The Doctor would return, he thought as he sat, and waited. Day in, day out, he sat in that chair, hoping and staring at the empty room as if he would suddenly pop out and say the same thing he always did. My fair country, how may I serve thee. Sure he was older than the time lord, but that shouldn't mean he didn't like the flirty banter they shared. England and the Doctor, tied together in an eternal spiderweb of destiny. But as the weeks passed into a month, two, he lost his hope and decided that he wasn't good enough for the almighty Timelord. He became reclusive and bitter, hiding in a shell of arrogance and anger.
Accept for when France was around; that temper was real when he tried to claw said male's eyes out after a comment about how big his eyebrow were.
"Why did you get older?" he wailed, dramatically falling on his knees, fake tears dripping like a waterfall down his 'manly' beard. The United Kingdom rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, firmly willing away his headache.
"I mean, the eyebrows were excusable when he lived in the forest, alone and terrified, practically begging me to take him home. But, now, when all you need is like 10 euros to get one in my country, or... what did Amerique say he used for money... ?" He fumbled through his memory."Oh, yeah dollars. It only costs about 11 dollars to get it done in a nail salon. A nail salon, Angleterre. Mon dieu, just get rid of those putain de eyebrows!" The outburst was met with hastily quietened sniggers from America, China, and surprisingly Japan, who quickly stopped and blushed as Germany glared at him.
France looked proud of his accomplishment, a smug look falling onto his face, as he turned toward Spain and Prussia, winking that devilishly handsome- no perverted, definately so disgusting that he was weak at the knees with the horribly ugly face trying to be seductive. And they, somehow by the door, holding a rope that went up and... oh, hell.
He barely had any warning before a bucket filled with rotten tomatoes (to which Romano fainted due to such tramatic circumstances), wurst (this is the part where Germany faints but is soon revived because he couldn't sleep without Italy, looking like he might beat Prussia into the deepest trenches of hell), and finally: snails. Live ones. They crawled into his shirt, making him flail wildly to try to get it out. Laughs broke out all around the meeting room, along with Russia discretly pushing money towards Turkey, Greece snatching it from his grasp, claiming that he'd count it for him because he was too dumb to count. In the most polite way possible. And by noting that Russia and Turkey didn't have the same currencies, leading to a fight between them that everyone ignored.
France slapped his knee, as England screamed like a little girl, frantically taking off clothing to escape the snails. Tears streamed down the country's face, a panicked sort of terror welling up in him. That git knew, he knew, how deathly afraid he was of the little buggers, their antenae with those beady black eyes focused on him and only him gave him the creeps. He cursed rapidly in French, surprising both himself and France with his usage of the language. "Vous git stupide, comment osez-vous! Vous savez que je ne laisse pas garder les escargots!" [You stupid git, how dare you! You know I don't like snails!]
France calmed slightly, only to melt as he heard the English man use his language, a privilage that only happened once in a blue moon. He made a queer shushing noise to the other countries as he turned towards the dirty man, arms under his chin and eyes glazed over dreamily. "Parlez plus de ma langue, en Angleterre," [Speak more of my language, England.] he sighed, turning into a puddle of goop as England turned pure crimson with rage, everyone who had still laughed ceased immediately upon seeing him, shrinking into themself, thanking the high heavens that they had not the stupidity of France, nor his recklessness.
He breathed heavily and slowly, calming himself before turning to the door, America in tow, needing emotional support. "La France est un idiot. Maintenant, ouvrez la porte pour moi, I'Amerique." [France is an idiot. Now, open the door for me America.] He stood expectantly behind the hamburger lover, waiting for the doors to open. He moved past Alfred, tears stinging his eyes as he walked out of the building. America looked at France in disgust, sneering as he stated coldly, "You don't have to make him cry all the time," before motioning for the Axis and Canada to follow him. The three foreign countries looked at each other in confusion but followed America obediently, and were any of them to turn back, they would have seen the most heartbroken face on Francis, as his friends gently consoled/scolded him, wishing they could help with their friend's love life.