Okay, thank you as always to my lovely reviewers.

myviolettears; yes, you already know my view on sleep.

To elizabeta H. Austria, yeah, I know, nothing happened last chapter but hey, the plot had to go somewhere.

And lastly to the Prussia-awesome DeathbladeMeister who added this story and Prince and Prince(ss) to her Best of the Best-Hetalia Style community. I truly am not worthy! *grovels on floor*
And the 2ps might snap and go properly psycho, or some of them might, but they'll have some semblance of a reason, they wont just pull insanity out of thin air.

Olivia is currently the most likely candidate for proper insanity.

Hey, did you guys know Prince and Prince(ss) has more reviews, follows, favorites AND views than this story with half the chapters? I'm not sure if I should be happy or upset about that…

Anyway, thanks also go to the previously mentioned DeathbladeMeister and lazyday33 for following and favoriting.

Seriously people, tell me what parings you want to happen!

Aaand… enjoy!

Chapter 10: Daisy

"Okay!" America patted Olivia's shoulder again, "why don't you go inside and have a hamburger or something? I'll find Blondie and we can get this mess straightened out!"

"Okay," Olivia said quietly, she didn't feel like eating and as reluctant as she was to let Alfred try and fix her problems she really did just want to go inside and curl up into a little ball.

She got up and walked towards the house, Alfred watched her go and then turned to look at the backyard, his mouth forming a hard line. He had to find his England and get this mess fixed, ASAP. He walked off, determined.

He completely forgot about the work forms in his back pocket.

When he reached the gardens he saw a young man sitting on one of the benches, deep in thought. His elbows were on his knees and his dirty-blond head hung between his shoulders. America had only seen this guy once but he knew he was the 'other France.'

Olivia's France.

"Hey, John?" That was the name Olivia had given him, right?

Jean's head jerked up, "yes? Oh, it's you. Hello again Mr. America." His voice was flat and toneless and America couldn't read his expression. England or France might be able to but America couldn't. Or at least he chose not to.

"Do you know where Arthurine is?" America asked, if anyone would know, it would be this guy, he was the last one to see her.

Jean shook his head, "she ran off that way," he pointed to the apple trees, "but I don't know where she went after that." He went back to brooding.

"Thanks," Alfred went to walk past him, but stopped, "and dude, kissing my England is one thing. But did you have to do it while your England was watching, how low can you get?" He walked off, Olivia had said neither Jean nor Arthurine had known she was there but Alfred didn't buy that. He didn't believe in that sort of coincidence.

Since he walked off he didn't see Jean's face go white, "Olivia saw?" He winced as guilt stabbed at him again.

"Sorry Liv."

"Arthurine? England? Baby, are you out here?" America called. He called all the girls he knew 'babe,' but England was the only one he called 'baby,' she was special to him and he needed to find her.

After searching every inch of the gardens Alfred concluded she wasn't there. Maybe she had passed him somewhere and gone back into the house? He hoped so, otherwise she was probably in the forest that surrounded her house, he'd never find her there and he'd get hopelessly lost trying.

Wait a minute, where the heck is France? He wondered, he hadn't seen him either. Maybe he found her first and they went back to the house together? He hoped so.

Shrugging, America turned and walked back to his ex-caretaker's house, figuring he might as well go see what he could do for Olivia. If Arthurine was still out here it was out of his hands, he wasn't Scotland and he didn't know those woods, if she was in there, he wouldn't find her.

Because she obviously didn't want to be found.

England sat with her legs drawn up to her body for a while, knees digging into her eye sockets as she rested her head on them. Then the phone in her pocket vibrated with a message.

She pulled it out and winced, it was from France. Her France.

His message was the epitome of evasiveness;
England, (no human name or intimate nickname)
If it matters to you at all, I've gone out for a while. I'll see you when I see you.
France.

And that was it. No teasing, no hugs and kisses. Even when they were fighting with swords and had to send messages by horse he always told her he loved her. Except for then; their fight over Joan of Arc.

Jeanne d'Arc. Arthurine thought the other's name with a hint of spitefulness and resentment, while she didn't blame Joan for the biggest argument between her and Francis, she was still resentful towards the other woman for being the cause. But that was different. Francis had been devastated by what he considered an act of pure betrayal on England's part. Never mind that they had been in the middle of a war, this was taking it too far.

After the things he'd said to her, Arthurine was fully justified in being furious with France in return. If there were some things that crossed the line, some things you just did not do, then it stood to reason that there were some things you just did not say, either. But she'd done them, though her intentions had been pure. But he'd said them, though his thoughts had been clouded by grief and loss.

It still hurt though.

But there was no Joan this time. And neither France the Country nor Francis the man had done anything to her. This one was all on Arthurine.

She'd fucked up.

There are just some things you don't say…

Like hurled accusations against your best friend for no other reason than he was a decent person and you were a bitch.

There are just some things you don't do…

Like kissing said best friend's other self after the two of you had just finished a conversation in how your other self was madly in love with him.

Okay sure, so that part hadn't exactly been her fault, she hadn't initiated the kiss, hadn't wanted it, and would take it back if she could. But she hadn't pulled away either. She had just been so shocked…

Jean had kissed her, Jean. It was as unreal as Russia suddenly running up and confessing his love for America. Jean had ruined her good mood and Jean had been the one who had upset her.

And she'd taken it out on Francis.

So fix it you idiot. England shook off her breakdown and pressed the call button on her phone. It wasn't much, but a phone call was a start, right?

'You call cannot be connected right now, please check the number and try again.' The automated voice told her mechanically. England hissed and tried again, she got the same results. She checked her phone, it wasn't her reception.

'I'm sorry,'she texted to France, before pocketing her phone and standing, she had to get this mess straightened out.

He's probably halfway to Paris by now. And if he's got any sense he's taken Jean or Olivia with him.

England wasn't sure which one would be worse. She really, really didn't want to be left with Jean, after what happened but if she was left with her other self, the guilt would eat her alive, even after she apologised and admitted her part in this little fiasco.

Well after what I said to France, I deserve it. England was forced to acknowledge that she was being a little unfair to Jean, it wasn't his fault, he couldn't control who he fell for.

But he could've bloody well kept it to himself! An irritated voice in her mind said.

Well you could've kept your bitchy rants to yourself, but you didn't, did you?! Another equally snappy voice replied. That shut the first one up. Arthurine sighed and ran a hand through her short blonde hair, great, now I'm going insane. Just what I needed.

She ran a hand through her short hair again, then stopped and did it more slowly. She'd always had short hair, all throughout her childhood (except for that one time when she had tried to grow it out and France had cut it again).

All throughout her youth and her infamous pirate days she'd kept her hair boyishly short, ignoring the orders from her boss, the whispers from her people during the years when girls just did not wear their hair like that, ignoring the giggles from the other Countries.

All because she believed and took confidence from something France had said when he cut her hair.

Boring hair looks best on you!

No. Not that. Something he'd said the next day when he'd caught her sulking over it.

You're prettier when you're just being yourself.

England had never tried to grow her hair out again.

However, during WWII her hair had grown long anyway, she didn't have time to cut it, so she'd started wearing it up in two pigtails, first short, then much longer.

After the war when she would have cut her hair again, she'd left it long because America had mentioned that he thought she looked good with long hair, and that he liked girls with long hair.

Heaven help her but England would try to be anyone he wanted.

Unfortunately her hair was as hard to manage as it had always been and Arthurine, not used to spending hours working on her hair to make it straight, hated it. But if Alfred liked it that was how she was going to keep it.

It was Francis who had convinced her to cut her hair again. Arthurine had never been happier to listen to the 'stupid frog.'

And then America had come up to her and told her that he had been wrong before, she did look better with short hair.

She owed Francis more than just her hairstyle; she owed him the courage she had to be herself.

And she'd pretty much kicked his good deeds and kind words back in his face. All because of a few words, all because she couldn't control herself for a few damn minutes!

She rubbed her face, come on, it's not that big a deal, she tried to console herself. But it really was.

Because it wasn't the words that were the problem; it was the intent behind them.

England heard a sound behind her, from further back in the woods. She whipped around, there were wild animals in this forest, of course, but they rarely came this close to her house. And it didn't sound like any of her magical friends, though she could really use their company right now.

"Who's there? What are you doing on my property? Show yourself!"

A figure stepped out from the shadows, England's first, wild thought was that it was America, but she quickly saw it wasn't.

Well at least not her America.

He was a tall male, muscled, but not freakishly so, holding a baseball bat with nails stuck into it.

He was wearing clothes identical to Alfred's except his jeans were ripped. His skin was a mid-brown, his hair, styled exactly the same as Alfred's, a shade lighter than his skin. The eyes that peeked out from behind a low-riding pair of sunglasses were a bright crimson, much lighter and brighter than Jean's, Yue's or Kuro's. There was a lit cigarette dangling from between his lips.

Arthurine set her hands on her hips; this just kept getting better and better!

"Jake Jones, America, I presume?" She asked, oh why me?

"Hn, you know me? How 'bout that huh?" He spat the cigarette onto the ground, making Arthurine glare. This was her forest damn it!

"Pleasure, I'm England, Arthurine Kirkland." She said, she didn't give her human name out often, it was a pretty personal thing for one country to tell another, but he was a version of America and she did know his name so fair was fair…

He glared, "My Olivia is England!" He snapped, walking towards her.

Arthurine held her ground, "not here she isn't. This is my world. I am."

Jake lifted a dark brow, "really? You're the England of this world? Well then maybe you can answer my question."

Suddenly he grabbed Arthurine and slammed her back against a large tree trunk, hands going around her throat.

"Where. Is. Olivia?!"

Olivia scrubbed at her silver dagger with a large handful of her pink skirt; this dagger had been given to her a long time ago by her loving older brother Scotland and was kind of like her security blanket. She always kept it hidden in her skirts. Cleaning it just made her feel better. Right now she was scrubbing it for all she was worth.

Olivia yipped in pain as her hand slipped and the knife sliced across her palm, leaving a weeping line of blood. It wasn't a very bad wound but she had a very low pain tolerance. Regardless, she ignored the injury and continued to clean her knife, smearing it and her skirt with her own blood.

A hand grabbed hers, "you idiot, you're going to really hurt yourself one day!" The person towed her into the kitchen and turned on the tap, sticking Olivia's bleeding hand under the water.

Olivia let out a whimper that had very little to do with the cold water hitting her wound.

"Jean?"

Aaand cut!

Hope this chapter was a little more eventful. All the players are here now! We can get started! (You mean we haven't started?!)

I named this chapter 'daisy' because it means 'innocence, loyal love, I'll never tell and purity.' Olivia, Francis, Jean and Arthurine.

Seriously guys, tell me what pairings YOU want to win. This is not a drill people!

R & R, hope you enjoyed.

See ya!