In July 1967, while on an official state visit to Canada, President de Gaulle ignited a storm of controversy when he exclaimed, before a crowd of 100,000 in Montreal, "Vive le Québec Libre!" (Long live free Quebec!).

- from Wikipedia

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It was his own fault.

If he hadn't gone and interfered in that damn Suez Canal business, Francis never would have had to propose to Arthur. Arthur, of all people! Rosbif, English swine, stupid bastard (and best friend, but if you say anything about that he will deny it, it's not true and you are a filthy, filthy liar) and – and – well, just look at the man's eyebrows! He couldn't cook, couldn't even taste, was a closet pervert (he only had a problem with the closet part, really) and he'd said no. He'd said no to marrying Francis! Artful lover and masculine sculpture of physical perfection! How insulting was it to propose to someone as obviously beneath him as Arthur and then get turned down?!

And now Francis was going to die. Possibly. Well, that was what his boss said, anyway, and he was tired enough and worn down enough by the whole ordeal to believe it. The rest of Europe would tear apart his remains, dividing it into little pieces amongst themselves the way birds would strip the flesh off of carrion. Hadn't he seen it before? And all because stupid, stupid Canada had had a problem with them invading Egypt. Oh, Arthur was blaming America, of course, but Francis knew. It was Canada who had sent troops with UNEF, not America, and Canada who had come up with the idea of the UN interfering in the first place. Canada was the reason his last act on earth was going to be proposing to Arthur! Matthew was at fault in all of this!

So no, Francis wasn't the least bit sorry about what had happened in Quebec, because Matthew might be a little bit uncomfortable now, but Francis was still dying. If he was going to die, then at least he might have the pleasure of seeing French-Canada separate from the parts that Arthur had ruined with his… British-ness.

He wasn't sorry. Matthew had it coming. Let him suffer through having two parts of himself clash, let him deal with having Quebec try and tear itself away from him. The birth of a new nation was always a painful thing. He could ask Arthur, god knew that man had more than enough experience with it.

From the next room he heard the sounds of low cursing in French, followed by a string of English swear words and then the sound of something breaking. He flinched back reflexively, listening to the sounds of a door opening and closing, and footsteps. Another crash. More bilingual swearing. Then Alfred's voice, speaking as Matthew's brother and not his neighboring country.

"Damn it, Matty, sit down," he heard him say, and in his mind's eye he could almost see the identical nations – one with his eyes glazed over in pain, and the other trying to wrestle him into a chair.

A few minutes later there was quiet again.

The thud, thud, thud of footsteps followed, and a door swung out as Alfred walked into the room. He paused when he saw Francis sitting there, stiffening a little.

Francis frowned.

He shook his head at the look Alfred was giving him, and decided to take a walk. He felt good enough to. A little better than he had that morning.

And he still wasn't sorry.