Thank you to the following for reviews/favourites/alerts/ PMs: RoseRune, aphDadmark, Still a Lover of Franchises, Deciduous Forest 208, Yu-Gi-Oh Trekkie 99, RaptureChamber, StealthSage, yukia9tendo, Mondmaedchen, Bayboo20, England 2410, mossflower1234, ChildoftheMoon86, Gwen-Van-Well, The Silent Lilac, Supergrassaysyaaasss, Azmine Junet, febrezedtrash, magondala, BrownieTheFangirl, ppurpple, mssunnymuffins, espeon64, oh-cripe-my-fish, Renchikara, LucediDio,mirrorkirby64, quity190, Kathryn Daughter of Hestia, Elizaveta Hedervary - Hungary, spooky ghost flower, nightowlof2, Mondmaedchen, Siemsen, gintama200, phyllite, ravengal, not-philosophical, magicflyingmintbunnies, AllHellBrokeLoose666, GoneInASecond, Shikyoblossom20, theworldofhetalia, Acvodadkawall, skywolf2001
Driving Lessons Chapter 20 - A Troika made for Two
The date was going okay, at least in terms of England's usual dates, that is until Ukraine took off her cardigan and England had said the word 'boobs' for the sixth time. This sixth time was obviously at the limit of Miss Ukraine's patience and she punched him. Hard.
Earlier…
"Right, I'm going out," England told them. He straightened his tie and attempted to brush his hair. Even his eyebrows were getting a combing.
'Them' were, unfortunately in England's eyes, France, America, Spain (still holding a briefcase) and, although he had banned them from setting foot in his house ever again, Prussia and Denmark.
He and France had been dropped - literally dropped - by China and his dragon. Who had then flown off, China shouting as he went, "Goodbye Arthur! Try to lighten up!"
America, Spain, Prussia and Denmark had stumbled through the door just after England had put on the kettle. (Switched it on, that is, not actually put it on his head - he'd had to explain this over and over to France.)
"We went to the wrong police station!" America yelled. He sounded proud.
"You're an idiot," England told him.
"Hey! Where'd Pierre go?" America asked his fellow Nations.
They all shrugged and slouched in after him.
"You can all get out. Especially you Prussia. And you Denmark."
They ignored him. "Do you have any beer?"
"He drinks nozing else! He is an alcoholic. Zere is no wine. He has no refinement at all," France said.
"You can all get out," England said.
"Why are you brushing your hair?" America asked. "And did you brush your eyebrows?"
"Unlike you lot, I like to make an effort," England said pompously.
"You look like a girl," Prussia said.
"He has a date!" France told them.
"Not with Belgium?!" Spain looked as if he were going to cry.
"You lot just shut up!" England almost shrieked.
"I found beer!" Denmark said, his head stuck under the sink cupboard. "He hides it under here!" he banged his head as he pulled himself back out, holding aloft three cans in triumph.
"Where is Pierre? Did he not go to rescue moi?" France asked.
"You mean gay French dude?" America asked.
"Oui."
"He did a runner."
"So who's the unlucky girl, England?" Prussia asked, deftly catching the can of beer that Denmark threw at him.
"I don't know." England sounded worried.
"She eez… ah.. She is gorgeous…" France said, leering. He turned back to America, "What did you do to mon minion?"
"I bet he's a dude," Prussia concluded.
"Who? Pierre?" America asked, confused.
"Nah, England's date."
"But it's not Belgium?" Spain asked again.
France shook his head and patted Spain on the bottom, "Non, mon ami. Do not worry." He then turned to America, "What did you do to Pierre?"
"He did a runner!"
So England had hurried out, giving America, Prussia, Denmark, France and Spain (the Awesome and Bad Touch Trios collectively) what he hoped was a disapproving glare.
He ignored the sounds of hilarious laughter as he closed the garden gate. And then realised he'd forgotten to ask France exactly where he was supposed to be going…
And so he found himself in a Russian tea room in a posh part of London that he never usually frequented. He looked around nervously and hoped to God that he wasn't meeting Belarus.
He wasn't.
"Arthur! Yoohoo!" Ukraine stood up and waved at him. Vigorously.
Miss Ukraine's rather large chest threatened to burst out of its confines of an unfortunately thin blouse and a wool cardigan. It didn't though.
"Oh. Right." England walked over, trying to look like a man of the world. Like he often met large-chested women in Russian tea rooms. He didn't. This was worth missing Coronation Street for.
"Honey vodka and some nice cake?" Ukraine asked him.
"Erm no alcohol for me, Miss er…"
"Call me Katya."
"Miss er Katya."
"No, just Katya."
"Okay… no alcohol. I've had a little too much er…" England was distracted. Largely by the movement of Miss Ukraine's chest area.
"I've heard all about you this week, England. Can I call you Arthur?"
"Seeing as that's my name, yes."
"Oh, you are funny!" Katya reached across and touched his arm. Which made England blush and jump slightly.
"Oh, I say!" England said.
A very large, grim-faced Russian waiter approached and bowed respectfully to Ukraine. She gave an expansive order in quick, incomprehensible (to England) Russian.
She then turned back to England after summarily dismissing the man, who slouched off as if he were going to the gallows. "I've heard all about you. I saw your Youtube video! It was so funny!"
"That wasn't my video!"
"Oh." Ukraine actually looked disappointed. Perhaps she thought she was dating a Youtube star.
England absentmindedly folded and refolded the napkins - noting with approval that they were proper napkins. He quite liked Miss Ukraine. In fact, he'd always had a little crush on her. It wasn't for nothing that his codename in the War had been Peter Pan and hers was Wendy. (All chosen by him, France, Russia and America.) He was trying hard not to look at her expansive chest area. Large-chested women always made him nervous.
"And you're such a ladies' man!" Ukraine said, laughing.
"What? No I'm not!" England said quickly.
"Oh come on! Hungary told me about your date with her. And then Belgium. Honestly, Arthur…"
England blushed at her usage of his human name.
"…and then Liechtenstein. Switzerland was really annoyed apparently. He had to escort Lily as he didn't trust you."
England was appalled. "What?!" he yelled.
The big Russian waiter slouched back and placed a very welcome teapot on the table with china cups.
Ukraine glared at England. "Don't shout at me, young Arthur," she admonished. She sounded like a schoolmistress.
England was reminded as to why Ukraine frequently intimidated the most intimidating Nation of them all - Russia. Poor Russia, England thought - being bullied by his two sisters.
"And don't smirk at me, Arthur," Ukraine told him.
England hurriedly straightened his face into an impassive look. "Well this is nice," he said.
"So, tell me the latest," Ukraine said. Her elbows resting on the table, she leaned across as she poured them both a cup of tea.
"Is that Yorkshire tea?"
"We're in a Russian tea house. What do you think?"
"No?"
"Correct. Tell me the latest gossip, Arthur."
"Well… er… Prussia and Denmark are still driving their cab. In a fashion. America has moved back in…"
"Is France living with you?"
"We're not a couple!" England exclaimed and took a sip of tea. It wasn't PG Tips or Yorkshire Tea, or even Earl Grey and so he grimaced. He covered this up by dabbing his mouth with the napkin.
"Okay," Ukraine raised an eyebrow. "France is a degenerate and a louche. I think he's a bad influence on the younger nations."
"Yes well…"
Ukraine leaned closer in, "So why isn't he here?"
"What?"
"Well, I thought you might have brought him!"
"Why? We're not a couple!" Arthur said again. And wondered how many times he was going to have to say it before someone believed him.
"Yes, but I'll say this for Francis. He is a laugh!"
England felt totally aggrieved at this. Obviously, he was not a 'laugh'. So he sulked a bit. Until Miss Ukraine took off her cardigan.
"Gosh I'm so hot!" Ukraine told him and smiled charmingly at the waiter who brought them their food.
England was lost for words and desperately trying not to look at her chest area. 'Keep looking at her face… keep looking at her face…' he thought to himself.
"Are you okay, Arthur?"
"Yes," Arthur said, looking at her straight in the eyes. He looked down at his dish. It was soup. It seemed fairly innocuous and so he tentatively gave it a try. Ukraine watched him, fairly grinning at him.
"It's cold! Waiter!" he called.
"Okroshka, Arthur," Ukraine said.
"It bloody well is. Shall I make a complaint?" he said.
"No, Arthur. It's Okroshka. It's a cold soup."
"Well that's just plain odd!"
Ukraine raised an eyebrow and looked at him, shaking her head.
The waiter however had already slouched across and looked enquiringly at England. England wondered why all Russians seemed so big. And grim-looking. England smiled apologetically. "So sorry."
The Russian waiter bowed low to Ukraine as if she were a queen, glared at England and slouched away again.
"Well I didn't bring Francis as I thought this was a erm… date…" England said tentatively.
Ukraine looked surprised. Looked as if she were going to laugh. Didn't. And then smiled. "Oh da."
"Besides he's a complete scoundrel. He's completely ruined my life! I dread to think what he's doing right at this minute. In my own house as well."
"Yes well…" Ukraine was thinking that it was true what Hungary and Poland had told her - that England was obsessed with France.
Over at England's house…
"Ah zis is so boring, I wonder how Angleterre is getting on." France said. He had his feet propped on a stool and Spain was painting his toenails for him. "Mind ze poorly foot, mon cher."
"You're such a gay dude," Prussia told him.
Denmark was working his way through the contents of England's larder and making himself a 'Scooby sandwich'. This involved putting all the said contents between two slices of bread.
"Does anyone want to play COD with me?" America asked.
"Does it involve taking off clothes?" France replied, looking up.
"Jesus, no!"
"Zen non."
"Does that mean no?"
"It means non."
"Who's the poor chick England's with tonight then?" Prussia asked.
"Is it Belarus again?" Denmark asked.
"Don't say that name!" Prussia said, shivering. "It makes me shiver."
"What? Belarus?"
Prussia shivered, "Oooh there it goes again…"
"Belarus?"
"Do it again…"
"Belarus…?"
"Oh it's horrible… do it again…" Prussia said again.
"Belarus…?"
France interrupted them, "Eet eez not Belarus."
"Oooh…" Prussia shivered again. He looked as if he were enjoying himself.
"Belgium?" Spain asked.
"Non, mon ami. I told you."
"That doesn't give quite the same effect," Prussia said.
"China?" Denmark yelled.
"Non, China is not a girl."
"China's not a chick, dude," Prussia said and hit Denmark around the head with a spoon.
"Is it a proper chick then?" America yelled from the lounge where he had recommenced his video game playing.
"Oui!" France replied. "A leetle more polish on zat leetle toe zere, mon cher," France told Spain.
"Seychelles?" Denmark asked.
"She would not come all zis way just for a date avec Arthur." France said.
"True."
"She wouldn't go to the end of the road for a date with Arthur," Prussia observed.
"Who then?" Spain asked, his tongue stuck out in concentration.
"I zink she would go to ze end of ze road for a date with moi," France said.
"Kesese! Get away!" Prussia laughed.
"No, I mean who is it?" Spain asked.
"Miss Ukraine!" France said triumphantly.
There was silence. Spain, a step behind everyone else, was still painting France's toenails. He then looked up at everyone frozen in place and realised and then gasped.
And then the questions started:
"Are you trying to get England killed?"
"Man! Russia is really protective over his sisters!"
"Ukraine is a bit scary."
"Belarus is married to England isn't she?"
"Belarus is going to kill you."
"Ukraine will smother him with her huge boobs."
Even America had joined in: "Dude Artie doesn't stand a chance! He has no idea what to do with women with big chests!"
"And you do?"
"Well no…"
"You zink he will be having a problem?" France asked.
"Dude, I think yer lost yer boyfriend," Prussia advised.
America came in, waving his game controller at France, "If anything happens to dude Artie, if he gets lost in Miss Ukraine's chest, then you will answer to me."
"What, in the name of King Louis, are you wearing?" France asked.
America looked down at himself. "It's my Wookie onesie."
France looked utterly appalled. "Eet eez terrible! Eet eez a crime against fashion!"
"It's Star Wars, dude!" America said, dumbfounded.
"Pfft! Americans have no sense of style," France snorted.
"So Arthur Teabags Kirkland and Miss Double D, eh?" Prussia looked ecstatic.
"Miss Double D?" America asked innocently.
"Never mind…"
England and Ukraine were now on the main course and England was finding it harder and harder to concentrate.
"This is nice boobs.. I mean breasts… I mean oh God… I mean Borscht…" England was sweating now.
Ukraine narrowed her eyes at him.
"Did I say it properly?" he said, looking at her pointedly in the eyes.
"Da," she said shortly.
They ate in silence, occasionally breaking bread, that to England's perturbation, was black.
He wanted to ask if it was supposed to be that colour. But didn't. He was also aware that in the corner of the restaurant was a familiar, big, beige-blond haired man hiding behind a copy of Pravda but who occasionally lowered the newspaper to glare at him.
This was not good, England thought.
He only hoped he could get out alive or at the very least not arrested.
"So, are you in London for very long?" England asked.
"I'm meeting Pol and Hungary later," Ukraine said. "And then we're all off to Benidorm for a holiday!"
England shuddered. He was so glad he was not going anywhere within 100 miles of the Spanish city. He felt a little sorry for Antonio if he was hosting them. He also wondered how on earth they got away with doing so little paperwork as Nations. Then he realised he was thinking like Germany.
"Do you want to dance?" Ukraine asked him.
England was still digesting both the borscht and the idea that the three bitchiest Nations would be gossiping about him later, when he realised that there was some kind of Russian folk music going on. Somebody was playing a balalaika (although England had no idea its name) and that Ukraine was holding out her hand as if she were the man and he were the woman. He swallowed some vodka quickly, almost choked and stood up.
"I can't really da…" he began to say but didn't get to finish as he was spun around the tiniest dance floor known to civilisation.
The big beige-blond haired man was now playing the balalaika and glaring at him.
"Oh hello Russia…" England said as he whizzed past.
Russia said nothing but looked on grimly.
"Your sister is very…" he began to say as he was spun past him again. They were dancing in a circle and everytime he approached Russia he attempted to shrug apologetically and say something but was flung back around.
"I can only really waltz!" he tried to say to Ukraine.
Ukraine ignored him. The dance went faster and faster. The other dancers - only around six in all appeared to be all women. England decided he must have wandered into some kind of Russian afternoon tea party ritual. It was all very odd.
Unfortunately, the dance was very energetic and physics was taking its toll on Ukraine's undergarments. Fighting a losing battle anyway, the thin fabric of her blouse was not holding up well and one button popped and hit the grim waiter in the eye.
"Oh no! That man got hit by a boob. I mean… er a button…"
"What?"
"Boob!" England blurted out as another button pinged across the room.
Ukraine, glowing not sweating, as a lady should be, halted in her dancing and waved at Russia to stop playing. He grunted something at her. He didn't look happy at all.
"Vanya do you have your sewing kit with you?" she called.
England put his hand in his pocket to pull out his handkerchief to mop his brow and pulled out a pair of pink ladies' knickers. "Oh boob! I mean bollocks! Bugger!"
"Arthur!"
And that's when Ukraine punched him.
She could really go in for heavyweight boxing champion, England thought dozily as he hit the floor.
"I cansh exshplain… zese.. I mean these are France's pants."
"You're weird, Arthur," Ukraine said, looking down at him. Which was an even more uncomfortable viewpoint - at least from England's position on the floor.
"Here is a sewing needle and thread, sestra," Russia said coming up. He stared at England, "I don't like you."
England got up shakily and staggered to their table. His nose was bleeding and his head hurt. It could have been worse. So much worse.
"Aren't you going to thank me?" Ukraine said as she sat down, taking a big gulp of vodka.
England, his head forward, trying to staunch the bleeding with an item of ladies underwear, was not feeling very thankful. He just squinted at her.
"If I hadn't hit you then Vanya would have."
"Well thanks awfully. I really don't know how I can repay you," England mumbled.
"I knew you'd understand." The sarcasm was obviously lost on Ukraine.
But a shadow loomed over them. "You were looking at my sestra's tracts of land."
England had no idea what he meant but he looked up, his head pounding, "I assure you I was not looking at Miss Ukraine's tracts of land."
Russia did not look convinced, despite Ukraine trying to mollify him (whilst trying to stitch buttons back on her blouse at the same time) and just as Russia grabbed England and lifted him up no doubt to pound him into the ground, help came from a very unexpected source.
"Brother! Leave Arthur alone!"
"Aaaargh!" Russia spun round to face his younger sister.
His other sister nodded, "Yes Vanya. I can take care of myself."
"Are you stalking me?" England asked Belarus.
Belarus thought about this, looked at her brother who was trying to sneak away - although how a six foot tall Russian could 'sneak' anywhere was beside the point. "Yes, yes, that's what I was doing outside the tea room, with my binoculars and my night vision goggles…" Belarus said quickly.
Ukraine crossed her arms and looked at her little sister. "I've told you before about stalking people, Natty."
"Yes yes…" Belarus turned to see her 'dear brother' loping out of the door. "Gotta go."
"She's not been much of a wife, has she?" Ukraine said sadly. "I was really hoping to get to know you as a brother-in-law."
"We're not married."
Ukraine didn't seem to be listening, "I mean I know you married my sestra as a cover for your love for France." She put a hand on his shoulder. "It's not illegal now you know."
"We're not a bloody couple!" England yelled, pulling the bloody piece of pink lace from his nose. "Doesn't anyone have any proper handkerchiefs in this place?"
"Mon cher! Arthur!" France hobbled in and threw a box of tissues at his head.
"We're here to rescue you, dude!" America yelled. England wondered vaguely why the American was dressed in what the 'boy' called a 'onesie'.
"To save you from a Russian knitting club!" Denmark added, nonsensically.
"Shut up about that," Prussia muttered to him under his breath.
"Oh God…" England hid his head in his hands.