Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. If I did, I could pay my college bills easily.

The rapport of gunfire sounded to the left.

Dive to the ground to make a smaller target, fire off a round in the enemy's general direction.

Curse as blood splattered; the men on either side falling, lifeless.

More gunfire, more dying screams and wails of the injured and then silence.

Army crawl to a nearby clump of bushes…running low on ammo…need to run, to go home…

The burning metal of a recently fired gun pressed into the back over the heart. Breath caught in the throat; eyes and mind searching, searching for any chance of escape.

Can't die, not here, not now.

The too familiar sound of a gun being fired, a bullet ripping through flesh and then the world faded to a darkness so encompassing all hope died.

I'm sorry…Iggy.

Evelyn Summers jerked awake like she did most mornings those last three words ringing clearly in her mind. She huffed in annoyance at the red numbers of the clock—6:43—a little under an hour before her alarm was set to go off. However, she knew she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep; she never could once the dream ended.

The dream.

The beginning was always different—different places, people, events all through history—but the ending would always be the same; those three words would always wake her up and she could never wake up until she heard them.

The dream had started last semester when she was taking a class on the Vietnam War. At first it was just the last bit, but it was soon joined by other parts. Evelyn had the distinct impression that the people in those other bits were somehow important, but their faces were always fuzzy and she could never really remember what happened in the morning.

She could always remember the last part though. It was as clear in her conscious mind as it was in her dream.

Evelyn splashed cold water on her face studying her reflection in the mirror. Hazel eyes stared back at her from a pale face framed by a messy wave of brown hair liberally streaked with blonde. Dark circles were forming under her eyes from the lack of good night's rest. That was nothing new for a college student, but only her roommates knew it wasn't related to tests or papers.

Sighing, she dressed quickly pulling on a faded pair of jeans and a red top with the iconic golden arches. She had given up trying to figure out the dream or even trying to get rid of it; the dream was just an accepted part of her now. Evelyn twisted her hair up into a loose knot holding it in place with a clip then grabbed her bag and phone heading to the library.

She had always liked history; she could see herself there so it just made sense she would be a history major. The library had become her refuge. There she could lose herself in the history books and fiction she loved so much and the dream was pushed to the farthest corners of her mind.

This morning, however, she had a definite purpose for her visit and that was the paper due in the upcoming weeks for her class on the American Revolution. She was attempting to prove that the French really hadn't been that much of a help in winning the war, but, unfortunately, the accounts she had been finding praised them.

After another fruitless hour, Evelyn gave up the hunt and hurried to class. Maybe her instructor would have an idea.

Evelyn checked her watch blushing slightly at her stomach's grumbling. She had forgotten to eat breakfast this morning and her body was letting her know it didn't approve. She ate almost constantly, but never seemed to gain any weight. Her friend and roommate, Jessica, couldn't understand how she did it. Evelyn smiled to herself; she didn't understand how either.

Crossing the street to the usual café, she waved to Jessica and Nina through the window. Jessica was waving a paper in the air excitedly pointing at the red letter in the corner. Evelyn hurried inside taking the report from her friend and congratulating her on the grade.

"You were gone when I got up this morning," Nina said. "Did you have the dream again?"

Her Mexican friend always did worry too much. "Yes," Evelyn answered truthfully. "It's not like it's anything new though."

Jessica snorted. "You don't have to listen to you muttering in your sleep and the moaning for the especially bad ones."

"Sorry Jess, but I don't even remember what the full dream is."

"Right only those three words. Who's Iggy anyways?"

Evelyn shrugged. "No one I know."

"You had to have heard it somewhere if it's in your dream," Nina pointed out.

The waiter brought them their usual orders. Jessica seemed like a typical Cali girl with her sun blonde hair, eating a salad to keep her figure so she could wear the latest fashions. Nina, on the other hand, was proud of her Mexican heritage and showed it at every possible opportunity. Her usual was a plate of tacos which she poured some special sauce over that would kill a normal person's taste buds. Evelyn ate her burger and ketchup drenched fries to Jessica's disgust.

"Do you even taste your food?"

Evelyn swallowed her mouthful taking a sip of coke to help it down. "Course I do. How can you eat that rabbit food?"

"Have you had any, you know, episodes today?" Nina asked before the normal argument could get started.

There were times when Evelyn would black out. The amount of time varied, but she could never remember what happened during the time she was out. Her friends had told her that, for some of them, she would be talking, but they could only hear one side of the conversation.

"No, not today, but the day's not over yet."

Francis Bonnefoy, otherwise known as France, was quite enjoying his day. The meetings for the day had completed successfully and now he was sitting in a café where, even though the food was subpar by his standards, the patrons were interesting.

There was a group of girls specifically who he had been watching simply for their beauty, but, after catching a piece of their conversation, his curiosity had been piqued.

"Who's Iggy anyways?" The blonde had asked.

Could they possibly be talking about Angleterre? Iggy is what he used to call him. Francis mused to himself. He examined the girl who seemed to be the center of their attention. She was short, no taller than the English nation, and there were circles under her eyes. She wore faded jeans frayed at the hem and a fitted tee that actually looked fairly new; she had about as much fashion sense as most Americans, which is to say, none at all. When the waiter delivered their orders, she ate her hamburger with such energy she could rival a certain other nation he knew...

France sighed running a hand through his own blonde locks. America had been dead for over thirty years now—since the end of the Vietnam War—and there was no sign he would be coming back. England had yet to fully recover, and probably never would, despite the mask he put on for the others.

His good mood ruined, Francis set money on the table to cover his bill and turned to leave. It was in that moment he locked eyes with the girl. She stared at him blankly for nearly a full minute and then her eyes glazed over, her head cocked slightly to the side and she spoke.

"I'm finally free. I beat England."

Francis froze.

"He wasn't like himself at all though. He looked…so weak…"

The blonde cursed. "She's having another episode."

The French nation spared her a glance before returning his full attention to the girl in front of him. Those words and that tone of voice, victorious and yet so sad, it reminded him so much of that time after the Revolution, but that was impossible…

The darker skinned girl stood up turning to address him as the blonde took care of the shortest of the trio. "I'm sorry you had to see our friend like this sir," she said politely, "but please pay her no mind. This is normal for her and she'll be fine in a little while." With that, she turned her attention back to her friend and they left.

Francis was still too stunned to respond. He should've asked the girl's name or inquired further about her "episodes" as the blonde dubbed it.

A black square against the red of the café booth caught his attention. Picking it up, he saw it was a beat up wallet. He briefly debated about turning it in to one of the waitresses, but the wallet had been in the seat the one girl was occupying. It would be good of him to return it to her and if he had a chance to talk with her about the strange occurrence—well, all the better!

Evelyn cursed. Today was a bad day. Yesterday, she had an episode in public and when she snapped out of it (Jessica and Nina had brought her back to their apartment thankfully) she discovered her wallet missing. She had gone to look for it today, but the waiter said he hadn't seen it. Then, she failed her test in psychology and still couldn't find her wallet anywhere.

It wasn't so much the wallet itself she mourned—it was a cheap thing from some thrift store—or even the loss of her debit card or license; these things were easily replaced, but the photo she kept in it couldn't be. That one picture was worth more than anything to her and there would never be another one like it.

She checked her phone once more. Her friends were still in class, but they promised to check around campus for her. There were no new messages and Evelyn tossed the cell onto the couch returning to her search.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Curious because she wasn't expecting anyone, Evelyn answered finding a man with long blonde hair and wearing designer clothes standing outside.

"May I help you?" she asked uncertainly.

"Oui," he replied. Her confusion only grew at the sound of his French—it definitely wasn't a fake accent, but it also wasn't like others she had heard either. "Are you Evelyn Summers?"

She nodded.

"My name is Francis Bonnefoy. I found this at the café." He held out her wallet.

Evelyn snatched it from his hand quickly going through the contents until she found the picture. Her parents' smiling faces stared up at her and she breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"Thank you. Here, the least I can do is get you something to drink!"

Francis stepped inside as the girl went to the kitchen stuffing the returned wallet into a back pocket. He had thought she was taller than he originally estimated, but that was due to a pair of brown heeled boots. Her hair was put up in a loose knot and she wore jeans over her boots with a white top bearing the American flag.

She seemed truly grateful to get her wallet back, but France suspected it had more to do with the photo she had immediately searched for than any other reason.

"What do you want?" she asked. "We have Coke, water…maybe some tea and coffee."

"Water sil vous plait."

Evelyn handed him a bottle taking a can of Coke for herself. "So, Francis, are you a student here?"

"Non." He smiled. "I had some business nearby and happened to eat at the café for lunch yesterday."

"Good thing for me since you found my wallet." She went to take another drink when her eyes glazed over and she swayed on her feet. France jumped when she slammed the can on the counter gripping the sink like a lifeline. "Damn it," she muttered.

He placed a hand on her back sliding it down farther than was truly needed. "Are you all right?"

She pulled away looking at his hand with suspicion. "Fine. It's…it's nothing."

"Were you having another episode?"

Evelyn glared at him. "I guess you saw what happened at the café. It's no big deal really. I've had them for a while now."

So, it was a touchy subject. Running with a spark of inspiration, Francis tried, "Perhaps I can help? I happen to be a doctor."

She looked at him skeptically. "If that's some lame pick up line, you can leave now."

"Trust me, mon ami," he laughed, "I have much better pick up lines."

Evelyn rubbed the back of her neck, deliberating. "I don't see how you can; there hasn't been a doctor yet who's found anything wrong with me."

He motioned for her to continue leaning against the counter opposite.

"I…have blackouts. They always seem so random. My friends say that I talk during some of them, but it's only half a conversation. The other times I just pass out. Then, at night, I have this recurring dream—well, the beginning and middle may be different, but the ending is always the same." Her voice, hesitant even at the beginning dropped to a mere whisper at the end.

"And, ah, what happens in this dream?"

She shrugged. "I don't really know. It almost sounds like a war is going on or something and at the end there's this guy's voice apologizing to someone…" Evelyn trailed off brow furrowed in concentration. Sighing, she added, "I've given up on trying to figure it out."

Could it be…? France feared to hope. He knew England had long given up on hope, but if this girl was really…well, there was a way to find out.

He waited until she turned around to fiddle with something in the sink. Casually moving to stand behind her and just to the side, he reached down and groped.

Evelyn went ramrod straight. "Son of a bitch!" She whirled punching France in the gut.

The girl definitely had more strength than most would give her credit for. The punch convinced him, but England would know for sure. If this girl saw England, would she have another episode? There was only one way to find out.

Evelyn continued cursing at him emphasizing each with a punch. Using a move out of China's book, he hit a pressure point between her neck and shoulder forcing her into unconsciousness.

Now all he had to do was get her across the Atlantic.

…...

A/N: So, this is the beginning of my first multi-chapter fic. Thank you to my beta Fallinsnow who makes sure my characters are how they should be. Reviews are much appreciated, but will not affect the update schedule.

Until next time!