Author's Notes: Okay, so this is my first Hetalia fanfic. Please bear with me! I must warn you that I am not familiar with French accents or the language, so this could end up being bad! I just thought it would be cute because France is adorable! Also real names are used so if you don't know them! Google them!
A feverish Francis laid in his bed with a box of tissues in hand and a thermometer in his mouth. He had woken up that morning feeling horrible. He slightly cringed to see that his temperature had risen again and that it would mean that the worst was yet to come.
Francis turned and coughed for what was probably the thousandth time that morning. He curled under the blanket as he pulled them closer to his shivering form.
The poor Nation pulled out more tissues and used them, carelessly throwing them to the ground. He didn't care about the mess he was making as it was the last of his worries. He had other things to worry about like the current condition of his people and the other countries taking him over in his weakest state. Surely they would notice the absence of the French man at today's World Meeting. He was of course one of the most noticed nations there.
Francis shivered again and let out a pained sigh. No matter how he tried he couldn't fall asleep or warm up, even though he had three layers of blankets piled on top of his comfortable satin sheets.
He again looked at the time and concluded that the meeting would be about over. He slightly wondered if anyone voiced their concerns for him, or if anyone even spoke his name, but he highly doubted it. He was always alone, and probably would forever more be.
Upon this thought, Francis started to drift off into a slow slumber; all of his previous thoughts still fresh in his mind.
X_x
The next thing Francis knew was he was waking to the sound of a phone ringing. He slowly comprehended that the noise was in fact real and that it was coming from his nightstand. He slowly reached an aggravated hand up and picked up the receiver.
"Bonjour?" Came his tired, raspy voice.
"Oi, is that you Francis?" The voice that came over the line was all too familiar. It was that of an Englishman he knew all too well.
"Vhat do you want, Black Sheep of Europe?" Francis asked. "I was just having ze zweetest dream."
"You weren't in the meeting today. Are you alright?" Arthur asked.
"I'm fine. Is zhat all?" Francis asked anxious to get back to his dream. He again plucked several tissues from the box and used them to clear his airways. Surely the Englishman would hear over the phone but he didn't care much.
"Are you sure you're okay? You sound horrible." Arthur pressed.
"I assure zhat I am fine. Zhere's nothing for you to worry about 'ere. Now leave moi alone …si vous plait." Francis assured him. The fellow nation was starting to give him a headache even though their conversation was short. He then hung up the phone, ignoring Arthur's words. He again curled up under his blankets and tried to sleep. But it was unbecoming as a pain grew in the pit of his stomach. He groaned slightly and pulled himself out of the comfort of his bed.
On unsteady feet, Francis balanced himself against the wall as he dizzily made his way to the bathroom. The pain grew and became more nauseating and he almost collapsed there in the hall. But with a bit of effort he kept himself up and made it to the bathroom door. He opened it, turned on the light, and stumbled over to the toilet. At first nothing happened and he just sat there, cradling his aching stomach with one hand. But as the feeling grew he started to gag. Pretty soon he was completely huddled over the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach.
With a couple heaves he sat back against the wall, stuck between feeling better and still feeling nauseous. He silently wished he could call someone for comfort but no one came to mind. No one really seemed to care no matter how much he wanted it. Even that call from Arthur earlier didn't have him convinced. He probably just wanted something.
After about one more episode, Francis tried to stand but ended up laying flat on the tiled floor. Now feeling warm, he pulled up his sweat soaked shirt to let the cold tile cool his burning skin. He closed his eye again and soon found himself asleep on the bathroom floor.
X_x
"Francis! Hey, wake up!" A sudden loud voice called. He opened his eyes slowly to find himself feeling worse. The pain in his stomach had returned and his insides churned against themselves like they were put through a blender. He quickly sat up again and started to get sick. The mysterious voice came over and grabbed up all of his hair, keeping it out of his face. He then placed a hand on Francis's back and started to rub soothing circles in the sick man's back.
Francis bit back tears as he heaved but they were forced to roll down his rosy-pale cheeks.
"It's okay, let it all out, love." The voice soothed. It was at that moment Francis realized that it was the man on the phone. Arthur had come to his rescue and was there to comfort him!
The thought of this actually made him feel better and his episode was cut short. He heaved once more and slowly pulled down the lever to flush the vile liquid that lingered in the bowl. Once that was done, he felt a pair of hands pull him back. Arthur tugged on his shoulders and placed the poor nation between his legs.
Francis looked up until blue eyes met green but then he looked down again, noticing their position. If he didn't feel so crappy he would have commented on it. But he left teasing for later as he had no energy to even really speak. And as they sat, he felt Arthur reach forward and grab the hand towel that rested on the bathroom counter. Arthur then used it to wipe Francis's face clean.
"How are you feeling, love?" Arthur asked. "Any better now?"
"Non..." Was Francis's reply. He laid his head heavily against the Englishman's chest and closed his eyes. His breathing was a bit irregular but not like it had been previous to his episode. Arthur furrowed his brow at the answer and placed a hand against Francis's cheek.
"Oi, you're burning up! Let's get you back to bed." Arthur cried, grabbing Francis's hand an pulling his arm over his shoulder. He hoisted Francis up and slowly walked out of the bathroom. Younger guided older back to the bedroom. They walked slowly so that Francis didn't get dizzy again and soon the sick nation was swaddled under his layers of blankets.
"Why are you being zo nice to moi?" Francis asked, obvious shocked to see him sitting by the bed. Arthur had gotten a chair as well as bucket from the kitchen. He sat the small bucket beside the bed for Francis and sat down on the chair.
"Because you sounded sick in our call." Arthur replied. "I was worried to death when I found you shivering on the bathroom floor." When Arthur's words reached him, his eyes grew wide.
Francis was surprised by this answer. He hadn't expected Arthur to care. They were supposedly enemies; concidering how much they fought anyway. Their whole lives they'd known each other and for so long all he heard out of Arthur was how much he hated him and his pervy ways. He never imagined Arthur would ever be worried.
"Why do you think I called, Francis?" Arthur asked sounding quite embarassed now. "Y-You weren't at the meeting, a-and that isn't like you. M-Mattew even wondered what was wrong." Arthur claimed adverting his eyes.
Francis then smiled when he saw that Arthur's face was just as red as his. At this Francis grabbed Arthur's hand and kissed it.
"Merci, mon ami." Francis said holding Arthur's hand to his face. He hadn't realized it, but tears had started to fall down his cheek again. Happiness overflowed him as he spoke to the concerned Englishman. Never in his life had he seen this side of Arthur and never was he gladder to see it.
"What's wrong?! Are you feeling sick again?" Arthur asked grabbing Francis's hand in worry. Francis shook his head.
"Non, I'm just 'appy." Francis replied.
"Why?" Arthur asked.
"First you called, and zhen you came. Even zo ze meeting was held in France, you didn't need to come." Francis replied. He continued to cry into Arthur's hand as the Englishman ran a hand through his hair.
"Of course I came. I couldn't let you deal with this alone." Arthur whispered.
Suddenly Francis shivered but moved into the the soothing action, trying to conjur some warmth from it. He pulled the blankets closer to him but it was to no avail.
Arthur of course noticed and stood from where he sat. Francis gave him a questioning glance as the younger nation pulled off his jacket and draped it over the chair. He came around the bed and pulled down the blankets. He climbed in and wrapped his arms around Francis, rubbing his arms to give him more warmth.
"Any better?" Arthur asked. All Arthur got was a low hum coming from a newly warm Francis. "Try to sleep and wake me if you need anything, okay?" Arthur could feel himself being swept away by the warmth and it caused him to yawn. Francis again hummed a reply as his breathing softened. Pretty soon he was asleep and Arthur was watching. His face was still flushed and his long gold locks stuck to his sweat soaked skin, but no matter how you looked at him, he was still beautiful. Even if he was a pervy old man, Arthur couldn't deny hus feelings.
"Je t'aime. J'espère que tu iras vite mieux." Arthur whispered right before he too fell asleep.
Author's Notes: Yay! I got through it! This idea has been sitting in this mind for days! I finally wrote it even though it's probably total crap! I hope you liked it!
Je t'aime. J'espère que tu iras vite mieux = I love you. I hope you'll get well soon. (I thought it would be cute if England said that!)[I really hope that statement is correct. I can speak Spanish and English, not French. Hope it's not too terrible!]