First Your Truth, Then Mine

"Oh, dear... I see I have come at a bad time. How... typical."

England sighed, picking a chip off his plate and biting into it. "How did you find me?" Wales shrugged. England knew he should have guessed that to be the answer. He gestured over to the seat across from him and Wales hesitantly went over and sat down. England ordered some tea for him. "On me."

"Oh... no, you do not have to," Wales shook his head. "Um... England..."

England was beginning to remember this detail of Wales. Not that Wales was ever a 'up and in your face' type person, he was usually somewhat nervous, but when he started fidgeting like that it meant he actually was nervous about something. "Yes?"

"We need to talk... about France."

England groaned and pushed the plate away from him, appetite gone. "How about we don't?"

"I am not saying want," Wales protested. "I say 'need'. We... need to talk."

England sighed, rubbing at his neck, which was sore from falling down the stairs. "What is it then?"

"It... back in November."

Wales said it as if that was a fact. England waited for something else to be said. Wales stayed quiet.

"Oh... kay..." England nodded. "November. What about November?"

"Erm..." Either England's retinas had broken or Wales was blushing. England was not certain which one he would rather have it be. "France sort of... well... we kiss once. He does it. Wait! Well, I never want him to I'll have you know! Just once, it only happens once."

As Wales tripped over his words, England found that he was not surprised at all. What surprised him more was that it was a while ago and Wales had not mentioned it until now. If it was earlier England could have locked France up in a room or something and shove food through a cat flap or something.

It took him a few moments of realizing the reason it sounded familiar was because of Harry Potter. Long time since he had thought of that series.

"I don't care what he does," England managed. "He kisses people all the time."

"Yes... you do!" Wales protested. "Remember he and Scotland... both fighting together against you? You deck Scotland in the face because you... you believe something's going on between them! Because France is yours! I... always hear about these things. Don't pretend it's not true."

England groaned again. He could remember it too well. "I was young then." He picked up his napkin so he could cough into it. "And a bit more naive."

"You should both get over yourselves!" Wales blurted out loudly and much more quickly than he usually spoke. "Why do you keep going back to him?"

The words were like being struck in the face. "I do not!" England flushed, that morning too fresh in his memory for him to be able to follow through with the lie.

"...yeah. Right." Wales nodded.

England pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the entire conversation to go away. Wales poked at his mug of tea before picking it up.

"You can't lie... everyone knows you care."

England did not respond.

"And as long as you care... you can at least stop him from... well, overdosing."

"What?"

Wales looked surprised. "Am I... making something up? Or... am I really the only person who's noticed?"

"Noticed what?" England demanded. Wales bit his bottom lip.

"The... amount of pills France has been taking."

England turned his wheelchair around and headed back to the house.

Falling down the stairs did not hurt. That was confusing on its own. France knew he should be in pain, but he was not. And if he was not so furious with England he would have been more concerned. And it was not as if he had not heard England tell Scotland to stay there and watch him.

"Wha' did ye do?"

"Ta gueule."

Scotland rolled his eyes and left him alone, but France knew somehow he had ruined his chances of getting out of the house. And what was it he had done wrong?

England kissed him back! That stupid Nation was as much to blame as he was, if not more so, because it was his fault they fell down in the first place!

France was infuriated. Only when Scotland brought him his laptop (saying Ireland had brought it by, which meant Ireland was in his house and that was not soothing France's mood at all) did France manage to distract himself with his work. And instant access to any information he wanted to know about the war. About time, he should have asked for this sooner.

Soon France found himself unable to feel anger. Or anything else for that matter. He stopped reading about the war and decided just to focus on himself.

"France!"

His name came from a voice he had not heard in so long, a voice he had not expected to hear for a while yet. France looked up from his laptop. "S-Spain? Spain!" He rose to his feet quickly, setting his laptop on the table. "How are you?"

"Same as always!" Spain smiled and just like that France knew he was lying. He did not need to even know about the war and what happened to be able to tell that Spain was lying. It was something that came with long association. He could see just how tired the Spaniard was. Still, just like always, he was trying to keep going as if nothing was wrong. France did not know how Spain did it. "But you! You... well..."

"As our dear friend would say, I look like shit. Correct?" Prussia had said that. It was months ago, but France had no doubts that it would still apply to now, especially as he knew Prussia had been just putting it nicely before. France sat back down on the couch, gesturing for Spain to take a seat as well, which he did.

"Took the words right out of his mouth," Spain laughed.

Yes I did, little do you know... "I'm very good like that." France leaned back on the couch. Now his back was beginning to ache a little. He should take some more pills for that, but right now he had to focus on Spain. "Which is why I can tell that you are lying, my friend. You are never always the same. You just manage to make everyone think you are. I have never met a better actor. Though Scotland can project a pretty good Wales. You should ask to see it."

It was hilarious, actually. Especially as Wales had no idea what Scotland was doing.

"Sounds like a plan," Spain responded cheerfully, completely ignoring his first point.

France narrowed his eyes. He knew Antonio had not missed it, he knew Antonio knew exactly what he was referring to. He was not going to let the other try and pretend otherwise.

"I'm tired Francis." Spain rubbed at his eyes as he had been trying not to since he had come in. "I don't have a right to say so, but–"

"Antonio." France tried not to sound angry, but as soon as Spain had started saying those words his anger had started coming back. He was not going to let the other make himself suffer like England had. England was an idiot. He was not going to let the same thing be said of Spain. "You have every right. Don't dare make yourself a martyr like Eyebrows."

"Now that's not a nice thing to say about your spouse."

The words fell on Francis like a sheet. His arms were starting to hurt now. He really had to take some more pills. He must have heard Spain wrong, or Spain must have said it wrong. Because there was no way Antonio could have said what he thought he did.

"Spouse?" he questioned. "What spouse?"

Spain looked surprised. "England of course!"

This was really not a good joke to be pulling now. France wondered if Prussia had put Spain up to it. "What the hell Spain."

Spain sighed, leaning back, head now propped up by the other arm of the couch. "You're telling me, mi amigo..." Antonio started, hesitating for a single moment before finishing his sentence. "Arthur never told you he had to marry you to keep you from wasting away in your sleep?"

Francis could not comprehend it.

Pourquoi ne me l'a-t-il pas dit?

Why had no one told him this? And how could Arthur, after doing such things and not even asking or telling or mentioning anything about this... how could Arthur tell him to leave him alone? How could he say they were over when he could not just tell him the reason?

"Le bâtard. Cet horrible... Pourquoi ne me l'a-t-il pas dit? Pourquoi il dirait ces choses, si il..." Francis dropped his head into his left hand.

The both stayed quiet. Francis was so absorbed he payed little attention as Antonio bid him farewell and left.

England opened the medicine cabinet to find proof. So many bottles of pills were gone. From there he went to France's room, finding the trash bin and staring into it. Containers and containers, emptied of their contents, were in there. England felt both numb and angry. How had he not noticed? How had France managed to get away with this? Why would he do this to himself?

No wonder France was not in pain after falling down the stairs. It was a miracle the Nation could feel anything with as many pills as England guessed he had been taking.

Which meant he had to confront him and take any and all pills away from him.

He took several of the pill bottles and went to find France.

France rushed through the files, trying to find any evidence of the marriage document. England was home, his wheelchair was in here, but the study was now unlocked. France would find what he was looking for.

What had England taken from him while he was unconscious? It was the only reason he could come up with that England would not have told him. This marriage must benefit the island Nation in some way. France was going to figure out how and stop it.

How dare he! How dare he do such a thing to me! That horrible...

He found the paper, surprisingly not as hidden as France had thought it would be. The top desk drawer, the only papers there. He pulled them out and stared down at them, looking for the fine print, looking at what England might have been taking from him.

The fact he was not finding anything like that seemed impossible.

"What are you doing?"

He wheeled about to see England standing in the doorway.

"When were you planning on telling me about this?" France demanded, holding up the papers so England would not try and deny it. "When, England?"

England did not seem to care, holding up something of his own. "How many pills France? How many pills?"

"Don't change the subject!"

"This is more important, France!"

"I beg to differ."

"This is about your health!" England threw the containers on the ground, a few of them bouncing off to hit the wall, one rolling over to stop near the desk. "You're drugging yourself! You'll kill yourself!"

"I am medicating myself," France corrected. "Over a period of many months, of which I needed to deaden pain."

"There were more empty bottles than were necessary for that!" England retorted.

"How do you know how much is necessary?" France demanded. England was seething, fists clenched. France readied himself, waiting for the moment when England might just decide to forget about the conversation and attack him.

"Because I was already medicating you!" England shouted. "In your food! More was already overdoing it, but you have been taking more than you should even if I wasn't!"

"And you find this more important than the fact you married me?" France exclaimed. He was not comprehending this. He was overdosing? He would have known! If something like that was occurring, France would have known! He was not interested in that conversation, he was more interested in the papers he still had in hand.

"Yes, I do!" England nodded. "Why do you care? It was to save your life, you thankless frog!"

"Liar!" France laughed. "I know you too well, nice try! You've once already made it plain and clear to me you would never do such a thing!"

"I said I did not want to marry you for that reason!" England shouted through some coughs. "I didn't want to marry you because you were dying! But you were this time and I had to! I didn't want to!"

France opened his mouth to retort when it hit him. England did not want to marry him.

For this reason.

All of his anger suddenly drained from him, leaving him capable of thinking about it.

"I love you."

England balked, taking a few steps back and nearly falling backwards over his wheelchair. France took a few steps forward.

"I love you. You'd marry me for that reason, wouldn't you?"

"You git," England hissed. "You bloody fag! As soon as I can throw you out of this house, we're divorced. Got it?"

England headed to the door, nearly passing right by his wheelchair. He stopped, staring at it.

"...where's... Al..." England started to cough.

England left, slamming the door behind him, leaving France to try and comprehend what had just happened here. England had married him to save his life and for no other reason? He looked at the copy of the document once more to assure himself of the fact. England had married him to save him, for no other reason but that.

And France spoke of love in return. Why had he said those words? Through everything the two of them had gone through, bouncing back and forth between being together and fighting...

I do. I love England.

For a while he did not want to believe it, but it was true. France loved England. He loved all of the arguments, won or lost, all of the fights, between just them or from them to another, all of the kisses, harsh and soft, all of the quiet conversations which had always been broken up by bickering and could possibly end with laughter. He loved their rivalry and their friendship.

I love England.

He sat back in the desk chair and thought about it for a while. The fact England had not told him sooner still hurt, but it was slightly understandable. Which meant France would have to reconsider everything else England had told him.

Maybe I have been taking too many pills.

"Ta gueule" = "Shut up."

"Le bâtard. Cet horrible... Pourquoi ne me l'a-t-il pas dit? Pourquoi il dirait ces choses, si il..." = "Bastard. That horrible... Why wouldn't he tell me? Why would he say those things if he really..."

Writing Wales is awkward, but my research tells me there are people that talk like this. I suppose being raised hearing such things is easier, but I miss my past tense.