A/N: YAY!!! NEW CHAPTER!!! And on my birthday, too! 8D Ha ha, well, I figured you guys deserved it after the delay from last time. Although, this is the key ANGSTY chapter in the story, so I'm sorry for that. XD But I had a lot of fun coming up with this chapter, or at least the extra things I managed to put in. So, please enjoy regardless. :D

DISCLAIMER: Hetalia and the characters represented belong to HIMARUYA. Like I stated, this chapter is angsty and there's still that bit of FrUK in here but it IS A USxUK story, so don't give up on me yet. Thank you!!! Please enjoy!!!

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CHAPTER FOUR

"I thought I told you to stop coming by." Arthur's voice was low but stern, his face dimly lit by the candle on his desk. Sheets and sheets of papers littered his desk and the floor of the study and his body sat lethargic in the chair: an ink drenched quill in one hand, a glass of gin the other.

Francis merely lingered in the doorway, a somber expression on his face that matched the darkened ambiance of the room. "I only came by to check up on you," he said softly, gesturing his head towards the hallway. "You may escort me out if you wish."

His words bit at Arthur as a rage filled the Englishman. Paperwork flew in the air, the quill was tossed across the floor, and Arthur leaned over his desk, nearly barking at his much unwanted guest. "If I wish? I said I don't want you coming over anymore, now get out of my house before I toss you out the window!" His shaking hand clenched the glass of liquor, its contents close to spilling out.

The outbursts were becoming more common, ever since Alfred started his rebellion. Arthur lost most of his sensibility; the young colony was growing up so quickly anymore, and England couldn't stand to lose his little bit of innocence. It was indeed a dark time for him.

Glancing down at the gin in hand, he gulped it down in one go before falling helplessly to the chair to pour himself another glass, reaching for the half empty bottle. "I don't know what to do anymore," he whined, drops of tears splashing into the glass.

Francis took a deep breath before walking further into the room with a hesitant step. "Mon Angleterre," he said in a gentle, lilting tone, resting his hands on England's shoulders to give them a gentle massage.

Arthur's eyes were fixed on the glass; it had been his forth one in the past hour. He groaned, shrugging the other nation off his back and taking a swig of the gin. "Rebecca shall get a dock in her pay for letting the likes of you in here," he mumbled, standing up to gather the scattered papers before heading downstairs.

"It's that attitude that had Alfred rebel in the first place," the Frenchman joked lightly as he followed his grumpy companion to the main level. The mood not right for such comedy, Francis received a chilling glare from the shorter blond nation.

The stiff silence that followed lead Francis to the door, his hand reaching for the knob. "Desolé, I'll be going."

"Why me?"

Francis froze, unable to extend his hand to clutch the knob. "Come again?"

Standing in the hall, Arthur's cheeks flushed lightly, his moistening eyes locked on the floor's wooden finish. "You hate me, so why do you keep coming back for more? To torture me?" His voice wavered, that weak pout regulating the tone of each word

The taller nation turned to face Arthur, a soft smile gracefully painted on his lips. "Tu es fol," he chortled under his breath, walking over to catch Arthur's chin upon his finger. "I do not hate you. When did such a ridiculous notion ever slip inside your mind? Non, Arthur, I adore you."

His voice lilted like the breeze into England's ear as a devilish kiss made its way from his lobe down his jaw and up to his lips, where France lingered. Blue eyes sparkled before Arthur's, making the red on his cheeks just one shade darker. That damn romantic…

"I cannot help but want to tease you, that is all. Your face, your body, all of you; you're too cute."

Arthur broke eye contact with the infamous lover, a soft grunt ushering the Frenchman away. "How does all that garbage make it out of your mouth, Francis," he said, trying to wiggle free from the finger under his chin.

With a smirk, Francis leaned in. "I can show you, if you want."

"Oh, you've shown me plenty of times!" With the mood broken, the grump pushed the perverted nation away, although he couldn't help but believe his earlier words. Francis may have a dirty old man, but Arthur would never call him a liar. But to have those words hang on him was painful enough during this time in England's life, and he gestured towards the door. "Please, just go," he whispered.

In a frantic mess, Rebecca burst through the front door, clutching her chest to catch the slightest bit of breath. "Sir! Master Jones has arrived."

Both blonde nations raised their eyebrows, equally surprised with the news, until it hit Arthur with a heavy feeling in his stomach. His eyes shot up the stairway, lingering on the study door; the paperwork he was working on, the deal he was going to make with America! "Shit," he cried, his eyes darting around the room with a hint of madness. "I completely forgot! Francis, get out. Get out now!"

Flustered, the long haired nation hesitated towards the door, a look similar to confusion on his face. "Wait, Arthur, I do not," he began to say, reaching out and grabbing Arthur's arm the second Alfred walked through the door.

"Let's get started on this deal of yours, old man," the young man said joyfully before his eyes met with France and glided down his arm to that hand clutching England rather tightly.

The concern that welled up in Arthur disappeared once he glanced over the Alfred in the door. His tall, slender frame draped lightly in formal garb; his blue eyes wide, glistening with confusion and alarm; that amber colored hair, dancing softly with the wind from outside. Arthur's eyes fixedly observed every bit of the grown boy, now close to being more of a man than a child. "Alfred," his voice barely croaked out, also lost in the good looks of the rebellious colony.

But his blue eyes quickly glared between both men in the room, and Alfred bolted towards Francis, grabbing him by the collar and pinning him against the wall. "Bastard, you just couldn't get your damn hands off him, could you," he growled, papers drifting from his hands down to the floor.

In a panicked state, Francis squirmed against the wall, trying to defend himself, but to no avail. Alfred's yells escalated and echoed venomously throughout the main hall, down corridors and into rooms, winding up stair cases and booming out from windows. Arthur watched the maddened rage in horror. Everything, it was all his fault: for giving Alfred the loving care of a father or a brother, for tending to his dirtied knees and bloody scrapes, for not admitting the horrid truth that Francis was never hurting him. Tears welled in those green irises and were fixed on a strong fist aiming towards a face of golden stubble.

"Alfred, no!"

It went by too quickly. Arthur stopped Alfred from further committing any violence by grabbing his wrist, pushing back his body, and slapping his face, a stinging that hurt more than the older nation's hand. "How dare you come into my home and cause this sort of hostility," he spat, avoiding eye contact with the younger man. "Know your place!"

Time stopped as Arthur lifted his face to see his hand imprinted in bright red on Alfred's left cheek. What had he just done? What had he just said?

In a quicker pace than earlier, the blonde rebel returned Arthur's action, sending a smack to his former master harsher than the one he received. "'Know my place' you say? Oh, I know it, England, and it sure as hell isn't here," he said in a bitter tongue, turning his heel to leave the estate.

The harsh reality invaded every pore of Arthur's being, his body frozen in a stance of shock. He could barely hear France's apologies. He didn't even notice the man offering an embrace of farewell, or register the fact he left. He merely stared at the front door, replaying the moment in his head, repeating his cold words and the much deserved retort.

Oddly enough, Arthur couldn't remember returning to the study. He stood in the room, glancing around frantically to understand his surroundings, when he noticed the gin and the paperwork on the desk. He scowled and ran over, tearing up the piles of papers to shreds, screaming lists of profanities and crying rivers of tears as paper snowfall fell upon the study floor.

Worn and beaten, he reached for the bottle of gin, only so much left in it, and guzzled down the remaining contents, most of which spilled onto his chest. His hand shook around the bottle's neck and he tossed it across the room with a scream, and watched tiredly as the glass crashed against the bookshelf and fall to the ground. Pieces of broken glass mirrored his own experiences with America; he never dreamt their relationship would be so fragile that it could fall apart so easily.

It would be years before he got a good night's sleep.

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...to be continued.

Although I think we all know what happens next. XD NOT TO FEAR. The next chapter will be showcasing more USxUK...and I'm not sure yet, but either the next one or the one after will see the rating changed from T to M. So put on your happy-caps, yaoi fans. XD

Thanks for reading.

~erbby