Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The steady hiss of solder filled a workshop, a sound that blended with the faint hum of the ventilation system. The only light came from an array of work lamps on the bench, each angled precisely to illuminate its particular subject. Israel bent over his workbench, his brow furrowed in concentration as he ran the soldering iron carefully over the delicate circuit board. His hand was steady, the motions practiced. His tools were arranged neatly, ready for the next step. He worked slowly and deliberately, checking his work with a loupe and magnifier.

His mismatched eyes: one brown, the other an icy blue-grey, scanned the board constantly for the slightest mistake. It was not long before he found it. He muttered a curse and sat back. Seems like America’s birthday present was going to take a little more work than he thought. He rubbed his eyes and sighed, his focus interrupted. His gaze drifted around the room, lingering briefly on the thin wire above his workbench. It held a series of photographs. Some were group shots, taken at some sort of gathering. Others were a bit more intimate.

One showed a moment that would never fade from history: the signing of the global peace accord. The moment when the nations had put their names to the treaty and sealed it with their blood, binding them together, for good or ill. All in the name of the Super Earth Federation. Centuries of bloodshed ended in a single moment. It was a day of hope, of triumph. It was a day they had all fought and struggled for.

Though… perhaps it didn’t exactly end the bloodshed everywhere. The battles had shifted, no longer fought over Earth’s borders, but far beyond, where humanity’s expansion met resistance. Before Israel could think too much about it, he looked away, and his eyes fell on a picture that made him smile. America, looking as handsome as ever in his blue SEF uniform, his bright smile almost lighting up the entire frame. Tall and broad-shouldered, white hair swept back, with a few red and blue streaks running through it. A pair of sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

Heat rose in Israel’s cheeks as he stared. America looked so good. Then, his phone started to vibrate, and he jumped, startled. The country looked down and saw that America was calling. A sudden nervousness seized him, and he almost let it ring out. Instead, he took a deep breath and answered the call.

“Shalom?” he said, trying to keep his voice level.

“Israel! Did you hear the news?” America’s voice was as upbeat and cheerful as always. Even over the phone, the man’s smile was practically audible. A smile spread across Israel’s face, despite himself.

“No, I haven’t,” Israel replied cautiously, “what’s up?”

“Super Earth just announced this huge event in Mega City 1! They’re calling it a ‘Galactic Unity Summit,’ or something fancy like that. Big speeches, fireworks, the whole deal. All the nations are supposed to attend!” America explained excitedly. “It sounds amazing, right?”

“Wow, really? That’s... something, alright,” Israel replied, his voice measured, though far less enthusiastic than America’s. The thought of going back to Mega City 1 made his stomach tighten. It wasn’t just the city’s imposing scale or the ever-watchful holograms of Super Earth that unnerved him, it was the memories. It was in Mega City 1, under the Federation’s calculated spotlight, that he and Palestine had signed their peace treaty.

He could still picture the room: the polished floors, the elegant, towering architecture, the podium on which he and Palestine had stood together. He remembered how close Palestine had stood to him, their arms touching, their hands linked as their blood dripped onto the treaty. Palestine’s piercing, green eyes burning into his.

It had been a moment of true unity. For one night, all their struggles, all their history, everything had been forgotten. There was only the promise of a better future. The memory made his heart beat a little faster. He shook his head and focused on America’s words.

“I know, right? I’ve heard the Federation is going all out with this one,” America continued, his excitement not dulled in the slightest. “Guess it makes sense, though, with those Terminids breathing down our necks.”

Israel’s brow furrowed. “What about the Terminids?”

“Well, the Federation says the summit is to rally the people’s support. For the war against the Terminids. You know, show the people that the nations are united in peace, and stuff,” America explained, his tone a little more serious, but no less enthused. “It’s all about showing the galaxy we’ve got our act together.”

“Right,” Israel nodded, not fully listening. His thoughts were somewhere else entirely. He really wanted to get America’s birthday present done in time, and the extra work was cutting into his sleep schedule. He stifled a yawn.

“You okay?” America asked, and Israel could practically hear his concerned pout.

“Fine,” Israel replied quickly, trying to keep his tone light. “When’s the event?”

“In two days! It’s going to be so great,” America said.

Israel’s stomach tightened further. Two days?

“Oh, and by the way, I’m going to pick you up tomorrow morning. You can fly with me on my jet! I’ll be there bright and early! I thought we could go there one day earlier to sightsee a little,” America added, and the man’s smile was almost audible once again.

Israel froze. America was coming over? Here? Tomorrow morning? He glanced at his unfinished project, wires still scattered across the workbench. How was he supposed to finish it now?

“Wait, what?” he stammered into the phone, but America’s enthusiasm barreled on, unstoppable.

“Don’t worry, it will be fun,” America said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to Israel’s rising panic. “I’ll see you bright and early! Bye!”

The line went dead. Israel stared at the screen for a moment before looking up at the photo of America, all radiant confidence and charm. His gaze shifted to the half-finished circuit board, wires still dangling loose. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, heavy as lead.

“Fuck.”

Chapter Text

The hours ticked by, each one marked by the faint hum of the holographic projector as it whirred to life before dimming again. Israel sat hunched over his workbench, the glow of the incomplete star map barely illuminating his surroundings. But it was progress. A little more, and he might even finish before America arrived.

He stifled a yawn, then rubbed his tired eyes. Three days left until America's birthday. Which meant he had three days to finish this. Or rather, just one, considering two would be spent traveling to Mega City 1 and another attending the Summit. He let out a quiet sigh, his head lowering slightly as the gentle hum of the projector lulled him into a rhythm. Just a minute of rest. Just a minute...

He didn’t even realize when his eyes closed.

The doorbell’s sharp chime jolted Israel awake. He blinked rapidly, his heart racing as he sat up, momentarily disoriented. The holographic projector was still softly glowing, casting faint constellations on the walls of his workshop. For a second, he thought it had been some kind of malfunction. Then the chime came again, followed by a voice from the wall panel near the door.

“Visitor identified: United States. Access request pending," the automated system intoned in a pleasant, almost detached tone.

Israel froze. America? Here? Already? His gaze darted to the clock on the far wall, its sleek holographic digits floating mid-air. The display read: 10:23:54. Israel cursed, leaping up. The realization hit him like a truck. He’d fallen asleep at his desk, and now America was at his door.

“Shit,” he muttered, scrambling to his feet. His back protested with a sharp ache from the awkward sleeping position, but he ignored it, running a hand through his short, white hair and smoothing his rumpled shirt. Around him, the workshop felt too sterile, too clinical, stainless steel surfaces gleamed under harsh LED lighting, and the faint scent of solder still lingered in the air.

He grabbed the unfinished project, tucking it hastily into his pants pocket. The delicate wires seemed to mock him, reminding him of how close he had been to finishing. He shook his head, trying to refocus as he turned toward the door.

"Confirm entry," he said, his voice shaking slightly. Quickly, he glanced around, ensuring nothing else looked out of place. The workshop wasn’t messy, he hated clutter, but there was a certain lifelessness to it he suddenly felt self-conscious about. He wished he had thought to add a few personal touches, something warmer, something less... mechanical.

"Entry confirmed," the automated system responded. "Welcome, United States."

The door slid open with a soft hiss. Standing there, bathed in the golden light of the late morning sun, was America. His casual outfit, a crisp white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a pair of dark jeans, made him look effortlessly put-together. The sunlight caught the faint streaks of red and blue in his neatly combed white hair, giving him an almost halo-like glow. His signature sunglasses perched on his nose, reflecting the sleek, modern building in front of him.

"Israel!" America said, grinning, his voice as warm and sunny as the day outside. "Good morning!"

"Hey," Israel replied, his mouth dry. He suddenly felt very aware of how messy he looked in comparison. His wrinkled shirt clung awkwardly to his frame, and the faint smell of solder clung to his skin. Why hadn’t he woken up earlier? His mind scrambled for something to say, but all he could do was stare.

"You, uh, don’t seem ready," America commented, tilting his head slightly. "Something wrong?"

"No," Israel managed, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. His mind reeled, and he fought to keep his expression neutral. Why did he have to make America wait at the door like this? "Just give me a second. Come in, please."

"Alright," America replied, stepping inside. The door shut behind him with a soft hiss.

The workshop’s cold, metallic interior seemed to clash with America’s vibrant presence. His eyes scanned the space, pausing on the sleek workbench covered in blueprints and neatly organized tools. “Man, this place is crazy. It’s like stepping into the future every time I visit.”

"Did you redecorate or something?" America asked, leaning casually against the workbench. The faint smell of his cologne, a warm, woodsy scent, reached Israel’s nose, making him feel flustered.

"No, not really," Israel said, averting his gaze. He gestured toward a nearby stool. "Um, please have a seat. I’ll just go and get changed, then we can go. Make yourself comfortable."

"Sure thing," America nodded, sparkling with amusement. He perched on the stool, looking far too at home in the sterile space. “Don’t worry about me, I can keep myself entertained.”

Israel mumbled a quick thanks before retreating to his bedroom, his steps quick and uneven. Once inside, he shut the door and leaned against it, letting out a frustrated sigh. His reflection in the mirror caught his eye, and he winced. His hair was an unruly mess, and his shirt looked like he had just rolled out of bed, which, technically, he had.

"Ugh, Israel, pull it together," he muttered, stripping off his rumpled shirt and tossing it onto a growing pile of laundry. He rifled through his closet, finally settling on a clean, dark button-up and a pair of tailored pants. Simple, neat, presentable. After a quick splash of water on his face and a few passes with a comb, he looked marginally less disheveled.

Before leaving, Israel opened a small drawer and carefully placed the unfinished project into a slim, protective case, slipping it into his bag with practiced precision. America couldn’t see this - not yet.

"Better," he said to himself, though the nerves in his stomach didn’t ease. He grabbed a small snack from the kitchen, a nutrient bar that tasted faintly of synthetic chocolate, and headed back to the workshop.

"Okay, I’m ready," he announced, forcing a sheepish smile. "Sorry about the wait."

"No problem," America said, looking up from his phone with a grin. "I’ve been having fun reading your fan mail."

"My fan mail?" Israel blinked, caught off guard.

"Yup," America said, waving his phone. The screen displayed a flurry of messages, some adorned with hearts and flags. “Mostly from your citizens. Gotta say, they’re pretty poetic about you. Makes me wonder if I need to up my game.”

Israel couldn’t help the small, awkward smile that tugged at his lips. He adjusted his bag and double-checked the small compartment where he had carefully tucked the unfinished project. The added weight was a subtle reminder of his own nerves.

"Enough of that," he said, shaking his head. "Let’s go. We don’t want to miss the flight."

"Yes, sir!" America chuckled, grabbing his own bag and saluting dramatically before leading the way out. Israel followed, his steps lighter, though the nervous flutter in his chest lingered. The project nestled in his bag seemed to echo that feeling, a mix of excitement and uncertainty he couldn’t quite shake.

Chapter Text

The private jet hummed softly as it descended toward Mega City 1, the skyline growing larger with every passing moment. Israel stared out the window, his mismatched brown-blue eyes narrowing slightly as the sprawling metropolis came into view. Massive skyscrapers of steel and glass stretched into the clouds, their surfaces adorned with vibrant holographic banners proclaiming: "For Democracy. For Unity. For Super Earth. Galactic Summit 2084." Below, the city seemed to stretch out infinitely, its streets bustling with traffic.

"Wow," America said, leaning closer and lifting his sunglasses to get a better view. His bright blue eyes sparkled as he took in the sight, the banners and glowing walkways reflecting off his face. "This place looks incredible. I mean, yeah, I’ve been here before, but it still gets me every time."

Israel let out a quiet hum of acknowledgment, his gaze scanning the massive sprawl of the city. "It’s big," he admitted, his tone steady. "Almost too big. But it’s not surprising, considering how long everyone fought over where it should be."

"Ugh, don’t remind me," America groaned, sitting back in his seat. He ran a hand through his hair, his grin twisting into something more exasperated. "That was, what, ten years of arguments? Felt like a damn eternity. Every nation wanted it on their turf. The way France kept going on about Paris being the ‘center of civilization’... like anyone was buying that."

Israel smirked faintly at the memory. "And don’t forget China," he said. "He wanted it in Beijing. Claimed he had the most ‘modern and efficient infrastructure.’ Typical."

"Yeah, well, Germany wasn’t any better," America said, rolling his eyes. "Berlin this, Berlin that. You’d think he’d learned subtlety by now. Honestly, I thought India had the strongest case—Delhi as the ‘heart of the largest democracy.’ Pretty solid pitch if you ask me."

Israel gave him a sideways glance. "You mean aside from your own pitch for New York City?"

"Hey, it made sense!" America shot back, his grin wide and unapologetic. "Financial hub, cultural landmark, the Big Apple, baby. Who wouldn’t want the capital of Earth to be there?"

"Everyone," Israel replied dryly. "Nobody wanted you rubbing it in their faces that you’re already the center of everything."

"Fair point," America admitted with a laugh, leaning back in his seat. "But honestly, Terengganu? Who saw that one coming?"

Israel nodded thoughtfully, glancing out the window at the gleaming city below. "It made sense in the end. Neutral enough to avoid old rivalries, and it was a clean slate - less crowded than Kuala Lumpur or Singapore. Plus, the coastal location meant they could show off all their fancy environmental tech."

"Yeah, like those crazy floating districts," America said. His bright blue eyes narrowed slightly as he looked out at the sprawling metropolis. "The Federation really went all-in. Seawalls, renewable energy, water filtration systems. I mean, the place was barely on the map before Super Earth got involved."

"And Malaysia was happy to let it happen," Israel added. "She saw it as a chance to make Terengganu the face of progress. Singapore wasn’t as thrilled about being sidelined, though."

America chuckled, leaning back in his seat with a stretch. "Yeah, she’s always got something to say, doesn’t she? Every meeting with her felt like a lecture on how the Federation owes her everything. Don’t get me wrong, I like her, but man, she can really talk."

Israel smirked faintly. "You’re one to talk about talking."

"Hey!" America protested, sitting up and placing a hand on his chest in mock offense. "I’m charming. There’s a difference. People like it when I talk."

"Sure they do," Israel said dryly, turning back to the window to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. Yes, they did. And yes, he did, too. Israel could listen to America talk all day, whether it was about something as insignificant as the weather or something important like the future of Earth - correction: Super Earth. Gotta love how they rebranded the entire planet like it was a new smartphone model. Even so, every conversation with America felt worth having.

Israel's eyes remained fixed on the window, watching as the landing pad came into view: a gleaming platform surrounded by towering holographic pillars that projected images of Federation symbols and slogans. The jet descended steadily, the landing gear deploying with a soft whir. A group of SEF officers stood at the end of the walkway, their blue uniforms and polished helmets gleaming under the sun.

"Looks like we're here," America said, sitting up straight and adjusting his shirt. Israel nodded, the nervous flutter in his stomach intensifying.

As the jet touched down, the SEF officers marched out with precision, their boots striking the platform in perfect unison. They formed two crisp lines at the base of the ramp. Two officers stepped forward, their movements sharp and practiced, and raised their right fists to their chests before extending them outward in a swift arc - a gesture meant to symbolize loyalty to the Super Earth Federation and the unity of all nations. For Managed Democracy. For Liberty.

Israel’s eyes lingered on the salute for a moment, the sharpness of the motion almost hypnotic. It was impressive in its discipline, like everything about the Federation. Yet, something about its exactness always made him uneasy.

"Man, they don’t mess around, huh?" America said, standing and stretching before grabbing his bag. He gave Israel a lopsided grin. "Alright, partner, time to look official."

Israel nodded, his expression neutral as he grabbed his own bag and followed America toward the door. The ramp lowered with a soft hiss, and the humid air of Mega City 1 hit them instantly, carrying with it the faint scent of sea salt and greenery.

America strode down the ramp confidently, his sunglasses back in place and his grin as wide as ever. "Gentlemen!" he called to the officers, throwing a casual salute of his own. "Democracy and unity, baby. Right on."

The SEF officers gave a low chorus of acknowledgment, returning his salute, albeit far more stiffly. Israel followed, his eyes flitting from America to the officers, their posture stiff and uniform. His shoulders were tense, and his grip on the strap of his bag tightened. He didn’t like these displays of formality.

As America exchanged pleasantries with the SEF officers, Israel’s gaze wandered past the polished platform to the city beyond. The view was just as striking as it had appeared from the plane.

"Ready to see the Liberty Spire up close?" America asked, his voice snapping Israel out of his thoughts.

"Sure," Israel said, though his tone was distant. He adjusted the strap of his bag, the tension in his shoulders unrelenting. "Let's get going."

Chapter Text

The Liberty Spire rose like a shimmering needle into the endless blue sky, its surface alive with shifting holograms of Super Earth, its colonies (damn, when did we expand that much?), and the Super Earth Federation’s logo. It was a beacon of human achievement, visible from almost anywhere in Mega City 1, and a not-so-subtle reminder of the Federation's power and influence.

Israel craned his neck as they approached, his gaze sweeping up the spire, trying to gauge its height.Red, blue and yellow lights from the holograms danced across his face, making it difficult to see clearly.

“Talk about over-the-top,” Israel muttered.

“Over-the-top?” America repeated, giving him a sideways glance. His sunglasses reflected the shifting images projected onto the Spire's surface, creating a dizzying effect.

"It's so big, and shiny, and..." Israel's voice trailed off, and he waved his hand vaguely. "I don't know, I'm just not a fan."

"What do you mean, 'you're not a fan'? Of the Liberty Spire? The one symbol of Super Earth's peace and prosperity?" America asked, feigning shock. "Come on, don't be such a wet blanket."

Israel let out an annoyed sigh. He hated it when America did this. "There's nothing wrong with preferring things to be more modest," he grumbled, trying to keep his tone light. "It's called subtlety. Ever heard of it?"

"Hey, I'm all about subtlety," America retorted. "I wear shades everywhere."

Israel couldn't help the small smirk tugging at his lips. "Those aren't 'subtle', those are tacky."

"Tacky?" America shot back, feigning offense. "Now, that's just uncalled for. These are stylish, classic, timeless-"

"And so tacky," Israel interjected, his smirk widening. He shook his head, his expression softening. "But I'm kidding, mostly. Let's just get in. I want to grab some lunch. My stomach's growling."

"Your wish is my command," America replied with a mock bow. "I'm sure they have a great cafeteria inside. Let's go check it out."

The entrance to the Liberty Spire was a massive, arching doorway made of smooth, polished steel and etched with intricate patterns of the Federation's emblem. As they stepped through, a cool blast of air-conditioned air greeted them, along with the soft murmur of hundreds of voices. Inside, the lobby was a sea of people: businessmen and politicians, tourists and families, all mingling and talking amongst themselves.

They made their way over to the elevators, weaving between the crowds. The ride was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of its magnetic lift. Israel leaned against the glass panel, staring out at the city below. His stomach was still twisted in nervous knots.

His gaze flicked to America, who seemed utterly in his element, his grin wide and carefree. The golden light of the sun streaming through the glass made his white hair almost glow, the faint streaks of red and blue shimmering faintly. Gosh, he is so...

"What?" America said suddenly, catching Israel's eye.

"Huh?" Israel replied, startled. He averted his gaze quickly, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.

"I'm so what?" America repeated, his voice laced with amusement.

"Nothing," Israel said quickly, avoiding eye contact. His heart was racing, and his palms were sweaty. What was he thinking, getting distracted like that?

"If you say so," America replied with a laugh, the grin on his face widening.

The elevator came to an halt and the doors opened with a soft chime, revealing the Skyview Restaurant. Pull it together, Israel. He’s your best friend, not… He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the fluttering feeling in his chest.

It was a spacious restaurant, with an open concept design and large windows offering breathtaking views of the city. Vibrant, exotic plants were scattered throughout the room, their oversized leaves and glowing petals adding bursts of color - bright oranges, deep purples, and bioluminescent blues. Their origin was no mystery; they were undoubtedly liberated from distant planets once occupied by the Terminids, now proudly displayed as symbols of humanity’s victory.

America’s enthusiasm was palpable. “Man, look at this place! Talk about swanky, huh?” His gaze darted around, taking in the pretty tables and the vibrant alien plants. “Hey, I think I saw something about a dessert bar over there. You cool if I check it out? I promise I’ll bring back something sweet. How about you find us a table in the mean time? Looks like a packed house today. We need to strike while the iron is hot and grab a seat, you know what I mean? Okay, cool. Back in a bit. Later, partner. I got a sweet tooth to feed. And no, not a euphemism, so get your mind out of the gutter. You think I wouldn't tell you?"

Israel stared, trying to process the sudden barrage of words. Before he could respond, America was already gone, his footsteps receding quickly into the crowd. But he couldn't be mad, not really. His friend was... well, his friend. Just... his friend. Nothing more.

He wandered the restaurant for a while, looking for a spot and eventually settled on a small table tucked away in a corner. As he sat down, the sunlight warmed his skin, and the faintest hint of salt drifted on the air. His thoughts drifted to the beach, the waves rolling gently in the distance. A sense of calm washed over him, and he closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

Thoughts drifted - vivid, ridiculous fantasies of sharing dessert with America, walking the beach hand in hand, the wind blowing gently and the ocean glittering in the sun. Sweat trickled down America's bare chest and his smile was dazzling, his laugh like music. It was all so absurd, so unrealistic. But. Maybe it wasn’t crazy. Maybe he should tell him. Maybe America would-

“What are you dreaming about?”

The voice cut through Israel’s daydream like a cold wind. His eyes snapped open. The tension hit him like a slap. Palestine.

Standing there, hands casually in his pockets, Palestine’s expression hovered somewhere between amused and unimpressed. His short black hair was neatly styled, not like Israel was used to seeing on him. A tailored black jacket and trousers made him look polished, but the faint scars - scars Israel had inflicted years ago - were still visible on his face, a stark contrast to the refined image.

“What are you doing here?” Israel asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

Palestine raised an eyebrow, gesturing vaguely at the room. “Same as you, I’d imagine. Eating lunch. This is a restaurant, isn’t it? And well, the summit is tommorow. So, there's that." He paused. “Not that I need your approval to exist in public spaces.”

Israel bit his tongue, suppressing a retort. He needed to be better than that. Their conflict was over, after all. But old habits die hard.

Palestine sighed, a tired look on his face. "I didn't come over here to pick a fight, you know. In fact, I was wondering if we could talk."

"About what?" Israel asked warily.

Palestine took a seat across from him, leaning back casually in the chair. "About the summit, of course. Or, more specifically, about the Federation. I just..." he leaned forward, his voice lowering, "I can't shake the feeling that something is... off. Super Earth inviting us all so suddenly. It's just a gut feeling, but it's there."

Silence hung between them for a moment.

"Off?" Israel said, his brow furrowing. "The Federation does everything with a dramatic flair. You’re acting like this is something new."

A humorless chuckle escaped Palestine. "Maybe so. But this feels different. More urgent. Something is happening. And I just feel like..." He hesitated, his voice softening, almost hesitant. "I don't trust them. And you're the only one I can talk to about it. About any of this. Because I know you understand. More than anyone else what it feels like to have this pressure on you. This constant, suffocating pressure."

For a moment, the air between them was heavy with unspoken words. This felt too intimate. Too... close. Israel opened his mouth to respond, but no words came.

The silence was shattered by America's booming voice cutting through the air.

"Yo, I'm back!"

America’s grin was wide as he approached, balancing a massive tray piled high with desserts, enough to feed an army. "Sorry I took so long. There was a huge line, but you know what they say: good things come to those who wait. And these babies? Totally worth it. So- Whaaat's going on?" His cheery demeanor instantly shifted as his gaze settled on Palestine. His smile faltered.

"Hey, America," Palestine said coolly, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Fancy seeing you here. Don’t worry, we were just talking. Nothing to get worked up about. Just a friendly chat between two nations."

"Two friends," America corrected, his tone even, though his eyes narrowed slightly. "You can call us friends. After all, we’re all friends here."

"Friends..." Palestine echoed, his tone slow and deliberate, as if testing the weight of the word. "Sure." He stood, smoothing the front of his jacket as he prepared to leave. "Well, I’m sure you two have lots to talk about, so I won’t intrude. Enjoy your lunch."

But before he walked away, Palestine glanced back at Israel, his gaze lingering just long enough to send a shiver down Israel’s spine. It wasn’t just the look itself, it was the unspoken weight behind it, the hint of something unresolved, something dangerous.

"What was that about?" America asked, his brow furrowing as he sat down, setting the tray of desserts on the table with a soft clink.

"I don’t know," Israel replied quickly, though his voice betrayed a hint of unease. His heart pounded in his chest as he replayed Palestine’s words. The Democracy Officers wouldn’t take kindly to a conversation like that. The Federation certainly wouldn’t. It was surprising that Palestine would even dare to speak to him like that, especially here. They had always been on opposite sides of a conflict, their history etched in scars neither of them could forget. And yet, as much as Israel hated to admit it, maybe Palestine was right. Maybe Israel did understand him better than anyone else ever could. After all, they had spent a lot of time getting to know each other in ways neither of them had wanted to.

America shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "Eh, whatever. He’s probably just stressed out. Big event and all, you know how it is." He pushed the tray of desserts toward Israel with a broad grin. "Now, dig in. I got one of everything. Chocolate cake, strawberry shortcake, cheesecake, and even a slice of red velvet. You’re welcome."

"Thanks," Israel said, his gaze flitting over the assortment of cakes. But the excited flutter in his stomach that had been there moments ago had vanished, replaced by an uneasy knot. His appetite was gone.

"Anytime, buddy," America said warmly, his grin as bright as ever. He picked up a fork and gestured toward the tray. "Now, come on. Let’s eat before it gets cold... or warm... or whatever desserts do."

Israel managed a small, faint smile and picked up a fork. But as he stared down at the desserts, his thoughts weren’t on the sweet, sugary spread in front of him. They were on Palestine’s lingering words, his piercing gaze, and the gnawing sense that the summit wasn’t just another routine Federation event.