Chapter 65

Gisela looked towards the door of her apartment as she heard a gentle knock. She recognized it as her brother. She sighed deeply, grabbing a loose dark blue sweater and throwing it on, wrapping her arms around herself. She opened the door slowly, bringing her arms back around her arms,

"Cort?" She looked at him, upset. Standing next to her brother was another man, taller, with blond curls that brushed his shoulders. His face was handsome, and the kindness in his eyes was so tangible she had to look away. "Cort, um…" she looked back up at the man beside her brother, "Look, um…"

"Francis," he nodded politely.

"Francis, I'm sorry I don't want to see any-"

"Gisela, he's here to help you, please…" Cort whispered, almost begging her.

Gisela looked at her brother, Really, Cort? You really think a man can help me? Really? She sighed deeply, motioning for both of them to come inside. She noticed that the Francis offered her brother his arm to help him through the doorway. Maybe he wasn't that bad. She saw a bag in the man's other hand. She looked at it curiously but said nothing. She watched as Francis lead her brother to one of the soft living room chairs, and then turned back to her, offering his hand. She reached forward slowly, trying to conceal how much her hand was trembling.

"Oh, please, don't feel obligated," Francis smiled, drawing his hand away and again nodding politely, "Please, allowing me to properly introduce myself," he said, smiling as he spoke with a smooth, thick accent, "My name is Francis Bonnefoy, though, I think perhaps it would mean more to you, to say that I am 'France'?"

Gisela's eyes widened in sudden realization, "You… You're a country…?"

France nodded, smiling still, "Oui. I hope this does not upset you, Mademoiselle?"

"No. No, it's fine. I'm… I'm sorry I'm just a bit awkward…" She bit her lip. The man's blue eyes were so wonderfully kind she wasn't quite sure how to respond. It was like he knew her. She looked at her brother quizzically, trying to figure out why he'd brought France to her apartment.

"Non, not awkward at all, we've only just met, and here I am in your house with no previous notice, at your brother's request of course," France nodded to Cort, then turned back to Gisela, "Now, I have a gift for you. Cort has told me that you recently escaped back over the wall. First, may I ask if your arm is healing well?"

Gisela nodded, touching her arm where the bandage was covered by the full sleeves of the sweater.

"Oh, I am very glad to hear that," France smiled again, looking into her face.

Gisela nodded, looking away. She wasn't used to having anyone look at her so intently in conversation. It was like she was the only person in the room to him as they spoke. She looked back up at him, trying to force herself to keep her eyes on his face. She noticed again how beautiful he was, not even handsome, beautiful, almost angelic.

"Ah, but I said I had a gift for you," France grinned. "You are to relax, sit down, enjoy a glass of wine, and I'm going to make us dinner, if that is all right, of course."

Gisela stared, forcing her mouth to stay closed, "France himself wants to cook me dinner? In that kitchen?" Gisela pointed at the small apartment kitchen. The single counter-top was just barely over a meter long, and half as deep. There was, however, a full four-burner gas stove, with a very nice oven.

"There is nothing wrong with your kitchen, Gisela, don't worry," France shook his head.

Gisela smiled at how he pronounced her name. She'd never heard it that way before. She liked it. She nodded, "Of course, please, help yourself to anything you need. I don't have a lot of, cooking stuff, but… well, what I do have you're of course free to use!" She nodded.

France smiled, "Merci!" he turned to the bag he'd brought in and started taking out the food, setting it onto the counter. Chicken thighs, bacon, mushrooms, pearl onions, more onions, tomatoes, carrots, garlic, mussels, baguettes, red wine, white wine, rich cream, and… snails?

Gisela blinked, staring as France took out a small container of shells. She looked up at him, shocked.

He smiled, holding back a laugh, "You are not afraid to eat these, now are you?" he grinned, smirking with a slight wink, "I promise you'll like it. If you don't, I promise to come back and make you something else!"

"You won't come back anyway?" Gisela smiled.

France grinned, "Oui if you'll have me."

"So far so good," Gisela smiled, turning back to her brother, stepping into the living room. "So… you brought… France, to see me?"

Cort nodded.

Gisela sighed, sitting down on the couch. She'd hoped to see a smile on her brother's face, but instead, he looked serious.

"Gisela…" he started, trying to find the words.

"If you're going to lecture me, just don't, please…" Gisela looked away.

"I'm not, I promise," Cort sighed, "Gisela, I care about you a lot, and I know Germany promised to help you, and trust me, what Ludwig says, he does. He will help. But… what… what happened… I wanted to help you. I wanted to find someone I could trust, someone who might be able to… help…"

Gisela didn't look back at her brother, "Help? Help with what? Help, because I'm a poor little thing that needs comfort? Help, because I choose to do something so horrible to keep from starving that now I can't live a normal life unless I get some help?" She looked back at him, "What if I choose this? What if I'm not… angry? What if everything is just fine…" she buried her face in her hands, trying to block out the memory of the first time she'd looked in the mirror in months at the hotel room Gil had given her. How thin she'd become, how badly bruised her hips and ribs had been. She wanted it to go away. She didn't want to talk about it anymore.

"Please, Gisela… Francis might surprise you. Just…try and listen to him…please?" Cort looked into his sister's eyes, begging.

Gisela sighed deeply, looking into her brother's face, "Ok. But if he starts guilt tripping me-"

"He won't. I promise."

"Well if he does… then he's leaving."

"Ja. Understood," Cort smiled gently.

"Ok. Ok, good," Gisela stood, walking back into the kitchen, "Can I help with anything?"

"Mmhmm," France nodded, in the middle of licking some sauce off his finger. He turned to the sink to wash his hands, "You could chop those onions for me, do you know how, love?"

Gisela turned to look at him quickly at the affectionate name, opening her mouth, though she wasn't sure it was to protest.

"Oh, sorry," France turned back to her, shaking his head, "Habit. Did I upset you?" he reached up to put his hand on her back, but stopped himself, wiping it unnecessarily on the towel on his shoulder instead.

Gisela shook her head with a smile, "No. No, I'm all right." She noticed his almost awkward motion, "It's ok if you touch my shoulder. I don't mind."

France smiled, laying his hand on her shoulder gently, kindly, "I'm glad to know it doesn't bother you. If it ever does, you'll tell me, won't you?"

Gisela smiled, "Ja… um… oui."

France grinned, "Merci, now, onions?"

Gisela giggled, nodding.

…

Gil knocked on Russia's door, closing his hands behind his back, shivering with cold. He tried to tell himself the shaking was from the air, not fear. He jumped as Russia opened the door himself, instead of calling for him to enter.

"Y-You asked to see me, si-comrade?" GDR said without looking at Russia.

"Da, come inside," Russia motioned him in.

Gil stepped into Russia's office, trying to look authoritative, trying to look less terrified than he was.

"Please, sit," Russia motioned towards the chair on the other side of his desk as he sat at his usual place.

Gil looked at Russia, swallowing hard. He had to sit down? What was this? What was going on? He obeyed, sitting down slowly, not relaxing at all, resting his hands on his legs. He looked up at Russia, "Well? W… what's going on?" he set his jaw, trying to keep the slight hint of nagging panic pushed to the back of his mind.

"There's been a development with the RAF. And I thought you should hear it from me."

Gil bit his lip for a moment, nodding, "All right, what is it?" He tried to brace himself. Did they have his brother again? He'd do anything. He'd let Russia do anything…

"Friends and sympathizers of the RAF have captured a plane with 86 people on it. They're demanding an exchange. The 86 lives, for all the leaders your brother captured from the RAF after his kidnapping. Your brother had volunteered to go in a hostage exchange instead of releasing the RAF leaders. Everyone is still negotiating and deliberating. There's been no word yet on a decision," Russia shook his head with a sigh.

Gil said nothing, too shocked to speak. He stared at the dark wood of Russia's desk, trying to focus, trying to process what he'd just heard. He stood suddenly, "What are you orders, sir? What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing. Nothing yet. If your brother get's involved…" Russia sighed, shaking his head, "Let's hope that doesn't happen. I'd like it if the RAF leaders were exchanged much more. Your brother's capture, again, would pose a significant risk to all the personifications, don't you think?"

Gil nodded, looking away.

"And his capture would be far less helpful for you, I think. You would do much better with RAF let free in West Germany, da?"

Gil swallowed hard, saying nothing.

"You do like, RAF, don't you, GDR?"

Gil closed his eyes for a moment, nodding, setting his jaw.

"Khorosho. You know they're on our side, that is good."

Gil felt sick. He wanted to do something, he needed to do something, "Is… do you know if Ludwig is ok…? Is he hurt?"

"I've heard nothing. It doesn't matter, he's alive anyway," Russia sighed, "Now, I've told you what I needed to tell you, go. I'll call you again if you're needed. Send Lithuania in here, please. I need to speak to him."

Gil sighed again, nodding, walking out the door to find Lithuania. He shook his head. He didn't want to have to send Lithuania in there. At least Russia seemed calm.

…

"Well?" France asked, looking at Gisela, "What do you think?"

"It's… actually delicious!" Gisela smiled, stabbing her fork into the escargot again.

France grinned, "I am very glad to hear it. I'll have to teach you how to make it someday."

"Would I… have to touch snails? Live snails?"

Francis laughed, "Non! Non, not alive! You saw me with the shells only in that dish, the snails are canned and expertly prepared. That is the easiest way."

Gisela smiled, nodding, "I'm willing to learn."

"I'm really am glad to hear it. Cooking is good for the soul, I think," he smiled.

Gisela nodded, turning back to her plate. She knew it was coming. She tried to brace herself.

"There," France smiled with a long sigh, "Now that dinner is finished…" he paused for a moment, "Perhaps it is best if we sit in the living room?" he stood, motioning towards the couches.

Gisela followed him, watching her brother follow behind her. She sat in the chair. She didn't want to sit next to Francis, or her brother. It felt too close. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to push down the dread that threatened to ruin the incredible dinner she'd been given. She didn't look at France as he sat down.

"Gisela?" France said, his voice so gentle and so kind that Gisela had to force down a choke that rose into her throat.

Out of the corner of her eye, Gisela saw both of France's hands extended towards her. She looked up at him, slowly, carefully, putting her hands in his and trying to look into his face.

Francis smiled softly, swallowing a catch in his voice.

Gisela forced herself not to look away. There were tears in his eyes.

"Gisela you are so…" He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady his voice, "You are so strong," he said, looking back up into her eyes, "You are so strong. And you are beautiful…"

Gisela looked down, starting to pull her hands away.

"Non, non I don't mean just on the outside, please," France held her hands more firmly, though made it clear he wouldn't stop her if she did pull away. She left her hands in his, "You are beautiful because after all, you've been through, you still smile. Your eyes still sparkle with hope. You haven't given up. That takes courage, and courage is beautiful," France smiled.

Gisela looked up at him, "You're not going to yell at me?"

"What I do that? Why would I yell at you for surviving hell? Why would I be angry with you?"

"I don't know because I'm a-"

"Non. Stop." France shook his head, "You aren't. Not anymore. Not unless you choose to be, and sweet girl…"

"Aren't you the country of 'love'?" Gisela shook her head, "Don't tell me you've never been with a girl like me, you're hundreds of years old!" She pulled her hands away.

France sighed deeply, "I will tell you the truth. but I need you to believe it."

She nodded, slowly.

"I haven't been," France shook his head, "I wouldn't.

Gisela turned back to him, confused, looking at his hands, still outstretched to her. She laid her hands on his again.

"Dear girl, love isn't something you buy, or you sell, love is something you give. I won't deny that I have given love to many people, but I would never buy love. And it breaks my heart when people try to sell it. It's precious. Something for you, and something for you to give to someone you love."

"You're not angry with me…? Gisela felt tears in her eyes. She wasn't sure she wanted to keep them back.

"Non… non, sweet girl… love, you have been strong. You have done something difficult, and you've survived. But that old life, it isn't you anymore. It's not who you want to be, is it?"

Gisela shook her head.

"Then be free of it. Don't let it own you. You are a masterpiece. You are valuable. Your love is a gift for you to give away, not to be taken from you, not to be sold by you, or anyone else, it's too valuable for that. Look at me…" he reached forward, lifting her chin gently. He sighed with a kind smile, taking a handkerchief from his pocket and slipping it into her hand.

Gisela wiped the tears away from her eyes, "You really… you think I'm still valuable after… after everything… would any man still… want me…?"

"It's not about a man. Don't base your value on that, you'll always be disappointed! Value yourself. You're worth it, I promise. Don't be afraid of what anyone else thinks. Be the person you want to be. Value yourself. Please, you deserve that."

Gisela looked into France's caring blue eyes. She let tears spill over her cheeks as she saw them slip down his as well. "You really think I'm worth anything after… after everything I've done… I…"

"Do you think I am?" France asked, looking into her face.

"What?" Gisela looked at him, silenced by his question.

"I'm a country, as you know. I've done good things, I've done terrible things. Truly terrible things. Every country has their strengths and their weaknesses and every one of us has used both of those things to get what we needed for our people when we needed it. My hands aren't clean, Gisela, but I know my own worth, and that's enough for me. Who cares what anyone else thinks of me?" France smiled, reaching up to brush the tears away from her cheeks, "Do you see that, sweet girl?"

Gisela looked at him steadily, nodding slowly, "A little…"

France smiled, "It takes time. You need time to heal and don't be ashamed to take all the time you need. Value yourself enough for that too, all right?"

Gisela smiled again, nodding.

France smiled, standing, "There, that's been a good talk, and I have a kitchen to clean and a table to clear," he smiled, taking a step towards the table.

"Francis?" Gisela stopped him, standing. She looked at him for a moment and hugged him, leaning on his shoulder, sobbing. She didn't hold anything back. She didn't care. She knew he didn't either. She felt strong arms wrap around her and his cheek press into her hair. He was crying too. She could feel his shoulders shaking gently and hear the catch in this breath. She sobbed, burying her face in the wool of his soft blue sweater. She felt safer in his arms than she had anywhere in a long time. She pulled away from the hug finally, wiping her eyes again, remembering the handkerchief he'd given her. She saw him brush tears away from his own cheeks.

"There. Feel better now?" France smiled, sniffing a little, trying to control the tears that still insisted on coming into his eyes.

Gisela nodded, "Merci, Francis…"

France smiled, putting his hand on her shoulder, "Now, help me clear the table, and then I think we need a big glass of wine each, how does that sound?" France smiled at her, glancing at Cort, who still sat on the couch.

Gisela noticed tears on her brother's face. She ran up to him, hugging him too. "I'm going to be ok, Cort, I promise."

Cort nodded, hugging her back, "I know you are."

"And by the way, you're the best little brother ever, you got that?"

Cort smiled.

A/N: A little bit of Gil in this chapter, but this chapter was mainly about helping Gisela start to close the door on her part in this story. Dont' worry, we'll hear the conclusion (and there's still more Cort to come!) but her story is mostly done now, and who better to help her than France. (I Reeeeeeeeeealy like writing France guys... like a LOT!) I teared up writing this chapter too. I wish I could tell every girl (and guy!) what France told Gisela.

And Gil finds out about Germany and the RAF plane. This is going to go so well, don't you think?

As always, I LOVE reading all your reviews! You guys are so thorough in your reviews! Thank you so much! Anyway... my husband and I made REALLY delicious ribs for supper today, so I will share. Seriously, best ribs I've ever eaten. 4 hour smoked over whiskey barrel chips, baked and glazed on the grill with BBQ sauce... literally the most amazing thing. yum yum yum. So some for all of you! And other treats! Whatever you like at Barbeques/cook outs! And Lemonaide! yay!