A/N: Hello again, peoples!

So, we have the second chapter now. Honestly, I don't like this one as much as the first. I just don't know if I was able to write everything the way I wanted it to be, or…something. Well, you'll just have to tell me if it's good or not. I still have internet cookies for apologies, okay? Oh, and again, I have more notes after the chapter.

Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Hetalia. I'm not sure how much this statement would help me if I were ever actually sued, but at least it's true.

Warnings: Abuse, alcoholism, smoking, and expletives. England is still fem!England, and France and fem!England are still running away from home.

Now, if you will, here we go!

Chapter 2

9:32 PM. Bonnefois was supposed to meet her at the base of the hill in the park in about an hour. Alice supposed it would be best for her to leave now. She just needed to sneak quietly downstairs carrying her things and…

There came a loud creak from the staircase, and in surprise, Alice dropped the little black purse that had been in her hand. Dammit! It just figured that would happen, didn't it? She only hoped that it hadn't been too loud. The front door was literally feet in front of her and—

"Wh-Where…are you going?" drawled the voice of her clearly drunken father as he staggered near her from the hallway. Just barely dressed in a stained shirt and pants, his blond hair was greasy and unkempt; his eyes were a dull, glassy green. He was breathing oddly, releasing a repulsive odor of beer and general unpleasantness. In his hand was a single opened bottle. Oh, this would be brilliant, Alice. Brilliant.

"Nowhere in particular," she replied. It was true enough, and Alice just wanted to find a way out of this conversation, especially before things got really bad.

Her father scoffed. "Yeah, right, lil' miss A-Alice Elizabeth Kirkland." How delightful. He still knew her full name. "I see ya with all those bags of yours. Where you goin'?"

"Out."

"You comin' back?"

"Probably eventually." He should just get to point already. After all, there was no hope of her getting away scot-free, but maybe she could be dealt just a few minor bruises and then leave.

"When?" he asked.

"I don't know."

Her father squinted at her, likely trying to focus his blurry gaze. "Don't tell me ya gonna leave and not," he hiccupped, "not coming back."

"I said probably eventually."

"That—that doesn't mean a thing and you know it."

Alice stayed silent. She was simply waiting for what was surely coming next.

"Yeah, ya little bitch," hissed her father. Too bad his insults didn't mean a thing to her (anymore). "I'm right, aren't I? You just gonna leave here and never come back. Just like that bitch of ya mother!" he yelled, throwing down his beer. Alice flinched and then grimaced. The stench of alcohol was somehow even more prominent as it flowed on the ground. "Just like that bitch of a second wife! She wasn't even married to me a full year, and the bitch left!"

"For good reason," Alice mumbled under her breath. "They were people that wanted more from life than they could get with you."

"Wh-What? What was that? Repeat it! T-Tell me!" Her despicable father was lumbering closer to her. The disgusting smell of heavy drinking grew ever stronger. Alice wrinkled her nose.

"I said you couldn't give them what they wanted from life," she said, sounding much louder and more confident than she had expected she would. Than she actually felt right now.

"Lies!" he cried.

"N-No. It's true. And you can't give me what I want either." She wasn't sure where this boldness was coming from, but she had many mixed feelings about it. On one hand, she was finally defying her fucker of a father. On the other, she was tempting fate, as he was certainly getting angrier and angrier by the moment.

Her father narrowed his eyes at her. It felt like being stared down by a wolf that wasn't afraid to bite down on human flesh. "You ain't leaving," he growled lowly.

"I-I am," Alice declared, turning away and opening the door.

Turning her back to her father had been a bad choice.

Almost instantly, he grabbed wildly at her pigtails, and when he latched onto one, he pulled so viciously that it brought tears to her eyes. He used her hair to try to fling her down onto the floor, but Alice threw out a hand to catch herself. She managed to stand up before her father stomped on her fingers.

"Bitch!" he yelled at her. "Bitch! You're leaving just like your stupid, troublemaking, bastard brother!" He tried to slap her, but Alice was able to dodge. However, she was now practically backed up against the wall.

"Alfred may be a bastard, but he was smart enough to get away from you!"

"So, what! Now you think you're smart or clever or whatever the fuck tryin' to leave me? Tryin' to desert me and leave me all alone?" Her father threw a punch, but she ducked.

"I'm trying to do something with my life!" she shrieked as he managed to get a tight grip on her hair again.

"You're a fucking liar!" He pulled on the handful of her hair and slammed her against the wall. Holding her in place, he swung his fist and it landed squarely on her eye.

"Bloody wanker!" Alice screeched. Her father twisted her away from the wall and let go of her pigtail suddenly. Caught off-guard, she tripped on one of her now scattered bags and fell on her back.

"Ow!" She winced, especially as a strange tingling sensation went up and down her spine. It didn't help that that punch had probably temporarily blinded her in her right eye. And her glasses had most certainly been damaged in some way.

With her one good eye, though, Alice was able to look up at the man who was only biologically her father. He sneered at her, further distorting his dark and wrinkled face. She heard a loud sucking noise and then a splat. He…he had spit at her! And if that were not enough, in one final act of disdain, he kicked her legs over and over as he ground out, "Fucking leave, bitch. Fucking leave me all by myself. Fucking leave like everyone else. Fucking go." Then, words said, he dragged himself away back into the hallway.

To be honest, Alice was now earnestly thanking any and all higher forces that may or may not exist for making that man relent. She wouldn't admit it, but she had been so scared, so terrified that he'd do far worse. After all, she had been trying to do more than just take the abuse. She had actually been opposing him—not that she hadn't done so previous times. Yet then, she hadn't also been planning to run away. So she quietly whispered her thank-yous to whoever would have received them.

Still, just because the ordeal had ended didn't mean she hadn't been injured. Alice wished she could simply lie on the ground for a while, feeling her heart pulse, perhaps skipping a few beats. Some deep breaths helped to slow it, but only slightly. Not to mention, her legs and head hurt—so much of her body hurt—but it'd probably be worse if she got up. Unfortunately, she couldn't just stay here—on the floor or in this house.

Thus, slowly and agonizingly, Alice picked herself off the ground and reached for her things. Each movement brought pain and a few quickly blinked-away tears to her eyes. Her head pounded and pulsated. But she couldn't be late to the hill. A gentlewoman wasn't supposed to be tardy to meetings, even one with a frog.

It seemed like ages later, but she was finally able to make her way outside the house. Steadily, she took small, limping strides away from the place she once called home. When she reached the sidewalk, she looked back at the sad little house, imagining the sad little man still drinking inside. Then, without a word or a second thought, she turned away and kept walking.

Francis was waiting at the base of the hill as he and the English bitch had agreed. Admittedly, he was late—but fashionably late—by fifteen minutes or so. Yet Kirkland should have been here, fuming at him and calling him a dirty frog bastard (plus a few other expletives) because he hadn't shown up on time. However, he was waiting for her, and if he knew that girl at all, she was always punctual. Kirkland couldn't stand other people being late, much less herself.

The French boy smirked. She'd probably be pissed off about it, and he would be sure to hold it over her head. Why not? The exacting snob deserved it.

In the meantime, he leaned on his sleek black car and searched his pockets for a cigarette and a lighter. Once he lit up, he took a deep breath and let out a practiced exhale. For a few moments, he watched the smoke curl, rise, and dissipate in the unappealing orange light of the streetlamp. Perhaps the way the smoke was quickly scattered in the wind could be a meaningful metaphor for something. Maybe. He took another puff.

By the time Francis had finished his cigarette and dropped it onto the asphalt road, there was still no sign of Kirkland. Of course, it was very dark outside of the radius of the streetlamp's light. He couldn't distinguish many shapes, even when he squinted. Nevertheless, he hadn't seen any motion or heard any noise (save for the occasional car in the distance or breeze of wind).

Francis scoffed. How many minutes had it been since 10:30? Checking his phone revealed that the answer was almost a full half-hour. He rolled his eyes. Maybe Kirkland had chickened out. Couldn't bring herself to actually leave the comfort of home despite her apparent eagerness. Whereas he, when he had his mind made up, didn't hesitate. He wasn't afraid of leaving all he had here behind. Really. There was not a speck of doubt in his mind that out there, on the road, was where he wanted, needed to be. Somehow, he would survive what was to come.

Francis glanced at the time again. At this rate, he might as well just leave without the girl. His father would be none the wiser, and she would have been an unnecessary burden anyway. Honestly, he probably had only been waiting for her this long because he had promised the bitch. Francis wasn't so low as to break his word.

But…no. He was. Or at least to her. So—?

"Ouch."

Francis looked around. Did Kirkland finally decide to show up?

"Ow. Stupid—goddamn—fucking—ouch!" That certainly sounded like her. Always a mouth like a sailor.

Out of the corner of his eye, Francis caught sight of the girl staggering into the circle of light. She was dressed in the simple outfit of a dark gray blouse, worn blue jeans, and a threadbare white cardigan, and her bags were practically dragging on the ground behind her—all while she continued to try her hardest to make a sailor not only blush, but also run to read the Bible.

Francis smirked at the pathetic sight and patronizingly clicked his tongue. "Oh, ma pauvre cherie…you're late."

"Belt up, frog."

"What? You are." He watched her limp closer toward the trunk of the car. "Can't carry all your things?" he mocked. "Perhaps I should help the fillette faible."

Alice scowled. Idiot Bonnefois and his stupid French and his ridiculous French accent. And he was surely wearing new and designer everything, from his well-pressed white shirt to his untorn dark blue jeans to his probably warm black jacket. "As gentlemanly as that gesture would be, I can handle it myself." She finally staggered her way to the back of the car. "Now open the damn trunk."

Clicking his tongue again, Francis complied. But not without a, "Is that how a proper lady should treat a gentleman?"

"That's how a proper lady should treat a French frog bastard." Eyebrows furrowed, Alice squeezed her all of her things except her purse inside the trunk. "Bloody hell, git. Do you really need all this crap?"

"Yes," Francis answered, heading for the driver's seat.

Alice deepened her scowl and slammed the trunk closed.

"Hey!" called Francis from inside the car. "That will damage it!"

"Do I give a damn?" she responded as she took small steps toward the passenger-side door. Eventually, she was able to slide into the car seat, although not without a quiet wince. She turned her head to the frog. "Well, Bonnefois? Where the hell are we going?"

Francis took a moment to appear pensive before simply saying, "I have no idea."

"What! Are you kidding me?"

"No, salope."

"Frog, you know I took French in high school. I can bloody well understand you!" Really, Alice just wanted to wring his throat. Just a little. Just a little.

"Je le sais. Et je veux que tu me comprennes." Francis grinned at Alice's further enraged expression. It was far too easy to anger the girl—merely acting as if he didn't take her seriously (which was truthfully not acting) worked like a charm.

"Wanker! Ugh…so you're sincerely telling me you have no idea where we're going?"

"Oui."

"You have no plans whatsoever?"

"Basically."

"Then what the hell do you plan on doing?"

"Driving for as long as possible until I get tired, or we need gas."

"And what happens then?"

"You start driving."

"Of course, bugger. But is that really all? Because I'm certain that even running away from home and living on the road requires stopping somewhere, sometim—"

"It does."

"Stop that!"

"What?" Francis smirked again.

"Doing that!"

"What do you mean by 'that'?"

"That! Acting all—you're such—bloody prick!" Alice paused to take a deep breath, though her frustration was still far from relieved. "So…Do you or do you not plan on ever stopping at towns or cities or anything at all?"

"That was the whole point, oui. Stopping every here and there."

"Then—!"

"In the meantime, we keep going." With that, Francis turned the keys in the ignition. The engine roared to life, and within seconds, they were driving away.

A/N: Bleh. I don't think I got the scene between Alice and her father right, or the dialogue between Alice and Francis. Aaah…I like writing dialogue, but I feel like I'm not getting their interaction right.

But anyway, translations.

French:

ma pauvre cherie – my poor dear

fillette faible – weak little girl

salope – slut, bitch

Je le sais. Et je veux que tu me comprennes. – I know (it). And I want you to understand me.

oui – yes

Feel free to correct me on my French at any time. (I take Spanish class, not French. ^^;)

And now we list!

1) Thank'ya muchly to everyone who read this fic! (Call it idiosyncratic or ungrammatical, but I felt like saying "thank'ya muchly", dang it!) Especially to those who subscribed to this story, added it to their favorites, and/or reviewed. It makes me feel all happy and everything, you know, to know my writing's likable. Really. In fact, thanks again! Just because.

2) I'm kind of scared about the plot. I'm going to have to starting writing plot. Unfortunately, I really only have one vague plotline in mind, which is the one that'll be coming up in the next few chapters. Still, I would really appreciate suggestions, plot-wise and pairing-wise. I did get a suggestion for USUK + jealous Francis. Although, America (Alfred) is supposed to be fem!England's stepbrother. Yet, I suppose I can still see how it could work. Hm...I'm getting vague ideas. Yay?

3) I'm working on the next chapters. Not sure when they'll get done, though. Also, about the mini-plotlines and what have you: I'm not sure if I'll write them as one long chapter or a few shorter chapters. Maybe I'll base my decision on what you guys prefer?

4) I'm a terrible person because I procrastinated on my summer homework a lot, and writing this story hasn't helped (even though this is more fun). That's nothing you have to care about; I'm just feeling the pressure because school's starting in a few weeks…argh.

5) Uh, I don't have much else to say besides, please review! I'd really like to know what you guys think or suggest.

With all that said (I say too much stuff…), goodbye for now, person!