A/N: I swear I am working on the next chapter of The Bonds that Bind, but since Burn's night is coming up soon I couldn't resist using more of his work on this fic.
...
Your friendship much can make me blest, Your thought, if Love must harbour there,
O why that bliss destroy!
Why urge the only, one request
You know I will deny!
Conceal it in that thought;
Nor cause me from my bosom tear
The very friend I sought.
...
France smiled as he wandered around the streets of Paris, it truly was a beautiful city and he loved taking in the sights he had seen so many times before. He loved to see the way things had changed over the many centuries he had been alive, even down to the little shops along the side streets. It was when he was walking down when he noticed a flower shop he had not noticed before. He stopped to look at the flowers on display and noticed the bunch of white roses sitting in a vase on the street. He gazed at them thoughtfully, his mind wandering to the nation he associated them with;
...
"Wait 'til the ithers see yer face!" Scotland called over his shoulder as he ran on ahead. France snapped out of his stupour and shook his head with a chuckle,
"You will never change will you mon amour?" he sighed to himself as he followed after the scot at a more reasonable pace. He honestly didn't care what the other nations thought of his relationship with Scotland so long as the other young man was happy, though he knew their bosses most certainly did not look upon it as favourably. France made a face at the thought; at least Scotland had made up a reasonable sounding excuse, even if it did question France's masculinity. Francis himself had yet to come up with one quite as elegant. He shook his head again as he watched Scotland pounce on little England and berate the child once again for trespassing.
...
France sighed happily as he recalled those happier days and picked one of the roses up gingerly. The young lady who owned the shop bustled over with a smile,
"Are you looking for something, or rather someone, in particular monsieur?" she asked brightly, having watched the man's expression from the door of her shop. France looked over to her for a moment before turning his gaze back to the rose,
"I was actually just browsing, but now that you mention it..." he trailed off as he thought back to the one thing that had almost completely shattered his whole relationship with Scotland;
...
... "So you are allying yourself with Angleterre?" France said, his voice low. He wasn't even looking at Scotland any more.
"Francis, ye have tae understand. I dinnae hae a choice in the matter." His voice was rising really did not care whether Scotland was upset about bringing it up, but the French nation needed the man to explain himself. Explain why he had not told his supposed best friend what was going on himself, instead of letting him hear about it second hand from Wales. France glared up at the Scottish nation,
"You could 'ave chosen to fight." He spat, "but non, you 'ad to roll over like the good little puppy that you are!" He continued glaring at Scotland as the other nation got up out of his seat,
"I am not rolling over to that little brat!" he shouted, "Lord knows I'd rather be daein' my ain thing, but things didnae work oot like that!" He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand and sat back down. France sent his now former ally a glare before downing his wine and getting up,
"Then I suppose that this is where we will 'ave to part ways." He muttered, sounding almost upset. Scotland glared at the table,
"Aye, I guess so." He muttered. France shot Scotland one last glare before getting up and sweeping out of the tavern, his cloak fluttering behind him. When he got outside France continued walking, he needed to get as far away from that... barbarian as possible before he did something he would really regret.
...
The shop owner watched as France's expression changed to a more melancholy one,
"Is everything alright monsieur?" she asked quietly, not really wanting to disturb the man in front of her, but curious all the same. France quickly shook his head, bringing his mind back to the present,
"Ah... oui, oui." He assured her with a smile, "I was just remembering something that I believe I never really apologised for." He explained. The shop keeper nodded in sympathy,
"Then maybe it is time you did?" she suggested, "After all, love cannot really bloom if you still hold regrets for the past." She said, picking one of the roses up herself and gazing at it with a fond expression. France watched the girl in amazement, clearly she had a talent for reading people, her nation included. France chuckled,
"Perhaps it is," he agreed, "Maybe it is time to put those old regrets behind us and start over." He muttered to himself, looking at the rose he held again,
...
"Ah, L'Ecosse, I did not know you were coming along as well." France said in surprise as Scotland scowled at him,
"I got dragged along." He snipped, turning his scowl to his little brother, who glared back,
"I just think it's about high time you started pulling your weight around here." He snapped, "Just because you don't run your own affairs directly anymore doesn't mean to say you can get lazy!" France blinked in surprise and looked over to Scotland, who looked like he was seriously going to murder the younger nation,
"Dinnae get me started England." He growled dangerously before noticing France's expression and looking at the floor. France, seeing it would probably be best to separate the siblings before things turned really nasty, dragged Scotland off to one side,
"What on earth did L'Angleterre mean?" he asked, deciding to be direct for once. Scotland continued looking at the floor,
"Exactly what he said." The Scot muttered, "Why do you even care anyway?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly. France winced at that,
"Because you are still my friend L'Ecosse." He replied quietly, "Even if you are 'aving to live with L'Angleterre now. The past is the past oui?" Scotland looked up and gave the blonde man a small smile,
"Aye, I guess so."
...
France sighed in a slightly depressed manner at the memory. Even then he had wanted so badly to repair everything that had been said and done and for things to go back to the way they were all those centuries before. Unfortunately for him, Scotland would forever see the French nation as just a friend. A very close friend, but just a friend nonetheless. France straightened his shoulders as he suddenly thought of something. Perhaps it was time to be a little more direct with the Scot. He looked over to the shop keeper, who was still watching him with a curious expression,
"Madam, I would like to order a large bouquet of your finest white and red roses." He said, flashing her a large smile. The shop keeper mirrored his expression,
"Of course monsieur, come right this way and I'm sure that we can sort something out." She replied, letting France into the shop so they could discuss arrangements and delivery.
...
A few days later
"Angus! There's a delivery here for you apparently!" England yelled up the stairs, nodding to the young man who was stood in the doorway of the rather large house. Scotland cursed as he tripped up over one of Northern Ireland's game controllers before he came trotting down the stairs,
"Whit it is fer this time?" he groused, "It'd better not be..." he trailed off as he saw the young delivery man standing in the doorway with the largest bouquet of roses the Scotsman had seen for a good few centuries. England rolled his eyes,
"Dont stand there gawking Angus, take the delivery and let the poor boy go already! You're letting a draft in" he snapped. Scotland shot his brother a glare before coming down the rest of the stairs and taking his delivery. When he got through to the kitchen he looked through the flowers and found the note that came with them, well it wasn't so much of a note as a rather large letter stuffed in amongst the middle of the bouquet. He gingerly set the flowers in the sink before opening the letter and reading through it. It took the man so long to process what had been said in the letter that England and Wales both popped their heads around the door to the kitchen with confused and slightly concerned expressions,
"Everything all right in here?" Wales asked quietly, not really wanting to disturb his brother in case his head got bitten off. Scotland hummed and looked up, his expression not entirely readable,
"Aye... aye, everything's fine." He replied, his voice distant. He looked back to the letter, "In fact lads, it's better than fine." He said, his expression brightening, causing England and Wales to look at each other in confusion,
"Better than fine?" England questioned, watching as his brother gathered up his cigarettes and coat and rushed out the door past them,
"Headin' oot fer the day lads, dinnae stay up!" he called as the front door slammed behind him. England and Wales were left to discover what the hell was going on as Scotland rushed over to France, a very large grin on his face.