If anyone asked Francis his opinion of Arthur he would've laughed in their face and began working through a very long list of the shorter man's flaws. No one would be surprised either, after all the two have been at odds for more than two thousand years now and though recently their rivalry has fallen into an uneasy alliance, the rest of the world expect them to eventually start fighting again.

After all the two hated each other...right?

The first clue Francis got that something was wrong was the fact that scotland was sitting in Arthur's usual seat, his dirty boots resting on what were likely very important papers and a cigarette held between his teeth.

"What ya lookin at frog?" Scotland asked raising a ginger eyebrow.

Francis hadn't realised he was staring until that moment. He shook his head and plastered his usual flirtatious smile on his face as he strode over to the oldest of the Uk brothers. "I was merely wondering where Angleterre is. These meetings are no fun without someone to pick on."

Scotland didn't answer for a really long time, instead he took a drag from his ciggeret before flicking the but to the floor "dunno where he is. Got a call this morning saying i had ta come here instead."

Though Scotland had sounded casual a cold sensation settled in the french nations stomach. Arthur never skipped meetings. Not even during the blitz when he spent every night getting bombed. He had still managed to drag himself out of bed every morning for the war meeting.

Francis was moving for the door before he even registered he had yelled to Canada to take notes for him.

He hoped he was wrong. He hoped he would get to Arthur's house and find he had a bad hangover or his car had broken down…

However soon as Francis reached the old cottage and saw the milk bottles still outside the blue painted door, he knew that something was very wrong.

He bit his lip as he rapped his knuckles loudly against the door only for it to swing open into the dark hallway.

If he was worried before then now Francis was absolutely terrified.

"Arthur?" He called slowly walking down the hall keeping an eye out for any signs of Arthur ready to round the corner and scream at him for coming into his house without permission.

His face getting all red and pouty in that cute little way of his.

Wait cute?

Francis shook his head, telling himself it was just that he was just curious about where his long time rival was.

After finishing to check the rest of the lower floors and even peeking outside to see if he was out in his meticulous garden Francis found nothing.

Then he heard it.

A loud wet barking cough coming from up the stairs.

"Arthur?" Francis yelled up the stairs hesitating on the bottom step.

"Francis?"

A weak croak was the only answer he needed. Francis ran up the stairs two at a time, not slowing down until he came to Arthur's bedroom.

He stood in the doorway panting as his eyes widened scanning the room.

Arthur was laying in bed, his fever red cheeks standing out in shocking contrast to his ash pale skin. He was wrapped up in so many blankets that it would of been a miracle if he could move at all under the weight. Yet somehow he was shivering like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over him.

"Oh lapin…"

Slowly. Too slowly Arthur looked over at Francis. His eyes glazed over and for a moment Francis wondered if he really knew what was going on around him.

"France...what are-" He was cut off by a harsh coughing fit rattling his whole frame curling in on himself as he struggled to breath.

Francis surged forwards and helped sit him upright and rubbed soothing circles on his back cringing as he felt just how deep the coughs were not liking the wet crinkling noise that seemed to come from the bottom of his lungs.

After a worryingly long time Arthur's coughs finally died down and he was able to weakly push Francis away. "What...are… you doing...here...Frog." Arthur glared laying back against his pillows clearly exhausted.

Francis frowned. He wasn't sure how to answer that. "You weren't at the meeting and well…" he trailed off.

Why was he here?

Arthur rose an eyebrow "you were worried about me?"

Francis laughed "o-of course not! I was just bored without you to tease. So i came to see if you were being lazy." he huffed crossing his arm.

"Oh…" Arthur mumbled looking crestfallen. "You should probably leave then…"

A pang of guilt hit Francis full force as he looked at the sad expression. He could pretend that it was just the fever but part of him knew it wasn't… and that was the part of him that forced him to sit on the edge of the bed and place a hand on the English nations forehead.

"Hmmm i don't like the feel of that fever. You're much too hot."

Arthur hummed in response rather than snapping at him for the physical contact.

Ok that was a bad sign.

"I'll keep an eye on you until your brother gets home." Francis sighed.

"No…" Arthur mumbled.

"What?"

"They...dont know. M'sik." he slurred his eyes sliding closed.

"Wait so you're telling me none of your brothers know?" Francis asked alarmed.

Arthur nodded not opening his eyes.

"Scotland?"

Arthur shook his head no.

"Wales? Ireland? Anyone?"

Again Arthur shook his head "Busy… i can handle this…" he croaked.

A creeping sense of fear made its way up Francis' spine "Arthur" he grabbed the shorter man's face and tilted it towards him "How long have you been like this?"

Nothing.

"ARTHUR!" Francis yelled.

"Week."

It was barely a whisper but it was enough to make their panic really set in.

"Ok we need to get that fever down, get you to eat and drink something and then get some medicine and… Arthur?"

Arthur was slumped to the side resting his much too hot face on Francis' shoulder. His breathing too shallow and too far apart.

"Arthur?"

Nothing

"ARTHUR!" This time Francis didn't get a response.