Thunder clapped, waking Francis to find that he was alone in bed. He rolled onto his side, reaching for the body that wasn't there, frowning at the touch of cold wrinkled sheets. Sitting up, he ran a hand through his bed mussed hair and gave a sigh. The damp smelling air drew the slumbery haze from his mind, gently, caressing it away. He looked to the side table to see the glowing numbers of his digital clock display 1:13 pm.

With another sigh, Francis rose, closing the window that seeped in the cooling breeze, before stumbling wearily to the bedroom door, left open a crack. A faint light crawled into the hall from the kitchen, revealing the location of the man he should have woken to. He winced as he entered the lit room, eyes adjusting to the brightness.

"You said you would wake me."

Arthur's head sprung up to see Francis stood in the doorway, bleary eyed and exasperated.

"No use both of us being tired in the morning," he stated. "Besides, I didn't need to. I'm doing just fine."

"Then why are you down here?" Francis folded his arms, giving a look to say 'I'm really not in the mood.'

Shifting a little under his gaze, Arthur focused on the papers that were in front of him on the counter.

"I just couldn't sleep," he muttered, pushing his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose only to have them fall back down instantly.

The action made Francis' heart melt just a little and his expression softened.

"I wanted you to wake me, Cherie. I didn't want you to be sat here alone like you are."

Arthur let out a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses then removing them.

"I know. I'm sorry," he mumbled, leaning back in his chair.

Smiling warmly, Francis made his way over, planting a small kiss atop his lover's head.

"Don't apologise, mon lapin. How long have you been down here?"

The smaller man glanced at the clock.

"Only a half hour. The thunder woke me but it hasn't been so bad," he shuffled the papers in front of him, "I had work to do anyway."

The Frenchman peered over his partner's shoulder, tutting.

"They're not even urgent, come back to bed."

He wrapped his arms around the slim body in front of him, nuzzling into the pale neck and humming enticingly.

In return, Arthur only leaned away from the affection, eyes fixed on his documents. He wished to remain composed.

"Well some of us don't like to leave paperwork to the last minute," he bit.

Scowling, Francis let his arms drop, "you get so grumpy when you're tired."

A twinge of guilt pinched Arthur's insides at the defensive tone of voice. He was only frustrated.

"Sorry," he looked back, "you can go back to bed if you want but I'm staying here. I won't get back to sleep so I may as well do something productive."

Somewhat tempted by the idea of a warm bed over their arctic kitchen, Francis shook his head, knowing the other wasn't as alright as he would have him believe.

"I have some things to read through too. I'll stay here with you."

They met eyes for a brief moment, Francis flashing a comforting smile.

"If you're sure," Arthur replied in his way of saying thank you.

A black brief case that hung on the wall belonged to Francis and so he went over to take it down and rummage through its contents looking for the documents he had been putting off. He tossed them onto the small dining table but took a moment to study Arthur before getting to work. He surely would have strangled Francis if he could have read his mind in that moment because the older man couldn't help but grin a little at how cute he was in that baggy jumper, all sleepy and scruffy. However, the way he kept looking out the window as though something were out there ready to get in, the way his left eye twitched at the slightest sound made it clear something was wrong no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

For fifteen minutes the only sound was the etching of pens harmonised with the pap pap pap of water on glass. There hadn't been any thunder since the crash that had woken Francis and he was about to remark that the storm had probably passed until mother nature proved otherwise.

A streak of electricity parted the night sky and a sound like the cough of God shook them both.

Francis immediately turned to face the other, who was frozen in place. His chest pumped up and down in harsh breaths. His knuckles turned white as he balled his fist around the pen he held. His eyes were wide and fixed blankly on the counter top in front of him.

As soon as silence resumed, Francis stood and began to slowly walk over, so as not to startle the other nation.

"Arthur?" he called faintly.

The statuesque man visibly swallowed, taking a breath in, failing to not have it shake in his lungs.

"That was a loud one," he attempted to joke with a sorrowfully weak laugh.

Cyan eyes shot him a sympathetic look.

"Oui, it was. Are you alright though?" the other man asked, coming closer to lay hand on the still clenched fist.

Becoming conscious of how tense he was Arthur forced himself to relax.

"I'm fine Francis, don't give me that pitying bullsh-"

Another burst if light and a sound louder than before. Pelting rain attempted to smash the window panes while the wind rattled them like machine guns in their frames.

Feeling the hand in his own become a hard ball again, the older man pulled his lover into an embrace, one hand on the back of the wheat blond head, holding it against his chest, the other tenderly stroking his back. The fingers of both hands gripped the loose fabric of his shirt as Francis began to rock sided to side, slow and smooth, and mumbled lovingly.

"It's alright mon cher, mon amour, it will all be fine, I promise you. It will be over soon."

Both knew why he was afraid. Neither said it. There was no need to go back to that place.

The worst of the storm passed over in five minutes or so, by which time Arthur was trembling with emerald eyes squeezed firmly shut, fingers numb from clinging so tight, breath hitching with every gulp for air.

Francis' comforting murmurs had naturally slipped into his mother tongue, taking on a lyrical tone.

They stayed locked together this way for a while even, after the tempest had moved on, until Arthur pulled away, his breath evening out as though some horrible pain had ceased. Looking up with bloodshot eyes, Francis almost teared up at the vulnerability there.

"Sorry," a weak voice cracked, "I thought I would be alright."

"Please, do not be ridiculous," Francis held the pale face with one hand.

The other man did not move away but did unravel his fingers from the shirt, leaving the material bunched up in small ridges.

"But it was a long time ago, it shouldn't affect me like this anymore."

Giving a wry smile, Francis smoothed out his shirt.

"Not to us, Arthur. We are nations, don't forget. We carry these things with us forever."

Hardly a comforting sentiment but a true one, Arthur knew it. Francis left another kiss on the soft yellow head and stroked the mop from the other's eyes.

"And I'll be here for as long as your troubles are," he met the meadow green orbs with devotion in his own. Watched as the mouth below them curved upward into a tiny smirk.

"Because you are one of them," Arthur quipped.

Rolling his eyes, jestingly feigning irritation when, really, he was pleased to see the other smile, Francis smiled back.

"That's the last time I help you."

"Good," the Englishman scoffed, "I told you not to."

"You know I always will though."

They gazed at each other a moment. They really did love one another.

"I know."

It wasn't a peaceful night for them as they lay in bed, entwined. Thunder came and went but Francis was there through every shake and every nightmare, holding his Arthur tight with soft kisses, gentle caresses. He would be there every time.

This is my second time uploading this because the mistakes I made the first time were driving me absolutely insane so I apologise but also I had to so sorry not sorry xx