AN:This is late, sorry. Harvest has sort of started (and I work in a grain store) and on top of that I've had some fairly dire writer's block. I still don't think I'm completely over it, but I didn't want this to be any later than it already was.

A million thanks to WelcometotheNewAge, InvaderPey, Erienn, Froggiecool, KassyMalone, Artemis Fenir and Ariddle-Ascare for reviewing the last chapter!

Chapter 7

Gliding back into the kitchen as silently as a wraith, Francis took the brief moment in which neither of the boys had noticed his presence to take stock of the scene. Alfred was still sitting at the table, a petulant but somewhat… regretful? expression gracing his face. Evidently he'd heard at least pieces of Arthur's rant. Francis was simply glad that he had the decency to be ashamed. It was more than he afforded to most people; in fact, Arthur was one of the few people alive that was capable of making the headstrong American re-evaluate his words and actions.

Matthew was still perched on his chair, simply staring at his brother in exasperation. Francis was silently grateful that he'd brought up the subject of Arthur and Alfred back in his own home. Otherwise god only knows what damage could have been done had the pair of them not dropped in for this impromptu visit. Matthew turned to face him as he realised his partner had re-entered the room. Alfred didn't move, instead opting to bore a hole in the table.

The Frenchman sighed. He pulled a chair from the table, opposite to where Alfred was sitting.

"You heard that, yes?" Alfred shrugged, but that wasn't good enough. He started to repeat himself: "I said-"

"I heard what you said, and I heard what Artie said too." His usual smile had long since vacated his face, and was replaced with a sullen frown. "I didn't realise he hated having me here so much."

Francis sighed, and realised that he'd only managed to hear the first part of Arthur's mini-breakdown.

"He doesn't hate having you here, Alfred. No, really." He cut Alfred off with a look before he could even finish opening his mouth. "What you have to realise is that, regardless to Arthur's current condition, he's still capable of making his own decisions and you should have the common courtesy to respect that, oui?" Alfred snorted but didn't respond. Francis didn't think he'd get anything more out of the sulking youngster, so instead carried on:

"Alfred, you do know that people who have suffered from eating disorders and have starved themselves aren't physically capable of consuming too much food, yes? Their stomachs shrink. You have to slowly increase the amounts. If you try to stuff 'im full immediately you'll just make him sick."

Realisation seemed to dawn in his eyes.

"Nobody told me that!"

"I'm sure you have the internet, Alfred. You could probably spend a little less time playing games today and a little more time researching Arthur's problem, if you're absolutely serious about making him better." Francis' tone was condescending, but he didn't care. It was all good and well for Alfred to declare himself Arthur's caretaker, but he wasn't going to simply stand by and let him cause more harm. Arthur was already in a bad enough state without it being exasperated by someone who didn't have a clue what they were doing.

"I'm the hero! Of course I'm serious!" Francis snorted derisively, and Alfred's face fell again.

"And that's where you're going wrong, Alfred. You may be a 'hero', but that does not make Arthur your damsel and you should not treat him as such. Regardless to his physical state, mentally he is fully aware of what is going on and you should listen to him when he tells you something. And if there are any more problems, you'll have to deal with me… understood?"

Alfred scowled, but after a brief paused nodded. Happy that it had been settled with such little resistance, Francis smiled.

"Now, how about I sort us out some lunch while you and your brother catch up, hmm?"

~SR~

Arthur had pointedly not looked at Alfred when he had come back down the stairs after his short nap, and Francis was relieved when Alfred didn't push the matter and instead settled down with his brother to play video games. At least he seemed to understand that Arthur still needed a little bit of space to cool down before he started coddling him again.

Francis had whipped up a selection of foods that his ego decided were too gorgeous even for someone as stuck-up as Arthur to reject. As it was, he'd picked out a plate of crepes and curled up on the sofa - as far away from Alfred as possible - and slowly and thoughtfully began chewing. It was clear from the outset that he wasn't going to be eating very much, but Francis understood that as long as he was eating something, the quantities didn't really matter. Once he'd managed just over half the plate and was dozing lightly, a full stomach being something he still was obviously fairly unaccustomed to, Francis had made him take some of the supplements given at the hospital and then left him be. With the two boys close by, he wasn't too concerned about leaving Arthur for a short while, and so vacated to the kitchen. For some quiet, and a chance to think.

He didn't have to think for very long. A quick review of the texts Alfred had sent him whilst Arthur was in the hospital reminded in that, even though Alfred was going about it the wrong way and the wrong reasons, Arthur was still in need of a quick check up. It had been one of the conditions upon leaving the hospital, apparently, and Francis wasn't surprised. He'd seen many times over his long life the damaging effects of long-term starvation, and anything that gave Arthur a reprieve from more problems was a necessity. And although he firmly believed that Alfred had over-reacted, Arthur was still very slight considering the younger nation had been stuffing him to the brim for nearly a week prior. A visit would give Arthur a health check up and possibly some good advice on how to get him putting on weight without making himself sick.

Psyching himself up to tell the no-doubt soon-to-be-pissed Englishman - along with a fortifying glass of wine to steel his nerves, which he consumed in a couple of gulps - he wandered back into the kitchen. Arthur was mostly asleep, and Alfred was completely ignoring him as he battled his brother on the games console.

"We should go to the doctors." This made Arthur stir, bolting awake, although his sleepy eyes betrayed him.

"What?! We already decided that I wasn't going to go!"

"I know. But this isn't because I think you're still starving yourself, Arthur." Francis replied, calmly. " There are an awful lot of health issues that come with prolonged starvation, and it's been almost a week now since you left the hospital. A check up would do you some good, and we can probably get some advice on what sort of things would benefit you the most when making meals. Someone-" he gave a pointed look in Alfred's direction, "- neglected to do this the first time around, so we should endeavour to do it now."

Arthur looked like he was about to fight very much in the same way he'd fought Alfred, but he caught the look in Francis' eyes and slumped in defeat.

He refused to talk, even as Francis manhandled him into some more suitable clothing. The lack of swearing and fighting or accusations of molestation was odd, to say the least, but he still looked fairly tired so Francis put it down to exhaustion.

The car journey back the hospital was done so in a sullen silence. Francis was driving, mainly because he refused to entrust his life in Alfred's hands, and Arthur was sulking in the passenger seat. The twins were in the back; Matthew was staring out of the window, expression carefully blank, and Alfred was playing some handheld game device. Alfred had tried to argue that if Francis was going there was no point in him tagging along, but Francis had shot him down by reminding him that it was Alfred who needed to know things such as dietary necessities, far more than he or Matthew did.

The hospital visit in itself was dullness with a clinical edge. A flash of their identity badges meant no long and boring waits in the hospital waiting room, and they were led by an accommodating nurse into a room where Arthur was prodded with needles, whilst being asked question after question about his diet and how he'd felt physically over the course of the past week. Alfred had received a drabbling lecture on appropriate and inappropriate food types and amounts, whilst Arthur had been lectured on not coming in sooner if he was feeling ill for as long as he had been. In the end, Arthur left with some extra medication, including some to minimise nausea once he started increasing his portion sizes, and an appointment with a nutritionist. Alfred left with a list of foods that would be most beneficial to Arthur and the look of a kicked puppy.

A small mercy was that Arthur's incredibly inhibiting cast was finally removed after an x-ray showed that his broken bones were, for most of the part, either healed or very nearly. As far as Arthur was concerned, it was the only bit of good news all day. At least now he was able to move freely. All he had to be aware of was the occasional tender spot.

The sky was dull and overcast as they made their journey back to Arthur's house. The air was frigid, and the heating in the car was set on full blast as Francis complained bitterly about England's lack of warm weather. Alfred was still ignoring everyone and Arthur was only just conscious, so it was up to Matthew to remind him, gently, that even the countries with nice weather had to suffer a winter at some point.

And then they were home again. Arthur was bundled back into the house and pushed into the living room, then promptly buried under a mountain of duvets and blankets whilst Francis enlisted Alfred's help with getting the woodstove in the hearth going. Francis, being Francis, worked his magic in the kitchen and returned with four cups of steaming hot chocolate and marshmallows, wriggling into the spot next to Arthur and wrapping an arm around his shoulders and he leant back.

"A few more clothes on the floor and this would be perfect, eh, mon Petite Lapin~?" He teased, a salacious grin on his face. It was quickly removed by a fist to the jaw, but in the corner of his eye he saw Alfred get up and frown, so being punched by a weakened Englishman was probably the lesser of two evils. It was nice to get a reaction out of Arthur, if he was honest with himself. For someone usually so loud and grumpy to be so silent and unresponsive made the world feel strangely off-balance.

He spent the next few hours complaining about the cold, British TV, the cold, lack of central heating in English homes, the cold, lack of edible food in Arthur's cupboards and the cold. It didn't take long for Arthur to tell him to 'Piss off and complain in your own damn country!'

Francis and Matthew left before the day was out, Francis' parting words being a stern warning to Arthur as to what would happen if he didn't take care of himself and even sterner words to Alfred about exactly what would happen to him if he started treating Arthur the way he had before. Then the two lovers had left the tense pair on the doorstep, waving as the car left the drive.

An awkward silence permeated the air. Arthur felt his nose freezing, and watched steamed air force past his chapped lips. Loathe though he was to admit it, Francis did have something of a point about the cold.

Just as Arthur was about to open his mouth to break the silence, Alfred spun around and slouched back into the house, shoulders hunched. Blinking away the shock at this abruptness, Arthur made to follow, only to find the living room door closed and the sound of a game blaring loudly from the TV. He was about to push the door open, give Alfred a kick and then settle back down on the sofa, before realisation crashed down on him.

Alfred didn't want to be here any more.

That could be the only explanation for the cold shoulder he'd been receiving ever since Francis had come over. Alfred didn't want to be here, and was only sticking around because he either felt obligated to stay or was too scared of what a pissed off Frenchman would do to him if he decided to leave.

He took a deep, steadying breath and leant his head against the door. Alfred's game play was lacking the customary loud yelling and occasional cuss word, a very disconcerting sensation. Deciding that he didn't want to intrude upon someone who so clearly didn't want to be in his company, Arthur sighed and instead made his slow way up the stairs. Between the frog's unexpected visit and the trip to the hospital, his day had been thoroughly exhausting.

By the time he'd finally collapsed in his bed he noticed that his stomach was grumbling slightly, and he realised he'd had nothing to eat since the food Francis had cooked as a late breakfast several hours previously. Too tired and fed up to even consider going back downstairs - and completely unwilling to force his presence on Alfred when he was clearly in such a bad mood with him - Arthur sighed and rolled over, dragging the duvet around him and clamping his eyes shut.

It wasn't like he'd never gone to bed hungry before, but it had been more years than he could even remember since he'd felt the hunger clenching in his stomach in this way. If it wasn't so uncomfortable, it would have been reassuring. As it was, it just made him even more miserable.

It was some time before he managed to slip into sleep.

AN: Not much to say. Google Chrome hates the English version of words, thought :( All those read lines and no misspellings in sight...