A/N: I have the strangest feeling you might only be confused by this chapter. And hurt. Please, I've already warned you all that this isn't the happiest story. I hope you all believed me. But at any rate, I worked hard on this one.


"That's the thing about pain.

It demands to be felt."

~ John Greene


Chapter One

The sun coming up in the east was a sign that one of them needed to get up. The little cottage in Cherbourg, France, was her favourite of the Frenchman's many homes, and it was the one she was most comfortable in. Just like how a girl would leave everything behind for her husband, she had followed this man to almost infinity and beyond. She fought her own brothers to be with him, and through all of her colonies' warnings, she decided to stay with him. And so Alicia Fernandez-Carriedo, opened her eyes one fine, summer morning, to birds chirping, trees softly rustling and the warmth of the sun pouring into their room.

Beside her lay Francis Bonnefoy, radiant in the morning sun, still fast asleep, with an arm around her waist. She attempted to pry herself away from his strong grasp, but to no avail – he was still much stronger than her, any day. As she always did, she nudged and whispered to him, "Francis," she smiled at the routine, "I must make breakfast. Come on, let me go."

The usual reply to that, would be, "Five more minutes, mon amour," or, "Non. We're making that together." Replies that she expected without a doubt.

However, the routine changed when Francis muttered an unusual string of words in his sleep, "Non… Jeanne… s'il vous plait."

Amber eyes widened, and a gasp escaped her lips, "F-Francis?" she shook him lightly by the shoulders, but the blond didn't budge, "Francis? Francis!"

"Tu es de plus beau qu'un soliel."

She pulled herself forcibly away from the Frenchman's hold, who still didn't wake from his slumber. Tears brimmed in her eyes, knowing exactly what the words had meant. It wasn't the first time he had said it. And as it seemed, she wasn't the first person who had heard it from him either. They were back to that again, back to Jeanne. She couldn't blame him for never forgetting her, but it hurt to know for her that she could never be what Jeanne was to him.

Alicia pulled up her knees and buried her head into them, sobbing until Francis stirred. Needless to say, he was surprised to find her curled up and in tears, "Mon amour?" he asked her, worry painted all over his face, "Wh-what's wrong?" he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up to him, "Please, tell me."

But she shook her head, muttering under her breath, "Oh God, I should have known…" she cried, unmoving and sobbing very hard, "… I'm so stupid…"

"Alicia, please," Francis begged, ocean-blue eyes turning to her as he pulled away and lifted her head up lightly to face him, "Please tell me what's wrong."

"Y-You… You t-talked in your sleep," she started, not meeting his gaze and the frown that accompanied it, "Y-Y-You said her name again… Y-Y-You were c-calling for J-Jeanne-" and this time, his eyes widened, "-a-and…" she couldn't continue and she buried her head in her hands once more.

For a long time, Francis just sat there. Then he wrapped his arms around her once more, whispering words of apology, love and comfort, "… It was just a dream - that was nothing, Alicia-"

"You love her."

Her voice was soft, but sure. And when she looked up at him, she sought the truth from his eyes. At first, Francis was intimidated by the intensity of her stare. There was but a simple beauty about her sun-kissed skin and dark, raven locks. And her amber eyes glistened like gold with tears, as though challenging him to prove her wrong. But his eyes softened as he placed a gentle kiss upon her forehead, "Loved." He corrected, nuzzling her lightly as he wiped away the tears from his eyes, "There is only one woman I love now. And that's you," he whispered, "I love you, Alicia. You, and no one else."

And just like that, she forgave him and all was well.

That was far from their typical morning, Alicia would have to admit. But the rest of the day went on as usual. She would water the garden while Francis made brunch (they slept in, after all). After eating, they'd take a stroll: watch a movie, or go to the bookstore, or just sit in a café and talk for hours, sometimes all three. And at night, when the lights are dim, they'd do what most young couples would do in heated passions, whispering words audible for only both of them to hear, in ways only each other would understand.

However, Alicia would gladly take more of that morning of tears than what she was to face.

Morning had come once more, and it was another day. She was expecting soft breathing upon her skin when the rays of the sun hit her, but the moment her eyes opened, there was nothing. No arm around her waist, no handsome Frenchman in the bed beside her, and no sign of what could have happened to him.

She sat bolt upright and searched the room. No note, no letter, yet his phone and workbag were still in the study. She hastily ran down the stairs to find the kitchen undeniably empty, and the gardens quiet. She sought her mobile phone from her pocket, and no messages were left.

"Pierre!"

The little white bird under Francis' care chirped and landed on the window-sill, "Did you see him? Did he call for you?" but the bird only looked confused, "Francis isn't here, Pierre." And with that statement, the bird seemed to be in some sort of panic and flew off. She sighed, returning back upstairs to get changed, and hoping that her fears were not confirmed, and that the blond had only gone out to buy food or baguettes.

But he didn't return.

X.o.X

"… I'm sorry for barging in here like this."

She was drenched from the rain, the typical weather in the dreary city of London, and Arthur gaped at her, thankful that he had at-least changed into more suitable clothing for the morning.

"Oh my dear, you don't have to apologize. Oh but you're terribly drenched. Do come in, I'll make some tea to warm you up."

"Thank you."

And she hung her coat up in the nearest rack, and trudged over into the living room, where the Englishman had rushed into, bringing a large towel and draping it over her shoulders, "Good heavens, my dear," he started, looking down at Alicia's wet hair and cold skin, "How long have you been walking outside? Why didn't you call me to pick you up?"

"It would be too much of a bother, I'm sorry," she apologized again, turning her amber eyes away from him.

Immediately, Arthur's eyes widened, "… Alicia," he pulled her into the sofa and sat her down, "Come sit down. Allow me to bring you some tea."

She nodded, not really paying attention much. Time hasn't passed her normally, and everything felt like such a blur. It was a few minutes before Arthur had returned with a tray, a pot of tea, two cups and a platter of sweets, "Here," he placed a warm cup in a saucer before handing it to her, "You need to warm up my dear," he started, taking worried glances at her while she just sat there, "Have you found a place to stay, by any chance?"

Alicia nodded half-heartedly, staring at the pale-coloured drink in her hands. Jasmine tea, by how it smelled. She took a small sip and whispered, "The hotel two blocks from here," she couldn't even say it in coherent sentences, before her hands began to tremble and tears began to stream from her face.

"W-Wait, Alicia." The Brit frantically dropped everything he was doing and rushed to take the steaming hot tea from her grasp, in fear of spilling it over her, "W-what's the matter, my dear? W-would you like me to call Antonio to pick you up-?"

"No!" she cried, her eyes livid, "N-No, please… He'll… He'll take me away again. He'll not allow me to see him… Please…"

"You mean Francis?" Arthur raised one of his massive eyebrows, and the Spaniard didn't respond, "My dear, if you wanted to see the frog, you shouldn't have gone to London."

"He's… he's not home," her voice quivered, "I've searched every city. Paris, Cherbourg, Bordeaux, Marseilles – everywhere," she sounded exhausted just explaining it, her voice airy and exasperated, "I didn't know who else to go to. I didn't know what else to do. If my brother found out, he'd be sure to tear me away from him forever, you know that." Yes. Arthur knew it by heart, even. "And Arthur… He's never done this before, wh-why… Why now?" she asked weakly, "Has… Has he grown tired of me after all?"

"Bloody frog," Arthur shook his head and rubbed his temples, seething, "He wouldn't normally do this, but I daresay that it's honestly nothing to be too worried about. It's probably got nothing to do with you. Don't think of yourself that way, my dear. I'm pretty sure he's just around here somewhere." He sighed, "Have you tried Gilbert? Alfred and Matthew as well? I'm sure you haven't told your brother yet, under the circumstances?"

"Yes, I've tried Gil, and no, of course not," she sighed, looking down at her lap, "You know how… over-protective my brother becomes when I'm involved. I've tried calling the boys, yes, but Mathieu says he doesn't know, and Alfred refuses to answer calls, texts or emails…" she shrugged, "I only say that because he woke up calling Jeanne again the other day."

Arthur, who had picked up his tea cup and was mid-way into taking a drink, froze at the name. His emerald eyes flickered a little, turning to Alicia and his brows furrowed in worry, "… Again?" he asked, "You mean to tell me that's not the first time?"

She nodded again, "H-He used to have dreams of her often, especially during my Conquistador days," to this Arthur nodded. He'd seen the lass fighting on both the Spanish and French Flags, and needless to say, she always made her point, "I couldn't blame him, it was only a few years since she'd died… After I woke up from my two-centuries worth of sleep, I thought they'd all stop but…" a few tears fell from her eyes, slightly startling the Englishman, "… She's still…" And she cried, burying her face into her hands.

He wasn't used to this kind of behaviour, of course, and the last time he'd spent longer than ten minutes within her presence was nearly half a century ago. But when he and Antonio were still faking their hatred for each other, he'd gotten quite fond of her – in that very familiar sort of way. She'd always been the sensitive one, the less clueless one, as though Antonio gave her all of his common sense. And after what happened to her – after how she was horribly mistreated by the Spaniard's crew (mistreated being the understatement of the century) – well, Arthur thought she'd never trust any man again. But she did, and she fell in love with Francis, of all people… And here was the bloody Frenchman, breaking her already too fragile heart.

He wouldn't admit it to anybody after that, but Arthur set down his tea-cup and pulled her into a warm embrace. At first, Alicia's eyes widened, but she buried her head into the Englishman's chest and he just rubbed her back soothingly. No words were necessary, words couldn't help diminish the feeling. All she felt was agonizing pain. And it was something Arthur couldn't take away from her, even if he tried.

"I'll make a few phone calls for you, my dear. You should call your brother." That doesn't mean he wouldn't.

X.o.X

Gilbert didn't know how they had ended up there.

Alicia had come all the way to Berlin, marched up their house and asked for Francis. Well, how the hell was he supposed to know, actually? He'd barely been out of the house. But apparently, the Frenchman was missing, and Gilbert was honestly more concerned about the woman before him than his best friend doing what not – and hoping that it wasn't anything to be angry about, because if Gilbert didn't end up murdering Francis, Antonio certainly will. He'd sat her down in the living room with her, offered her wurst since it was lunch time, and the moment she said she wasn't hungry anymore, he decided she desperately needed some cheering up.

But again… How did he end up in a train to Zaragosa again?

"… Well, I don't really live in the city, and in my house, you can see the stars lighting up so beautifully at night. You can come visit whenever you want to~"

"Let's go there right now!"

The albino's eyes opened wearily, and it was certainly no dream. Alicia was staring at her mobile phone in her hands, a few sobs being heard, and he raised an eyebrow almost immediately, "Hey… Why are you crying?"

She attempted a smile and set her phone upon his lap, "Nothing, I just miss him, that's all," she whispered. Gilbert turned his crimson eyes at the wallpaper of the phone he had set down, and his eyes feasted on his best-friends typical, bearded face, a wide grin evident while Alicia was giving him a shy peck on the cheek. Something raged inside him, but as he gave it back to her, he could only sigh.

"If you're going to smile, do it for real," he said, tugging at her hair-tie and letting her long, black locks fall over her shoulder.

And for the first time in a long time, Alicia laughed and threw her arms around the Prussian, making the man grow red in the cheeks. She pulled away, realizing what she had done and avoided his gaze, "I-I'm sorry! I just… It felt like a nice moment to hug someone, so… Uh…"

But Gilbert was still trying to take the blush from his cheeks when he smiled kindly at her, "It's okay," he started, "I think I needed it too. Don't be sorry. I liked it."

X.o.X

"I'm sorry, Antonio, but I had to come as soon as I heard."

Antonio stared very hard at the Englishman before him, before standing aside and let him through the door, "Well, if you must,"

Antonio led him into the living room. It was Alicia's house in Zaragosa, not really his, and so he welcomed the visitor grudgingly. It wasn't really Arthur's fault – well, it was, but Antonio didn't like pointing the blame at only him – but-

"… Has it really been that long since our last decent conversation?" the blond asked, looking at the Spaniard with worried eyes, "W-was the last really…?"

"When Alicia fell into a comatose, yes," replied Antonio, turning his eyes away as he sat back down, "You helped me guard her for most of those years, I can't really deny you the privilege of seeing her. She treats you like a parent as well, so I know how you concern yourself towards her…"

Arthur chuckled a little, "So all these years… It really wasn't just hate-sex, was it?"

"It was hate-sex." Antonio glared at him.

"No," the Englishman smirked, knowing he had prodded a button, "As I recall it, you'd pin me to your cabin bed and-"

"Hate-sex."

For a long time, Antonio and Arthur stared at each other, before Antonio began to smile, then laugh. It was refreshing. They hadn't talked about their feelings in a long time, and although they've both had someone they love at present, they've finally gotten closure about their past, "Thank you for that, amigo,"

"You're bloody welcome," Arthur huffed, proud, "Now… The matter at hand…"

Antonio nodded, "She's been writing to him nearly every day since he left your place," he explained, "But when she arrived here with Gil, nothing. Not even a single one. However, the last letter she'd sent from your place still may have succeeded, seeing as Francis' bird hasn't returned."

"It did," the blond confirmed, "The damned frog called me. Apparently he was in New York after all the snooping America had been doing. He asked if I was still with her, because that was apparently what was in the letter. I told him to bugger off, and that Alicia would probably be better off without him," he sighed, "But I didn't really think it would end up being true." He looked around and noticed that the house was quiet, "… Where are they?"

"Probably in the garden, I'm not really sure," the brunet shrugged, "But Gil has definitely distracted her all these weeks. I couldn't leave them alone because I was so scared of what may happen to her. Believe me when I say that I was surprised that Gil doesn't even do anything close to sexual and intimate. He's just…"

"An absolute gentleman?" suggested Arthur with a grin, making Antonio laugh, "Well he should be. He took the code, after all."

"What worries me," Antonio started to say, on a more serious note now, "Is the fact that honestly, even before… I've never held any feelings with Gilbert. Never. Not even in the slightest."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him, "But… Everything Alicia is at the moment came from you, Antonio. Including her feelings for the bearded frog," Antonio chuckled at how the Englishman could never not insult the Frenchman. Suddenly, the Brit's eyes widened, "Wait… Do you mean to tell me that-"

"Oi, bastard, I told you to-ARGH!"

Lovino chose this moment to enter the room, cursing the Spaniard for not waking him up, but finding the Englishman sitting calmly in the living room with Antonio. His amber eyes widened, "W-what… What is he doing here?"

Antonio and Arthur exchanged curious glances, before the former chuckled, "Same thing we're here for, actually."

If he didn't believe it, Lovino ignored the irked feeling for a while and sat right next to Antonio on the sofa, "… Alicia?"

"Yes. By any chance, do you know where she is?"

"Sure," Lovino yawned and leaned lightly on the Spaniard's shoulder, making Antonio scoot closer to him and sigh happily, "She's out in the back garden with the potato-bastard. She's crying again."

Arthur looked worried, and Antonio pointed it out, "No need to worry, amigo. If there's anything Gil can do, it's stop her from crying."

Still, the Englishman did not seem convinced, "How are you so sure?"

Lovino was the one who answered:

"Because the potato-bastard says and does things for her that even that wine-bastard has never done for her in nearly a thousand years." And for the most part, Arthur was pleased, curious and confused all at the same time.

X.o.X

Francis didn't know what to do about it.

He had sneaked out and went all the way to Zaragosa to see Alicia. He knew he should have tried to get into contact with her. He knew that if he only had the will, he would have found a way. But the honest truth was that he didn't. Not after having a dream, wherein the words he had uttered to Alicia the first time he had her in his arms were uttered to Jeanne. It rattled him, it drove him insane. He didn't even know what to think. After all these years, he thought he had forgotten all about her. But one dream, and he had the sudden urge to go visit her grave again. And that was where Alfred found him, and brought him to America.

And he knew he'd made a grave mistake. He knew it… But he didn't know what to do about it, or maybe some parts of him didn't want to. Alicia loves him so much, and she was the only person who probably ever loved him more than he thought he could be loved. She wasn't blind to his short-comings – she forgave them. And she was nothing short of passionate. Which was why he had desperately hurried to come home, the moment he heard (or rather, read, since it was a hand-written letter) that she'd been searching for him. Nobody would do that for him too – search the entire continent. He didn't understand why he'd even replace her with an old flame to begin with – they had everything. And now-

"You're beautiful." The firm voice was definitely Gilbert's, no doubt about it, "Francis leaving you all of a sudden doesn't change that. Trust me. I'll say it over and over again until you believe me. You're beautiful."

The blond stood behind bushes, watching as Gilbert wiped away the tears that fell from Alicia's eyes. She had smiled a little, out of relief perhaps, and a certain kind of warmth. It made the Frenchman wonder: when was the last time he had said those words to her? When had he made her smile while she cried? When was the last time he had held her that close to him, and whispered words she had desperately needed to hear.

"T-Thank you," he heard Alicia say. And much to his surprise, she stood up on the tip of her toes to place a small, gentle kiss upon the albino's cheeks. Francis nearly gasped, but he held his ground. After all he'd put her through, he didn't really feel like he had much of a right to dictate what was and what wasn't right for her to do, "You seem to have some way with words and making me believe them."

But it didn't change any of the facts.

Alicia was hurt. Francis had hurt her himself. Gilbert knew how to comfort her – innocently, or not, it didn't matter. Only Gilbert would know which it was. Alicia hurt him – unintentionally. Because he knew that Alicia didn't do anything half-assed. And if she didn't still love him, she would have actually kissed Gilbert upon the lips.

Francis prayed to every god he knew that the day he would watch her kiss another would never come.