"Amérique? But I thought you were in Iraq?"

"Eh, shut up, France. It's complicated, alright?"

"You, complicated? Never!"

"Just shut up, okay! Geez, it's just that I would've been distracted if I stayed," Alfred pouted, crossing his arms and turning away childishly. The Frenchman raised a brow, thinking, 'aren't you always distracted?' however not remarking on it. Instead, he sighed, leaning back in his seat and stretching. Honestly, he did not understand why Ludwig would be glaring at him so! The only way in which he was distracting anyone was because he was much more magnifique than the rigid German's speech! He should be grateful for the eye-candy!

But, well, even Alfred was not paying attention to him, so something most definitely was wrong. The blond looked over to the American, who was staring straight ahead with clouded eyes. For the American to not be paying attention to the meeting was nothing new, but for him to not be paying attention to anything in the room at all was definitely different. It weren't as though he'd been loud for the past few weeks, either, but that he was still fairly silent during meetings and his plans weren't as insane as usual was still quite unnerving. In fact, the plan that he had presenting during this particular meeting was spoken in complete monotone!

It wasn't just him, either. Because for every single day that Alfred had been like this, so had Arthur.

Not exactly like him, of course. He at the very least tried to pay attention to the meeting, that much Francis could see, but it was more that he was being distracted from it by something. By someone, in the room nonetheless. When he wasn't trying to keep his stare on the German, he was instead sending fretful glances toward the American, always opening his mouth as if to say something before catching himself and looking away as quickly as possible. Alfred, on the other hand, was too out of it to notice.

…was that drool sliding down his chin?

"Verdammt, Frankreich!If you do not pay attention to the meeting, then I will have no choice but to throw you out!"

"Quoi? There are people paying even less attention than I!"

"That does not make it any more tolerable!"

"That is unfair, Allemagne–"

"Do not complain to me about what is fair–"

At this point, Arthur tuned out. Yeah, he was trying his best to pay attention, and on most other days he would have, but even he had to stop listening when Francis and Ludwig started arguing. Not only was their argument going to continue indefinitely (Ludwig, for whatever reason, thought it was smart to bring up the Treaty of Versailles), but it had in the process set off several other conversations (read: arguments). If Lovino did not shut up, he was going to blow a gasket, but he quickly rethought it when Ivan stepped into the conversation, smiling all the way.

Why in the world was he so distracted, anyway? Sure, the Britannia Angel stuff got to him before, but it wasn't so bad that he was no longer able to concentrate at all in meetings! Maybe it was just getting worse? What else could possibly distract him? Maybe the tea he drank that morning was off. Or maybe (heaven forbid) his scones were off. Or maybe…

…Alfred was distracting him?

No, no, of course not. There was absolutely no way.

…oh, who the fuck was he kidding. If there was one thing that could divert his attention from a meeting, it was definitely Alfred.

He let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in his seat, not even bothering to stop himself as Ludwig was still arguing with a completely unconvinced Francis. He thought (or whoever was in charge of this Britannia Angel business thought) that Alfred was in trouble at his post, so he went. What happened? Well, he certainly didn't receive the profuse thanks that would have usually resulted from saving one's life; mostly because in the first place, Alfred was not in trouble. So what happened instead? Well, they got into an argument and now their relationship (if there was any sort of thing in the first place) was worse than ever.

…okay, what the hell? Where was the peacekeeping part of the whole situation?

Speaking of which, Arthur had been so sure that during the ensuing days, he'd be incredibly busy with his Britannia Angel business. In fact, he'd been planning to use such business as a means to distract himself from his own problems. But instead of the onslaught of 'disruptions of peace' that he'd been expecting, he was met with peaceful easiness and lack of anything remotely angel-like.

Nothing seemed to be going the way he expected.

He sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. Just when was it that he had lost absolutely any control on the situation? Had he had any control in the first place? It seemed as though he didn't even know what was going on anymore! What was going on in his life, in others' life, Alfred's life…

…if he only concentrated on Alfred, there was definitely no way that he was going to be able to solve his own problems.

Somewhere in the midst of the Briton's contemplation, the meeting had been adjourned without conclusion (yet again). Ludwig looked like he'd been scarred for life – something that was inevitable if your were locked in a room with nations for an indefinite number of hours – and Francis looked oddly pleased with himself, while everyone else was either lost in their own conversations or as weary as the Briton. As everyone began to march off, however, there remained five people in the room.

And who else would they be but Alfred F. Jones, Arthur Kirkland, Francis Bonnefoy, Antonio Carriedo Fernandez and Gilbert Beilschmidt?

…what in the world was the Prussian doing there?

"Somehow, this has become a very familiar situation," Francis mumbled to no one in particular after managing to get over his high, sighing when he realized yet again that he had been left with the American. He wasn't alone, yes, he knew, but in the end it was only a matter of time until Ludwig came to drag the albino away and Lovino did likewise with the Spaniard. Said Spaniard smiled at him cluelessly in regards to his statement, standing next to the blond as though waiting for him to stand and leave as well. But no! He couldn't leave, not yet! He had to find out what was going on!

"Amérique, the meeting is over, c'est pas?"

At first, the blond did not react at all, the trace of drool running down his chin trying to bungee jump as he stared blankly, but when the Frenchman placed a hand on the American's shoulder, it was Alfred doing the bungee jumping. The Frenchman almost joined him, startled by the blond's sudden jump.

"Uh, what?"

When Francis calmed down, he surveyed the blond thoughtfully. "…you were not paying attention to the meeting at all, non? Something must be bothering you."

"Dude, nothing was bothering me! That meeting was such a total drag; I'd rather be eating hamburgers!"

'You'd rather eat those greasy hamburgers than do anything else,' Francis wanted to remark, but instead he said, "Amérique, you are not as thick-skulled as you always seem to be. Even you can be bothered sometimes, and this happens to be one of those times, non? So tell frère France what is going on. I will not tell anyone, I swear it on love!"

"It's not like the problem has anything to do with that kinda sappy stuff," Alfred mumbled, scratching the back of his head somewhat embarrassedly. Francis caught this and grinned.

"Oh, so you admit that you are bothered, oui? What suspiciously specific denial!"

The American tried to scowl, but the pinkness of his cheeks countered his expression. "It's not like that! You're the one that brought it up!"

"Oui, oui. Whatever you say, Amérique. So won't you tell me what is going on?"

"…you know how England is like," then the blond paused to look at the blond for the first time that day, and it seemed that their positions were reversed for once since the Briton was paying absolutely no attention to him (conversely, the Briton was talking to his imaginary friends, smiling for the first time in weeks. For some reason, the American felt frustrated and at the same time concerned), "all bothered and that? Well, he totally pulled me off the battlefield the other day and was acting funny, so I tried to bring it up, but he kept on saying that nothing was bothering him!"

Francis looked a tad confused. "And? This is bothering you because…?"

"He still doesn't trust me after all this time!" Alfred almost shouted, slamming his fist against the table (the fact that the Briton did not so much as even flinch, much less look his way made the American want to slam the table harder). "He's still so hung up on my Independence, you know!"

'Oh, like you aren't?' Francis thought, sensitive enough to not comment, allowing the other blond to continue, "it's like, because we're not brothers or something anymore, we're strangers now! But he still treats me like a little kid! He still thinks that I can't do anything by myself and that he has to save me all the time! He acts like I'm so stupid or something! It pisses me off! I just wish that, you know, he'd treat me like… like…"

"An adult?" Francis finished, but Alfred went on quietly, "like his equal."

The two sat quietly, the only noise being heard the mindless blathering of the Briton nearby. Francis looked at the blond, as if trying to probe his mind, but when it seemed to fail, he instead asked, "why does it matter that you're his equal?"

When Alfred only looked confused, he tried again, "why is it so important to you that he regards you as his equal?"

The American's blue eyes widened, and, to Francis' amusement and surprise, began to stammer out, "w-what? I need a reason? I mean, you know, isn't that like, enough of a reason? I'm not a kid anymore, so I shouldn't be treated like one!"

"Whatever you say," Francis replied, "but, you know, lots of people treat you like a child, but it's only Angleterre that you want to stop viewing you as such. La Russie treats you like a child."

"Yeah, well, I hate him."

"That is the point, non? Because you hate him, you want to be better than him. But here you are, wanting Angleterre to think of you as an equal. So obviously, you don't hate him. But you don't think that you are brothers. Then, what is it that you feel for him?"

Alfred sat there, stupefied, trying to work out the European's logic, and when he finally seemed to grasp it he opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. He quickly shut his mouth, face red, and when the silence finally drew out so long that it seemed sound would never come back, Francis tried to ease it,

"…so wait, how did Angleterre get you out of–"

"Oh, so America is in love!" Antonio cooed, alerting the blonds to his presence. Alfred blanched when he realized that the brunet had been behind the Frenchman the entire time, and Francis tried hard not to laugh (failing miserably, mind you).

"Didn't you hear a word I said?"

"It is called reading between the lines, Amérique," Francis managed to say in between chuckles, before he paused, "wait, Espagne can read between the lines?"

"Um, I don't really know what you're talking about," Antonio said, in a typical display of obliviousness, the insult flying straight over his head, continuing, "but you know, it's so obvious how much you like him! There is no other reason as to why you would be thinking of Inglaterra so much! I wish Romano thought of me that much! Que lindo!"

Of course, no sooner had the green-eyed brunet spoken the Italian's name had the aforementioned Romano stormed in and grabbed the Spaniard's arm, huffily dragging him out of the room. But Alfred did not react to the Italian's intrusion; if Shock were a face, he'd be it, and if Reality were a person, no amount of slapping would get the blond out of his shock-induced daze.

So naturally, Francis, becoming increasingly concerned, groped him instead. And where Reality failed, Francis succeeded.

"W-Whoa!" Alfred (in such a manly manner that the Governator would be ashamed, I assure you) squealed, jumping up from his seat and his hands flying to his rear. Francis grinned, hiding his hands behind his back.

"It sounds as if you two are having a little fight, or rather, ah, a misunderstanding. You should go talk to Angleterre and clear everything up, oui? If you think about it, and ask nicely, maybe you can even find out what is bothering him."

With that, the Frenchman patted Alfred on the shoulder, leaving the blond to his own thoughts, while, unbeknownst to the American, the gears in the Frenchman's own mind slowly began to turn. Everything was slowly coming together, but there was still an important part missing. Oh well, everything was sure to make sense soon; he just had to give it time.

And unbeknownst to everyone in the room, a certain Prussian cackled gleefully from the shadows, cellphone glinting in the light and a small click going unheard as the recording stopped.

This was supposed to be longer, but I feel bad for leaving this story for months – plus, it's easier to work like this, so stay tuned!