The Loyalist

/w
     Nations represented the people, at least partially. It was a complicated, ambiguous, varying amalgamation of representing the people, the government, and themself as a person - or "person". An ancient Nation once said, "Nations are like Jesus, in a way; we are wholly our people, wholly our government, and wholly ourselves." This quote, though attributed to the Nation of the Roman Empire, had a speaker lost to time. The likelihood of it being Rome was doubted, even. Not even the oldest of Nations remembered who said it. However, it was probably a Catholic nation, ostensibly (which narrowed it down so much, most Nations sarcastically thought whenever they debated their own existence, an occurrence common and unavoidable when one can live as long as they do). This paradox of representation often made it difficult to truly represent the people, diverse in thought as they naturally become, especially in countries with many cultural backgrounds and diversity. This was also why civil wars took such a toll on Nations: while their country was fighting itself, the Nation was also fighting themself internally, akin to an autoimmune disorder for amortals.
     As Nations aged (in the sense of their country developing, them aging emotionally, and them aging physically - land only contributed to a Nation's height to an extent, at least before a certain mental and physical maturity, which they were all thankful for; nobody wanted a 6'0 baby) they learned to manage everything better - government, disagreements within the country, and their deaths, etcetera. However, if it happened when they were young (or if it was their first time - dying, for instance) it stuck with them.
     Which led America to wounding his pride every now and then - more often than he would like to admit.
     During (and after, even) his Revolution, loyalists were those who remained loyal to the crown. Since he was relatively young during his Revolution (or, well, his biology - did they even have biology, genes? - determined him young enough; things weren't black and white, like always) it sometimes wore on him. Like an old scar aching, like a type of muscle memory, he sometimes felt an unbearable, abhorrent want - no, need to be under the crown.
America thought of it like a ghost. It haunted him. The loyalist in him, although the intensity of it could vary, brought out everything he was afraid to be: vulnerable, weak, not free. He never dissected whether that was the government in him, the people, or him. Regardless, he'd never admit it, even to a speck of dust.

Although England was aware of the possibility of this, he didn't see America like it often. When they first started regaining personal and diplomatic relations, America tried to almost ignore their past relationship entirely. After all, he was still young in terms of a Nation. England mostly allowed this, keeping an almost strictly professional relationship until they were in the trenches together in 1917. Then, all they had was the camaraderie between people, not just as Nations. It was then when he first saw America overcome by his ghost.
England never held it against him. He never told a soul. America had been afraid of that at first. But he thought back, and remembered when England had comforted him once about his Civil War; England had understood the pain of civil war, having had three himself, but could only image the pain of a civil war regarded as the "first modern war". Although England and America had already had a trust between them as countries - it was necessary, daresay, in the 1900s - England's comfort gave America the person a trust for England the person. The feeling was mutual, though England usually needed less comfort.
That didn't mean America outright told England when his ghost was haunting him, however.
England had been staying with America in his Texas residence for about two weeks due to a G7 Summit. Although his residence was somewhat far from the meeting (it was one of his more rural homes, and about 45-50 minutes away if one wasn't speeding like America always did in his rural lands) neither minded. They enjoyed each other's company (although one of them would never admit that). When they arrived in America's hill country home outside of Houston, they started discussing dinner.
     "Whaddaya want, Iggy?" America said in a thick Texan drawl, due to being in Texas. England would say he hated the "bastardization and blatant disrespect" of his language, but he secretly... tolerated the Southern drawl America always picked up in the Southern states (though he was told there were differences between each of the states and some of the regions in the states, there were none he could hear).
     "It really doesn't matter. Honestly, I could take care of dinner. You are housing me, after all."
     "Always the gentleman, hm? Naw, it's all good, I've got it. We could go... fried chicken, classic burgers, American chop suey? Chilly? Tex-Mex? I might could grill something, pork or something," he rambled off.
     "What's American chop suey?" England asked.
     "Noodles, beef, some vegetables, seasoning, whatever."
      "Ah. Er, it really doesn't matter. You can choose something," England insisted. Honestly, maybe England had taught him too many manners. Though he was a bit reluctantly sure he wasn't to blame for that. The phrase was "Southern hospitality," after all, not "English hospitality."
     "Naw, really, you can choose something," America doubled down, still sounding kind as ever.
     "Good god, we'll be here all day. Fine, I, er... burgers, I suppose."
     "You got it, Iggy. You can go change, I should be done by the time you're." That reminded England that the were both in suits and ties, although America had long since untucked his shirt, loosened his tie, and thrown his jacket god-knows-where. Reluctantly, England listened, and left America to himself. He felt a bit bad about him cooking in his formal wear, but he knew America himself didn't mind, so he tried not to dwell on it.
     And so, America gathered four medium-sized burgers and four buns, along with some basic toppings. He also threw some frozen fries in the oven. He got to cooking on the grill, and was rather content.
     Slowly, though, his mood dampened. He felt that draw he occasionally felt, that loyalist pull. All those thousands of people many, many decades ago that still affected him. He tried to ignore it. Outwardly, it worked. Inside, he knew he wouldn't be happy with himself later.