They stayed like that for a long while, neither daring to move lest the other take it the wrong way. But the sun eventually slid behind the horizon and off to warm a new day on the other side of the world, slowly siphoning the heat away from the chain of islands. Seychelles shivered slightly, despite the warmth of France's arms and regretfully stepped back so as to return to her cave and sleep.

"Do you have to return to the ships tonight," Seychelles asked and the red ribbon slipped out of France's hand and into hers. She tied it around her hair as France answered; finally getting those bothersome locks out of her face.

"Oh hon hon hon hon." France laughed his customary laugh, albeit quietly and Seychelles couldn't decide if she was relieved or annoyed.

"I wish I didn't, but…I may have been a little bit of a nuisance to my shipmates. I should really go and, ah…apologize."

Seychelles knew by 'apologize,' France meant 'make up an excuse.' She tried not to scold him.

"Right," she huffed. "That's understandable, I guess." She jerked her head lightly in the direction of the cave exit. "Shall we go?" France nodded and proceeded to follow her out of the cave.

They walked in a slightly uncomfortable silence until they reached the main exit and hit the dense trees, still illuminated - somewhat - by what little light remained from the receding sunset. Then Seychelles spoke. "How long are you going to be staying this time, France?" She chose not to look back, focusing instead on her foot work through the jungle.

"I believe we're staying for another week. My people are re-focusing their attempts of colonization here, while I work with you…" Seychelles thought he was about to say something else, with the way he inhaled, but no more words came forth.

Interesting. She had never heard France address the sailors as 'his people' before. And colonization? Would she have her own people someday? The thought sent a thrill down her spine and she grinned to herself, face shadowed so France couldn't see.

They reached the clearing, the point at which they would need to branch off in different directions. Seychelles turned around to meet France's eyes. "You'll come find me tomorrow morning, right? I have a lot of questions to ask you."

France groaned (how dare he?) and managed to produce a bemused smile. "Yes, yes, I'll find you. And I…look forward to answering your questions." He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and gave Seychelles a dainty salute, turning to go back to the beach.

She grinned and watched him go. "You're sure you can find you way back in the dark?"

Her answer was a resounding crash and the bushes in front of her shook violently. Then France's head poked around a tree and he winked at her while pulling a twig out of his messed-up hair. "That was just a…bat. Don't worry about me, Seychelles. For I am the one and only France. The darkness doesn't hinder me!"

And with that he stalked back off into the jungle, back to a probably worried Captain Morphey and the rest of his crew. She was sure he'd come back in one piece tomorrow. He was the one and only France, after all.

She touched her lips briefly with two fingers and wondered why life was so complicated.

I I I

Seychelles woke early the next morning and shot out of her cave like a cannonball on France's ship. Apparently they moved so fast that they broke stuff.

She certainly broke the helpless vegetation by trampling it as she ran towards the beach. She bounded effortlessly over random rocks and dodged around leaning leaves before skidding to a halt at the tree line, just in time to see France aligning his hat and making his way up the beach. She waved at him - the epitome of enthusiasm - and he raised his hand in a return gesture.

She was about to run out and hug him, but stopped – did last night change anything? Could she still hug him? Uh… As she was mulling this predicament over, France appeared and it didn't really matter because she didn't really need to hug him, it was just kinda nice…once in a while, that is. So she just grinned and rocked back and forth on her heels, hands clasped in front of her, waiting for him to say something.

He eyed her with an amused look on his face and crossed his arms over his chest.

"All of my men are on the ships right now – maintenance and all that. So we can go somewhere more open, if you would like." His smile changed to include a slightly wicked effect. He was probably just happy that he didn't have to do any work. Seychelles considered voicing this thought, but thought better of it. France would certainly be much too lazy to care. So she just rolled her eyes and started off into the trees. After a couple of seconds, she could hear France's refined and confident footsteps behind her.

They walked in silence for a few minutes until Seychelles broke through a wall of vines and into the Clearing-Where-Everything-Relevant-Seemed-to-Happen. She turned to France, smiled and found a nice patch of soft moss, promptly sitting on it. France eyed the patch wearily and poked it with his toe. When he was satisfied that it wasn't wet, or crawling, or clinging, or wasn't whatever it was he was worrying over, he sat down opposite her and – proceeded to pull a full-fledged picnic out of his bag. Typical.

"So…you said you had questions?" France struggled to yank an entire loaf of bread out of the brown leather.

"Oh…um, yeah." Seychelles wished that he would stop tugging on the loaf. It was horribly distracting – if it was so hard to get out then how in the world had he managed to fit it in? Finally, with one solid jerk and a matching grunt, the bread came free and Seychelles could begin to collect her thoughts. There was one thing that she really wanted to know – or at least glean a little bit more information from.

She cleared her throat, hating her hesitance and spoke. "How did I get my name, France?"

France stopped his hand halfway to his open mouth; the (suddenly) cheese never reaching it and raised an eyebrow. The resulting expression was really quite stupid and Seychelles would have laughed if it were not for the fact that she was morbidly curious and just wanted France to get on with his answer.

He closed his mouth and placed the slice on the bag and stroked his chin thoughtfully, staring off to her left. Seychelles wondered if his stubble was scratchy.

"Yes…about that." He continued to look not at her, but at a point over her shoulder and she resisted the urge to turn around and check if there was something there. After a couple of seconds, he removed his hand from his chin and looked over, holding her gaze.

"Viscount Jean Moreau de Séchelles is my minister of finance. My people and I had decided to name this island after him. But only this island. And yet…you are saying that, without a doubt, Séchelles is your name as a future Nation?"

Seychelles answered without hesitation. "Oh – yes, I'm very sure. But… but what about Mahé?" France blinked. "Séchelles is its new name, ma chéri."

The young lady worried at her bottom lip, absorbing this new information. This was strange… "But I like Mahé! And 'Seychelles' isn't just one island – it's…it's me; it's all of me. I don't really know how to describe…" Seychelles cocked her head to the side and looked at France. "But you know what I mean."

France eyed her in return, his voice low. "But of course I do. Hmm… If you say that you are Séchelles then that's who you are. I'm sure the current situation will change."

He ripped off a chunk of bread and chewed noisily, eliciting a strangled grunt of disgust from Seychelles.

"Right…" She looked away, fiddling with the hem of her dress. Oh! Speaking of names…

A few minutes passed, France munching, birds squawking, leaves rustling and Seychelles pondering. "Uhm…" She hesitated again (stop that!) and looked up at France… who was looking at her instead of eating all the food in sight. Damn…now he expected her to say something.

She looked down and smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in her blue dress.

"I…I talked to your captain yesterday." Seychelles didn't have to wait with apprehension seeing as France's immediate laughter saw fit to quell any anxious thoughts and convert them to confusion instead.

She sat patiently, as France extended a delicate finger, pointedly wiping a stray tear adhering to his long lashes, still chuckling. He smirked.

"Morphey, non?"

France's finger curled back to rest with the other and his hand fell casually to the side, fingers fiddling with the buckle on his dusty shoe. "Hmm… He's so lazy; I'm surprised he actually got up off of his ass for something that didn't directly concern him."

Seychelles scoffed and snatched a piece of bread from France's stash, nibbling it for something to do. "He did say he only wanted to speak to me because you weren't…well, working." She lowered her eyes, choosing not to tell France that whole 'treasuring their time' thing came from the captain.

The following silence was awkward. Seychelles remembered to break it.

"Anyways, my point is: he kept calling you something. A – a weird name. It sounds like 'France,' but it wasn't…er…isn't." She looked back up at him. "He kept calling you 'Francis.' What is that?"

France stared at her, his thumb and forefinger still infuriatingly busy playing with his shoe buckle. His expression was thoughtful and slightly aggravated. He sighed and closed his eyes for a couple of seconds before opening them again to look at her. After several repetitions of these facial expressions and slight exclamations Seychelles knew that he was preparing to explain something to her. She waited. And he obliged by answering.

"Normal humans can't know who we are. You, surely, can understand this." He paused while Seychelles nodded and continued. "Good. That being the case, we – the Nations – need normal, human names; so as to blend in." He paused again and Seychelles could've sworn he posed for her. "Mine is Francis Bonnefoy."

Oh. Well that made perfect sense. Which was strange seeing as the sense came from the mouth of France. Or Francis.

"Then what do I call you," Seychelles asked.

"Whatever your heart desires," France purred in return.

"Tch. Well, what about my human name? I'm going to be a colony soon, so I'm going to need a different name, too!" The young lady clasped her hands together, her eyes wide and hopeful – the French bread long forgotten beside her.

She suddenly noticed just how long France had been staring at her and she immediately tried to make her expression less 'cute.' He regarded her with narrowed eyes (stop scrutinizing!) and seemed to come to a decision.

"I can't deny that you'll become a colony. We're getting closer every day to claiming you."

Seychelles flinched. Claiming her? She wasn't an object! France didn't seem to notice and continued on. "So I guess it wouldn't hurt for you to choose a name." Seychelles jumped. She got to choose? In disbelief, she voiced her opinion. "I get to choose?"

France smiled. "Of course, ma chèri. I can't do everything for you." Seychelles laughed. Finally – some freedom! "I wouldn't want you to." Now it was France's turn to flinch and Seychelles to not notice.

Seychelles' grin dissolved as quickly as it had blossomed and she hung her head. "But I don't know any names."

If France had seemed glum, he certainly didn't look it now. His grin was wide and full of amusement. "Well – like I said – I'm not deciding this one. It's up to you, ma chèri."

"Stop calling me that."

Thousands of miles away – on the continent of North America – two men sat at a mahogany table. Its surface was like their expressions: pristine, protected and shined to perfection. The older of the two men took a delicate sip of tea and eyed the other eyeing his cup.

"I do hope you will drink that tea before it gets cold, my lad."

The boy contemplated pushing the tea far, far away. He took a sip and met his caretaker's gaze.

"Stop calling me that."

Back on Mahé, Seychelles was stumped. She really didn't have a clue what to do. She sighed rather loudly. She really needed to concentrate on things that sounded good because what else were names other than pretty, strange words? And she found that she couldn't really concentrate properly with France so near, although she couldn't think why, so maybe she should just move onto another subject, but what –

"Oh! France!" Her outburst must have surprised him because he jumped particularly high in the air and cursed particularly loudly and proceeded to glare at her.

"…Oui?"

"I want to learn how to write!"

France responded by groaning and dropping his head in his hands. "How does England manage it?" He muttered incessantly for a few seconds and then was interrupted by Seychelles. She had been waiting for a long time and she wanted to learn this important skill now.

"France! I need to know! Do you have any idea how annoying it is not to be able to read the names on your ships, or, or those maps your crew have? Reading is essential and I really, really need you to teach me. Please!"

France sighed again, as if the entire world had just told him that it was his to bear. He appraised her, almost judging her to see if she had what it took. He then turned to his bag and proceeded to dig around, (what more could he possibly have in there?) eventually pulling free a strange long thing and paper from the recesses of whatever else lived in there.

She started forward curiously, but was stopped when France held up his hand. "Attends, s'il vous-plait. I hope you realize that we I only have six days left with you here and we have an entire alphabet to contend with. There's a lot of memorization involved."

Seychelles nodded enthusiastically. "I memorized the numbers and dates and days and years and lots of history –"

"Oui, oui. Je sais. Bien travaille." France seemed tried for a proper explanation. He inhaled and Seychelles groaned mentally as she sensed another one of his rants coming. Soon enough –

"Language," he crooned, "especially the French language…is a beautiful thing. It must not be just memorized, but learned, nurtured, practiced, loved, ah, again, we see how love ties into many, many things…" He swiveled his head to look at her, his eyes burning brightly. "Are you ready, Séchelles, to learn the power of the written word?"

The almost-colony in question tried very hard not to roll her eyes. "What must I do? Oh, and what's that pointy thing?"

France started and looked down at his lap before realizing that she was talking about the quill. "Ah, em, that, ma chèri is a quill. It is used to write things on paper. In this case, letters of the alphabet."

"Oh, okay. …And what's an alphabet?"

France's eyes dulled significantly. This was going to be a long week.

I I I

"Ah, Eh, Ii, Oh, Ue…" Seychelles listed off the five vowels and wrote them down shakily on the paper.

France smiled wanly. "Bien travaille, Séchelles. Only twenty one more to go."

I I I

As it turned out, Seychelles didn't accomplish as much as she would have liked in their intense six day learning period. Well, as intense as France was willing to make it. She had learned and memorized the entire French alphabet. But that was about it. She had never tried to spell anything – there just hadn't been enough time. France was right, Seychelles admitted grudgingly. Learning a written language was hard – even if she did speak it. The best she had ever accomplished was spelling France's real name as 'Frances,' which he quickly corrected to 'Francis.' When Seychelles finally convinced him to tell her why it was so incorrect, she vowed to use it to her advantage someday, smiling sweetly.

I I I

The day came, again, signaling France's departure from her humble abode. They walked slowly side-by-side towards the ships. Seychelles hummed a made-up tune and France stayed silent. They reached the tree line. France stopped suddenly and put a hand on her shoulder to halt her steps. She smiled at him, questioning this. He spoke fluidly.

"Ma Séchelles… I want to give you a little something as a reward for your loyalty, you diligence and your hard work over the past years. It is hard sometimes, I know and I admire your ability to live so successfully." He halted and cleared his throat. "Ah, I know you like music – your singing is lovely – so I would like you to have this. It's a recorder. You blow into the mouthpiece and cover the holes with your fingers. I have a sheet here that outlines the basic notes."

He handed her the instrument – slender and made of beautifully stained wood – along with detailed diagrams of the fingering to make different notes. She looked on the back of the page (it was quite large) and saw the notes of 'Frère Jacques' written out on the back in France's handwriting – slender and curving and important looking.

She looked up, tears of happiness glazing over her eyes. She made a noise somewhere between a choke and a laugh and threw herself at France, forgetting about strange feelings, or kisses, or complications and simply hugging him for all that she was worth.

"Merci beaucoup, merci, merci, merci…"

France laughed into her brown hair and nodded, wrapping his arms around her slender body. He kissed the top of her head and Seychelles muffled a giggle.

"Something to remind you of me while I'm gone, non?"

The playfulness inside her deflated suddenly at these words. How long was he to be gone this time? What with the war, or wars, or the treaties to end wars, or the declaration of war… Just how long would she be without him this time?

Make sure you two treasure the time you have together…

Seychelles remembered this and tightened her hold on France, her one lifeline to everything else. The first tear squeezed itself down from within her eyelid and slid slowly down her cheek. A whistle sounded in the near distance.

"France… Thank you for everything. The recorder, the lessons, the answers… Hopefully I'll have a name chosen when you come back." Seychelles made sure to put stress on the 'when' because you never knew. "A-and…all the best with Canada."

He 'hmmm'd' in response and she couldn't tell if he was happy or saddened by her wishes. He dipped his head to kiss her on the temple and stepped away from her grasp, one hand trailing down her cheek, wiping away the tear before it came to rest by his side.

"Bonne chance, Séchelles et du rien." He smiled and placed a hand over his heart. "I will think of you always." And with that, he turned to walk down the beach towards his ships and his Canada.

Seychelles watched him go, her expression hardened by constant repetition of this exact scenario. But she couldn't help but think that this particular moment was…different somehow. As if each moment could alter a lifetime. She watched him climb the ropes to the main ship and saluted to him even though she knew he couldn't see it. She then turned away and studied Frère Jacques and the notes that made it exist. Oh… Just like the alphabet.

F, G, A, F… F, G, A, F… A, B, C… A, B, C

I I I

France stayed standing at the stern of the ship long after Mahé had disappeared beyond the horizon. Something nudged at the edges of his brain…something he had been trying to recall without success since he had left. Had he forgotten something? Yes…but what…?

"Ah. Dammit. I forgot to teach her about the accents."

AN - Oh my gosh, I am SO sorry about the wait. Why does school/life have to take up so much time...? Anyway, here's a longer-ish chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed, and thank you for the support! Keep it up and so shall I! :P 3

Footnotes:

Oh hon hon hon, colonization! Not quite yet, but soon - very soon. ;)

Okay, about the name. The French had already been planning to claim this chain of islands as a colony. They just hadn't gotten around to it yet. They had already named the large Island Mahé, but hadn't properly discovered the rest of the islands. So they chose to change the name in the hopes that that would be it's name as a country. I thought it was appropriate, though, for Seychelles to recognize her name as it was. It would just be a little bit...confusing for France. I hope I made that clear enough in the chapter. :)

Also, not sure if I've explained this, but France (and his crew) will continue to say Séchelles, while the country herself knows herself as 'Seychelles.' That's her actual name, Anglicized, so I thought it was fitting for her to call herself thus. Hope that's okay with you guys.

I had to write the little UK + US blurb, I just felt the need. :P

In case anyone doesn't know, 'Frances' is the feminine spelling and 'Francis' is the masculine spelling of the name.

France is heading to Canada to fight the Seven Years War, which we will get into at a later date. And accents in the French language are preeeetty important. Good job, Bonnefoy, good job.

Translations:

Attends, s'il vous-plait = wait please

Je sais. Bien travaille = I know. Good work.

Bonne chance, Séchelles et du rien = Good luck, Seychelles and you're welcome.

Due to the ominous looming of exams, there may be a long wait for the next chapter as well... But summer is fast approaching and that means writing time! Thank you all for sticking with me! It means a lot!