A/N: Happy Bastille Day! A bit of a random France one shot for his birthday. No idea why I decided to write this but I did some parkour!France pics a while back and I may post them up some time. The title means "Cat Leap" which is a really fancy name for a way to climb up walls.
My lack of Hetalia ownership has been passed down the Last Reaper line for generations! And as always I apologize for my horrific French as well as France wearing the dress.
France leaned back in his chair holding up his empty wine glass to the fading sunlight peering through the window. He sighed and stood up from the plush table chair. Half of him wanted to just chuck the glass at the pictures strewn about on the table in the album. Instead he took down the bottle of wine he had been drinking and pored another glass heaving a sigh. Draining the glass in one swallow, the nation sat down and stared at the pictures. He had reasons for all of his behavior through the ages, reasons why he flirted, why he crept around. Reasons that no other nation could possibly fathom, this evening's were the same ones that motivated his perpetual rivalry with his northern island neighbor.
Love.
The nation pored his third glass then glared disgusted at it; France knew his behavior was decidedly un-France-y. The France the world knew would never cry at home into a bottle of wine chugging every glass like cheap whisky. The France the world knew would never behave in anything other than a lavish or perverted fashion. And therein lay his problem, the France the world knew was also the France the man France loved knew.
France pored another glass of wine staring at the dark red liquid encased in crystal. He picked up one of his favorite photos; it was a picture of the Allies from back during World War II. He'd thrown his arms over one of his friends, the other nation's green eyes flashing with annoyance, thick eyebrows arched downward in anger. The nation paused and shuffled through all of his pictures. He also knew that the other nation would never reciprocate his feelings, so France coped with it the only way he thought he could. He buried his feelings behind his flirtation and arguing, by flirting he hoped the feeling would go away, and by arguing he could settle for just being around his crush.
Reasons motivated France, but they didn't bring him any happiness. So he settled for his place in the background, arguing with the nation he'd fallen for in the hope he would one day work up the courage to confess. The nation glared at his wine, then at the pictures and sighed. Tomorrow was his birthday and he'd invited most of his friends to attend. Granted France wasn't thrilled that Germany would be attending, but he did enjoy Italy's company and maybe he'd just be able to talk to his little brother.
So draining his wine glass and setting it in the sink he scooped up the photos and the wine bottle. He repacked the wine before placing the pictures into an old supply tin, then he put the tin in a box and then he put that box in a bigger box. France half considered smashing it with a hammer as he always did, but just as always he picked up the box then pulled the bookcase to the secret passage. Every lavish mansion just had to have a secret passage hidden behind the bookcase, and France had made sure his house was no exception. He took the passage to another passage, and then cut through the wine cellar to another passage leading below the backyard. Once in the backyard he entered his secret hideout and placed his hand on a pad. The pad scanned the nation's hand then opened the door. France stepped inside and placed the boxes along side of a bunch of other things he'd collected over the years from his crush.
He closed the door and walked back up to his house. Finally reaching his bedroom France changed and lay down in bed. Eventually he drifted off to sleep, trying not to think of his crush's face. When he awoke the next day, France prepared himself for his party. He descended the stairs in a pair of pants with a damp towel around his neck. The nation ate quickly before putting on his shirt and a pair of wristbands. Exiting his house he wandered down the driveway to front gate. The nation climbed up the gate before jumping and clinging onto a light post. He carefully climbed up to the top and gazed out over the city of Paris below him.
France dropped back down the pole a little bit before jumping backwards, pivoting midair and catching the brick wall around his house. He strolled along the wall until he leaped across to a traffic light then crawled across it to a light post. He leaped across to the post, slid down and leaped over to another wall, wandering along the wall he arrived at an open alleyway where he and his friends Spain and Prussia had tagged the walls to make their own parkour and freerunning park. Leaping down off of the wall, France landed on a narrow railing balancing on the balls of his feet.
The nation paced the rail for a few minutes thinking about whether or not a certain nation would show up at his house for the party. He leaped up a brick wall then used it to climb up to the roof of the building behind him. Crawling his way up the roof he perched on an outcropping at the top. This was France's favorite vantage point besides his house; from here he could see everything in the city. Looking down on the street, he saw a parade of limousines and taxis all heading to his house. Panicked, the nation ran along the roofs to the street, and then launched himself back onto the traffic light. He crossed back to his property, landed on the wall and jumped headfirst into his yard.
Rolling out of his dive he ran up the hill to greet the guests. France shook the leaves out of his hair and brushed himself off before rounding the corner to the group at large. "Bonjour mes amis! I'm glad you all could show up for the day!" He walked over to Spain and pulled him into a hug, "and how is my favorite vousin du sud?"
"Your neighbor in the south would like to breathe!" Spain choked.
Romano glared at France, "stupid jerks… both of you."
The instant France loosened his grip; Spain hugged Romano, "don't say that! I love you!"
"Bastard… I love you too…" Romano muttered.
France tried not to sigh at the display of affection between the two. Instead he assaulted his newly arrived friend from the back. "I will be taking these vital regions!"
Prussia wiggled around and hugged France back, "The awesome me already took those from Austria thank you very much. How you doing man?"
The blond nation's angst came back as he glanced over his friend's shoulder at a nation currently arguing with Prussia friend America. "Not so good…"
Prussia glanced behind him, "those idiots are wrecking the awesome party being hosted by the awesome me! ''Scuse the awesome me!" He wriggled away and dragged America off to the refreshments table.
England glared over at him, threw up two fingers in a V with his palm facing inward, and stalked away. France sighed and greeted the other nations with much less enthusiasm. He wandered over to the bar and sat down at one of the stools, having lost his mood to socialize. He wasn't even in the mood to go around flirting with anyone, or to examine his presents. France had started his third glass of wine for the day when someone sat next to him.
"Nee nee big brother France! What's wrong?" Italy asked concerned.
France was about to speak when he glared up at the nation standing behind Italy. His expression softened when his eyes met Germany's. The normally upbeat nation stared dejectedly into his half empty wine glass. "Can you keep a secret?"
Italy nodded, Germany considered for a moment. If it was juicy enough then he could have blackmail material, and if it wasn't good for that, he and France had gotten along much better of late. He didn't like the nation but it was clear France was in a pinch if he didn't feel like groping anyone. "What is it France?"
France leaned his head in conspiratorially with the other two. "Well… I don't…" He swallowed dryly, "I don't hate… someone who most of us think I do. And this nation… I don't think he likes me back…"
Italy's eyebrows went up more than usual. "Does that mean you like England?" The brunette nation announced loudly.
"Shh! Ne lui dites pas! Do not tell him!" France hushed his fellow nation.
Germany frowned and pulled out a pen and paper sliding on his clever specs. "So how long have you harbored feelings for him?"
The depressed nation turned a little red, "as a friend since the twelve hundreds. As a romantic prospect, about three hours after that."
The stern nation took some notes. "I assume by your behavior that you haven't told him yet."
"Oui, I have not… You can't tell him! I'm happy just getting to argue with him and feel like friends even though he hates me." France cried and buried his face in his arms.
Italy rubbed the other nation's back trying to comfort him. "I'll be right back." He took Germany's arm and dragged him a little way off. "We have to help big brother France!"
"No way," Germany muttered.
"B-but he seems really sad Germany! We have to help him Germany! Please? Please? Please?" Italy's eyes had tears forming in them.
Germany frowned slightly and pulled him into a hug, "don't cry. We'll help him. But we'll do it by the book. Listen closely…"
A few minutes later and Italy ran off through the crowd at the party. Germany sat down next to France ordering a beer. The tension was so thick that it turned the air between them icy enough the create storm clouds with little snowflakes falling to the bar between them. Germany finally broke the silence, "can you really stay committed to one man?"
France stared into his empty glass, "if it was him, I'd stop my behaviors all together if it wasn't expected of me by now."
Germany nodded; somehow he actually managed to feel bad for the other nation. He took a swig of beer, "even after how many years of fighting, there are still things I don't know about you."
France his head back into his arm, "likewise."
Just then Italy came running over, "nee nee Germany! He said yes! It worked!"
The nation smiled and welcomed back Italy, "what time?"
"He said seven tonight! You should get ready big brother France!" Italy grinned over at the forlorn nation. "You've got a date with England tonight!"
The blond nation sat bolt upright, "what?"
"Ve? Did you not want to date him?"
"I – he – I… Did you tell him it was me?"
"Germany said I had to keep you a secret, but don't worry we'll help you!"
France keeled over unconscious onto the bar, his body twitching slightly. When he regained consciousness he discovered that someone had carried him to his bedroom. Italy stood in the entrance to France's wardrobe holding up outfits for Germany. The smaller nation held up a long wedding dress to himself. "Do you think France would look good in this for his date?"
Germany spied France watching them, "yes, I think he'd look stunning in it."
France turned red; "I am not wearing that on a first day!"
"But you'll look great in it! I'm sure England will love it!" Italy declared twirling around gleefully.
France clambered out of bed, and after a brief retreat to the bathroom with the dress he stepped out. His face flushed red while he examined himself in the mirror, he didn't look half bad. Or so he thought, Germany meanwhile had other ideas. The larger nation dragged France back into the bathroom, and held up a razor. "France, if you are going to wear that dress then you have to shave off that ridiculous stubble."
"No! My stubble is what makes me look like an older brother type," he protested.
"Shave or so help me I will shave you!" Germany roared waving the razor dangerously close to France's face.
Fifteen minutes later and the duo emerged to a waiting Italy, however not all had gone well.
France, normally easygoing, turned livid, "potato bastard you've ruined my beard! I'm just glad you didn't ruin my favorite dress!"
Germany's initial thought was grim curiosity about how the other nation's statement implied owning more dresses. Then he snapped back to his senses, "I wouldn't have ruined it if you'd just cooperated!"
Twenty minutes later and they had hurried him out the door, "take this bouquet." Italy handed the nation a bundle of roses and lilies.
Meanwhile Germany had tied back most of France's hair with a lilac colored ribbon. "Stay focused. No matter what give it your best! Never surrender even if he shows up dressed for Carnival in Rio!"
France's face turned bright red before Germany shoved him out his front door. He descended the front steps to the waiting limo, carefully climbing through the door. Germany and Italy stood at the door waving at him, and France felt that he'd just been handed an eviction notice from his own home, not to mention he had no idea what happened at his party. He only hoped his friends had covered for him.
A few minutes later France stepped out with the chauffeur's help, holding his bouquet in a vice grip he entered into the fancy restaurant. The chief waiter led him back to the private room, it seemed his youngest brother had pulled out all the stops when it came to tonight. England was already at the table with a glass of gin and tonic in hand. When he saw France arrive, three things ran through the bushy browed nation's head. First, "wait why is France here?" followed by, "why is he in a wedding dress?" and lastly, "why does he look hot in a dress?"
France sat down at the table holding up the bouquet, "these are for you…"
England moved the bouquet out of the way to study France, "oy moron, I'm here on a date! You too screwed up that you got lost on your way to a wedding?"
"No…" France swallowed wishing he had something to drink, "I'm the one who asked Germany to ask Italy to ask you here…"
England's face paled then rapidly filled with brilliantly angry red. "You asked me here?"
"I'm sorry if you want to go, then go. But I asked you here because I have something I have to tell you," France wondered where this sudden well of courage had sprung from. "I asked you here to tell you I love you."
England rocked back in the chair and drained his gin and tonic in one go. "Wait run that by me again… just the last bit…"
"England, je t'aime, I love you," France repeated once again offering up the flowers.
The other nation took the bouquet and used it to distract himself while he thought of an answer. The first thing that came to mind was 'not only no but hell no,' then he started to think. England would never admit it to anyone, he could barely admit it to himself, but he didn't hate France. Sure the nation sitting across from him was annoying and strange, but he wasn't a bad person. For all the time they fought England had never begrudged his rival, sure they argued and fought but France had always seemed happy just to be around England. Not to mention England always had France's back whenever someone else tried to interfere with them. Feeling France's eyes on him, England set the bouquet aside and watched the other nation.
"France… I don't hate you… I know that much. I mean, I know I don't hate you, and you've basically been my only friend for as long as I've lived." England put his face in his hands feeling as stupid as he thought he sounded. "We've been through a lot together." Trying not to dig himself into a hole, England changed the subject, "so why'd you decide on the dress?"
"Italy said I would look good in it," France replied. "If you don't like it then I will never follow Germany's advice again."
After that the two nations fell into silence, save for ordering dinner. Eventually England broke the ice again, "so you seriously took Germany's advice?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time. I didn't know what to wear so I went with their advice," France replied. "Do you like it?"
England bit back his laugh; France did look good in it. If the island nation didn't know the other nation was a man he would be positive that France was a very attractive lady. "I like it. Matches your eyes."
France felt his smooth cheeks flush a little, "thank you. I like your suit. Very well pressed."
The other nation held up the corner of his jacket, "this is just my work suit."
"Still looks good on you." France grinned and leaned forward a little.
That made the island nation blush. The two fell into awkward silence again save for the occasional brushing of hands. Dinner passed quietly also, not breaking until the two left the restaurant for France's waiting limo. France patted the seat next to him, taking the hint England climbed in next to him and sat down.
The driver started the vehicle and took off for the bushy browed nation's hotel. "England, did you have a good time?"
"Yeah, I mean the food was good and," he paused. "I wouldn't mind doing it again. Just next time, no dress."
"Deal," France nodded and inched closer to England. "Cold in here."
England inched closer also, "a bit."
The two looked at each other, "really cold."
"Yeah," England noted before he felt France's lips caressing his own. Soon the couple broke apart, "looks like this is my stop." He started to get out when the intercom clicked on.
"I'm sorry Mr. England, it seems the hotel you were staying at went on strike while you were out." The driver announced.
"What? Damn bloody useless hotel!" The nation roared.
"You could stay at my house, " France offered.
The island nation considered then sighed, "guess I have no choice." He smirked and kissed France again passionately. "You planned this from the start, you bastard."
"Yes, yes I did." France smirked and pulled England to him.
A/N: I'll leave what happened to these two up to your imaginations. I may write another story about France sometime… someday… Probably about the origins of parkour and freerunning.