This is my first Hetalia fanfiction! Please leave a review!
Like I said before, this isn't meant to be a romantic FrUK fic. If enough people want it to become a pairing fic, I'll consider taking a romantic approach to it. For now, it's about mending friendships.
It's 1:59 pm. The last of the nations slowly filed back into the conference room at Quai d'Orsay. An ornate rug softened the footsteps of each nation as they entered. Chairs shuffled and creaked. Voices filled the room in a soft rumble. Sunlight and crystal chandeliers accented the gold filaments and aging tapestries that decorated the walls.
2:00 pm. Germany shut the gilded double doors and walked to his seat at the end of the table. Though France was the host, Germany always lead the team meetings. His arms were crossed and his foot tapped impatiently against the finely woven rug. The room fell quiet.
Germany looked down at the agenda, and prepared to update the nations on the status of air quality in China. He opened his mouth to speak when he noticed the host's empty seat.
"Guys, where is France?"
The room shifted attention to an empty, padded wooden chair between Spain and England.
Germany pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, then turned to France's longtime friend and ally, Spain, "Do you know where France went?"
"Lo siento, Germany, I do not know where he went," Spain gently grabbed Romano's hand under the table, "I had lunch with Romano."
Romano's face turned bright red. He pulled his hand away so forcefully that he knocked Spain into the empty seat next to him, "Back off tomato bastard!"
Spain pushed himself back up. He turned to Romano and smiled again as he rubbed his elbow.
"Enough, you two," Germany let out an exasperated sigh, then turned to England, "What about you?"
England raised a bushy eyebrow and crossed his arms, "Do you think I give a damn what that lunatic does?"
Germany sighed and reorganized his papers, "I guess we'll just star—"
One of the green and gold, gilded doors swung open. France had a girl with a blonde pixie cut and a Boston University sweater under his arm. "Ma chère," France swept his free arm in front of him, "This is where the magic happens—" He trailed off mid-sentence as he noticed the table of nations staring at him, "Oh crap."
Germany walked up to France, "What do you think you're doing? You can't bring guests here. Especially not regular civilians."
The girl with a pixie cut and red Boston University sweater cowered at the sight of the tall, blond man with an angry accent and immaculately groomed appearance.
"Hey, hey, you're scaring her."
Germany took a deep breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Look, you can't bring her here during a meeting. You should know this."
"Ah oui," France scratched the back of his head and let go of the girl. He looked to the ground and replied to no one in particular, "Désolé." He looked back up at the girl, "Lisa, do you know where to find your friends?"
She shuffled through her purse and replied, "Yes. I can manage." She pulled out her phone, "We already got French SIM cards, so I can call them." She leaned in and kissed France on the cheek, then whispered in his ear "It was nice meeting you again," before walking away.
France watched as her brown messenger bag bounced against her hip while she walked away.
Germany cleared his throat, "Can we please get back to the meeting?"
"Sorry," France chuckled and scratched the back of his head again, "I was a bit distracted."
Germany sighed, then looked France in the eyes, "We'll talk about this later." Then headed back to his spot.
France walked back to his seat and sat down.
"Pervert." England whispered under his breath.
France glanced over at England which an expression that boarded sad, then made himself comfortable in his seat. England looks a bit shocked at France's reaction. He opened his mouth to spew another insult at France, but noticed that Germany was about to speak.
"Now that everyone is here," Germany glances over his papers at France, then continues, "We can begin." He cleared his throat and skimmed the transcript again before speaking, "As you all know, China and the US signed a trade and air pollution agreement. The terms of this agreement include…"
"Hey, tipo" Spain nudged France with his elbow, "What happened? Did you forget?"
France continued to stare at the perfectly parallel staple on the Germany's agenda while he spoke to Spain, "Something like that." His fingers traced circles on the notepads provided by the French foreign ministry. A faint outline of the Eiffel Tower was watermarked in the center of the notepad.
Spain rested his head on his hand and pretended to listen to Germany for a moment. After drawing a few tomatoes on his notepad, he spoke again, "She looks like Jeanne, doesn't she?"
France looked over at Spain in shock, "You still remember her?"
Spain gives France a soft smile, "Of course I do."
"She doesn't just look like Jeanne," France leaned back into his chair and takes a deep breath, "She's the splitting image of Jeanne." He stared forward at no one in particular. Russia, who happened to be seated directly across from him, smiles eerily at France. France shuddered and started to outline the Eiffel Tower watermark with his pen, "It's been nearly 700 years." France pushed his pen down harder, "You know they burned her three times? She was already dead the first time." France's hand was shaking now. There was an indentation following the path of his pen, like a divot in the green. He looked up at Spain. Spain's eyebrows were knit together and his lips were pulled together in a thin line – an expression of concern, unsuited to his typically jolly demeanor. "But you know," France continued, slightly louder than before, "This Lisa girl, she also has a great ass." France hold both his hands up to demonstrate, "Just perfect, like a peach."
England, who only heard the latter half of the conversation, let out an indignant huff, "Will you pay attention, you damn pervert?"
France crossed his arms and smiled at England, "Just because you and your bushy brows can't get any, doesn't mean you have to put others down."
"You, sir, are a disgusting, childish wanker," England sneered at France as he leaned back into his chair, "You just use France's reputation as a 'country of love' as an excuse for your own perversions."
At this point, America, who was seated next to England, erupted into an argument with China over their trade and air quality agreement. America and China were standing and yelling at each other across the room.
England's sneer grew larger, "And at least I'm not reduced to charming American exchange students. I can make friends in my own country."
France smiled at England, "Mon cher, are you jealous that exchange students want to come here?" France ran his fingers through his chin-length, blond hair, "Are you jealous that an English speaker wishes to learn about French history? French culture?" France leaned in closer to England and raised his chin, "French food?"
"And what culture and history do you plan to show her?" England crossed his arms, "After all, your bare, crusty arse does not count." He cocked his head as he continued to speak, "Plus, I'm sure she already forgot about you and your falsified brand of love and passion. How many men and women have you known? How many have you claimed to love?"
France looked away from England. He could see Germany trying to mitigate the argument between China and America, who had moved up to the front of the room. The argument had escalated to an ocean territory dispute, "You speak as if you know everything about me. How short is your memory?"
"Longer than the love you have for those slappers. How long until you forget about this 'Lisa' girl and her 'great arse'?"
France's face turned red as he realized England had quoted his previous words. "Bâtard putain! Tu ne sais rien!" France stood up and stormed out the room. The door slammed behind him. Germany, America, and China stopped fighting and briefly joined the rest of the nation's in their confused, gaping at the door.