I thought my internet would be out all week! Thankfuly, it isn't and now I can bring you the sixth chapter of Our Love! I own othing but I hope you enjoy regardless!

He didn't know what to think, quite simply. He knew he was bleeding, he could feel the warm, slick redness drip down his cheek (or maybe those were tears…), but he couldn't feel a touch of pain.

He should've, a punch thrown by Matthew was always painful. It was a reputation built on the World Wars and his hockey legacy. He remembered hearing a report that Matthew and Ludwig had gone at it at Vimmy Ridge and when he saw the German a while afterwards he saw that half his face was battered and bruised.

Perhaps it was the shock value that kept any actual pain from reaching the Brit from wherever he had been sent shortly after his usually gentle Canadian son had left. The shock of the lashing itself or of what he said, and what Brittan had said in retaliation as well, he wasn't exactly sure.

For a while, he just lay there, not quite sure that he was awake or asleep or even simply knocked out. He felt his cheek begin to tingle, the gentle warmth spreading before growing into sharp, pin-pricks that began to feel like somebody was pressing on the left side of his head with a cattle brander as he felt his skull throb underneath his blonde-mop in the tell-tale signs of a hangover.

He blinked, once…twice…he turned his head from the left to the right, trying to keep from gritting his teeth as he usually did when he was hung over. He glanced outside the window, pausing for a second to inwardly let out a string of curses as he felt his center of balance spin out of focus for a second.

He could faintly hear the little creeks that came with all old houses, the barely-there buzzing of the refrigerator, the door was hanging off its hinges and looked ready to fall off at any second, and the carnage of his rage was apparent and more than a little embarrassing. But he didn't even bother thinking of how Francis and Matthew thought of him now. The room was in almost complete darkness, the only light coming from the dim, faded-orange street lights outside.

But something wasn't right…there was something right there, just out of his reach… 'Something…shiny…' Was all his mind could conjure of the object, having been numbed by the memory of his drunken rampage. His fingers managed to get purchase on a little black cloth that the shiny thing was sitting on; pulling it closer to his face he understood that the object was a ring.

He never wore jewelry, and definitely nothing this effeminate or this blatantly expensive.

Did Francis drop it? Rather doubtful, it looked like it was much too lovely to give to one of his bedmates.

What about…whatshisname…Canadia, The guy that punched him…Possibly, maybe he meant it for whoever was sharing his bed. He always seemed like the kind of man that wanted a family.

He gently rose himself from the floor, not bothering to open the lights as he fisted the ring in his hand, setting it to the side of the bathroom sink and momentarily reminding himself to look at it in the morning as he downed a few helpful pills and managing to make it to the couch before passing out once more; Thankfully not on his badly bruised cheek.

He awoke to the sound of sizzling food and the French Anthem being hummed. England didn't even bother screaming at Francis to shut up, too deeply into his self-induced depression to care about his jack-hammering headache or his black and blue face. (Literally, he could see it in the coffee-table mirror; damn that prat could throw a punch…)

Francis sighed, hearing the slight groan of the hard-headed brit He managed to clean up the room he's tossed about like a salad enough so that it was only the little things he couldn't repair, the dent in the wall, the ruined pillows, the wobbly chairs and the shattered lamps…

If asked why he was doing all this, it was quite simple. Francis, though a notorious skirt-caser, really did believe that love was special and was quite sad to see the romance between his old rival and their shared son was in tatters. They were really cute together, and the complemented each other.

Like Yao's symbol, what was it called again…Yin and Yang? Yes…Though they were so radically different, they brought out the best in the other; Alfred's rudeness and idiocy, along with his rare but always beneficial idea's and plans paired with Arthur's polite though stand-offish attitude that few ever managed to get around to see the laughing, happy creature he really was…it just seemed insane to him that something as great as they had was lost in less than a week.

And besides, he had failed and Alfred went back to his country in tears; cooking him breakfast and cleaning the mess caused was the very least of what he could do for his broken half-friend, half-rival.

He didn't know if it was true, what Russia had told Arthur. He had to agree with Matthew, Alfred just never seemed like the type to cheat, and he always seemed like the affectionate, over-grown puppy that would tackle somebody at any given moment.

A little light bulb went off in Francis's head, putting the bacon on the plate and cracking three eggs in the still sizzling grease, Matthew! Where the hell had he gone?

He paused to glance the way of the slightly moving lump that was Brittan' s form, wincing again when he saw the giant bruise the size of his palm on the other's face. Did he do that? When he first saw it coming into the house, he thought that maybe he'd just fell into a wall or something.

No matter, Matthew wasn't there and he couldn't help even if he could, the most Francis could do right now was make sure that England was kept clear of any booze and make sure that he didn't starve to death.

Brittan immediately rose, quickly cursing under his breath with the too-quick motion, as France brought the plate to his unplanned place of sleep. Grabbing the plate and fork with a mumbled thanks, eating by the forkful as France went back to fill his own belly. His random musings while eating returned him to the state of the house, and with it the shiny and obviously pricy bit of ice he'd found in the bathroom.

He remembered something was written on the inside, but he was a little more preoccupied with finding the broom at the time and didn't bother reading it. He paused mid-bite; he had put it back on the counter. He stood from his place, quickly walking to the bathroom and saw that the pretty ring was still there. He picked it up, turning it in his palm as he looked at the writing on the inside, where flesh would meet ring.

His eyes widened in shock, his stomach dropping and what felt like his heart stopping as he heard a choked scream that might've been his own voice. All thought flew out of his mind with the simple, two-words.

~Natalia Williams~

Natalia Williams? Mon dieu! M-my Mathieu fell in love with Belarus! He was going to marry her! He suddenly felt very dizzy himself, falling to his knees as a groggy, red-eyed Englishmen managed to wobble up to him.

"Wha…" He hiccupped. "What the h-hell…" He saw that shiny object, the ring from the night before, being forced into his face. He grabbed it and was about to pocket it when Francis told him to read the engraving as he franticly went through his phone. With fuzzy vision and a pounding cranium, he managed to decipher the annoyingly curly English.

"By the gods!" He screamed, the force of his scream making his own head ring, though he was a little preoccupied to make any note of it.

By the time Brittan had managed to understand, Francis already had Alfred on the phone. He forced it to Brittan, grabbing back the ring and dashing about, looking for something that he could but the jewelry in so it wouldn't be lost so easily.

"What do you want Francis…" Came the groaning, miserable-sounding voice of his American ex.

Brittan burst into tears almost instantly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He began to blather.

"Igg…" America paused, as if giving a little thought. "Brittan? What do you want?"

Arthur winced, closing his eyes and managing to breathe deeply and calm down some as he attempted to try again. "Alfred, I-I'm sorry, so, so sorry."

"A little late for that." Said America dryly about to hang up before he heard the ridiculously happy chanting in the background, though he wasn't fluent in French he hung out with Francis enough to know that he was repeating 'Wedding' over and over again. "Wedding? Who's having a wedding? You can't honestly tell me that you're marrying France only after a few hours!"

Brittan managed a laugh. "No, Alfred…Russia was mistaken! I'm sorry but…but I saw pictures a-and…you and Matthew look nearly identical."

He heard America pause, He had shown those pictures that Russia had sent him to Alfred, who was a screaming mess and declaring that Russia had photo shopped them in a 'Commie-plot'. He held the phone away from his ear as his scream began. "Holy mother fucker! Mattie a-and…" there was a thunk and a thud; which probably meant that Alfred had dropped the phone and fainted.

"Who the hell is this?" England sweat dropped, hearing the slightly robotic and child-like sounding alien's voice.

"U-uh T-Tony…Could you take care of America till we get there?"

"Whatever, it's not like I have a choice, Fucking Limey." There was a beep and the line went dead. Arthur snapped the phone shut, running to his bedroom, grabbing a few more pills while passing the bathroom and quickly packing an overnight bag and dressing himself.

He grabbed Francis's collar, who was still going about like a frantic and insanely happy school girl and dragged him away to the door. "Let's go frog!"

"Where are we going Angleterre?" Said Francis, grabbing his own bag that was still at the door as he followed.

"First we're going to America to get my boyfriend back, and then we're going to Canada to get this whole mess sorted out!"

What will they find when they see Alfred! Where did Matthew go? Did Matthew return to Canada? All these questions will...probably be answered in the next chapter. Probably.

And to adress something that people have been bugging be about for a while, I know that I sometimes confuse 'he' and 'she', it's a little problem that happens when your so used to writing Yaoi, things like that really don't show up on the radar anymore. ;;-_-

And because I just learned to make this icon... C('.'C) Hug me, I'm Canadian!