England x Reader - Slot machines, Bets and Lies

“Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”
― Robert A. Heinlein

(England’s POV)

He didn’t think much after hearing [f/n] scream. So when he found himself surrounded by feminine voices yelling and a very surprised (though her face was a bit difficult to read after what the allergy had done to her) [f/n], he didn’t quite understand why at first.

“What happened?” Arthur asked, while checking if she was well.

“That is what I should be saying! My face is huge like a balloon! You haven’t told me about it! And why for heaven’s sake you are in the ladies room?”  She yelled back, and he finally took conscious about where he was.

He covered his face with his hands, his face growing red at an alarming pace. Maybe his ears would start to let steam out, like a kettle, because he sure could sure feel the heat coming out of those. He was impressed it hadn’t burnt his digits already.

“I didn’t see anything!”  He cried between his fingers. “And I tried, love, I really did. You just didn’t listen! You barely looked at me, for Christ’s sake!”

“You should have tried harder, okay? You’re not the one with your face swelling in a rocket speed!”

He sighed, still not taking his hands off his face.

“Can we have this conversation outside, love? I’m not exactly confortable here.”

Once they got out, she started to panic.

“We need to find a pharmacy, a hospital, the fastest we can.”  He told her in a practical tone.

Unfortunately, due to some mystical and magical process of the alcohol in her system starting to have a nice conversation with the remedies they practically shoved down her throat, the situation got even worse after that. [f/n] was now a mixture of a drunk with frantic signals of hallucinations attacks. Alfred and the others left on Arthur’s hands to take care of the matter. They said it was a little too much to handle after she started to point out they should all walk hand in hand, singing childish songs while she was the maestro, tripping so often that at some point she just gave up, lying in the ground, giggling.

“Good luck, dude.” And, thus, they disappeared so fast England couldn’t even scream with them.

The British scratched his head, wincing on the thought of how he’d deal with her.

“…Iggy! Iggy!” Oh, now she was up again, pulling the hem of his shirt so hard he leaned towards her.

“Yes, love?” He was trying to be polite and gentle with her.

“Look, look, look!” She pointed out to the colorful lights which surrounded them, wherever Arthur turned his gaze to. It was tiring, to say the least. Still, he tried to see whatever she was so eager to show him. “Fireflies!”

…And she was just plain delusional.

 Oh, joy.

“…Where do you think you’re going?” He held her still, stopping her to chase out the ‘pretty lights’. Dear Lord, it was just like raising America all over again.

Things weren’t much better at the hospital. It had an absurd amount of showgirls that had, somehow, twisted themselves in some weird angle (Arthur tried to look everywhere but the places where they stood. All of them were wearing far too few clothes. How was that even proper?). Elvis that had broken legs from falling off the stage or sore throats. Bartenders, magicians, choristers, that place seemed to have all kind of people.  Any kind of artists, some not so ‘artistic’, that had, in any form, involved in an accident or disease. Some of them were in a frightening state.

And even there he saw a slot machine, with two girls in crutches putting coins with that known glazed look every gamer in that town had. Those things were everywhere. Arthur frowned, turning his attention to the annoyed nurse, which was filing her nails, stopping every so often to exam the result of her work under the bright artificial lights.

“Name?” She sounded bored.

“[f/n] [l/n].” He said, watching the mentioned girl clicking repetitively a pen she had found somewhere. The other patients were starting to become angry, but, if she noticed that, she was amused with it.

“Any health insurance?”

He blinked, confused by the question. Until it hit him, remembering the last politics about health in general in the country they were. She probably wouldn’t be attended if she didn’t have one. That or she’d have to pay a ridiculously high price for it. He felt himself becoming desperate, but Arthur forced his mind to focus. Was there any way out?

Taking her back?

[f/n] started a lovely conversation with the chair she was sitting on about philosophy and pasta.

Nope.

Call her family?

He remembered how scary they could be. A shiver went down his spine when he thought about her grandfather and his promise to castrate him if anything happened to his little girl.

That one was also a no.

Maybe he could…

His trail of thoughts was interrupted by a nun passing by, hand in hand with a guy, which seemed to have been run over by a truck. An idea played on his mind for a short second, a wave of guilt, mixed with excitement, threatening to take over his actions.

Even if [f/n] didn’t have one, he had health insurance.
What if…

He debated with himself, not seeing any other solution.

[f/n] was running along with a five year old child, laughing like a madwoman. That made up his mind.

He turned around, the nurse seeming much more exasperated now.

“So?”

He weighted the words on his tongue, swirling them around before they left his mind.

“Actually, I gave wrong information before.” The lie came out fluently, effortlessly. Arthur almost felt like it was someone else saying it, and he was only observing from afar. “You see, it’s so recently I’m barely accustomed to it myself.” He smiled apologetically, only receiving a huff for answer.

“Her name is Kirkland. [f/n] Kirkland.”

His smile became wilder, somewhat.

“We’re married.”