Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, though when I was a kid, I definitely had the same idea. Damn you, Hidekaz-sensei, for being born before me.

WARNING:

I don't know where this is going, I just wanted to write about France's love/hate relationship with Algeria. There will also be mentions of Spain and Morocco, as France shared the latter as a colony with its neighbour. Also, Turkey will appear a lot at the beginning too, simply because Northern Africa was under Ottoman rule for more than 300 years before being colonised by France and the likes.

There will be a lot of headcanons going on, especially for France. Why, you ask? Because being French myself, I know how much France can be an utter asshole. And my France will be an utter asshole. But I love assholes – they're the best characters to play around with.

Also, this is completely self-indulgent, made to vent out my anger at my fellow countrymen, and pay tribute to my origins – even though the country is beyond fucked up.

This story is supposed to end in the modern days, sooooo… I don't know how many chapters this will get. Have fun getting educated in Northern African history?

Beyond

1530's

France doesn't remember, but the first time he met her was when Turkey came on a diplomatic visit to the French court, his sultan and the king meeting in a warm embrace and loud exclamations.

The two had shared an amicable nod, not quite trusting each other yet after so many centuries of war and blood. It was always odd when two nations had to play friends for the first time – even more so when these nations weren't neighbours.

That day, France had noticed a bulge in his peer's luxurious robe, a tiny child trying to hide under the layers of colourful cloths and mostly failing. He had smirked, reminded of Romano's tendency to hide behind Spain's legs when confronted with new people.

"Who's this?" he had asked, nodding towards the frozen child.

Turkey had tried to push the child away, but they had held fast onto his trousers, not budging an inch. Rubbing awkwardly at his nape, the masked nation had given a vague explanation, "A new charge. I didn't want to leave her alone; she tends to cause too much trouble."

The French had cringed before smiling with sympathy. He knew how hard colonies were to handle. After that, he hadn't paid more attention to the young nation, focusing on his king's negotiations with the foreign monarch, sometimes making suggestions in his king's ear only for Turkey to smirk when Suleiman would dismiss them with undisguised disdain.

Maybe if he had remembered Turkey's warning about the nation, he would've stayed away from her.

xox

Feet stomped on the marble paving the corridor, and a door slammed open. Turkey pinched the bridge of his nose, fervently hoping Algeria didn't damage the wall. The dey wouldn't be happy if his nice palace had to undergo a new renovation.

"Sadiqi!" she screamed in a boisterous voice, "Look at my sword! It's nice, right?"

She waved it around carelessly, almost cutting the head of the servant kneeling at the table. "Oops! Sorry, I didn't mean to do that. Oh, is that mint tea? Can I have some?"

"May I have some," Turkey grumbled in correction as the servant hurriedly poured a new cup.

Algeria shrugged and didn't wait for his approval to sit down next to the servant, thanking him for the cup and gulping it in one go, a hand already slithering down the table to pick a pastry. Turkey slapped her hand with a rolled up document.

"You should ask before taking," he reminded her.

She puffed her cheeks, yellow-brown eyes glaring at him. "Gimme some baklawas."

"Baklavas," he corrected, more annoyed at her butchering the word than her lack of politeness.

"Baklawas."

The male nation sighed, and Algeria took it as abdication and quick as a snake, she took a pastry and rammed it into her mouth, honey and almond exploding into her mouth.

"No more," Turkey said as he saw her sticky fingers twitching to reach for a new one. "Those aren't for you."

Outraged, the girl narrowed her eyes while talking through her mouthful, "But you always tell me to share!" Share the land with your siblings. Share the harvest with the Empire. Share, share, share…

"These are for Faransa. He's coming with some consul of his."

At that, Algeria's face immediately soured. France. That little thief. She didn't go often to the cities, Turkey preferring to keep an eye on her when he could – and, when back in Constantinople or with another charge, he'd ask one of the servants to watch her – but when she managed to escape for a few hours, she would mingle with her people and hear tales that she didn't like.

It was one thing to pay taxes and share harvests with the Empire ruling them, it was another to let the French take their supplies and never pay for them.

"I don't want him here," she spat, bumping a fist on the table. The tea cups rattled and Turkey only had to straighten his back and loom over the smaller nation for Algeria to feel chastised and bow her head in apology. Still, it didn't mean she would let the foreign nation on her land. "He owes us millions. We need that money back, and I'm not letting him in my borders as long as the debt is not settled."

It was rare when Algeria actually gave a damn about politics and the likes. Having been a colony for so many centuries, handed over from one empire to another, she rarely had to take parts in meetings and negotiations. However, the Ottoman Empire being so large, Turkey couldn't be everywhere at once, and made sure his charges could actually understand what was happening around them and make decisions accordingly.

He was proud to see Algeria wasn't clueless about the French kingdom's debt despite never having said anything to her. She was proving to be sneaky and crafty, and he knew that the day his empire would fall – because Sadiq wasn't stupid, all empires fell, and he never quite understood why humans still persisted to build them – little Al Djazair would fiercely rise from the sea.

What he said instead was this, "What you want isn't relevant. Now go put back that sword where you found it, and don't disturb us."

Silently, the young nation stood up, thanked the servant again for the tea, and with a nasty look at Turkey, stomped back to the door and slammed it closed. This would definitely need repair, he thought absentmindedly.

About an hour later, a servant came in, three others waiting quietly behind him. "Cheikh Sadiq, French ships were spotted. Should we straighten the room before your guest arrive?"

He smiled faintly and nodded his head in ascent, watching as the servants came and went, new food appearing on the table and plus cushions were brought out. It didn't take much longer before they were done, and France was escorted to the room.

The blond nation had stared avidly at all the wealth displayed in the palace, and arched a brow at Turkey who was lounging on his own embroidered pillows, already on his third cup of tea. The hot brewage was oddly refreshing in the hot country.

"Aren't you living the grand life?" France drawled, letting his eyes linger on the mosaic decorating the walls.

Turkey didn't say anything, his smirk only widening as he elegantly gestured towards the burgundy pillows across him. "Aren't you going to sit?"

The smile on France's lips strained, and Turkey didn't hide his amusement as he watched the Frenchman trying to lower himself to the floor without looking silly. When he finally managed to sit as straight as possible on the cushion, he sniffed and said with a hint of disdain, "It looks like chairs are still too expensive for you."

"Maybe I'll be able to afford some with French coins."

"Oh, really Turquie? Can't we talk five minutes without that silly debt coming up?" the foreign nation complained, tugging his gloves off and helping himself to the pitcher of cooled tea, eying with disgust the steam coming from Turkey's cup. The hotness was unbearable in this country – even more so than in Spain. He should've listened to the ship's captain and only worn a shirt. He cringed. It was so improper, though!

"It's not just the millions you owe me. It's the food your people have been taking from the villagers without paying, too. You've got quite the reputation among them."

France shrugged, not bothered. "I can't help what my citizens do out of my borders. I'm not omniscient."

Turkey watched as the Frenchman took a sip from the tea, completely avoiding the sweet pastries that have been put in front of him. What a waste, he thought. This wasn't a luxury many could offer nowadays; the economy wasn't so good for Algeria. Perhaps he should speak with his ruler, and take back the country under a tighter leash. Giving them so much independence, so far from the centre of the kingdom, was a recipe for a disaster.

"What about your king? What's his excuse for ignoring every letter the dey has sent concerning the money owed and the problem of theft?"

There was no immediate answer as France thought carefully about his next words, eyes plunged into the opaque green of his tea. In the end, slim shoulders fitted in a baby-blue coat shrugged, accompanied by a falsely apologetic smile. "Again, I'm not omniscient. I don't know how things go in your part of the world, but in the west, nations don't rule through their monarchs."

A mocking smile reflected France's on Sadiq's lips. How he hated when the French wanted to appear all proper and "civilised", when not so long ago, he was the one thriving on spilt blood and hungry for power; the one whispering in his kings' ears under the guise of guidance, playing them like mindless puppets just to satiate his greedy desires.

"Indeed," Turkey simply said, before grabbing a baklava. "So, about that debt?"

"You don't need to worry," France easily dismissed, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and loosening his tie. "It'll all be taken care of soon enough."

There was just a grunt in reply, and fed up with the sweltering heat of the room and the conversation, France stood up, almost stumbling, before making his way towards the opened windows. There was not even a slight breeze, and with a disappointed sigh, France used a hand to fan himself, dabbing at the sweat beading on his brow with a kerchief.

"Anyway, why are you the one I'm dealing with? I thought Al Djazair," he struggled with the word, huffing at the complicated pronunciation, "was only a vassal state?"

"True, but it's still under Turkish rule. Technically speaking, Al Djazair should be the one doing the talking, but this matter has been going on for so long, I thought it would do well to remind you who exactly you're dealing with."

A wry chuckle came from where France was leaning against the window frame. "Is that a threat, Turquie?"

"Obviously. I don't take it well when my charges are bullied." Even more so when it meant losing influence on the Mediterranean Sea. It was a key point of easy access towards Western Europe, but England and France had been blocking him since the beginning of the century. He couldn't afford to lose Algeria or Tunisia, and all his instincts were screaming at him to be careful of the Frenchman. The former empire was scheming something.

"Charming. As I said, no need to worry. When have I given you reason to doubt me?"

"Every time that silver tongue of yours waggle, actually. You're pissing me off, leave. Go back to your consul."

With a cluck of the tongue, France tugged his gloves on, not bothering with the buttons of his collar nor his tie. "You lack manners, mon cher ami. Perhaps gallivanting around with barbarians isn't such a good idea."

"It's called being honest with one's feelings. Not like you westerners and your little schemes. Don't you ever grow tired of these mind games?"

There was a slanted smile on France's lips as he answered in a sweet voice, making his way out of the room, "I find them to be excellent foreplay. Good day to you, chéri."

To be continued…

Some (long ass) notes on words and languages:

Sadiqi: Algeria literally says "my friend". Sadiq is the word for friend in Arabic, and the i-ending is the sign for "my".

Baklava vs. Baklawa: if you spoke with people from different Arabic countries, it's a known fact that pronunciation changes from one country to another. But the worst is when it comes to Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia, who use a particular dialect which is basically a mix of Amazigh, Arabic, and whatever else tidbits of other tribal languages you can find (well, obviously, there's French mixed in it now, but it comes much later). So in Algeria, the pastry is actually called "baklawa", whereas most other countries will say "baklava".

Cheikh/Sheikh: a title given to show respect to people much older than you, who are considered wise and of great intellect.

Al Djazair vs. Algeria: Al Djazair was the name given by whatshisname king, around 900-something (I hope you appreciate my vast, precise knowledge of my own culture), which means "the isles". This was supposed to only designate the capital (Algiers) but was in the end used to designate all the country. It's only around 1600-something that some European dude (from Portugal, me thinks) westernised it, giving the name Algeria. France is just trying to show off by saying the Arabic name, and utterly failing. Because this is difficult to pronounce when you're not used to that kind of letter order.

AND before anyone can point it out: Turkish was actually spoken by peasants during the Byzantine era. The elite spoke Arabic. Hence why Turkey will speak Arabic (if he ever uses it, that is.)

A/N: for real, I don't know who the hell will be interested in reading this, but yeah. I hope you enjoyed this start, and let me know what you think! (I feel like Hetalia is a dying fandom, so I'm not actually expecting anyone to read this… am I wrong?)

Take care, dudes and ladies!