This story takes place during the Nazi occupation of France. I was kind of confused on how to write France during that time period, so in this, he's in a sort of house arrest, with Germany coming and asserting his dominance every now and then.

These are things he's not supposed to tell others, but France doesn't care anymore. He is tired and feeling old and spiteful. He will show the blonde before him just how bitter this old man can be, he will tell him.

"Confédération du Rhin," he purrs softly, his soft smile growing after the expected retaliatory slap. "Désolé, slip of the tongue," he finds the hand that slapped him and kisses it softly, knowing the annoyance it will cause the half-dressed man standing at his bedside. "You Germanics are all so brutish..." he mumbles into the calloused palm before it is suddenly pushing him, making him fall back across the bed. To annoy the man further he spreads himself out across the bed suggestively. (You couldn't be made a bitch if you are already a whore, was his logic.) "I thought we were finished, Germany?"

"We are," Germany snaps, glaring down at him, his mussed hair doing nothing to soften the look. And then he turns his back to him, retrieving his neatly folded clothing and pulling them on. When France sees that damn red armband, it makes him want to speak. Even if it's nonsense, he wants to say something to hurt this man who had been hurting him and everyone else.

"It is funny," he begins haphazardly, wrapping the dirtied sheet around his shoulders as he sits up, "that Germania would have a son so obsessed with imitating Rome."

It is too bad France can't see Germany's exact reaction, just a small tensing in his back. "The Roman Empire was a mighty nation," is the automatic response.

"...He begged for death," France replies, so soft he knows Germany will strain to hear him, but he will hear him. In an instant they are face to face, nose-to-nose almost, and the older man finds himself transfixed by the little white teeth that had been digging into his skin not too long ago.

"You're lying." Germany growls.

"He begged." He assures, eyes suddenly looking into the past. "I remember. I heard him. And your dear Großvater Germania obliged, oui? Out of the kindness of his heart." Suddenly a soft hiss escapes him as his hair is given a good yank, forcing his head to snap to the side. He wonders which he was upset about, the accusation towards his idol or his ancestor. France does not like to speak ill of the dead, but he does like to piss off the people he hates, and this occupier is definitely hated, and now pissed-mission accomplished.

But then there is an awkward passage of time as Germany is silent in his anger. This bothers France, he wishes he would either get violent or get gone. He wants a reaction, and in his annoyance, he gets dangerously close to a line he had drawn for himself many years ago.

"Holy Rome begged, too," he whispers, this time not caring if he was too quiet to be heard. The German's grip slacks on his hair and France feels the smirk he had been wearing all this time grow forced. Saying that might have been a mistake. It was supposed to be an attack, but it felt more like a confession-he had gone and upset himself instead of Germany, because the one Holy Rome had been begging was him. But he presses forward, "He begged to li-"

Suddenly, France finds himself unable to speak due to the fist making acquaintance with his jaw, which in turn leads to his head being introduced to the headboard. Head spinning, he registers the slam of the door and the sound of a harsh, mournful laugh he quickly realizes is his own. Why had he told him that?

"I would not kill a child, Confédération du Rhin." He calls out after him, but doesn't know if Germany would hear or understand what he means.

I think France is going a little stir crazy, babbling on about something so random.

Confédération du Rhin - Confederation of the Rhine

Désolé - Sorry

Großvater - Grandfather

I love angst France and feel like he's one of the few that have actually seen his own kind die (and possibly killed Holy Roman Empire? That was hinted at in one of the strips, since if I remember correctly, Napoleon ordered it to finally be dissolved). That's what I wanted to explore, but I don't think I did very well, maybe I'll try again some other time.

Really, this story is just a drabble since I can't work on Stockholm Syndrome without my computer (I want to see if I can salvage the chapter I was in the middle of writing when it broke.)