Disclaimer: The characters in this story are not from my imagination but from the imagination of Hidekaz Himaruya and therefore, any relationship to people or events real or not is purely unintentional…

Chapter 1 Prologue

The Nation of England, Arthur Kirkland, sat in his leather high-backed armchair in front of a roaring fire. A cup of tea on the table by his side, a first edition copy of Dickens in his hand. It was a lazy Sunday afternoon in London, 69 Trafalgar Square to be exact.

Rain spattered on his windowpane and there was a knock on the door.

Arthur ignored it. He really didn't want to deal with anyone today. Sunday afternoons were for gardening, reading, drinking tea, listening to Radio 4 and the cricket (if it was on) and watching Antiques Roadshow or Downton Abbey.

There was another knock on the door - a more persistent one this time. He ignored it again, they'd soon go away.

Silence, he smiled and continued reading.

Then there was a tap on the window.

"Bloody rain," England muttered. "But at least I won't have to water the tomatoes…"

'Tap tap tap'. The 'rain' this time hammered on the window.

This time he spilled tea down the front of his trousers as his cup flew into the air and he dropped his book.

He stood up and tried to mop himself down. He looked up and saw a familiar face pressed against the window.

He considered hiding behind the sofa but the face had seen him and was now gesticulating wildly.

"Damn you!" England yelled. He tried to close the curtains but the face was grinning at him and England's natural good manners prevented him and he trudged to the door as if he were going to the guillotine.

"Bonjour!" France stepped in, utterly drenched but still looking sexily disheveled. England hated him.

He shook his raincoat spattering water all over England's gleaming linoleum floor.

Arthur sighed and got out his mop.

"You are dirty pervert, Angleterre. I saw you sat there, reading your filthy book, watching your porn and zen rubbing your private parts through your pantalons…"

"I was watching Antiques Roadshow!"

"Ah oui! Zat is what I mean!"

"And I spilled tea… oh, what the bloody hell do you want, France?"

France sat himself down and began drying his hair using England's tea towel (England made a mental note to boil wash it later), "I need your aidez, Angleterre."

"Have you been invaded?"

"Non!"

"Well, bye then…" England said and opened the door, indicating that France should step through it.

"Oh Angleterre, you have to help me!"

"If you've taken America out on a 'bender' again and lost him then I will seriously end you," England said, picking up an umbrella and pointing it at France.

"Non, my dear old friend, it is far worse zan zat."

"Well?" England finally shut the door with an air of futile defeat. It was 'letting the warm air out' and it was clear France was going nowhere until he'd told his tale. He kept hold of the umbrella though. For defence purposes.

"My government have told me I have to pass my test!" France said and hung his head.

England frowned, "What test? Intelligence test? Drugs test?"

"Non non non. My driving test."

"You've never passed your driving test?" England switched the kettle on and sat down. This was actually getting interesting, "But you've been driving for years!"

"I know zis… eet eez stupid, non?"

"Well, you're an awful driver," England said. In his opinion, all foreigners were terrible drivers. All of them. Probably because they drove on the right, he thought.

"I have improved! I have only crashed two cars this year."

"It's April!"

"Exactly! Zis is what I told zem!"

"Oh my God!"

"Zay said zay will not pay out any more insurance claims and that I cost my country too much, so I have to pass my test also eet eez illegal or some such silliness."

England plonked a mug (chipped) - he reserved it for any visiting tradespersons or Nations he didn't like - full of tea in front of France. The mug said 'I heart Blackpool'. France shuddered.

"Yes, well… it is illegal," England said, sipping from his own bone china cup.

France wrinkled his nose at this. Laws surely don't apply to Nations, he thought.

"So, as amusing as this, what does this have to do with me?" England asked.

"I need you to teach me to drive," France said miserably.

"Bugger off!" England exclaimed, actually putting his teacup down with such force it cracked.

"I need your help, mon ami. Zay said I am not allowed to drive anymore!"

"Quite right too! I agree with zem, I mean them."

"Zay have offered me a beautiful car if I pass. My last vehicle was a Citroen 2CV as you know."

"Yes, a quite ghastly car," England said. He had a vague memory of being stuck in the back of it whilst drunk with someone's foot (he suspected it was Prussia's) up his nose and someone (Denmark, he thought) sat on his knee. In his opinion, the French couldn't build anything more complicated than a wine rack.

"Well…" France shrugged in his annoying French manner. "Zay have said I can have a beautiful Ferrari if I pass."

"Well, good luck with that!"

"So I need…"

"No. I am not teaching you to bloody drive."

"I will pay you!"

"There is not enough money in the world…"

"I know you are a very good driver," France said, aiming for flattery.

"You can flatter me all you like but I am not teaching you!"

"I have a proposition…"

"Right that's it… out!" England flung open the door again.

"Non, nothing like zat… I mean I will solve your romantic problems if you will teach me to drive."

"You cheeky bloody bugger. I don't have any romantic problems!" England yelled.

"When was ze last date you went on?" France asked, totally nonplussed.

"None of your bloody business!"

"Exactement, you cannot even remember."

England growled. It was true, he couldn't. "Erm… 1965?" he muttered.

France sniggered.

"No! Wait! It's more recent than that… It was Glastonbury and Bowie was playing and oh my God, 1971…"

"Ha!"

England sat back down and looked depressed but then he jumped up again, "I am absolutely not teaching you to bloody drive. I don't want a bloody mental breakdown."

France sighed dramatically. "You were my last hope."

"Last? Wait? You mean you asked other Nations?"

"Oui! I even asked Prussia!"

"You must be bloody desperate. Well I don't care. I am not bloody teaching you. I just want a quiet life. No histrionics. No drama. No idiotic extricating someone from a bloody Council tip. No trying to find 'DudeDen' in a Calais hypermarket…"

The telephone rang.

England went to answer it, "Don't bloody touch anything!" he warned France.

Five minutes later, he came back in, a black cloud over his head. "Damn and bloody blast! My government says I have to bloody help you. Apparently," (here England put on a high-pitched posh voice) "it will be good for Anglo-French relations they said."

"Ah zis is excellent mon ami!"

"Well, we'll see… I don't hold out much hope. I have three provisos."

"Anyzing!" France cried.

"You will do everyzing I mean, everything, I say!"

"Ah oui, of course."

"You will not be creepy."

"Of course, never!"

England raised a bushy eyebrow. "And you will get me a date…"

"Ah oui, of course."

"And you will keep your bloody pants on."

"Zat is four zings, mon ami."

England opened a bottle of Scotch, "Dear God. This is going to take a bloody miracle…"

Author's Note:

There will be a lot of swearing and silliness and keep an eye out for random Nations turning up... Hope you like it.