*awkward laughter*

Hey guys... been a little while... heh, yeah. Uh, sorry, truly. And I apologize in advance for this chapter but I felt like I had to get something up and posted. It's about half the length of the previous chapters, but hey, the plot's back with the four guys in London. That's good, right?

Please don't kill me.

Anyways, the short of it is that I'd hit a bout of writer's block at just about the time I'd started on finals at school. So, it's kinda been hard to write. But, my writer's block has ended (yay, though I still have exams in a week) and I managed to get a semblance of chapter written. Its pretty much a set-up chapter for the next one. Still, I hope you wonderful people enjoy this, and I absolutely love your reviews, favorites, and alerts.

Punmaster Extrordinaire: Thank you so much for your praise. I'm truly honored. I'm also happy that you like the chapter titles, I'll try to keep them interesting.

YoungPhoenix00: Thanks! =)

Love-Me-Insanity: Yeah, it can be hard to keep track of who's who, I sometimes lose track when I'm writing them. But I'm happy that you find my descriptions sufficient.

Lacri: *more awkward laughter* Hmmmm, yes Romano, I wonder what will happen to him... (I've been debating with myself about adding him to the story).

kurichan729: Yeah, I'll admit the chapter was a little repetitive, thanks for pointing that out. It can be hard to get everything I want down without sounding too much like a broken record player. But thanks for the love, it's greatly treasured. =)

Japanese Sinister: Yes, I'm having great amounts of fun with this, so I'm glad you're having fun too.

LunaWing118: Thanks! =)

i am veeery bored: I'm glad I made you laugh. BTW I love your name, it made me laugh.

England blearily stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes tiredly in an attempt to dispel the haze of sleep. Oh, how he had hoped the past day's events had all been a dream. Waking up this morning in his own bed, comfortable and alone, the British nation had a faint glimmer of hope that yesterday had all been just one big nightmare. That glimmer had been shattered when, upon clambering out from underneath the covers, he had caught a glimpse of his reflection in the closet mirror. In that one reflection, any hope of normalcy had been obliterated. Instead of seeing his own green eyes staring back at him from the reflective surface, he saw a disgruntled blue-eyed Frenchman.

That's just bloody brilliant, England had thought, brushing the annoyingly long hair back behind his ears. The hair, however, had refused to stay in place. And so, sighing as he swept the strands out of his eyes, the British nation had dragged his feet over to the dresser. Digging out a long-forgotten hair tie, he had swiftly pulled the chin-length hair back into a messy that had been fixed, England had changed out of his pyjamas into a pair of dark brown trousers and a white shirt with a blue pullover.

Much better, he had thought, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he glanced back at the mirror. Huffing in discontentment, the British nation had walked out the bedroom door and towards the large, wooden staircase. Making his way down the oak steps, England reached the ground floor and headed towards the kitchen.

And that's where he was now, shuffling tiredly into the kitchen as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

England walked across the room, heading straight for the kettle. He had only one thing on his mind, and that was tea. Before anything else, there must be tea.

"Mornin'," came an unenthusiastic greeting.

Startled, the British nation paused mid-step. Turning his head to face the person who'd spoken, he blinked in surprise to see both France and America sitting at the kitchen table. (England was reluctantly getting used to identifying the correct nation despite the body-switching.) The two nations each had a steaming cup in front of them, and England was somewhat pleased to see a ready-made pot of tea and accompanying mug resting on the table.

"Yes, good morning," he replied to America as he walked up to the table and poured himself a mug of the hot liquid. Taking a quick sip, he briefly closed his eyes as he relished the comforting taste of tea. England sighed in contentment before peering over the rim of the mug at the two out-of-place nations.

"You two are looking awfully dismal."

America grunted in response, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he looked up at the British nation. "Uuuhh," he moaned, "Canada's body wakes up way too early. It wouldn't let me go back to sleep even though I'm the one controlling it," he complained as he rested his head on the table. "This sucks."

England raised his eyebrows at the American's whining. The superpower made it seem as if waking up before 9 o'clock was an unbearable tragedy. The British nation glanced over to the digital clock on the rarely used stove.

8:52

Hmm, that's not too bad. About the time I usually wake up at. England looked back at the two nations. He was about to ask the pair what time they had woken up at when he noticed France glaring at him. The nation in question had his hands tightly clasped around his mug of tea.

"You, my friend," he said seriously, brining his cup up to his lips, "have an addiction." He finished the mug, placing it back on the table as he reached for the teapot. He poured himself a new cup and immediately took another sip. "This is my fourth cup," he said, looking down at his mug. "Your body is screaming at me to drink this greenish liquid, and I can't do anything to stop it." He looked back at England. "It's like an obsession."

England blinked, glancing down at his own cup of tea before giving France a sceptical look. "An obsession, huh?" He pretentiously took a sip from his mug. "If anyone here has an obsession with something, it'd be you – what with your amour and your frenchy-things."

"L'amour is something to be obsessed about."

"Oh shut up, you wanker."

"At least I know how to use my–"

"Dude," America cut in as loudly as he could manage. "Don't even go there. I so don't want you European dudes comparing your southern bits in my hero-presence."

England spluttered unattractively. "We– we weren't doing that," he said self-consciously, face burning.

"Actually, Angleterre, we were," France declared with a smirk.

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" England glared at the grinning Frenchman before turning to face America. "And you," he said forcefully, gaining a bemused look from the American, "why are you drinking tea?" he asked, trying to change the subject. "I thought you said you hated the stuff."

"I don't hate it," America replied honestly. "I just kinda, you know, lost my taste for it… after the whole…. independence thing," he finished awkwardly.

"Oh, yes, that," England bit out between clenched teeth. He hated being reminded of the revolution. One of the only wars he'd ever lost and it had to be against the American. "Well then," he said crossly, "if you've lost your taste for it, why are you drinking it now?"

"Oh, well, you see," America said earnestly, happy to be moving away from sensitive topics, "Canada's body doesn't mind the taste of tea, so right now it tastes perfectly fine."

"Oh," England grunted in response, feeling a bit putout from the reference of the revolution – it hadn't been a very good time for him. Sighing, he walked over to an empty chair and sat down at the table. Leaning back in his seat, he took a small sip of tea before gently placing his mug on the table's surface.

"So…" America trailed off awkwardly as he tried to keep the conversation going, "…when do you think the other nations are gonna get here?"

"In an hour or so, most likely," France responded offhandedly, finishing off yet another cup of tea. "However, the more important question is – when do you think mon chère Canada is going to wake up?" The Frenchman craned his head to look down the hallway, as if hoping that the mere mention of the shy nation would make him appear.

"Yeah, dude," America said as he slumped in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's not fair that he gets to sleep in. He totally got the better end of this body-switching deal. Not cool. We should go wake him up."

France smirked suggestively. "I know just the thing to do," he said, pushing his chair back. He was about to stand up when England shot him a disapproving glare.

"I really hope you're not going to do what I think you're going to do," he said reproachfully. "And if that was your plan, then I suggest you revise it."

"But Angleterre..."

"No," England retorted.

"But I'll be in a different room. You won't even see me–"

"But I'll know." The British nation glared at the Frenchman. "And it's my bloody body, so don't even–"

"Mais tu as promis," France whined, and England winced at his use of French. "As long as we're in a different room, you said it was alright."

"Well I've changed my mind!" England declared quickly, scowling at the nation across from him. "And don't give me that look, you frog. I'm not going to let you and wake up poor Canada like that."

"Hey, guys," America declared, jumping into the conversation, "I don't think that's gonna matter anymore 'cause I can hear him coming down the stairs."

England blinked in surprise at the American, having completely forgotten he was there. My god, it was like he turned invisible. England smirked. If only he could be like that all the time, it would be brilliant. Pushing those thoughts aside, the British nation turned to face the kitchen doorway. America was right; Canada had managed to make his way to the end of the hall and was currently standing at the entrance of the kitchen. England raised an eyebrow as the shy nation hovered by the doorframe, wringing his hands in the material of the large, blue shirt he wore. The kitchen's occupants waited a few more moments, waiting for the Canadian to enter the room, but the northern nation merely ducked his head and coughed awkwardly.

England rolled his eyes at the exceptionally insecure nation. "Well, come in, lad. It's about time you woke up."

"Yeah dude," America added, "just 'cause you get my body doesn't mean you get to sleep in."

"I-I'm sorry," Canada apologized, his voice booming in the small kitchen as he timidly made his way into the room. "I s-swear I didn't mean to."

Gods, that voice is loud, England thought, cringing slightly. He really can't help it, can he? The poor lad.

"I-I always wake up early," the nation continued tentatively. The obnoxious voice and accent were so out-of-character with the Canadian's shy demeanour. "It-It's one of my habits… a-and I guess this body doesn't have that habit. I-I'm sorry I woke up so late."

"Dude, it's like quarter after nine, that's not late–"

"It's perfectly fine, mon chère," France cut in, oblivious to the frustrated American ("Seriously dudes, stop interrupting me"). He motioned for the Canadian to take a seat. "We are all having issues with our temporary bodies. Ne vous inquiétez pas."

"If you say so," Canada said timidly as he sat in the offered chair.

Once America had finished pouting, the four of them talked about various topics, trying to remain as neutral as possible so that no arguments would break out. They all understood that now was not the time for conflict, especially with the imminent arrival of the other G8 members. Germany and Italy would most likely arrive first seeing as they the shortest distance to travel to get to London, then Russia and Japan would show up some time after that. Once those four nations had been mentioned (as well as the possibilities of who could have switched with whom) it was hard to overlook the fact that the body-switching might not just be confined to the G8.

"Dude, this could totally be happening all around the world," America exclaimed, gesturing wildly with his hands to indicate the enormity of his proclamation. "What if everybody's switching? What are we gonna do?"

"Not everybody is going to have switched bodies," England responded, trying to keep his voice light despite the worry he felt at America's words. I mean, it's been a whole day and we haven't heard any news about an outbreak of nations waking up in different bodies. It can't be happening to more than a few of us, right? England cleared his throat, fixing the other nations was a serious look before voicing his thoughts, hoping for positive feedback.

"I-I don't know," Canada mumbled as quietly as he could manage (though it was still miles louder than his usual volume). "We haven't exactly been paying attention t-to international events… seeing as we're avoiding our bosses…" he trailed off uneasily, feeling out-of-place with the attention he was receiving.

"Non, non, it can't be," France replied with a wave of his hand. "If our bosses got wind of nations switching bodies, they would have tried contacting us just to check that we were still dans nos propre corps," he said, his French sounding horrendous in his English accent. "Which we aren't," he added as an afterthought.

"And our boss-dudes haven't been contacting us, so everything should be good, right?" America said, looking around the table for confirmation.

"I suppose that sounds about right," England agreed. "So are we in agreement that the body-switching is confined to, at most, the G8?"

The three nations mumbled their agreements just as the old-fashioned chime of the doorbell resonated through the house, echoing off the walls and settling into the bones of the kitchen's occupants.

The final four members of the G8 had begun to arrive.

And... that's that.

Next chapter we get to have some fun times with people meeting up and discussing just what the hell is going on. *smiles*

For non-French people...

dans nos propre corps = In our proper bodies

Ne vous inquiétez pas = Don't worry

Mais tu as promis = But you promised

Amour = Love

And there you go. I hope you all liked the fairly pointless set-up chapter. Let me know how I did. Reviews help me so much in deciding what to do next.

Love you guys. =)