A Little Change of Heart
I bet you twenty dollars they'll get together by the end of the month. FrUk (Fem!France x England), Fem!Canada x America
France x England = Cancer x Taurus – Taurus may show his stubborn side but Cancer's patience will calm them down and mellow them out. So this kind of relationship works out great! :D
Reposting this for old times' sake!
~Beta'd by the awesome A Drop of Starlight, mostly for the French (because i pestered her. She's too nice)
Day One and the Bet
Alfred F. Jones was on a mission. He was going to perform one of the holiest and noblest duties known to mankind, and make the world better for what he had done.
Namely, he was going to seek justice (cough, revenge). Against none other than -
"All right, just hear me out on this – Maddie, stop jumping around will you!?" Alfred F. Jones sighed in exasperation, and Maddie Williams quickly stopped her antics, not wanting to push her luck at being noticed (finally!).
"So this is how it went," Alfred said in various tones of seriousness, while Maddie examined (and tried not to laugh at) the Powerpoint being displayed on screen. "England beats America at the drinking contest on Saturday – which never happens, by the way, I swear he slipped something into my drink – don't laugh, Maddie, there goes my manly pride!" Maddie, unable to contain herself, was choking with laughter, oblivious to Alfred's distress.
"And so –" Maddie finally recovered enough to listen again. "And so –" Alfred struck what was meant to be a noble and heroic pose. "Revenge must be taken. A plan must be made – to regain America's pride and show that America, not England, is the best and awesomest country in the entire world!"
"Best and awesomest," Maddie echoed, perking up. "All right, I'm in!"
"So here's the plan…"
"Get on with it already, Alfred - you've been talking for the whole hour!" Alfred flushed.
"Arthur will never know what – or who – hit him. Because there's always one person in the world capable of making him completely miserable at will. I'm sure she'll agree."
"You don't say…" Maddie gasped.
"Of course."
"But that means it's going to be…"
Alfred grinned evilly.
"France."
Arthur Kirkland made sure to scan the entire block thoroughly from all openings of his house before exiting. There would be no margin for error this time.
All clear. He sighed with relief and stepped out carefully and quietly, locking the door securely behind him before tiptoeing to his car in the driveway. Yes, it was embarrassing, but yes, it was absolutely necessary.
Over the years America had proved to be a formidable enemy in the way of pranks, and having learned a thing or two (the hard way), Arthur wasn't one to take any chances.
Perhaps switching Alfred's glass of whiskey with Russia's vodka (how in the world had neither noticed?) hadn't been such a good idea - because that officially meant Alfred would now be after his head.
Still, winning the drinking contest for the first time in his life had been pure bliss. Bragging to an annoyed and defeated Alfred had been even better. Why hadn't he thought of this sooner?
Ah well, no time for reflection now. Alfred might well be tracking his footsteps across the driveway with micro-sensor cameras or whatnot installed between the cracks of the sidewalk and disguised by that moss over there in the corner - or (gasp) what if he had sneaked them into Arthur's shoes sometime during the night? All right, so maybe Alfred wasn't that much of a stalker. Come to think of it, he didn't even stalk at all. He usually just jumped right up in your face; being obvious was probably his one true calling in life.
Hah.
Arthur finally got to his car and was relieved to find that no stink bombs had gone off, no creepy jack-in-the-boxes had popped out of nowhere to scare him to death (as had happened to a certain country on the eve of July 4th), no secret pot of unidentified liquid had come splashing down onto his head from the garage door - God, Arthur's definition of pranks was getting old. He had to catch up or Alfred would own him sooner or later.
Later was better. For now he was safe. Arthur allowed himself a small smile as he unlocked his car door and slipped inside to start the engine.
Strange, his car smelled…different. Odd. And he could swear on his life that he knew that scent anywhere. Now if he could only remember it...
England, England, you're getting to be slow these days...
...Roses?
"BONJOUR, MON CHER AMI IGGY!" a loud squeal sounded from behind him, as a pair of hands simultaneously clapped themselves over his eyes.
Arthur screamed.
"What in bloody hell!?" Arthur spluttered as roses rained down into his lap.
"Angleterre, s'il vous plait!" Francine Bonnefoy removed her hands from Arthur's face and gave Arthur her most winning smile, although his back was facing her - he would probably see her in the rearview mirror, anyway.
"How in the blazes did you get in here?" Arthur attempted to paste on a why-hello-there-nice-to-see-you-now-get-the-hell-out-of-my-car friendly smile, but it came out more like a grimace. "Oh, I see, you're working with America now. What a pleasant surprise!"
She ignored his highly obvious sarcasm. "What are you saying, mon cher? You make my ears bleed with those profanities of yours. And my eyes hurt, too, at the sight of your so very unsightly eyebrows." Arthur fixed her with a murderous glare before turning back around. It had no visible effect on her.
She would really have to thank Russia sometime.
"Kindly. Get. Out." He grumbled at the windshield, but he was no longer cursing. Oh, how wonderful! Since when had England become so…pliable?
"Pardonnez-moi?"
"Oh, you bloody well heard me." Welp. There it was again. "I don't even care anymore how you got in here in the first place, just get out before I drag you out myself."
"Why do you have to be so mean to me, Angleterre?" Francine pouted at the back of his head. "You couldn't even, out of the goodness of your heart, drive a fellow country to the world meeting too?"
He gave no answer; she could feel the dangerous silence radiating off him, but ah, he was so cute when he was angry! She listened as he started the car and began to back out of the driveway.
"Merci beaucoup, mon cher," she sighed contentedly, resting against the seat.
"Put on your seat belt. And I'm not your 'dear,' or whatever you mean," groused Arthur, to a laugh from Francine, and they spent the rest of the trip in companionable silence.
In Francine's opinion only, of course.
Alfred and Maddie were sitting near the front of the meeting table, scanning all the countries walking in. It seemed two seats were still empty – two seats for two certain people. One of whom was supposed to be the host of this whole world meeting…
Where the hell was England!?
Well…if everything was going according to plan…England was probably going to be rather late indeed. But not thirty minutes late, thought Alfred.
Hopefully France hadn't killed him on the way here or anything.
Alfred craned his head to try to catch sight of the doorway over Russia's head, followed by Maddie. He tried to ignore the fact that her hand had brushed lightly against his – it was probably just an accident.
"Is France with him?" prodded Maddie next to his ear. At that Alfred tried to hide a smirk.
"You won't believe what she did."
"What?" Maddie looked as if she would rather not hear what he had to say. "It had better not be…you know…"
Alfred pasted on the calmest face he could. "I gave her one of his spare car keys."
"Oh, god," gasped Maddie, not getting the humor of the entire thing. But then again, she hadn't exactly heard the story firsthand from either France or England. And she didn't have a duty to defend her country like Alfred did – Alfred, like the noble hero he was, would have to keep a lookout for any sinister British activity and perhaps heroically place himself in the way of any evil pranks England might pull.
Yep. That was true American spirit right there.
Too bad no one appreciated true heroes these days.
"Privet, Amerika," Russia smiled and waved from his seat, not even bothering to move out of their way. "I hope you enjoyed my vodka on Saturday night? I never had the chance to ask you – but it was my best store." His smile grew wider as Alfred's eyes bogged out in horrified realization.
"You did that!?" Alfred nearly turned over the table in his haste to get at the Russian, and the combined efforts of Maddie and the Italy brothers only just kept him in his seat. "How dare you try to undermine the American pride with your foul drink? I'm going to lock you in a fast-food restaurant and stuff you with hamburgers all day long, see how you like that –"
"Ve~! Or pasta!" chimed in Italy.
"Nyet, did you not notice?" Russia was still sitting calmly in his seat. "It was dear Angliya the entire time. Oh, and I must warn you of the health risks of that beverage you call 'whiskey' – if it even exists as a beverage –"
Alfred glared.
"Suffice it to say that we are 'on the same page,' as you Americans say," Russia said cheerfully as though he had not just been in danger of losing his life. He turned to look at the doorway. "And I believe the true object of your hate has just arrived. Late, yes, but he is here."
There was a reason for Arthur's lateness. A very, very good reason. He had only two words for it.
Francine. Bonnefoy. Is. Horrible.
Okay, so that was four words. But still.
He was almost absolutely certain she had cast some curse over the building or something, because when they got there the elevators were oh so conveniently broken down, and the doorman had told them to take the stairs instead.
That had been the worst nightmare of his life – and that was putting it mildly.
"All right, France you frog. You'd better tell me the countercurse to the elevators right now, or –"
"Whatever do you mean?" France was batting her eyelashes at him (okay, they were pretty – but that was beside the point). "You're the one with magical powers, Angleterre."
"Yes, and you're the one straight from the devil," Arthur retorted, ignoring her flirty tone of voice and resigning himself to trudging up the stairs. Forget the fact that he hadn't taken the stairs since almost never – if he could make it up these twelve flights then he was competing in the Olympics and winning hands down.
Yep. No biggie. Not at all.
France looked hurt at this latest compliment, and Arthur tried to suppress the small twinge of guilt he felt upon seeing her wounded expression. "Well, are we going or not?"
"Wait, I think my heel broke," France said sadly, taking off her shoe. Oh, so that was it. The guilt faded away immediately.
"…Are you serious."
Oh god. He knew what was going to happen, France was looking at him with those eyes of hers, he just knew it, he could become a mind-reader and fortune-teller for this…
She stretched her arms out towards him.
"Carry me, Angleterre?"
Just as he'd thought.
"NO." Arthur stomped up a few more steps. If France didn't follow him, so much the better.
"You are the most un-gentlemanly person I have ever had the misfortune to meet," France informed him sagely as she sprinted up the steps – wait, SPRINTED!? What in the – !?
Sure enough, she was already about twelve steps ahead of him now and still climbing even faster, one stiletto heel in each hand, leaping up in stockinged feet. Never mind that her legs were nicely shaped and fit-looking –
ARGH! How in the world did he get to such thoughts!?
He had to stop dallying.
"You're quite out of shape, too, it seems," she called back, and then vanished around a corner. "If you just stopped huffing and puffing like an old steam engine…"
"Shut up!"
Her laughter sounded in the air, seemingly coming from all directions and irritating Arthur to no end.
"You look rather tousled, mon cher Angleterre," purred Francine, adjusting her heels as Arthur struggled up the last few steps, breathing heavily. Never mind the fact that she'd paused for quite a long rest as well – that sprint had only lasted two minutes or so – but no one needed to know that.
"You suck, France," he managed to wheeze out. "You bloody well suck."
"I don't think you're quite in the position for throwing insults out now, are you, Angleterre."
"Shut up."
Even when he was half-dead and wheezing, he could still look so…cute.
"Here, I don't suppose you'll need this?" she said, giving him a handkerchief, but he ignored it.
"I don't need any of your help, frog," Arthur muttered angrily, not meeting her eyes, and Francine took the opportunity to push him up against the wall. She felt him freeze and silently gloated.
England has been one-upped!
"Oh, but I want to help," she breathed into his ear, which was now red, as was his entire face. "Certainly even the high-and-mighty England would appreciate some assistance every now and then? Or am I mistaken?"
She reached up and dabbed lightly at his face, grinning evilly. "It may be very noble of you but sometimes, it can also be rather…foolish."
He was still frozen in place, just staring down at her, and Francine had to admit, this situation was rather weird. Here she was, apparently tending to her archenemy of olden days – her archenemy even now.
Their enmity was the most obvious thing in the world. Wasn't it? (Truth be told, it had been going on for quite a long time.) If it wasn't Francine tormenting England (which she enjoyed a lot), it was him insulting her. Francine rather liked the first one better, as England's taunts often had a grain of truth in them.
And anyway, this – this was simply out of spite. Oh yes. Francine reveled in the feeling of superiority over her fellow country – after all, it was practically her right. She certainly didn't want to get close to England for anything other than that.
Or…was there something else?
She didn't want to think about it, and almost instinctively stepped away from her rival.
"Well…we'd better get going. Everyone must be out of their minds awaiting us by now…" With one last smirk at Arthur, who was still standing there dumbly holding her handkerchief, she flounced off, a slight unsteadiness in her step that should not have been there.
Just blame it on the broken heel.
Then again, he probably wouldn't notice anyway.
After all, he was England.
"You…are…going…to…pay," Arthur snarled, to a very bright and not at all evil smile from America, as the other nations milled around aimlessly in the aftermath of a fruitless discussion. (Maybe he shouldn't have called an hour-long break, but then again he needed time to sort out…matters…with a certain bloody infuriating little country…)
Thank goodness France was gone – she'd probably left to touch up her makeup or something. Arthur still shivered inwardly at the thought of being near her any more than necessary. That was borderline traumatizing as it was.
And what had happened just before the meeting…He almost choked on nothing.
It was not that they had been exhilaratingly close in those past few minutes. Or that they had been…exhilaratingly close. Or – SHUT UP! His mind screamed.
Okay. Okay. Back to the matter at hand.
America was giving him an incredibly odd look, as though Arthur might just have admitted to eating caterpillars and drinking vodka in secret or something of that horribly unpleasant ilk. (Well, France was unpleasant – not to mention dangerous – but anyway.)
"What," he snapped.
"Oh, nothing," America said cheerfully as though nothing had happened. "But Iggy" – urgh, the way he said it was vomit-inducing – "you just spaced out. For the third time today." And then – horror of horrors – America waggled his eyebrows. "Might you have been daydreaming about something – or someone? HUH?"
"GAH! Why in hell's name would you –"
Do not think do not think DO NOT THINK DO NOT LET MIND WANDER TO – TO –
It was too late. His face was already heating up.
"Haha, gotcha – oh my that look on your face – oh my GAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" America doubled over in uncontrollable laughter. No one was around, but Arthur struggled to look like he was simply patronizing an overgrown idiot, just in case anyone happened to pass by. So far it seemed to be working quite well.
Then America recovered. Arthur decided not to give him time to jump to conclusions.
"Tell me, love," he growled in a voice that conveyed the exact opposite of his words (as if he even meant them), "just what do you mean by setting that shameless French hussy on me!?"
Alfred had the guts to look completely ignorant of the whole thing. "Wait what? I have absolutely no idea what you mean, Arthur!"
"Oh yes you do, you wily little git. Kindly remove her from my presence, or there will be hell to pay."
"Oh, but you two are usually bickering over something or other – why accuse me?" America said nonchalantly. "What I would like to know is the reason for that nasty bit of cheating you performed Saturday night."
Arthur felt his cheeks heat up despite himself. So he'd been found out – presumably by Russia, who was loyal to no one. What was he going to do now? Accept or deny? But he had to admit that he needed to get rid of France, and fast.
There was no doubt about it, she was dangerous.
And hence Arthur's panic. And hence his need for America's help.
Each word was a blow to his British pride, and he knew America was enjoying every single word of it. Oh, just wait…
"All right, I'm sorry," he gritted out. "It was me. Happy? Now you'd better tell me, or else…"
America, out of the great goodness of his heart (as he would have said so himself), did not push the matter further. "Since you apologized so nicely, I suppose things should work out fine. But as for France –"
"What about France?" Arthur was prepared to hang onto every word, if it meant he could get the girl away from him once and for all.
"Well…"
"Yes?"
"What I think is…"
"YES, ALFRED!?"
"…I don't think I can do anything about it."
It took a few moments for the words to sink in, and then Arthur felt his world collapse in on him.
His life was officially over.
"What do you mean you can't help me!?" He grabbed onto the taller nation's arm. "NopleasesavemeAlfredI'mgoingtoDIE!"
"Don't worry, you'll live 'cause you're England, you know," America said un-comfortingly, patting him on the arm in what was probably meant to be a consolatory manner. "Just give it time – it's up to her anyway. I have no control over any of this."
Oh GOD no this could not be happening America could not just have helped to toss him into the bottomless Pit of Doom and was now leaving him there to suffer and DIE-!
"You're going to regret this because you started it – if I die it's going to be on your conscience -"
"Angleterre~!" The all-too-familiar voice sounded as a hand latched onto his arm, and Arthur tried to keep from screaming for help as France dragged him away to who-knows-where. (It turned out to be the nearby café but still.) Oh goodness gracious, he was still too young to die!
"Have fun!" America called with a smirk.
If Arthur survived…well, America had better run for it then.
"You know what I think, Alfred?"
"What?" Alfred said boredly, without a touch of remorse (and maybe more than a touch of amusement) as he watched England leave, under duress, with a cheerful France in tow.
Maddie seemed happy to be listened to for once. "Well, I think…they'll be the perfect couple!"
"You don't say." Alfred yawned widely. "Don't worry, I know old Iggy better than that. He's never going to fall for his archenemy – look how they've been at it for centuries!"
"No," Maddie shook her head solemnly. "I think something's different – maybe time has worked some changes at last."
Alfred scoffed. "I bet you twenty bucks."
"All right," said Maddie, with something in her voice Alfred couldn't (and didn't) decipher. "But if I win you have to promise me one thing."
"Sure, anything," Alfred said carelessly.
"You have to promise me one favor. Anything I ask, but just one favor."
"No problem. I expect my twenty bucks by the end of the month."
He didn't notice the thoughtful look on Maddie's face as she turned and quietly went back to the meeting room.
"I hate you."
"Is it not obvious enough already?" said France, with an all too calm (and all too infuriating) grin in Arthur's direction. How in the world could she withstand his apparent aversion to her?
"Are you serious."
"Am I sérieuse, you ask? Why, was I not before?"
"No," said Arthur, gritting his teeth, which did not help matters much at the moment as he was trying to drink his tea at the same time. "No, of course you were serious – serious about pranking someone who has absolutely no time and patience for what you are doing. And I ask you why. Why. Are. You. Doing. This –"
"Now, now, Angleterre. We must not get too excited – don't break your teacup, now." Arthur glared murderously at her, but somehow it glanced off her completely calm and cool demeanor. "And did I really 'prank' you, as you so casually say? What have I done except give you some roses, hitch a ride, and tend to you when you were completely unfit to go to the meeting? Hmm?" Of course she had to lean closer to emphasize her point – which was completely unnecessary.
Another thing that was completely unnecessary was
France was right.
Goddamn it.
That wily little…never mind.
"Well," she continued, almost as if she were speaking to herself, "I suppose I did have a reason for that, even if it wasn't a prank. And I suppose you would want to know, too."
Oh yes! Oh yes yes yes! Here it was! France was going to spill the beans at last!
And why exactly did Arthur want to know?
Well, of course it wasn't because he was interested in France and wanted to find out if she was interested in him or not. Oh no sir.
Nope. All he wanted to know was how to successfully get her away from him once and for all, ending once and for all those stupid conflicts from thousands of years earlier. Yes. Arthur was tired of all this, yes he was admitting it, he wanted an end to all this enmity and strife and horribleness…just everything. It was too much to wish for friendship at this point – he wasn't sure he even wanted to be friends with France. Just separation would do him a world of good.
France was observing him closely, with an expression that did nothing to ease Arthur's discomfort in the situation. Hopefully he hadn't missed out on anything she might have said.
"…Were you going to say something?"
"I suppose," said France nonchalantly, her gaze flicking away from him. "I was going to answer your most heartfelt question from before but…"
"What!? You'd better keep your word now that it's out, France, or –"
"A bargain."
"…What."
"A bargain," France repeated – oh, the cunning and deceit of it all! "I answer your question, you answer mine."
…Okay, that didn't sound too bad then. Arthur just needed to know one thing…
"What do you want to know?"
"Ah, well, that…it may be rather complicated to explain…" France looked to be deep in thought, with no indication of replying anytime soon. And the longer the minutes dragged on, the surer Arthur was that what France wanted was something highly unpleasant and horrible and which Arthur wouldn't want to be concerned with anyway.
Yes – that had to be it. Anything related to France was bound to be unpleasant.
"What do you hate about me so much?"
For a moment Arthur was so shocked he could barely raise an eyebrow in response. Then he finally recovered himself, just before his tea could take a detour down his airway.
Was she…was she serious…
"Is that seriously all you want to know?" he spluttered incredulously.
France shrugged, her face unreadable, and stirred her cup of coffee. "I phrased my question; it's your job to make sense of it."
"Okay. Okay…" Wow. France really was giving him a break. A chance to list all her flaws – sweet. Arthur was definitely going to enjoy this.
Is it too obvious that I like fem!France? It is. I need to make myself update!
Please review!