France heaved a sigh of relief as the last man climbed onto the boat. It immediately moved away from the French shore, toward England. It had been an awful day, one of the worst he could recall in recent history. France had been with his people, of course; it was the way of the nations. Only a few of his men he had allowed to remain to repel the invading forces. But Germany had cornered them, and France had felt an icy hand grip his heart. This is the end, he had thought.
But then from across the channel England, leading a motley fleet, had showed up. Every single soldier had been taken aboard, and now they were safe. France could scarcely believe it. It was no secret he and England didn't get along, so it had floored him to see the blond nation snapping at him to hurry up. He hadn't had time then to ask about it, so now he made his way over to England.
His fellow Ally was glaring at the French coast, as if it had personally offended him. His peridot eyes flicked upwards at France, more involuntary then curious, before lowering his gaze. France sat next to him, feeling a stab of sorrow as his home became smaller and smaller.
"Why did you do it, England?" France asked quietly in the language of the nations.
His companion merely grunted in response.
"Why?" France persisted.
Silence.
"England-"
"Shut it, frog!" England snapped at him. He stood and shifted anxiously. "Now, I'll answer your question, but you will not ask me to repeat my answer or mention it ever again. Ever. Got it?"
When France nodded his understanding, England turned away, unable to meet his eyes. In the fading light, France could see the hot color on his cheeks. "We hate each other," England said firmly. "We have never been on good terms, not really, but..." Here he forced himself to look at France. "In spite of everything, you are one of my closest f-friends." His face flamed. "And that's why I helped you."
England stomped away, leaving France to look after him in bemusement. Friends? That was an interesting if perturbing thought. But after a bit of consideration, France realized that he could say the same. They weren't friends in the usual sense, but their animosity and violent history had given them a unique understanding of one another. And they were comfortable together. France didn't know why that had eluded him for so long; it probably had felt too natural after all of this time.
France smiled a little as he leaned back and listened to the joyous cheers amongst his people.
Don't know where that came from...but it seemed right. I like the thought that England and France are inadvertent BFFs-it seems so perfect. (I think so, anyway.)