France: 1942

"Were's that frog?"

Arthur looked up from his spot on the ground to the captain above him before scanning the scene around him. There was a mix of British and French soldiers walking around the make-shift camp that they had made in the middle of the bloody forest. With an exhausted sigh, Arthur lifted his head back to the captain, "Which one?"

The captain gave him an irritated look, "Which one do you think? France. He's the only one that I give a shit about."

It was strange to feel anger whenever someone disregarded France like that, like he or his people didn't even matter. After all, it was a philosophy that Arthur had went by for so long. But, since The Great War, Arthur had found himself being quite protective of his neighbor across the channel.

Arthur was too tired to lecture the captain though. Instead, he rested his head in his left hand as he picked up a stick in his right and began making little lines in the dirt, "What about him?"

The captain crossed his arms, "Did you not hear my question?"

Arthur closed his eyes tightly and tried to remember the question that he was asked, but his memory had been lacking lately, a common side-effect that war had on nations. "No," Arthur said, going back to his dirt-doodling, "I heard you, I just can't remember…"

The captain gave an irritated sigh, "Where is he? And incase you don't remember I am refurring to Francis Bonnefoy, the personification of the country of France."

"Off into the trees to relieve his bladder, I believe." Arthur answered.

"Well go find him, Sir. Kirkland!" The captian responded with a sarcastic salute before storming off.

Arthur glared at him for a moment before looking at the ground, gaining the motivation to stand. Perhaps something that he was lacking more than his memory was his motivation, something that he had so much of in the past. Eventually, he got up with a sigh and limped off in the direction were France had gone.

He found the Frenchman leaning against a tree, looking at the night sky. Arthur walked even to him before taking in a good look at him. He was in pain. That much was obvious. His stance was casual and his lips pulled into a small smile as he gazed at the stars, but his breath came just a little too quickly. Most people wouldn't pick up on it, but Arthur would never blame those who didn't, France had alway been good a hiding pain.

"Captain Arsehole wants to speak with you." Arthur said, suddenly breaking the silence.

France jumpped slightly as he quickly looked over. His expression of surpise softened as he chuckled, "Really?" He responded, turning back to the stars, "And what does he want now?"

Arthur shrugged, "God knows."

France chuckled again, but didn't say anything else, he just kept his eyes on the stars. Arthur regarded him again. His eyes were shining and he was smiling as if there was nothing wrong. Arthur wondered how a man who had been beaten to hell and annexed could hold so much hope… Or, perhaps he was hiding his hopelessness too.

"Do you remember them all?" France asked, snapping Arthur out of his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"The constellations. Do you remember them?"

Arthur looked at the sky, his chest beginning to feel tight, "I can see them all, but I can't remember all of their names."

"Me too," France agreed, "I think I forgot them when I stopped using them for navigation." France glanced at him before setting his eyes on the sky again, "Can you still navigate with the stars?"

Arthur coughed lightly, "I don't think that's something that you forget."

France shifted his shoulder on the tree he was leaning on, "I did. I don't know how, though."

Arthur's chest got tighter. He tried to pant through it, but each breath caused him more pain, "Maybe it's… Because you're an idiot."

France let out a breath of laughter, "Is that the best name you can throw at me?" When France looked over to him, his light-hearted tone changed to concern, "Angleterre? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." Arthur tried to reassure, but just as he ended his sentence, he began to cough harshly. The fit didn't stop as he fell to his knees and coughed up blood, "London." He gasped.

France quickly made his was to him. He lowered Arthur onto his side on the ground and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. It was all France could do. There was no way to help, they could only wait it out.

"It pains me to see you like this, Angleterre." France said in a soothing tone, "I swear, when I get my hands on Germany, I'll make him pay for these bombings on you."

Arthur wanted to tell him not to, and that the payback for the Blitz was his. But, instead, Arthur curled up in a tight ball as he coughed up more and more blood.

War could really take away one's will and energy.

War used to be exciting. Arthur used to love the feeling he got when the blood traveled down his sword and onto the floorboards of his ship. The pure victory tasted so sweet that it had blinded him, and he never saw his own downfall coming. Colony after colony, they all left him. Few still stood by his side compared to what he used to have.

The idependence of his colonies didn't really bother him. America's did, but that was probably because he was the first one in the great New World to. What bothered him was how weak he had become. The mix of fighting in a war and the econimical issues that followed had always tired him, but it was never like this. In the hight of his empire, Arthur could remember feeling lathargic, but he had never collapsed. Never unable to get up. Never wheelchair-bound like this.

He envied over half of his allies in the last war. France and China were sympathetic towards his tiredness, poor memory, and the want to somehow disappear from the face of the planet, but then there was America, Canada, and Russia. The three would walk in with a bandage around their head and dark circles under their eyes, smiling and laughing with high hopes when they were losing the war. Meanwhile, France was trying to stay conscious, and Arthur was lucky if he wasn't being bombed at the moment.

He should count himself lucky. God knows how the rest of Europe is doing. He didn't know much of his enemies at the moment, especially Austria and Hungry, but the last he saw of the German Brothers said a lot. Arthur and Canada watched as Russia kicked Prussia to the ground, and with America's help, the two superpowers ripped the brothers away from each other, Prussia screaming and crying the whole way, yelling to America that he'd kill him if Germany was hurt. For the first time in the entire war, Arthur felt bad for them, because he said the same thing when Japan ripped Hong Kong from him. The memory was still fresh. Arthur could still see his men dragging him away, telling him that the fight was over as he kicked and cried and screamed every insult under the rising sun at Japan...

...He hadn't heard much from the Italies or the rest of the Mediterranean. Then the there was France, who was bed-ridden, and Arthur could only imagine how Poland was doing.

Count yourself lucky, Arthur. He thought to himself with a long sigh.

"Is everything alright?" The nurse pushing his chair said, speaking in French.

Arthur knew French just as well as he knew English, but his tired mind reduced to a broken version of it, "Yes, I'm being fine." He wondered of his English would be broken too, although if that was the case, he could just go back to old Celtic, one of the first laguages that Arthur could remember learning, and the language he often talked to himself in.

"Okay, if you need anything, just let me know."

Arthur nodded and closed his eyes, it didn't matter how much he slept, it never seemed to be enough. He opened his eyes again when the wheelchair stopped in front of a door. The nurse leaned over him, opened the door and peaked in, "He's resting. You can visit, but please don't wake him. He need as much sleep as possible."

Arthur didn't even try a sentence, "Understand."

The nurse wheeled him in and positioned him next to the bed, "Is there anything else you need?" She whispered.

Arthur just shook his head.

"Okay, let me know if you do." With that, the nurse walked off and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Arthur turned from the door to the bed where France laid asleep, breathing slowly and evenly. Although the bed covers came up to his waist, Arthur could still see the remaining bruises and scars from the torture he had experienced before Pairs was liberated. He also had a lot of wrapping on him too, including around his head, his right arm, and some gauze taped to his left cheek. It pained Arthur to see him like this.

There was something else too…

Arthur's eyebrows drew together slightly when he realized it, This is weird, Arthur thought, This is really fucking werid.

Because, before the Great War, Arthur would never be doing this. He wouldn't visit France in the hospital. Hell, he wouldn't even send a 'Get Well' card, let alone flowers.

Arthur looked at the vase of English Roses in his hands, This is really weird, why the hell am I here?

Well, in the two World Wars, they had been allies, but allies only care for each other for their own survival and to win the war, or that they can win one if it breaks out. But, the war is over, and Arthur still cares for France.

To be honest, Arthur could remeber caring for France earlier than that in the Seven Years' War. Yes, they were enemies, but Arthur felt guilty every time he hurt him. He was done hurting France, there had been too many wars with him and Arthur was tired of fighting with him. He wished that the centuries of bloodshed would end, and they would become old friends, but it would never happen.

It did, and it was great.

It was nice to bicker in the trenches of the Great War with France. It kept his mind off of other things, and his stress and tiredness, but Arthur didn't really realize how much he liked having France around like that until 1940, when he saved France at Dunkirk.

France's country was annexed, and because of that, whenever he wasn't with the French Resistance, he was with Arthur in England. It was nice to have him around. They helped and comforted each other through the war, but there were parts that weren't so sad. They bickered, and teased, and talked, and smiled, and laughed, and oh, god was it nice to laugh like that. King Arthur had once told him that there was a bright side to everything and maybe, just maybe, in the two darkest, most tragic wars that Arthur hed been a part of, it was Francis. Francis' perfect smile and beautiful laugh.

Yes, his name was Francis. Yes, he was beautiful.

And yes, he made Arthur happy when there was nothing to be happy about.

And that was what mattered.

"Angleterre?"

Arthur nearly jumped out of his chair, almost sending the glass vase to the floor, "France! I, uh," He set the vase on the bedside table as he cleared his throat, "I brought you some get-well flowers."

Francis gave him a confused look before he smiled and reached out his hand to touch one of the roses, "That's very sweet of you, Angleterre," His smile turned teasing as he laid his arm back on the bed, "But tell me, what got you in such a giving mood?"

Arthur sighed, "I'm trying to be nice."

Francis chuckled, "Ah, yes. Grouches like you really have to try, don't you?"

"I'm not a grouch!" Arthur denied.

"Whatever you say, I'll believe you."

Arthur scowled, "You're sarcasm is horrible."

Francis gave a fake, apologetic look, "Well, you are the judge of sarcasm. I'm sorry for my discgrace."

Arthur scoffed, "You better be, Frog."

Francis laughed lightly, but his expression of happiness turned to pain as he groaned, turning his head to the ceiling, "I missed your insults, Blacksheep." He said, still trying to keep a light-hearted tone. When the wave of pain seemed to be over, he turned his head back with a sad smile, "What are you doing here anyway? Out of all the vistitors I could have gotten, I didn't expect you."

"We spent over half the war living in the same house and fighting the same battles. You didn't think I'd visit you?"

"Well, non." Francis paused to think, "I mean, not because I think that you don't care. I just fingured that you were extremly busy with the end of the war."

Arthur rolled his eyes and rubbed his face with his hands, "I am. You have no idea how much paperwork I have to fill out and how many meetings I have to attend," He set his hands back in his lap, "But, it doesn't matter how much I work, I'm going to be behind because there's only twenty-four hours in a day, and even if I work nonstop, it's not enough time." He gave an exhauseted sigh, "So, I figured that since I can't win at the situation, that I should visit you."

"I'm sorry. Did you bring some of the paperwork with you? Maybe I could help."

Arthur nerrowed his eyebrowes at him, "You want to do my paperwork?"

Francis shugged, "Anything that keeps me from boardem. I've been cooped up in here since Pairs was liberated with nothing to do, and that was before the war in the Pacific ended-" Francis interrupted himself as he proped himself on his elbows with a pain-filled grunt, "Mon Dieu! Are you in a wheelchair?"

Arthur waved his hand dismissively, "Don't worry about it, I'm fine, but I don't think you should-"

Francis cut him off, "What happened?"

Arthur sighed, "It's just my economy, the last battles of the war, and the scars from the Blitz taking their toll, nothing to be concerned with."

"Nothing to be-" Francis then gasped in pain and fell back onto his bed, his breath uneven from the pain.

Arthur hadn't felt this much anger since France was annexed, "The next time I see Germany-" He began to mumble in Celtic.

"Non," Francis said, the pain in his voice subsiding, "Germany didn't lay a finger on me."

At first, Arthur was suprised that Francis knew Celtic for he had refused to learn it since it was such a "barbaric launguge", but that really surpised him, "What are you talking about? Germany tortured you."

Francis shook his head, "No. Germany's men did, but he didn't."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, "He had people doing his dirty work?"

"Germany was… Complicated." Francis took a moment to think, "Or, perhaps 'conflicted' would be a better word…" He paused before starting his explaination, "Do you remember how he was in the beginning of the war? When he was so full of pride?"

Arthur nodded, "Yes."

"Well," Francis continued, "He wasn't like that anymore by the end of it. It certainly seemed like it when I was first captured, but after a few days I realized that he seemed… Off." He shook his head, "I didn't really know what was different, but it surpised me when he wouldn't torture me himself, or even supervise the men who were."

"That is strange." Arthur agreeed.

"I think he was doubting his bosses' motives before the camps were found." Francis said slowly, "I saw Prussia a few times while I was in the prision and he had complained about their boss keeping secrets from them…" Francis sighed, "A week later, Russia found the camps and Germany came to my cell crying. Not knowing what to do."

Arthur tilted his head, "What did you tell him?"

Francis shrugged, "I told him that the same thing had happened to me before. That some bosses are trustworthy, and some trick you into believing in lies, and that he was a country with no free will, so he couldn't do anything about it but pray for the war's end."

There was a long silence until Francis spoke again, "So in sum, he didn't torture me, so don't be mad at him for it."

After a long, painful silence, Francis took a deep breath, "Well, you said you had a lot of work, so maybe you should head back home."

Arthur gave him an offended look, "No. I did not burden four different people by asking them to help me just for you to send me away!" Francis opened his mouth to say something, but Arthur didn't let him speak, "Which, incase you've forgotten, it's very hard for me to ask for help!"

Francis waited a moment before speaking in an irritated tone, "I was trying to be polite by making the situation about you, but if you haven't noticed, I am very injured, very tired, and in a lot of pain… I need rest." He looked away, "That, and my mind is beginnging to wonder…"

Arthur understood, but tired to hide the dissapointment in his voice, "I see."

Francis stared off for a moment beforehe shook his head, seemingly snapping himself out of whatever trance he had been in and making eye contact, "Don't get me wong, mon vieil ami," He said in a kind tone, "Seeing you was a sweet and pleasent surpirse, but my economy is keeping my wounds from healing. I feel like I was resued just days ago reather than months… I need rest." He repeated with a sad smile.

Arthur nodded with a sigh, "I know, it's just…"

"Something is bothering you?"

Francis finished the sentence correctly, and Arthur debated weather he should lie to him or not. If Arthur said 'yes', the Francis' understanding and sypathetic nature would make him listen, but Francis needed all the sleep he could get, so this matter realy should wait. But, if he said 'no' Francis would detect the lie, despite the fact that Arthur was a great liar.

Arthur sighed in defeat, there was no way to win the situation. He cleared his throat, gathering his nerves, "I, uh, have something to confess."

Francis' eyes lit up in interest, "Really? I wasn't expecting that."

"I bet you're not going to expect any of this." Arthur chuckled. He paused, expecting Francis to say something to that, but the Frog just stared at him, waiting for him to speak. Arthur sighed again, gaining his courage, "You know how you were in London or on the battlefield with me for more than half of the war?"

Francis gave him a confused look, "How could I forget?"

Arthur glanced away, "It was nice, wasn't it?"

Francis smiled warmly, "Yes, it was. I enjoyed our bickering, I have actually been missing it."

Arthur smiled back, "I did too, Francis, I think that-"

Francis interrupted him, "Did you just call me 'Francis'?"

Arthur's smile dropped as his chest tightened in nervousness. It was strange how easy Francis' human name came out so easily. "Yes."

Francis gave him an unreadable look, but he didn't say anything. Arthur continued, "... Francis, the two past wars have been hell, you know that, but I really liked you being by my side."

Francis smiled again, "That's very sweet of you. I liked working with you, too. I think your history is changing for the better. Maybe, the long wars between us is over for good."

I'm nothing but a co-worker to him, Arthur thought. It was surprising to feel so much dread over it since that was how Arthur felt about him until about thirty minutes ago.

"Mon Dieu, Arthur, what's wrong?"

Arthur. He couldn't remember the last time someone used his human name like that. It sounded nice too. Arthur had forgotten what it sounded like in Francis' voice, how the syllables broke down differently and the way it rolled off his tongue. For a moment, Arthur forgot what he was talking about. He shook his head as he decided to abandon the ship, "Nothing. Nothing's wrong. You need rest, and I should leave."

Arthur gripped his wheels and went to back up and turn for the door, but Francis reached out his hand and grabbed the armrest, "Where are you going? You were building up to something! You can't just leave!"

Arthur raised his voice, "I have work to do!"

Francis rolled his eyes, "Oh, so suddenly? C'mon, please, Arthur, tell me." He begged.

Arthur couldn't deny that concerned, pleading look, so he sighed in defeat and continued after a long pause to get himself back on track, "I didn't enjoy working with you, but I enjoyed everyting else."

Francis nerrowed his eyebrows in confusion, "I'm not following you."

"The bickering, the joking, the laughing," Arthur explained, "I liked spending that time with you. I like this kind, compassionate side of you that I have never been on the receving end of."

Francis chuckled, "C'mon, Arthur, I was kind to you, but never compassionate." He joked.

Arthur nodded, "You were. You comfoted me and took care of me during the bombings. You got me below ground, and even cleaned me up afterwards."

Francis went to speak, but Arthur cut him off, "Don't say anything, just listen…" He smiled, not believing that he had the courage to say the words, "I hadn't smiled that big, or laughed that hard in years, Fancis, and I loved it. I love you."

The silence that went on as Francis stared at him in surpise seemed to go on forever, until, finally, he spoke, "You're right, Arthur, I wan't expecting that." He chuckled, "But I think I could top it."

Arthur swallowed hard, "What?"

Francis paused as he reached down and took Arthur's hand, Je t'aime aussi, Arthur."

To his own surpise, Arthur began to cry, "We are so screwed." He whispered.

Francis' smiled turned sad, looking like he was holding back tears of his own, "Non, maybe it'll be okay."

They could only hope that their history had changed for the better.

Thanks for reading, everyone! I hoped you like it! Please review, I need them!