A/N: I am back from the dead! Sorry about the wait, and don't worry, I haven't forgotten about this story. I'm just incredibly ill prepared for anything. Word of advice: make notes before hand. Don't just start writing a story with a vague idea of the plot. But I finally graduated 8th grade. Yay!

So, exciting news, I had an awesome time at con last weekend. There was even someone cosplaying France. With his own real majestic flowing blonde hair that I think is actually made of wizard tears.

*Cue shameless self advertising* I'm working on a Homestuck fanfic, not sure what it'll be named, but keep an eye out for it.

Thank you to Sora Resi, who has faithfully reviewed every chapter, and MissSkulduggeryPleasant for reviews. You guys are awesome!

Chapter Five

Francis ducked into the musky tavern, wrinkling his nose disdainfully at the smell. He approached the bar while taking a moment to admire the embroidery on the front of the serving maid's bodice before ordering wine.

"French if you have it." He requested, giving the woman a smile and wink that sent her blushing.

Even now he could feel eyes burning holes in his back. With a nod of thanks, he took the shoddy tankard of wine and raised it to his lips. He lowered his drink back to the surface of the bar after cringing a bit at the bitter taste, though the smell had warned him of so much. Not French wine at all.

"Damn soap-dodgers." A voice said from somewhere to Francis' right.

Clenching his teeth together, he turned halfway around, taking a look at the small group of men sitting at a table by the door. Looking the one who had spoken right in the green eyes, one perfectly-shaped eyebrow cocked, Francis let out an innocent "Quoi?"

"You heard me, frog." The man replied.

Pulling a few pounds out of his coat pocket, Francis paid for his relatively untouched wine before going over to the table.

"Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?" Francis asked with his palms planted on the table, looming over the empty chair that tended to exist when three patrons sat somewhere intended for four. They were all wearing red uniforms of the British military, the calmest, and least drunk, with adornments denoting naval service. This one had slightly shaggy golden blonde hair.

The other two had red hair, the one who had spoken had a fiery color and the other a more subdued reddish brown.

"Yeah," the apparent leader of them responded, lilting Scottish accent working its way through his words. "Take a bath or go back to France. We could smell you all the way over here."

"Women don't seem to mind. Oh, but you seem to be the exception." As soon as the words had left his lips, Francis cursed himself for them, as well as not thinking to bring a weapon of any sort.

"You son of a bitch!" The Scottish man rose, grabbing the collar of Francis' white shirt with both hands.

"Allistor!" The bar maid barked with her hands on her hips, attracting the attention of the tavern's few occupants that weren't already aware of what was happening at the table by the window that was intended for four but used only by three. "Not in my pub. Take it outside."

Casting a glance at her, Allistor released Francis and turned away toward the door, his drinking companions following him.

The Frenchman gulped, knowing there was no way out of this now.

Lovino Vargas had endured a lot in his career in the Jones household. He had been cut, burned, kicked, etc. Of course many of his miner injuries had been due to his own clumsiness, but he would never admit that. No, it was easier for him to blame a loose floorboard, a log in the furnace that had chosen that moment to properly catch fire, an irate animal he was saddling, a wobbly stool leg, or a poorly placed rail post.

At least this time he wouldn't be physically harmed, besides some headaches he could predict. Or so he told himself as he was escorted by Toris to the parlor.

The butler rapped on the door gently, opening it.

The Spaniard whose very presence was torture enough was fiddling with the delicate little figurines above the mantle. Toris visibly cringed at the 'rough' treatment of the objects Mrs. Jones had spent so much worry and effort on arranging the day before.

Toris cleared his throat, making Antonio turn, haphazardly setting Madeline's favorite, a crystal polar bear, on the edge of the mantle.

"Please pardon me, Mr. Carriedo." The butler began, continuing when he received possibly the brightest, happiest smile he had ever seen. "This is Lovino, he will help you with anything you need and answer any questions you have."

The merchant nodded, prompting Toris to leave, pausing only to nudge a sulking Italian out of the doorway with a quiet "best behavior!" in Lovino's ear. Lovino looked behind him at the now closed parlor door, biting back a curse.

Antonio merely stood patiently, that ridiculously large grin never leaving his face.

With an angry sigh and a roll of his hazel eyes, Lovino walked across the parlor. Pushing past the bewildered Spaniard and straightening the decor atop the mantle, he somehow managing to do in a few seconds what had taken the lady of the house hours.

Seeing this, Antonio's grin turned sheepish. "Sorry, I thought it was pretty."

Lovino gritted his teeth for a moment before turning around with a fake smile plastered into his mouth. "Not a problem, sir. Don't think anything of it." Best behavior, I'll show that bastardo best behavior. "Would you like me to show you to your room, sir?"

Antonio nodded, smiling again. "Oh, but my horse is outside. I should probably take care of her."

"I'll handle it while you get settled, sir." Lovino replied with painful happiness. Somehow.

That seemed to satisfy Antonio, who was content with unpacking his bags in the guest room designated to him while Lovino stomped back down the stairs and out the front doors, finding the mare tied to a wooden support. She was tall, elegant, and probably worth more money than Lovino would ever make in his life.

He untied her and led her around the house toward the stable, wondering how it was going to work, or if she would be taken care of.

He finally settled for knocking on the closed door of the stable. If no one was inside, he could slip her in and give her food to last a while.

And then, wonder of wonders, the missing master of the house opened it.

"Sir, Mr. Carriedo is here early and wishes to meet with you. I've come to stable his horse." Lovino explained.

Alfred sucked in his cheeks. "I'll stable the horse and be inside in a minute."

Lovino raised one eyebrow questioningly, but passed the reins to his employer without a word.

"Can you keep Mr. Carriedo busy until then?"

Lovino replied with "Yes, sir", holding back his comment about how a moth would keep the Spaniard busy until then and leaving to attend to this particular duty.

When Lovino had rounded the corner of the house, Alfred let out a breath. He led the mare through the stable doors, which he closed behind him. He got her into a stall and settled, stroking her mane as she immediately took a liking to her water.

"Arthur?" Alfred called to the back of the building.

"I'm here, you bloody idiot." The Brit responded. "Where the hell can I go?"

"Alright, I have to go inside. Will you be fine for a while?"

"Oh, just peachy. Please, don't let me dampen your fun."

"You don't dampen any fun. It's a boring meeting that I don't want to go to. How do the clothes fit?" Arthur stood up, allowing Alfred to see.

Francis moved through the house, trying not to attract any attention as he tried to remember where the kitchen was. Going through the dining room, he was startled by Madeline leaving the very room he was looking for.

He quickly bowed, attempting to hide his damaged face from her. "Bonjour, Madame Madeleine."

She curtsied in reply. "Hello, Capitaine." Her small smile subsided quickly, seeing the state of his forehead. She gasped. "Are you bleeding?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with." He replied smoothly.

"That's a lie. Come into the kitchen, I'll fix it up."

Being in no place to refuse, Francis obeyed and sat at the table in the kitchen while Madeline retrieved wool and a bowl of water. She sat across from him, dabbing at the cut above his eye carefully.

"It appears you've done this before." Francis commented.

Madeline nodded. "My mother taught me. She was a nurse during the war with France." Her eyes widened, realizing she had said too much.

Francis nodded. "I fought in the war. But I wonder, Madeleine. Were we allies, or enemies?"

The woman paused, her hand suspended next to Francis' forehead, his blue eyes curious, searching.

"Allies." She whispered.

And then their lips with met heat and passion over the table.

A/N: End Chapter Five.

For anyone who thought Allistor was out of character in this situation, considering France and Scotland generally get along, please remember that at this point in time, the British and French were incredibly biased towards each other. If you are French, please do not take any offense at this chapter. I personally have nothing against the French, and got the insults from Assassin's Creed 3.

Anyway, romances popping up. Review and tell me what you think. Until next time, Auf Wiedersehen.