A Rush of Blood To The Head

Francis whistled softly in the early morning hours of the barely breaking Montreal dawn. The conference room was silent and dark but the newborn sunlight cast an ethereal glow on the blond hair of the Frenchman.

He sat and waited.

And dreamt.

He dreamt of a time where war was newly slain, its blood ran red across Europe, pounding in the heads of every country in the world as they felt the turmoil of the end of the second World War.

Francis trudged through the unkempt grasses of the wide lawn. He'd taken the train and decided to walk the rest of the way to England's countryside villa. He felt the need to take such a journey; the only way to endure the pain was to match it.

He was not the only one who thought so.

The Frenchman let himself into the house and found Arthur,a shotgun and a puddle of blood on the floor of the master bedroom.

Only trembling slightly, he picked up the other and sat him on the bed, allowing his bloodied head to rest on his lap. He kept vigil until the wound healed and the Briton opened emerald eyes.

"Francis..."

"I am here, Angleterre." whispered the other, turning on the lamp to combat the stifling darkness of late night sky.

"I wanted the pain."

"You must be careful of where you place the bullet, mon cheri." chided Francis, stroking his hair.

"It hurts."

"I am glad you are awake. I feared you would not rise."

A single tear hit the bloodied face of England.

"Bollocks, frog, you're not crying over me, are you?"

"Yes." said the other quietly. "I am."

"Frog."

Francis sat up and met the other's dulled eyes. Without pretense, he asked, "Why did you do it?"

Though the incident was long passed, forest eyes widened and looked away, fumbling in his pocket. Finally he produced an Ipod and refused to look at his companion until he'd found what he wanted. "Listen."

So he did.

And it all made sense.

"The song wasn't actually around all those years ago, but it...you know."

"So you wanted a rush of blood to your head..."

"Yes."

"Because of an impulse."

"Yes, Fran-"

"You're stupid." said the Frenchman, calmpy handing the earbuds back to Arthur.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't you ev-"

"I won't." The Briton sank into lap belonging to a pair of surprised ocean blue eyes and sighed. "I won't."

A Rush Of Blood To The Head - Coldplay