she was halfway through the list of items, she suddenly had an odd craving for Spotted dick, which she hadn’t had in years. As she made her way through the dessert section of the supermarket, she unintentionally overheard two women discussing their food cravings throughout their pregnancies. England sucked in a strained breath; it was then that her strange symptoms started to make sense.
“Are you alright, dear?” One of the women had asked England after she had heard England’s sharp inhalation.
“I’m fine,” England assured the women who were now both looking at her.
“Good, good. Sorry to be a bother, good day then,” the woman said kindly as her conversational partner smiled at England.
“It’s no trouble. Good day to you both,” England said before she quickly got in line at the checkout station. She made a mental note to stop by Boots on High Street, and she hadn’t been able to sleep all night as she waited until morning to take the test.
Presently, England stood numbly as her eyes gazed unseeingly at the test stick, which was gripped so tightly in her hand that she was surprised it did not snap in half. Her mind was a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts, and she was unsure of how to process everything. She also did not know how to tell America, who was scheduled to arrive back at her home within the next half hour. They had not seriously discussed having children; the closest they had come was when England had joked that America was like a big kid when they had been walking in a park that one time. They had been in mid conversation when America saw an old swing and childishly whined until England had concurred to push him on it. A little girl, who had been walking with her parents, had pointed at America and loudly yelled for her parents to look at the silly man on the kid’s swing. America had pouted the whole way back to England’s home and indignantly complained about the incident, but then he had suddenly asked England if she fancied ever having a kid or two. England had not been able to resist since America had walked right into that one; she had told him she already had one, him. However, now she desperately wished they had taken the question seriously and had talked about their expectations before something like this occurred. Thoroughly lost in her thoughts, she did not hear the car pull into the driveway or notice America’s arrival until she heard the loud slam of the front door downstairs.
“England, your hero has arrived,” America bellowed as he toed his shoes off on the mat by the door.
England had threatened to make him sleep on the couch, if he tracked her floor up one more time. He shucked off his favorite bomber jacket and placed it on the back of a chair as he moved further into the house. Several bags of purchases were held in his right hand, and his briefcase was still loosely held in his left hand. England stiffened when she heard America call out to her; she had not figured out a proper way to tell him the news yet. However, she squared her shoulders and mentally braced herself as she made her way towards the staircase. America whistled appreciatively when he observed England standing at the top of the stairs. She was wearing a long black fitted t-shirt with the logo of some punk band that America had never heard of, red lacy boy shorts, and Union Jack ankle socks. Her long pigtails were slightly wavy from sleep, and her red glasses were perched precariously on the bridge of her nose. She was the most gorgeous being he had ever seen, but he immediately felt guilty for checking her out when he noticed how pale her face looked.
“America, I…” England began but trailed off when America looked at her as she descended the staircase.
“Oh, England, you’re still sick,” America said sadly as he dropped his briefcase where he stood and proceeded to rush to her.
“I…” England began before America interrupted her.
“Don’t worry, England! The hero always is prepared!” America said as he maneuvered the bags he was holding to one hand and scooped England up with the other hand.
England squeaked in protest at the sudden motion and wrapped her legs around America’s waist to avoid falling as he carried her to the sofa. England stared as America pulled out a bowl of chicken noodle soup, napkins, and plastic cutlery from the restaurant that he had picked up the food. Peering into the other bags, it appeared America had bought every brand of flu and cold medication, as well as those specifically designed for nausea, and anything remotely related to gastrointestinal issues. England blushed, despite herself, as America pulled out several brands and flavors of probiotic yogurts that were supposed to help with regularity. All the while, America chattered on about the purchases, but England was only half listening to him.
“And, I got you some digestive biscuits as well. If none of this works, I have a surefire cure,” America said and pulled out a huge burger from a McDonald’s bag.
“Usually, your country’s portion sizes are much smaller. But, I convinced them to make it bigger by saying it was a life or death matter,” America continued and winked at England who covered her mouth and began to dry-heave at the smell of the burger.
“Get that away from me,” England had tried to say through her dry-heaves. However, the words came out garbled and unintelligible.
“What’s wrong, England? Should I have gotten fries with that?” America asked as he gestured to the burger. He mentally chastised himself; he should always get fries with that.
“Uh, don’t talk about food,” England muttered as she drew her knees to her chest and leaned her head against them to block the food from her sight.
“Huh?” America asked in complete bewilderment. He just couldn’t understand why someone would not want to talk about food.
“America, I have something very serious to tell you,” England said as she forced herself to look at America.
“Oh my god, you’re not dying, right England?” America asked slightly hysterical as tears glistened in his eyes. He gripped England’s shoulders tightly and buried his face into her neck.
No, I am full of life; England thought sarcastically.
“America, you’re going to be a father,” England said clearly as she pushed him off of her so that she could look into his eyes.
England nervously chewed the inside of her cheek as America simply stared at her and remained silent. He couldn’t believe he was going to have a kid. Had it not been for Japan’s manga, he wouldn’t have even thought something like that was possible. However, he had once stumbled upon one that depicted something called Mpreg. At first, he had thought it was some kind of file formatting like JPEG, but Siri had informed him that it meant male pregnancy. He had been so perplexed that he had decided to do extensive research on the matter; he read the entire Wikipedia page on it. Apparently, it was common in fanlore, but he couldn’t remember if he and England ever went there. It was not that he was bad with geography, even though he could only name his own country, England’s country, Canada, and Mexico on a world map, and he sometimes mistook Africa for a country. However, the world was so big; he couldn’t be expected to know every single place, right? Not one to keep silent, America blurted out his next thought before he even had time to fully comprehend it.
“I’m pregnant?” America asked seriously with a slightly shocked expression upon his face as he stared into England’s green eyes and subconsciously rubbed the slightly protruding flesh of his stomach.
“I’m pregnant,” England reiterated firmly. She fixed America with a hard stare as she attempted to discern whether or not he was attempting to take the piss out of her.
“Oh my god, you’re pregnant too?!” America yelled completely shocked as a bit of sweat dripped from his brow.
Then again, if England is pregnant too, we can go through this together and support each other. It will be far less scary with England by my side, not that I’m scared. Heroes don’t get scared.
England stared incredulously at America for a few seconds as she briefly considered whether or not America was serious in thinking he was pregnant. Surely, America could not be that oblivious, right? However, America always did have the ability to render England speechless even when he wasn’t trying whatsoever.
“England, I’ve never been pregnant before. But, if it had to happen, I’m glad it was with you. I love you, England. I want us to be together forever,” America said with the upmost sincerity as he pulled her into the most loving hug that she had ever experienced in her entire life.
“America, you are not pregnant. It is impossible for a man to become pregnant. I am the only one who is pregnant,” England annunciated slowly as she snuggled into the solid warmth of America’s frame.
“Nuh-uh, it happens in fanlore; Wikipedia says so. I dunno when we went there, but we must have at some point. Here, look at this,” America said seriously as he pulled out his iPhone to show England the article on Mpreg.
After a long explanation on fanlore and England’s insistence that America needed to fix his sexual education system, which in retrospect America’s entire education system could use a lot of improvements, the two lovers curled up in bed and happily spooned each other. England gazed tenderly down at her softly snoring lover as she carded her fingers through his soft hair; a heartfelt smile graced her lips. America was quite the handsome and sweet bloke, but England prayed that their child inherited her intelligence instead.