The Love Doctor

Some more RusAme and FrUK fluff. :)

And a quick note: from now on I'm changing the nickname Fredka into Fedya, as someone mentioned that this nickname is much easier to pronounce in the Russian tongue. And it's cute, no?

I'm also working on a rewrite of The Promise of Sunflowers, just to make a grammar and vocabulary check. Not much will be changed, but this nickname will be replacing the old one for example.

xoxox

"Wha- Ow!"

England squinted his eyes at the harsh light invading the room. He was currently lying in his bed, being bed-ridden until at least tomorrow. Thanks to some imbecile frog he'd spent last night outside in the rain, resulting in a heavy cold. Luckily it wouldn't take that long for the cold to go away, with him being a country, but he still figured he should rest today. France had been banished from his house until further notice, and he was supposed to be alone today.

'Supposed' being the keyword.

"Hey Iggy! Did ya sleep well?"

England groaned and looked up, right into the annoyingly happy toothpaste commercial smile of his former colony.

"Alfred Foster Jones, what on earth are you doing here?" the Englishman moaned, voice a tad hoarse.

America's grin grew wider, and it was only then that England noticed something off about his attire. Since when did the American wear white coats?

"We're here to make sure you get better of course! Couldn't leave you all on your lonesome after France called and told us you're sick, after all."

"We?" England asked, dread washing over him as another figure appeared beside the American.

"Dobroe utro Angliya!" Russia chirruped, and England gulped. "I came to help, da?"

"Don't worry 'bout a thing, Iggy! Dr. Jones and his lovely assistant are here to help!"

"Lovely assistant?" Russia asked, smile going rigid.

"Uh…"

While a dark aura fell over the Russian and America quickly tried to apologize, England couldn't help but pray. A feeling of anxiety washed over him at seeing those two lunatics grinning goofily, one dressed in a white doctor's coat which was two sizes too big and the other waving around a syringe.

'God save the Queen…'

The long afternoon began with America placing a hamburger on his forehead, just like he'd done last time. England shouldn't be surprised that the American hadn't learnt from previous mistakes.

"Dorogoy? I do not think it is working," Russia softly tried to advice the younger.

"Of course it's not working," England grumbled sourly. "It's a bloody hamburger. I'm sick, not hungry. And can't you two just bugger off? I really don't need any help."

America waved his protests away.

"Nonsense! You always took care of me when I was uh… little, yeah, so now it's time to return the favour!"

England fell silent at that, pleasantly surprised by the other's reasoning. That was rather considerate of him.

"And we were bored," Russia bluntly added, making the sunny blond slap him on his arm.

"You weren't supposed to tell him!" America hissed, glancing back nervously at their patient.

England smirked. "Knew it would've been something like that."

Russia smiled as he took a step forward.

"Since burger does not work, it is my turn, da?"

He playfully held the syringe in front of his eyes, squirting a bit of liquid out of the needle.

"What's in that?" England asked, eyeing the object with a high level of distrust.

"Vodka of course!"

England groaned and shut his eyes as the other two began to argue again.

"Dude, you reject my hamburger idea but you think vodka will work? You really need to lay off, big guy."

"What, why? Vodka always makes me feel better when I have a bad day. Injecting it will only make the happiness come quicker!"

"We're not giving Iggy booze! You know he's a terrible drunk!"

"I can hear you two, you know," England commented dryly, massaging his temples. He could already feel a headache coming up.

"Oh, right! I know what he needs! TV!"

"All I need is for you two to leave," England growled, his voice going completely unnoticed in a sudden couching fit.

"Wow! Iggy, you okay? Yeah, we're definitely bringing you downstairs now. That way we can keep an eye on you! Ivan, would you mind…?"

And before England could protest, Russia threw back the covers and gathered him up in his arms.

"Hey! Put me down this instant, you bloody Kolkhoz!"

England struggled weakly to break free, but he could feel the tall nation tighten the grip on his body and a small sound of "kolkolkol" escape his lips. England stilled after that, not wanting to bring out the psychopath. This in turn made the Russian grin widely in delight, and England internally cursed his entire existence as he was brought downstairs. Russia made sure to swing his body as much as possible, despite him clearly being sick, and America was so lost in his own ramblings that he didn't notice England's discomfort.

"Will you stop that?!" the Brit quietly asked when he felt a wave of nausea flood his stomach.

"Stop what?" Russia asked innocently, eyes big and childish.

"The swinging. You're not really being a very good son-in-law here."

Russia almost dropped him after those words spilled from his mouth. England's eyes widened and heat rose to his cheeks when the Russian gaped at him, own face painted pink.

"Eh? Do you really think of me as your son-in-law?"

"N-no!" England hissed. It was just a silly thought that had sort of popped up a second ago, and he hadn't meant to say that at all. Probably the illness speaking.

"Hey, you two coming or what?" a loud voice sounded from the living room.

"Coming, sunflower!" Russia sung back, and England cringed at the obvious fondness seeping from it.

"Do you really have to give him such preposterous nicknames?" he asked, after which those bright violet orbs fell upon his face again.

"Da! It shows that you love them, right?"

England couldn't really answer to that straightforward confession. It made him think about the nicknames he had for his own… lover.

Frog. Wine-loving bastard. Frog face. Sodding twit.

…He wasn't really original.

And then there were France's nicknames for him.

Angel. Bunny. Treasure. Love. Sweetheart. Dearest. And the list just kept going on.

…Maybe he should try saying something sweet next time they met? Not to do the Frenchman a favour of course, that'd be absurd. Just for… for science.

"And here we are!" Russia interrupted his train of thoughts, dropping him unceremoniously on the couch. Immediately after, England had to sit up as America pushed a cup of scalding hot chocolate milk into his hands and the two nations squeezed themselves onto the couch next to him, England squashed in the middle.

"…Why are you sitting here?"

"To watch TV of course!" America yelled in his ear, Russia already reaching for the remote to prevent his boyfriend from putting on anything nonsensical.

"We do not want you to feel lonely," the Slavic nation giggled, and England's headache became reality right then and there.

It was peaceful for a moment, one single moment, and then someone had to ruin it again.

"But Vanyaaaaaa, I don't wanna watch figure skating!"

"And I do not want to watch America's Got Talent."

"Then why don't we watch some cartoons?"

"I do not feel like watching cartoons. How about soap opera? We can laugh, you like that right?"

"Nah, not today… Hey, I think they're showing Iron Man 2 tonight! Wanna watch that?"

"Is that the one with Russian villain?"

"…You've seen Iron Man 2?"

England sighed as he tried to move his legs. They were already falling asleep, mushed together as they were. If he'd known his sick day would be spent with the two biggest idiots on earth, he would've gone to France's place instead. At least France knew to keep quiet when he had a cold, and he was also much less touchy-feely then.

"England? You all right?"

The green-eyed nation looked up to see Flying Mint Bunny sitting on his knee, staring up at him.

"I've felt better," England admitted, giving the creature a few pets on the head.

"Should we make them leave?" Bunny asked, smiling mischievously.

England contemplated the thought, but finally shook his head.

"No thank you, I can take care of them myself. Kind of you to ask though."

"Iggy?"

England's head snapped back when he found his two guests staring at him quizzically.

"Is everything all right dude? You were kinda talking to yourself."

"I think fever has risen to his head, da?" Russia said, placing a (cold!) hand on the Brit's forehead.

England jerked back, away from the touch.

"No! I was just talking to Flying Mint Bunny is all."

"Iggy? You know those things don't exist, right?"

"Maybe he needs lobotomy!" Russia remarked in an ominously light tone.

Suddenly, England had enough of it all.

"That's it! We're in my house, we're doing as I say now! I don't care if you two think I'm delirious, but me being sick doesn't mean you can just barge in here and start taking over the house!"

America gaped at him, Russia simply smiled eerily.

"Alfred, you get off the couch. There isn't enough space and I would like to rest my feet. We are watching Doctor Who now, whether you two like it or not. And Russia…"

The Russian turned towards him with big sparkling eyes, seeming very amused with the turn of events.

"…Can I have your hand back? I hate to admit it, but that feels awfully nice against my overheated skin."

"Of course," Russia purred, and America sulked as he crawled into the tall nation's lap instead.

It was an odd sight to behold, those three men on the couch. England resting against Russia's shoulder, the Russian's hand on his forehead, America trying to make himself comfortable in the larger nation's lap, and Russia being all smiles and sunshine as he propped his chin on top of America's skull. An odd trio indeed.

And that is exactly how France found them several hours later, with only a few minor changes. One being that they had all fallen asleep. At one point, America'd gotten cold and Russia had opened up his coat for the other to crawl into, after which he'd buttoned it up again. America's nose peeked over the hem and Russia's hands were wrapped around his stomach so that he didn't fall. Russia himself was leaning back against the couch, and England was still lying on his shoulder, drooling on his scarf. Good thing the Russian wasn't awake to witness such crimes against humanity.

France tip-toed over to the trio, softly taking his beloved in his arms so as not to wake anyone up. He then began carrying the Brit over to his bedroom, leaving the other two to have the couch all for themselves. Halfway up the stairs, England stirred awake.

"Wha- what is-"

"Ssssh. Hush, mon ange. I am only bringing you to your bed. No need to wake up."

England mumbled something as he fisted his hand into France's shirt, and the blue-eyed nation bent over.

"Qu'est-ce que tu as dit?" he asked, England's messy locks tickling his cheek as he brought his ear to the other's lips.

"…I love you," were the whispered words that reached him.

France almost dropped England after that. That was twice today; England really needed to stop saying unexpected things when being carried.

"Quoi? Angleterre, I think you are still ill-"

England smiled gently, and France almost felt his heart stop. The Brit's eyes were closed, his face a bit flushed, and without the usual frown he looked oh so gorgeous.

"Je t'aime, mon nounours."

France's heart really did stop at hearing those sweet, sweet words fall from the other's lips. Not only because it was spoken in French, but because it was the first time he'd ever heard England say he loved him without a 'maybe' or 'I think' following right behind. True, England was sick, but France felt as if he were walking on clouds and roses while crossing the last meters towards England's bedroom.

"Et moi, je 't'aime aussi," he replied, carefully placing the half-asleep Brit in the middle of the bed. "Je t'adore. Je t'admire. Je te chéris. Toujours, tous les jours, pour le reste de l'éternité. Je t'aime, Loulou. Je t'aime."

France kissed him softly as he lay down beside him, the Brit instantly clinging to him in his sleep. If England was always like this when he was sick, then he definitely wouldn't mind staying up at night in the rain again.

"Bonne nuit, mon coeur."

xoxox

England woke up feeling refreshed the next morning. He wasn't all that shocked to see France lying next to him, used to the other's habits of sneaking in at night. He was in too good of a mood today to make the fool leave.

England carefully unwrapped himself from the other's arms and made his way downstairs, feeling like having a nice cuppa and reading this morning's newspaper now that the fever had gone down.

On the last step, he paused.

Russia and America were still sound asleep on his couch. Only, at one point during the night, Russia had woken up and switched their positions. They were now lying sideways on the piece of furniture, Russia against the back of the couch and America next to him, still safely huddled up in his large trench coat. Russia had wrapped his arms around the other's back, keeping him close and sharing the warmth between them. America had his face buried in the Russian's scarf, and Russia's nose fit snugly in America's hair. Their legs were tangled-up, making it almost impossible to see where one body stopped and the other began. They looked so… peaceful.

"Angletere?" France's soft voice came, the Frenchman having woken up as well now that his arms were empty of another person. Azure eyes fell upon the display, and he smiled as he snaked a hand around England's waist.

"Ah, young love. Beautiful, n'est-ce pas?"

England opened and closed his mouth a few times, before swallowing and trying again.

"It's… oddly normal, seeing them cuddle. As if it was just…"

"Meant to be?" France finished for him, grinning when England lightly elbowed him in the gut.

"Something like that," the British gentleman admitted, blushing when he placed a hand upon the one around his waist and intertwined their fingers.

"Come, mon amour. Let's leave them be while we have breakfast."

"Yes… Wouldn't want to infect their puppy love with our stuffy oldness."

"And who are you calling old?" France huffed playfully, and England smirked.

The Brit left for the kitchen, but before France could follow him, he was stopped by a voice.

"Spasiba, Frantsiya."

France turned around, raising an eyebrow at the sleepy face of Russia. The Russian grinned lazily, like a cat, and continued.

"I still had to thank you for making me realize what love is. You know, when I called you that one time?"

"Ah," the blond gasped, a memory flashing in front of his inner eye. "But of course. So, my advice helped?"

Russia fondly looked at his lover as he made a little whining noise in his sleep, tightening his grasp.

"Definitely. So again, spasiba."

"You're welcome," France replied, leaving the two youngsters to their own devices as he left for his one true love.

xoxox

Can you feel the fluff? CAN YOU FEEL IT?

Words:

Dobroe utro: Good morning
Angliya: England
Mon ange: My angel
Qu'est-ce que tu as dit: What did you say?
Quoi: What?
Je t'aime: I love you
Mon nounours: My teddy bear
Je t'adore: I adore you
Je t'admire: I admire you
Je the chéris: I cherish you
Toujours: Always/forever
Tous les jours: Every day
Pour le reste de l'éternité: For the rest of eternity
Loulou: No translation, a cute French nickname for men
Bonne nuit: Goodnight
Mon Coeur: My heart
N'est-ce pas: Isn't it?
Mon amour: My love
Spasiba: Thank you
Frantisya: France