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Part 19: England and France
The two had always had disagreements, from the moment they had met. England was a small child, and through the bullying of his brothers, had learned to trust no one. Call it what you will, but England always wanted to make sure that he was being cautious, as to not get taken advantage of.
When the Hundred Years War broke out, the fighting had become even worse. The death of Jeanne D'Arc tore them apart than they had ever been before, creating a rift of regret and hatred. France hated him for burning her alive and it took another century for England to truly begin to regret what he had done. England couldn't count how many times he had apologized to France for what he had done.
Centuries later the revolution began. France and England, while not being the best of friends, managed to be platonic in their relationship. Besides the occasional fight of course. When England lost, he found out the next day that he had lost because of France, and that if it wasn't for France helping America, America would have never won. It broke England in a new way, and he felt more depressed than he ever had in his life, even when he was alone as a child.
England locked himself in his room, and didn't come out for months. He was immortal, so the lack of food and water didn't kill him. It did make him week though, and when he finally emerged, he couldn't walk on his own.
Yet the first time he showed his skinny and naught face back at the world meetings, he caught more than hatred and resentment in the eyes of France. There was something else, something that strongly resembled pity. England ignored both France and America during the meeting, not wanting to see his former charge gloating. Mostly though, he didn't want to see the look of pity in the eyes of his enemy.
Then World War I and II happened. It was one of the few times that England had actually managed to get along with France to win something. By the end of the wars, some of the hatred and regret had disappeared. They didn't fight at every world meeting, France wasn't always perverted to him, and England didn't try to kick France in the balls whenever the opportunity arose.
They were at England's house the day they were together for tea and wine. England was doing embroidery, while France read the paper. It was something that they had begun to do once a week to stay in contact and to make sure that their precarious relationship stayed the same. For all they knew, their relationship could fall through the floor once again.
"England?" France suddenly said, raising his eyes from the paper.
"Hmm, yes?" England answered back, not looking up from his embroidery.
"How much longer do you think this can go on?"
"What go on?" England asked back, pricking his thumb on the needle. He wiped the blood away idly on his handkerchief.
"This. Just spending time like this, without fighting. Do you really think this can last forever?" France now went and put the paper on the table, focusing his eyes on England. England placed his needle work on the table, feeling that this was a conversation that he should put his all into. His green eyes met blue ones.
"I never thought that we would be permanent. I thought we were just enjoying the time while it lasted," England said, his eyes never leaving France's.
"England…" France said in a warning tone, one that said to not start a fight. England sighed, lowering his eyes.
"Are we really made to fight each other France? If you feel so, then we could stop these meetings. We can go back to fighting each other every second," England snapped.
"That's not what I meant-"
"Then what did you mean? You obviously meant something," England could feel his mind working at a mile a minute.
"I just wanted to know what you think. You don't need to get so antsy and panicked about it, chéri."
"Don't you cheri me," England said in a horrible French accent, "if you don't want to see me anymore than that is just what you have to say. I've been left alone before I can deal with it again," England snapped out harshly, his eyes glowing darkly. If he was standing, France would have taken a step back.
"You want to be left alone again? Fine! But don't you dare come crawling back to me when you need someone," France almost screamed at England before he walked right out England's house, not even grabbing his coat on the way out.
England sat back down with a thump in his seat, a part of his mind wondering when he had stood up. He stared down at the embroidery in front of him, before he got up and threw it in the trashcan under the sink.
England went and crawled back into his room, wondering why his heart hurt so badly, and why there was warmth flowing down his cheeks when there hadn't been before.
In his trash can was the embroidery that he had been making for France. It was simple, but he was putting more effort into this one piece than he had ever had before. There was no decoration on it, just a simple message needled in the pattern of the French flag.
Thank you Francis, for everything.