September rolled around and the days became hotter. Seychelles prided herself on thinking more and more in terms of months and days, as opposed to having no idea which year it even was. She had, with the help of Quincy, put together a rough idea of when France had paid her visits in terms of years. Much to her dismay, she realized that the last time France had shown up was in 1754, and it was now 1801.

How the years had flown by…

She was currently studying a map of the West Indies, sitting on her standard cliff, as opposed to Quincy's cabin. The view faced south, which was where he would be if he were to come to the island by ship. Which he would. Someday soon. She was trying to get more of a solid idea of the other French colonies in the Indian Ocean that relied on each other.

There were two major colonies directly south of her little chain of islands: Réunion and Mauritius. Now, these two separate colonies were located on islands that were basically right beside each other, so they got off easy when it came to trade and exchanging resources. Her islands were way up off the north-western coast of a huge African island, the Kingdom of Merina. She had no other support in means of close-by little islands, but her colony, as well as those of Réunion and Mauritius' relied heavily on each other to survive.

It was very satisfying to finally become more involved with the inner-workings of her tiny home.

She looked up to see the usual smatterings of British ships in the distance. They never really seemed to leave well enough alone. She understood there was a system involved here and that her colony did not suffer from their presence, but it was kind of unnerving to constantly see them lurking around off-shore.

But, wait. There was something different…

She folded up the map and delicately placed them in between two rocky outcroppings, so that they wouldn't blow away. From the same general area, she pulled out her beat up spyglass that France had given her almost a century ago. She crawled as close as she could to the edge of the cliff and elongated the glass, looking off into the distance.

There was another ship, smaller, less magnificent than those of the British. She edged closer still and saw that it was named La Flêche. It was French?

Speaking of French… She squinted, making out the French flag flying at the top of the main mast.

The stupid idiots! They weren't even flying the capitulation flag! The British ships would have no problem tearing them to pieces, and they'd have a reason to do so!

Ah, c'est chiant!

Seychelles bit her lip in frustration as the nearest British ship began to pull away from its companions and made its way closer and closer to the French ship. Much to her despair, she heard shouting from both ships, orders to bring out the cannons and to prepare to fire.

At least both ships were armed with a fair advantage, but did they not realize how close they were to a settlement full of people? How many lives they risked by shooting not only in the vicinity of a colony, but at themselves as well?

Goddamn French/British rivalry – always getting in the way of logical thinking.

The battle that ensued was very evenly matched, and Seychelles could feel the tip of the spyglass digging into the skin surrounding her right eye, she was son on edge.

The French Captain expertly maneuvered his ship, like he had been at it for years. The Brits just couldn't seem to get any direct hits. Thankfully the cannonballs that were fired ended up striking the cliffs and the jungle, far away from the small civilization. However, the French cannons were most certainly finding their mark. The British ship was sustaining heavy damage; Seychelles could see the men scrambling about trying to patch up anything they could.

The British ship started peeling away, as if it understood it had taken too much damage to continue. Seychelles noticed the small French figures congratulating their captain, patting him on the back and not paying attention…!

Seychelles gasped as she caught sight once more of the British ship; it had turned and was making its way back to La Flêche, preparing to hit it broadside.

"Look out!" Seychelles cast all wariness to the wind as she screamed in vain to the French vessel. At the same instant, the British fired the rest of their canons, utterly destroying the port side of the French vessel.

The Captain barked out a short response, and the surviving members of his crew, in unison, executed perfect dives into the turquoise bay, hardly making a splash. Then, to Seychelles amazement, instead of surrendering to the victorious British ship, the Captain expertly spun the helm, veering sharply to starboard, and tied the wheel so that it would not budge. He then drew his sword and cut through the ropes of three hanging lanterns; their contents smashed on-deck, smearing the wood with oil. Several small fires were still burning from the excessive cannon fire earlier, and once oil met flame, the ship was history.

Silhouetted against the flames and waiting for the last possible moment, the Captain grabbed a length of rope already tied to the spars and, on impact, swung from his ruined vessel onto the beach, landing on his two feet, and did not move until his fancy hat had landed securely back upon his head.

The cheers and applause of his crew echoed in his wake, and Seychelles had to admit that the French could make a very classy exit, especially under such pressure.

But that landing… That perfect landing, falling hat included, looked so familiar. Like she had seen it performed somewhere before, but who…?

She edged as close as she dared to the precipice and focused her spyglass on the man's face. It couldn't be, could it?

Her jaw dropped, and her heart leaped simultaneously when she finally realized who had captained the ship.

It was France.

I I I

Small branches whipped at her face as she rushed down the natural path leading down from the cliff, but she didn't care. It was lucky she didn't turn an ankle, or something similar, considering how little she watched where her feet were going.

Fifty years! Fifty years and now he chooses to come back to me! What am I going to do? What am I going to say?

She hurtled down the last leg of the trail and veered left towards the beach. She decided that she didn't care that she didn't know what she was going to say, because France was here (he was really here!) and that was all that mattered, maybe, maybe everything would just be alright when she saw him, because that was what was supposed to happen, wasn't it?

She made it to the tree line just in time to see France shaking hands with the British Captain he had just fought, accepting a clap on the back with a bemused, uncertain look upon his face. Quincy was there as well, standing just off to the side, shaking his head in apparent amusement. A quick discussion followed and the two men walked back to the settlement to return to Quincy's cabin, leaving France standing alone on the sand.

What was with these people hating each other so much one day and just letting them go the next? It was all so confusing. And why did he have to be right out in the opeeeeen? Seychelles whined to herself and fidgeted from foot to foot, resisting the urge to just run out there and greet him.

He had met Quincy, of course, but how many times? Would he return to the cabin first or find her? How was he faring with the loss of Canada? With the French Revolution? She watched him for a few minutes as he stood on the beach, staring out to sea, his coat draped attractively over his right shoulder, showing off his wiry build by trapping the tighter white shirt he wore underneath.

Wait…attractively? Since when had she noticed so clearly his figure? The way his shirt clung to his back and the way he stood, radiating confidence. When she was younger, all she saw was the silliness, the eccentricities, the stereotypical French qualities, but now… Now she saw a Nation, the Nation who had tried to be there for her as much as possible. And his performance aboard La Flêche had really excited her in a way that she had never really experienced before.

Just how much had changed in fifty years?

She squeaked in astonishment as she realized just how far away from the settlement they really were. The smoldering remains of France's ship lay not fifty feet to the left, and his position would go easily unnoticed, unless someone took the trouble to purposefully stare at him.

Which she was doing now.

Merde.

Well. This was it then. The perfect opportunity. So why the hesitation?

Seychelles squeezed her eyes shut, exhaled quickly, and banished the thought from her mind. Slowly, she stepped away from the palm tree she was hiding behind, and made her way silently down the beach, towards her France, her friend, whom she had not seen in so long.

Her bare feet made no noise as she made her way closer towards the Nation, his back still turned. When she stood about three metres away, she called his name ever so softly, and stopped.

He stiffened, as if surprised that she was there, and slowly turned to face her.

They stood still for a few seconds, staring into each other's eyes. His were so blue…

"France?" She was whispering now.

At the sound of his name, France smiled. He removed his coat from his shoulder and dropped it to the ground, and straightened once more, not seeming to care about the sand. He stepped forward a few paces, closing the gap between them and reached out to touch her face, so similar to how he had left her the last time. His calloused fingertips brushed the hair out of her face and came to rest on her cheek, so soothing, so gentle.

She reached up to touch his hand, to confirm that France was really here, and that this was not just some beautiful dream that her mind had conjured up to satisfy her loneliness, but the real France, oh, France…

And with that, the tension broke and he laughed and pulled her into his arms, spinning her around and around, her blue dress swirling and twirling beneath her. And she laughed, in turn, burying her face into the crook of his neck; her arms held fast around his back, and she relished the feeling of being whole once more.

After an eternity, an hour, a lifetime, and a minute all at once, her feet touched solid ground once more and France realized he didn't have to bend over at all now to kiss her on the crown of her head.

"You've grown, ma chèri."

Seychelles beamed against France's shoulder, where she had decided to rest her head once more.

"And you, mon chère have really learned how to impress me. I saw what you did on La Flêche. I honestly didn't know you had it in you."

She leaned back and smiled coyly at the mischievous expression adorning France's still artistically stubbled face.

He responded by grabbing her wrist and twirling her on the spot, laughing at her surprised cry. He pulled her, off-balance, against him and placed his hand behind her back, lowering her body almost to the ground before pushing her up once more, finishing with a secondary twirl and pulling her close, excitingly close.

"There are many ways to impress a lady, oh hon hon hon. I'm glad I could be of some, ah, service to you there, ma chèri."

"Oh, ha, ha, France," she rebuked, just a little breathlessly, before stepping back a pace, still holding his hands within her own. She gazed once more into his eyes, noting the still present haggard, stressful look that had tugged at her heart the last time he had been here. They had argued about nothing that time… She vowed it would not happen this time. This time, she would do whatever she could to help him get through his suffering. Because friends supported each other.

"I…I've really missed you, ya know." She looked down, embarrassed and shuffled her feet. "You've, um, you've been gone a long time, France."

The sun had set a while previous and the stars had just started to appear in the sky. A warm breeze surrounded the pair, playfully tousling the Nations' hair and ruffling Seychelles dress.

She heard France sigh, long and resigned. He gently clasped her chin with one hand and raised her face so that he was looking once more into her eyes.

"Séchelles, I… I am so sorry."

Her eyes widened at this uncharacteristic apology. What…?

"I realize I have been gone far too long, especially considering I was the only one really there for you during your youth. And… I need you to understand, ma chèri, that I know that you feel neglected. I know how hard it is to feel abandoned as a Nation, when the only real presence in your life had been that of another Nation. And for my prolonged absence, I am truly sorry. Howver…"

Here, he paused, as if struggling to continue. He dropped his hand from her chin.

Seychelles, in turn, reached for his face, hoping to convey a sense of understanding. He leaned into her touch and opened his mouth to continue, yet, she silenced him by placing a finger on his lips.

"France…I… I've grown a lot in the past fifty years, I really have. I've tried my best to learn what's been going on and what's currently going on. I, dammit, I… I know how hard you fought to keep Canada, and how awful the end result must still feel. I know how everything's upside down in your county these days; I actually wondered if maybe you weren't even safe there right now, what with the whole anti-monarchy thing going on.

"I may not understand how you're feeling right now, but I want you to know I take nothing personally. Yeah, it's sad that I haven't seen you in such a long time, but I know how much others need you as well. Those days of jealousy are behind me, okay? Now all I want is to see you happy. Is…that what you wanted to say?"

France visibly relaxed, the tension falling from his shoulders, and he laughed. One of the first genuine, non-on hon hon hon-y laughs she had heard from him in, well, ever now that she thought about it.

Oui, Séchelles, that's exactly what I was hoping I would be able to say. You've, hmm, seem to have stolen the words from my very heart of hearts."

She rolled her eyes and grinned, pulling him once more into a soft embrace.

"Still a hopeless romantic, I see."

He chuckled and returned the hug, only to pull away shortly after.

"I am the one and only France, after all."

His suggestive eyebrow waggle was interrupted by a long, loud yawn, which he (thankfully) remembered to direct away from Seychelles' face.

"Okay, you," she said quietly, picking up his dark blue jacket and taking his hand. "I'm sure you've had a hell of a long voyage, so you can stay in my room tonight. I'm sure Jean will understand."

France raised an eyebrow and followed her lead.

"You're on a first name basis with Quincy, I see. Exactly how long have you two been together?"

Seychelles frowned and chanced a glance at France, to her right, still holding her hand. He was looking at her intently and she really hoped it wouldn't be him this time playing the jealous part.

"Well, I wouldn't call it together; he's just my teacher. But if you must know, I first made contact with him about seven years ago."

France cleared his throat and looked away before responding with a curt: "I see."

The Nation-to be furrowed her eyebrows and huffed in disbelief.

"I knew it: you're the one who's jealous now!"

France rolled his eyes but said nothing. He put a finger to his lips and gestured to their surroundings – they were now at the edge of the settlement and could not bring any attention to themselves.

By now it was quite late, and Seychelles could hear Quincy's snoring from his bedroom. There was neither sight nor sound of the British Captain who had accompanied him here earlier. Seychelles assumed he had gone back to his ship.

France raised his eyes, incredulous, and pointed at the cabin with his thumb.

"You even sleep in the same building as him?"

"In a spare room, but yes! What's so wrong with that, Monsieur jaloux?"

Seychelles now had to try very hard to keep her voice down, as France opened the door and gestured that she precede him through the entrance way. She returned his incredulousness.

"Where do you expect me to sleep – in bed with you?"

France scoffed, still holding the door open.

"Well, yes, that was the general idea."

"I don't see you for fifty years and you expect me to sleep with you?!"

France 'pfft'd' and tried unsuccessfully to lean charmingly against the door frame.

"Ma chère, if you insist…"

Seychelles threw up her hands in frustration, crossing her arms afterwards.

"This is no joking matter, France! I'm doing this for your own good. You'll, um, get more rest without someone else beside you to, uh, distract you. And to be completely honest I don't want to share a bed with you after fifty years – it's just too much, okay?"

Her speech ended in a shrill whisper, and she stared up at France, fiercely refusing (did she really not want this?) to give in to his proposition.

"…Fine."

"Fine."

And with that, the door closed, and she was left reeling once more.

An - trolololo grown up Seychelles is grown up. She's able to bring out the darker side of France, methinks...

Translations: C'est chiant = this is bloody terrible! Monsieur jaloux = Mr. Jealous

Historical references: On September 15th, 1801, the battle for La Flêche was fought. There was a French ship that randomly picked a fight with and English ship, therefore, who better to Captain this vessel than our lovely Francis?! :P How it went down was basically how I described it in the chapter. And there were no consequences, apparently. Also, I thought it was funny that the British Captain congratulated his French counterpart. Sooo wrong, but historically documented...

Not much happened history wise in this chapter - lotsa France-y/Seychelles goodness, if I do say so myself. Why do they always manage to screw everything up between them, geeze?

Stay tuned for more, and thank you so much for the support!Leave a review if you liked it! :)