AN: A thousand million bazillion apologies to every one of my readers. I've been grounded for practically the entire month. My parents took away the computer AND my flash drives too! Well, I'm back now and here is my new chapter. I hope I got everything right. I based the description of the Elysee Palace and the Hotel Marigny partly on pictures and some descriptions…if I messed up, I'm very sorry.

France's POV, Sunset, Palais de l'Élysée, Paris

He had just gotten off the phone with Canada not too long ago. From what his dear Matthieu said, America was being just as stone-cold oblivious as ever. Another month had passed, and there was nothing to show for it. So, France decided it was high time he did something about it.

Francis watched the delicate dance of orange and pink on the horizon, through his second story window. Splashes of color fell over the garden. The hot summer air carried the scent of roses, while France was stuck inside. The room felt like a prison, albeit an antique, white and gold-lined, spacious, candlelit prison, with windows several times his own height. Even a place as beautiful as that was little more than a gilded cage when France knew there was love in the air.

Le Président and Alfred's président were on decent terms. So, France hoped he could propose a meeting between the two without raising too many eyebrows.

Francis had called his boss immediately after he finished talking to Matthieu. France's boss sounded very irritable, and cut him off midway through France's proposal.

Le Président did not allow Francis to wander the Palace unsupervised, so le Président had to come over to Francis's side of the building if the nation needed something. He felt tense and impatient, waiting for le Président. In fact, the wavy-haired blonde was just getting ready to leave until he heard shuffling on the other side of the door.

"Bonsoir."

Le Président offered an unusually quiet Bonsoir in return. He helped himself to a chair and silently motioned for Francis to do the same.

"Francis, I thought you hated America. "

"But this is important, mon cher! More important than Alfred's stupid Big Macs, or unflattering clothes."

France's président shook his head. "Francis, whatever it is you are after, you will not get if you insult his favorite food. Wait until after Alfred leaves, if you must. Do not cause another incident. Tu comprends? "

One Week Later, Alfred's POV, Some Important French Hotel

Alfred was sitting next to his boss. They were having a meeting with France's boss for some strange reason. He had no idea why, and he had no idea where they were, either. He'd ask, but the President was already engaged in conversation with France's boss. First it was some polite small-talk, then a discussion about the Euro and Europe's economy.

They were in some fancy old hotel, in a white and gold room, with fancy paintings on the walls and sitting at a table with a bright rose-colored tablecloth. He'd been here before, but Alfred never kept track of this place's name. It was a mystery for the ages.

Across a modern-looking table, France stared intently at America, arms crossed. The expression on the older nation's face did not look like a leer, and he hadn't insulted America once today. That made Alfred even more uncomfortable, because now he had no idea what the hell France could want.

Alfred decided to speak first. That way, he would be in control of the conversation instead of Francis. He leaned over just an inch and in the lowest whisper Alfred was capable of, he spoke.

"Um, America offers condolences on the, um, execution of one of France's citizens. If you guys want help against the terrorists, the hero is just a phone call away, okay?"

Francis looked a bit startled. "Thank you for the concern and your condolences. But I am going to take care of it myself."

"But your boss said 'France does not practice revenge'."

"Oui. I will be going as Francis Bonnefoy, not France."

America nodded and glanced over at his boss. Still talking. He checked the clock, which said 2pm. They had another hour. He turned back to France.

"So what is this meeting for anyway?"

The Frenchman chuckled. "Heh, I figured you wouldn't come over if I just invited you out of the blue, given what happened last time? Don't give me that look…oh, you wound me, mon cher. But you would never leave your Président alone with me, would you?" A smile crept onto Francis' face as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

America growled. "What do you want from me?"

"Stop your pretense with Arthur and just ask him out already! Win him over with a grand gesture of love."

"…what?"

"You know you love him. And we're all tired of waiting."

"But I don't like him like that! …wait, WHO'S WE?"

Francis sighed, and counted off each country on his hand ,"There's myself, Hungary, Italy, my dear Matthieu, Japan, and every country who reads or requests Japan's doujinshi. "

"Italy? Feliciano is in on it…MATTHEW? JAPAN IS DRAWING-with England?"

The two presidents, Alfred's boss and France's boss, snapped their heads around to see what was the all the commotion about. The two had, respectively, expressions of mild amusement and confusion. Seeing the arched eyebrows of France's president, then the polite smile on his own boss's face, made Alfred realize how random he must have sounded. Alfred forced his face into one of his signature grins. Pfft, whatever. Just be cool.

Francis chuckled and waved both the humans away. "Don't worry about it, it is nothing. Please, continue. "

Alfred agreed. "Yeah, it was no big deal." Slowly, the two human men turned away from their nations and went on about whatever it was they were talking about. This time Alfred didn't even pretend to listen. Once the presidents were satisfied that everything was fine, Francis leaned over the desk.

"Shh. Relax, mon ami. You don't want to give yourself an aneurysm, do you?"

America sputtered, but kept his voice low. "What…but how….how am I supposed to relax when Japan…Kiku…is drawing weird pictures of me and England?" Alfred took a deep breath. "What exactly is Kiku drawing?"

"He takes requests. Kiku's gotten three times as many US/UK requests since the conference. And let me say, Arthur is such a-"

"Shut up!" Alfred lunged after Francis, but fell on his face. "Alfred F. Jones!" America cringed.

Alfred's boss turned away from his conversation with the French president, and began lecturing. "Young man, you will stop this right now and behave like a normal country. You cannot go around hitting people."

"France started it."

His boss raised one eyebrow, "How old are you? Three? I can't take you with me anywhere."

Alfred dusted his jacket off, and sat down across from Francis. The US President ignored Al's sulking.

France's boss, who sat across from Alfred's, said."Don't stress too much over it." He shot a look at France. "Francis probably did start something."

"Sometimes, I can't tell if I'm a president, or Alfred's glorified babysitter."

"Francis groped half my staff, my wife, and me this morning alone."

England's POV, One Hour Later, Outside the Hôtel de Marigny

Why did that frog invite America to a meeting? England was pacing around the entrance nonstop since he'd arrived. A security guard tried to make him leave, but a clerk shooed the guard away. The clerk did not know exactly who England was, but he did know that Monsieur Kirkland was a very highly ranked official of the British government, and that angering Monsieur Kirkland would be very, very bad.

"Allow me to invite you inside, Monsieur Kirkland. I am sorry for any inconvenience the security guard may have caused you."

England thanked the man curtly and stepped inside. He went straight to the bathroom(it was a really long trip). He paced around the lobby waiting for America and France to finish their meeting.

Maybe Arthur was paranoid. It could have been either Alfred's boss or France's boss's idea to hold a meeting. If that were the case, though, neither of them would have brought their nations with them.

England would have preferred to crash the meeting and snatch America away from the clutches of France. But the Queen herself sent a messenger to his home this morning, summoned him to the Buckingham Palace, and personally made him promise to not cause any trouble between the United Kingdom and the French Republic. After knowing him for 58 years, the Queen was always one step ahead of Arthur.

Arthur checked his watch. 3:15. They should have finished 15 minutes ago, he thought. He stared at the door to the rest of the Marigny. They were somewhere inside the building, probably in a VIP lounge. From somewhere on the other side of the door, he heard a loud crash, and loud French cursing. The door swung open. Just as Arthur expected, it was Alfred. He crashed right into England on his way to the exit. England helped himself up before America could offer a hand. Arthur noticed a rip on the side of his pants. Against his better judgment, he decided to not call Alfred an idiot. As France chose that moment to appear from the door shaking his fist at Alfred, Arthur decided to blame France instead.

"What the hell are you chasing him for anyway? Thoughtless prick. I fully expect you to compensate me for these ruined clothes, by the way."

France laughed."Amerique knocked you down. It would be more appropriate-and gentlemanly-for him to buy you a new uniform."

"I'm not talking about the rip caused by the fall. I could sew it." The shorter man brushed off his pants."I mean the dirt from your country now staining my breeches."

Francis got an odd gleam in his eye, the kind that meant trouble. Arthur hovered in front of Alfred, just in case. "Let me make it up to you by buying you dinner, Angleterre. Amerique. Both of you. "

Alfred responded for him."Yeah! That's pretty cool of you, France. I'm starving. I bet Iggy is too."

At An Expensive Restaurant, An Hour Later

The fact that England hadn't eaten since the day before and was ravenously hungry was only a small factor in his acceptance of France's proposed lunch. After all of Francis's molestation attempts, he was sure that the Frenchman owed him at least a dinner. The true reason, of course, was the fact that Alfred had clearly accepted for the both of them. Arthur could hardly leave him alone with Francis at a nice restaurant. So they changed into some nice outfits that Francis had apparently saved up for just this particular occasion. England was going to grumble about it, but remembered that he had asked France to replace the torn uniform. Arthur was wearing black dress pants and a white dress shirt, with black gloves. Alfred got tan dress pants and a light blue shirt. Francis had a cream-colored pirate blouse and black pants.

Then the three left for a nice restaurant somewhere in Paris. Arthur didn't recognize it, but then, he didn't come here very often. Alfred got all excited and asked Francis about it. Apparently, it was new. Arthur left a little pang of jealousy, wondering just how Alfred would know anyway.

A trio of American girls, roughly high school age, passed the group by. Of course. America recognized them and told France and England the life stories of three girls from Colorado. Elizabeth Hall, Jaclyn Schmidt, and Jennifer Lind were their names. They were all honors students on a field trip to Paris, paid for by a spring fundraiser (selling a few hundred overpriced cakes, candies and magazine subscriptions door-to-door) that took each girl over 200 hours to complete. Liz and Jackie were on their way to good colleges next year, and Jenny was going to take over the family business. The girls wanted to travel all over the world, hopefully together. America beamed as he talked about them. He was so proud of his girls. That was how he referred to them; his girls, his boys, all of them his children.

To Arthur's great surprise, Francis did not comment or complain once during Alfred's recounting of the American girls' lives. France must have been in a very generous mood, or else he had something up his sleeve.

They got inside the restaurant, and didn't have to wait at all. The staff knew and loved Monsieur Bonnefoy, one of their best customers. A young blond boy, who looked suspiciously similar to a young Francis, guided them to a quiet area near the back. The boy bowed low, said hello to 'Oncle Francis', took their drink orders, then left.

And not even five minutes into their time at the restaurant, France faked a cell-phone ringing. He said needed to see his boss right away. England's first reaction was anger.

"How dare you invite us to dinner and then just-" England silently cursed France. "You set me-" He sighed."Oh, nevermind. Go on then."

France left enough money on the table to pay for everything, as promised, then disappeared into the crowd.

A waitress brought them lemonade, tea, and a glass of wine. She was young, olive-skinned, dark haired, kind of pretty. Arthur wouldn't have even noticed her if it wasn't for the fact Alfred started chatting with her in apparently decent, though accented, French. The waitress giggled. "Right away, Monsieur Jones!" Alfred gave her a giant smile. She scooped up their menus and scampered away toward the kitchen. Arthur decided that he didn't like her. She was too young, and her tan looked fake. And she was a French girl stealing Alfred's attention.

"She didn't even ask what I was going to order!" England said.

"I ordered for you that thing you were staring at on the menu earlier. I figured that was what you wanted."

"Oh."

Arthur stared down at his gloved hands. So Alfred was just ordering their food. Well, who could blame him for getting a little jealous? Everybody knew Alfred liked girls. He looked up at Alfred, who didn't seem to notice. The American was trying to smooth down his hair, with no success. His hair got messier with each attempt. Arthur turned his gaze downward, toward the table. He noted it was made of elegant cherrywood, polished to a high shine.

Alfred liked girls. Damn it.

America's POV

Alfred took a sip of the wine, since Francis wasn't here anyway. Francis was gone, and Arthur was completely ignoring him right now. Staring at the table for some strange reason, though that didn't faze Alfred. Arthur was a pretty strange guy, right? Yeah, it's completely normal for him to stare at a table while we're-um, enjoying a dinner France paid for. Yeah.

"Hey, Iggy, she brought your tea."

Arthur took the glass and quietly sipped his tea, without responding.

'If he's not going to be part of a conversation, I can just talk at him until he starts to talk. Right? That'll definitely work, 'cause he'll tell me I'm rude, and then we'll be talking. Instead of sitting here all silent-like. Am I rambling in my own thoughts? I think I am. I should say something.'

"So…uh…um, I was talking with Scotland the other day, and Sealand was there, so Scotland told us a story. About the three little pigs, except it didn't sound right."

England blinked. "Yes, he has his own version. It's a little different."

"Yeah, instead of a wolf, there was a fox, and he kidnapped the other two pigs, and the third pig rescued them. "

"From the Green Fairy Book, Andrew Lang."

"Yeah, that's it! He read it to me and Sealand. Is that how it really goes?"

"There's…multiple versions. "

"Can I hear one of those?"

Arthur frowned at Alfred, probably suspicious. From what he could tell, the Englishman deemed it a harmless request though, and dropped the frown. The blond cleared his throat-"Ahem,"-and took a small red book out from who-knows-here.

"This is from the first time my country printed the story. It existed long before, but this is the first printed version."

Alfred watched in awe as Arthur carefully searched for the story. The blond man was holding the old book close to his face, one black glove resting on the red cover, while the other turned every page slowly, as if he feared the book would turn into dust right there. He stopped on what Alfred assumed must be the correct page, saying "Ah! There it is!" It wasn't as showy as Alfred, Francis or Feliciano could be, yet, Arthur was captivating, theatrical in his own way. The Brit cleared his throat again, becoming solemn, quiet.

"Once upon a time when pigs spoke rhyme

And monkeys chewed tobacco,

And hens took snuff to make them tough,

And ducks went quack, quack, quack, O!

There was an old sow with three little pigs, and as she had not enough to keep them, she sent them out to seek their fortune.

The first that went off met a man with a bundle of straw, and said to him:

Please, man, give me that straw to build me a house.

Which the man did, and the little pig built a house with it. Presently came along a wolf, and knocked at the door, and said:

'Little pig, little pig, let me come in.'

To which the pig answered:

'No, no, by the hair of my chinny chin chin.'

The wolf then answered to that:

'Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in.'

So he huffed, and he puffed, and he blew his house in, and ate up the little pig."

"The pig got eaten!" Alfred cried out. "But-but-"

"Well, that was how the tale originally went. Now, let me finish." Arthur said.

"'The second little pig met a man with a bundle of furze, and said:

"Please, man, give me that furze to build a house."'

Alfred interrupted. "What's furze?"

Arthur stared at him. "It's an evergreen shrub…sticks, Alfred. The man gave the pig sticks. Now, back to the story."

"'The second little pig met a man with a bundle of furze, and said:

"Please, man, give me that furze to build a house."

Which the man did, and the pig built his house. Then along came the wolf, and said:

'Little pig, little pig, let me come in.'

'No, no, by the hair of my chinny chin chin.'

'Then I'll puff, and I'll huff, and I'll blow your house in.'

So he huffed, and he puffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and at last he blew the house down, and he ate up the little pig."

The American groaned loudly. Another pig eaten? Man, did they all get eaten in the British version? The Englishman stared at Alfred, as if to say 'Are you done now?' When Alfred didn't complain, Arthur seemed to take it as a signal to go on.

"The third little pig met a man with a load of bricks, and said:

'Please, man, give me those bricks to build a house with.'

So the man gave him the bricks, and he built his house with them. So the wolf came, as he did to the other little pigs, and said:

'Little pig, little pig, let me come in.'

'No, no, by the hair of my chinny chin chin."

'Then I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in."

England took a deep breath, and grabbed one of the napkins on their table. America watched as he carefully unfolded it and held it in front of his face. Alfred noted the black gloves. They suited England really, really well.

"Well, he huffed, and he puffed," England blew on the napkin, but his hands kept the napkin from flying. "-and he huffed and he puffed, and he puffed and huffed; but he could not get the house down."

England put the napkin down on the table, then continued,"When he found that he could not, with all his huffing and puffing, blow the house down, he said:

'Little pig, I know where there is a nice field of turnips.'"

Alfred panicked. This was one of the bad stories, wasn't it? Darn England…

England's POV

"NO! Don't fall for the Big Bad Wolf's tricks, little pig! He'll just eat you like all the others!"

Alfred's glasses were askew and he had an expression of horror on his face. The American grabbed Arthur's book, but Arthur snatched it back and put it away.

"Alfred! You can't just take my book!"

"But if I let you keep reading it, something bad will happen to the last pig, I just know it."

"How does stealing my book have anything to do with…? And the pig does live."

Alfred brightened up a little, though he looked guarded. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Why, of course I'm sure, you dolt! It's one of my books."

"Well…what happens?"

Arthur stared at the sandy haired nation before him. It was fascinating, how much and yet how little his former colony has changed. Eyes bright blue, full of excitement and wonder, just like then. A body taller and stronger than Arthur's own by far, though also slightly pudgy from excess. That began when they started to drift apart…

"The wolf goes down the pig's chimney, falls into a pot of boiling water, and the pig cooks him for dinner."

Alfred frowned. "Well, the wolf kind of earned it, but it's all kind of a downer. Not very much like a fairytale."

"All fairytales are like that. The original versions, anyhow. You're thinking Disney. Actual fairytales are not meant for children, and when they are, it's supposed to scare them into staying inside."

"Oh, like how you'd tell me that the boogeyman would eat me if I didn't brush my teeth? Thanks a lot."

"It worked. Look at your teeth. They sparkle."

"You shouldn't scare children, Iggy. That's not cool."

England closed his eyes. Right about now, he figured that Alfred would launch into long rant detailing the virtues of happy endings. Why happy endings were better than a tragedy. Why it was more fun to read a book, watch a movie, or see a play that ended on a positive note. He knew that Alfred would passionately defend each and every one of his own versions of Arthur's old stories. Alfred would pump his fist into the air and his glasses would fog up ever so slightly. He'd jump, and kick, and generally make a fool out of them both. Just as Arthur expected, Alfred did exactly that.

"Look, happy stories aren't so bad. With all the grief everybody gets by the end of the story, the characters sure deserve a little bit of sunshine if they want it."

Alfred did get up. He circled around their table, and if there had been anyone else watching in their corner of the restaurant, the two nations would have surely looked like colossal idiots. The American circled their table and told Arthur that he really should give happier stories a chance.

"What's so horrible about earning your own little happy ending anyway? Don't you want to be happy someday, Arthur?"

Didn't he want to be happy? Arthur wasn't sure what he wanted.

"Geez, I'd almost think you liked being miserable all the time." Alfred stopped, and looked the little blond man dead in the eyes."Do you like being miserable all the time?"

"I-of course not. I'm not miserable."

The other nation, still standing, didn't say anything back. England caught himself staring at America again. All smiles, happiness, and rays of sunshine, full of caffeine and probably on a perpetual sugar high. It was a stark contrast to himself-a dour, sour man with a stiff upper lip.

"I suppose it's not all that bad. A happy ending, I mean."

Alfred beamed. "Great! Now we can eat."

"Eat? We don't have our food yet!"

"Yes we do. It came five minutes ago."

England looked down on the cherrywood table, and sure enough, their food and silverware were here. 'How did this happen without me noticing? Alfred noticed, and he's the most oblivious nation there is! Well, except for Italy…' Alfred plopped down and wolfed all his food before Arthur even knew what the nation ordered. Arthur took a knife and fork and cut his own food into neat sections, eating it piece by piece. Alfred laughed.

"Nofoddy's waafing ou. Fyoo can eaff hoeffer fyoo want."*

"Don't talk with your mouth full!"


AN: I had way to much fun writing this. I think the nations probably drive their bosses crazy. I decided against using actual names in this chapter while referring to real people. The version of the Three Little Pigs that England was reading is part of a book called English Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs.

The part about the boogeyman and dental hygiene was not a crack at British people, and I didn't realize it until after I wrote it. I decided to leave it in because you guys have a sense of humor. I mean, you watch/read Hetalia. Seriously, Alfred's teeth do sparkle. I saw it in an episode the other day. And now you know why! Heheheheh.

*Nobody's watching you. You can eat however you want.