Disclaimer: I regret to inform you that I own NOTHING in Hetalia Axis Powers.

A/N: I am eternally sorry! I had no intentions of it taking this long to update...but before I knew it, I had college finals...and now I have my senior final exams in two weeks. That's not even counting the constant pile of calc, writing my graduation speech, planning my graduation party... everything. I whole-heartedly apologize for the inconvenience! That being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I had to re-write certain parts SEVERAL times because I wanted to make sure I didn't make the characters too OC-ish. I think I accomplished that(?) If you could review and let me know if I succeeded, I would greatly appriciate it! Enjoy~~

"Confessions"

Francis held Arthur for a solid ten minutes before the sea captain calmed his breathing enough to speak. He stroked the sun-bleached blond hair softly as he whispered soft reassuring idioms in French to sooth Arthur's anxious nerves. The Englishman's actions worried Francis, but he was determined not to let it show. Although Arthur always portrayed unfaltering strength, the Frenchman knew that even he had his breaking points. He had only seen Arthur like this once before, and that was after Alfred had left England to gain his independence in America. Arthur had been absolutely broken after the separation, but Francis had been there to help pick up the pieces—to help the Englishman move forward.

"Mon cher," Francis tested guardedly. He did not want to push Arthur into talking if he wasn't ready; however, he was starting to get extremely concerned over the sea captain's behavior. It was not often that Arthur cried—especially in front of Francis. As cute as he was—clutching to the Frenchman and trying to calm his jagged breathing—Francis did not like to see the other man in pain, despite popular belief.

In response to the Frenchman's words, Arthur turned his head up in acknowledgement as he tried to calm himself down. Although Francis did not enjoy the tears still brightening Arthur's eyes, he was happy to have a reaction from the blonde other than relentless crying. As far as he was concerned, they were making progress. "Arthur," he tested again. Moments later, when the addressed man took a deep breath and nodded, Francis knew that he had been given his cue. The Frenchman placed a faithful kiss against the sea captain's forehead before drawing him close once more for a quick hug. "Will you tell me what has troubled you, mon cher? Please? I can't make it better if you won't let me." Francis waited as he observed the quick flash of emotion that crossed Arthur's mien—so brief that most people would have missed it. One had to be well trained in the expressions of Arthur Kirkland to catch the flickers of emotions such as fear and guilt—for they were not often displayed.

Indecision danced in the emerald green eyes that were focused on the Frenchman. There were several minutes of anticipating silence before Arthur closed his eyes and let a deep sigh escape his throat. I can't hide from him forever… he'll find out eventually. It's now or never… The sea captain took one last deep breath to calm his lingering nerves before opening his mouth to speak. Where to start? "You can't."

Francis was confused, to say the least. His lips tugged downward into a perplexed frown, "What do you mean, I can't? What can't I do?"

"You said…" Arthur closed his eyes, forcing the tears that threatened his eyes not to expose themselves. "You said that you could fix it…but you can't. Nobody can."

"Mon amore, what have I told you about underestimating my ability. Give me more credit!" Francis paused for a second before tagging on, "I am French; I can do anything," in hopes of provoking a smile, or at least an eye roll from his blonde.

It worked…kind of. Arthur let out a choked laugh-sob-thing before turning his eyes back to Francis, in a desperate attempt to make him understand. "Francis, you don't get it. Not even you can fix this… I've ruined everything." At this statement, memories of shattered glass and broken wooden frames cluttered the Englishman's vision. Tears once again could not be held back as the strength that Arthur had worked to install slipped again. "…everything." The sea captain's face fell once more in an attempt to veil the shame and torment that were sure to be reflected. He won't even want to fix it once he finds out why I'm a pitiful, disgusting, crying mess.

Once again, Francis caught the flash of emotion rush across his face. Instead of allowing him the chance to avoid speaking, Francis took Arthur's chin delicately, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Arthur, mon cher, do not tell me what I can and cannot fix—especially when they are injuries of the heart. Those are the types of wounds I am best at repairing." The seriousness in the Frenchman's voice startled Arthur momentarily, but it did help still his frantic breathing. Francis brought his forehead forward to meet Arthur's, "Now, tell me why you are crying. Let me take care of you—like I promised."

Immediately, Arthur's eyes widened. "That promise is gone, Francis! That's the problem!" he exploded. "You owe me nothing—I deserve nothing! As much as I hate it, nothing can go back to how it was before!"

Confusion clouded Francis' demeanor as he cocked an eyebrow. "Excusez-moi?" A frown settled upon his lips, "I made no such declaration. My promise still stands, whether you like it or not, mon cher."

"Francis, you don't understand!" Arthur began, "Alfred—"

The Frenchman felt a growl build in his throat. Of course that idiot would be the cause of whatever dilemma was distressing his Englishman. "Arthur. What did that incompetent, witless pig do to upset you this time?"

The look in Francis' eyes startled Arthur momentarily. Everything about that gaze screamed seething ire. Vengeful. Protective. Possessive. It was enough to make Arthur stumble over his next words. "Fra-Francis… don't…"

The Frenchman's eyes narrowed. "What. Did. He. Do?" When Arthur only looked hesitant, Francis pursued his demand. "I'm serious. If that arrogant, gluttonous imp took liberties..." Francis' teeth ground together harshly, "I'll…"

The Englishman felt a rush of heat surge through him. Francis looks so sexy when he is being protective. His cheeks flushed radiantly at the thought of Francis defending him. He actually cares… Guilt immediately annihilated the previous thoughts of affection. The truth is going to kill him... I hate myself for it, but I have to tell him. He deserves it... he deserves so much better. With his eyes still downcast, Arthur shook his head.

"No?" Francis questioned. "No, what, mon amour?"

Arthur lifted his eyes sullenly, "He took no liberties."

Relief seemed to flood the Frenchman's features. "Then what has he done?"

Arthur sat silently for several seconds before he pulled himself to his feet and trailed over to the far side of his cabin, kneeling before the old sea chest before him. Francis watched with curious eyes as the Englishman sifted through the trunk's contents before pulling out a worn box. Arthur then returned to his original position and pushed the mysterious box toward the Frenchman. The silence of the entire sequence unnerved Francis, but he took the box with steady hands.

Before unveiling its contents, Francis glanced once more at his seaman, only to discover downcast eyes. So broken… Tentatively, he removed the lid to expose a shattered mess that he did not initially recognize. Shattered glass? Broken wood? What is the significance—oh. Francis took the severed figurehead delicately between his fingers.

"Your replica of La Fleur? He broke this?" Francis asked with inquisitiveness.

Arthur's eyes seemed to dim even more, if that were possible. "I… I tried to stop him, Francis. I did, but…" He took a breath to settle his nerves, "…I failed." Francis prepared to deny his statement, but was cut off by a rush of Arthur's words. "I'm really sorry. I know you have to hate me for this… but I don't think you can hate me more than I do myself. I let this happen—I destroyed your gift—your promise. I'm really, really sorry, Francis."

The Frenchman took in the image of the visibly distressed seaman before him. "Mon amour, you owe me no apology." No response. "Do not blame yourself; Alfred was the one who broke it, oui? Blame the American idiot, not yourself! You know that he is a force to be reckoned with; it was only a matter of time before he broke something of importance." A scoff." Arthur, it is only a replica. If you are so upset, I will have another created for you; as soon as I return to France, I'll—" A response.

Arthur's eyes displayed every variation of appalled agony. "Francis, it can't just be replaced!"

"Of course it can; I'll contact my—"

"You're missing the point! This ship—this exact replica is special. There are memories attached to it—promises. You can't just replace those!" His shoulders visibly heaved, jagged with uneven breathing.

Francis subconsciously frowned. "Arthur, your replica may be broken, but those memories will always be there—my promise to you us permanently intact. Always."

A slight pout formed on the Englishman's lips, "But… Francis…"

Francis pulled Arthur to him, wrapping the seaman in his arms. "Shh, mon amour, I will have another replica of La Fleur crafted for you. You cannot get rid of me that easily." The Frenchman captured Arthur's chin between his thumb and forefinger, searching his eyes for what he knew was present. Doubt.

Francis drew closer, savoring the feel of Arthur's breath against his lips. He placed a chaste kiss against his lover's lips and felt the shiver that ran through the Englishman's core. Ever so gently, he allowed his lips to caress the beautiful pout that graced Arthur's features. I will wait, mon amour. For you, I would wait a lifetime. As Francis had hoped, the Englishman tentatively lowered his defenses and moved his lips against the soft ministrations. Their kiss—the first one in over fourteen months— leisurely grew deeper. There was no tongue; there were only two pairs of lips moving together—working to reconnect the spirits that had been separated for far too long. When Francis found himself in need of air, he withdrew his lips, allowing them to hover mere millimeters from his Englishman's. Through parted lips, he whispered, "Je t'aime. Plus que vous ne pouvez l'imaginer. Je t'aime, Arthur."

Arthur did not understand the entirety of what had come out of Francis' mouth, but he did not care. He closed the distance between them once more, nuzzling his head into the Frenchman's chest. I don't know if he is right…if everything will be alright, like he promises. But I do know that right here, in his arms… I feel safe. For the first time in a long time… I feel whole.

Translation: "Je t'aime. Plus que vous ne pouvez l'imaginer. Je t'aime, Arthur." - I love you. More than you can possibly imagine. I love you, Arthur. **I do not speak French, so I apologize if there are any errors in the grammar. You may blame Google Translate. ^_^

A/N: Thank you again for reading! Again, my apologies for the delayed update-especially to FrUKisLove, who has been a constant source of support in the making of this story. Thank you to all reviewers and everyone who has continued to follow "A Priceless Gift." You are my inspiration. Until next time~