A/N: I think I got the idea for this one night when I was laying in bed thinking of England after the Revolution. It's quite obvious how much America meant to him, and I realize that people do this topic a lot. But… I had an interesting thought on it. I know everyone portrays France as the pervert, and maybe he is. But I know him and England have a huge past together. I instead like to think of him as… for anyone who's watched Death Note, a Matt-character. He's there for his best friend. Sure, they may fight. But he's there, still. That's my inspiration. Hopefully it shows through.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters used in this fic.
Title: The Sun Never Sets
France and England had never really gotten along; as long as they had known each other, all it had been between them was fights. There were the few times when they had joined forces against a common evil, of course. But in the end, no matter what third enemy they defeated, it always ended with them fighting each other.
Still, when the Revolution between England and America arose, it was not surprising to anyone that France had taken the young nation's side when he came asking for help.
It was not long after France accepted to help in the cause, though, that America had finally put a stop to it all himself, successfully winning the independence he had so 'righteously' fought his guardian for.
Francis thought back on having heard the reports of how upset Arthur had gotten when he recognized his own defeat. As he sipped his wine, he couldn't help but thank his God that he had not been there to witness it. That was not a moment for someone like him.
What was surprising in all of this, though, was after it all was said and done. France had expected to be ignored by England, or maybe even yelled at, for supporting the young America.
What he had not expected was to suddenly get word one day from Arthur, wanting him to come and see him, immediately. The message, unfortunately, did not state why though. This both worried and aggravated France a bit. Was Arthur planning on taking out his anger then? On his own land when France was at a disadvantage?
No… something told Francis that that couldn't be it. If Arthur wanted to express his anger, he would have sought him out less formally. This was strange…
No matter how odd it might be, for England to suddenly seek France out like this, despite countless other times spent pushing him away, it did not change the compelling feeling within Francis that moved him to go to the other nation, because, despite all of their fights and how much they disagreed and had fought over conquering different parts of the world, in their own masochistic and twisted sort of way, they were still friends in the end.
It was not like France to get nervous in situations like this. Meeting with another nation was just something that nations such as themselves did, and he'd done it more times than he could ever hope to count; but this felt different, for him.
Times were changing for the two old nations. Things were different than they used to be.
He took a deep breath as the maid who had lead him to where England was left his side. He was alone in the hall of England's home. He'd been here so many times, but, just like everything else, it was different.
Staring at the closed door and gripping his coat, he felt like this was a funeral more than just a small meeting. Everything in the home was quiet, and he knew how distraught England was going to be. How destroyed he was.
Finally taking the doorknob and opening it without knocking, he told himself: 'I need to fix this…' He wasn't sure how, but he knew he did.
England's room was just as quiet as the rest of the house had been. It was lit only by the warm late afternoon sun, casting the room in a light that made it look as though it hadn't been touched in over a hundred years.
And Arthur. He was sitting at a small table in the corner with his tea, no quarter was given to him, and not even he was exception to this aged appearance. His green eyes, which France remembered seeing sparkle at the prospect of conquering lands, were now dull and devoid of their shine. His index finger trailed the rim of his tea cup, but he still appeared as though he hadn't moved in a century.
"Don't you ever knock?" Arthur finally asked him, breaking the silence, and yet not moving at all. Not even to spare him a glance.
France swallowed a bit, forcing his normal persona back into its proper place. "Non, of course not." He said simply, offering a small grin before going over to where England was and sitting across from him at the table.
His sudden presence finally got England to look over at him, but he didn't say anything, instead eyeing the bag France had under his coat with him.
"I brought something that might help you. Always does me!" The Frenchman finally told him, reaching into the bag and finally pulling out it's contents –revealing a wine bottle, and two glasses.
England sighed, looking away. Just from that one action, France knew him well enough to hear exactly what he was thinking, 'I don't want to get smashed, you frog!'
"It's just to calm your nerves, mon amour. I guarantee it will work better than your tea." He told him, as he began uncorking the bottle. As he began pouring the dark red liquid into one of the glasses, he chanced a look back up at England, noticing how far away his eyes looked again.
"The world has gotten a lot smaller over the years… non?" He said quietly, pushing one of the glasses over to England politely before repeating the action for himself.
England sighed, finally grabbing the glass and taking a small sip, "Don't remind me…" He said, his annoyance showing through. It wasn't with France, though, for once.
"It has, Angleterre. We all have to realize this at some point. You-."
"I called you here today to talk about your actions in…" It was obvious that England couldn't bring himself to say it, yet. The reality hadn't set into him, yet. That America was gone… his sweet, innocent little colony was out of his control, and wasn't coming back. France could imagine how hard that was for someone like England, who depended so much on those he raised.
"What would you like to say, Angleterre?" He said, hoping to show that he was not here to fight with England, as he usually did. He was here to listen. And just like many other times, to team up with England against a common evil. In this case, however, the common evil just happened to be the rest of the world that was slowly closing in on them and suffocating them.
"How could you help him, France?" Arthur finally shot at him with a force that showed how the words had been bubbling in his mind for a while, now. "Maybe if you hadn't assisted that git I would have won! He would still be mine!"
France took a small sip of his wine before he spoke. "Oui, mon amour. That's just it… he would have still been yours." He said in a calm tone. "Let's be honest, Angleterre; if Amerique had not have revolted, you would not have ever let him go."
This made England look away from him. They both knew that what France was saying was true.
"America is old enough now that he can take care of himself… or in the very least you can allow him the opportunity to try taking on the world alone. What chance does he have, really?" He knew this was a lie. If he did not believe that America couldn't make it against the rest of the world, he would not have supported him, but England needed to hear this version.
"He has a good chance." England told him. "No… he has an excellent chance. The world is out to help him, and to destroy me. Just look at it… you helped him in his revolt, Prussia did as well, and now even my own people are leaving me to go join that fool."
England sighed, "What did I do wrong, though? Am I that terrible of a leader? Of a nation?" His green eyes traveled over to France's.
France shook his head, "Non, of course not." He assured, but then had to sigh, "He just… needed his independence, Arthur. You have so many other nations that you've imperialized, what does one little country really mean to you? What it comes down to is the one question."
He paused a moment, taking in England's sorrowful look that he knew only he would be able to read before he continued, "Were you holding on to Amerique because you really cared about him… or because you liked the money he brought into your country?"
France watched the way England tensed up instantly. But he didn't answer, which was interesting. He knew that it was more likely than not the former of the two options –as England had cared so much for America before. But… he would never put it past England to like having him for the money, as well.
After all… once a pirate, always a pirate.
Finally, instead of answering, England stood up suddenly, and moved away from the table they had been sitting at; his body still as tense as it had been before. This still left the question unanswered, but France knew the answer was that it was a bit of both.
"Get out." England suddenly told him, stopping in the middle of the room just long enough to tell him that. "I was foolish to ask you to come here."
With a sigh he went over to his pristine bed, made up in crisp white bed sheets. What really told France that England had cracked, if only just a bit, was when he began slipping his shirt off his shoulders, revealing un-bandaged scratches and wounds all over his body. Sure, they had known each other for practically forever, but England had always been too gentlemanly modest to ever undress before him.
Somehow, though, the situation –as well as the sight of England's wounded body- kept him from properly enjoying the moment.
"Didn't you hear me?" Arthur shot at him, successfully bringing him out of his thoughts to watch the other nation turn just enough to glare at Francis, then divert his gaze again. "I said get out!" His voice was forceful, and stern. The type of tone he only took with those nations he raised, when they did something bad.
It was as if France could hear England's heart breaking just a little bit more. He was frozen in place, however, and thus unable to complete England's demand.
However, after a brief silence, England sighed, and continued speaking again as he pulled the sheets back and lay down on his stomach –his green eyes fixated upon the light filtering in the window once again. "I'm done listening to whatever voice in my head had told me to get you… to listen to whatever you had to say. I'm done trying, Francis."
Something in the mention of his real name made the situation that much more real. It made Arthur appear much too apathetic to even call him a 'frog' or any other witty insult the Brit could think of. It hurt him… and strengthened his point that he couldn't leave yet.
He stood up without a word and moved over to the bed, where England was laying; the said nation didn't even seem to register his presence as he sat on the side of the bed.
France couldn't help himself, as the white blanket only covered England to his waist, and left the rest for his eyes to fall upon. All the wounds would be gone soon, as his immortal body would heal them quickly. But the fact of the matter was that they were still there… still red and hurting him.
'You want them to hurt…' France mentally observed, 'You want the wounds you brought upon yourself from your attempt to keep America close to you to stay… to make you remember…' France had imperialized nations before. He understood the feeling of hurt when they left. But not to this extent. Never had he felt what England was.
Carefully, he allowed one of his fingers to ever so slightly begin tracing the wounds, trying not to hurt him. He felt England shutter, but he said nothing against it.
After a long time in silence, and with France desperately trying to accomplish something with the gentle touch, he finally could take it no longer. He had to break this silence –in the very least break England from his thoughts.
He leant down, carefully, and placed a gentle kiss on the back of England's neck, before then quietly telling him, "The world is getting a lot smaller… isn't it?"
England sighed, "Is that all you know how to say in English?"
Francis smiled, "It's true, though. Things are getting smaller… there's less territory for the taking, now that everyone is laying their claims to whatever they can get a hold of." He closed his eyes as he imagined, peacefully.
"I know you've lost America… I know how much he meant to you, and I must admit, Angleterre, I can't begin to imagine how painful it must be for you to not have him anymore. … To know that he's no longer the small colony we found, that you can't go visit him whenever you want, and play with him anymore."
"France…" He heard from him, as England's eyes closed and a shudder shook his body.
"But…," He continued, "You know, he's not the only nation out there that was left for the taking. In fact… there's another nation just north of where America is which… you might be interested in." France's eyes remained closed, as he stayed close to England, but he could almost see England's green orbs opening –the spark beginning to flicker on once more.
"You mean… brothers?"
France nodded, "Right. But… unfortunately, I'm currently the guardian over said nation. And… who says I want to give him up to… someone like you?"
Yes… France could just imagine that spark of adventure and life returning to England's beautiful green eyes. It was just what he needed –a little competition against his said rival to get his spirits going again. "So…" England began, "Another war? Winner take all?"
France nodded, the action allowing him a brief wisp of smell from Arthur's soft blonde locks of hair. "That's exactly what I was thinking. But… don't think I'll go easy on you, England." He told him.
"I understand…" England said quietly. Then, after another long moment, he finally sat up, forcing France to stand up from the bed and take a step back. However, he watched as England brushed a hand through his blonde hair. He then got up, moving to a side dresser and taking out the red jacket –the oh-so familiar British uniform.
"Get out." He told France, again. This time, however, he turned a bit, and just as France had imagined that spark, that light of life, was back in England's eyes. He had to smile a bit at that, as England continued, "I have to plan how I'm going to beat you again, this time."
France scoffed, but obeyed him this time, and headed for the door, "Whatever you say, mon amour. This should be interesting, don't you think?"
Arthur nodded, without looking back at him as he messed with the gold buttons of his coat. "Yes. We'll see who the real victor will be, this time."
France nodded, "May the best man win." He stated, then exited the room, "And to the victor shall go the spoils… such is the way of war." He added quietly to himself, flipping his hair behind his shoulder and beginning down the hallway. 'However, if Canada will, in the end, make Angleterre happy again… then I will gladly pull this charade and lose to him so he may have it.'
The end
A/N: Hm… So this took me about three days to finally complete, with thanks to my wonderful muse! I didn't think I would ever get this done! But I was desperate to get it out there, because it doesn't matter how many times I visit the Fruk section, it never has the kind of stuff I'm looking for. So… this is my contribution. The type of thing I wanted to read, now out there for others to. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is, what did you, the reader, think? Good? Bad? Write more? Never again? What? Please let me know what you think!
Please review!
-Forbiddensoul562