I read a few headcanons once that said France was the only one who knows England can't swim and helped him to shore in the moive. Of course I would want to write a fanfic of that. I love FrUk!
Enjoy and please comment!
Breaking the surface of the water, France took a large gasp of air and splashed frantically for a moment. He was disoriented having just jumped hundreds of feet down into the ocean. It took a few moments but the Frenchman finally realized he was safe and unharmed. His movements slowed, allowing the adrenaline to ease out of his system and his heart to quiet down. After a deep breath, he looked up in time to see the white ship with the greenish glow fly away.
Floating there, France was bewildered. Why was all this happening? Yes, those Nopera things were trying to take over this world but it still didn't make sense to the Frenchman. What had Earth ever done to deserve a take over? After thinking for a few moments, France sighed. On second thought, he could think of several reasons Earth deserved a takeover. However, he and the others…France gasped.
The others! Where had they gone? Were they alright? France began twirling around in the water, looking in all directions to see if anybody was around him. No one, absolutely no one. France began to panic, there was one nation in particular that he knew he had to find.
If he hadn't already drowned.
France quickly began swimming, he didn't care in which direction. He could see land in the distance, land the others, save for one, would make their way to with no problems. But he wasn't heading there straight away, not until he knew the fate, either way of his fellow nation.
As he swam, he cursed, having to stop multiple times to catch his breath. Damn this pink uniform! It may have been a very fashionable choice but it was extremely heavy when wet. Exactly what England kept telling him, fashionable yet impractical. Maybe now, France would finally learn that lesson at a great cost.
Just when he was about to give up hope of finding the lost nation, France heard yelling. Panicked yelling and the frantic splashing that usually accompanied it. A voice called out, a terrified voice, looking for help. France immeadialty recognized it as belonging to the person he was looking so despretly for.
England!
Swimming as fast as he could, France made his way towards the yells, praying that the man kept screaming out for help. The Frenchman didn't stop, not once, even though his aching arms and legs begged him to. He had to get to England. The former pirate had confided in him a secret he shared with no one else.
England couldn't swim and had an extreme, debilitating fear of open water.
By the time France got to him, it was clear that it was not a moment too soon. The man was pale and frantic, slapping the water, and his voice was beginning to crack with stress. As he got closer to him, France didn't even think England noticed him reaching out to grab him.
Because England roughly grabbed France's shoulders and shoved him under the water.
It was a natural reaction, France supposed as he fought to get back to the surface against the Englishman's grip. England was unaware of his actions, he was terrified and thinking he was about to die. France managed a quick breath of air before being shoved back down again. This wasn't good, at this rate, they would both end up drowning. France groaned under water, a cascade of bubbles escaping his mouth as he received several swift, hard kicks to his stomach.
When he broke the surface again, France did not allow England to push him under once more. Instead, he reached out and cupped the man's ghostly pale face in his hands, staring calmly into his wide, green, terror filled eyes.
"Angleterre, relax. I 'ave you, you are safe 'ere wiz moi. I will not let you drown." France said gently. England froze and blinked at him a few times, then pulled France in, clutching onto him tight. The man was trembling in France's arms and he ran a hand over his back to calm him. All the while, France kicked steadily so that they both remained afloat.
France listened for a while as England breathed heavily, trying to calm himself down. At first, they were shaky breaths but soon evened out. The trembling eased and France felt him relax into him arms, trusting him to keep him above water. After a few more minutes, the water rocking them up and down, England finally form his voice.
"Help…help me get to shore, France. Please." England whispered into his ear. There was still fear in his voice and France nodded.
Without another word, France let go of England with one arm and turned to begin the long, exhausting swim to the shore. England tried to help now that he had France to cling to but that was where the trouble started. Now, France was weighed down by his uniform and a still slightly panicked British man. In fact more than once, England had a moment of terror and France was pushed under again. Every time he had to stop and reassure England, France would also try to rest. He wasn't sure how much longer he could last and if they didn't make it to shore soon, neither of them would make it out of the sea.
It appeared that England sensed this and tried to help even more.
Finally, the extremely fatigued Frenchman go them to a place in the surf where they could stand. England was first to get to his feet, bracing himself for a wave that France allowed to bowl himself over. The Frenchman landed face first into the water but two arms hastily wrapped around him and pulled him up. England then did the rest, helping France out of the waves and onto the shore.
Once they were completely out of the water, England lowered France to the rough sand. He was grateful for a chance to lie still, letting his body rest after the extraordinary effort he had put it through. His eyes were closed but he felt England lean over him and place his hand on the Frenchman's heaving chest.
"Fr-France? Are you alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?" England asked tentatively. The concern that France heard made him smile and he shook his head, reaching over to grab the hand on his chest. France gave it a lite squeeze, reassuring England that he would be okay, he just needed to rest a moment.
While he lay there, England rubbed at his chest with one hand and swept some salt sticky hair from France's face with the other. It had the desired soothing effect. The breaths slowed and his chest relaxed, the burning sensation leaving his lungs. Even his muscles began to relax. After a while, France opened his eyes to find England staring down at him, his beautiful green eyes full of the same concern that was in his voice and eyebrows furrowed. France smiled and reached up with his other hand.
"oui, I am just fine now zhat I see you." He said happily. England gave a snort and looked around, as if searching for someone. Apparently the coast was clear because England cupped France's face in his hand and leaned down for a kiss. One France returned eagerly, running his hand up into England's hair. The kiss lasted for several seconds, France stealing the chance for this moment of intimacy. Since the invasion, they had not had one moment truly alone. France wanted to savor the moment and make it last.
They finally broke apart, both smiling at each other. Helping France to stand, England then wrapped the man in a hug again, placing his hand on his chest again.
"Thank you for saving me, love." England said sweetly. France laughed and gave England a squeeze before releasing him.
"De rien, mon amour. Zhough I zhould be zhanking you for zhe same." France said. Not able to help himself, France leant down and gave England one more kiss. When he pulled away, he started walking towards the tree line. "Now, let us see if any of zhe others made it, oui?" France quipped lightly.
He heard England jog to catch up with him. France was not surprised to hear he had returned to being his usual grump self.
"If you breathe a word to the others about this, I will end you. And I will ensure it will be in the most painful way possible, Frog." England hissed. Despite this threat, France felt England lace his fingers with his and clasp them tight as they entered the trees.
"Non, I wouldn't dream of it, Brows." France quipped, determined to enjoy the feel of England's hand in his until they found the others, when he knew England would drop it and go back to pretending he hated his dear old Frog.