Author's note: This one is a little bit too sad for some people, plus there is an ever-so-slight mention of drugs, so... if you're a little sensative I suggest you don't read it. Otherwise, enjoy.

Over

Rain pelted down onto the grey countryside, splashing against the green fields and pooling at the sides of the roads. It was late evening and most residents in the village were retiring for the night. One cottage still had its lights on, the two men inside standing in silence, unsure of what to do.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"Please forgive me."

"I'm not sure if I can."

"Please? You know I love you."

"This is the fifth time in nine months that we've had this conversation."

"I promise it won't happen again."

"You promised that before, what makes this time different?"

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are."

"Please..."

"I don't know if I can."

"I'm sorry."

"I know... I know."

"Please?"

"I don't know if I can this time. Give me a week."

"England..."

"No France, I need space to think. Please... get out."

Three weeks had passed since that conversation. England hadn't returned any of France's calls or messages since that day. At first, France had not been too worried; he knew England needed time to cool his head. It was half way through the second week that France's concern grew. He had heard through Spain that England had cancelled all his meetings for the next fortnight, giving no reason and using one of his Embassy staff to make the cancellations. This was very unlike England and France had considered visiting England's home to check if he was well. Further questioning of Spain found that no one had seen England for the past two weeks; however he was required to attend a mandatory EU meeting at Germany's residence. Whatever the problem was, everyone would find out then. France had debated internally whether he should leave it that long to see his lover, or if he should intrude by paying England a quick visit. Spain had counselled giving England his space. He was a renown recluse after all, and England hated having his personal space encroached by someone he disliked, which at this moment was France.

A week had passed since that conversation and France bitterly regretted his decision. It was the start of the EU meeting and France was loitering by the large fireplace in Germany's home with a glass of wine in hand. He was alone, preferring to watch the groups of nations converse. His eyes darted throughout the room, trying to find the nation he desperately needed to speak to. His glowering stares earned him a few looks from his fellow nations, especially Austria, Spain and Hungary.

The clock on the wall displayed 13:57. England was cutting it very close if he was to attend this meeting. He was expected to show, no nation could miss a mandatory meeting with Germany as the host, there had been some rumours circulating regard the time Italy had almost missed the last meeting. Another minute passed and France finished the last of his wine in one gulp, sweat starting to line his temples. His heart was aching in his chest and worry etched his face.

Please turn up Angleterre, he silently begged.

At the last moment, the door to the meeting room swung open and the familiar form of England appeared. France's heart sank as he watched his lover's slow, shuffling movements. His beloved Angleterre looked deathly pale, his hair lank and his usually bright eyes were red. His uniform was well-kept and his shoes polished; France assumed that someone in England's entourage had prepared his clothes. France took a step towards the nation, but Germany chose that moment to announce that the meeting was starting.

All too soon the other nations took their seats, swarming around France and pulling him along with the tide. Germany demanded silence and conversations gradually subdued. France found himself wedged between the host and Spain, while England – whether accidentally or tactically – sat between Denmark and Sweden. Under any other circumstances, France would happily let his imagination run riot and make crude comments about the trio in front of him, but his concern for England stopped any fantasies. He interlocked his fingers, resting his head on them as he stared at England. Sweden caught France's gaze and sent him a confused look. France nodded towards the smaller nation, which only confused Sweden more, yet he followed France's nod.

England sat in his chair, slumped forwards on his elbows with his hands clasped together in an effort to stop them from shaking. Sweden looked alarmed for a moment before regaining his composure, reaching a hand over England's small frame to tap Denmark on the shoulder. The Dane whipped his head around at Sweden's touch, looking irritated at the nation who interrupted his conversation with Estonia. France could only assume some mental communication must have happened between the two Scandinavians, as Sweden never uttered a word, yet Denmark looked down at the small nation next to him, brows furrowed in deep concern.

Don't anger him, France wanted to shout, but kept his mouth shut, knowing that predicting England's reactions would make the situation worse. Don't make him get up and leave in a huff, I need him. Keep him here at least until the first break. Don't do anything stupid Denmark!

With surprising gentle care, Denmark gingerly rested a hand on England's shoulder. England jolted at Denmark's touch, as if waking from a bad dream, clutching at his heart like an old man. France saw them converse, Denmark's face growing more concerned yet England's gaze remained focus on the table. Sweden placed his hand on England's other shoulder and bent low to join the discussion. Instead of waving them away, which would have been England's usual reaction, he leaned back into his chair and sat slumped, his glazed eyes staring forward. France could see his mouth moving slowly. He wished he could be the one next to England, holding his hand and making up for all his mistakes. His heart lurched in his chest when he saw Denmark clasp his hand tighter on England's shoulder and shoot a dark glance in his direction.

Germany suddenly stood and cleared his throat loudly, signalling the start of the meeting. France felt an elbow connect lightly with his ribs. He turned to look at Spain, who whispered his confusion at France's sullen mood and why he was staring so intently at England. France was about to reply when Germany coughed again at France's direction. He held up a hand in apology and took out a pen, scribbling notes on a pad of paper for Spain to read. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sweden flip out his mobile phone and begin texting under the table.

What is he doing? France thought as Germany begin to read the agenda, the words ringing in France's ears. He knew the nation had a set of lungs on him, he should have expected to be deafened.

A note slipped in front of him.

Amigo, what is the problem? Why are you staring at Eyebrows? Did you two fight again?

France quickly scribbled a note on his pad and pushed it towards Spain.

Not a fight as such.

Spain's eyebrows furrowed as he read France's note. He quickly pulled it back to add his damning sentence. His heart lurched again as he wrote his confession.

I cheated again mon ami. Angleterre did not take it so well this time.

He passed the note towards his friend and turned away, not wanting to receive the reproachful look he knew Spain would wear. He heard the nation sigh and his shame increased tenfold.

I can't help you with this one amigo. You've got to learn to stop wandering!

Once the agenda was read, Germany looked at the nations gathered; all were nodding their heads in understanding of the agenda and agreeing with the items listed. Or at least pretending to.

All but one.

Germany sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as eyes swivelled towards the nation who now lay flat on the mahogany table, head on his arms in complete disrespect. Denmark nudged England gently, trying to rouse him to no avail.

"England. England!" Germany shouted, making Latvia quiver in his seat.

England merely pulled his head up, keeping his arms on the table and his notes. His eyes were out of focus. It made France's heart twist in his chest.

I did this to him. I made him this way. Mon dieu what have I done to my love?

"Hmm?" was England's response.

"Please pay attention," Germany snapped. England's lack of remorse had annoyed him, yet England obviously could not sense this as he lowered his head back onto his arms.

"England, kindly focus on the topic at hand," Germany spat through gritted teeth."

"Hmm..."

Silence followed and France wished he could go over and help his old enemy and old lover. He willed it with all his heart, he wanted to scoop England into his arms, waltz out of the meeting to a place where they could be alone and he would heal the poor man's heart...

But he could not. Some deep-seated level of guilt kept him glued to the chair. He had done this; the last person England would want helping him in his hour of need would be his traitorous straying lover. He could feel eyes on him, the disapproval, the shame... they expected to act. France expected himself to act. But he could not.

He could not.

"If you cannot focus England, maybe you should not be here," Austria quipped, breaking the silence. Several heads nodded at his words

"Hmm..."

"ENGLAND!" Germany bellowed, causing the Baltics to cower.

"Oh... apologies for my distracted behaviour," England said weakly, sitting up and rubbing his forehead. "I think it would be best if I left. This meeting doesn't really need my input does it?"

"We never need your input England," Spain muttered under his breath where only France could hear. France glared at him.

"Ja I agree. If something should arise, we will call Wales instead."

"Very well... if you will all excuse me," England muttered, pushing himself up from his seat and sweeping his papers into his suitcase before disappearing through the door.

"What on earth has gotten into him?" Poland asked with a flick of his hand as he inspected for dirt.

"He's become so vacant," Hungary muttered with concern.

"He's not using substances again is he?" the Netherlands muttered from his seat next to Austria. If anyone could recognise those signs, it would be him, and for him to ask...

"I hope not," France muttered under his breath where no one would hear his concern.

"Can we get back to the matter at hand please?" Germany said with a sigh, shuffling his papers on the table. He took a deep breath and re-read the agenda, much to the chagrin of the nations.

Instead of listening, France found himself biting his thumbnail, his eyes facing down at the table yet not registering the formal discussion around him. His mind was in turmoil and he found himself agonising over England. Should he continue to give England space? His heart wanted to leap from the room, find England and take him in his arms, confess his love and beg his forgiveness. However his head told him, convinced him such actions would make the situation worse. This attitude was not like England; whenever his dalliances had been uncovered, France would see the wrath of Great Britain rear its head. Crockery and cutlery would be thrown, harsh curses hurled and hands slapping against skin were often involved in the initial outburst. It would take a fortnight before England would calm himself and force the whole story from France's lips.

But this time... This was different. There had been no anger, only disappointment that cut France to the core. Anger he could deal with, he was used to provoking England and flaring his temper. This... he did not know how to react. He was disappointed with himself, ashamed and full of bitterness. Yes he had done wrong, he had cheated on his partner once again, but England somehow would always find it in his heart to forgive France. It would take all of France's coaxing, compromising and eventual seducing, but England would always cave in, would always take France back, no matter how great his sin...

'I don't know if I can this time.' England's voice echoed in France's head. He remembered that day three weeks ago, England had simply stood by the kitchen table as France gave his usual speech, his green eyes that should have been filled with emotion were glazed, devoid of feeling.

I cannot leave it like this, France thought, his heart hammering in his chest. I must do something! I cannot leave my lover like this; I must make him see that I love him still. I have been a fool!

He stood suddenly, causing his chair to fly backwards and hit the floor with a loud crash. Every eye turned towards him as he filled with determination and anger at his own stupidity. "I must leave," was all he said as he stormed from the meeting, leaving the other nations gaping at his dramatic departure.

Once the door to the meeting room slammed shut, he began to run down the corridors and passageways of Germany's house, his thoughts racing and his desperation growing.

Where is he? Where is my Angleterre? I should never have allowed it to end like this. I pray I have not left it too late. I hope he has not done something stupid, I will never live with myself if he has...

France ran passed a large window that faced the front of the house. Something caught his eye and he sided to a halt, back-tracking his steps. His heart jumped in his chest. There, leaning sitting on the pavement with his head on his knees was his beloved Angleterre. The sun was high in the sky, shining its light down on France's angel, his England. He had to reach him, he had to explain and beg forgiveness.

Somehow, he managed to find the exit and threw the door open. The sun blinded him for a moment as he dashed outside in the direction he believed England was. His lover still sat on the pavement, his green uniform now creased and dirty, his skin still pale and his arms shaking lightly. Several cigarette butts littered the ground around him. France felt as if a knife had landed in his chest at the sorry sight.

Now that he was here, he did not know what to say.

"So you came," the small figure on the ground rasped. He shuffled and turned to face France, his eyes red and cheeks stained. "You came to see what has become of me."

"Angleterre, I-"

"Save your excuses France," England spat, slowly rising to his feet on wobbly legs. "Three weeks, that is how long it has been since we spoke. And in those three weeks, what have you done? Waited for me to 'cool down' correct? I have done more than cooled down France, I have sealed away my heart forever because of you."

"Angleterre please, I know I hurt you and I was a fool, an incompetent fool," France said, taking slow measured steps forward. "I should have come straight to you, I have no excuses for my behaviour, but I promise I will change."

England scoffed at his remark. "Change? How many times have you promised that to me? Change... well in a sense you did. You changed lovers at the very least, hopping from various nations."

France could see his words were having little effect. The knife in his chest wormed its way further inside.

"Please Angleterre, give me one more chance," France begged, creeping close enough to wrap his hand around England's. "I should have been a better person, I just ask for one more chance."

"Should," England repeated. He looked down at the ground, his eyes losing their earlier spark and pulled his hand out of France's. "You should have done a lot of things France, but I can no longer rely on you for anything. My heart is broken into a million pieces and I do not think I can ever recover. A part of me believes that you wanted this, that if you could not have me then no one would. Another part of me believes that you never cared for me, that I was simply something to pass the time.

"But now I do not know what to believe. All I know is that we're finished. I can't go through any more hurt for you lest I die. It is over between us."

The knife in France's chest twisted as England stepped away.

A black car suddenly pulled up behind England. The driver got out but left the engine running as he made his way to England's side and placed a delicate hand on the nation's shoulder.

"Norvège?"

"Sweden contacted me," Norway said curtly. "Come on Eng, let's get away from here."

"Oh Nor... takk," England muttered, his eyes glazed over once more. He let Norway lead him into the passenger side of his car and slowly managed to buckle his seat belt.

"I do not know what you have done to make him this way Frankrike," Norway said in his soft but dangerous tone, "but I strongly advise you not to come near him. Whatever has happened leave him alone; you have done enough."

"But-"

"England doesn't have many friends. You of all people should know this, he counted you as one of them," Norway continued, making his way to the driver's side. "I hope the others were worth it. You've made Eng a shell of his former self."

France had no words as he took in Norway's words and watched his ex-lover be driven away.

It was over.