A/N: WHAT'S THIS?! Two updates within the span of a single month?! *slams face into desk* Dear god, this has taken me way too long to finish, but I assure you, we have pretty much reached the end! There's an epilogue that I intend to write shortly, though, so stay tuned!


It was not two seconds before Arthur heard the first scream.

He couldn't look over his shoulder to see who had been hit, and in seconds it had already been swept from this mind by the tidal wave of scarlet beams raining down on them. No panic swept through him—his mind was completely and utterly blank, save for the echoing words of the voice.

Take the blue pill.

His heart raced, frigid rage searing through him, as he raised his gun to his eye and stared straight down the sights. Glaring red lights stared back at him, and he pulled the trigger.

The lights flashed. Beeping exploded from the Red's vest—the thirty-second disabled alarm. Another pull of the trigger—another set of flashing lights. Three direct shots, and Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, heart strangling him.

Francis.

The scarlet lights of his vest cast an eerie glow over his face, and as their gazes met, Arthur felt his stomach clench. Francis's eyes—his beautiful blue eyes—were dead. No spark of recognition flickered. Arthur's knees nearly buckled.

He barely managed to stumble out of the way as Francis sent two red beams flying into the synthetic stone where his lights had been a fraction of a second before.

"Greens! Spread out! Run!" Alfred's orders barely registered in his ears, before Arthur took off. Ignoring the crackling agony in his knees, he stumbled down the cliff face, feet slipping and sliding on the loose gravel. The second his shoes found purchase in the synthetic grass again, he was running for all he was worth—his pulse pounded in his ears, breathing ragged, adrenaline screaming at him to go. A leap over the stream—he fell, slipping on the wet riverbank, before scrambling to his feet again with a glance over his shoulder.

Francis was still on his tail.

Arthur sprinted faster. His legs were burning, but he forced himself to go, leaping over a fallen tree. Brambles scratched his hands, leaves whipping into his face.

He didn't care about the infection—he couldn't face Francis. He couldn't face the horrible soullessness in those blue eyes.

But the second a yelp of pain reached his ears, he skidded to a dead halt in his tracks.

Silence.

Dared he go back?

He would save Francis.

Arthur turned and started slowly back toward the log, fearing what would meet him, and caught sight of Francis lying on the ground, eyes closed, just in time to see his red lights flicker out.

His heart stopped, and he threw himself over the half-rotten tree trunk, a broken cry tearing from his throat. No! Francis couldn't be—

Arthur took the Frenchman's face in his hands, a ragged sob forcing itself free, feeling his neck desperately for a pulse. For a moment he felt himself shaking, desperate, before finally he caught the feeling of Francis's pulse, warm and alive beneath his fingers. All energy left him, and he collapsed on Francis's chest, shaking with silent tears of relief.

"You stupid bloody frog," he whispered, holding back tears, burying his face in Francis's dirt-smeared vest. "Why did you have to leave me?"

Take the blue pill. The story ends—you wake up in your bed, and do whatever you want to.

Arthur pulled Francis's gun from its holster, throwing it away amongst the undergrowth, and leaned back to inspect him. There was a small bloody patch near his hairline, still bleeding—he'd hit his head and been knocked unconscious. Without his gun, he was no threat; Arthur sighed, trying to pull himself together, and yanked on his sleeve, tearing a strip of fabric from it and wadding it into a pad, gently wiping the blood from Francis's forehead.

"I love you, dammit," he whispered, voice quivering. "And I will save you."

Take the blue pill.

Arthur took an unsteady breath, leaning down to press a kiss to Francis's lips, wishing desperately that the Frenchman was still here to kiss him back. Another sob forced its way past his lips, and he fell on Francis's chest once more, hopelessness dragging him down.

Take the blue pill.

Arthur let his hands run over Francis's chest, his grimy vest, lights blank and vacant in his unconsciousness, trying to wipe away a bit of the dirt. It was useless, he knew—but it was an excuse to touch him again. He could just see the smile on Francis's face, were he to catch Arthur touching him so tenderly, but Arthur couldn't help—

What was that lump doing in his side pocket?

Trust me, the voice whispered, and Arthur's breathing quickened as he reached into the pocket with cautious fingers. Take the blue pill.

Suddenly it all made sense. His fingers closed around a small, smooth capsule, and he slowly, carefully brought it out of the pocket.

A small blue pill rested in the center of his palm.

So he wasn't a lunatic, after all.

Arthur quickly shoved the pill back into Francis's pocket, scrambling for his own. Sure enough, there was a small lump there—another blue capsule.

Take the blue pill—the story ends.

An escape.

He was racing for the cave before the thought had time to make a full circuit around his brain.

The sounds of fighting reached his ears, spurring him on, forcing him even faster—he had to get there before everyone was gone.

He scrambled up the cliff face on his hands and knees, grabbing at anything he could for purchase, finally dragging himself up and immediately catching sight of Alfred in the madness

"Alfred!" he called, shouting over the din of gunshots and yells of rage. "Take the pill!"

The American faltered, before slamming Ivan over the head with the butt of his gun and sparing Arthur a glance. Arthur shot a Red off his tail.

"What?" Alfred called back.

"In the side pocket!" Arthur yelled. "There's a blue pill—it'll get you out!"

"You sure?"

Arthur had never been more sure of anything in his life. "Just do it! Tell the others!" he screamed, before turning around again and throwing himself into a sprint back down the cliff.

Francis. He had to get back to Francis—before he woke up.

Another mad dash through the woods—over the stream, scrambling through the matted underbrush, slipping on rocks and roots and vines before finally collapsing at Francis's side. His lights were already beginning to flicker; there wasn't any time.

Before he could think otherwise, Arthur yanked the pill from the Frenchman's vest and shoved it into his mouth.

A second later, he threw his own pill into his mouth just in time to see red lights flickering back to steady life.

The pill dissolved on his tongue, until in seconds it was as though it had never been there at all, and Arthur could feel himself fading, black dots beginning to swallow his vision, clouding over and blurring together the shapes of the trees. Francis's lights were fading, and he felt as though he were watching it all from very far in the distance, floating slowly up and away. Arthur fell back as he felt the pill making him weak, and the black void closed on his vision. Green eyes slipped closed.

If this was what it felt like to die, then it really wasn't bad at all...

Arthur was floating, weightless, before slowly, finally, he felt himself begin to fall, gathering speed, moving faster and faster—he wanted to scream, but no sound would leave his mouth, as he was forced to watch the blackness flying by, falling faster and faster and—

Green eyes snapped open.

Arthur stared around wildly for a second, before suddenly realizing there was something soft beneath him.

Warm blankets lay twisted around him—the golden glow of sunlight that he had yearned for for so long cast soft beams across the bedcovers, and he sat up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows.

A tiny twinge of pain shot through his shoulder, bringing everything rushing back—in a moment, he shrank back down, closing his eyes against it all, curling onto his side.

So it hadn't all been just a dream.

Had it?

Arthur felt something shift slightly in the bed beside him, and subconsciously reached toward it, feeling his hand meet something soft and warm. He opened his eyes with a jolt as he felt it move again, and suddenly looked up to find himself staring into astonished blue eyes—so alive he could break down with joy.

"Francis," he breathed. He reached up to touch the Frenchman's face, unscathed, running his fingers softly over the tiny ghost of a scar where the bloody wound had been at the side of his forehead.

"Oui, belle," Francis whispered, sounding at a loss for any English, brushing his hair softly from his face, before falling back to the bed and pulling Arthur into a tight hug.

"Oh, Francis," Arthur whispered, sliding his arms around the Frenchman's neck and burying his face in the warmth of his shoulder, fighting tears. He clenched his eyes shut, listening to the soft, smooth French murmurings in his ear, feeling the warm arms close around him—keeping him safe.

"Je t'aime—je adore, mon coeur, mon rose," Francis breathed, voice shaking, holding him close as though they would wake up once again to find themselves back in the maze at any second. Arthur hugged him tighter, drinking in his scent, the warmth of his body, the softness of his hair against his cheek. It was all so priceless. He'd never before realized the how priceless this man was, holding him in his arms, kissing his neck gently, pulling the covers up and over them and simply hugging him close.

Arthur swallowed hard. "I couldn't lose you," he whispered, meaning to go on, but Francis cut him off with a kiss so soft he nearly melted.

"Non, lapin," he whispered, kissing him again so gently Arthur would think he was made of the most delicate glass imaginable. "S'il vous plaît ne pas en parler à son sujet... Je adore, je adore..."

He leaned down to kiss Arthur's neck, nipping softly, trailing tender kisses up and over his jaw until finally they met his lips. Arthur sighed softly, closing his eyes and arching slightly, running gentle fingers through Francis's silky, sleep-mussed hair.

"Pensez-vous que n'importe qui dérange si on est en retard à la réunion?" Francis breathed, recapturing his lips for a gentle kiss. Arthur sighed again, sliding arms closer around his shoulder.

"...I don't think they'll even notice," he murmured, breathing just barely beginning to quicken. He let out a breath and pulled slowly away, green eyes flickering open, to look up at Francis for a moment, taking in his beautiful blue eyes, the morning sunbeams falling on his soft golden hair, the creamy skin of his exposed shoulders and the warmth of him, lying on top of Arthur. He smiled, wrapping his legs around him, and leaned up to capture his lips in a kiss.

"I love you," he whispered softly against Francis's lips, moving his arms around his neck again, and reaching down with one hand to pull the covers up over the both of them. He moaned softly as Francis pulled him down to the warmth of the mattress, hands rubbing his skin softly, kiss deepening with the incredible tenderness only France would ever be able to manage. He let his lips part to the Frenchman, kissing back with nothing to fear, and reveling in the love of the moment.

Only one though lingered in his mind as Francis's hands slowly began to wander.

If this was a dream, Arthur never wanted to wake up.