France sat in the first chair that he saw and took a sip of wine from the glass he was clutching tightly in his hand. He had no idea why he was so nervous about this date.

Yes, he really liked this woman, Madeline, but he had been on plenty of dates with her. They had been dating for the better part of ten years, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen today. Ever since he felt her enter his country again he could feel that there was some sort of change. He became filled with anxiety and worry (and his drinking habits reached a new high).

France was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear the sing-song French accent that appeared at his ear. He smiled, feeling her cool breath at his ear and smelling her perfume, it was like heaven.

"Hello, Francis," the voice said as he felt a hand run down his shoulder and along his back.

He turned and smiled at her before standing up and embracing the woman. "Madeline!" he practically purred. "It's so nice to see you!" France stepped back and looked at her in full. She was aging beautifully. Her long blond hair shined in the moonlight and her blue dress complimented her bright eyes. Looking at her was enough to take his breath away and caused him to forget his worries. "How was your stay in Denmark?" he asked her as he pulled out her chair.

"My six long months away from you?" she asked innocently. "There were barely bearable. The land was beautiful, but I knew I had something much more beautiful at home. The mere thought of you spoiled my trip."

"I'm so sorry I stopped you from enjoying your trip," France pretended to pout. "I'll try to be less appealing to you next time you head out of the country."

"I never said you were appealing to me," Madeline teased. "Just to my mind's eye."

France smiled softly and looked down at the glass of wine in front of him. "I'm so sorry, Madeline," he said hurriedly. "I forgot to offer you a drink." He filled her glass before she could reply to him.

"So what have you been doing these last six months, Francis," Madeline asked him as she picked up her glass and swirled the liquid around. "You haven't been forgetting about me, I hope."

"I could never forget about you, Madeline," France told her in a serious tone. "You are always on my mind." He reached out and grabbed her hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

Madeline studied his face closely, but France really didn't mind. He just kept smiling as he watched her. She always looked curious and thoughtful when she studied him like this. It was as if she was trying to memorize his face so she'd never forget it. France was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice that Madeline had grown very nervous.

"Francis," she touched his face softly. It almost seemed like she thought she could break him. The nation smiled inwardly at this thought. She's too sweet and delicate to realize not everyone around her was the same. "Darling," she said, moving her hand slowly down his face so she could feel the prickliness of his beard. "I must ask you something."

France stiffened and the smile fell from his face. Oh no. He placed a hand over the one she had on his face. "Madeline," he pleaded, hoping that his eyes were begging her just as much as his voice. "Don't."

He studied her closely. He should've seen this coming. The way she sat stiffly and the way her hand fidgeted with the hem of her dress. All of the signs were there, but he was too lost in thought to notice what might have been going on in hers. He could've distracted her.

"I have to know, Francis."

You can't ask the questions you want to ask! He wanted to yell at her. He wanted to stomp and scream until all of these thoughts flew from her mind. Don't you know what will happen if you start asking questions?

"We've known each other for ten years," Madeline started.

France didn't show any emotions on the surface. Even in his mind he couldn't pull anything coherent together. He was too shocked. He couldn't believe this was happening. Somewhere in his mind he sincerely believed Madeline would never ask. He thought she was content with him. In his heart he needed her to be content. He needed her to be accepting. He needed her.

"In all the years I have known you you have not changed one little bit," she continued. "You're different, Francis. I can tell that you are. Every day I grow older, but you don't age at all. How is this? What is it?"

France looked her in the eyes sadly and stood up. He could barely feel his legs, but he managed to walk to the other side of the table and kneel in front of her. He kissed her forehead gently and smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Goodbye, Madeline," he whispered to her.

He looked away, but wasn't fast enough to avoid seeing the look of pain that appeared on her face. He knew that she didn't understand why he was saying goodbye and he knew that she would never understand.

"Francis," she whispered.

"We won't be seeing each other anymore," he told her, keeping his voice flat and unemotional. "I'm sorry." It took all of his strength to turn away from her and start walking.

From behind, he could hear her soft sobs, but she didn't call after him.

I'm so sorry, Madeline. France explained to her as he walked away. You can't know about us. No one can know about us. It would be too dangerous for us and it would be too dangerous for you. The rules say we can date anyone we want as long as they don't ask too many questions. I wouldn't have carried on with this as long as I did if I thought we were going to start...I sincerely thought you wouldn't. I thought you wouldn't be curious as long as you were content with me. That was my mistake. I didn't consider the possibilities and now I've broken your heart. I've broken my heart. We could've been happy together. We would've been happy together. I should've known better. When will I ever learn?

France sighed audibly and hung his head. "I'm sorry, Madeline."