'The most important thing a father can do for his children is to love their mother.'
As they waved their children off, France side-eyed England, who immediately realised. "If so much as a finger comes in my direction, you will lose it," he threatened, even while he was smiling pleasantly to Gibraltar as she got in Spain's car.
"Mon lapin, you give me so little credit," sighed France, flicking his hair over his shoulder. He had recently dyed it brown, and was thinking of putting it in a small man bun. He would bare the relentless teasing of his lapin with grace (as usual) because he would look fabulous (no change there). "Kiss kiss, Michelle, give my love to your government!"
"Bye bye darling! - You have a track record of wondering hands, wanker - Jack, don't forget your snake box, and don't set them on airport security, I will NOT bail you out of jail, nation status be damned!"
"K, mum! See ya daddy-o!" yelled Australia back, waving his snake box. He scooped up a random python and chucked it in the taxi (making the poor taxi man scream) before climbing in himself.
Russia stumbled out soon after, face covered in stickers. "Northern Ireland," he said by way of an explanation. England tore them off quickly and straightened him out with efficiency that would have put Germany to shame. But instead of confiscating the stickers, he carefully stuck them on Russia's suitcase (which he picked up on day two), using a sneaky bit of magic to make sure they permanently stuck. Russia shuffled his feet like a kid as England gently fussed.
"Now call me when you get home, and remember to have a hot meal and straight to bed, OK? I've packed up some of the frog's food so you can eat before you get on the plane, I've put your vitamins there as well..." France let him fuss a little longer, knowing Russia was unused to and grateful for the attention, before intervening.
"Angleterre calm down, you'll smother the poor man before he's left the house," France barbed. "And we will see you at the next world meeting in 2 months, Russia?"
"Yes, I will be there -"
"But call before then! I'm not going two bloody months without a call, and if I do, I will turn up on your doorstep in the middle of the night and -"
"And what? Darn his socks?" France scoffed. England growled, letting go of Russia, letting him slip into the waiting taxi as a fight cloud descended. France waved cheerfully as England hit him on the head.
"Er, should we help?" came a voice outside the fight cloud.
"No, that's normal... At least for them, anyway..." Russia's voice faded as the taxi drove away.
Several hours later, Northern Ireland and Paris were in bed, fast asleep and it was just them, sitting in the living room, France reading a newspaper and England finishing some embroidery. Slowly, he reached out and gently placed a hand on England's leg, resulting in a needle through the skin. "Angleterre, you wound me... Literally," murmured France, mindful of the sleeping children upstairs.
"I guess that would teach you a lesson," England said smugly. France got up and patched his hand up, pausing when he came back in.
England really was ugly, wasn't he? Scrawny, bushy eyebrows, a hideous frown... And yet France would choose no one else. He knew he wasn't the best of fathers - his still rocky relationship with Canada said as much - yet England entrusted him with his children, those he'd fiercely defend from all harm with his life. France could not get within an inch of England without suffering some injury, even though others had bedded the nation. Yet they were gone and here he was, making the same, thousand year old jibes, receiving the same, thousand year old responses. France had something more precious - he had England's quiet faith in him, an unwavering trust to at least do right by their young ones.
A thousand years and England still believed someone could replace him. How very funny, and very sad, a testament to how England had been used and abused too many times to count. But France must remain unwavering in his love for the smaller nation, because if England was the glue holding their family together (and sticking Russia into it) then he was the tape that held England together.
They were too old now, for love confessions and all the passion of youth. France lamented that loss almost everyday, when he would take a separate room from his Angleterre, when they wouldn't - and couldn't - hold hands in public, when a casual 'I love you' couldn't spill forth from lips as they passed each other. He wished he had been more active, more passionate - if only he had courage.
But it was too late for all of that, and he had spent decades trying not to think about the desparate kiss given in the middle of a burning Paris as the Nazis approached to capture him, when their world seemed sure to end and there was no salvation. It could have been a turning point for them - France had been all but ready for him - but Londinium was gone, burnt to death in England's arms, and the nation shut himself off once more. Thus, the time was lost and they were back to a relative normal. Russia could be the miracle they needed once more, but France could wait.
"So I was thinking of wearing a man bun..."
"Don't start."
07/01/19: Happy New Year and don't murder me! I was away on business and couldn't find the time to update... Basically just flying through Europe trying to meet all the VIPs of my dad's business and awkwardly flirt with boys who think I'll call them... Yeah right my heart belongs to Hetalia. Enjoy!