The Fleur de Lis made entirely of seashells and woven grass lay beside the slightly more tattered flap-y thing. The two items had lain in the same spot for almost a year now unless, of course, the young woman grew bored of waiting and turned them about around her fingers. Around, around, around, up, over, under, around – memorization.

Almost an entire year had gone by since she had started to make France's symbol. She knew he probably owned many of them, but she really couldn't think of anything else suitable.

She chewed a thumbnail and stared at the Fleur de Lis. It was rather large… What if France didn't like it, after all? What if he laughed at her with that infuriating 'Oh hon hon hon' of his?

She snorted and wiped her thumb off on her blue dress. Like she cared if he liked it or not. Well…it would be nice if he appreciated it a little bit since she had spent so much time making it just for him. …Why did she go through all that trouble anyway? Because she cared for him? Maybe just a little.

She glanced at the thing, shells shining in the blazing sunlight. And then at the crevasse where the coconut husk used to inhabit. She had decided to stop collecting the little shells after the first year because it sort of seemed a little cliché. What with all of her efforts to make a nice returning gift and all…she didn't want to come off as too clingy, right?

She brushed her fingers over her gift and the flap-y thing, respectively, before covering them up with palm fronds and making her way into the jungle. The sun would set soon and she felt like a good night's sleep tonight. Maybe she would see France soon. The thought perked her up and she trudged along her makeshift path towards her cave. Maybe France would be here tomorrow!

When he wasn't there after all, her frown lasted for only a second. It turned into a small, patient smile. She could wait. Waiting was nothing new for her, after all.

Ou es-tu? Ou es-tu?

I I I

When France finally did arrive, he made himself known to her in the most ridiculous way. But she probably should have expected it, considering France was always ridiculous.

She was sitting by the waterfalls, minding her own business and listening to the splattering of falling water onto rock. Her feet dangled into the river and she really couldn't have been more relaxed and carefree. She also hadn't been to the beach in a couple of days, having re-acquainted herself with this particular scene. It really was lovely.

She sighed and closed her eyes. Absolutely lovely. What she didn't hear was the pathetic excuse for a Nation sneaking up behind her.

"Et comment ça va, ma chère?"

"Sacrebleu!"

The young woman instinctively thrust her head out towards the unanticipated noise and successfully managed to head butt France squarely on the nose. Because of this, he stumbled backwards and somehow his foot managed to find the only vine existent on the very smooth patch of moss he stood upon. His arms flailed madly for a second before he tumbled and fumbled and crashed to the ground until he was definitely sitting upon the moss and certainly not standing.

The young woman stared in absolute shock at the man – at France – on the ground, in front of her, real, there, here – and she wouldn't lose it, oh no, not at all.

"I - I guess even the country of love can't trip and fall graciously…" Her words were slightly breathless, she was ashamed to admit.

He glared up at her, rubbing his nose making his next words slightly muffled. "You must understand that this was all planned, of course."

"And how's your face?"

He scowled. "Perfectly gorgeous, as usual."

They stayed like that for a few seconds, one smiling and the other grimacing slightly, until they really couldn't contain it anymore and the laughter burst through their lips like everyday spent apart never existed and after a few more seconds, the young woman was clutching her stomach

and France's customary "Oh hon hon hon hon" was punctuated by a few snorts – perfectly charming snorts, of course.

The young woman didn't bother to wipe the tears from her eyes and she reached out a hand to help France to his feet. He grasped it tightly and she couldn't help but laugh in delight at the first human contact she had had in almost two years.

When he stood she noticed at once that her eyes now reached his finely-stubbled chin. He noticed too.

"You have grown, ma chère."

"Hmm…" She really didn't have much to say at the moment. She was just really happy to have someone to talk to again. Even though it was France. Oh well…

She made to tug her hand out of his, but he kept his hold and brought it to his lips, brushing them against her knuckles, differently from the first time though. Longer, more sweetly… She smacked the back of her fingers against his chin in slight annoyance. Must he really do that?

He winked and (finally) let go of her hand as she sighed in exasperation. He opened his mouth, but she interrupted before he could say anything.

"Come with me. I want to give you something. And show you something."

France spluttered and immediately crossed his legs for some reason, insisting that she walk in front of him - "so she could lookout for vines." Alright-y then, she just wouldn't ask.

They walked in silence. The young woman was glad, really that they didn't talk. Her mind was going, going, going at one hundred miles per hour, thoughts flitting in front of her vision and dashing away just as quickly as they had appeared– and she was afraid that if she opened her mouth she would end up saying something stupid, but France was here now and everything was alright because now she had a – a – friend? Yes.

They reached the beach, but the young woman couldn't see the ships. Odd…perhaps they had settled on the far shore.

She checked to see if France was still behind her – he was, and reached down to remove the first palm frond – revealing her gift.

"Ma Fleur de Lis… C'est magnifique…"France bent over the symbol and picked it up hesitantly, as if afraid he might break it. He turned it around in his hands and threw her a questioning look over his shoulder.

The young woman scuffed the sand with her shoe, hands behind her back.

"It's made of the shells that represent the first year you were gone. Three hundred and sixty-five days in a year, right?"

She knew she was right, but he was kind of being really silent. Did he like it? Hate it? What? She waited anxiously for him to say something.

He nodded absently and when he looked up, she was relieved to see a big smile on his face. Not a smirk or a leer or a false emotion, but a real smile. He folded it up gently and placed it in a small bag hanging on his waist. When he had closed it properly he looked back up at her, expression thankful – not like him.

"Thank you, ma chère. No one, besides Canada has ever made something like this for me. It's beautiful."

She paused, astonished at his lack of criticism. "Um," was her intelligent reply. "Um…well, I'm good with my hands…"

France full-on choked this time before he plopped himself down onto the sand, crossing his legs yet again. Why did he keep doing that? Was it something she was saying?

He cut her off before she could say anything. "Is there anything else?" He gestured towards the second palm frond and the young woman remembered the strange flap-y thing. Right. France let out a relieved puff of air and readjusted his bag slightly to cover his lap while the unknowing young woman had her back turned.

"What's that coloured piece of fabric on your ships? What does it mean?"

H answered right away, finally used to her unyielding curiosity. "It's called a flag. Each country has a different flag with different colours to represent it. We have them on our ships to let other bastar- Nations know who we are."

"Oh." Well that explained things. So the 'flag' she had under the palm frond meant that it belonged to another country. How exciting! France would surely want to know about this. "Well, I found one different from yours!" She turned quickly and tugged the flag from underneath the leaf, holding it out to France.

He immediately stiffened and made to grab it from her, but she danced out of reach. The laugh died in her throat at the mutinous look France was giving the flag.

"Um…w-who does this belong to?"

France actually snarled. "An idiot, nothing more. Trust me, ma chère – you want nothing to do with this Nation. He thinks he's the best at everything he does, but – oh hon hon hon – I know the truth of it all. He can't cook, can't make friends, and his eyebrows…" At this, France shuddered and the young woman couldn't help but laugh.

"Eyebrows? Are they that bad?"

France nodded vigorously and clutched as his hair, messing it up slightly. "Hideous! And to think that I have kissed the hand that touched that pathetic excuse for a flag! Mon dieu!"

The young woman watched the century's old nation openly weep in front of her and considered comforting him, but thought better of it because she really did want to know who this "awful" Nation was now that her curiosity was piqued.

"Ferme-la, France." The young lady placed her hands on her hips and donned the best scowl she could muster.

"Tell. Me. Who. This. County. Is."

France scowled right back at her. "Fine! It's…England. And he's more of an empire, anyway. He took my top half once… But I'm still better than him, so don't worry."

Worry about what? The young woman shook her head. Honestly. France could be so…so weird sometimes. But England. So this was England. She wondered how much of France's story was really true. Was England actually that bad?

"England…" She tested the unfamiliarity of his name and it sounded strange and exciting on her tongue. France cursed in front of her. "Stupid Englishman."

She glanced at him for a second before her eyes wandered out to sea. She remembered that ship with the English flag that sailed past this island many months ago and the one that had stayed here hundreds of years ago. But she wouldn't tell him about that…not yet anyway. France followed her gaze and his eyes widened in understanding.

"One of the bastard's ships was here?" France leapt to his feet and within two strides he had grabbed the young woman's arm and forced her to turn her head towards his. "Did you see it? Him? Anything remotely English?" She shrunk back when confronted with the fire in his eyes – true French passion.

"N-no! He wasn't here! I j-just saw a ship sailing by a few months ago; it never came ashore!" She struggled as France searched for the truth in her eyes. Satisfied he had found it, he let her go and she pointedly took a step back, rubbing the spot on her arm where he had gripped it.

"Qu'est-ce qui ce passe, France?"She bit back the urge to whimper from the fear and the pain. "He's just a Nation…right?"

France scoffed and turned his head to the side. The following pause seemed to drag on forever, but the young woman was too afraid to say anything lest it was the wrong thing to say – but what was the wrong thing to say anyways? She couldn't seem to come to a decision, so she waited. And was ultimately caught way off guard when France finally answered.

"As much as I want to say yes, if I did I would be lying." The young lady looked at him, expression filled with shock now, rather than fear. She could almost picture his pride battling with what must be the truth – that England was a force to be reckoned with.

What had happened between these two? The young lady wondered, at a loss for what to say or do or think or speak or comfort or – what should she do? France was being so unlike France with that previous statement. It kind of scared her.

Before she could say anything, France turned towards her and spoke softly. "England, despite being a complete and total fool, has the ability to…obtain future colonies from their rightful owners. He's been at it for hundreds of years and…I don't want to lose you, ma chère."

And with that he turned and walked away, forgetting even to flip his hair behind his head like he usually did when he left.

And the young woman stood there. Unsure. Unstable. Uncertain. And suddenly very, very uneasy.

I I I

It was raining when France found her again. It was also night-time. The young woman was not in her customary cave, but sitting on the same smooth (except for that one vine) rock face overlooking the same waterfall. This time, France was sure to make himself heard as he walked arrogantly over to where she sat. She scooted over to make room for him.

"How do you keep finding me," she asked – a little hesitantly.

"Because I'm just so good." He flashed her one of his (supposedly) charming smiles, but she couldn't tell if it was faked or not. With France you just never knew.

She elbowed him in the ribs and he chuckled softly. "'S'not an answer…" She wasn't really sure why she was mumbling like this.

"…Mahé…" France looked up in surprise as that words left her lips. "What is that?"

France regarded her with pride (?) and replied, "It's what Monsieur Picaulte has decided to call this island. How did you know?"

The young lady merely shrugged and made a 'splish-splash' sound in the river with one bare foot. "It just kinda came to me. But it's only one part of me; I can tell. It's not my name. Not yet, anyway. So don't call me that."

"Oh hon hon hon hon!" Alright, I'll stick with 'Ma chère' for now."

The silence settled once again, stretched on and she sighed softly. She really thought they had gotten past the point of awkward silences. What had happened? As it usually is with silences, even the smallest sounds are heard. So when she emitted that sigh, France half turned his head towards her and started to speak.

"Ma chère… I really only returned here because my captain's mapping skills are so poor. I was really lucky to have been put on the second voyage here, especially with all the other shit happening." He cleared his throat. "I mean, stuff. But it's still really shitty stuff. Goddamn Austria, Goddamn England…makes my life so difficult."

(Who's Austria?)

He fidgeted and reached into his bag to pull out a piece of cheese. He offered her a corner and she shook her head, trying not to gag at the pungent smell.

"Roquefort et une fromage bonne. C'est du Français…" He trailed off, as if not knowing what to say or how to say it. He bit off a chunk of cheese and chewed slowly before swallowing. He opened his mouth to continue his train of thought.

"So…my crew and I have been ordered to explore the rest of the islands quickly and efficiently before heading back to help with the war. …Which means that I won't be here for long. And I don't know how long it'll be before I can return."

Oh…

The young lady refused to look at France and fiddled with the hem of her blue dress. "War sounds like an awful thing." She sniffed. Because it was colder at night, that's why.

France made an attempt at a laugh. "Oh yes, and bad for the complexion, too."

"Hmm… Um, when are you leaving?" Pleasepleasepleaseplease-

"Tomorrow afternoon." Oh…

She stood then, rather suddenly, nearly causing France to fall off of the rock in surprise. She turned towards him, waiting for him to stand up. Which he did, rather cautiously. Jeez, what did he expect her to do, attack him?

She cleared her throat and furiously tried to will the creeping blush away from her cheeks.

"Well…I guess I understand. It's tough to be a Nation, right?" France nodded and tilted his head to the side, waiting for her to continue. She did after a slight pause. "Um…I figured out how to say goodbye properly…"

She steeled herself and all but ran up to France and wrapped her arms around his middle, her face pressed down against his shoulder. For her first time ever embracing a living, breathing human/Nation/France, (because he had a category all to himself) she thought she was doing pretty well.

France, of course, being used to this sort of thing, relaxed immediately and placed his hands around her back, rubbing a soothing rhythm.

Slowly, slowly, her shoulders sank and she could almost feel the Frenchman smiling. Whether it was wicked or not…well… she didn't really care at the moment.

It's nice, the young lady thought, to finally be able to hug him without feeling stupid or scared. To just admit to him (and to herself) that she accepted him as a friend. They might not be able to see each other that often, but…but…friendship was nice.

Hmm…that cheese must've been sticking out of his bag at a really weird angle…

They pulled apart after a while (France surreptitiously maneuvered his bag) and the young lady simply couldn't stop grinning a silly, unnecessarily buoyant grin. She stopped, though, when she remembered their previous conversation. War…how awful.

France cupped her chin in his fingers for a brief moment before reaching into his bag to pull out – oh! Another one of those flowers…

"Une rose pour toi, ma chère. Et merci encore pour ton cadeau."

She took the…rose - what a pretty name…and smelled its perfume – no scent of Roquefort here! – Really lovely.

She glanced up – thanking him with her eyes and made to walk away, but looked back. Look out for me tomorrow, d'accord?"

"Ah~ But of course, ma chéri."

She frowned slightly at the change to her pet name – less formal now. She wasn't sure if she liked that… Oh well… It would seem rude to ask him to change it back, she reasoned with herself. She waved back at France who flipped his hair behind his shoulder – there we go – and waved back.

She knew exactly where she would see him off tomorrow…

AN - Yay! Next chapter done. :)

Translations - Ou es tu? = Where are you?
Et comment ça va, ma chère = And how are you, my dear?
Ferme-la, France = Shut up, France
Qu'est-ce qui ce passe, France = What's going on, France?
Roquefort et une fromage bonne. C'est du Français... = Roquefort is a good cheese. It's made in France...
Une rose pour toi, ma chère. Et merci encore pour ton cadeau. = A rose for you. And thanks again for your gift.
D'accord = okay/alright

Footnotes - The Fleur de Lis has been hanging around ever since King Clovis of the Franks used it as a sort-of emblem during the 5th century.
When France describes his 'top-half' being taken he is refering to 1415 during the Battle of Agincourt - the height of Joan of Arc.
This was the start of the height of The British Empire. England was very powerful in those days, always gain colonies fairly and unfairly.
Picaulte's mapping was poor, indeed and he ended up being sent back to Seychelles two years after his first visit. He named the main island Mahé after his patron Mahé de La Bourdonnais - a naval officer for the French East India Trading Company.
We learned about Roquefort cheese in French class. Apparently there's a legend that includes a shepard and a strange lady in a cave and somehow the shepard got cheese. I can't remember exactly. :P It's mouldy, though. Mmmmm...

So apparently 'stubbled' isn't a word. I pretty much died of disbelief when the squiggly red line formed underneath it. Stubbled is awesome. Geeze. Become a word, already.

Thanks for the support - reviewsssssss please! Love you!