I DO NOT OWN HETALIA!

Well I've finally gotten around to actually writing this pairing XD I've been meaning to for ages now.
Also, any French or Hungarian in here will be translated at the bottom

So have some Pirate Arthur and Francis

Captain Arthur Kirkland trusted no one.

Not his quartermaster, Ludwig, nor his gunner, Gilbert. Not his cheeky little rat-line climbing Alfred, nor his timid cabin boy named Matthew. Especially not Daniel now that they had discovered their cook to in fact be a woman named Elizabeta, and not the musician, Roderich, who had known all along. Not one man (nor Elizabeta, for that matter) was trusted for the simple reason that Arthur didn't want to be betrayed.

'A friend can betray you but an enemy always stays the same.'

This isn't to say that the pirate captain considered his crew to be his enemies. He merely informed them of the bare minimum of things.

However, someone was bound to get sick of this behavior sooner or later. It turned out to be Elizabeta.

"You insufferable, neurotic son of a Romanian!" the brown haired woman yelled, brandishing a frying pan (one should note that Gilbert flinched visibly and hid behind Roderich).
The Englishman looked over at her surprisedly, having been intently going over the list of supplies they needed to pick up now that they all were in port. He then raised a thick eyebrow and crossed his arms. "What's troubling you, Elizabeta?"
"You, Captain."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, it's so! You don't tell us a damn thing!"
"You can't exactly complain since you lied about your sex of all things."
"Oh, don't give me that, you szemétláda! You only tell us bits and pieces of things we need to know, and last time it wasn't even that! I bet if you just weren't so damn scared being betrayed, you'd actually fill us in! You're a coward, Captain Kirkland, and I refuse to spend one more moment on this ship if you refuse to trust us!"

Green glared into green as the captain struggled briefly against his famous temper. Very briefly.

"Irksome brawling scold! Think you a little din can daunt mine ears?"

"Dögölj meg, te rohadt segg!"

From there it escalated even further with the English captain raving in Shakespearean quotes and threatening the Hungarian cook with a rickety old "haunted" chair, and the Hungarian, in response, pulling several frying pans and other such items out of thin air and ranting in an equally audible voice as she switched between her native language and English at random.

Gilbert, earning a few bruises from Busby's chair (as the captain called it), managed to rescue the forgotten Matthew who had been standing near Arthur when the fight broke out.

Sighing and shaking his head disapprovingly, Ludwig muttered, "Not again," as he eyed the two bellowing persons before him.

During this all, Alfred had become quite distracted by a strange object in the sky and Roderich had begun to play Mozart in an effort to ignore the ruckus.

Finally, the captain and cook discontinued their yelling and waving of unconventional weapons. The two of them merely stood there, panting and and glaring. After long time of this serious glaring, Elizabeta silently grabbed Roderich by the wrist and stalked off the ship.

"By all means, go ashore! I don't need a mutinous bitch like you anyways!"

A heavy silence hung on the ship one more as Arthur seethed with anger.

"...Cap'n," Gilbert began, awkwardly breaking the silence.
The blond's green glare shot through him, "What?"
"Er..well. Because of Elizabeta and Roderich so un-awesomly jumping ship, we don't have a cook."
"Or a musician!" piped up Alfred on the rat lines.

As the pirate captain began to snarl something back, the German quartermaster cut him off.

"Why don't you rest for a bit, Captain? I will sort things out and report everything to you, once you're less under the weather." Arthur glared briefly at Ludwig who merely gazed back in an unfaltering, levelheaded manner. The blond then took a deep breath and replied, "Thank you, Ludwig, I believe I shall."

Needless to say, the pirate captain helped himself to quite the amount of rum in an attempt to drown out Elizabeta's well-aimed accusations.

"Damn woman's intuition to hell..."

The next morning, the Englishman was greeted by a rather horrid headache and the quiet voice of 14-year-old Matthew Williams.

"C-Captain Kirkland..?"
"What is it, Matthew?" the older man asked gruffly, sitting up.
"U-Um..w-well...you see...I-"
"Hey, Artie! Come check out this totally awesome cook Mattie found!" Gilbert cut the stuttering cabin boy off, unceremoniously slamming the captain's door open.

Ignoring the urge to shoot the albino square in the forehead, the Brit sighed irritatedly, "Addressing me as Captain Arthur or Captain Kirkland would be greatly appreciated, Gilbert."
"Yeah, yeah," the Prussian rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the cabin and back on deck.

Perching his hat upon his messy blond hair, the captain stepped on deck as well, with his shy cabin boy at his heels.

"Say something else in French!" Alfred begged the unfamiliar man before him.
"Autre chose," the wavy haired blond said with a smile.

Arthur immediately shot a mild glare at Gilbert, "A bloody frog is the best you could come up with?"
"Don't look at me like that! It was either him or this not nearly as awesome crossdresser who kept saying 'like' every five words! Besides, Mattie found him."
The captain sighed and looked at Matthew, "And how did you stumble upon this one, Matthew?"
The violet eyed boy merely looked down under the disapproving captain's gaze.

"I, mon capitaine, am Matthieu's uncle, Francis Bonnefoy. I would be most appreciative if I may be allowed to be appointed as this vessel's chef," the Frenchman said with an extravagant bow and a noticeable accent.

Reluctantly, through a suggestion of Gilbert's, Arthur allowed him to cook something up as a test of sorts. The crew's vote was unanimous.

Francis Bonnefoy gained the position of cook.

Much to the crew's disappointment, however, they were not able to stay in port long enough to locate a new, willing musician.

And much to Arthur's annoyance, he was not able to locate his charts and other such navigational tools which the last musician had oh-so-kindly organized in such a manner that the Brit could not find them.

"A pox upon you and your damned cleaning, Roderich..!" the captain growled, tearing apart his cabin in his desperate search.

"Mon capitaine...is there something troubling you?" a drowsy voice asked from behind him.

Hand flying to his pistol and whirling around, Arthur was met with the sight of his new cook rubbing at his blue eyes while leaning against the door frame. The Frenchman raised an eyebrow and glanced between Arthur and the pistol at the captain's side.
Hiding his sigh of relief, the Englishman tucked his gun back in his sash and shook his head. "I'm quite fine, Bonnefoy. Just go back to sleep."
"Si tu veux, I can help you before I retire. And," a concerned look passed over his face, "you seem to be in need of sleep, mon chér."

Arthur, his knowledge of French being limited, took no notice of the "mon chér". The Frenchman had struck true in saying he looked tired. The past few nights he had stayed up out of fear of a mutiny. "...Fine. You can help, frog."

A warm smile lit up on the blond's face as he shut the cabin door behind him, "Bon~. So, what is it that we search for?"
"My charts and astrolabe. I've already got the compass, but the others I need if we're going to get anywhere with anything worthwhile."
"Ah, yes, but of course," Francis agreed as his blue eyes flitted about, scanning the cabin.
The English captain, however, was finding himself unable to take his eyes off of the Frenchman.

"Voilà!" the cook said soon enough. "On one of the higher shelves; right behind you."

Snapped out of his daze, the blond turned around and saw the shelf which the older man had been referring to. However, he discovered the shelf to be several inches too high for him to reach, even on tip toe. But just as he turned to locate a stool or box, he found himself greeted with the subtle fragrance of lilies, the warmth of another against him, and the Frenchman's mesmerizing blue eyes.

The English captain was tongue tied for what seemed to be the longest of times.

"Here you are, mon chér," Francis smiled as he held out the sought after astrolabe and charts to Arthur who was feeling his pale face begin to flush up.
Offerring the best glare he could in the state that he was in, the captain snatched the navigational tools and silently walked over to his table where he then set them down.

"...Bonne nuit, mon capitaine," the wavy haired blond said softly behind him.

As the door shut, the English captain found himself wishing to take back his harsh actions and to thank the other man for his assistance. This vexed him a great deal, to say the least.

"It's just because I'm tired. Nothing more than that. He probably wasn't even that close, and his eyes certainly weren't looking at me like that..I was just imagining it..." Arthur reassured himself as he lay down to rest.

French-English

autre chose-something else

Mon capitaine-my captain

Si tu veux-if you will/if you want

Mon chér-my darling

Voilà-see there

Bonne nuit- good night

Hungarian-English

Szemétláda-bastard

Dögölj meg, te rohadt segg!-Drop dead/Die, you rotten ass!

If I messed any of this up please tell me XD

Also, reviews are much appreciated. This is hmm...my second Hetalia story, I believe..Ah yes, the other one was GreecexJapan for hbananad *scurries off to post that*

Oh, by the way, I'm considering making this a multichapter. Meaning it may take me a while but I will probably continue this.