America and England were the first out of the room, their position close to the room's door playing to their advantage. Arthur had to lead the way to the kitchen, but after racing down the stairs in a disorderly fashion and charging through doors. They reached the kitchen's entrance, and every nation bar Russia, China, Canada, France, Spain and Portugal (who'd elected to stay behind to prevent crowding) was now increasingly worried about what they'd find. It had sounded like pots and pans clattering, but given how loud and long the noise was, they all had a feeling that it was more than one pan.

Alfred told everyone to hang back, and before anyone could protest, he'd entered the kitchen with caution. "Kiku? Are you in here?"

He didn't get a proper response other than a pained groan and as Alfred inspected the area, he could see a collection of pans sprawled across the floor along with a large puddle of water and the remnants of what Japan must've been preparing for dinner. Not good. An island counter was obscuring half of the space, and from what he could see, there was nowhere else Kiku could be. Alfred just hoped that he was alright, unscathed. It had been an eventful day as it was, there wasn't need for anymore excitement or thrill.

With a slow and steady pace, he trailed around the counter island, the puddle of water reaching around to that area, and to his dismay, Kiku was sat in a muddle (and a puddle) on the floor rubbing his head and then wincing at the pain in his hand. He'd spilt boiling water on it when he'd fallen, and the skin was evidently starting to blister and burn in a particularly gruesome sight. He tried to stand up on his own, but Alfred had to quickly give him a hand and help him over to the sink so that Kiku could get some cold water on his left arm.

Tired of waiting and being left in the lurch, Germany barged into the kitchen with Italy and England right behind, and they were at first shocked to see the state of the far side of the kitchen before the real surprise came when they saw America faffing over Japan and making sure he was alright, repeatedly asking Kiku if he was OK. It was a humbling sight, but that was quickly overcome when the trio caught a glimpse of Kiku's arm.

"What happened in here?" Ludwig questioned, moving to help his old ally too.

"It would appear that someone had spilt something on the floor, causing me to slip," Kiku replied, flinching slightly at the mixture of numbing and burning sensations under his skin, and the itch that was starting to form in the affected area. "I ended up knocking over the pan I was using and several others ones, and . . . Well . . ." He turned his arm under the tap. "You can see the aftermath."

"Arthur, have you got any icepacks or anything?" America asked. He was starting to look in drawers and cupboards – a funny place to look for an icepack in Japan's opinion, but he didn't question it.

"Yeah, uh . . . Give me a second," England replied, and he disappeared through another door on the other side of the room.

Alfred nodded calmly at no one in particular. "Keep that arm under the water for a few more minutes," he instructed Kiku. "We'll get the icepack to defrost a bit and then we can dress the wound to help the healing process. Give it a day or so and it should be fine."

"Thank you, I appreciate your help," Japan replied.

Of course, Alfred's calmness under the circumstances was unexpected and inexplicable to him and everyone else present. They hadn't seen this side to him – a side that knew order and could keep a cool head and knew exactly what to do in the specific situation as if he'd faced it everyday he'd been alive. England knew that side to him. He'd seen it a few times. But Germany, Italy and Japan were rather gobsmacked by it, and decided not to interfere in anyway so as to disturb the peace and strange serenity of the room.

Arthur came back through the door holding to small rectangular blue bags – icepacks – and he readily presented them to Alfred. "Here we are."

"Ah, perfect!" Alfred said in thanks, and he told Arthur to let them warm a little bit and then go and find the bandages because for the life of him, Alfred couldn't find them anywhere.

"It's all in a green box, how can you miss it?" Arthur sighed as he went over to a cupboard and opened it, retrieving a First Aid kit and then a roll of bandaging from within it.

"I . . . Hadn't gotten to looking over there yet," Alfred responded sheepishly.

"If you say so," he said, feeling rather unconvinced, and he tossed the roll to the awaiting American.

As Alfred unravelled it and tried to work out how much would be required, Arthur took to investigating the site of the incident, Italy trailing behind. The water was still moving across the floor, and Feliciano's decided to grab some kitchen paper in order to start mopping it up. As Italy got to work, England began to lift pots and pans that had been knocked off the storage shelf opposite the stove Japan had been using and put them to one side.

'Nasty thing to do, burn yourself,' he grimaced quietly. 'He's so careful, though. . . How on earth did he even manage to . . . ?'

"What the bloody hell . . . ?"

It seemed that clearing away the kitchen pots had presented the culprit behind Japan's accident – something beige and sloppy and clumping on the floor. Arthur was wary of touching it, but when Feliciano saw what he was looking at, he recognised it almost immediately.

"Hey, that looks like cake batter!" he remarked loudly, so much so that Germany and the others heard him too.

"Cake batter?"

"Mhm! I'm not sure why it's here though," Feliciano said, trying to think about all the possible reasons. Someone beat him to the answer, however.

"Italy . . ." Ludwig muttered with a heavy sigh. "You made cupcakes earlier on, you dummkopf . . ."

"Oh yeah, I did!" the Italian beamed. "They were good, weren't they?~ Sweet and fluffy, and—" He stopped himself when he realised what that meant. "Oh my God, Japan, I'm so sorry! I-I thought I cleaned up properly! I must've missed a spot, and you slipped, and this is so BAAAAAD!"

"Italy-san, please calm down—"

"I'M SORRY, JAPAN! I DIDN'T MEAN TO HURT YOU, I SWEAR!" Feliciano cried, panicked and feeling incredibly guilty.

"It's fine, I promise!" Kiku winced, memories of similar whining from World War Two coming back to haunt and taunt him."Please calm down! I'm not hurt, it will be fine tomorrow!"

"A-Are you sure?" Feliciano asked.

"Hai. I will be fine," he affirmed.

In the next three minutes, Ludwig managed to clear Feliciano out of the kitchen upon Alfred's request, Arthur had managed to clean up most of the water and cake batter, and Kiku's arm was being dressed carefully and loosely by Alfred. He said that the icepacks were for afterwards, incase Kiku felt the need to numb any further pain and to help reduce swelling. Japan thanked America, still somewhat astounded by his kindness and calmness, and he offered to make a new batch of rice for some onigiri.

At this, Alfred shook his head and told Kiku to take it easy. It took a bit of firm persuasion, but he eventually managed to get Japan to head back to the meeting room with Germany and Italy, leaving himself and Arthur in the kitchen with a lack of energy and time to cook something grand.

"Well that was exciting," America remarked as he lent against the island counter, letting out a slow and dry breath. "Same time next week?"

"How about no," England said. He tossed the last piece of drenched paper into the bin and ran his fingers through his hair in tired frustration. "Right . . . I'll let you cook, yes? Everyone will simply have to wait long—"

"You're gonna help me."

Arthur did a double-take. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You're gonna help me cook!" Alfred smiled brightly.

"Alfred, I can't. You and I both know I can't. And especially not for so many people!" Arthur protested.

He didn't care about his condition, it was the awkwardness and embarrassment of it! If he cooked, what if it tasted terrible and he became the laughing stock of the world stage for the next century? Arthur wasn't going to allow that to happen to himself, no matter how much anyone would ever dare bribe him with.

"That's why I'm going to be here to help you. You can borrow my taste buds," Alfred responded. He went over to the fridge and inspected it, seeing what ingredients were left to be used. Arthur hesitantly stood at his side and had a look too. "Hm . . . What do reckon we can make then?"

"Something an idiot like you can cook without issue," was the quick-fire answer.

Alfred gasped. "I actually hate you so much!" he exclaimed, stifling laughter.

Arthur gave a minuscule shrug, taking his leave to put the kettle before the world ended on account of his inability to cook well. "You love me really," he sarcastically muttered.

'God, if only you knew . . .'

<><><>

"Japan, is everything OK? You had us all worried," Francis said when Kiku entered the meeting room behind Ludwig and Feliciano.

"Everything will be fine, thank you, France," Kiku responded as he carefully took his seat. Everyone else did the same.

"What did you do? What's up with your arm?" Yao questioned anxiously, desperate for answers and almost ready to call it a day so he could make sure Japan was truly alright; he knew Westerners were a bad influence, but not so much as to make Japan accident-prone!

"China, please," Kiku sighed lightly, trying to remain as respectful and composed as he could. "I am fine, my arm is just going to be sore for a while. I burnt it, but America helped and—"

"Where is Amerika?" Ivan asked. He apologised for interrupting, and Japan nodded in pardon and proceeded to answer.

"In the kitchen, I believe. I assume he is now handling dinner with England, since what I was preparing is now inedible."

"I hope Alfred knows what he's in for if he's letting Arthur cook," Francis muttered quietly.

Matthew nudged him and gave a small frown. "Give him a chance! . . . Besides, it keeps Alfred busy. You heard what Japan said – he was the one to make sure he was all sorted out, and that's a good thing."

And that was important to Matthew. So long as Alfred's mind remained focused on something that wasn't negative, he knew that his brother would remain on the straight and narrow. He wouldn't forget the episode outside with Russia so easily. He wouldn't forget the horror of Alfred threatening suicide. And it made him think more about his own decisions too, being able to see it all from the outside looking in.

'Gil and I have a lot we need to discuss . . .' he told himself. 'I've put him through so much . . .'

"Right," Feliciano said, suddenly grabbing everyone's attention with a clap, "I think we should continue now. America and England won't mind, I'm sure, and it's becoming evening already . . ."

"I say we just get on with it," Portugal said. "We can't wait forever."

"You've been here for literally two hours, if that," Antonio responded flatly. "You can't complain!"

"Children, please," Francis sighed, "just let Italy continue."

João rolled his eyes and rested his elbows on the table, while Antonio sat back in his seat shaking his head lightly to himself. Feliciano took the abandoned journal back into his possession and hurriedly found the page he was on under the watchful eyes if everyone else in the room, and he nodded slowly to himself when he saw exactly what was up next.

"This one is going to be good . . ."

"Who's is it?"

"Oh, no one important," he stated, a small smirk creeping onto his face. "It's only my brother's."

<><><>

Japan is fine, we can all breathe :'v

Also, I'm totally not unintentionally creating a bit of USUK/FrUK tension in my book . . .

. . .

Comment which ship you prefer— *slapped by everyone*