A/N: This is a happy birthday present for a friend. It's a bit late but happy birthday honey
We have a long history, longer than most. I meet him back when he was so young he barely left Scotland's arms. His eyes were different then, they were full of innocence and wonder. Beauty in it's purest sense...when did that change? Sure the years haven't been kind to either of us but surely he's still the same man, same nation?
But then I know what he's been through, I've pulled him back for the brink, dragged him out of those opium dens...pulled the shrapnel from his leg. Really we never talked about it, a weak smile was enough. Though I can't help but wonder how much I would have been crushed under the same weight. If things were different, I was born with his history would I be able to stand as tall?
A strange thought but, it's something I've wondered about many of them. Walking in their shoes would we be the same or would we have destroyed ourselves decades ago? Perhaps it's our people, our faith...our strength in all of this but who's to say?
He's lost in thought again; it's easy to tell by how he's staring into space. Hopefully it's nothing dark, I don't know if I could pull him out of it. It's never been my strong suit though I've tried many times before. All I can do is be here with him I suppose. So I reach out for his hand, it's scarred and rough now but I know in years to come they will fade like they've always done.
Finally he turns to me, oh god I see the tears at the corner of his eyes. What do I say?
Nothing.
I say nothing. Instead I rest my head on his shoulder as our hands sink below the table. No one cares. We're all too tried to fight, to bicker. For a moment let us be who we are. Two nations that just want a moment of peace with each other. It might be a fleeting moment but let it be ours.
"France," I say quietly as he squeezes my hand.
"I know." He answers just above a whisper as the meeting around us continues long into the night. "Trust me, I know."