Chapter One: For Love, Dear Sir?

"…And that concludes today's meeting. Now, I hope we'll all have a regulation plan on how our countries can reduce the climbing rates of inflation due to one certain individual, whom we shan't name, when we have our next meeting in Paris. Thank you all for your hard work," Arthur said as he pressed a button for the presentation screen to go black, officially closing the meeting.

"Dude, that was so uncool-."

"Oh, shut it America. You know bloody well it's due to your greedy capitalists that the world's economy has gone down the drain. If your bosses hadn't gone and stuck their hands into every single jar of money they saw in Europe and Asia we wouldn't be in this mess. But apparently they don't believe in making items at home. Really Alfred, I thought I raised you better," Arthur said with a snort as he scolded the younger nation. Really, he didn't understand how things had turned out so poorly for the lad he had raised.

"Hey, I tried to stop it, but no one would listen to me!" he cried out in protest.

"You're the United States of America! How could they not listen to you? You're the damn country. Be a man and buck up, take responsibility and stop pointing fingers," Arthur said as he gathered his papers.

"But that's exactly what you're doing. Pointing fingers at me. I'm not the sole problem here. Everyone is to blame in some way. And I have become a man, no thanks to you, Dad," and with that, Alfred angrily grabbed his bag and walked out of the conference room. The American always had a hot headed temper when he was pushed. Though, that was to be expected from the Jones boy who was still only a teenager by human standards. He didn't understand what it meant to be a country, to have patience and to learn how to take it easy. He was hoping life would pass him by so quickly and he wasn't aware of how much time he really had.

Most of the other nations had either left, had gathered in small groups to discuss late-lunch or early dinner plans, or were packing up and leaving. Since Arthur had led the meeting in London, he couldn't exactly leave with everyone still around. It would be a rather ungentlemanly thing to do and plus, he didn't really trust anyone alone to be in his buildings. Especially where important matters were held, such as the room the meeting had been held in. He was hurt at the father jibe that his once former son had said in anger, but that was something he had gotten used to. He'd heard quite a bit of it when the man was a younger, more rebellious teen, trying to break away from dear old Daddy and his King's reign. Maybe I went too far, he thought to himself. He then shook his head though, telling himself he couldn't let such affairs get to him. He had other business to worry about than an upset teenager. He didn't need for his plate to get full with other unnecessary junk. He had to tell himself over and over that this was what Alfred wanted. That he couldn't be ready to jump up at any moment and offer the unsure country a helping hand. He had to figure it out on his own. When he observed the room once more, he noticed more people had left. Except for a certain Frenchman he sometimes just couldn't stand. Francis remained seated, his stuff clearly packed up, staring at the phone that was between his hands. Arthur rolled his eyes as he grabbed his bag and walked over to the Frenchman, knowing this would be one of those few times times he could stand him.

"Oi, frog. Go home already. I want to leave." No answer. Getting agitated, Arthur tried to remain calm.

"Hey, do you hear me?" Still no answer. Arthur was irritated now. If there was one thing he hated more than being around the man who treated him like he was nothing better than dirt, it was the fact that he visibly ignored his very presence. He slammed his palm on the table in front of him and leaned forward into his face, finally getting his attention.

"I said I want to go home, frog. Stop staring at your bloody phone and go home too," Arthur said. Francis looked at the man slightly surprised by his closeness and gave him a delighted smile.

"Ah, forgive me, Arthur. I was just engulfed in this lovely message a mademoiselle sent me. So much love. But not like you would understand love," he said and the smile turned into a smirk followed with a snicker.

"I damn well know love!" he shouted at the other man before anything more intelligent could leave his mouth.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah!"

"So, then what would you do for love, dear sir?" Francis asked Arthur, knowing full well the man didn't have an answer.

"I've…I've done plenty. None which concerns you," Arthur said slightly caught off guard by the question. He knew he had been caught in a lie, but yet, there was the pirate deep within him that still said he had to lie through his teeth to make it in the world. That was no longer the case now and he could hardly lie as he once was able to. The best he could do was try and play it off, as if the question was worded differently.

"Oh? Do tell, Monsieur Angleterre," Francis said as he looked Arthur in the eyes with his rare serious expression he hardly showed anyone. Arthur stared back for a moment, caught in the blue gaze of the Frenchman's eyes before turning away with a tsk.

"I thought so," he said with a chuckle as he stood up, gathered his stuff and turned to leave. Arthur felt the burning sensation to yell at him, to tell him exactly how he felt about being put in that position by such a question, but the words simply wouldn't leave his mouth.

"So, then what would you do for love, dear sir?" the statement he had made still echoed in his mind. He wasn't sure what had really made him say such a thing. It was rather rude, but then again Arthur had said his share of rude things to Francis too. They both had in the years they had known each other. When asked to leave, he had lied about the reasoning for being so engulfed in his phone. He hadn't received any such message from any such woman that had captured his attention so. In fact, he was admiring a picture he had snapped with his phone during the meeting. He had a tendency to snap pictures of others during the meetings when they weren't aware, which normally resulted in the best pictures. It was a way for him to pass the time and to keep himself well behaved when nothing important was happening. At least it was better than Alfred shooting spitballs at his brother Matthew from across the room. Which tended to miss and hit someone else and it resulted in another country being even more irritated with the childish nation than prior to the meeting. One thing was for sure, Alfred wasn't serious about earning brownie points with his older co-workers.

The picture he had been admiring was Arthur's own, surprisingly. It was a beautiful picture, really. Much better than any message he could have received from some woman or other. Arthur's face had been facing towards the others; his eyes were locked on something in the back of the room so they wouldn't drift as he addressed the group. His mouth was slightly open as he spoke a word Francis could just vaguely remember, seeing as he was too busy in observing the man's lips than the words leaving them. The expression he wore was relaxed, but serious. His eyebrows weren't knitted together like they normally were when he met with the Frenchman. He looked generally relaxed and flawless, if that was ever possible for the always ruffled-yet-professional looking man. The suit he wore was smooth of any wrinkles and his tie was in the exact position it needed to be. If one were to have no idea whom he was, they might even mistake him for Ludwig, of course, if he didn't open his mouth to let loose his English dialect. His hair had been combed over neatly as well and it even seemed to gleam in the sunlight. Even his eyes were vivid with life, the different green tints sparkling when the light reflected off them. He looked beautiful and inhuman, something Francis couldn't not take a picture of. But it wasn't as if he could tell Arthur what he was actually doing. The Englishman would have taken his phone and deleted the picture. Or worse, thrown it across the room in utter embarrassment. And then they'd get into another one of their pointless fights. He let out a sigh and Antonio looked at him from the other side of the car.

"Something bothering you?" he asked. After almost every meeting, Francis met up with Antonio and Gilbert for drinks. There was nothing better than having a few beers with his best friends. They helped to take the tension off his shoulders that normally came with dealing with Arthur and meetings in general, but the liquor helped too.

"Non, it's nothing. Just normal after-meeting stress," Francis said as he glanced at the Spaniard before looking back out the window. He was too busy with his own thoughts to really give Antonio the time of day.

"You never sigh that heavily though," Antonio said, pressing a little more. It didn't exactly bother Francis that he was pressing the matter. He enjoyed his friends worrying about him, but sometimes they did it the wrong way. Francis let the question fall into silence as he stared out the window, hoping Antonio would let it go too. But he didn't.

"Francis, qué pasa?" Sometimes, the man couldn't read the atmosphere. This was one of those times. Instead of answering the question like he should have or rather like he was supposed to, Francis avoided it by asking another one.

"Antonio, what would you do for love?" he asked. Antonio was completely caught off guard by the question just as Arthur was and it showed on his face. He scrunched up his eyebrows and thought about it for a moment.

"Well…what would I do for love…I would do a lot, I guess. I would declare my love all over Madrid, maybe even write a song. I'd give that special someone all the tomato fields I have," he said after answering the question, his eyes glossy as he thought of one person in particular. He wasn't someone who would give his tomato fields away to just anyone. Only his little Tomato.

"That's 'a lot' in your book?"

"Well, no, but that's just some of the things I'd do. Why'd you ask?" he asked. Francis continued to stare out the car window before turning to Antonio.

"Love makes you do crazy things," he said with a smile.

"So, then what would you do for love, dear sir?" The words played in Arthur's mind as he rode home.

"What would I do for love?" he muttered "I'd love, that's what I would do. I'd…I'd give her my heart," he muttered a little louder.

"Did you say something, sir?" his driver asked him.

"No, nothing at all Gregory. Could we go to Buckingham instead of heading home?" he asked his driver, a quick decision that hadn't really been thought out. They weren't really going to Buckingham Palace though. That was just his code name for the pub he visited so often when he just needed to unwind. Instead of saying he wanted to go get wasted, such an ungentlemanly thing to utter, he said he wanted to go to Buckingham and that was enough for Gregory to understand. He could never remember how the code name had come about, but apparently the older chauffeur did, and he would never tell Arthur no matter how many times he demanded.

"Aye, sir. Rough day?" he asked.

"No, not particularly. Just had a run in with an old friend who happened to get under my skin. Though, that's nothing new."

"Ah, I understand," he said, not pushing any further into the matter. Besides for the fairies, Gregory seemed to be his only friend. Of course there were the other countries, his brothers, Alfred and Matthew, and his boss but he didn't really connect with them as he once had. Time and personal issues tended to get in the way of forming bonds with others. With his driver, he connected on a daily basis and he was always learning something new about the older human.

The man was 58 years old, with graying hair, two married daughters and a university student for a son. He'd been married himself to his wife Rebecca for 32 years. His daughters were named Angela who was 30 and Megan who was 27. His son was named Parker, a 20-year-old in his third year of university, studying to be a lawyer. He was very proud of all three of his children for the accomplishments they had made in their lives and never let them forget how proud of a father he was. Though he himself was an Englishman, Rebecca had come straight from Ireland, from a small village called Carlingford. The mix of Irish and English made their children have rather lovely features that only the English longed to have naturally. Gregory had been Arthur's driver for 15 years, but only as a part-time job to owning a bookstore-café with his wife. Of course, when he had become aware of that fact that the man he chauffeured didn't age and that he was driving around his own country, Arthur asked him personally if he would like to be his driver for as long as he wished.

"I'd want nothing more to serve a fine young man as yourself," he had said, even though he was completely aware that Arthur was much older than him. And since that day, he had been with Arthur. The silence filled the car and an idea popped into the Brit's mind, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Gregory, is Mrs. Martinson expecting you home anytime soon?" he asked as the man turned the wheel.

"No sir, not to my knowledge. I can always call her though; say I'll be running a bit late tonight. May I ask why?" he said as he glanced back at the blond through the review mirror with his gray eyes. A smile formed on Arthur's lips as he nodded.

"It's been a while since we've been out for a few drinks."

"So, Fran, how was the meeting?" Gilbert asked Francis before he tipped back his large mug of beer.

"Ey, why not ask me?!" Antonio asked, sounding both slightly offended and hurt at the same time.

"Because you're always staring at Lovi. Ya know, if you just told him how you feel, he might have sex with you. This way you can stop imagining screwing him during every world conference!" the man who was once the nation of Prussia busted out in laughter. He found Antonio's swooning over the Italian to be quite a funny sight and had continued to make fun of him since Spain had taken South Italy under his wing. Though, he really wasn't one to talk with the way he gushed over his brother. The Spaniard lit up a bright red and punched the Prussian in the arm, which resulted in the tipsy man falling off his stool.

"¡Estúpido pendejo!" he yelled, though Gilbert was still laughing, a sign that he didn't care about the insult.

"Du Kannst mich mal!" he snickered out. Francis spit out his own beer and had to wipe his face. He hadn't expected that to be the next thing the German man would say.

"Gil, that went too far," he said although he was smiling himself. It was a rather clever comeback, he gave Gilbert that. Antonio didn't think so though and was already holding the man in a headlock.

"Uncle, uncle!" Gilbert cried out but he was still laughing. Both men got off the floor and brushed their clothes off, punching each other a few times before as they took opposite sides of Francis. Before they had gotten to the bar, the three men had changed into casual wear so if such an event like their tussle happened, their nice suits wouldn't get ruined. It was a good thing they had. Though the only two who really had to change was Antonio and Francis, seeing as since Gilbert hadn't gone. He really had no need to since he wasn't representing a country. His brother was there to represent the both of them and that alone was enough German to go around.

Once the two were completely done with their lovers' quarrel, Francis decided to answer Gil's question.

"It was okay. Bunch of stuff about the economy and global changes. Though I'm not the best person to get all the details from," Francis winked at the man. They were completely aware that Francis hardly paid any attention to the most important meetings only because they knew about his hobby. They even condoned him to do such acts, but mostly so they could get pictures of the people they desired to see. A few times, Antonio had outright asked Francis to get pictures of Lovino Vargas, the man he'd had loved for centuries, and Gilbert had shamelessly done the same asking for pictures of his little brother Ludwig (who clearly was no longer 'little'). For some reason, they both held attachments to the nations they had raised and they weren't quite exactly 'parental' attachments.

"I'd ask Lud for details though. He was paying close attention and throwing in his bits throughout the meeting. You could tell how awkward it was for him to be at the meeting and not leading it. I don't think I've ever seen him fidget so much," he said as Gilbert chuckled, nodding at the comment. He knew exactly what kind of expression his younger brother had on his face during the entire meeting.

"Hey, do you have any pictures to show this time?" Antonio asked, but really he only wanted to see the snap shots of Lovino or ones with him in the cameras view.

"Oui, oui. Hold your horses. No one's planning another civil war on you, Alfonso," Francis said as he pulled out his phone. Before he even had the chance to hand the phone over to the man, Antonio snatched it away and started looking through the photos fervently.

"Alright, sure, you can have it." Gilbert was still chuckling to himself, feeling it was better not to say anything but admire the man's obsession. The Spaniard was quiet as he clicked through the pictures, almost engulfed in the phone. But as he continued on, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Why is there so many pictures of Arthur?" he asked as he kept clicking.

"Huh? Arthur? Why the Hell would he be in there?" Gilbert asked.

"He led the meeting. We are in London." Antonio then turned his head to Francis, looking for a response. There was no way that 'many pictures of Arthur could be on his phone. Francis gave his signature chuckle and held up his hands as if he was to say he was innocent; his mock sign of defeat.

"Well, you know me," he said then snatched his phone back quickly. "I only take pictures of beautiful things. And Arthur isn't one of them. So there's no way…there…could be that…many…," and he trailed off as he clicked through the pictures himself. There were an uncanny number of pictures of Arthur indeed in his camera roll. There were just two other pictures belonging to other people; one was a Ludwig centered one, with Ivan next to him and the other was Emil sitting sullenly next to Lukas, who looked just as bored. Otherwise, all the pictures were Arthur centered in one shape or form.

"That's…not right," he said softly to himself. I must be drunk, he thought. He then looked through the pictures a second time and when none seemed to change, he knew he wasn't that drunk. He really had taken quite a few pictures of Arthur.

"Let me see," Gilbert said as he took the phone from Francis' hands and began to click through the photos. "Ah ha! One picture of West. That's mine," he said as he sent the image to his own phone, then handed it back to Francis.

"Francis, you okay?" Antonio asked cautiously, noticing that his friend seemed to still be in shock at the fact he had really taken so many snaps of the one man he couldn't stand.

"Course he isn't. Francis is in love," Gilbert said, this time not followed by a chuckle. But the statement alone was enough to get France's attention.

"Casse toi! I am not!"

"See? He's denying it. First stage to acceptance."

"Gilbert. I am not in love with Arthur Kirkland."

"Then explain why you took so many pictures of him," the man questioned. Francis stared at him, but he couldn't answer. He didn't have a good enough excuse. He had unconsciously took them, so of course he didn't know why he took so many pictures.

"You're in love with him."

"I…I'm not! There is no way I'd ever fall in love with that scone eating, tea drinking, pompous bâtard!" Instead of laughing or confirming that they were on his side, both men simply stared at Francis become ruffled in silence. "What?" he asked angrily.

"That was the worst possible insult about the man that I've ever heard out of your mouth, mi amigo," Antonio said.

"A-and?"

"You're in love."

Arthur was already on his fifth beer when Gregory had politely asked to be excused; Rebecca needed him to help out at the store. He had offered to drive Arthur home, even insisted on it, but Arthur shooed the man away saying Rebecca needed his help more than he did. He thanked him for sharing drinks with him and even paid the other man's bill. But now he was sloppy drunk and he wasn't sure how he was going to get home. He could call a taxi, which was one option. Then again, home wasn't too far off that he couldn't walk. He paid the rest of his own bill, left a tip for the bartender, then grabbed his jacket and walked out the door. Just as he was about to leave, he noticed he was lacking his briefcase, only to realize it was left in the car.

"Bwloody heel," he said, slurring his words together. Gregory would drop it off at his house after he was done with whatever Rebecca had requested his help in. He always had. This wasn't the first time such an event had happened and he was sure it wouldn't be the last.

Once he had made slow movements to get away from the pub, his fairy friends appeared to keep him company. The first block home he made without any major stumbling, just a few minor trips here and there. But as he got closer to home, he found it increasingly more difficult to keep his balance and they had to hold him up at some points. Luckily, by that time the sun was starting to stain the sky orange so he didn't look like a straight out drunkard drinking in the day. Honestly though no matter who saw him guessed that he had probably had a hard day at work.

"Ah, don't yer wowry Flyien Ment Boony. I'm just fline," he said just before he had to throw his head into a nearby trash can.

"Oh Arthur, why do you do this?" the green bunny with wings asked.

"Becruse of that damn broody Flench frog! He alwaays makes the end of the meatings so so so sooosooosooo hooorible," he said as he returned to walking after he wiped his face with his suit sleeve, not realizing he'd have to get it dry cleaned later.

"He shouldn't bother you so much Arthur. You two should stop fighting! You're both grown men," another fairy's voice spoke up from behind, scolding him for his actions.

"Tinkerbell, if it was that eweasy, I would. Weave been flighting fraw centuries. Too late to sway I am soooorry. He wouldn't beleeeave me nope nope noooope," he said as he pointed a finger in Tinkerbell's direction, though he was honestly too drunk to see her clearly.

"What wouldn't I believe?" Francis' voice sounded from in front of Arthur. Instead of spinning around quickly to face the sudden voice as he might have done if sober, he turned his body slowly, still pointing his finger.

"That I'm soooorry that weave been flighting frar so looong. I don't want to flight anymoooore nono no I don't," he said as tears came to his eyes and he lowered his hand. He wasn't exactly sad, just upset that he was far too drunk to tell the real Francis how sorry he actually was while sober.

"I believe you. And that's not because you're drunker than Pepé Le Pew," Francis said as he neared the other man.

"Really?"

"Oui, I know you don't mean to be awful to me. I don't mean to be that way to you either. But you sometimes make me so easily angry I just can't help but be cruel back," Francis said as he slung Arthur's arm around his neck, allowing the Brit to lean his weight onto Francis and not sway as much. The Frenchman groaned, trying his best not to regret helping a fellow nation out.

"Awawawww, that's soo sweet of yowooo. Such a nwice man," Arthur said as he gave the Frenchman a kiss on the cheek. Francis flushed for a brief moment before pushing Arthur's foul mouth away from his face with his free hand.

"Oui, oui. Now, come on. Let's get you home," he said as they walked in the direction of Arthur's home.

It wasn't the first time Francis had brought back a drunken Arthur to an empty house before and it certainly was not going to be the last time either. Though, each time he opened the door for the plastered man and then helped him to his room, he wondered what would be different with their relationship if they fought less. If maybe they actually got along and genuinely liked each other. He brushed the thought aside though as he helped the blabbering, emotional Arthur up the stairs to his room. He was a stumbling mess which kept bringing both of them down, and he wasn't aware of the fact, so he kept laughing each time they tumbled in a mess of arms and legs. Once the man was sound asleep in his own bed, Francis took a seat in a nearby chair to actually think for himself since running into Arthur. Like, the reason he had stormed out of the bar when both of his best friends declared he had to be in love with the one man he couldn't spend an hour with without fighting or arguing. It was absurd and unrealistic, but most of all it was damn well irritating to hear the he was in love with Arthur. He didn't love the Englishman. He didn't even find Arthur remotely attractive. Well, that was a slight lie. When the other was sleeping so peacefully it was hard to believe he had such a big mouth that didn't know when to shut up. That alone made him beautiful. That was the only time Francis found him attractive. And in that one picture he had admired at the end of the meeting…but that was all! While Francis was deep in thought, Arthur muttered something soft.

"Francis…" The man pulled himself from his thoughts and quickly focused his attention on Arthur.

"Oui?"

"You're...cute….smile like that….more often," the man mumbled with his eyes closed and a smile on his face. Francis was quite surprised by the words. His heart fluttered thinking that Arthur had just confessed that he actually liked Francis. Though the second Arthur began to snore, Francis groaned, slapping his forehead, and then slouched in his chair. Arthur was only dreaming.

...

Translations

Mademoiselle - Miss
Monsieur Angleterre - Mr. England
Non - No
Que Pasa - What's up
Estupido pendejo - Stupid jackass (can be also translated to stupid asshole)
Du Kannst mich mal - Fuck you (Lit. You can do me. If this is wrong, and you're German, please tell me. I want it to have a double meaning only someone who understood German would understand as well.)
Mi amigo - My friend
Casse toi - Piss off (could mean other things. If this is not the correct word, let me know. That's what I was going for and I check several places, not just wiki or Google Translate.)
Batard - Bastard
Oui - Yes

Disclaimer - I do not own any of Hetalia or the characters. However, I do own Gregory. All factual text (such as the comment to Spain about the civil war) is information that pertains to historical facts merely made for puns (please look up such things if you'd like to know more about them.) I do not own Pepe Le Pew. Or Buckingham Palace.

-Author's Note-

Hello everyone! Marshall here, sorry this isn't anything new, just an old story that I cleaned up a bit and am posting as completely new. I do plan to actually finish this, considering since I am done with school and have no other distractions to worry about. No set deadlines this time though. Please feel free to leave comments and feedback! I love to read them and will work hard to bring chapters you will enjoy.

Until next time!