Chapter 10

"Francis! I can't breath!" Matthew waved his arms in desperate panic as the Frenchman clung to him in terror. Just seconds after the lights went out, Matthew got a second fright as Francis had screamed and jumped on him, pinning him to the chair and making his ears ring.

"What was that?" Francis clung to him even tighter. "I heard footsteps".

"Francis ..."

"THIS IS LIKE A HORROR FILM!" Francis shrieked before jumping off Matthew, doing what the Canadian considered to be permanent damage to his legs, and hide behind the chair.

Matthew, ignoring the pain in his legs, stood up and moved around the pitch black living room. He manoeuvred himself gracefully around the hard wood table with lots of glass ornaments on that would make a loud crash and cost him a fortune if he had walked into them. That was the beauty of living in that house as long as he had; he knew where everything was.

Reaching over behind the sofa, Matthew retrieved his beloved ice hockey stick. He didn't want to use it in a fight, but with nothing else on hand he would much rather break the hockey stick that was replaceable over loosing the fight. He didn't want to think about the consequences of loosing.

Probably find out where Alfred is. Matthew thought to himself as he turned and, twirling the stick in his hand before gripping it firmly, walked back to where Francis had removed himself from behind the chair and now stood, grim with dread.

"Father, I'm going upstairs". Matthew whispered to him. "Stay in the hall. There's an umbrella behind the door. Anything happens, call".

"Oui". Francis smiled thinking how brave Matthew proved himself to be when the time counted. He was no longer the quiet nation everyone missed and ignored; he was the one who was raising to the challenge and leading, not being led. Doing as Matthew said though, he stood in the hall, hugging the umbrella to his chest as Matthew climbed the stairs, being sure to jump the third and tenth as they creaked.

Keep calm, keep calm. Remember what Arthur supposedly lives by; keep calm and carry on. Keep calm and carry on. He also says loose lips sinks ships. Thinking about it he's right. Bit like that Ponting's case he ranted to me about at the time. He didn't shut up for three days about that. I'm pretty sure he was ranting even when he drank his tea. There's a skill to master. Wait; all right you, stop getting side tracked and thinking about completely irrelevant things. Something is wrong and you need your wits about you. Gaarrhhhh! Where's Prussia when you need him! He's good at smiting. Where is he!

Matthew made it to the top of the stairs and, holding his breath, strained his ears and eyes to see or hear anything. Consciously aware that he could get shoved back down the stairs if an attacker rushed him, Matthew inched away from the top of the stairs and more onto the landing.

Ample room, lots of rooms with doors slightly open that an attacker can leap from at any given moment, I wish I was armed with something other than a hockey stick. A torch would be great. Blind him, then beat him. Why did I never get a guard dog? One of Alfred's rabid flying squirrels would be great now, just so long it was trained not to fly at me. After this I'm getting a dog; and I'm going to call him Cujo!

While Matthew was creeping about on the landing doing his best impression of stealth to date, Francis still stood gripping the umbrella. If artificial light had been present, he would have seen the huge maple leaf that decorated it, but since there was no light and the situation did not press for him to study the latest umbrella designs and patterns, he could not have care less if it was a maple leaf or a tapestry of French history. It was a weapon, and that was enough for him.

Stood like a statute, his eyes went everywhere. They were taking time to adjust to the darkness, so everywhere he looked, he saw very little. Who ever was in the house could have been stood right next to him, smirking, and he would not know until he reached out and touched him.

A hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Arrgghhhh!"

"It's me papa". Matthew answered the shriek to put Francis' mind at rest. "There was nothing upstairs".

"So … it's ...down here with us?" Francis replied as his mind spun. He himself, like Matthew, was wishing for Prussia to turn back up to rain down fire and brimstone.

"Yes, I think so". Matthew answered. "Stay here again, I'm going to go in there and do a sweep. If anything happens again, call". With this the Canadian was gone again, leaving Francis wondering if he had always been this brave.

Minutes lapsed. Francis began to worry. "Matthew?" Francis finally called when the Canadian didn't make a reappearance. He moved back towards the kitchen hoping to find him. "Matthew?" He called again. He still had no reply. He turned to go back into the hall.

"Papa".

Francis froze. His eyes had adjusted well enough to the little light present that he could make out two separate people stood in the hall. Matthew had a knife pressed to his throat.

"Papa".

"Matthew". Francis mouthed, as though the mere mention of the Canadian's name would result in his death.

"Come peacefully, and nothing shall happen to the one you hold near and dear". The man growled. Francis couldn't see his face and this only added to the distress he was now in.

"Papa, don't". Matthew pleaded. "It is a trap! He means nothing he says!"

"Matthew ..."

"No ..." The knife pressed harder against his throat and silenced him.

"Want your son going to the grave for your incompetence?" The man with the knife growled.

"I ..."

"No, don't listen to him!" Matthew cried out.

"Matthew..."

"Do you?"

As Gilbert arrived back at Matthew's, something struck him as off. As he pulled up outside after the failed expedition to find beer, he sat with the engine off, contemplating. Then it hit him – there were no lights on.

Creeping out the car door and leaving it open so not to make a additional sounds that would alert someone to his presence, he crouched low and made his way to the house, peering in through the letter box in the Canadian's door.

Gilbert's crimson eyes watched the scene attentively, taking careful note of where each of them was. Their positions were not likely to change by the time he got there. It was a stand off, and Gilbert had been in enough of those to know what one looked like.

After seeing and committing to memory the confrontation in the hall, Gilbert crept in through the back door, arming himself with a some what large and heavy chunk of wood from the extreme DIY gardening Matthew was doing before all this hell broke loose.

Moving quietly, yet at speed that had come with many, many years of practice, Gilbert appeared hidden from view behind the attacker and Matthew. From where he was, he could tell there was a knife against Matthew's throat and he knew, again from many many years experience, he would only have one shot at this, and timing was everything.

Matthew defied the man again by instructing Francis to keep his distance. The man rose the knife, ready to plunge it into the Canadian's neck. Matthew turned his head away, screwing his eyes shut in anticipation. Just as he was about to bring the knife down, Gilbert raced out and swung the chunk of wood as hard as he could, bring it down on top of the man's head. The man crumpled and went to the ground, taking Matthew with him. Francis ran forward and took Matthew in his arms after carelessly shoving the attacker of the top of him, tears streaming down his cheeks as he held Matthew tightly, fearful to let him go. "My dear, sweet Matthew. Forgive me. Forgive me. It was my fault. I should not have let you go alone. My dear, sweet child. Please forgive me. Please forgive me".

"I'm fine". Matthew hugged Francis back. "I'm fine. The blade was blunt. Not even a cut; look". He took Francis' hand in his own so he could guide the Frenchman's fingers over his neck to prove that no harm had befallen him.

"Oh my dear, sweet Matthew". Francis launched off again.

Gilbert, not being an emotional creature by nature, avoided even looking at them and instead busied himself with glaring at the man clothed all in black now sprawled across the floor. Deciding that this was not to replicate one of those dreadful films where no one could not come up with the simple idea of turning the lights on, Gilbert decided that at that time getting the lights back on would be the best use of his expertises. That and he couldn't be around that much emotion for much longer. "I'm going to turn the lights back on". Gilbert said and took off out the front door without waiting for an answer.

With Francis' attention all on Matthew though, one was not forthcoming.

By the time the lights came back on and Gilbert had returned, Francis had let Matthew go. Matthew giving a weak smile to Gilbert.

"Thank you".

Gilbert shrugged. "It's what awesome people like me do".

"Saving people?" Matthew asked, thinking that line sounded strangely familiar.

"No, beating the shit out of people I don't like". Gilbert replied.

"Oh". Matthew replied. "Thanks anyway".

Just as Gilbert was about to slam the front door, a voice rang out in the night making everyone freeze on the spot.

"Preveet. This a good time, da?"

A/N: First things first, and I'm going to sound like Poland doing this … OMG, seriously, like, fantastic! You guy's who keep reviewing me are epic! I will tell Gilbert to put you on his Christmas card list.

Additionally, Ponting's case was a case during the Falklands war where a civil servant broke the Official Secrets Act 1920 and leaked information to the public about the sinking of a ship. The jury acquitted him because they thought he was acting on the public's behalf, but the leaking of that information could have lead to the death of many British soldiers, so naturally Arthur would be completely and utterly pissed off at their decision. Thought it was appropriate. ^o^

ThEnd00 – Yep. Alfred is absolutely clueless. But that's what us fanfiction authors work off. We like the clueless dope. Hikarilightz – rescue is soon to be on the way. It will have hints of hysteria in it though. ^o^ hugglestheknowitall – thank you so much for your compliments! It's awesome that my story is having that effect on you. I'm trying to refine my skills on here (thank god for editors who check spellings though) because I want to start writing books in a few years time. I hope you did well in your finals (and I also hope they're over – I hate tests)! Pinkpanther123 – 'Your Highness'? I like it. ^_^ Quite a boost to the old ego, but if some one said that to me in person I would blush like one of Spain's tomatoes and hide behind the sofa. Also, thanks for saying that I should get more reviews. When I upload more than five chapters, I learn names of authors who always review! So now when I upload I think to myself – 'I hope that's up to PinkPanther123's standard'. No joke I actually do! Thanks again. Meluzina – Ludwig is defiantly a unconventional nurse. Hahaha. Feliciano's in good hands, trust me. ;) Chrono-contact - ~hands box of tissues~ sorry! Iaveina – my hatred of revision has gone to a whole new level now. Thanks for all the reviews! Axxi – fluffy confessions! ~hey Feliciano, hug her back~ Arthur has told me to tell you congrats on being British ~whispers loudly to the side~ it's put Alfred right out! Jawwenthevampire – You're too awesome not to give a mention too!

Hope you liked the update!