The fantabulous me does not own hetalia (DON'T RUB IT IN). Nor do eye own "I am" by John Clark.
It was a cold night in Paris. Francis, or as you know him France, just got out of a world meeting and was walking up the beautiful streets of his capital to his house.
At least in was at my home, thought the Frenchman. He really didn't like the meetings. They never got any work done (sort of his fault, not like he'll admit that), and frankly, he had more important things to do then to watch his colleagues release sexual tensions. With the inflation and Algeria claiming her independence, he had been really pooped out. This had made the poor country overworked and extremely cranky, which made everything worse for him. He hadn't made a perverted joke since god knows when! And that is saying something, this is Francis folks.
Why can't the world just love, all you need is love! Gah! Now I am thinking about trashy Anglettere's song! (A/N. All you need is Love by the Beatles. Poor France can't say his favorite sentence without his rivals' song coming to thought).
Rounding the corner, he saw his house. It wasn't as fancy and elegant than some of the other countries. It was a city house close to the center of the city. It had two floors (not counting the attic). It was made of brick, and had a wooden roof. The small stone walkway leads its way to a mahogany door with a little girl in front of it- Wait. A little girl?
Pourquoi est elle sortir si tard? Elle doit être au moins sept! As the confused nation came closer to his humble abode, he saw that he was right about the girls' age. She had curly brown hair that went down to the waist of her short body. She was wearing greys, and as the male was at the steps, he saw her clothes were very ragged. She was holding onto a small green blanket in her sleep as though her life depended on it. Francis gasped when he say many bruises and cuts, waking the child.
"O-oh! Bonjour sir! Désole ! J-je will move right away! "Squeaked the girl, trembling either with fear or cold, France really couldn't tell.
"C'est d'accord! You didn't do anything wrong, non?" said Francis, patting the child's head as he sat down on the cold steps.
The girl stiffened when he said that, making him extremely curious about the girl. What did she do? Where are those injuries from? Where is SHE from? A billion questions a second were popping into his head as he sat on the steps, both of them staring forward into the dark street. The French nation needed some answers, it's not like he wanted to be arrested for having a kid on his steps when they are supposed to be home. He coughed awkwardly then spoke, still looking forward, "So… where are your parents, if it's fine to ask?"
As he said it, he immediately regretted it. Next to him, he started to hear sniffles, and he could fell the girl shake. Acting on instinct, Francis wrapped his arms around her, cradling her cold body in his warmth. The girl leaned into his chest, letting her delayed tears fall. They stayed in this position for a while, neither of them moving, the Frenchman whispering comforting words as she cried into his muscly chest. (A/N no eye am not attracted to him, eye just imagine all the males with six pacts…). Eventually, the child's breathing evened, and she looked up at the worried country, showing her golden eyes for the first time in god knows when.
France looked into the girls' eyes, not expecting the color but said "Vous avez de beaux yeux"
She expected the man to run away, she expected him to call her the devil, she expected horrible things, but she did not expect him to say that. Not at all. Maybe this homme is ok, she thought smiling slightly. Can I live with him? Maybe he won't mind. Maybe I don't have to go back!
The girl looked down at the man's watch. C'est so late! Noticing the youth's action, Francis looked down at his watch and he too was amazed at the time …
"C'est minuit! Come on, you can stay here and we will figure everything out in the morning, or should je say later today." Spoke Francis, opening the door, holding it open for the child. She stepped into the estate with shaky legs, holding onto the tiny blanket. Francis then took the seven year olds hand and lead her down the hall, not to a bedroom, but to the restroom. Seeing the sleepy child's confusion Francis explained "Je think that we should patch up some of those cuts before turning in, non?"
The nation turned on the light, lead the girl into the bathroom and sat her on the toilet. Opening the many cabinets, the Frenchman began his search for bandages and disinfectant, skillfully keeping the many explicit items away from the youngster's line of site. After five minutes of this, the male had finally had found everything he needed, and turned back to the girl (who was sitting in a fetal position on the loo, very nervous).
"Ma cherie, do you think you could take off your shirt just for a moment, je need to make sure you didn't get any cut there."
The girl shook her head furiously, blushing a red a deep as a rose. Ah, she is so cute! And now I am thinking like Antonio… The Frenchman sighed and crouched down to her level, staring straight her eyes. "Je promets que je ferai aussi rapide que possible. Je just need to make sure that you don't have any cuts." Stated Francis, half pleading with the child. After a few moments silence the girl gave a slight nod, and started to take of her dingy grey shirt, wincing as she did do. As it turned out, Francis was right about her having cuts under her shirt. He immediately started to patch up the girls scratches, starting at the front, and steadily making his way to her back.
Don't see it, please don't see it pleaded the girl. Unfortunately for the seven year-old, some things about our past you can't hide. She heard the man gasp in horror; she knew what made him do so. She remembered the names, the kicking, everyone she trusted blaming her for the one thing she couldn't help; living. I am NOT the devil. I AM NOT! She was not aware that Francis had finished and had put her shirt back on, or that he had enveloped her in a hug watching her intently, as she stared into space.
"Ma cherie, what happened" Francis whispered not really asking the question to her, more to the air. The girl snapped back into reality, bringing more tears as the Frenchman squeezed her frail body for the second time that night. Before he knew it, the youngster was asleep in his arms, exhausted from her long night. He sighed and picked her up to bring her into a guestroom, being careful not to disturb her sleep or to drop her blanket. Francis gently placed the slumbering child onto the bed, tucking her in lightly. He was about to place the small blanket, but started to observe it more closely as his fingers brushed against small stiches. It was probably a baby blanket, judging by the size of it. It was also made of a thin fleece and was very dirty. The one thing that caught his eye was the embroidery on the fabric. It had simple patterns along the edges, nothing fancy, but in the lower right hand corner, in very small script, so small that Francis doubted that England could make words that small, it said:
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am, and live with shadows tost
After the poem was a hastier phrase. It was in an area in the blanket that was very worn, as though if the phrase had been replaced very often. Looking closely at the phrase, the nation realized it was one word, no, one name. The girls name! Excited that he had finally had a name to place with the slumbering child, Francis placed the blanket on the girl, (who had immediately grabbed hold of her blanket in her sleep) and kissed her on the forehead. He backed out of the room, but not without mumbling…
"Bon nuit, Constance, ma petit fluer... "
*le gasp* What will happen? eye don't know really to tell you the truth... eye have a basic idea that eye am going off, so bear with the fantabulous me please! All mysteries will be revealed, don't worry!
Eye would REALLY like criticism on this, eye really don't pay attention in English, so eye really don't know how to write all that well in a "scholarly" perspective. That would be great! Also this is my first story with chapters, so... yeah, you have been warned, and eye have my pie, so we're good!
Keesh (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧
