Alfred thought his heart was going to burst out his chest. 'Germans? Here?' Sure he had many close calls up in the air, pilots had one of the highest fatality rates, but that was different. Up in the air you had power and agility like nothing else. It was easy to fight back if you had the right skills and reflexes, down on ground Alfred felt, well, grounded.

Panicked, he tried to speak but the only sounds came out were muffles from Mathew's hand over his mouth.

"Shut up!" Mathew hissed at the American under his breath. He cocked his head to the side as if trying to listen to what was happening but it was futile. They needed to get closer to properly hear what was going on. Mathew slowly pulled his hand away from Alfred's mouth but kept a stern glare on him as if to say 'keep your mouth shut or you will regret it'. Alfred swallowed nervously but nonetheless nodded in compliance.

Mathew cupped a hand around his ear and made little walking movements with his fingers, trying to get across that they needed to get closer to hear. It was like a ridiculous game of charades and if the situation wasn't so dire Alfred might have laughed.

Slowly they both got up and crept out of the guest bedroom. Thankfully that room was near the kitchen where they could hide and lean against the door adjoining the kitchen and living room and listen in on what was happening.

Alfred had half a mind to simply go out the back door and run before the house got surrounded but he knew Mathew wouldn't leave without Francis unless something serious happened.

Something was wrong. Well something other than Germans showing up. No, something about this whole situation felt wrong to Mathew.

He woke up with a start upon hearing tires crunching on gravel. Why did they come back? Earlier while the American was asleep some soldiers came by asking questions. They knew that the downed pilot had to be around somewhere so they were grilling everybody in the area about the whereabouts of the pilot. Francis had dealt with them though, saying he heard something rustling around and saw a vague figure in the bushes, but figured it to be an animal of some sort and that it had run off before he really saw what it was.

So when he saw those familiar trucks pulling up again he ran to wake the American instead of going straight to Francis.

Now here he was leaning against a door right next to a man that could be the death of them all but one he was going to protect no matter what. He looked over at said man, Mr. Jones his mind annoyingly supplied, examining the strained, anxious look that Mathew knew was on his face as well. The American looked over at him too and nodded with a grim look on his face before they both put their ears against the door to listen.

"…-nough!" A deep, thickly German accented voice said in a booming voice. "Just speak English so we can get this over with quickly!"

"Oui…I mean yes, okay that is fine with me," they heard Francis say. He didn't sound worried or afraid like Mathew thought he might be. Then again Francis was a spy for a while so he would probably have a perfect poker face.

"The American bomber that was shot down, you saw him yes?" There was a silent pause and Mathew didn't dare breath. Why wasn't Francis automatically denying what the German asked. "Remember whose side you are on now." The German warned.

"O-oui, I saw him…." Francis solemnly said.

Mathew froze. He couldn't believe it. He refused to believe that this was happening. There was some mistake. This was a trick. This was…was… He couldn't even think of a fitting term. Instead he slid down against the door in shock trying to come to terms with the situation.

Francis Bonnefoy turned traitor.

Mr. Jones was suddenly kneeling next to him, visibly worried. He grasped Mathew's shoulder a shook him lightly "Hey we gotta blow this place," He frantically whispered. "Then go," Mathew said and shoved the American's hand off him. "Sorry but I ain't gunna do that. This obviously is as much a shock to you as it is to me."
"I somehow doubt that," Mathew cut in.
"So I can't just leave ya. I'm a Hero after all!" He lamely finished. This seemed to snap Mathew out of his faze somewhat. It reminded him that he had a duty to finish.

Shoving aside any thoughts of Francis and his feelings of betrayal, Mathew got up and whispered "Follow me, we'll try and go out the back door. Hopefully they didn't bring a bunch of soldiers, thinking that they wouldn't need them if they had inside…inside help."

Alfred pulled out his hand gun, it was better than nothing, and stood ready by the back door as Mathew carefully opened it and peered outside. Unfortunately there was a soldier outside but he had his back to them. Like a flash Alfred moved, bringing the butt of his gun down on the soldier before he could turn around and see them. The German crumpled and Mathew moved to catch him and lower him quietly to the ground.

"Now what?" Alfred asked

"Now we make our way to the forest and after….uh I'll figure that out…later," Mathew replied rubbing a hand across his face.

It was very late into the night by the time Mathew let them stop. Alfred wanted to stop hours ago, whining about being tired but each time Mathew would snap at him to shut up, then remind him that' they got away far too easily and more distance had to be put between them and the Germans.'

The American flopped down on the ground and eyed Mathew. He seemed normal, not that Alfred really knew him much, but he was still wary about the spy; like he might break down any minute.

"Hey…are you going to be okay?" Alfred asked tenderly, now that there was finally a chance to talk.

"I'm fine!" Mathew snapped but his face looked like he was in pain. He jaw was clenched, eyebrows were furrowed, and eyes were glaring at everything and anything.

Alfred opened his mouth to say something but realised that anything he said wouldn't be enough. Instead he shifted over, sitting beside Mathew and awkwardly wrapped his arms around the Canadian. Mathew of course tried to push Alfred away "I'm not a child, I don't need comforting dammit!"
He hissed. Alfred just tightened his grip "It's cold out here you know and we can't make a fire." He explained but Mathew understood and instead just leaned into the American's embrace and burrowed his face in the leather jacket so his face couldn't be seen.

Guh, I'm so sorry it took me so friggen long to update Dx I wish I could say this chapter makes up for it buuuut I don't really like how this chapter turned out. It took me a few days so write too D

Franciiiiis I'm sorry I made you evil ;A; It was really hard to do but I wanted this story to be somewhat realistic and not a fic where everything is ~*Perfect*~ Druring the War there were actually a lot of French people who basically gave up hope and helped the Germans or schmoozed up to the Germans to get a better standard of living. To make Francis not a total asshole I decided to make him the former and not the latter. Now the question you're probably asking; Will. He. Come. Back? Dundundaaaaa You shall have to wait and see...