Title: Guilty revenge
Genre: Angst(-ish)
Characters: France, mentions of England, Canada and America
Warnings: Rusty writing skills. Implied (one-sided?) FrUK?
Rating: PG
Summary: A drabble of the aftermath of the American Revolutionary War, France-centric.
The incessant rain was chilling, pouring outside his house. He knew from the start that this was how the plot would play out, and his belief that he was prepared for this was wrong. Emotional baggage had never felt so excruciating, and really, this wasn't how it was supposed to turn out.
He could feel the angry pounding against his door as he leaned against it, his breath held as he listened intently to the choked cries and tearful rage of the Brit he knew so well (no, he had to question how much they weren't strangers), and each shout and yell was so piercing, plunging into his heart like a frozen icicle. He shut his eyes, drowned in the other's wrath, and he bit down on the hand that covered his own mouth to muffle the pain. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the tearing of sanity that he knew tore at the one on the other side of his door. Forgiveness would never come, and he would not expect it.
The relentless barrage of fury slowed. He could hear the other dropping down, landing on the ground with such a painful 'thud', one that shook his Earth. He could guess the other was down on his knees, whimpering softly, the open wound that hurt so badly.
But England deserved it too. How dare he make France feel so awful, how dare he cried outside his door, forcing France to listen to every choke and cry? England had no right to do so, because this was the same, exact pain that France had felt when England took away Jeanne, took away his dear Canada, and so it was only right that England learnt this pain that he had felt.
France supposed that he was behaving like a coward. He had known that England would be enraged, but he didn't know how to face that anger. And so he had fled, ran away after the victory at Yorktown because for some reason, he just couldn't bring himself to look at the heartbroken face the other would wear, despite the very fact that he had only agreed to ally with America for that very purpose. He couldn't comprehend the wrench in his heart. France wanted to cry too. Not that the tears weren't already falling.
Why couldn't he open the door to mock at the other, with a sneer, sprinkle that salt in the other's wound? Had he not wanted to do that for a long while? This was a victory. He had won. He had had his revenge. But this revenge hurt him so badly, because England was hurting, and it was he who had hurt England, torn the other apart emotionally with his two bare hands.
It had been so simple, so obvious. Why couldn't he see past the anger that had blinded him? Revenge was not the only reason France had in fighting this war. He had believed that England belonged in Europe. France needed him. Francis needed him. It was not only out of spite. It was out of need.
All France wanted to do now was to hold England tightly, and mutter apologies that would never be accepted, over and over again, and the two of them could cry like fools in that awful rain, because that was just what they always did. But France could not move himself, and he had no will, no courage to summon from inside of him, and he sat there all night, weeping and bemoaning his foolishness.
When he finally opened the door, morning had come and the rain had stopped, and England was long gone.
A/N :
I - Nearing the end of the Revolutionary war, the French navy destroyed a British fleet, leaving the British Army stranded. From there, combined American and French forces attacked the British Army, and they surrendered, bringing an end to the war.
II – The Seven year war, also known as the War of Conquest in North America, was the war where France lost Canada to England. It took place before the American Revolutionary war.