Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, I just own an unhealthy devotion to France as a nation and its history. English is not my mother language and neither is French, any constructive criticism is appreciated.

Warnings: Constructive criticism doesn't mean hate or gratuitous insults, so please: don't like, don't read.

Cross-dress Cordiale

"King Edward, pleased to see you in good health!" The French president smiled widely at the English King, who was standing surprisingly alone in the room they had temporarily transformed into a photo setting. "You had already the chance to meet Monsieur Atget?"

"Mr. Loubet. I had the chance to meet your photographer, but I must admit that we couldn't find a way to communicate, and I pride myself on my French."

"Some misunderstanding?" The old man enquired, checking behind himself for his nation's eyes -silently asking if he had done something to anger his English counterpart.

"Some misunderstanding must be in place for sure since my nation doesn't want to get out of the bathroom, but I can't get to the bottom of it."

The King's words turned Mr. Loubet's stare into a glare, but before he could voice his disappointment against his nation, the photographer they had hired finally made his entrance.

"Finally you came, Loubet, I can't wait to finish this and get back to my work."

"Monsieur Atget, since we are paying for this, I'd say this is work." The French president tried to point out, only to be blatantly ignored by the photographer, who went straight to greet France.

"Finally someone that can listen." He cooed happily, taking his time to admire France's refined attire. He had donned the striped tri-coloured dress and the large hat Mr. Atget had sent to the government for the photo shoot, but also his blond hair had been carefully styled into a loose chignon that let only few delicate locks framing his face. A light veil of makeup completed his classy look, making him appear like the actual personification of beauty and grace if it wasn't from the confident stare he was sporting. "Just like I imagined my Marianne: proud and absolutely beautiful. She's perfect."

"He is perfect." President Loubet coughed, making the old photographer's eyes wider. "Monsieur Bonnefoy?"

"Enchanté~" Francis smiled even wider and offered his hand to the shocked Frenchman. "I'm the French Republic, at your service."

"I- Wait, in all the official images France and England are two women. I thought-"

"It's a long story." King Edward cut short. "I'd prefer not to dwell on it."

"Yeah, and since we might accidentally be the culprits, I would second his request."

King Edward glared with the corner of his eyes first at the French politician and then at France, earning only a mortified stare from the man and an even brighter smile from the nation.

"So… The United Kingdom is a man as well?" The photographer asked flabbergasted. "Is this the reason why-?"

All of sudden, the loud noise of the bathroom door opening in anger broke the silence, as England decided that he couldn't wait anymore before joining the group. Contrary to France, he hardly looked like a proper lady: his union jack themed dress looked way too large where bosom and hips were supposed to fill it up, and the obviously fake wig bent askew to the side.

He stomped manly towards the designed cause of his distress, clenching the hat he was supposed to wear on his hands and stopping right in front of France, who just grinned and offered him his hand.

"You look terrible, mon cher~"

"Fuck you, France." He closed the space between them so much that their chests touched and their noses were barely a few inches from one another. "Fuck you and all your blasted ideas. In two thousand years you only managed to have the worst ideas ever, and each and every time you have a new one you just prove your ability to create trouble to everyone."

"I don't feel like I'm in trouble right now."

"That's because you have no sense of danger."

"May I point out that in two thousand years you are still here with me?" France's voice dripped with mirth. "If you didn't like my ideas you wouldn't always fall for them."

"You blasted son of a-"

King Edward coughed politely to attract England's attention back on the current task, so the English nation just growled at France and turned annoyed to the French photographer.

"Hi."

"G- good morning." Mr. Atget stuttered. "You must be the Unit-"

"Kirkland."

"What?"

"I won't let my name be tarnished by this joke of a commemoration."

France laughed heartedly at England's antics and took his arm under his.

"C'mon, you gremlin, I'll turn you into a beautiful princess."

"At least I can be changed into something else, you are just a frog that won't be turned into a prince even with a kiss."

"Ooh, really?" France stopped right in front of the bathroom door to grin at his lover seductively. "Wanna try to kiss me until you prove your point?"

England swallowed and blushed red, for the first time showing himself unsure of what to do: accept France's tease or keep contesting him? What if France stopped laughing at his comebacks and actually started to deny him kisses for real?

"I… France, look…"

Guessing easily England's inner turmoil, France left a fleeting peck on his lips and dragged him inside the bathroom, firmly closing the door behind them.

Several minutes passed in a variation of yells, screams, dead silence and sounds the three bystanders didn't really want to know what they were. Eventually France exited the room with an angelic smile on his lips, which did not bode well.

When he moved to the side and let England come out, though, they all couldn't help but staring astounded at the outcome of his handiwork. France had worked on the wig to make it lighter and somehow rearranged the dress around his hips so that now it fit perfectly the English nation's more masculine frame. He had filled up the dress where a more generous bosom was supposed to be, and turned the hard lines of his chin and cheekbones softer with a proper choice of make-up.

"A perfect Britannia indeed." The photographer complimented them, earned a satisfied grin from France and annoyed groan from England.

"Can we get this over with, please?"

"Sure, please come over here. I'd like a photo of you two embracing one another."

"I don't want to embrace the frog." England pouted, despite following Mr. Atget's instructions.

"Ooh? You didn't say that, the other day, when I was-"

"France!"

"Please, be quiet you two." King Edward warned the couple, staring interested at the Frenchman working around the couple. "Is everything alright?"

"My Britannia is a bit tense." The photographer admitted, sighing in resignation. "Mr. Kirkland, may I ask you to get closer to Monsieur France and lean a bit forward."

England tried to do as he was asked, but he only earned a dubious frown for his trouble.

"Monsieur Atget." France took his chance to tease. "If you can give me an additional half an hour to work on him, I'm sure that I could make him way more relaxed than he is~"

"France." The French president threatened, before England could speak up in his defence. "Another word and I swear to you that I will be calling off the Entente Cordiale."

"You wouldn't dare!" France looked for the first time sincerely worried. "The only thing this treaty is worth for is for me and England to be together!"

"Exactly."

France swallowed and turned his head to the side with an offended pout.

"I wasn't referring to that, though."

"Oh really?" England rose an enquiring eyebrow at him. "I know you from two thousand years and I would have guessed the same."

"Well, you guessed wrong." France stood up and dragged England up with him. "What about having a dance with me, Angleterre?"

France laughed heartedly seeing England's shocked expression but it wasn't enough to stop him from actually pulling him in the middle of the room and starting to twirl him around.

"Bloody hell, France! I'm going to kill myself with this dress!"

"You won't, you won't!" France reassured him, as he took the hem of England's skirt to offer it to him. "Here, grab this and then let your arm follow your movement. Pretend that your arm is directly linked to your leg, so you must move it whenever you twirl."

England tried to follow France' advice and surprisingly the skirt really stopped being a bother as they danced awkwardly around the room.

"So? How it is?"

"It's working, apparently."

"You see? My ideas are always great. And when they aren't, they still give you a good time~" That said, France quickened the rhythm to an upbeat folk dance, that twirled England around as if they were children playing. "Remember any of this?"

Eventually, both of them started to laugh loudly, any hint of shyness and attempt to look cool finally leaving England completely. The friendly childlike show completely enraptured the French photographer, who quickly grabbed his camera to try getting some picture out of it.

"That's wonderful, absolutely wonderful!" He cried, his eyes never leaving the couple. "Emile, make yourself useful and get a painter! I'm sure they would make use of this live show for some great art!"

The French president rose a dubious eyebrow at being called by name, but decided not to comment on it too much, realising that actually the photographer's idea was very good.

"Sure Eugène." He teased with a small smirk that quickly died on his lips as the other Frenchman turned towards him with a deadly glare in his eyes.

"I never said you could call me by my name."

The French president rolled his eyes and proceeded to actually give order to the attendants to bring in the painters before the show ended. Time to get back with the artists, and Mr. Atget had put also King Edward at work, making him get the other dresses he had prepared for the couple.

After some photos of them dancing all the folk dances France remembered, they moved back to the staged embrace that at first had failed and to some more formal stances with different dresses. Some looked more like Roman style tunics, others were more similar to short dresses, more casual than their previous outfit but also more similar to their own flags in colours and patterns.

All the artists in the room were overly enthusiastic about the two models, no one of them ever guessing that they were males or –even worse- their own nations. Eventually France and England had to dress back with their first outfit, in order to allow the painters to sketch them properly in every detail, and then everyone decided to call it a night.

Rather than leading England back to the bathroom to help him undress, France took his hand and dragged him close enough to whisper in his ear.

"You know, I came here dressed like this… Would you like to accompany me back home?"

"Crossing the street of Paris in cross-dress?" England turned scarlet and took a small step backwards. "Who do you take me for!?"

"You saw it today, they all just thought that we were models." France's tone of voice was low and suave just enough to make England's heart melt in his chest. "Moreover, it's the day of the Entente Cordiale… It would not look bad being seen in our flags colours."

England thought about it for a moment, his eyes searching for France's ones only to find some uncertainty there.

"Do you really want this?"

"I wouldn't have asked otherwise." England sighed and took France's hand in his, striding resolutely outside the room. "Angleterre?"

"Never dare saying that I do nothing for you."

France blinked in surprise at England's words, and then a warm smile lit up his beaming face.

"I love you so much, Angleterre~"

"Don- Don't say these things!" England reprimanded him, his face beet red in embarrassment. "You should stop saying weird things when we are in public."

"It's not weird, they are my feelings for you~" France chuckled and took England's arm under his to drag him closer, as they started their way back home through the streets of Paris. "The entire world should know."

"Luckily the entire world at the moment thinks that we are only a couple of girl friends."

"Is that so?" France looked around himself, and actually saw no one sincerely shocked by their display of affection. "Must change that, then~"

England turned shocked at him, but before he could ask France what he had in mind, he found his soft lips on his. The thought that their love was something to keep in a locked cage quickly left place to the realisation that no one would recognise them and, even if that happened… It was their damn day, for fuck's sake.

He sighed inside the kiss then and, when it ended, he took a moment to let his eyes linger on France's shining blue ones.

"You are something else entirely, France."

"But you love me for that, non?" France chirped merrily. "Otherwise you wouldn't have signed an Entente Cordiale with me."

"Yeah, an Entente Cordiale in cross-dress." England smiled back at him and pecked again his lips lightly. "You will have to do a lot more to shock me on our first anniversary the next year."

"Don't' underestimate me, mon cher, I have something already planned~" France leaned more against England's side for comfort, as they resumed their quiet stroll. "For the next year and for all the thousands more than will follow~"

The end