literature

FrUK - Maybe Part 5

Deviation Actions

Keiimiko's avatar
By
Published:
28.8K Views

Literature Text

Everything was a haze of strange shapes and bright colours as Francis attempted to lift himself up from where he had fallen in a heap on the floorboards, his legs gave way though at the effort and he fell down once more, his limbs feeling as heavy as lead. America was sitting on France's sofa, his fingertips pressed together and his lips touching to them as he thought. The American must have noticed the Frenchman's movement because he turned his head slowly and met Francis' gaze.

"You did this. This is all your fault" he said slowly, averting his eyes from France as though the mere sight of the man burnt him.
"It was all going to go so well, I had Arthur for once in my life and I knew he really was mine, he didn't belong to you-." Alfred's hands morphed into fists
"-then he kept talking about you, I don't know why, he just did and it was so infuriating, I mean, he was my boyfriend, why was he talking about some other guy?"

France swallowed tightly, his heart beating hard against his rib cage.
"-I didn't mean to hit him that hard, I just meant to give him a little tap, to warn him..I-"
Alfred gritted his teeth, wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, "-I love him, but, I can't have you around-" once more their eyes met across the room
"-knowing that you're there, always there, ready to take him away from me..."

"I don't want him, Amerique, I am not going to-"
"Bullshit! Don't lie to me!" Alfred was standing over Francis now, his eyes once more showing that demonic gleam and his hands tightened around his infamous baseball bat. France's hair was matted with dried blood and he shivered as another trickle of the crimson liquid made its way down his neck.
"I am not-"
"STOP IT!" America yelled, kicking Francis roughly in the stomach, tears spiking in his eyes
"Arthur is mine, MINE!" tears streamed down the American's face
"I am not going to lose him to you, Francis! even it if means I have to fuckin' kill you, I'll do it, god so help me, I'll do it!"

He was insane. That was France's first thought. You couldn't reason with insane people, not in any sort of rational manor. Gasping for air as another blow to his stomach came the Frenchman clutched at his abdomen, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.
"I-I-"
"I don't want to hear another fuckin' word out of you!" a hit with the baseball bat
"I love England, France, and you're ruining it! You're ruining me! I'm so paranoid that you're after him that I hurt him, I hurt him. I'm supposed to a hero! GOD DAMN IT!!"
Francis let out a broken scream as the baseball bat connected with his ribs and they cracked under the force, pain shot through him and he yelled through his strangled sobs.

"STOP IT, AMERIQUE, PLEASE!"
It was all lost on America, all the pleas, all the words that the Frenchman yelled out in terror fell mute upon the American's ears. The man was too lost in his fury, his love for Arthur fuelling his actions. Francis didn't know how long it was that he was beaten, bruised and forced to shed his life blood, yet it seemed like hours. Eventually though America tired and backed away, his hands shaking and his eyes hollow. The baseball bat dropped to the floor with an empty sounding "thud." Sobbing silently the American cast one long last look down at the bleeding France before he stepped over him and hastily left out the front door without a single word.

OoOo

Francis Bonnefoy looked at his form in his full body image mirror with an unusually dissatisfied expression on his face. Usually he had no trouble picking out the right clothes or choosing the right way to style his hair but today... he was lost. Touching fingers gently to his taped up ribs Francis remembered the way his doctor had stared at him in disbelief and the way he all but begged him to let the surgery call an ambulance to take him to the hospital.

"Monsieur Bonnefoy, these injuries are grave! There may be internal bleeding!"
"I am in no need of special treatment. Tape my ribs up and do my stitches and I shall be on my way, no?"
"I suppose so...but Monsieur-"
"No buts, I do not want a big deal to be made of this"
A resigned sigh and a nod of the doctor's head "As you wish, Monsieur Bonnefoy"


The doctor had done a sufficient job yet the pain was still bad enough for France to have to swallow countless aspirins and despite how much he tried to withstand the need to pop pills he found himself doing more so with every day that passed. Leaning forwards to examine his appearance closer in the mirror Francis lifted a hand up to the raised ridges on his head and scowled "So ugly" he muttered, prodding at the numerous stitches and wincing slightly. It turned out that America had done his fair share of damage after all, what with the broken ribs, stitches and the colourful patchwork quilt of bruises that had sprung up all over the Frenchman's body.

Adding the finishing touches to his foundation and looking sufficiently less black and blue under the make-up France quickly strolled into his bedroom to pick up his clothes for the day; he was already running three hours late for the UN meeting and he didn't honestly want to have to face Germany's wrath today of all days. Tugging on a low V neck blue silk shirt and pulling on some white jeans France stood awkwardly in the middle of his bedroom, indecision running through his veins. After a second he decided he didn't honestly care about his appearance all too much today so he just ran the hairbrush gently through his blonde locks, wincing as the strands of hair were pulled tight against his raw skin, before grabbing a white beret and placing it jauntily over his wounds.

Sighing deeply at what he would soon have to endure at this month's meeting France bit his lip tenderly, refusing to let himself cry; he would see Arthur, god knows what he looked like now, it had been months, Alfred could've done all manner of things to the man in that space of time. And then of course there was the inevitable: America would be at the meeting. Feeling an iron first close around his heart Francis whirled around and headed straight for his jewellery box. Gently doing up the clasp on the gold necklace France lay Jeanne's cross over his heart and held it tightly in his palm: he could've sworn it warmed to his touch. For today at least he would he protected by his guardian angel.

OoOo

The journey to the Arena Board, unlike the previous time when France had begrudgingly driven Arthur and had to put up with the Briton's never-ending curses, was rather pleasant. The sky was a blanket of puffy white clouds and in places the sun trickled down as though making staircases down from heaven.

Deafened by the impeccable silence of the motorway for once Francis reached across to the radio and spun the silver dial twice to secure it to his favourite station. Familiar chimes of the breakfast shows well known jingle filled the car before the melody quickly faded off and came back as the drum solo for a new song by some heavy metal band Francis had never heard of. Unfortunately for the Frenchman the screaming collaboration of guitars and depressing lyrics bought back memories of Arthur's punk years and before long France was seeing a black and red clad Arthur with numerous piercings smirking at him from his minds eye.

The punk surveyed this older France with a boggled expression, obviously not sure what to make of him. He then sneered and said "I knew you'd get jealous eventually."
France gritted his teeth, testing the break on his Peugeot as he came to a red light.
"I do not need this right now"
Punk England snorted "Sure you do – I'm your subconscious, I know what's going on up here"
Raising his thin eyebrows up at this strange turn of events France let out a sort of laughing cough "If vous are in my head why are vous a image of Arthur in his punk outfit?"

In his mind the mini Arthur smirked "Oh? You don't like the choice of attire? I guess I could..." mist obscured England before he could finish talking and Francis let out a brief sigh of relief thinking his ordeal was over. To the right hand side of the car France could now see The Arena Board doused in sunshine, the tall glass windows glittering like jewels. Turning the steering wheel to the right and clicking the indicator lights on Francis smoothly pulled up the tree lined driveway, past the sign that Arthur had translated on their previous visit and into the grid pattern car park where he could already see some of the Nation's recognisable vehicles parked side by side, including England's Mini and America's large Hummer which had a spray painted Eagle on the bonnet.

Just as France began manoeuvring himself into a rather remote parking space (nearer to Germany's car then he'd like but at least far enough away from England and America's) that same foggy thought of Arthur swam back into his mind, a sly smile on its lips as it gestured down at its new attire "Better?" it purred. France slammed down on the breaks so hard he lurched forward out of his seat, narrowly missing whacking his head on the dashboard, before slamming back against the head rest, the seatbelt now cutting into him tightly like ropes as he breathed hard.

The image of Arthur in his waiters outfit, consisting of a black flap of material for an apron and the cuffs of a white shirt the only clothing upon his nude form, laughed at the reaction he got from the Frenchman. "Merde!!" Francis shrieked, quickly turning off the engine and snapping his seatbelt off before tumbling out of his car door. He stared in horror at the smashed in lights and bumper of his car.

"MERDE!!" he yelled louder in frustration, glaring at the broken glass and plastic as though if he stared long enough he could guilt it into repairing itself. It seemed as though despite him wearing her cross Jeanne was elsewhere today and unable to be his guardian angel. Slowly Francis became aware of the sneaking suspicion he was being watched and stiffly he raised his face up to look at the  Arena Board meeting building.

On days such as this the all glass modern structure was perfect as it gave you a lovely view of France from the windows yet, unfortunately, due to this design it became apparent that all the countries had heard the commotion and were now staring down at him in bewilderment through one of the glass panels. America just looked insanely smug. Frozen to the spot with embarrassment France continued gazing up at the third floor window, his cheeks now staining red as a lump in his throat cut off his ability to talk. In the far corner of the huddle of countries stood Arthur who, thankfully, wasn't wearing any skimpy attire but his regular brown suit and an expression of deep exasperation, his thick eyebrows raised up to his hairline.

After a moment or so Germany began making "get here or else" gestures through the glass and France concluded he was probably better off going home later with his head still attached to his body rather than stowed in the boot of Ludwig' BMW so with a sigh he locked up his car and, putting a hand against his aching ribs that had been agitated during the collision, began slowly hobbling towards the building's lobby.

OoOo

Amazingly Germany seemed to have lost a degree of his temper after he saw France not striding as he usually did but dragging himself into the meeting room, his forehead plastered in sweat and his back hunched over as he held his taped up ribs in a vain attempt to stop the pain.
"Such a bitch when the elevator is broken right?" America called cheerfully across the room, spitefulness dripping from his every pore.
Francis cast an exhausted hate filled look at the American as he fell into his chair wincing and spat back "Maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad journey if my ribs weren't broken" America's smile faded. Arthur looked across at Alfred with a suspicious expression before his eyes flicked across to Francis who nodded at him as though to confirm those fears.

Since the last time France had seen England several new bruises had appeared on the Briton's usually pale alabaster skin. Black and purple marks trailed down Arthur's neck and judging by the way he was wincing whenever he bought his teacup up to his lips the damage had probably extended to his shoulders and arms. His usually bright green eyes were darkened by huge bags beneath them no doubt from lack of sleep. America didn't look so good either; he had obviously been punched in the face quite recently and one of his eyes was surrounded by a yellowing hue, he also seemed stiff with movement no doubt also suffering from blows to the chest.

Swallowing back the urge to vomit at the idea that Arthur hadn't gone down without a fight France watched brokenly as despite everything Arthur reached across the table and and entwined Alfred's fingers with his.
"QUIET!" Germany bellowed above the barely existent conversations that were taking place around the oval wood table in the sunlight lit room. Francis averted his eyes from the couple sitting opposite him who were now holding hands quite obviously under the table.
"Despite our disturbances-" Ludwig continued, casting a (if a bit softer) glare in France's general direction "-we are now ready to start" he hit a wooden stick to the chalkboard propped up in front of the touch screen board with such force that it even made Russia flinch a bit, although that could've been because Ivan had been asleep.

"The subject for today is saving money" Germany announced, scowling at each country in turn as though blaming each one individually. Several audible groans echoed around the room. Francis decided to zone out then, to block out his surroundings and concentrate solely on getting through the next four hours alive. Whereas before loud bellows escaped from Germany's lips all France now heard was a faint distant hum almost like the 'voice' of Charlie Brown's teacher.

Smiling and nodding occasionally in mock understanding France continued his mastered art of ignoring and turned his attention instead to scrutinising his fellow nations. Japan and North Italy sat huddled together near Ludwig' end of the table, Kiku was gazing peacefully up at the blackboard Germany was now scraping a piece of chalk across to write bullet points with a look a look of polite respect and Feliciano was drawing little pictures of what looked like pasta bowls across his note pages, obviously having been denied food until the designated lunching hour.

Further along the table sat Russia and China, Ivan wearing a creepily complacent smile on his face as usual which the other countries had taken to mean he was plotting something evil and should be steered clear of and China  who was circling areas on a map of the world with a pensive expression, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. France presumed he was scouting out new places to build more China Towns.  

Lastly Francis let his blue eyes drift to the side of the oak table opposite him he had been pretending had vanished into thin air. Alfred now had an arm draped lazily across the back of Arthur's chair which obviously was grating on England's last nerve. Watching the couple cautiously in case any great fight should suddenly break out France noted that the two nation's hands were still entwined and upon further inspection noticed that America's features were lit up by a genuine smile and England's cheeks were stained a beetroot red colour which was usually only prompted by a feeling of devotion being forced upon him. How on earth could they still be in love after all that had and still was happening? They were quite literally killing each other yet neither one was smart enough to see it.

Francis held Jeanne's cross in his palm and closed his eyes, sending a silent prayer that perhaps everything would sort itself out. Noticing the sudden interest that the Frenchman had developed in him and his partner Alfred cast a look that chilled Francis to the very bone across the table before a malicious smile warped his usually childlike features. Only once had France seen that look on the American's face : when he had been fighting for his independence from Arthur. He had been more monster than man back then.

Dropping his eyes down to his notes France pulled his beret lower on his head so to obscure his vision and held Jeanne's necklace as tight as he could. A ghostly caress brushed against his cheek and he smiled grimly "Please save him Jeanne...I beg of vous" he whispered, closing his eyes tightly against the tears that threatened to fall as he pressed his lips softly to the warmed gold of the cross.

OoOo

Several hours passed and much to France's anxiety he was forced to stand up in front of the other nations and "read out his money saving plans." Apparently he should have sketched these notes up months ago but having had other things occupying him, namely the mistreatment of the man he loved and the wrath of his irrational partner, Francis had overlooked this particular piece of homework.

"So..." France started, suddenly finding it hard to talk past the lump that had once again clogged up his throat as Arthur watched him with those captivating emerald eyes.
"I will cut down on my amount of imports" France said slowly, his ribs and head aching with the effort of improvising.
"I will...stop mass producing wine-" his voice cracked slightly at the thought of all that beautiful fruit going to waste. Ludwig gave him a stern look and and unwillingly he mumbled "-and clothes...and perfume" he swore he would've broken down right there in agonising tears at the thought of his country's pride being restricted if Alfred hadn't perked up just then and called
"Maybe you should cut down on the amount of money you pour into all your brothels"

France let out a noise of stifled anger before he all but yelled back over Alfred's infuriatingly comic sounding laughter "Maybe vous should stop making fast food joints! Then maybe your people wouldn't have to waddle everywhere!!" It was a cheap shot yet it seemed to do the trick. America's face transformed from a mocking smile to thunderous rage in a split second, his nostrils flared and he shot up from his seat, slamming his hands on the table making everyone jump.

"Hey man, not cool. You take that back!!"
"Why should I?"
"'Cus...'cus...just do it!"
"Or what?!"
"I'll-"
"You'll get your people to trample me to death?!"
"YOU SHUT YOUR FACE BEFORE I BEAT THE SHIT OUTTA YOU AGAIN!!"

"QUIET!!" Arthur shrieked, shoving his chair back from the table and turning his puce with rage face between the two nations in disbelief. "Stop it right now, both of you!" he raised his hands above his head "You're acting like bloody children!!" The room was deadly silent, save for a quietly 'kol kol'ing' Russia who was gazing at this new development in childish wonder. England placed a steady hand on Alfred's arm and repeated slowly "Stop."

America looked down to Arthur with eyes so filled with rage France feared for a second Alfred might strike his partner right then and there. Alas he just sighed, his shoulders falling as though in defeat. "You're right, I'm sorry, that was immature of me" America returned Arthur's smile before slowly turning towards Francis once more.

His eyes were still as cold and hard as flint yet a smile found its way onto his features and America said "Sorry man, truce?" Francis looked in disbelief at the American's outstretched hand, feeling slightly revolted by the whole situation. He nodded stiffly. Sensing his authority had been undermined Germany came over and placed a firm hand on France's shoulder.
"I think that is enough debate for now. Lunch time everyone, we meet back here in one hour. Do not be late" Arthur took Alfred's hand and tugged him out the room avoiding France's gaze. Japan, Italy, China and Russia quickly followed suit.

Ludwig still hadn't released his hold on France's shoulder and Francis shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
"What did he mean by 'again'?"
"Hmm?"
"America. He said he'd beat the 'shit' out of you again"
"Oh..."
The hand squeezed his shoulder unusually sympathetically for the person the hand belonged to
"I wondered why you were in such bad shape"
France cleared his throat "Don't make a big deal out of this. Please"

Germany sighed yet nodded slowly "As you wish." he drew back his hand and Francis let out a prolonged breath. Nodding his head in return as a thank-you he headed as swiftly as he could to the door out to the corridor. Just as his hand turned the doorknob Germany's voice drifted across the room once more "Keep safe France." Moved and slightly unnerved by this unusual act of kindness Francis mumbled "merci" before hurriedly rushing out the meeting room and crashing straight into the man who had been eavesdropping outside.

Both men stumbled backwards a couple of steps before Francis managed to regain his balance and help the other blonde haired individual to stand upright.
"Arthur?" he asked blankly when the man lifted his face up to look guiltily at the Frenchman.
"Where vous waiting for me?" he asked, his eyebrows raising slightly.
"What? No! Of course not, don't be stupid" England scoffed, averting his eyes and ringing his hands out as though anxiously.
"Where is Amerique?"
"In the café"
"Ah, I see...and vous aren't there because?"
"I..." Arthur swallowed "I forgot my wallet"

France narrowed his eyes "You're lying" Arthur's eyes widened slightly and Francis leapt at the chance to actually talk some sense into the arrogant Briton "Why are vous still with him when he is doing this to vous?"
Taken aback by this sudden subject change yet obviously too run down to pretend not to know what Francis was referring to Arthur said as though reading from a script "I love him"
"Why?! All he does is beat the hell out of you, Angleterre, all you do is argue!" England's eyes narrowed and he took a step towards France.
"What, so, I'm meant to just leave my boyfriend because we have had a couple of fights?! That's what normal couples do in a healthy relationship, Frog!"
"If you think that what you're in is a healthy relationship then I pity you, Arthur"

Breathing hard in anger and pain from his injuries France stepped away from England brashly as though the mere sight of the man burned him.
"I would never treat you this way-" he met Arthur's gaze steadily "-maybe one day you'll see that"
Before England could retort Francis turned on his heel and set off down the hallway, took a left, then a right and then began the painful journey back down the stairs. Through the mists of pain that now fogged his mind France thought with a resigned sigh that he should probably use this time wisely and call the car insurance company.

OoOo

After a fruitless ten minute conversation with the brain numbingly dumb lady at the reception desk about getting his car repaired France managed to obtain a number for the insurance company which he promptly sat down and rang. In half an hours time the tow truck would arrive to take his precious car away for service. Now the only question was...how would he get home?

Supposedly Arthur would rather eat his own arm off than drive him back to his house so that option was most definitely out. As though he had heard his thoughts a rather flustered looking England scurried across his path, his lips set in a determined line. Francis noticed that the Briton was slightly hunched over on himself, his right hand cradled to his chest. Fighting down the urge to scream France moved painfully towards the Englishman, lumbering almost, clutching his searing ribs. When Arthur caught sight of the impending blonde his eyes widened considerably and he all but broke into a sprint out the lobby doors.

"ANGLETERRE! WAIT! I could...bandage your hand" France trailed off resignedly, watching the Briton run as though for his life away from him. Deflating slightly from his ignored efforts to be kind Francis hobbled back over to the lounge chairs situated near the reception desk and collapsed into one clumsily.
"So rude" he pouted as he replayed Arthur's grand escape in his mind.
"I used to help him with battle wounds all the time..."

OoOo

A broken sobbing England lay curled up on the grand four poster bed in his bedroom, his bloodied red coat still upon his shoulders and his mud soiled boots still upon his feet. This feeble unrecognisable man howled rage filled tears, his face buried in a soft feather pillow so to muffle the noise.

Francis sat silently on the end of the bed, watching his friend's heartbreak with sorrowful eyes.
"Angleterre-"
"FUCK OFF! You sided with him...y-you betrayed me just as he did"
It was indeed true that France had backed the young colonial America in his revolution yet deep in the pit of his stomach, despite all his countless reasons for doing so, he felt ashamed that he'd let down one of his friends so badly.

"Vous are bleeding...let me help vous" France reached across to begin carefully peeling away the sweat and blood stained jacket from Arthur's person yet was batted away by a frustrated hand.
"I am perfectly fine. Leave me be"
"Do not be such a baby Angleterre" Francis tutted, reaching over again and getting a firm hold on the crimson material which he then began to yank on.

Pain filled wails filled the mansion houses room as the process of separating material from punctured skin took place. England, now lying on his back, was scrunching his hands into fists so tightly you could see the whites of his tendons. Water streamed from his eyes as he fought to keep them from flying open at every new bout of pain. After a gruesome twenty minute extraction the red coat was finally freed from the Englishman's body and France threw the item of clothing as far away from them as he could. Whilst he had Arthur in a calmer state Francis also took up the opportunity to dispose of England's boots which had been dirtying the bed sheets and annoying him for quite some time.

France let out a sigh of relief. All in all Arthur's injuries weren't so bad; he had numerous cuts and bruises across his chest, neck and arms but other than that nothing catastrophic. When England had first arrived home after the battle he had sworn the place down, tearing paintings of him and Alfred off the walls and screaming at any maid or butler in sight "YOU ARE DISMISSED!!"
It was unusually quiet in the house now and the silence was beginning to creep Francis out.

Reaching over for the bowl of warm water and a cloth France had managed to extract from a rather hysterical maid who had been in the midst of tossing her few belongings into a suitcase Francis now dipped the flannel into the liquid and let it dampen before he rung it out and reached over to press the cloth to a particularly deep cut on the left side of Arthur's chest that was flowing crimson.

Maybe it was because Arthur had taken a sudden strange liking to the Frenchman or was just too run down to care yet France was surprised that the great British Empire would allow himself to be cared for in this way. Then with a sudden degrading thought Francis realised: this was like being sponged down by a maid to the Briton. No wonder he looked so damn smug; he was basically watching France be his slave!

Scrubbing intentionally harder now at the Briton's wounds Francis slowly worked over all the cuts and dried blood until the once pearly white flannel and crystal clear water were both dyed a hideous brown-red colour.
"You are dis-"
"Non, non. I am not finished with vous yet" France interrupted, enjoying the appalled look he saw on Arthur's face at one of his 'staff' talking back to him.
From his pocket Francis extracted a large wad of cloth he had nicked from one of the butler's possessions and began ripping the material up into thin strips with his teeth. England looked disgusted.

By the time the Frenchman pulled back with a triumphant smile and announced with a flourish "ta da!" Arthur was looking more like a mummy than a man. His arms, chest and neck were tightly bound with white cloth and his expression looked somewhat pained.
"I think it looks excellent, even if I do say so myself" France continued, gazing in awe at his handiwork.

"I can't bloody breathe!!" Arthur gasped, clutching at the cloth around his neck and attempting desperately to loosen it. Rolling his eyes slightly Francis reached across and pulled on one of his expert bows so the cloth fell apart slightly. England gulped in huge lungfuls of air "wanker" he spat.
"I think the word vous are looking for is thank-you" Francis said scathingly.

By sundown France had listened to almost every excuse in the book for Alfred's absence, including such things as "he obviously could not handle my social status" and "maybe he was tricked into doing it!" All of which were of course ludicrous. Sighing in exasperation Francis hauled himself up off the bed and rubbed his sore muscles as pins and needles shot through his veins: his reward for sitting in the same position for hours on end.

"Where do you think you are going?" Arthur snapped abruptly, suddenly looking rather panicked.
"Home. I do not live here."
"Oh..." Arthur lowered his eyes "Y-yes, yes of course" a moments silence "off with you then"
It was an odd sensation, the one of being needed. France had come to the conclusion that after their childhood years Arthur would no longer need him by his side, especially now of all times when he was so strong in the world. Indirectly Francis took this as a invitation to stay and his heart thumped hard in his chest as he realised that England was undoubtedly lonely: especially after just saying goodbye to America, the man he'd cared for from a boy.

"I can stay if vous would like me to"
"Would you?"
"Maybe" Arthur's eyes lowered to the bed, as though as he embarrassed at how much he was going against his personal rules of not needing anyone.
"Stay" This one word was like music to his ears and Francis stared in disbelief down at the Englishman.
"I will" he smiled softly "who knows, I may never leave" England shot him a incredibly panicked look and he laughed "Do not worry, I am kidding"
"Are you?" Arthur asked cautiously, having grown to know the Frenchman all too well to trust him outright.

"Maybe, maybe not" Arthur's face contorted to look absolutely panic stricken and France laughed heartily once more, sitting down on the bed where he had sat before and putting his hand over England's who flinched at the contact.
"I am here for as long as vous need me"


OoOo

"Yet even when I am here now vous still are too proud to ask for help..." France grumbled to himself, coming out of his memory with a sour expression. He supposed in a way he took that day for granted as Arthur was never as willing again for his company (well, not sober anyway.) Good things never lasted though, he had to learn that the hard way.

Tapping his fingers against his knee as he sat waiting for the lunch hour to finish Francis felt oddly at ease; for the first time in months he wasn't being hounded and he finally had a moment to just sit back and re-
"Hey, Francis!" France's eyes opened very slowly, as though tricking himself into thinking that the longer he prolonged his reaction the more likely it would be that the American would get fed up and leave him be. Alas when the Frenchman opened his eyes he came face to face with America all the same. So much for peace and quiet.

"What is it?" he snapped, still burning with hatred for the man who had beat the very two people he loved the most: Arthur and himself. Alfred forced a grin onto his face before exclaiming rapidly "Iggy wants to talk to you"
"He does?" France asked blankly, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.
"Yeah-" America nodded quickly like a child trying to make its parent believe in their hair brained story "-said something about wanting to make up"
"Really?"
"'Course man, I wouldn't lie to you" when Francis just gaze him a sceptical look Alfred gushed on "he's upstairs in the meeting room so...you comin' or not?"

Ordinarily Francis would've ignored America and gone about his more important business but seeming as this predicament involved Arthur and he currently had no business to be getting on with France was stumped for a reason to not just go along with this invitation.
"D'accord" he said slowly before noticing Alfred's confused expression at the use of a language he had no grasp on at all and he quickly translated "OK – I'll come"
America smiled broadly "Great!"

They travelled in silence up the three flights of stairs, Francis making sure not to trip over America's big feet the whole way there, before they finally arrived outside the wooden door that was marked 'G8.'
"Just in there?" Francis asked, gesturing with his thumb as he hobble-walked over to place his hand on the doorknob.
"Mm-hm" Alfred nodded, still smiling. Ignoring the American Francis mustered up his confidence, put on his best "I'm sorry" face and stepped into the room.

"Angleterre, I-" he stopped dead in his tracks. The door swung shut behind him and Alfred with a loud 'click.'
"Where is Arthur?" France asked, peering round the empty tables and chairs as though half expecting England to be crouched there ready to jump out at him.
"No idea, probably looking for me" Alfred's footsteps came right up behind France and he stiffened, feeling America's hot breath on his neck.
"And they call me the stupid one – this was way too easy"
France spun around and glared at America, his eyes full of poison.
"So what is your plan? To beat me up again?"

Laughingly coldly Alfred shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly "Whatever it takes."
"To what?"
"Keep you out of Arthur's life." Both men stared each other down, their hatred for each other obvious in their facial expressions. Getting him out of the Englishman's life completely would be an extreme improbability and judging by the way America was seething with rage he knew that much. Francis wouldn't put it past the man to kill him to get him out the picture. To be frank, France would just love to see him try. A fleeting thought came to Francis then as he stared at a new bruise on America's cheek bone. Perhaps Arthur had hurt his hand trying to punch Alfred earlier? A act of revenge on France's behalf at being abused for helping England? This thought did little to calm France's temper.

"That will never happen"
"You want a bet?" Alfred sneered, his teeth bared as though he were an animal. It was ironic in a way Francis supposed; Alfred has turned into some sort of monster during the revolution and had ended up causing England extreme anguish and now history was repeating itself except now France and the prospect of love were thrown into the mix.

The sound of a door opening knocked Francis out of his reminiscing and he began turning his head to greet the cause of the much appreciated intrusion when a pair of hands grabbed the front of his silk shirt, hurling him forwards. Alfred crashed his lips to France's roughly. Francis' brain began screaming at him and through the mist of shock and disgust France began raising his hands to push the American away yet Alfred got there first.

Tumbling back into a wooden chair and nearly falling to his feet from the force of the throw Francis looked up just in time to see America glare outraged at him and yell "Ohmygod dude, get away from me!!" Staring perplexed at Alfred with his jaw hanging slack at a loss of what to say Francis followed America's line of sight and felt his blood turn to ice.

Arthur stood in the doorway, one now bandaged hand on the door handle and the other grasping a take-away cup of what France presumed must be coffee for America. The cup slid out of the Briton's fingertips and exploded soundlessly all over the carpet yet England didn't even take notice; his large green eyes were focused solely on France, a look of undisguised anguish and horror stealing his features.

TO BE CONTINUED...
I really only have two excuses for this being such a late upload : writers block and lazyness. Both of which are an absolute killer ^^;

Anywho ~ voila! Part 5! I hope this is worth the wait ^3^
Part 1 – [link]
Part 2 – [link]
Part 3 - [link]
Part 4 - [link]
Part 6 - [link]
© 2011 - 2024 Keiimiko
Comments110
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
ErzaKirkland's avatar
I'm going to slap some sense into all these bitches!