It's final season here at college and I'm dying but here you go!

Thank you soooo much for my reviewers! You inspire me!

FILE #3: Just Another Night

Like on so many other nights of his life, France found himself at a bar, sitting across from a very drunk and belligerent England, listening to him rant and trying to convince him to come home with him. France sipped delicately on a large goblet of wine and nodded whenever England stopped rambling long enough to take a breath. "-and he had the audacity to tell me that my sense of humour is too dry! Too dry! That is ridiculous and he knows it-all he does is sit around and make jokes about bodily functions and such rot. What does he know about humour? He is not amusing in the slightest. He's childish and-"

France, amused, leaned back in his chair. "It sounds like you are not so fond of our dear Amerique."

England had gotten too warm earlier in the evening and had unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, displaying a small stretch of pale torso. As he leaned forward, his shirt gaped wider open and France snickered at the sight. "I don't know why you're laughing, Frog, it's not funny. I mean, I raised the bloody git since he was a lad and now that he's all grown up he thinks he can question everything I taught him."

"I was under the impression zat you were gone for most of his childhood," France commented, knowing full well what England's reaction would be.

Sure enough, England's eyes narrowed and he pointed at France with a fork. "Hogwash, that is. Utter nonsense. I was a smashing mentor. Besides, it wasn't my fault that every time I'd leave and come back, he'd have grown another foot taller! How was I supposed to bleeding know he'd grow so fast? Maybe if I'd known, I would have visited more often, but there is nothing I can do about it now. Stop trying to make me feel even more guilty about it than I already do." He slammed the fork back on the table and took a drink of the liquid in the tumbler before him.

"So you feel guilty?" France asked. "Interesting."

"Well…a wee bit, I suppose. Maybe if I'd been there more, he wouldn't have turned out to be such an enormous twat."

"Enormous twat? You really must not like him, Angleterre, I had no idea." France replied. England looked away and France continued. "Does he have any positive traits at all?"

England picked up the fork again and fiddled with it. "I suppose so. He's so bloody cheerful all the time. Makes me want to toss him in the rubbish bin. And he's so optimistic. Sometimes that's annoying…but I'm usually glad that SOMEONE thinks it is all going to be alright. That's comforting, you know?" He waited until France nodded before slowly continuing. "And he's got a good heart. He's thick as a plank and completely mental but he doesn't mean any real harm to anyone. I don't know, Frog. Don't ask me things like that," he mumbled, his face creasing in slight annoyance.

France smiled, loving this game he played with England whenever he drank. If he was kept talking long enough, England had the bad habit of admitting things that he didn't mean to. France would repeat England's own words back to him and the Brit would clarify them to the point where he let slip personal details and thoughts that he had tried to hide. Even now, sitting in the bar booth with his shirt partially undone, playing with a glass of brandy, the former pirate betrayed himself by glancing guiltily around the bar to see who might be listening. He had more on his mind and more to say. France sat back against the booth's backrest. All he had to do was wait.

England looked at him furtively, warily, then scrutinized the bar again. "Look, don't tell anyone, especially not that wanker, but I saw America shirtless a couple of months ago. I used to think he was strong back in the days of the Rev…well, when he was younger, but that was nothing! Abs, pecs, all of it. It's bloody ridiculous, that's what it is."

Interest now truly peaked, France sat forward. "Ooh, do tell! What did he look like? I want all ze delicious details!"

Leaning forward to match France's stance, the island country tried to lower his voice (however, his intoxication was to a level that he didn't notice that he was still speaking very loudly). "Dishy," he said confidentially. "That's right, you 'eard me. Dishy. He was trying to decide between two different shirts. One was blue and the other was green. I liked the blue one better. It was tighter. Anyway, he's got himself all tanned and rot…he spends so much time outside at his house, gets all that bloody sunshine. Nice ruddy skin…and you could see the top of his bleeding boxers over his jeans…red, white, and blue, they were."

"Angleterre…were you looking in his window?"

England sat back with a snap and pinked up. "No! Well, technically yes, but I was just walking past and he had the window wide open, anyone could've…it wasn't like I climbed his garden gate or…something like that…" He downed the rest of the brandy in front of him. "W-why do you care anyway, Frog, it's not like…I mean…it's just America."

About an hour ago, while England was ranting, France had noticed America enter the bar and sit on the other side with a comic book. He ordered a beer and seemed to be enjoying himself until the door opened again and Mexico walked in. As soon as she noticed America, she beelined over to his table and sat herself at it, causing America to put down his comics. She chattered happily to America, but whatever she was saying did not seem to sit well with the large country as he ordered drink after drink and shifted around uncomfortably. France had noted this and continued to listen to England prattle. Now, watching the man in front of him sweat under duress, he knew this night could end up being very entertaining. "Does Amerique know you are in ze habit of looking in his windows?"

"Eh? No, I mean…I'm sure he wouldn't mind. It's me, after all," England said, running his hands through his scruffy hair and looking not at all confident in what he was saying.

"I say we ask him, oui?"

"W-what? Like…call him? Now? He's probably asleep." The country looked stricken at the thought.

France pointed across the bar. "Non, he is right zere! Here, I shall call him over." England partially jumped across the table trying to stop him, but France fended his intoxicated attempt off and called out, "Amerique!"

America jumped up when he heard his name, happy to escape the conversation with the pretty but pushy Mexico. England saw him coming and tried to leave, but remembered that he couldn't actually walk all that well at the moment and sat back down again. America strode up to the table and beamed at them. "Howdy! What did you need from the Hero tonight? Anyone need saving?"

England shook his head feverishly, but France interjected. "Amerique, I was just wondering, how does it make you feel to know that Angleterre occasionally watches you dress?" England stopped breathing and silence hovered over the group for a few seconds.

"Er, what?" America asked.

"Angleterre was just complimenting ze shape your body is in. He said he saw it through your window and I just wanted to know how zat made you feel."

America looked at England. England looked at the ceiling. "Dude," America replied finally. "That is soooo creepy." England continued to look at the ceiling. "But totally understandable!" America burst forth. "I mean, it's true, I AM a hero and no one can resist a hero! I feel you, bro," he said, patting England's (who was now staring at the table) shoulder. "If I were you, I'd totally stare at me, too."

Mexico suddenly popped out from behind America. "What are we talking about?"

"Er, nothing." America replied, twitching away from her.

France volunteered the information. "We were discussing how Angleterre zinks Amerique is attractive."

Mexico lowered her voice and crooned, "Oooh, you're right. Estadounidense esta muy guapo, no?" She raised a hand and stroked a finger down America's chest. America twitched again.

Finally, England raised his head. "Oi," he said loudly. "Who the bloody hell are you?"

"Don't say such things, Inglaterra, you know who I am. I'm Mexico," she said huffily.

France snapped his fingers. "You're ze one who keeps trying to move her stuff into Amerique's house, aren't you?"

America nodded. At the same time, Mexico shook her head. "No, that's not true! Estadounidense is my fiancé."

England spat out the drink of water he'd just taken, America shook his head violently, and France uncrossed his legs in shock. "What?" he asked.

"Not true," America said quickly, brushing beads of water off of his pants from where England had spat his mouthful out.

After wiping his face, England reached for a wad of napkins with which to wipe the table, then turned to Mexico. "Don't say rubbish like that! Especially if it isn't true! Bleeding gave me a heart attack!" He attacked the puddles on the table, still glaring at the tanned country.

Mexico put her hands on her hips. "Okay, okay, it may not be true now. But you watch! It will be!" She tossed her hair and flounced off, calling over her shoulder, "You can not escape destiny, mi amor!"

The three left at the booth watched her go and then turned to each other, unsure of how now to proceed. "Amerique, I had no idea you were so popular," France commented, returning smoothly to his wine. America laughed weakly and started to slip away back to his comics.

England, whose head had been laying on the table ever since he cleaned up his water, stopped him. "So…you're not actually marrying her," he said, not lifting his head.

"No, definitely not," America replied, approaching the table once more. "we're just neighbors."

"Yeah, well," England paused, then lifted his head and glared at America. "stay away from her."

"What? Why?"

"Because I ruddy well said so, that's why!"

"England," America said, an odd look entering his eyes. "Do you like Mexico?"

The Brit stared at his former colony darkly. "Not even a little. She's…not my type."

"Pray tell," France interjected. "What is your type?"

"Certainly not you, Frog," England replied tartly.

France laughed. "Ah, you are so CHARMING, Angleterre, it a wonder you are SINGLE all ze time!"

"I'd rather be single than with the likes of you!"

"Hah! You are simply jealous of my hair! You've always been jealous of big brother!"

America leaned back and laughed. "Oh, you two! Always fighting like a married couple."

"Perfect! Angleterre! When Amerique marries Mexico, you must marry me and we shall have ze most elegant double wedding ever!" France got all starry-eyed thinking about it.

England, on the other hand, looked distinctly ill. "Sod off, you. That's still not funny. I'm going home." He stood on uncertain legs, but collapsed back in the seat.

America frowned. "You need help, there?" England scowled but allowed America to hoist him up and throw one of his arms over his shoulders. "Here…I'll take you home…"

Still calmly sipping wine, France smirked. "Better hurry. Mexico won't like it if you're home late, Amerique."

"Stop it!" England burst out. "It's not. Bloody. Funny!" He put a finger in America's face. "I forbid you from consorting with her anymore! No more, d'you hear me?"

"You can't exactly stop me," America replied, grinning. "After all, she does live next to me. Who do you think you are, my mom?"

As England hung off of America's shoulder and glared at him, the two found themselves nose to nose. America grew very still and only the loud chatter of the bar was heard. "Don't look at me like that," England said quietly.

"Why?" America inquired just as softly.

"Because I'm very drunk and I don't know what I'll do," the abashed island country replied.

America got closer and closer to England's face, France held his breath, and…England fell dead asleep on America's shoulder. After taking a moment to process this, America shrieked "You're kidding me! You. Are. KIDDING me. I was almost there! This always happens!" France, just as disappointed as America, had nothing to say and so just laughed. America slid an arm under England's knees and hoisted him up bridal-style. "I guess I'll just take him home anyway." He bid France goodbye, walked a few paces away, then wheeled back around. "Hey, He's not gonna remember this tomorrow…is he?" He asked, sadly.

France shook his head. "Not a chance."

America looked his sleeping companion in the face wearily and headed for the door again. This wasn't the first time, nor the last. It would pay off, he knew it. He'd keep waiting. He waited a long time.

oOoOo

I'd be frustrated with England, too!