Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

This was a bad idea. No, this was a very bad idea. Evelyn subconsciously wrung the strap of her messenger bag between white-knuckled fists as she bit her lip and looked over her shoulder constantly. She had the look of someone haunted just waiting for their nightmare to appear so they bolt reentering the game of cat and mouse that nightmares so treasured.

She had sent that text to Arthur in a moment of calm fury. How dare he hide something so big, so unbelievable, so life-changing from her? Her eyes narrowed and jaw tightened at the cold fury traveling through her veins. How dare he treat her like some child in need of protection? She, her, Evelyn Summers, was no child! She was a full-grown adult capable of making her own decisions and he should have respected her enough to tell her the truth.

But what was the truth? Her wrath subsided as the word truth fluttered though her mind.

If what she had been told was true, then to Arthur, she was just a child, but that didn't make what he had done right or fair. The feared temper women could be known for rekindled itself in Evelyn's heart. She was barely in her second decade: old enough to drink, old enough to drive, old enough to carry a gun in defense of her country, but what was that to Arthur? He was hundreds—hell, thousands—of years old. She paused, her rage once again subsiding at the odd thoughts. The concept was easy to wrap her mind around but once she started to think it became difficult to wrap her mind around.

She also felt a hint of guilt which her anger had hidden. If Arthur had told her the truth, would she have believed him? Most likely not. She didn't believe it now and she had the records to back it up! Which made Arthur's decision not to tell her actually a wise choice. He probably never thought she would borrow his library card in America and find the documents she had.

There was something she didn't understand which made her feel she was missing something though. Francis had done most of the talking, but when he got to a certain part, he trailed off and told her to talk to Arthur if she wanted the rest of it. Of course, at the time, with the fake sympathy smile he had given her she had wanted to strangle him. Then the one with the fascination with anything she had in the apartment gave a comment she should go visit Arthur. She had sent the text, the Idiot Friends Trio chipped in to pay for her ticket and then the doubt and panic started to set in. Top it with her whirlwind of anger and she was on an emotional rollercoaster that was wearing her out more than her headaches had.

Her thoughts grabbed onto the chance to blame someone other than the kind Englishman who had graciously let her stay with him in her time of need. What was the trio hiding from her? Why had they taken interest in her in the first place? Sure, the Frenchman was a pervert at times, but he didn't just randomly kidnap people. Or at least she hoped not. An image of a bunch of random girls taking shelter at Arthur's house made it to her sleep deprived brain, but he had seemed lonely. And her sleep addled mind decided lonely men didn't have random girls stay with them for weeks on end. It just didn't happen. They hired hookers for a night, or at least that was what she gathered from T.V. Wait! Did that make her some kind of escort? She shook her head. Sleep, she needed sleep. Arthur had more than helped her. What if he didn't want to see her anymore now that she knew? They were freaking immortals for God's sake! Well, sort of. They represented the land and people and she still didn't fully understand it. Her headache got worse the more Francis—or should she call him France now?—talked.

The point was, she was mortal and not an escort who needed to be given a chance to right the wrongs in her life, this wasn't some story where she could still talk to them and see them. No, this was the cruel crushes of reality where Arthur would cut off all contact. She would also be watched by the MI6 or the CIA or M.A.D.D. or something like that making sure she didn't tell anyone. She felt tears well up at the thought of losing the comforting Englishman she had unofficially adopted as family. It wasn't like she would tell anyone about them. She didn't want some psycho trying to hurt her kind-hearted Arthur. Not to mention she would also probably be put in a psychiatric ward because no one would believe her.

None of this bothered her on the plane ride thanks to some epically strong pain killers courtesy of Student Health. The poor business man she sat next to also gave her his little pillow. He had looked rather nervous; maybe he was worried she would cry on him all flight. She took one pill just before boarding and was dead asleep for the entire flight. The flight attendant had to wake her up once they landed at Heathrow and the panic hit her again full force. Arthur was supposed to meet her on the other side of customs, but she was seriously considering turning around and going home. Sorry, there's been some mistake, I'm not supposed to be here, just let me back on the plane. She highly doubted that would work.

Evelyn grabbed her bags under the wary scrutiny of a security guard. Her anxiety was drawing the wrong kind of attention. They probably thought she was going to start some kind of trouble. Or maybe they thought she was a terrorist? God, don't let them take her aside, her nerves couldn't handle it. It probably didn't help that, before she had left Arthur, she had had nightmares about being caught with contraband that someone shoved in her bag and being locked in some dark leaky cell where she wouldn't see the light of day until she was sixty. She needed to stop watching Lifetime movies. They were messing with her subconscious.

The customs officer gave her the same look taking longer to check her passport, his look intensifying when she shakily answered she was here for pleasure. She had the momentary fear that they would think she was an escort, but no one pays to send an escort across the Atlantic and she dismissed her crazy thoughts. Not to mention she knew neither she nor Arthur was going to enjoy this conversation. Her headache was coming back and the anxiety was making her nausea worse.

Arthur stood outside customs just like he promised. He fidgeted constantly checking his watch, running a hand through his already wild hair, and tapping his foot on the terminal floor. For anyone who had seen this particular blonde waiting at the airport before, the hair mussing seemed to be some sort of coping mechanism for the man who seemed to have too many relatives from out of town. He glanced at those around him attempting to draw some calm from his people. They really weren't helping. They were generally excited, waiting for loved ones and friends; one child kept asking when her father was coming. The child's mother smiled responding, "Soon, soon." He straightened his shirt sleeve he had crinkled while checking his watch before he heard a gasping squeal. The little girl had charged from her mother's grasp into the safe arms of a handsome man who scooped her into his arms walking to the mother. The little girls babbling made him smile and gave his nerves the calm they so needed. It was a scene the nation had seen hundreds if not a thousand times and it renewed his love for his people every time.

He sighed, he could wish on any star he chose that his reunion would be just as joyful, but centuries of life told him a message saying we need to talk wasn't going to have a happy ending. She knew he had lied to her about himself. It wasn't a flat out lie in some cases but a lie of omission which he knew from years of experience was worse. God help the idiots that told her when he got his hands on them. He would remind them just why he was the greatest empire in the world! Maybe he would tie them up and dangle them out the tallest building in the world or drop them into the deepest part of the ocean. Or maybe he could just hang them from the ceiling fan and watch them as they spun around. He looked at the ceiling smiling as he swung his arms and rocked on his heels at the pleasant thoughts.

"Artie?" A deathly voice croaked.

Arthur startled. He had been so lost in thought he had forgot what he was here for. He turned to look at the zombie like girl. She looked like hell. No wonder it took her a while to get through customs; they probably thought she was some crazy mass murderer of some sort with the crazy hair, dried rubbed off drool and the dark circles under her eyes. He had seen worse, but horror moves had him keeping a distance between the two of them. His nation normally survived the zombie outbreak, right?

"Hello Evelyn. I hope your flight went well?" He smiled awkwardly at the girl.

She nodded playing with the strap on her bag. "I slept the whole time."

Her voice was hoarse, she felt like shit and Arthur was fidgeting away from her! Well he better or she'd go all American Revolution on his ass. Lie to her…what a dick…what kind of nice guy lies to a cute girl like her to keep her at his house longer than necessary? That ass probably hid her passport too!

Arthur gave the poor girl funny looks as he walked a little closer to her to keep her bob and weave walk as normal as possible. As they walked out into the sunlight and away from the crowds she only looked worse. There were large bags under her eyes, her face was flushed probably from fever and she was having trouble breathing. Those weren't zombie symptoms, right? They didn't strike true in his mind otherwise he would send her to France.

The American stumbled once as they approached his car. Arthur caught her keeping her upright with a firm grip on her upper arm and gave her a pointed look. Evelyn smiled sheepishly and tried to wave him off. He had raised too many young nations, however, and didn't believe her, and none of them had turned into zombies.

He led her to the passenger side making sure she was settled before taking her bags and placing them in the trunk. Sliding into the driver's seat, he checked on the girl again. She was slumped in her seat with her eyes closed, not sleeping, and breathing heavily. Even more concerned, he left the airport parking lot and headed home. He was going to be in for a long night.

He tapped his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel glancing over every other minute or so to check on her. Evelyn's skin was covered in sweat and she started shivering about halfway to the house. It was moments like these he didn't miss horse drawn carriages, the cars being much faster and all. He reached into the back seat keeping his eyes firmly on the road as he pulled his coat forward and draped it over the poor girl.

Arthur pulled into his driveway; it wasn't the fastest time he had ever made it home, but it was up in the top ten list. It's not like he had been speeding by a lot, but he knew where all the cops were and this was an emergency! There was another familiar car in his driveway—a green mini-cooper with the Welsh dragon on the roof. Arthur groaned he did not want to deal with his ass of an older twin. His groan disturbed Evelyn causing the American to startle into a state of semi-alertness squinting out the front windshield.

"Artie? Whassit?" She was slurring her words now and grasping for the car handle. She was definitely sick, but why?

"It's nothing. Let's get you inside." He hurried to the passenger side as she tried to get the door open grumbling as she kept hitting her arm on the handle. As he pulled the door open he got an armful of American who had been leaning on the door. Arthur grabbed her arm and gently pulled her out helping to get her feet under her. She stumbled, leaning heavily on him. The front door opened before he got there.

"How'd ya get inside so quick Artie?" At least she didn't sound like a zombie offspring anymore.

Arthur's twin, Bran, also known as Wales, stood in the doorway watching them curiously. His green eyes twinkled in that shit-eating way only Arthur had ever seen. Not that anyone believed him when he pointed it out. Bran dulled his grin for a more pathetic head tilt looking like a wide eyed cat, asking in a sweet (false) innocent voice, "Why are you bringing home a sick hooker?" Damn, he was going to kill his twin.

"I'm not a hooker!" It was the most animated Evelyn had been since she landed in London, but it still wasn't anywhere close to her usual volume.

"An escort is still a hooker love."

"Bran, why are you here?" Arthur asked exasperated. They ignored Evelyn's protest that just because France paid for her ticket didn't make her a hooker; she wasn't here for anyone's pleasure!

His twin snorted. "You're so jittery, I was getting nervous. I just assumed you were bringing home a prostitute." His eyes were still wide and innocent.

The Englishman glared at him saying through clenched teeth. "I'm not a virgin, Bran." He felt his ears and checks warm up as he growled at his twin.

The Welshman shot forward covering the girl's ears. "Arthur! There are children present." With his face towards Arthur he dropped the innocent look for a coy got-you-now look.

"Just because I'm short," she began before trailing off to pick back up. "I'm twenty-one…" Evelyn answered.

"Oh, so she is legal!" He removed his hands from the side of her face flashing Arthur teeth in his Cheshire cat grin.

Arthur gritted his teeth. "Bran, she's sick. I need to get her inside." He shoved past his twin (Evelyn denying she was a hooker and a child and a child hooker at that) and lowered the American onto the couch. She automatically curled up hugging the pillow to her chest as she pillowed her head on the arm rest. Suddenly she sat up looking clearly at Arthur before a snarl crossed her mouth.

She pointed at Arthur, "I still need to talk to you," she declared already falling to sleep and slumping back onto the couch.

"I know love, but you need to get better first." Arthur whispered covering her with the throw from the back of the couch.

Arthur gave the sleeping girl a sweet smile before turning and glaring daggers at his twin who was making an "aww" face in the doorway. Arthur snarled, grabbing his twin and dragging the giggling Welshman to the kitchen.

"Who is she?" Wales asked bashing his eyelashes at his twin innocently. "The only other times you've been like this is when one of the kids was bad off." He dropped the innocent look to give his darling twin a worried look. He would always help family. He loved family…and torturing family.

"Her name is Evelyn Summers. She's.." He began.

"The one Franny was talking about? Lloegr, do you honestly believe—?" Bran looked at him. This twin psychic thing wasn't working today.

"I think you already know the answer to that. And when were you talking to the frog?" Arthur snapped.

Bran shrugged. "I wanted to know if you knew it. Also, I didn't. Scotland was. North was eavesdropping and told me. You shouldn't have banned him from the house, you know, he was sulking the entire time."

Arthur smiled to himself. Of course Patrick ran to Bran. He didn't want any of his brothers coming over when Evelyn was staying because he didn't want them traumatizing her for life. Well, anymore than France already had. Something was niggling at the back of his mind…

"Wales, did you bring anyone with you?" He left the kitchen before his brother had time to answer going back to check on Evelyn. A lanky strawberry blonde teen was standing over her looking confused. He looked up when the twins entered, celery green eyes staring accusingly at his elder brother and caretaker.

"Why is there a girl here?" Patrick asked not trying to be quiet. "Is this why you kicked me out? You didn't want me to see your girlfriend. Or is she a hooker? Oh man, you brought a hooker here! You kicked me out for a hooker!" The teenaged nation then proceeded to throw a hysterical fit. "I grew up here and so did all the others. This is supposed to be our family house; I played on that couch! Now, you're ruining it by bringing home hookers! How could you?"

"I think he's going a little overboard," said Bran from behind his unresponsive twin.

"She is not a prostitute," the Englishman finally hissed. He was getting rather tired of his family mistaking her for one. He was a gentleman; he didn't need to hire an escort.

Evelyn started to twitch in her sleep, muttering and whimpering as she was caught in a nightmare. North recoiled all too familiar with his own nightmares. The American started to toss muttering barely coherent words. Arthur tried to quiet her smoothing back her sweat soaked hair. Her fever was getting worse.

"Cymru." Wales handed him a bowl of water and a cloth. Both of them had been through similar situations enough to know what to do without directions.

"What's wrong with her?" Patrick asked quietly and with a hint of fear. Evelyn's troubled sleep was reminding him too much of his own for comfort and he was beginning to shake.

"I don't know, Paddy." Arthur answered half-truthfully.

Bran put an arm around the young Kirkland's shoulders hugging him close and giving comfort while leading him away. Arthur wiped the sweat from Evelyn's face then placed the newly dampened cloth on her forehead. She was breathing heavily, whimpering from pain. He rubbed circles into her hand, whispering to calm her.

Evelyn opened her eyes a crack. They were glazed over and flitted wildly. "I'm sorry Iggy. I didn't mean…" She coughed violently bending over the side of the couch to help clear her lungs. He helped her back up worry settling in his stomach like a thousand pound weight when he saw blood on her lips. Arthur wiped it away gently shushing her. "It hurts." She whimpered moving closer to the Brit's comforting touch.

"I know pet," he whispered stroking her hair. "Everything will be all right. Just rest now."

She nodded; only a slight downward movement of her chin, but still a nod then closed her eyes again.

Arthur continued to rub circles into her hand with his thumb relaxing some as her breathing evened out. He laid her hand down gently recovering her with the blanket and picking up the bowl and washcloth to refresh the water.

Then Evelyn screamed.

A/N: I actually wanted to get this out over Thanksgiving break, but real life slapped me in the face. I made this one longer though to hopefully make up for the wait…then ended it with a cliff-hanger so that might negate it. I'll try to get the next chapter out faster.

To my anonymous reviewer, thank you for the corrections to my French! I would like to say though that I never said I knew the language. Hm, maybe I should put that in my disclaimer as well. I'm taking German and my beta knows Spanish so we're lacking in other language departments (she's also trying to learn Welsh which is a very pretty language if you ever get a chance to hear it).

Thank you for all my reviews and faves! Also to my beta Fallen-Snow (I think I've been misspelling her name for the last chapters; I'm so horrible _) who has been amazing with her content editing.

Reviews are loved!