Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia

Warning: This chapter contains grossness XD you have been warned~

Chapter 11

Weakly, Francis spoke to Matthew, not taking his gaze from Arthur. "Mon petit, go upstairs…"

Matthew looked between the two men, very curious, but he gathered his books and went upstairs obediently.

A long silence stretched between them. Francis leaned against the bar counter as if he was having trouble standing. Arthur was sat in the chair, concealing his wound.

Eventually, he heaved a sigh. "Hello, love."

Francis' eyes flickered with emotion at the term of endearment, pursing his lips slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you." Arthur confessed, thinking how beautiful the Frenchman still looked.

The tavern owner's heart beat faster, but his mind would not allow him to display his feelings so openly. "I told you never to come back."

"I know, but I wanted to tell you that Antonio is finally gone. You are safe from him now…"

Francis flinched slightly at the mention of the Spaniard; the painful trauma still haunted him in nightmares. "How can you be sure?"

"Because I drove my sword through his throat." Arthur said almost nonchalantly, not missing the look of disgust on Francis' features as the Frenchman pictured the scene.

Francis felt saddened by Antonio's death only because he knew he had lost his lover, but he could not deny the relief he felt knowing that he and Matthew would be safe now. He gave a small nod, absentmindedly playing with the necklace around his neck. It was the very same necklace Arthur had given him after their first night together, and Arthur felt a pang in his heart as he recognised it; his heart hurt more than his stab-wound ever could.

Wanting to change the subject, the pirate shifted in his seat, instantly regretting it though as he felt a sharp pain from his chest.

"Ah – so, you have a son." It was a statement, leaving many questions surrounding it unspoken.

Francis only nodded again, but he had always been far more perceptive than Arthur gave him credit for, and he noticed the small noise of pain Arthur made when he moved. Slowly, he nodded.

"Oui, his name is Matthew." The Frenchman still leaned against the counter, but now he leaned across the bar and poured two glasses of whiskey. He never drank whiskey as it reminded him too much of Arthur, but not he needed something strong just to cope with the Englishman's return.

He crossed the room, finally coming closer to Arthur than he should have been prepared for, and placed the drink into the pirate's waiting hand. Arthur was bemused by the gesture, thinking Francis still hated him, but he realised that Francis had never really hated him. But it made telling him he was dying far more difficult.

"Thank you, love…How old is he?" Arthur was grateful for the drink, but instead of downing it like he used to, he sipped at it. Francis, on the other hand, put the drink to his lips and tossed his head back, drinking it with a thirst that Arthur found arousing, as he watched the Frenchman drink, remembering how it had been on their first night.

When he was done, Francis raised the back of his hand to his mouth, a faint blush dusting his cheeks, but slowly he found he was able to stand on his own a little better. "He is eight."

Arthur frowned slightly as that meant Francis had found himself a wife within months of Arthur leaving. He allowed his gaze to study the Frenchman now standing before him, and he wanted so desperately to have him once more, before his time on this earth expired. But he did not have the strength, and Francis would probably think badly of him if he proposed the idea.

"And how is your wife? What is her name?" Arthur ventured, but he knew his mistake when Francis frowned and turned away from him. "Francis…?"

"She died." The Frenchman said simply, gripping his empty glass. Although he had not loved her as he loved Arthur, she had meant a lot to him, and the thought of her still upset him.

"My condolences." Arthur murmured honestly, having not meant to upset him, but he could not deny that it made him happier to know that Francis was not taken anymore.

Francis sighed shakily, running a hand through his hair. "Why did you come here, Arthur?" He turned back to him, his beautiful blue eyes deep with emotion.

Arthur could not lie to him, but he chose to avoid the whole truth instead, so he merely smiled. "I just…wanted to see you one more time, my dear. That's all…"

Francis knew Arthur was not telling him everything, and he narrowed his eyes. "What aren't you telling me?"

The Captain knew Francis would find out if he stayed longer, so he slowly got to his feet, trying to hide all the pain that he was in. "Thank you for the drink, love." He said, before making a move to the door.

Francis widened his eyes, darting in front of him to stop him, and Arthur was forced to stop.

"Wait – " Francis began, terrified to lose Arthur again, though he didn't know how to convey it, so he did the only thing he could think of.

Arthur gasped softly as he felt Francis's lips on his, as the Frenchman kissed him suddenly and desperately, and the flame of old passion ignited quickly and grew into a fire that consumed Arthur's heart entirely. He forgot he was supposed to be concealing his injury as he slowly wrapped his arms around Francis' waist, kissing him back with all the love he could muster.

Francis closed his eyes, pressing closer to Arthur, but he broke the kiss instantly when Arthur let out a sudden groan of pain. "A-Arthur?"

The Frenchman looked up at him with concern in his beautiful blue eyes, not realising he had pressed against Arthur's stab-wound when he moved closer. Arthur grit his teeth, forcing a smile.

"I-It's nothing, love." He weakly tried to convince him, but Francis' gaze trailed down to his chest, and he gently opened Arthur's coat. The blood had seeped through the bandage and stained his shirt, and Francis saw the blood immediately, his eyes widening.

"O-Oh…Oh mon dieu…- " Francis paled as his trembling hands carefully opened Arthur's shirt, revealing the blood-soaked bandages. He stared with wide eyes, and Arthur let him see it, as there was no point hiding it now. When he saw tears fill Francis' eyes, he cupped his face gently.

"Do not cry for me, darling. When I got Antonio, he got me too. I just wanted to see you once more before I left this world…" Arthur's voice was soft and gentle, and the tears fell freely down Francis' cheeks.

"N-Non, you can't…you can't…" the Frenchman stumbled over his words, his accent growing thicker as he was upset, but Arthur kissed his forehead.

"It's alright, love. You can move on with your life, you can raise your son, and you'll never have to worry again about the bastard of a pirate who ruined your life…" he smiled softly, stroking Francis' cheek. "I just wanted to say goodbye to you…"

Francis was absolutely devastated, and with determination fierce in his eyes all of a sudden, he shook his head. "Non." He said.

Arthur blinked, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"Non." Francis repeated, looking up at him. "You have left me too many times, Arthur. I shall not let you leave me again."

Arthur's lips parted slightly in surprise. "I – what? I thought you didn't even want to see me again…"

Francis only smiled softly, giving a sigh. "I was scared and upset. People say things they don't mean when they are emotional."

Arthur did not protest as Francis helped him upstairs, leading him to the room that was a replica of the room he used to rent for the night, and when Francis laid him down on the bed, Arthur did not complain.

Perhaps it was selfish, but the thought of dying in Francis' arms seemed far more appealing than dying alone in the middle of the ocean.

Francis wasted no time in making Arthur comfortable, propping him up with pillows and taking off his coat and shirt, before running to fetch some fresh bandages, some warm water, a needle and thread, and a cloth to clean his wound.

Arthur knew he had lost a lot of blood already, and that Francis' efforts would be in vain, but one look at the Frenchman's determined features and he did not have the heart to dissuade him.

Gently he laid back against the pillows, letting Francis take off his bandages, cleaning the wound. The Frenchman was very pale, and his fingers were shaking. Arthur could tell the sight of his gory wound was making Francis feel nauseous, but he persevered anyway, and for that Arthur was grateful. However, when Francis pushed up his own sleeves so they would not get dirty, he revealed a horrible burn on his forearm that was not recent, but had scarred.

Arthur stared at the burn, guilt flooding him. Francis glanced at him, following his gaze and looking down. "Oh – " he had forgotten about the burn as it no longer pained him, but he forced a smile. "It's alright…it could have been far worse. But it wasn't, thanks to you…"

Arthur looked back up at his face, seeing his smile, but he could not forgive himself. "It should never have happened in the first place…"

Francis washed his hands in the bowl on the bedside table, before sighing. "I never did thank you for saving my life…I was too busy shouting at you…" A small blush spread across his cheeks as he remembered what he had done. "I am sorry I behaved so…hysterically. I should have thanked you for rescuing me…"

Arthur only smiled. "You had every right to yell at me, love. And besides, even if you had not wanted me to, I would have saved you a hundred times."

Francis raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "Do I seem like that much of a damsel in distress?~" he teased lightly, and Arthur's heart fluttered as he wanted to sit up and kiss Francis so badly.

"Always~" he returned with a smirk.

"Then what does that make you, if I am the one tending to your wounds?" Francis asked as he got out the needle and thread, and instantly Arthur's heart leapt into his throat.

"E-Even heroes have their flaws…What are you doing with that, darling?" he asked as calmly as he could, but Francis could tell he was nervous.

"Just close your eyes and relax, mon cher." The term of endearment made Arthur's heart flutter more, and reluctantly he did as he was told, hoping that it would not hurt.

Francis held the needle in the flame of the candle on the bedside table to sterilise it, but he was nervous himself. He had never done this before, and the sight of Arthur's open stab-wound was making him feel like he would vomit. But Arthur had no one else who would do this for him, so Francis took deep breaths, before beginning the process of sewing Arthur up.

As soon as he started, Arthur let out a continuous torrent of words that Francis had never heard before, but he was pretty sure they were profanities.

"Jesus bloody fucking son of a holy whore!" was one string of curses that Arthur let out, and Francis winced slightly.

"Mon cher…I must remind you of my son…" he chastised gently, and Arthur grit his teeth, not wanting Matthew to start running around the tavern calling people 'son of a holy whore'.

Francis was quick and carful in his work, and eventually he had sewn Arthur up so that his wound could start to heal. They were both very much relieved when he cut the thread, and Francis let out a shaky sigh, feeling light-headed. Arthur laid back and closed his eyes once more, overcome with fatigue. He had no hope that he would survive the night, but Francis was adamant he would.

The Frenchman pulled the covers over him gently, kissing his forehead. "Call me if you need anything, mon amour…" he whispered, and Arthur only let out a soft hum of acknowledgment, already slipping into the realms of sleep.

Francis smiled softly, leaving the room so that Arthur could sleep, but he prayed that Arthur would live for many years to come.

A/N: So, the main question is, will Arthur live or die?

Please review and let me know which it will be!

Love you all x