Merry Christmas!
Disclaimer: Because I would totally be writing fanfiction if I owned Hetalia.
England woke up to a massive hangover, the smell of something delicious wafting up from the kitchen, and no memory of the night before after he had started drinking the alcohol France got him. He groaned, turned over in bed, and covered his head with his pillow.
Oh yes. And, of course, the fact that it was Christmas.
But, just for now, he focused on the fact that someone was cooking. Captain Hook had tried it once, but that had proved difficult with only one hand. Arthur assumed it could only be his furry, flying rodent friend.
"Flying Mint Bunny!" he called as loudly as he could without worsening his head ache. "What have I told you about - "
It wasn't Flying Mint Bunny in the kitchen.
It wasn't even anyone magical.
It was France.
"You!" England paled. "What….what are you doing here?!"
"I don't take pleasure in deserting the person that made me cuddle with them all night," France answered, flipping a crepe. England gaped at him, and France smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Do you remember anything?"
"N-no! I started drinking the wine, and then….and then…."
"It's probably for the best," Francis sighed.
"So I can't…..and hopefully won't remember what you did to me?"
"So you can't and hopefully won't remember what you did to me."
"I didn't do anything!" Arthur denied, flushing scarlet.
"The hickey says otherwise." Francis pulled down his shirt – he was wearing a turtleneck, now Britain knew why – to reveal a purple mark on his neck.
"No way," England blanched.
"You were drunk."
"Not from champagne and wine."
"That wasn't wine," France said deliberately. "I gave you rum. As a prank."
"A…..prank."
"Oui."
"And now you have a hickey. Which, according to you, came from me."
"Apparently so."
"….fuck."
"It's not my fault you have a low alcohol tolerance," France argued as Britain sunk into his chair, head in his hands. The country of love brought out a plate and put the crepe on it.
"Why are you still here?" England sulked, looking up to glare at Francis. "I wouldn't have known about any of this if you had flown back to where you belong.
"Ahh," France looked uncomfortable. "Therein lies the problem."
England felt that sinking feeling again, the one that warned him that France was going to say something he really didn't like.
"I missed my flight last night, as I was….occupied. This morning, I called to see if I could reschedule, and the airline told me that all flights out of London are to be stopped for the next two weeks or so." France sat down and massaged his temples.
"Why?!"
"My dear Angleterre, no one in their right mind would fly a plane in this weather."
"Alfred would."
"The key words are 'in their right mind.'"
"…point taken," England sighed. "But why are you here? Here as in my house? Can't you go to a hotel or something?"
"What did you want me to do, Arthur? Steal your car?"
"Why don't you just drive yours?"
"….Spain stole it."
England opened his mouth, then closed it. France was silent as well, watching Arthur pick at his crepe.
"I'm not eating anything you made me," England decided. "Especially not something with such a weird shape. What is that supposed to be, anyway?"
"That," France gestured at the food laying in front of England. "Is a partridge. And that," He gestured at England now, grinning. "Is a pear tree."
"Did you just call me a tree?" England asked irritably.
"You have pears," Francis pointed out.
"Pray tell, where do I have pears?!"
"Here." France pointed at Arthur's cheek, which burned brightly. "Here." He bent down to touch Arthur's ankle. "And here." He pulled up Britain's shirt just enough to reveal a Sharpie drawing of a pear on his stomach.
The island nation glared at him. "You are a sick, sick Frenchie."
"Ohonhon~! Just eat your crepes!"
Arthur 'harrumphed' and went to work slicing the breakfast up. "Happy Christmas, by the way."
"Mm? Oh, oui! Joyeux Noel to you as well!" France smiled.
Britain finished his crepes slowly, neither of the European countries saying a word as he did. Finally, he put the last scrap of the admittedly delicious breakfast in his mouth. He pursed his lips, trying to avoid eye contact with France.
"Hey…..Francis?"
"Oui?"
"We didn't do… we didn't do that last night, did we?" Arthur's face burned.
"Non," France chuckled. "Not to say you didn't do your best to persuade me."
England felt his face drain of all color. "You wouldn't let me?" How drunk was I? He forced a laugh. "That seems strangely ironic."
France was quiet.
"And don't call me 'Arthur,'" England snapped suddenly, desperate to end the awkward silence.
France looked up. "Why ever not?"
"I don't know," he hmphed. "It's too intimate."
"Angleterre. It's a sign of close friends."
"Well, that is something we are obviously not!"
"Drunk Arthur was saying something different last night~!"
"Shut up! What did I just say?!" England threw his hands up in exasperation.
"Well, how come you can call me 'Francis?'" said nation pouted.
"Because it sounds so bloody close to the name of your country. Honestly, I say 'Francis' when I say 'this is all France's fault' and 'France is going back home today!"
"But Angleterre….."
"Shut up. We're going to the airport."
"Hello, and how may I help you today?" an attendant asked.
"One ticket to France, please. Anywhere is fine," Arthur said briskly, keeping one eye on France, who was sitting not that far away.
"I apologize, sir. All flights to and out of London have been postponed until at least the sixth," the man apologized.
"Oh," Arthur said softly. "Thank you anyway." He gloomily trudged back over to where France was sitting. "The flights are all cancelled."
"Vous l'a dit."
"Sorry, I don't speak frog, Britain rolled his eyes. Francis quirked an eyebrow, and a smug grin overtook his face. "We'll see."
"What do you – "
"Seulement je peux rendre le pays d'Angleterre gémir comme il le fait. C'est un progrès assez simple, d'abord je enlever sa chemise et embrasse chaque pouce de lui, et lentement mes doigts commence à glisser vers le bas en -"
"SHUT THE FUCK UP." England was blushing profusely; some of the red had traveled down his neck, and it spread up to his eyebrows and out through his ears as well.
"Desole, I was misinformed that you could not understand nor speak French," Francis mock-apologized.
"Never say those those words again."
"I shall do my best~!"
Arthur sighed, the red not fading. "You are going to stay in a hotel."
"Non," Francis said simply.
"What do you mean, no?!" England asked, irked. France shrugged.
"I brought no money with me. I suppose that was rather idiot* of me. I suppose I'll just have to stay at a friend's house." His eyes twinkled, and he put on a thoughtful expression. "Now, who do I know who lives in England…..?"
Britain wisely chose to ignore that comment.
"Angleterre~!"
"Leave me alone! I'm taking a shower!"
"You aren't dirty, are you?"
"I'm trying to scrub these bloody pears off of me!"
"Oh. In that case, may I join you?"
The door to the bathroom opened just long enough for France to glimpse a furious England (sadly with a towel around his waist), and for the blonde man to fling a container of soap at him, before slamming the door shut.
"It was just teasing," France later complained. "Was that really necessary?"
"Yes," Arthur answered curtly. "And I still couldn't get the pears completely off."
"I guess that means you'll be my pear tree for the day!" Francis clapped his hands together happily.
"But was there any real reason to doodle all over me?" England huffed.
"I thought I would do something special. A real Christmas present, especially since you're letting me stay here for awhile."
"By drawing pears on me?"
"First of all, I only drew three. Second, I thought you were smarter than this, Arthur," France teased. "The carol originated in your country, after all. 'On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me –"
"You're not my true love!" England shouted.
"Deny it all you want, it won't change the fact that you love me!"
Damn it! How does he know? England clenched his fist, his own words mocking him. 'He's the bloody country of love. He knows these things.'
"But in all seriousness, I am quite sorry about the Christmas prank," France said guiltily. "So not only is this your Christmas present, it's also mine and Jacques's way of apologizing to you."
"Jacques…..?"
"The hickey."
"Are you fucking kidding me," Britain managed to keep himself from strangling the Frenchman.
"Non."
"I don't want you naming your hickeys. I don't want you talking about them. If you bring up…..Jacques, then you can go freeze in the streets."
"You are very cruel, Angleterre. Do you mind that I've already told Gilbert?" France asked innocently.
"YOU DID WHAT?!"
Britain was not sorry to say that he gave into temptation, and dived across the room to choke Francis.
"As I was saying, before we got distracted," France began, seated at a table with Arthur. They scourged London for a restaurant opened on Christmas, as Arthur refused to eat any more French food and France refused to eat any of Arthur's cooking in general. "If I am staying with you, I might as well make use of it."
England glared daggers at him. "Just as long as there are no more Jacques'."
"Shouldn't I be the one angry about that?" Francis inquired lightly.
England crossed his arms. "So your gift is something for the twelve days of Christmas?"
"So you're avoiding the question?"
"Am not!"
"Angleterre, it could not be more obvious."
"Fine. So maybe I am," Britain huffed.
"And why would that be…..?" France asked.
England was quiet. I will not break down! No! Not in front of him!
"France, have you ever done something you really, really regretted?" England hated the fact that his voice cracked.
"…..many things," France finally said. "Why do you ask?"
"It's just…..nothing," England muttered as their waiter brought out their food. He had ordered a large mushroom soup, while Francis had immediately chosen the ham and cheese croissant. The same Frenchie had gotten quite aggravated when the waiter insisted on pronouncing the 'r' in it, and Arthur had had to explain that Francis knew more about France than the waiter possibly could.
"Non, ce n'est certainement pasrien," France said worriedly, slipping into French accidently.
"Listen, I just don't to talk about it right now," Britain said harshly.
"Okay, okay," France murmured.
"Let's just forget about that for now," England sighed. "How have you been? I haven't seen you outside world meetings that often."
France immediately cheered up, and started talking about how the economy wasn't perfect, but you know, it was at least better than America, right? England only half listened, focusing more on how nice France looked when he smiled and how nice this whole experience was.
"So then I said –" France chatted, pausing as the waiter came back with the check.
"Thank you," England said automatically, handing him his credit card.
"Angleterre?"
"What?"
"You seem distracted," France said worriedly.
"Oh. Yeah," England said sullenly. "Listen, I'll tell you when we get back, okay?"
"Okay. I guess."
"Angleterre. You have to tell me what's wrong," France pressured as Britain unlocked his front door.
"Hmm, I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that I slept with you last night?!" Arthur said sarcastically.
"But that's all we did! Sleep!" France protested. "Well, all I did anyway…."
"Don't go blaming this on me! You were the one who gave me the rum, weren't you?!"
"I said I was sorry!"
England took in a shuddering breath. "I really don't want to talk about this."
"Well, we don't have to."
"Ever."
"Fine with me," France shrugged. England was shocked; was he really not pushing the issue. "Besides, you haven't even opened your other presents yet."
"Other presents?" Arthur asked faintly.
"You didn't think you just got drawn on for Christmas?" Francis fake-gasped. "The others got you something too!"
"Really?"
"They left it under your tree, as you were…" France trailed off. "….well, let's go see what you got, anyhow!"
With much grumbling on England's part, they managed to open the gifts. Some under the tree were addressed to France as well (which both of them chose to not discuss why), so they were able to compare and snicker at the other's presents.
"Movies from America?"
"Disney movies, Angleterre. You see, I got Beauty and the Beast as well as The Hunchback of Notre Dame."
"…..I got The Sword and the Stone and….and…and Cinderella."
"Ahh, a classic love story."
And so on.
Eventually, the two nations realized that the time had flown by, and it was time for dinner. England's stomach did not simply growl; it practically yelled and cussed at him.
"Hungry much?" France stifled his laughter.
"Shut up," Britain glared at him.
"Well, we aren't going out again. I am going to cook for you," Francis declared.
"I don't want French food."
"Who said anything about French food?"
England gave him a look of surprise. "I assumed –"
"Wrongly. You assumed wrongly," France started to leave the room. "You have some game in the fridge?"
"Have you been poking through my food while I was asleep?"
"How else was I going to make breakfast?"
"How dare you use logic to justify your poking around," England heaved a sigh. "It's partridge."
France's eyes gleamed. "Perfect."
"This actually works out quite nicely. I wasn't sure if a partridge-shaped crepe was going to do the carol justice," France said to England. "Now eat up!"
"So this is going to be your partridge in a pear tree?" England said suspiciously.
"Well, technically, it will be inside you," France shrugged. "And like I said, it was originally just going to be the partridge-shaped crepes."
"….frog."
"Tais-toi et manger votre dîner."
England crawled into bed (fully clothed, as a precaution) exhausted. It had been a long, tiring day. Spent with France. But, for once, he didn't feel disgust or hatred.
Arthur felt happy.
Charles Dickens might have been right. Perhaps Christmas wasn't such a bad holiday after all.
idiot - idiotic
I would translate the rest of the French to English, but I really don't feel like it. So...Google Translate or something! :D
I hope you had a Merry Christmas!
