A/N: This is just another one of those thingies that float around in my head until I write them down, so I did. YAY!

P.S. In this fic they can drive from America to Europe in a car. Um...they're cool like that. Can't you just see the map and the cheesy dotted line and everything? No? Just me then. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: Don't own, wish I did. It's just that simple.

THIS IS A TWO-SHOT

Totally Smashed, Totally Screwed

"Hey guys," America called from across the meeting room in his 'hero' voice, "lets all go out for a drink later in my country! It'll be an Allies' party!"

And so the trouble started.

England was the first to agree, as a man who so loved drinking would be expected to. France volunteered next, and soon after, China. Russia nodded while clarifying that he would bring his own vodka.

And so even bigger trouble started.

When everyone was somewhere around their second glass or mug (or bottle, in Russia's case. Or nothing, in France's case, for he refused to drink their "American backwater") England had already had three, and was falling off his chair.

And so T.R.O.U.B.L.E. started.

You see, England had a VERY low tolerance for alcohol, and yet he had a tendency to consume it in ridiculous quantities.

When he finally dropped like a rag doll, Russia spoke up, "Some one should really take him home."

Unfortunately, it looked like Russia himself was far too busy glaring at America and China while they made out in a corner, America seemingly under the impression that China was some hot girl he had whisked off her feet and China too intoxicated to have ANY idea what he was doing. Seeing this, France sighed. Obviously, it would have to be him. Merde.

He turned to the heaped figure on the floor, rolling his eyes at how pathetic England looked at that moment. He would have been laughing his head off if the sight had not been so pitiful. As it was, France knew the feeling of being that drunk, and had always hated it. This was one of the reasons that he had abstained from alcohol tonight. The French drink for pleasure, not for the sake of drinking.

Rolling his eyes yet again, France stooped down and hooked a long arm around England's torso, bringing the Brit's arm over his shoulder and grasping the wrist firmly. He managed to heave the other man into a standing position, but could not go much farther carrying England's full weight.

"Angleterre," France huffed, somehow still managing to sound regal and suave even when catching his breath, "you must walk some on your own. I cannot carry you out of here."

England groggily complied, stumbling toward the door with France holding him up.

When they finally got out to France's car, England had lost the little coherency that he had had previously. Half-dragging the sandy blond around to the passenger door, France opened it with his foot and deposited England unceremoniously inside. The man groaned, but France ignored him and continued prodding his feet and arms into the car with his boot before slamming the door. If England groaned again, France couldn't hear him through the thick metal. He stalked haughtily over to the driver's seat and got inside, irritated that he was being made to act like a chauffeur.

Nonetheless, France reached across England and fastened his seat belt before clicking his own into place and pulling out of the lot.

It was a rather long drive to Europe from America, (not to mention the ocean they had to cross,) but England didn't stir the whole way there. As he drove, France drifted off into his own thoughts, realizing too late that he had turned into his own country instead of England. Oh well, he thought, I may as well take him to my place. I'm not going to England when I'm already here.

France had a rather harder time getting England into the house, as he was now completely carrying the Brit. Of course, the instant France put him down in one of the spare bedrooms and the work was over, England stirred. France could tell from his eyes that he was still entirely intoxicated, and was surprised when England grabbed his wrist as he made to leave the room.

"Wait."

France turned and studied the blond, "Oui, Angleterre?"

"You're gorgeous." England's speech was only slightly slurred.

"Excusez-moi?" He must have misheard.

"You're really beautiful, France." This time England's words were spoken clearly, though his eyes were still glazed over.

"..." A long silence on France's part, in which several possible responses flashed through his mind, including 'yes.' and 'I'm aware of that.', but he finally settled on "And you're really drunk."

England let out a hoarse laugh. "I..." *pause*, "I know. That doesn't matter."

"I think it does. You would not say this were you sober." France didn't quite know why he was trying to argue with someone this drunk, but he didn't care.

"I wouldn't say it, but I've always thought it."

France couldn't help but note that England was quite eloquent for someone so completely smashed. But it didn't stop there. "I just..." another pause, this one lengthier, while England struggled to translate his turbulent and muddled thoughts into words, "...I just wanted to hide how I feel."

"About what?"

"...You." England practically whispered the word, so that France had to stoop over the bed and bend down to hear it when England repeated it for him. His eyes widened. He was now uncomfortably aware of how physically close they had become in those few seconds.

"And how do you feel about me?" France's voice shook almost imperceptibly.

Instead of answering, England tilted his face up, leaning in ever so slowly...and their lips were so close...and he could smell the alcohol on England's breath...and France stood up sharply.

He had barely said "You need your rest" over his shoulder to the sandy blond man before the door closed behind him.

England would have quite a lot of explaining to do in the morning.