Act 3: Pseudo-Sacrifice

Following closely behind Gilbert, England couldn't help but feel less at edge. Although he still greatly disliked the presence of Germans in his country, he had nothing personal against Prussia himself. But, one would be a fool to call them close, more like unwanted allies, both fallen empire, living under a strong young one. Despite their brotherhood, Arthur knew Gilbert detested Ludwig for being in control.

"It's just in here." a gloved hand fell onto the brass door handle of a large oak door. "Follow me." Gilbert added this as an afterthought, as if Arthur actually had a choice.

The room was dark, faint candles scenting the air with spices and a soft light. It takes Arthur a moment to realize that it is his room. Dark and vivid crimson blankets of the Reich covered the couch and -Arthur swallowed, noticing it- the large bed. He immediately edged away from it as the Prussian closed the door behind them, his pale face cast into a sickly shadow.

The pressed silence stretched, Arthur's hand reached to the gun at his hip, not caring to consummate his surrender in such a way. He wasn't France.

When Prussia started to laugh, Arthur's hand closed around the handle of his gun. "The gift isn't me." The green eyes watched the gleaming smile, hand not moving from his weapon, "My brother is the one to take you. Being with me would get me nowhere and only leave you wanting more of what you can't have."

Not caring to engage in a battle of wits and only wishing to get away from the man, Arthur said, "The present, then?"

Looking only slightly put out, Gilbert strode over to a small wooden door that blended almost perfectly into the dark wood panelling. He exchanged a few quiet words with the guards standing behind the hidden door as Arthur turned his attention to the window, staring out into stormy night.

"Ah, here it is."

Arthur turned around and the whisper of a name he hadn't said in years ghosted from his lips.

Waved blond hair fell loose and tumbled over a pale shoulder revealed by a delicate silk dress that split down the thin body, exposing even more milky skin. Arthur's eyes could only focus on the subdued blue eyes. There he was.

"I thought he died…" the quietness in Arthur's voice betrayed the uncaring words, "Killed…"

Laughing quietly, Gilbert shook his head. "We kept him." He whispered, a gloved hand reaching out and pushing the long hair aside. Arthur watched in abject horror as the Prussian pressed his lips to the Frenchman's neck and he swallows hard when Francis doesn't react, merely standing there and letting Prussia lavish him with kisses. "Such a lovely man. Would've been a shame to let him rot away. So we trained him and look, he's perfect now."

"He's-" Not perfect. I should shoot you right now you Prussian sonofabitch. "Quite… I just assumed you would've wanted him out of your hair."

The crimson eyes looked up at him, matching the shade of the dress perfectly. "You sound so sad. Perhaps I'll just keep him for mysel-"

"No!" England's voice strains as he fought o keep it even, "No, thank you. It's a gift and I accept it, thank you Reichführer." He bowed his head, fingers clenched into fists at his side.

The emerald eyes raise just in time to see the final, lingering kiss placed on the shoulder. "I thought as much." Gilbert said, motioning at the two soldiers to follow and they do not hesitate, opening the double doors for the Prussian. "Try to be nice to him, he's a little drowsy."

As the doors closed, cutting off Gilbert's laughter, Arthur immediately slumped, turning to Francis, taking a cautious step towards him. His gloved hand shivered violently as he touched the pale, blushed-smeared cheek. He was real.

"F-Francis… How… where?"

Almost with a mechanical precision, the blue eyes turn onto Arthur, as if noticing him for the first time. The white teeth shine in a wide smile. "I have been told that you are Brigadeführer." Francis said quietly, voice plain, "Should I address you by that title, or perhaps something else?" the blond head tilted to the side, watching the Englishman carefully.

Arthur's heart was somewhere near his stomach. "Just call me Arthur for Christ's sake. Francis, what happened to you? I s-searched for days and I couldn't find you.."

Still smiling, not noticing the distress hidden in the quiet words of England, France continued to smile. "Nothing has happened to me Brigadeführer. I am merely here to serve you."

Hand falling from Francis' cheek, Arthur bowed his head slightly, grabbing the strap of the red dress, considering ripping it. "D-don't tell me they got you," he whispered, "Not you Francis." The Frenchman wasn't supposed to give in. that was breaking the promise.

"I am part of the German Reich now." Francis' voice is suddenly hard, angry, "Nothing more."

Stubborn as always, England refuses to believe him, clamping his eyes shut and his hands into his hair, pulling at it. This was Prussia's plan. Arthur would never break from the inside but this, this simple move had almost broken him completely. "No! Please! Francis!" He pleaded, refusing to look at the man, "Say something in French! Grope me! Just let me know you're still in there!"

There was a lengthy pause in which rain slid down the window, a gun fired and guards outside Arthur's room laughed. But all the Briton could hear was the sound of his own breathing, broken and lost.

"Would you like me to speak French?" Arthur clutched his hair tighter, "And groping is really what my job entails." There is a small laugh and England almost looked up because it sounds so much like him but he remained with his head bowed.

Finally finding his voice, rage building inside of him overshadowing the sadness heavy in his chest, Arthur spoke. "No…" He looked up, seeing the dull blue eyes and the smile and the pale, perfect skin, "No, no, NO!" His hands closed around the dress, crumpling the expensive material as he shook the Frenchman slightly, pleading at him, "Francis, please… It's me. It's England. It's Arthur. Angleterre… Say it… please, just once."

"Angleterre." But there is no mocking tone behind it, no love, no emotion. It is just a word, not a name. A word. "Does that satisfy you?"

Arthur couldn't bring himself to let go of Francis, instead leaning his head against the shoulder, tempted to stay there forever. "Fuck. You're dead Francis… They killed you and I couldn't do anything…" His eyes were uncomfortably warm as he took a deep breath, smelling the heavy and rich perfume sticking to Francis' skin. Instead of enticing him, his stomach squirmed. "I'm so sorry… I tried to come! I did! I begged my boss, but he refused! I wanted to storm the shores. I wanted to save you Francis…"

A delicate hand came up, gently rubbing his back. "Save me?" -A quiet laugh- "But I am perfectly okay." And Francis said this so casually for a moment, that Arthur almost believes him. Then he pulled back and sees the dull eyes once again, world crashing down around him for a second time. He clutched tighter to the dress to keep himself steady.

"No, you're not." England said sternly, the emotion in his voice almost as subdued as Francis' though the hurt from the betrayal is clear in his eyes.

"Shall I leave then?" Once again, the blond head quirked to the side, smiling at the Englishman, but this time there is a hint of fear in the twitching lip and the fumbling fingers, "I do not want to impose if I am not what you are looking for. Reichführer Beilschmidt hates leaving his guests unsatisfied."

Arthur couldn't hold it in any longer. He fell into a chair, tears starting to stream down his cheeks. "I swear I'm going to kill Gilbert." He vowed, "And Ludwig, and Roderich and every single bastards that did this to you. I am going to get you back Francis. J-just watch me…"

As the rain pounded harder on the window, England could only cry harder when France made no move to comfort him.