England did not, under any circumstance, have a "crush".

Even the mention of such a thing was not only completely and utterly insane, it was, without a doubt, the single most preposterous thing he had ever heard. He would have laughed had it not been against his gentlemanly code of conduct.

No matter what that frog said.

"Now Angleterre, I-"

"I don't want to hear it!" England exclaimed, shoving past France and forcibly shoving his hands into the floral print oven mitts. "Now get out of my kitchen before I throw you out."

France smirked, leaning coolly against the garnet topped counter island as England opened the metaphorical hell that was his oven. Through the smoke and the coughs and curses of his dear little Englishman, France chuckled. "Must you fight it, mon cher? Your cold English heart has finally melted enough to let another in, and what do you do? Why, freeze it right up again!"

"My –cough- cold English heart is –cough- bloody hell –cough- just as frozen as the first time I kicked your arse in the 5th century," England huffed. He cleared this throat and threw the steaming pile of…something… onto the counter in front of France who merely regarded it with slight interest.

"…Which is why you are apparently trying to poison him?"

"Yes! I mean no! I'm not trying to poison him you damned twit!" England snapped. "It's the holidays. America always eats total rubbish this time of year, so I thought I would put together a hearty meal for the lad. Keep him from a heart attack, you see."

France smiled. "Because you are in love."

"I'M NOT IN LOVE!"

"A crush then." France shrugged slipping behind England as he attempted to free the burnt mess from the casserole dish. "You may need a stronger weapon then that, mon ami."

England threw his spatula to the counter with an abstained shriek. "Why are you still in my house?"

"I originally came to barrow a cup of sugar, but after seeing you in that adorable apron of yours I just had to see what you were up to!" France purred, tugging affectionately on the frilly, pink apron before being swatted away.

"Well you've seen, so bugger off."

"Non, non, Angleterre! You cannot wish to dangle sweet l'amour in front of me and not expect me to seize it!"

"I'm not in-!"

"Of course, your crush then." France smiled. England opened his mouth to argue, but France quickly forced his lips back together with the tips of his fingers. "Do not speak. Since it is obvious you are head over heals crushing on young Amérique, I shall leave you to your attempts at romanticizing our sweet idiote hero."

Releasing England's lips, which automatically returned to their default scowl, France strode from the room, turning once more to face the blushing face of the island nation. "But please do not give him that. He may be a pain, but we do need him around."

And with that, England was left alone once again.

"The bloody hell is that?"

"That," America said wistfully, slinking an arm around England's shoulders and pulling him roughly to his side, "is the single greatest expression of love I have ever seen."

England glared at the "burgquet", as Hungary had dubbed it, as it sat obnoxiously in a flamboyant starred and striped vase like it had personally wronged him. "It's ghastly," he grumbled.

"I kinda like it." America smiled. He plucked one of the burgers from the complicated arrangement and took a large bite. "Tastes good too. At least I know you didn't make it for me."

England could only gape as America calmly took his seat and admired his new gift. Turning on his heels, the irate nation stormed over to France and promptly slammed his face into the conference table.

"Sacré bleu!"

"What the blazes are you playing at, frog?"

"What is it you are talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me! Not that you have much of a choice."

France pouted, rubbing his forehead tenderly. "Mon Dieu Angleterre. I sometimes forget there are actual muscles along with your skin and bones."

"Would you quit dodging the question! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I do not know what you are talking about!" France exclaimed, throwing his arms out in defeat.

England huffed in annoyance, reluctantly dropping himself into the empty seat next to France. "Isn't it a bit odd that just yesterday you and I spoke of this apparent and nonexistent crush that I most certainly do not have on America, and today an entire heart attack bouquet suddenly appears for him in the middle of the conference room table?"

"It's a burgquet, actually, because it is a bouquet of hamburg-"

"I don't bloody care what the damn thing is called!"

France rolled his eyes and shrugged easily. "It is a strange coincidence, but a coincidence nonetheless."

"Lies."

"Now mon cher," France tisked. "I am a lot of things, you are sure to agree, but a liar? Non."

And so it was with a heavy heart that England turned his attention to Germany as he quieted everyone down and the meeting was able to begin.

"This is complete idiocy."

France chuckled at the angry, blushing little face of his favorite Brit. "At least you know it is not me, non?"

"Not so fast, wanker. You're not off the hook yet."

"Excusez-moi?" France gasped. "How is it I am doing this?"

And by this, of course, France meant the parade of gifts that were being delivered and showered all over America throughout the entirety of the conference. After the original bourgquet, he had also been delivered a replica of the Statue of Liberty constructed entirely out of fries, Super Bowl tickets, and an ice cream sculpture carved in his likeness. It was only after the firework shooting throne arrived that England had finally had enough and decided to put an end to this foolishness once and for all.

"A throne, France? Really? The boy doesn't even have a monarchy!"

"You think I am behind this madness?"

"You're damn right I do!"

France huffed, gesturing across the table to America, who was sitting in his throne excitedly asking a glaring Switzerland which face he made was the closest to the one of the melting ice cream. "Please, like I would encourage Amérique's head to grow any bigger. We all must fit in this room, you know." Noting England's sour expression, his face softened slightly. "Perhaps you must come to terms with the fact that someone else has a crush on the boy besides yourself, mon ami."

England scoffed. "Like anyone could have feelings for that twit."

France took the lack of denial from the nation as a good sign and continued. "Well, he and Japon are pretty close. And despite being, as you say, a twit, he is still États-Unis d'Amérique. The United States is a compelling ally."

England pursed his lips, obviously not enjoying that train of thought in the slightest. "And you're sure this isn't your doing?"

"Positive. Now if you are done blaming me, do something about whoever is moving in on your territoire."

Worrying his lower lip, England ran his hand along a small Tupperware dish nestled in his briefcase.

"You." England snapped. "Get your arse over here this instant."

America let out an annoyed moan and dragged his feet over to the older nation. "But Englaaand everyone is leaving, I wanna go hooome."

"Oh, quit your whining. I need to speak with you."

"Whatever I did, I didn't do it."

"No, I was go- wait what?"

"What?"

"…That didn't make any sense."

"Don't worry about it. What were you saying?"

"Oh, yes, right." America cocked his head in amusement as England's cheeks slowly turned to a rosy pink as he awkwardly fiddled with his briefcase. "Here. I made this." The younger nation blinked at the small container of …something suddenly resting in his hands.

"England, what-?"

"D-don't think I did this for you! I was simply growing tired of watching your arse overtake the conference room, and I f-figured I would make you something that wasn't swimming in bacon grease. So don't get the wrong idea!"

America smiled tenderly. "Hey, thanks dude. I didn't-"

England slammed his briefcase shut once again and roughly pulled I from the table. "Please, don't thank me, just eat it and do us all a favor." As he marched out the door, America couldn't help but notice the stubborn blush that refused to leave the tips of his ears, and he smirked knowingly.

Gathering all of his "gifts" together, America put his prize safely away.

He'd have to remember to give his boss' platinum card and the fine people at Amazon .com a pat on the back for a job well done.

This...Had nothing to do with anything I'm currently working on. XD I had every intention of this being something fluffy and frilly, and obviously that didn't work out. I just can't do it! Humor is my thang I guess. I can live with that.

Anyway, NEVER FEAR! I haven't forgotten about Hard Times! I've just been extremely sick for the last month. Seriously. I finally went to the doctor because it was getting ridiculous, and it turns out I had, all at the same time, strep throat, pneumonia, an ear infection, and (to top it all off) pink eye. SO I needed something pointless and funny to write before I could jump into the awesomeness of Prussia's chapter.

BUT I am on some awesome antibiotics, so I'll be going in no time! Hope you all enjoyed this! :)

-Car