AN: Thank you so much for all the comments, adds and favourites.

- Gil


It's hot. Hotter than England can remember it being for many years.

Hotter, even than France.

England dials the number with a gleeful smile on his face, ready to get beautiful revenge for a thousand years of teasing, and then hesitates just before hitting the call button. He remembers the recent floods. France will no doubt be tired, and possibly even a little ill.

Well, in that case there's only one thing for it.

He finally hits the call button, and waits through the ring tone patiently, until France picks up. "Angleterre?" As he predicted, France sounds bone tired, and for a moment England feels a little sorry for the pervert.

"Hello, France. Guess who's having another heat wave?" England says smugly.

"Congratulations, you've managed to see the sky without clouds again." France replies dryly. "I'm a little busy, mon cher."

England hesitates for only a moment. "Yes, well. I don't think you can appreciate how beautiful it is here while you're out there, so you're coming here for a long weekend so you can see." France begins to stammer an excuse, but England quickly cuts over him. "I insist, France."

"Well, if you insist." France says, and England can hear his smile. "When do you want me?" There is a lecherous undertone to his words, and England would never admit to being a little pleased to hear that return.

England splutters for a moment irately. "Never, you bloody wino!" France chuckles. "But you can arrive around midday on Friday." He'll have to ask for the day off, but it won't be too bad.

"All right, cheri. I'll phone you to let you know when my train will get in."

"Fuck off, frog, you know the way to my house. Get a taxi or the tube from the station."

France chuckles again. He probably expected that reply. "All right. See you then."

"See you then, France."

England only realises the next morning, as he's helping the brownies to air out the guest room, that for it to be a break for France he'll have to try not to snipe at him over the weekend, and regrets it.


France arrives a little past one on Friday, and after England leads him up to the guest room, sleeps through to the morning. After taking in the morning sunlight (and England is right, it's glorious, even in central London), and relaxing a little, he pushes himself out of the comfortable bed and pads downstairs in his nightclothes. England is in the sitting room, newspaper on his lap, but he looks up at France when he comes in.

"You look a mess."

France considers this. England has already showered and dressed, and is already starting to look a little uncomfortable under his sweater vest, whereas he merely looks a little sleep ruffled. "Perhaps." He replied, crossing over to lean over the sofa and kiss England's cheek.

The younger Nation ducks quickly and rises, leaving his paper on the sofa. "I prepared breakfast."

France tenses. "Ah… mon cher, you shouldn't have." He hopes that England hasn't tried to cook a cooked breakfast for him again. He doesn't think he has the energy to endure it. But when England leads him through to the dinning room, he finds that what he means is he's laid out bread and cereal for them, and France is relieved. He smiles when he sees that England has even brought croissants for him, though no doubt they are a poor mockery of the real thing. "Thank you, Angleterre." He says, as he takes his place, not even groping the other blonde as he leans over him to pour coffee.

"Yes, well. You are a guest." England says, a little stiffly, as he pulls back. He takes his places on the other side of the table. "Well. Tuck in."

France smiles, watching England for a little while, watching him as he serves himself cereal, then pours the milk over, putting a little in his tea cup, then filling the rest up from a teapot covered by an embroidered tea cosy. Then England looks up, and he grins at him, before reaching out to grab one of the croissants, hoping that they won't be too bad.

A companionable silence falls as the pair eat their breakfast. France finds that the croissant is actually edible, and hungry after his long sleep, reaches out for a second one. England sits back in his seat and sips a second cup of tea, watching the birds in the garden out of the French doors behind him, but France also occasionally catches the other's forest green eyes flicking to him, and he smiles at him, winking at him, and grins to see a beautiful blush spread across the other's cheeks when he realises he's been caught looking.

England splutters then, and looks down into his teacup. "Ah, so." He says, a little awkwardly, and France rests his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands, looking at his little Angleterre with a smirk. "If you've caught up on sleep now, I thought we could take the car out to Epping Forest today for a picnic." He says. "You'll be able to appreciate the weather out there better."

"You haven't prepared a picnic already, have you?" France asks, a little concerned.

"No!" England snaps. "You can bloody well help me with it. I'm not doing everything for you!"

"Then I think it's a charming idea." France agrees with a smile. "Let me shower and dress, and then I'll come down and prepare something for us. And you," he lifts his chin off his hands to point at the other blonde, smirking at him, "can consider yourself in charge of cleaning up."

England rolls his eyes, but he looks a little relieved too. "Bloody frog, it's my house! Fine. But you'd better put some decent stuff in, not just your fancy food."

"All right, Angleterre, I'll make something even your foul taste buds can palate."

England looks like he wants to throw his now empty cup at France. "Git!"