A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he turned the page of his morning paper. Normally, the soft crinkling sound that followed this motion would have been familiar and welcome, but not this morning. If anything, every sound seemed to echo through his skull and squeeze down on his brain. Britain let another sigh fall and set down his newspaper so he might rub his temples. Why wouldn't this blasted headache just go away?
Letting his hands slip down over his face slowly, the Englishman stood and pushed in his chair. There was no point in trying to read the paper right now, he decided. Indeed, he had other things to get done today. Attempting to ignore the pain pulsing through his head, Britain peered into his refrigerator and heaved another sigh.
It was as he'd suspected; it was time to go grocery shopping. Knowing there was no point in ignoring the inevitable, the English nation headed for the front door. As he walked across the floor, his steps did not go unnoticed by a certain Frenchman.
Hastily, France found himself standing from his spot on the sofa. Just where was Britain going? Easily, he caught up with the younger man before he could make it out the door.
"And where is it you think you are going, Mon Ami?" the Frenchman demanded.
"None of your bloody business, Frog. I told you to go home already." Britain huffed.
"Ah, but you are the one with the car, no?" France said.
Britain bit his lip; this was true. The last Allies meeting had been in London, and almost all the other allies, excluding himself, had taken a taxi cab to get there from the airport.
"Alright. If you must know, I'm going to pick up some bloody groceries." He said in defeat.
"Ah! That is perfect, Mon Cher! I have a few things to pick up myself!" France lied.
Britain arched an eyebrow, "Can't you bloody well go shopping when you get back to your own country?" His head pounded with each word he spoke.
"I suppose I could Mon Ami…" France pretended to sound hurt.
Britain rubbed his temples, arguing with France wasn't helping his poor, aching head "Fine. Bloody fine, come along if you so desire."
France grinned broadly. Truth be told, he could tell Britain was under the weather. Even if the Englishman himself didn't realize it, France didn't want to take any chances. He'd keep an eye on Britain.
Britain grumbled under his breath as he led the Frenchman out the door. Carefully locking the house behind him, Britain proceeded to his car. Unlocking the front passenger door for France's sake, Britain then leaned back in the driver's seat and closed his eyes a moment.
Why did he have such a bloody headache? If he didn't know better, he'd have thought he was hung-over. Though if he recalled, he hadn't consumed any alcohol last night, or for that matter, he hadn't touched the stuff in months. He simply hadn't had the reason or the desire.
Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. Surprised, the Englishman flinched and found himself staring at the hand's owner.
"You alright, Mon Cher?" France was asking.
When had France even gotten in? He hadn't heard the door click open… he pushed that thought away and quickly found his tongue, "Yes, I'm bloody well fine… I was just thinking." Britain said defensively.
He turned the key in the ignition and began to drive away from his house and towards his destination. He didn't chance another glance at the older country; he wasn't sure if his eyes would betray him. However, had he looked over at his passenger, he would have seen a look of pure concern upon the older man's countenance.
It wasn't terribly long before Britain guided his vehicle to a halt in the car park of a tall brick building which appeared to be a super market. A pair of glass doors slid open and shut automatically, allowing patrons to come and go as they pleased.
Britain finally turned to the Frenchman beside him, "Well here we are." he stated a bit flatly as he let himself out of the car.
"Oui, it looks like a nice shopping center. I am sure I will find what I need to pick up here." France said.
Britain arched an eyebrow. A part of him wondering what France could possibly need so desperately; another part of him simply didn't want to know. It was the latter that prevailed, and without a word he led the Frenchman inside. Carefully choosing a clean shopping basket, Britain slipped it over his forearm and walked into the store. France kept pace with the Englishman rather easily, much to Britain's annoyance.
Britain glanced at the Frenchman whom he felt was stalking him. Why was he not surprised that France hadn't even bothered to get a basket?
"I know you don't like me following you, Mon Cher, but you have me a bit concerned, no?" France thought to himself.
They were not the only ones in the store; to be sure, there were men and women alike all bustling about to get their own groceries.
"At the very least you should let me return the fav- Ooh la la." France's train of thought was interrupted as his eyes trained on something far different than the British nation beside him, "Oh hon hon… sculpted by God himself… so perfect!"
Britain had paused to rub his temples. His headache felt like it was getting worse, if that was indeed possible. In fact, he was starting to feel a little woozy. Perhaps France wouldn't mind driving on the way back to his place; the Frenchman seemed to insist on sticking around for the time being anyway.
Trying to seem in a better mood, Britain decided not to lead with his main question. His mind feeling a bit hazy, he spoke slowly, "So…uh... France? What is it exactly you came here to pick up?" he asked, trying to sound as kind as possible, though lord knows it was hard. His entire head pulsed like a beating heart.
Not getting a response, Britain figured perhaps he had spoken too softly, "France, I asked-" the words died in his mouth as he turned to the French nation, realizing he wasn't even paying attention to him.
He was staring at something ahead of them. Britain followed the Frenchman's gaze, and what he saw made his chest swell with anger. France wasn't just spacing out. He was watching the rear of a young woman in front of them, who happened to be sporting a mini skirt and a midriff top. The tush swayed side to side gently as the woman walked, quite unaware of the attention she was receiving.
Britain, however, had seen more than enough, "Bloody Pervert!" He snapped and stormed off. He should have expected as much from France, but right now he just wasn't in the mood to deal with it.
France, being who he was, didn't notice his younger brother's disappearance right away. He continued to stalk the dame from a distance, contentedly watching the fluid motions of her graceful figure.
Britain wasn't sure why, but he was absolutely livid. "Oh he had something to pick up alright! Why didn't I see this coming?!" He shouted mentally.
It wasn't as if this was anything new; France had been this way for a long time. Still, even trying to imagine what ran through the Frenchman's head was sickening. Perhaps what was even more upsetting was the fact that he was actually going to swallow his blasted pride and ask a favor of France, and the older nation had completely and utterly ignored him. Fuming, Britain stuffed a few groceries into his basket and moved on to the freezer section of the store. After all, he needed to get fish, eggs, and milk among other things. His anger was short-lived however, as the pain pulsing through his brain took precedence once again.
The Englishman did his best to push through the intense discomfort as he bent down to retrieve a carton of eggs. So long as he focused on his task, he would be fine. Sadly, he didn't take into account that the simple action of bending over would make things that much worse.
A spasm of pain rang down his spinal column and settled itself in the middle of his back. Caught off guard by the sudden infliction, Britain cried out in pain, grasping the nearest shelf for support, "Bloody hell." He muttered silently, eyes clamped shut.
France followed the girl for some time, interested in only one thing.
He was snapped out of his questionable thoughts as she approached a young man. She embraced him tightly and planted a kiss on his cheek. It was then that France's eyes drifted to her hand, which clearly bore an engagement ring. He quickly lost interest. If there was one thing he respected it was true love, and he had no intention of interrupting that where he found it.
Heaving a small sigh at the time he'd wasted fantasizing, his mind quickly returned to his prior line of thought, which lead him to realize one thing- Britain was nowhere in sight!
"Sacre Bleu! I am so very stupid!" France proclaimed to no one in particular.
How could he have forgotten? The last time he'd seen Britain, he seemed to be in more discomfort. He hoped to God that the Englishman wasn't lying unconscious somewhere! With that thought in mind, the Frenchman dashed off through the store to find the younger man.
Realizing at least the pain in his back wasn't getting any worse, gave Britain the courage to pull himself back into a standing position, albeit a stiff one. He'd managed to get the egg carton in his basket, but that was the least of his concerns. He staggered over to one of the many freezer doors, grabbing the handle for support.
He rested his face against the cool glass, peering inside idly. Ironically, he'd chosen a freezer that just happened to have fish fillets inside. Normally, he would have spent several minutes determining which fish was the best quality.
Right now, however, the Englishman was finding he simply didn't care so long as he completed the task at hand. Opening the door slowly, he grabbed a few of the nearest packages, not even bothering to read their labels. He shut the door and leaned against it with a heavy sigh, his whole body was starting to feel rather weak and his mind felt as though it were turning inward on itself.
It was then that the Frenchman caught up to him; he could tell at a glance that something was wrong. Britain indeed looked like he had grown paler. In fact, he looked like he might faint, or even worse, that he was in the process of doing just that. France quickly rushed to the younger man's side, placing his hands on his shoulders.
"Britain. Britain, are you alright?"
Britain's emerald eyes fluttered open, though they seemed rather hazy. He looked at France in what appeared to be confusion… what was he doing here?
The odd stare concerned the Frenchman further, "Britain… everything alright?" He addressed the Englishman again.
"Yes… Bloody hell, yes… I'm fine, stupid frog." Britain heard his own words dully; it was as if his mouth was functioning all by itself.
France frowned, lifting his hands from Britain's shoulders only to remove one of his gloves with the full intent of feeling the younger man's forehead.
Britain, however, seemed to have other plans, as he began to move away from the French nation. He staggered like a drunken man, a dazed look in his eyes matching his teetering motions.
France seemed shocked, and perhaps that was why he didn't realize Britain was heading right for an obstacle. With the miscalculations of a hazy mind, the Englishman's leg connected with a fruit stand at the end of the isle. With a groan he stumbled, his front half sprawling into the display and scattering fruit all over the floor.
"Arthur!" the Frenchman shouted in surprise as he went to help the dazed man right himself.
Surprisingly, the Englishman shrugged his hands away and stared at him blankly as he wavered where he stood, "Ah, France what brings you to London?" he said finally.
If he hadn't been worried before, he certainly was now, "Surely you are joking, Mon Ami… you remember, don't you?"
He was met by that same blank stare.
France felt his stomach twisting in knots, was Britain really this bad off already? He forced himself to continue, "There was a meeting about a week ago… I- I took ill and you took me home and took care of me." He searched the other man's eyes for some recollection, but he was met by green pools of nothingness. Finally, he reached out to touch the other nation's forehead.
Britain felt like he was dreaming, he wasn't sure precisely what was going on. He must be dreaming, after all, France was here and he wasn't insulting him. Though it was a bit odd; usually his fairy tale friends were in his dreams… but not this time. "Flying Mint Bunny… are you hiding?" he slurred out.
France frowned, not only was Britain burning up, but he seemed delirious. He supposed he should have guessed; Britain always seemed so vulnerable when it came to illness. "Britain, I am taking you home. Hand over your keys" he said firmly.
"Don't talk to me like I'm five…bloody wanker!" Britain snapped, pointing an accusing finger at the fruit stand which was clearly meant for France.
A few customers were staring by now, while others seemed to assume that the Englishman was drunk and wanted to steer as clear from the situation as possible.
"Britain, I am serious." France said coolly, "Hand over your keys."
Britain pretended not to hear him as he surveyed the area for his magical friend. Spotting the winged rabbit hovering over register five, a smiled crossed his flushed face.
"Ah, there you are Flying Mint Bunny!"
"Come to the checkout, Britain!" He could hear the enchanted creature giggling, "You have to buy the food first!"
"Quite right. I'll be right over!" He smiled and made a mad dash for the register.
France chased after the delusional Brit, but the Englishman had a fair head start.
As he neared the register, he slowed to a halt, suddenly becoming painfully aware of the massive aching that threatened to consume his whole being. He shuddered and wavered where he stood.
Were dreams meant to hurt like this? He felt his vision clouding over as a massive wave of dizziness swept over him. Any and all balance he'd previously held was yanked out from under him and he fell forward, desperately grasping the person in front of him for support.
Sadly for Britain, the customer was startled and shoved away his grip, "Bloody git, give me some space!" A man's voice snapped, not realizing just to whom he was speaking.
It wasn't as though it mattered; Britain couldn't see him anyway… Even Flying Mint Bunny was flickering out of sight, "Bloody hell." he murmured weakly, the last of his consciousness slipping away.
The basket he'd managed to keep all this time flew from his arm and crashed to the floor, creating a mess of various food items all pelted in the slimy, yellow ooze of egg yolks.
France lunged forward, barely catching the younger man before he could crack his head off the linoleum floor, "Sacre Bleu! Britain, you idiot!" He shouted at the unconscious man in his arms.
In complete and utter shock, the clerk behind the register slowly found her tongue, "B-Britain? As in the Great Britain? As in this country?" She squeaked, though she knew full well the answer.
"Oui, and he is very sick." France said, biting his lip.
He couldn't help but feel responsible. If he had just stuck by Britain, instead of letting his stupid hormones get the best of him! If he had just stuck by Britain, perhaps the man he now held in his arms wouldn't be unconscious.
"S-Should I phone an ambulance?" the clerk asked, at a loss.
"I... erm… I could use my cell phone…" the nearby customer offered awkwardly.
"N-Non." France found a lump forming in his throat, "I will take care of him."
He had to, or at the very least he'd try. If he didn't, how would he ever get rid of this nagging guilt? Britain had been a faithful friend in his time of need, now it was time he returned the favor. That had been his plan from the beginning, before he'd become…sidetracked.
Disgusted with himself, the Frenchman only hope Britain was still within the realm of his help being enough. It would tear him up inside if his one mistake cost Britain a trip to the hospital. With surprising reserves of strength, the older nation lifted the Englishman up entirely into his arms and carried him out of the grocery store… Leaving all the confusion and panic behind as he thought about the task that was now before him.
Author's Note:
Well, a few people inquired about a sequel to "For the Sake of Friendship" and I had been toying with the idea myself, so here it is! Britain is my favorite character in Hetalia and I rather enjoy writing for him. In fact, call me crazy, but I have caught myself uttering "Bloody Hell" whenever I've been frustrated as of late *laugh* I've lived in America my whole life and haven't even visited both sides of the U.S. so forgive me if my knowledge of other countries is lacking somewhat. I try to research things I'm unfamiliar with to avoid complete ignorance, though I know nothing compares to actually getting to visit and experience another country or even another state for that matter. *laugh* Perhaps one day when I've saved up some funds I'll consider some traveling. Anyway, enough of my rambling! I certainly hope you enjoyed this first chapter and don't hate me too much for torturing poor Britain! This story has just begun and I, myself am not entirely sure how many chapters this will turn into. Reviews make me happy and See you all in Chapter 2. =D
