It was that time of year again, and Francis was worried about Arthur. Of course, Arthur tried to make it look as if he'd finally got over what happened in 1776, when America left him. Everyone knew how devastating it was for England when this happened, and for many years afterwards he was inconsolable. This year however he had decided to try to put on a brave face. He'd gone to visit America, celebrated with him and given him a present, he even congratulated him on his freedom for once. Now it was the day after, July 5th, and Arthur sat in the sitting room, reading and pretending he was fine, however Francis knew this wasn't true. For one, he'd been playing this music over and over repeatedly "The Story of The Blues" by some 80s group called "Wah". He'd practically shut himself off from the world for the whole day.

Francis was worried, so he eventually knocked on the door and tried to open it, only to find that Arthur had locked it, and that was alarming. He knocked and knocked and shouted. "Mon amour please open the door… what is going on there?"

First they take your pride

Turn it on its side

And then you realise you've got nothing left to lose

So, you try to start, try to get back up

And then you realise you're telling the story of the blues

There was no sound from behind the door. Francis went completely pale as he imagined what might have happened in there. He pushed and pushed till the door broke off its hinges.

Arthur was sitting on the sofa, hugging his knees and staring into space, just listening to the music which was playing and thinking about America.

"Alors!" Exclaimed Francis. "Why did you lock the door? I was so worried about you Mon amour… "

"I didn't hear you…" Arthur said quietly. "Why can't I get through a year without going through hell?" He mumbled and reached out for his glass of cider. "I try to get over it… every year… I mean…you'd think that by now I'd be able to do it…" He drank it down in one go and then poured himself another.

"He wasn't just another nation… he was part of ME…" Arthur said punching his own chest. "He might as well have cut my knife out with a heart…"

"What?" asked Francis confused.

"Heart out with a knife…" England said with equal confusion.

"Oh…of course." Francis sighed. "You need to rest mon amour, you are starting to talk nonsense again."

"No… no I'm fine…" Gulped England sadly.

"You locked the door and you have been listening to this God awful music all day…." Grumbled Francis . "It 'as been torture for me trying to work from 'ome when you have zis rubbish blaring out louder than anything I have ever 'eard… "

"It's not rubbish… its British music…" Arthur replied "You have no taste at all." He said drinking more cider.

"Not true mon Cher, what about Michel Sardou, Je me Taimer.. hmm? Or ze great Serge Gainsbourg… Je t'aime.. those are great songs and far better than this nonsense…"

"I want to listen to it. I'm upset, I don't feel well and every time I think about him I want to…" Immediately England stopped talking and threw up blood. He threw his hands over his mouth but the blood seeped through and dripped on the carpet. Francis looked on in shock, realising that this was blood, not just normal vomit.

"Arthur… " He gasped.

"You know Francis… I really don't feel so well…" Coughed England falling to his knees.

"Mon dieu!" Cried Francis helping him back on to the sofa. "This is blood… you are suffering some sort of terrible illness."

"No… no… just a reaction." Arthur said. "Every year since he did this to me, it happens, usually in private, so nobody knows… except you now… and when anyone mentions America's independence I feel ill."

"Oh no…" Gasped Francis "That sounds terrible mon amour." He said and felt Arthur's brow, he was burning up. "You are more fragile than I thought, this has truly hurt you hasn't it?"

"Fragile? Me?" Coughed Arthur.

"Yes… fragile… and you tried to pass your illness off as travel sickness, didn't you?" Francis said realising that England, for all this time must have been suffering, not just emotional stress but a real sickness that he'd tried to hide from everyone. Nations didn't have the same illnesses as human beings did, they had other things, but they were quite obscure. France himself suffered terrible bouts of depression because of his internal struggles. It seemed America's independence had left an internal wound inside of Arthur that would never heal. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"How would that look?" Arthur sighed. "A nation once an empire like me… sick… can't get over losing America."

"Arthur…" France said with hesitation "We already see that…" He said trying to be sensitive. "But you are ill mon amour… you shouldn't hide this." He said softly. "Let me hold you."

"Francis…" He uttered, his voice cracking with emotion. Francis' had a sacred heart, he truly did, for even though he could be a terrible enemy, his Sacre Coeur made him into a beautiful being full of love for his fellow nation. He gasped as he saw tears whisper down Arthur's cheeks. "You do not have to try so hard to look good…" He said softly. ".. or well…" He continued. "Everyone can understand your pain…I truly do understand it…" He said sincerely and held Arthur in his arms. "Our sighs blend together so painfully mon amour…" He whispered. "I will always be here for you, and you can tell me anything. I promise I will not tell another person in this world unless you want me to."

"Please don't…" Gulped Arthur "I am not ready to admit my weaknesses… Damn America…" He uttered and coughed a little. More blood spewed from his mouth and down his chin, but Francis took a handkerchief and wiped it away. "Whoops…" He said being as gentle as possible. "Come now… let me take care of you. I like to help you in any way I can… you know this." He said gently. What Arthur didn't know was that Francis felt even more powerful, and more needed and wanted than ever, that he relished this, that he practically lived off this angst. Francis' heart did as it always did in these situations, beat far to fast, adrenalin rushed through him. England was opening up to him in more ways than he could have imagined, and he loved it.

"Let us get you to bed where you can rest and recuperate…" Francis said softly, helping Arthur to his feet. He got up but stumbled, so Francis picked him up.

"Hold on to me Arthur. I promise I won't ever let you suffer, no one loves you more than I do."

Arthur sank into the arms of France, losing himself in love. "There's nothing more… than this…" He sighed, the tears flowing freely.

"I hope that is not another reference to your British music." Laughed Francis gently as he took him to bed, laying him down. He got in next to him and hugged him.

"I will stay with you Mon Cher, let your tears come… its alright… its always alright." He whispered, as Arthur wept into his strong chest. Whenever the blood came, Francis wiped his chin, and held him. "Don't worry… everything will be alright." He said "Je T'aime… my Arthur."

Authors note: Listen to "The Story of the Blues" by WAH. And "More than this" by Roxy Music for effect.