"What have you done!" Canada demanded, gripping America's jacket hard enough to rip. "What – why – how – what!"

"If France is jealous of your completely believable relationship with Poland, then he'll be more likely to do things like ask you to marry him!" America replied easily. "Which, by the way, he'll have to do if he ever wants to have sex with you and not die painfully afterward."

"That's like really old-fashioned, but whatever," Poland murmured, buffing his fingernails.

Canada shook that jacket harder. "We're already going out on a date! It's tomorrow night!"

"You're such a player!" America laughed.

"This isn't funny, Alfred Fairfax Jones," Canada growled. "This is very much not funny."

Poland sighed, standing up. "I don't know what's worse, that the F stands for Fairfax, or that you're, like, so against going out with me."

America gave Poland a desperate look. "Never pass that on! No one can know that awful middle name! No one!"

"Whatever."f

"And it's not that I'm particularly averse to you, Poland," Canada added desperately, "but I already sort of have a boyfriend, so really…"

"You don't have to justify yourself," he pouted. "I get it. You can't handle my sheer fabulousity."

"Eh?" was all Canada could think to ask.

"Not many people can," Poland continued, still pouting, "I mean, like, no one I know can. So, you know, even though I like, was totally into going on a date with you, I'll just walk away now, because yeah."

Canada was, unfortunately for him, a very empathetic individual. "All right, I'll go on a date with you," he said helplessly.

"Sweet," said Poland. America smiled in victory.

"I'm really sorry but I have to cancel dinner for tomorrow," Canada mourned into the phone.

France sounded surprised. "Pourquoi?"

"Because my brother is an idiot."

There was a cheerful laugh. "If that were the reason, then we would never have our date, now would we?"

Canada didn't know what was better – that France didn't resent him, or that France had referred to their next dinner as a date. He giggled and then mentally smacked himself for giggling. "Yes, but you see, um, he set me up on a date. With Poland. And-"

There was raucous laughter. Realizing just how ridiculous the situation was, Canada laughed too. "Yeah. So I'm going on a date with Poland instead of you. But not because I want to! Because I feel bad for him, and because my brother is incroyablement stupid."

France finally recovered from the laughter and although he couldn't see it, he just knew that he was nodding in agreement. "Oui, mon ange. I shall find something else to occupy my time while I pine for you. Are you free the next day?"

Canada made a big show of looking into his empty plan book. "I think I am," he said, trying to not sound too eager, but he was grinning like an idiot.

"Excellente. Oh, and might I suggest you brush up on your French? Just in case we have any voyeurs."

Canada beamed. "Oui, c'est une merveilleuse idée! I know America doesn't know any French beyond that one song about prostitutes."

"Ooo, which song is that?"

Canada hung up on him, still smiling.

France was not, contrary to popular belief, incredibly inept. When shoved into a room with Canada and a romantic dinner, he was able to assume that it meant the boy had some feelings for him.

He was not complaining about this.

Canada was a breath of fresh air in the political world: polite yet sticking to his ideals, honest yet strong. The fact that he was easy on the eyes, adored France already, they had a pleasant past, and that he had a twin? Oo la la.

So no, France wasn't the least bit jealous that Canada was on a "date" with Poland. He was, however, bored. Which meant that it was time for his favorite activity: England Baiting ™.

As he approached the other nation, he noted with some dismay that it had been awhile since he'd last tormented him. In fact, it had been since before he and America had started their lovers' tryst… certainly not because America was scary.

"Bonjour, Angleterre," he purred, sliding up behind the Englishman and copping a feel. He skillfully dodged the retaliatory smack. "Ah ah ah, getting slow in your old age?"

"You're one to talk," England snapped back, although it lacked venom.

France grinned. "L'amour has mellowed you, mon ami. I approve. It's a good look for you."

"Shut it, frog."

Well. If that's how he wanted to play it…

France put on his most infuriating smirk as he crooned, "It's incredible what a young lover can do for you, am I right?"

England's back went rigid. This was the first time France had attacked his relationship with America, and he found himself angrier than he expected he'd be. England obviously knew that France intended it as an insult, even if not on the surface. "Oh?"

"Surely I don't need to elaborate, Daddy."

Finally the other nation found his own smirk, the one retired when he left the pirating business. "Ah, yes. I'm sure the boys will be happy to know you still think of them as children, Papa."

"… … Point taken, Angleterre." Stupid. Stupid stupid.

"In fact, America will be overjoyed to hear that you are trying to rob his brother's cradle, so to speak."

"England-"

"So overjoyed, in fact, that you might lose a limb or two. And that's nothing compared to what might happen if Canada decides to be angry."

"You have made your point!" France snapped, identifying that as one conversation he did not want to have.

England bowed with a flourish.

France's grin returned. He'd been defeated and he knew it, and England knew it too, but that was the way it'd always been. "Let's get a drink. My treat. Us two old men need to celebrate the joy of young lovers!"

England smiled. "I can drink to that."

Canada was furious.

An hour! He waited a bloody hour! For nothing! To be stood up!

Poland had probably forgotten about him, or even forgotten who he was. But he could cause an international incident by giving him what-for, and really the flighty nation was… flighty… so Canada decided he wasn't going to bother him for this. Besides, he knew who to really blame.

He called America.

"If not for you I could be on a date! I got stood up! Come pick me up! Right now, America!" he screamed into his phone, even earning a few stares.

The voice on the other end was embarrassed. "Listen dude, I'm sorry Poland flaked out, but France and England are getting drunk and-"

"I DON'T CARE, AMERICA! COME GET ME!"

"Aw geez. Maybe if I drive fast they won't burn down the bar this time…"

"What?"

"On my way, bro!" he hung up.

"Finally the boyscout is gone," England slurred after America left to go pick up Canada. "We can finally accom – accomp – do shtuff."

France nodded enthusiastically. "Didja know they're twins?"

"Who're twinsh?" England asked, drinking rum.

France had settled with some fine French-made vodka. Tonight was about getting drunk, not being refined. "Y' boy, 'n' my boy. Twins."

"Mmmhmm. Can'da's th' smar' one, 'n' 'merica's the char'shmatic one," England replied. "'n' boff wet th' bed, tho' it's 'cause 'merica getsh shcared 'n' Can'da's a sound shleeper."

France blinked. That sounded right. "Oui, although I didn't tell Amer... geez that'sh a long name. A-mer-i-ca."

"Aaaah maaaare eeeee caaaaa," England sounded out. "Yep. 'sgot mer in it. Wonder if he's a mermaid. That'd be funny."

"Mmmm... 'merica and Can'da... as mermaids... twins..."

Both men drooled a bit at the idea. Finally England broke the silence with, "Bet 'merica's tits're bigger."

"Nyuh uh. Can'da's got more... more..." France spread his arms wide. "Tracts. Of land."

"Pooooint. But 'merica'sh got the nisher arshe."

"That's because he eats those things all the time. You know. With the burgers and ham." He took another shot. "The stuff he likes."

England laughed. "He'sh getti' fat. Used to have a met – met – a met-ab-o-li-sm like none ovver. Got really big really fast, stupid wanker."

"Mmm, wanking."

Suddenly both men looked uncomfortable.

"Did you ever... catch..."

"Yeah," France muttered. "In one of my shirts. T' me. Verrrrrrrrrry hot."

England nodded. "Shurprised as all get-out though. He wash in m' bed 'n' everythin'."

"Foursome," France breathed. "We should have one."

England looked thoughtful. "Y' need t' bugger Can'da first," he established. "'cause tha' boy needs a good rogerin'. Plus y' need t' get laid."

"Shut up!"

"It's truuuuuuuue. Woulda done it m'self 'cept he looks like 'merica."

America and Canada walked in.

"Twiiiiiiiiiiinsssss," France crooned, not even noticing the objects of his current fantasies walk in.

England's eyes glazed over. "Then we talk about foursomes."

America and Canada looked at each other and walked back out.

"How d' y know it's l'amour?" France mourned, head dropping to his arms.

England was thoughtful. "Y' jus' know," he said finally. "'n' I think y'd be good for Can'da and he'd b' good fer you. Y' need a nice boy. 'n' needs t' get buggered."

"So y' said. 'n' y' 'n' 'merica is good togevver. Very hot. Kinda wrong." He gave a thumbs-up.

"I'm gonna be sick," England established. He then threw up. France agreed before following suit.

Unlike his twin, Canada was not easily scared. The fact that the love of his life was trying to get him and his brother to have sex did not deter him at all. Russia would be scary, Liechtenstein would be adorable, Greece would like cats and France would be perverted. So the next day he dressed in his finest clothes with a tie that went with his violet eyes, one that France had gotten him, and he went out on that date with France.

For simplicity's sake, the authoress shall translate the following into English rather than break French-speaking readers' collective brains using online translation services. However it does need to be noted that America, who was certainly not hiding behind a newspaper while sitting at the table in the corner, couldn't understand a word either country was saying, and that England, who was embarrassed to be there, only could pick up bits and pieces.

"So you're not hungover, I see," Canada began cheerfully.

"For the most part," France admitted. "I apologize if I said anything improper, my angel. England brings out the worst in me, as I'm sure you well know."

(England straightened up in his seat, hearing his name.)

Canada waved that away with a hand. "I know that well enough by now. Even when I was little you two acted like this."

"But enough about him," France purred, leaning forward. "I want to talk about you."

"Me?" No matter how overused that line was, Canada still felt himself affected. Perhaps it was the seductive leer. Or perhaps it was just someone wanting to know more about him. "Not much to tell..."

"Nonsense. I feel there is so much I don't know. What do you like? What don't you like? Let me know how to please you."

Canada was not going to survive tonight.

("Maybe we should kidnap another member of the Francophone," America suggested brightly.

England shook his head. "America... frankly... I think they're going to be just fine without us."

"But what about step three of OHFACUAITFHMLBIPH?"

"Especially without step three."

"But step three was the best step! The problem was going to be collecting the materials, but I'm sure one of your brothers has a goat..."

England let out a long-suffering sigh.)

Canada had no idea what to say that wasn't incredibly cheesy, and so he contented himself to blush and not make eye-contact.

"Don't worry about sounding silly," France cooed, "I am the country of love, after all. I know all the cheesy one-liners and the heart-felt devotion declarations. What I mean to say it, nothing you can say will sound ridiculous to my ears."

Canada finally blurted, "You. I love you. Always have and I always will. You're just perfect for me, my exact opposite, and that's why I think together we'd be perfect. Eh. Being redundant now. I'll just shut up. Right."

He was very surprised when France moved to kneel at his feet, taking both of his hands in his larger ones.

("Aw come on, are you sure we can't kidnap Switzerland?"

"Absolutely not. Now eat your dinner like a good boy.")

Canada had made it all the way back home and was still deliriously happy. He simply had to share this with his brother! He knew full well that America had been trying to set this up… his sweetheart brother… and while he hadn't been able to tell him on the plane back to North America, he thought he could tell him over the phone.

"What's up, bro?"

Canada smiled at that voice on the phone. "Oh, America… brother… France…" He sniffled. He was getting emotional again. "He told me…"

"Canada? You okay?" America sounded worried.

He sniffled again. So sweet! "Thank you for caring… I swear I've never hated you… Oh you can be annoying, but you're good when it counts… Ah geez, I told myself I wouldn't cry...!"

America's silence was tense. "He's dead." He hung up.

Only then did Canada realize he'd never said France had confessed. "Oh, fuck."