Chapter 3

England's maze was actually a lot smaller than France had previously thought. It appeared to be symmetrical, but that along wasn't enough to help them find the little boy soon. Scotland and him have passed by a tree stump that acted as a tea table (it looked like something right out of Alice From Wonderland), shrubbery shaped like lions, an archery set with the target hanging on the maze wall (Alisdair was tempted to try it out, but France had already dragged him away), and a variety of plants (one of which was carnivorous).

They finally chanced upon a set of muddy footprints, small with stubby toes like that of England. France and Scotland only needed to follow the tracks until they then reached a koi pond with, as expected, their lost little rabbit.

Except this rabbit was soaking wet and cold from trying (after countless attempts) to catch a fish.

"Arthur Kirkland," growls Alisdair, crossing his arms and glowering at the little boy.

England whips around, surprised. "…Yes?"

"Don't 'Yes?' me! Do you know how long it took for us tae find ye? Not only that, Francis and I were driven crazy when ye joost ran off like that!"

Arthur bowed his head, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and guilt. "I'm sorry," he said meekly. "I didn't know." England stares at his feet, ashamed.

Francis sighs and crouches in front of England. "Petit lapin," he murmurs. England looks away. "Come now, Angleterre. We were just scared you got in trouble. We aren't mad."

Arthur finally faces Francis, his eye brimming with tears. "I'm s-sorry."

"We know, mon petit lapin. It's okay." France draws the boy into a hug, wincing at the touch of his soggy clothes and clammy skin. He ignores it though, and carries him. "But you can make it up by helping us out of this maze."

England's face splits into a grin and he nods. "Right this way!"

When the three of them reached the patio (which really only took a few seconds), Scotland went inside to fetch a towel, leaving Francis and Arthur standing on the patio. As they waited for Scotland to return, France wrung out England's shirt.

"How did you get so wet?" France inquires, twisting the badly stitched up cloth.

"I, uh, fell into the fish pond." England answers, only telling part of the truth.

France unrolls the shirt and waves it up and down to expel any remaining water. "Why weren't you being careful?"

"Why not?"

"Lapin," he says warningly and Arthur winces.

"I just wanted to touch the fish." Arthur's face heats up. He kicks the ground with the heel of his foot.

Francis bursts into laughter, though, surprising the younger nation. "That's it? Oh I nearly thought you almost drowned!"

Arthur huffs and crosses his arms across his bare chest. "No way! I may not be a great swimmer, but I can still swim! Especially, if it's just a pond."

France chuckles and pats England on the top of his head. "Okay, I won't doubt you from now on."

"Ah'm back! Missed me?" Scotland appeared at the doorway, carrying two towels. "Alrigh', come here you."

Arthur trudges over to the Scotsman who begins to dry the little boy as much as he could. After that, he wraps the towel around Arthur's shoulders and picks him up.

"Ye need a bath," Alisdair says, wrinkling his nose. "Ye smell bloody awful."

"Only a little…"

"Keep yer eyes closed," nags Scotland as he scrubs England's head, who makes a whining noise at the feel of it. He then picks up the shower extension and rinses out the shampoo bubbles while England covers his eyes with his small hands. "There. Now use the body soap while I go check on the washing machine. It's been acting up, aye?"

"Aye," replies England as Scotland stands up, flashing the little boy a smile.

"Don't drown," he calls over his shoulder as he exits the bathroom. Alisdair heads down the hallway to the closet where the washing machine and dryer along with toiletries were kept. As he neared, he could hear France muttering colorfully, with his head stuck into the mechanism's mouth.

Scotland quiets his steps as he approaches the Frenchman. Then, right behind France, Scotland slaps the blonde hard on the back. As anticipated, Francis jumps in surprise, hitting his head against the ceiling of the machine.

"Bâtard!" spits Francis, glaring at the laughing Scotsman. "What was that for?!"

"Nothing," sniffs Alisdair, trying his best to muffle his mirth. "Ah have joost always wanted tae do that!" He gives his friend a shit-eating grin before grabbing several bottles off the closet shelves.

"At least I found the source of our latest problems," France announces. Then, reaching into the washing machine, he pulls out a shiny object. "I found the spare key."

"Only girls use conditioner, Scot," grumbles Arthur as his older brother squirts a bit of the said substance into the palm of his hand.

"Not true. Francis conditions."

"France doesn't count."

"You're joost being stubborn."

"No, I'm being contentious."

Scotland raises an eyebrow at England before raking his hands through the boy's hair. England slumps his shoulders with a "Hmph!" As Alisdair washed Arthur's hair with one hand, he handed the blonde one of the two bottles he got from the closet.

"Bubbles?"

"Aye. Now empty it."

"Aye!"

Arthur turned the container upside down and began emptying out the contents into the bath. Seeing the material swirl aimlessly in the water without producing any bubbles, Arthur began to splash the mixture with his hands and feet. Scotland grinned at his little brother, despite getting sprayed by the soapy substance. Within seconds the entire tub was filled with white bubbles of all sizes and England was craning his neck to keep sight of Scotland.

"Okay, now time fer a rinse!"

England quickly closes his eyes and holds his breath as the Scotsman begins to wash out any conditioner in his hair. As it was done, the bubbles around the little boy subsided and the two brothers could see each other clearly.

"Alright lad, now for the second bottle!"

"I think that's enough, though…"

Arthur trailed off as Scotland ignored him and poured the liquid. Forgetting about his precious statement, he kicked his feet and flailed his arms, generating much more bubbles. Even Alisdair took part in the frenzy, laughing.

"Oi, laddie, ye have a beard!" Scotland chuckled, scooping up a handful of bubbles and placing it like a crown on England's head. "An' now a hat!"

"Well you have sideburns!" Arthur reached up and slapped a bunch of the globs on the side of Alisdair's face.

The two commenced their bubble bath war until they heard a knock on the door.

"Are you two playing around, or are you done?" France called from the other door. "Dinner will be ready in five minutes and I have l'Angleterre clothes!"

"Aye!" replies Scotland. "We're joost about done."

"Good!" France enters the steamy bathroom, a set of clothes in his arms. "I hope these fit…" He stops short at the sight of the foamy mess the Briton's made.

"Look, Francis, Scotty has sideburns!" England giggled and points at said Scotsman.

"Oui. He looks much more handsome!" France smiles at Scotland before squatting beside him in front of England. "But now mon petit lapin is covered in suds!" He takes the shower head and washes away the bubbles before wrapping a clean towel around the boy and picking him up.

"Ah, you smell so nice, Angleterre!" Francis kisses the five-year-old on the forehead.

"What? He gets a kiss and I don't?" Alisdair teases, standing up.

Francis smiles and presses his lips against the Scotsman's forehead. "There. Now shoo; the table won't set itself, mon ami."

Scotland's face reddens and he quickly takes his leave, mumbling incoherently under his breath. France places England on the bathroom counter and unfolds a t-shirt he bought for the little boy.

"Here. This looks very nice, doesn't it?"

Arthur wrinkles his nose at the sight of the shirt (shiny buttons and a collar) and rolls his eyes. "Sure, Francis."

Dinner is French, of course. France cooked up chicken liver pâté with a side of light salade aux lardons. The food was remarkable, Scotland and England admitted, although not aloud. Instead, they chatted about various other things.

"Écosse, you have yet to pay me €70!" Francis eventually brings up. "You can't actually let me pay for all of that!"

"Ah ken! Ah ken, but joost let me pay off another time. Ah only have," Scotland retrieves his wallet from his pocket, "£30."

"Hm, well I don't mind if you just pay half the price," Francis answers after some thinking. "Is that fair?"

"…Fine." Scotland places his money on the table and France happily takes the notes, counting them to make sure he got what he was due.

But both men are distracted at the sound of England yawing loudly.

"Tired, lad?" Scotland asks, ruffling the boy's hair.

"Mm…" His head bobs up and down as he tried to stay awake. England yawns once more.

"We all are," France speaks up. "I think we should all go to bed. It's getting late."

Alisdair silently agrees and picks up Arthur who hugs the Scot's neck and hugs his neck. Francis follows closely behind, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion.

Arthur doesn't loosen his grip even when he closes his eyes (a fairy flutters just out of sight, watching gleefully from behind the curtains) and Alisdair tucks him into bed. Alisdair, weary, just curls up beside the little boy. As he closes his eyes, Scotland feels two arms slip around his waist and a head of silky hair press into the crook of his neck.

"Oi…What are you doing?" Scotland whispers, glowering half-heartedly at France who had decided that the red head was as good as a pillow as any.

"I'm tired," France murmurs into Scotland's neck.

Scotland grunts in answer and turns his head away from the Frenchman to hide his flushing cheeks. As he does so, though, he drapes an arm across France's shoulders.

"Scot?"

Scotland glances down at his little brother who looks up at him tiredly.

"Aye, laddie?" he mumbles.

"Can you sing me a song, please?"

"Sure." Scotland takes in a deep breath before singing.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,

And auld lang syne!

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne.

We'll take a cup o' kindness yet,

For auld lang syne..."

Gentle snores tell Alisdair that Arthur had fallen asleep. He smiles at the Brit and kisses the top of his head. A melodic, velvety voice sighs into his ear.

"Bonne nuit, ma chérie."

"Good night, Francis."

A/N: First things first, I'd like to thank Alexei (SnipersInTheTrees) and her brother Wade for their continued support! ^^ I would also like to thank all the other readers for their kind feedback. Just one more chapter, you guys!