"I can't believe you want to do archery," England repeated for the umpteenth time as Alfred unlocked the shed in the woods.

"And I can't believe you're still saying that," Alfred shot back.

He pulled out five bows of varying strengths from the shed: a couple of twenty-twos for those who'd never tried archery, and some others in the thirty/forty/fifty range. After asking around the small group, he gave Amelia and Jones the less powerful bows, Charles received a thirty-six, he gave himself the forty-eight, and Arthur took the fifty-four. He didn't need anyone exerting themselves. Or hurting themselves, for that matter.

"Use these often?" Amelia questioned as she tried to work out which hand she was supposed to hold the bow with. "Both of you, I mean."

"Leisurely," Arthur replied. He noticed her confusion and decided to help out a bit. "Dominant hand pulls back the string. Hold the bow with your other hand."

"Oh, thanks," she said sheepishly, doing as advised, and she looked to Alfred. "How about you?"

"I'm no Robby Hood—"

"It's Robin Hood, you twat."

"—but I like to think I have enough practice under my belt to get some good shots," Alfred smiled. "Now come on, the weather's been alright recently so the targets should still be up!"

"When was the last time you used these things?"

"Only last week, Charlie. I like to keep on top of certain skills," Alfred answered, and he led the group onwards after handing out arrows and locking the shed once more.

It was only a short walk to the range he'd set out, in the opposite direction to the area the paintball match had been held in beforehand. The land was flatter there, and as the quintet arrived in the necessary sector of the woods, several targets made themselves known. A handful were positioned at set intervals from a firing line—fifteen, twenty-five and forty yards. And then Alfred pointed out extra targets also painted haphazardly on some trees, and those hung from the branches to make the playing field more interesting and adventurous.

"Welcome to Targetopia!"

"Well I'll be . . . The only thing you're missing now are the dummies," England remarked.

"Dunno, Alfred is stood right there," Alex teased.

Alfred feigned offence and gasped. "How rude!"

"Only because you know it's true," Charles said. He glanced from Alfred to Arthur, and smiled meekly, before his gaze shifted again.

Arthur was unsettled, unnerved. There was no way the grey-eyed American had forgotten their meeting a couple centuries prior, why was he suddenly acting so . . . Coy? And so indifferent, as if there had never been bad blood between Charles and anyone else stood there at that moment? He didn't like it one bit.

"Right, I say we start on the standing targets just so everyone can get to grips with technique," Alfred stated. He looked to Arthur, who was still thinking to himself, and he decided there was a better way to engage him properly. "After that, Artie can perhaps give us some pointers and lead for the remainder of the time."

"Wait, what?" Arthur blinked.

"I dunno, you're the archer! Show these guys what a millenia of archery can give you!" Alfred replied sheepishly.

"A millenia?"

"Norman Conquest," the Brit said to Amelia. "Archery gained a lot of popularity in the following decades and the English long bow became renowned. But that's for another day," he smiled.

"Well . . . Mind showing us just what you can do, old man?" Alex asked, earning a smack on the arm for his cheek from Amelia.

Arthur slowly nodded and with one fluid movement, he took an arrow from the quiver on his side and slid it into place. He drew back the string until it reached his cheek and he aimed towards the furthest target, his arms steady and eyes sharp. Within what couldn't have been more than two seconds, the arrow was released and soared through the air at a speed that made it invisible, until it struck the target in its centre.

"Nice shot, Merida," Alfred remarked lightheartedly.

"Thanks, Rapunzel," said Arthur, shaking his head slighlty but smiling all the same.

"Why am I Rapunzel?"

"Uh—"

"Is it the hair?"

'Why would it—"

"Wait, are you trynna tell me my hair is magical?!"

"What, no, I—"

"DOES MY HAIR GLOW IF I SING?!"

Amelia sighed bittersweetly. "How about you not test that theory out, and we actually start what we came here to do, huh?" she suggested. While she was sure Alfred had the voice of a . . . Singing person, she didn't want him to throw a private concert if he sang the same out of the shower as in it: loud and whiney, and totally out of his range.

"One of the best ideas I've ever heard," Charles muttered, rolling his eyes discreetly.

"Alright, Amelia and Alex can work on the fifteen-yards to begin with since you've not done this before," Arthur eventually said, complacent, then looking to the remaining Americans, "and I guess you two can pick. Twenty-five or forty."

"I'll use the twenty-five," Charles said monotonously, and Alfred said he would start on the forty with Arthur.

Everyone moved to their selected positions behind the firing line. The first of three arrows was slotted and clipped or held in place and all waited for further instructions. Arthur began to go over the basics: pull back the string with your strongest hand all the way to your face; check wind direction to establish your aim; stand side-on to the target, shooting across your body; stand with your feet shoulder-width apart.

"And for the love of God, only collect all of your arrows when I say," he finished. "I'm not prepared to yank an arrow out of someone's back, got it?"

The others nodded in response, and with a quick thanks, the first rounds begun. After everyone had fired three arrows, seen how good (or terrible) their shots had been and had collected them again, they reset for another round. This time, Arthur and Alfred decided mutually that perhaps it would be better to give Amelia and Alex a bit more help. Charles seemed to knownwhatnhebwas doing, although Alfred had a feeling he'd probably just read a load of books on the subject—mere prattle without practice.

'Shit, I'm quoting Shakespeare . . . Maybe I spend too much time with Artie,' Alfred scorned and pondered. However, upon looking at the Brit he started to think that actually, maybe he wasn't spending enough time with Arthur at all. 'Heck, we might even be the first people he's spoken to since the World Meeting, and we had to cut that short!'

Still, without batting an eyelid, the original American joined England further down the firing line with Amelia and Alex. The Brit was already talking to both of them, ready to help with the more finicky details, and Alfred watched quietly as he continued to teach the pair what to do. It was such a nostalgic feeling for him; it reminded him of when Arthur had first taught him what archery was, and it made him feel a bit giddy seeing history almost repeat itself.

He watched as Arthur helped align Amelia's sight, allowing her to shoot just centimetres away from the bullseye, causing her to exclaim her pride and joy along with flashing a vibrant smile. Alfred watched as the Brit then decided to help Alex with his posture. Alex stood still in position, ready to fire, frozen almost like a machine. It was odd, but then perhaps it was also understandable given his upbringing.

As Amelia shot another arrow, Alfred continued to watch the other two, deciding to shuffle towards Charles to check up on him simultaneously. He watched fickly as Arthur made sure Alex's arms were level, that his bow was perfectly vertical, and that his feet were the right width apart. As Arthur stood closely behind Alex, giving him all the tips and advice he'd need, Alfred couldn't help but wonder if that was what Alex's 'England' had been like; correctional and critical, but in a much more negative way than Arthur.

As he was thinking this, however, Alex had slowly let his bow fall and his pull on the string relax entirely. Alfred was bewildered. And when Alex began to turn gently, seemingly tense but calm at the same time, everyone had noticed and Arthur had even asked if everything was alright. His answer came quickly and unexpectedly, however.

There was no time to question what was happening, because in the space of five seconds, Alex had kissed Arthur softly as if it was a normal thing to do, before realising his shameful error, dumping his gear with a panicked apology, and running back towards the house with unprecedented speed. Everyone was lost for words.

"What . . . The fuck . . . ?" Arthur mumbled, staring blankly into space.

"Something tells me his memories just got triggered," Alfred remarked warily, approaching the others, worried for the other blonde. "I think his past relationship and the guilt kinda got the better of him . . . I-I'd better go make sure he's OK . . ." he said, and he raced off after Alex, leaving Arthur, Amelia and Charles behind.

"I bet you wish that was Alfred who kissed you," the ex-confederate muttered when Alfred was out of earshot, glancing at Arthur with a small knowing smile.

"I would favour a newt," Arthur responded curtly, trying to hold onto his dignity, and before any more could be said he also started to head back towards the house. He wasn't going to put up with Charles.

"Well that was exciting," Amelia mused, deciding to ignore Charles' comment for the time being. She would question it later, but right then, she began to think of someone else. "I wonder how Allen's doing . . ."

Well, unbeknown to everyone else, Allen was on the phone to Ivan still, and the pair were trying to think of an effective way to oust Charles and bring his agenda to everyone else's attention, all while avoiding further injury and harm and even war, in the worst case scenario.

"I dunno . . . There's just no evidence . . ." Allen mumbled, sighing heavily.

Ivan tutted in thought. "Perhaps there is and you just haven't found it."

"Where the heck do I look, then?!"

"Well . . . If I wanted to shoot someone I was staying with while staying with others too, I would find an isolated spot and use a sniper rifle. Agreed?"

"Yeah, brilliant, but where would he even have gone to . . ." he began, but drifted off, pausing. The floor plan of the house popped into his head and almost instantly, the answer revealed itself to him. "The library! The sneaky bastard, he used the fucking library window!"

"See? We make a great team!~" Russia smiled through the phone. "Go to the room and see if you can find anything. Chances are that he has not had the chance to put anything away properly yet."

And so Allen did as instructed. Being mindful of his recovering leg, he clambered to the top floor carefully and made his way to the library, continuing to talk to the Russian while also listening out for any doors opening around the house. The last thing he wanted was someone coming back early to find him on the phone. And with Russia, nonetheless.

"So, what, I just show whatever I find to Alfred and expect him to accept it?"

"Da. Simple!"

"Man . . . If this backfires—"

"Relax! If anything goes wrong just let me know and I will help~"

Allen laughed sourly. "Yeah, you'd better. You're the only person around here that'll actually listen without shutting me down instantly . . ."

"Oh, comrade, but that is no place to live! How are you putting up with it all?" Ivan spake softly. "Do they not appreciate you? Do they not take notice? That is so bad for you, you know~"

"Ahh, they take enough notice for me to want to stick around," Allen responded, both himself and the Russian knowing what Ivan was trying to suggest. "But in all seriousness . . . If something does go wrong, I won't be hanging around here to get a bulletin in the head . . ."

"My door is always open to you. You make me laugh!"

"And you me, pal."

Allen pushed open the library door and commenced his search. Upon Ivan's suggestion, he checked some of the shelves, pulling away books and putting them back so it wasn't obvious he'd been looking there. There wasn't much else for him to look through: a small desk sat in one corner, but without drawers, hiding anything there was pointless. Otherwise, there were just a few chairs here and there.

"Perhaps he has hidden something under one of them? Under the cushion or the chair itself, perhaps?" Ivan suggested. "Or maybe under the desk, under the surface. You would be amazed at the things people will do to hide evidence."

"A gun, though," Allen muttered. "If he used a sniper rifle like you suggested, you can't really hide one of those under a desk or cushion . . ."

"Maybe it has a case. A lot of these things do," Ivan said with a small shrug. "Easy to slide under things. Check the chairs."

"But my leg, I can't even lean on it without—"

"No pain no gain. If war has taught me anything, comrade, it is that," the Russian stated. His tone had become sterner, more authoritarian, and Allen daren't say anything more.

Slowly and with incredible caution, clenching his jaw, Allen crouched down to be able to see under all the furniture in the room. After a few moments of scanning with no success, his red eyes finally landed on a black shape that seemed out of place, resting underneath a seat in the far corner of the room. Hastily getting up and wincing as he went, he hurried to the chair and reached under it, eventually managing to grab the shape and pulling it out into the open. It didn't take long for him to recognise what it was, and he opened it with care.

"Hello? Are you still there?" Ivan asked, curious as to why the line had gone silent and hoping he hadn't scared the American off so soon. Allen lowly mumbled something that Ivan couldn't hear properly. "Hellooo? Please, can you repeat what you just—"

"I said I found it!" Allen beamed, relief washing over him. "I found the gun!"

The front door suddenly slammed shut.

<><><>

S: It's a good job I (kind of) know my archery otherwise this chapter could've gone horribly wrong . . .

E: Let's be honest, it went horribly wrong anyway.

A: Yeah, this is just a throwaway chapter. Lemme guess, ran out of ideas?

S: N-No! Shut up!

E: Guiltyyy

A: Guiltyyyyyyyy

S: *slaps both of them* Don't bully me. No churros for you two.

E: Fine with me—

A: whAT NOOOOOO YOU CAN'T DO THAT TO ME!

S: Should've thought about that before you decided to bulleh meh
>:c

A: *falls to knees, looking up at the sky as it starts to rain heavilyyy* NOOOOOooOoOoOooOoOoO!!!

<><><>

SO I JUST WANNA THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING THIS BOOK! GAWD IT MAKES ME FEEL SO HAPPY TO SEE INTEREST INCREASING LIKE IT IS! MY HAPPINESS LEVEL . . . IT'S OVER 9000— *shot*

CHURROS AND TEA FOR EVERYONE!~

A: YAYY—

S: NOT YOU *hiss*

A: <_<; you nasty . . .