Fic: Beyond the Pale (3/9)
Title: Beyond the Pale
Author/Artist: DestinyShiva a.k.a me.
Characters/Pairing: USUK, slight FrUK, slight UKCan. (Mainly England and America, but the G8 + Lithuania + Poland are present too!)
Rating: Chapters 1 - 8... T. Chapters 9... M.
Warnings: Boys love, blood, pretty hardcore yaoi in the last chapter... and France being France.
Summary: Rushing through the streets of London, Arthur tries to leave the horrific argument he had with America/Alfred behind; though danger takes an ominous form. Soon Arthur's blood is spilled and England can only remember one name... Alfred.
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Beyond the Pale (Chapter 3/9)
Well, this is one of my favourite chapters… mainly because I find England and France's interaction absolutely hilarious. If you're a France x England shipper, you'll love this chapter. Same if you're an England x America shipper… because this is where USUK truly begins~!
Finally we're back with Arthur. Anyone miss him? I did!
Another Sonata Arctica title!
Drop of Fuel for a Nightmare
Arthur sighed deeply, inhaling the intoxicatingly beautiful scents of the cup of tea he now held lovingly in his hands; as if nurturing the brilliant concoction just alike a young child, lending it his body's warmth as he held it up to his chest. With a small content smirk, Arthur brought the small cup to his lips and tasted the liquid quickly - practically teasing himself with its availability. Disappointingly, a bitter taste invaded his mouth; the cardboard container had merged its hospital disgusting taste with the creamy brown concoction inside. Arthur pouted and immediately discarded the drink to the dark abyss of his desk, denying the existence of a cup of tea for perhaps the first ever time. Hospital food and drink was a nightmare.
Arthur looked forwards, his eyes colliding with a cloaked figure sitting at the chair directly opposite him. At first the sight of the hooded figure had frightened him somewhat, though in the reasonably small while since he had woken up he had become accustomed to its presence. For one; not a single other person seemed to have noticed its existence - all of the nurses and doctors blamed his head for conjuring images that weren't present at all, though it was clear that the thing was physical. And secondly, no matter how you interpreted it… the figure looked almost exactly like that of a Grim Reaper.
While the nurses had left him to his own devices; bringing him a tea finally after he moaned about craving one and that it was indecent for him not to have been offered one at least (they were in England for crying out loud, it was disgraceful!), Arthur had tried communicating with the Grim Reaper. It seemed that he had been hovering around for quite some time, though now he had woken up and there was no danger of Arthur suddenly clonking over and dying any time soon, he was very bored. Apparently, he told Arthur, he could see spirits and fairies… and because the skeletal mass was bored beyond his wits - he thought he'd stick around and keep him company for a while. The Grim Reaper was surprisingly nice like that. And he had a name…
Surely - for the most terrified being in the world, a bringer of both the stubborn darkness of a never-ending abyss and the horrific feeling of cold seeping away at your fingers and draining the remainder of life from your soul forever, the satanic embodiment of death itself, harbinger of all things black, terrible hearted, deceitful and evil, deliverer of fear… one would have a cataclysmic name that would tear apart the heavens with just an inconceivable mutter. And his name, the name of the condemned lord of destruction, was…
"…Clive." Arthur shuffled slightly more upright, careful not to hit his head against anything and cause even more damage and also careful not to remove the line connecting from the middle of Arthur's arm up to the typical hospital equipment; a bag containing the fresh blood of some random person who felt especially kindly one afternoon, and a particularly annoying machine that went 'ping' every so often, as well as a heart monitor that flashed greens, reds and yellows in a way that seemed to be aiming specifically at bringing about nausea and headaches. "Wouldn't you have work to do, if you were really the Grim Reaper? Isn't there supposed to be one person dying every fifteen seconds in Africa or something miserably unfortunate like that?"
The skeleton did nothing except incline his head away from Arthur - his eyes, if he had any that were visible in any way (his skeletal head was devoid of anything other than brittle white bone), facing as far away from Arthur's view as possible. It seemed as if Arthur was correct and the mystical being just didn't wish to admit that he was absolutely ignoring his duty. Arthur gave a quick tut. There was nothing more annoying than someone who just ignored their work just for the sake of it, though morally Arthur couldn't bring himself to entirely think that way - it was just like thinking 'Oh, you should go take the lives of hundreds of people and bring them to whatever afterlife there is, because you're supposed to!' or 'Go murder some people already, you bony git!'… He just couldn't condemn himself to sound like such a fascist.
…That said, how could he have known anything about his personality? What if he really was an absolutely horrific fascist and a dictator of nothing other than evil, weaved expertly within his English fingers? He didn't remember anything, but the first nature of himself that he witnessed to another person was "Damn it, someone fetch me some bloody tea!"… Although it sounded so catastrophically normal for him to say - a shouting voice far too easy for his body to conjure - it was surprisingly harsh was it not? Perhaps he wasn't nice in the slightest; a prospect that entirely confused and startled him. After all… the Grim Reaper decided to stick around when it was clear he was going to live, just to have a chat!
There was one thing he knew for certain. He was Arthur Kirkland… the physical embodiment for the glorious country of England. Great Britain! That was a title that he could definitely find himself being very proud of; Arthur smirked as he imagined it. He must have had a long and fulfilling life… dinner with the queen and dining with the royal hierarchy of kings in the past, alliances with fellow countries, great battles… glory and leadership being his most outstanding qualities! The nation boasted happily in his mind.
And also, he was told that he was brought in to the hospital by some acquaintances of his… a Feliks Lukasiewicz and a Toris Lorinaitis. If he had people who wished to take care of him, then he couldn't have been a really bad person… right? Through the foggy darkness that surrounded the events of last night and the accident that had claimed his memory, Arthur could barely imagine the vague faces of two people who tried to help support him. His head wound ached profusely as he attempted to remember, privately causing him to cringe in pain. They said they were Poland and Lithuania, did they not?
When it came to memory… everything was incredibly fuzzy; he would not have been able to recognise faces, voices, or anything else of the like… but he could remember things stored in long term memory, like historical facts or the fact his country had a monarchy and Governing body both. It was all touch and go. It was a good sign that the loss of memory was only temporary - the doctors seemed extremely relieved when he answered to the general knowledge questions they tried to test him with. But in the effort, a throbbing split in his head that was now bandaged thickly with a line surrounding his forehead and wrapping behind his dirty yellow strands of hair, he had lost his identity.
There was one overwhelming thought that controlled the very spirits of Arthur's mind. Who on Earth was Alfred, and what kind of relationship did he have with him? As he thought, his heart practically whimpered internally, sending his logical mind absolutely mixed signals. He could identify a fear and an undyingly strong sense of disappointment primarily… filling his chest with a sensation of emptiness - as if someone had torn his heart into two desolate fragments. Although a warmth hidden deep down behind the initial feelings of melancholy confused his interpretation utterly.
What the heck could it be?!
He cradled his head in his hand, careful not to prod his forehead too hard and stopping him yelping in agony. His thoughts echoed the same name again and again; calling for that one man, practically yearning for his help. Whoever Alfred was… Arthur felt like he needed him desperately. His lonely heart moaned away groggily in his chest, heart monitoring beeping slightly faster than before, as he tried as hard as he could to create a visual image of the man in his head. For merely a second, Arthur had created a basic facial outline before losing it promptly when footsteps coming from a particularly clunky pair of women's shoes were heard nearby the doorway.
"Arthur… there is someone here to see you. He seems rather eager - he says his name is Francis Bonnefoy. Want me to send him in?"
Arthur glanced to the doorway and regarded the young nurse dressed in a friendly pallid blue before his eyes suddenly became distracted by the absolutely insane figure standing in the hallway behind. A bright obnoxious blue shirt and mantel covered the upper half of his body, while equally over the top and obnoxious red trousers fitted underneath. Arthur winced; his eyes were incredibly sensitive since he woke up, and the awfully vibrant man waiting keenly behind the nurse was already contributing to another pathetically large headache. Who the heck was this bizarre man? The man's stubble and long hair only adding further towards Arthur's immediate wariness towards him, although it was undoubted by the feeling of recognition that he knew the identity of the abhorrent idiot. Francis Bonnefoy was a name that instantaneously made him feel slightly uneasy... and the excited smirk he could interpret on his haughty face just added a drop of fuel for a nightmare.
"Arthur!" Francis practically skipped into the room, pushing past the nurse out of strong impatience and flung himself over distastefully to his side. The nurse sighed and closed the door behind them to give them some privacy. Arthur pulled a less than amused face - wondering what on earth possessed him to be an acquaintance of this particularly weird and surprisingly endearing idiot. They were probably acquaintances because the latter was another country… there was no way the bizarre antics of the man could have been conjured by someone from England, Arthur thought distinctively with self-pride. He was definitely a foreigner. Francis aimed to drag a chair over to his side, though Arthur suddenly lurked up in his bed to stop him from stealing the Grim Reaper's seat…
"Don't sit there! Clive's sitting there!" Arthur reached his hand out, just as if he was expecting it to grow much longer and become able to stop Francis in his tracks. The unknown foreigner gave Arthur a quick quizzical look before glancing at the chair in displeasure; as if he just found out some horrible act had been committed on that very chair or that he would catch some disgusting disease from sitting in it, cursed by 'Clive's' presence. Arthur's mouth stayed gaped open; realising he had basically admitted to some random man that he sees things that other people don't seem to see at all.
"…That's so typical of you, L'angleterre" Francis mused, smirking in a fashion that aroused great suspicion in Arthur's mind. The smile didn't suit him at all… or maybe it fit perfectly - regardless, Arthur seemed to desire wiping it off of the silly man's face, for no known reason. He let an exhale release as Francis found it wise to leave the questionable Grim Reaper, King of Destruction, for the time being and pulled a different chair besides Arthur's bed and promptly sat. The distance between them was hardly fifteen centimetres; the strange foreigner practically diving in his close proximity… a very Cheshire cat like grin pasted on his face.
"Ah, L'Angleterre. I came as quickly as I could after Lithuania called me, all for you, mon cher" Francis smiled, pulling himself closer. Arthur nudged away slightly by reflex, to which Francis pouted to. What language was that? Arthur struggled to remember.
"Oh mon cher, don't say you don't remember me either?"
"Frankly… no, I don't!"
"You don't even remember your wonderful lover?"
The room fell silent, Arthur stayed absolutely immobile - his eyes frighteningly wide with shock. Francis moved ever so slightly closer, leaving his chair behind and bending over the hospital bed; a sly devious finger ran up Arthur's neck and pulled up his chin, forcing the Englishman to face him directly. The Cheshire grin continued, as the obnoxious man let his hot breath trail onto Arthur's now violently blushing cheeks. Arthur's mind was going crazy.
"W-What?!"
"You really forgot? My… Arthur… I can't believe it. And after I satisfied you so thoroughly too. This is disappointing, mon cher." Francis purred in Arthur's ear.
"I…? You?! We…?"
"Don't you remember Arthur, my love? We've been sleeping together ever since New Year's… every night was better than the last… I've never heard a man moan so sexily before then. You're walking seduction, Arthur. Sex on legs. I simply cannot believe a man like you became mine... I still remember how delicieux your face was when you begged for me. You yearned so affectionately. How could I have ever resisted you, mon cher?" Francis chuckled in Arthur's ear, internally pleased that Arthur was not throwing him off - it seemed that his plan was working…
Arthur's heart beat rose dramatically; whether it was out of shock, fear, or the new sensation the foreigner had persuaded into his mind. Arthur flinched as his whispers filled his ears, his body now shaking as the warmth hit him. His cheeks began blushing violent scarlet. Was this man talking the truth?! His body spiked with painful pangs, tricked into believing Francis as the latter slowly slid his hand across his side. Goose bumps tortured away at his arms; he was burning with a heat that could only be explained as either one of severe resentment and embarrassment… or want.
There couldn't be any chance he was gay, could there? Arthur bit his lip, remaining immobile as he desperately tried to fathom what to do. He knew nothing about himself, other than the raw emotions he retained out of his true nature. His mind practically forced him to groan as he strolled upon a reason; a sound that the man touching him seemed to interpret strongly.
He was obsessing himself with the identity of the 'Alfred' person, was he not? It was almost as if he was lovesick for him. Now that Arthur thought of it; the tear in his heart was entirely hollow, as if he was broken hearted. The deeper feelings of happiness when he thought of Alfred became explained as well.
His head filled with possible scenarios… perhaps he was in love with Alfred, but the couple broke up, and then he found himself in Francis's arms? Maybe Alfred was his secret lover behind Francis's back, or the other way around? Maybe he was in love with Alfred… so desperately that he clung onto his name and his name alone… while allowing himself to be comforted by Francis's hand?!
Francis's hands snaked upwards, teasing the sides of Arthur's upper chest; ignoring the hospital setting and the plastic medical gown Arthur was forced to wear. He brought his lips seductively close… almost brushing against Arthur's sweet plush pink pair. A finger ran across, stroking an erect nipple softly before moving in for the kiss…
The next second, Francis was almost sprawled across the floor; his hand holding on tightly to the metal frame of the bed and only just stopping himself from smacking hard against the floor. He looked up to see the Arthur's face blazing a shade of red he didn't know was possible for a man to create. Arthur's arms remained in the position they were when he pushed Francis away from his body rapidly.
"Don't you DARE touch Manchester!" Arthur growled, grabbing the covers of his bed and pulling them tightly over his frame… completely out of Francis's capable hands. He cupped the duvet particularly close to his chest, hands hovering protectively over his abs.
"Arthur? What's wrong?" Francis raised an eyebrow.
"You are no lover of mine!"
Francis smirked as he realised what he was protecting. So even the boisterous, stubborn United Kingdom had weaknesses… and who knew it was so juicy? If he was in another environment, he would have happily pounced back on Arthur and exploited his sensitivity… making sure to make the nation moan again and again…
"Of course I am!"
"No, you're not! You git! If you were my lover, you'd know that I'd never let you touch either Manchester or York!"
"Well. I'm surprised - you're still you, even after losing your memory it seems. That was nice while it lasted. …Who knew you had such a dirty weakness, Arthur! Who would have thought that you'd be so protective of them?" Francis laughed heartily, pulling himself back up to a standing position. He fully intended to torment Arthur thoroughly for this in the future, though for now, he would bide his time and use his newly acquired information for good use. Would he use it all primarily on his own desires, or lend the information to Ivan or maybe …Alfred? Francis raised a quizzical eyebrow as a thought came across him.
"S-Shut up! Who the hell are you anyway?!"
"My my. I would have thought you would have done better than that… did you not pay attention to the language? Bonjour! Je m'appelle Francais! France!"
"…I should have figured it would have been, you frog." Arthur pouted, still holding his duvet close to himself in case Francis tried to pull another move on him. Finally he realised why the language was bugging him with its familiarity. French was a language spoken quite well in England at a few times few the ages after all, when the French idiot had managed to invade his vital regions in the past. It was amusing to think that it was them who had fought drastically against each other back then. All those wars, sharing battlefields just to try annihilate the other. It was surreal truly. Arthur smirked, surprisingly happy now that he allowed himself time to relax.
"Oh, don't be coy." Francis drew himself closer though left the proximity between them wide apart once again; the Englishman would have slain him if he had stepped a single step closer. He knew better than to test the man's temper. Even with their past as rivals, they had always remained somewhat friendly despite their attempts to slit each other's throats - for now, he wished to appear on Arthur's good side.
A sudden thought filled Arthur's mind… a memory as it were, or at least a snippet of what he had thought to himself only the night previously in the Frenchman's disfavour. Arthur glared at Francis for a second, before bursting out into laughter.
"…What?"
"Oh, nothing! Hah. I just remembered something from last night, that's all." Arthur sniggered, remembering those thoughts clearly now. ('There was a prat… France was the nation… who was a complete total molesting git.')
"…Well I'm glad you're happy." Francis pouted. "Do you remember anything else?"
"…Not a thing." Arthur confessed. He was not sure whether Francis knew that he requested against 'Alfred's' knowledge of what had happened the night before. Vaguely, Arthur could remember the hot tears that streamed down his face and the cascading rain heading haphazardly from the skies, the heavens erupting along with him in his sadness. He couldn't remember why he had been so sad, or why he found himself drowning in crimson from his head wound. There was a thud in his memory, he knew that much. He didn't remember anything else being there except from Toris and Feliks, so obvious whatever hit him was self caused - was it not?
For some reason, Arthur couldn't help but imagine the faded ghostly face of a little boy… his expression was so happy initially, though somehow the image suddenly turned miserable in his mind's eye. The little boy frowned, rain flowing straight through him and dispersing his face just like a mirage. …For some reason… the boy's face suddenly grew older - a man in uniform now stood weakly, an expression showing a stronger sense of fear and pity than Arthur thought possible. In the vision, Arthur could decipher a gun… pointed directly at the man's throat…
…Alfred?
"France. What happened? No one has explained anything to me. Who… is Alfred?" Arthur whispered lightly.
"You threw a birthday party for Alfred; you were organising it for about a month… getting the right entertainment, drinks, food, guests… everything. I was actually very impressed - I don't think any of us expected you to do such a good job. I can't remember why you had it in London and not his home… I think it was because you didn't have any good contacts over there and it would be easier.
It was going really great, until Alfred started complaining about some of the things - nitpicking a bit. He kept saying a few things behind your back, just little insignificant things… and then you heard him mention something. I'm not sure what it was, but you went absolutely crazy at him for it. Biggest argument I've seen with my beautiful eyes for a long while. Next thing we know, you've ran out crying.
He was talking to Canada at the time I think… only he and Alfred knows what he said now that you've hurt yourself. Whatever it was, it must have hurt you so much. I've never seen you run away from something like that before Arthur. And needless to say - no one saw you hurt yourself. If Toris and Feliks had not found you, you probably would have been in serious trouble." Francis sighed.
Arthur blinked up a few times, utterly speechless. He hadn't thought that he and the Alfred person had such a harsh relationship. So why did it hurt so much whenever he thought about that name? It seemed, Arthur crouched up in the bed, as if it was a love that was not returned at all - completely one-sided. Why else would he have spent so long trying to create a birthday party that took a month to prepare? Why else would he have gotten so offended when he heard Alfred speak, presumably, against him? Arthur stared blankly at the covers, trying to focus that image in his head once more.
"Mon cher, I'll be leaving. You've obviously got some recovering to do. You will try to remember some of the things we've done, non?" Francis smiled before heading back over towards the door. "Just remember… if you ever need any comfort, you know exactly who to turn to.
And Arthur - for a moment, I made you believe we were lovers, did I not? You accepted the possibility very quickly. This person, Alfred… you are in love with him, aren't you?"
Arthur stayed silent, opening and closing his mouth a few times awkwardly, before finally passing a few conceivable words. "I… don't know."
"Don't think too much into it, merci." Francis smiled, more out of comfort and sympathy for the slightly young nation than joy. He opened the door and begun to walk outside, before sticking his head back inside for one last remark.
"Take care of Manchester and York for me!" He sung.
"GET LOST YOU STUPID FROG-FACED GIT!"
Part one of tormenting Arthur for joy… success! Francis grinned and headed away down the hospital corridors. Truth be told, he was hurt internally by the thought of Arthur and Alfred having such an intimate relationship. He had always craved the sexual affections of Arthur for himself. Yet now, at least he knew that Arthur was unsure about his sexual alignment… a fact that he would never have been able to fetch from the nation before the accident happened. There was a chance; after all, that Alfred and Arthur would never bring it upon themselves to make up - especially when Arthur did not remember which nation Alfred was. All the physical interpretation of the United Kingdom knew was that he had an argument with that man…
There was still a chance for his advancements to make a dramatic effect. Francis smirked happily, trying to formulate a new strategy to woo Arthur's affections. The G8 meeting tomorrow would certainly be interesting…
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Thank you for reading my fan fiction…!
Previous Chapter: [LINK]
Next Chapter: [LINK]
Author/Artist: DestinyShiva a.k.a me.
Characters/Pairing: USUK, slight FrUK, slight UKCan. (Mainly England and America, but the G8 + Lithuania + Poland are present too!)
Rating: Chapters 1 - 8... T. Chapters 9... M.
Warnings: Boys love, blood, pretty hardcore yaoi in the last chapter... and France being France.
Summary: Rushing through the streets of London, Arthur tries to leave the horrific argument he had with America/Alfred behind; though danger takes an ominous form. Soon Arthur's blood is spilled and England can only remember one name... Alfred.
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Beyond the Pale (Chapter 3/9)
Well, this is one of my favourite chapters… mainly because I find England and France's interaction absolutely hilarious. If you're a France x England shipper, you'll love this chapter. Same if you're an England x America shipper… because this is where USUK truly begins~!
Finally we're back with Arthur. Anyone miss him? I did!
Another Sonata Arctica title!
Drop of Fuel for a Nightmare
Arthur sighed deeply, inhaling the intoxicatingly beautiful scents of the cup of tea he now held lovingly in his hands; as if nurturing the brilliant concoction just alike a young child, lending it his body's warmth as he held it up to his chest. With a small content smirk, Arthur brought the small cup to his lips and tasted the liquid quickly - practically teasing himself with its availability. Disappointingly, a bitter taste invaded his mouth; the cardboard container had merged its hospital disgusting taste with the creamy brown concoction inside. Arthur pouted and immediately discarded the drink to the dark abyss of his desk, denying the existence of a cup of tea for perhaps the first ever time. Hospital food and drink was a nightmare.
Arthur looked forwards, his eyes colliding with a cloaked figure sitting at the chair directly opposite him. At first the sight of the hooded figure had frightened him somewhat, though in the reasonably small while since he had woken up he had become accustomed to its presence. For one; not a single other person seemed to have noticed its existence - all of the nurses and doctors blamed his head for conjuring images that weren't present at all, though it was clear that the thing was physical. And secondly, no matter how you interpreted it… the figure looked almost exactly like that of a Grim Reaper.
While the nurses had left him to his own devices; bringing him a tea finally after he moaned about craving one and that it was indecent for him not to have been offered one at least (they were in England for crying out loud, it was disgraceful!), Arthur had tried communicating with the Grim Reaper. It seemed that he had been hovering around for quite some time, though now he had woken up and there was no danger of Arthur suddenly clonking over and dying any time soon, he was very bored. Apparently, he told Arthur, he could see spirits and fairies… and because the skeletal mass was bored beyond his wits - he thought he'd stick around and keep him company for a while. The Grim Reaper was surprisingly nice like that. And he had a name…
Surely - for the most terrified being in the world, a bringer of both the stubborn darkness of a never-ending abyss and the horrific feeling of cold seeping away at your fingers and draining the remainder of life from your soul forever, the satanic embodiment of death itself, harbinger of all things black, terrible hearted, deceitful and evil, deliverer of fear… one would have a cataclysmic name that would tear apart the heavens with just an inconceivable mutter. And his name, the name of the condemned lord of destruction, was…
"…Clive." Arthur shuffled slightly more upright, careful not to hit his head against anything and cause even more damage and also careful not to remove the line connecting from the middle of Arthur's arm up to the typical hospital equipment; a bag containing the fresh blood of some random person who felt especially kindly one afternoon, and a particularly annoying machine that went 'ping' every so often, as well as a heart monitor that flashed greens, reds and yellows in a way that seemed to be aiming specifically at bringing about nausea and headaches. "Wouldn't you have work to do, if you were really the Grim Reaper? Isn't there supposed to be one person dying every fifteen seconds in Africa or something miserably unfortunate like that?"
The skeleton did nothing except incline his head away from Arthur - his eyes, if he had any that were visible in any way (his skeletal head was devoid of anything other than brittle white bone), facing as far away from Arthur's view as possible. It seemed as if Arthur was correct and the mystical being just didn't wish to admit that he was absolutely ignoring his duty. Arthur gave a quick tut. There was nothing more annoying than someone who just ignored their work just for the sake of it, though morally Arthur couldn't bring himself to entirely think that way - it was just like thinking 'Oh, you should go take the lives of hundreds of people and bring them to whatever afterlife there is, because you're supposed to!' or 'Go murder some people already, you bony git!'… He just couldn't condemn himself to sound like such a fascist.
…That said, how could he have known anything about his personality? What if he really was an absolutely horrific fascist and a dictator of nothing other than evil, weaved expertly within his English fingers? He didn't remember anything, but the first nature of himself that he witnessed to another person was "Damn it, someone fetch me some bloody tea!"… Although it sounded so catastrophically normal for him to say - a shouting voice far too easy for his body to conjure - it was surprisingly harsh was it not? Perhaps he wasn't nice in the slightest; a prospect that entirely confused and startled him. After all… the Grim Reaper decided to stick around when it was clear he was going to live, just to have a chat!
There was one thing he knew for certain. He was Arthur Kirkland… the physical embodiment for the glorious country of England. Great Britain! That was a title that he could definitely find himself being very proud of; Arthur smirked as he imagined it. He must have had a long and fulfilling life… dinner with the queen and dining with the royal hierarchy of kings in the past, alliances with fellow countries, great battles… glory and leadership being his most outstanding qualities! The nation boasted happily in his mind.
And also, he was told that he was brought in to the hospital by some acquaintances of his… a Feliks Lukasiewicz and a Toris Lorinaitis. If he had people who wished to take care of him, then he couldn't have been a really bad person… right? Through the foggy darkness that surrounded the events of last night and the accident that had claimed his memory, Arthur could barely imagine the vague faces of two people who tried to help support him. His head wound ached profusely as he attempted to remember, privately causing him to cringe in pain. They said they were Poland and Lithuania, did they not?
When it came to memory… everything was incredibly fuzzy; he would not have been able to recognise faces, voices, or anything else of the like… but he could remember things stored in long term memory, like historical facts or the fact his country had a monarchy and Governing body both. It was all touch and go. It was a good sign that the loss of memory was only temporary - the doctors seemed extremely relieved when he answered to the general knowledge questions they tried to test him with. But in the effort, a throbbing split in his head that was now bandaged thickly with a line surrounding his forehead and wrapping behind his dirty yellow strands of hair, he had lost his identity.
There was one overwhelming thought that controlled the very spirits of Arthur's mind. Who on Earth was Alfred, and what kind of relationship did he have with him? As he thought, his heart practically whimpered internally, sending his logical mind absolutely mixed signals. He could identify a fear and an undyingly strong sense of disappointment primarily… filling his chest with a sensation of emptiness - as if someone had torn his heart into two desolate fragments. Although a warmth hidden deep down behind the initial feelings of melancholy confused his interpretation utterly.
What the heck could it be?!
He cradled his head in his hand, careful not to prod his forehead too hard and stopping him yelping in agony. His thoughts echoed the same name again and again; calling for that one man, practically yearning for his help. Whoever Alfred was… Arthur felt like he needed him desperately. His lonely heart moaned away groggily in his chest, heart monitoring beeping slightly faster than before, as he tried as hard as he could to create a visual image of the man in his head. For merely a second, Arthur had created a basic facial outline before losing it promptly when footsteps coming from a particularly clunky pair of women's shoes were heard nearby the doorway.
"Arthur… there is someone here to see you. He seems rather eager - he says his name is Francis Bonnefoy. Want me to send him in?"
Arthur glanced to the doorway and regarded the young nurse dressed in a friendly pallid blue before his eyes suddenly became distracted by the absolutely insane figure standing in the hallway behind. A bright obnoxious blue shirt and mantel covered the upper half of his body, while equally over the top and obnoxious red trousers fitted underneath. Arthur winced; his eyes were incredibly sensitive since he woke up, and the awfully vibrant man waiting keenly behind the nurse was already contributing to another pathetically large headache. Who the heck was this bizarre man? The man's stubble and long hair only adding further towards Arthur's immediate wariness towards him, although it was undoubted by the feeling of recognition that he knew the identity of the abhorrent idiot. Francis Bonnefoy was a name that instantaneously made him feel slightly uneasy... and the excited smirk he could interpret on his haughty face just added a drop of fuel for a nightmare.
"Arthur!" Francis practically skipped into the room, pushing past the nurse out of strong impatience and flung himself over distastefully to his side. The nurse sighed and closed the door behind them to give them some privacy. Arthur pulled a less than amused face - wondering what on earth possessed him to be an acquaintance of this particularly weird and surprisingly endearing idiot. They were probably acquaintances because the latter was another country… there was no way the bizarre antics of the man could have been conjured by someone from England, Arthur thought distinctively with self-pride. He was definitely a foreigner. Francis aimed to drag a chair over to his side, though Arthur suddenly lurked up in his bed to stop him from stealing the Grim Reaper's seat…
"Don't sit there! Clive's sitting there!" Arthur reached his hand out, just as if he was expecting it to grow much longer and become able to stop Francis in his tracks. The unknown foreigner gave Arthur a quick quizzical look before glancing at the chair in displeasure; as if he just found out some horrible act had been committed on that very chair or that he would catch some disgusting disease from sitting in it, cursed by 'Clive's' presence. Arthur's mouth stayed gaped open; realising he had basically admitted to some random man that he sees things that other people don't seem to see at all.
"…That's so typical of you, L'angleterre" Francis mused, smirking in a fashion that aroused great suspicion in Arthur's mind. The smile didn't suit him at all… or maybe it fit perfectly - regardless, Arthur seemed to desire wiping it off of the silly man's face, for no known reason. He let an exhale release as Francis found it wise to leave the questionable Grim Reaper, King of Destruction, for the time being and pulled a different chair besides Arthur's bed and promptly sat. The distance between them was hardly fifteen centimetres; the strange foreigner practically diving in his close proximity… a very Cheshire cat like grin pasted on his face.
"Ah, L'Angleterre. I came as quickly as I could after Lithuania called me, all for you, mon cher" Francis smiled, pulling himself closer. Arthur nudged away slightly by reflex, to which Francis pouted to. What language was that? Arthur struggled to remember.
"Oh mon cher, don't say you don't remember me either?"
"Frankly… no, I don't!"
"You don't even remember your wonderful lover?"
The room fell silent, Arthur stayed absolutely immobile - his eyes frighteningly wide with shock. Francis moved ever so slightly closer, leaving his chair behind and bending over the hospital bed; a sly devious finger ran up Arthur's neck and pulled up his chin, forcing the Englishman to face him directly. The Cheshire grin continued, as the obnoxious man let his hot breath trail onto Arthur's now violently blushing cheeks. Arthur's mind was going crazy.
"W-What?!"
"You really forgot? My… Arthur… I can't believe it. And after I satisfied you so thoroughly too. This is disappointing, mon cher." Francis purred in Arthur's ear.
"I…? You?! We…?"
"Don't you remember Arthur, my love? We've been sleeping together ever since New Year's… every night was better than the last… I've never heard a man moan so sexily before then. You're walking seduction, Arthur. Sex on legs. I simply cannot believe a man like you became mine... I still remember how delicieux your face was when you begged for me. You yearned so affectionately. How could I have ever resisted you, mon cher?" Francis chuckled in Arthur's ear, internally pleased that Arthur was not throwing him off - it seemed that his plan was working…
Arthur's heart beat rose dramatically; whether it was out of shock, fear, or the new sensation the foreigner had persuaded into his mind. Arthur flinched as his whispers filled his ears, his body now shaking as the warmth hit him. His cheeks began blushing violent scarlet. Was this man talking the truth?! His body spiked with painful pangs, tricked into believing Francis as the latter slowly slid his hand across his side. Goose bumps tortured away at his arms; he was burning with a heat that could only be explained as either one of severe resentment and embarrassment… or want.
There couldn't be any chance he was gay, could there? Arthur bit his lip, remaining immobile as he desperately tried to fathom what to do. He knew nothing about himself, other than the raw emotions he retained out of his true nature. His mind practically forced him to groan as he strolled upon a reason; a sound that the man touching him seemed to interpret strongly.
He was obsessing himself with the identity of the 'Alfred' person, was he not? It was almost as if he was lovesick for him. Now that Arthur thought of it; the tear in his heart was entirely hollow, as if he was broken hearted. The deeper feelings of happiness when he thought of Alfred became explained as well.
His head filled with possible scenarios… perhaps he was in love with Alfred, but the couple broke up, and then he found himself in Francis's arms? Maybe Alfred was his secret lover behind Francis's back, or the other way around? Maybe he was in love with Alfred… so desperately that he clung onto his name and his name alone… while allowing himself to be comforted by Francis's hand?!
Francis's hands snaked upwards, teasing the sides of Arthur's upper chest; ignoring the hospital setting and the plastic medical gown Arthur was forced to wear. He brought his lips seductively close… almost brushing against Arthur's sweet plush pink pair. A finger ran across, stroking an erect nipple softly before moving in for the kiss…
The next second, Francis was almost sprawled across the floor; his hand holding on tightly to the metal frame of the bed and only just stopping himself from smacking hard against the floor. He looked up to see the Arthur's face blazing a shade of red he didn't know was possible for a man to create. Arthur's arms remained in the position they were when he pushed Francis away from his body rapidly.
"Don't you DARE touch Manchester!" Arthur growled, grabbing the covers of his bed and pulling them tightly over his frame… completely out of Francis's capable hands. He cupped the duvet particularly close to his chest, hands hovering protectively over his abs.
"Arthur? What's wrong?" Francis raised an eyebrow.
"You are no lover of mine!"
Francis smirked as he realised what he was protecting. So even the boisterous, stubborn United Kingdom had weaknesses… and who knew it was so juicy? If he was in another environment, he would have happily pounced back on Arthur and exploited his sensitivity… making sure to make the nation moan again and again…
"Of course I am!"
"No, you're not! You git! If you were my lover, you'd know that I'd never let you touch either Manchester or York!"
"Well. I'm surprised - you're still you, even after losing your memory it seems. That was nice while it lasted. …Who knew you had such a dirty weakness, Arthur! Who would have thought that you'd be so protective of them?" Francis laughed heartily, pulling himself back up to a standing position. He fully intended to torment Arthur thoroughly for this in the future, though for now, he would bide his time and use his newly acquired information for good use. Would he use it all primarily on his own desires, or lend the information to Ivan or maybe …Alfred? Francis raised a quizzical eyebrow as a thought came across him.
"S-Shut up! Who the hell are you anyway?!"
"My my. I would have thought you would have done better than that… did you not pay attention to the language? Bonjour! Je m'appelle Francais! France!"
"…I should have figured it would have been, you frog." Arthur pouted, still holding his duvet close to himself in case Francis tried to pull another move on him. Finally he realised why the language was bugging him with its familiarity. French was a language spoken quite well in England at a few times few the ages after all, when the French idiot had managed to invade his vital regions in the past. It was amusing to think that it was them who had fought drastically against each other back then. All those wars, sharing battlefields just to try annihilate the other. It was surreal truly. Arthur smirked, surprisingly happy now that he allowed himself time to relax.
"Oh, don't be coy." Francis drew himself closer though left the proximity between them wide apart once again; the Englishman would have slain him if he had stepped a single step closer. He knew better than to test the man's temper. Even with their past as rivals, they had always remained somewhat friendly despite their attempts to slit each other's throats - for now, he wished to appear on Arthur's good side.
A sudden thought filled Arthur's mind… a memory as it were, or at least a snippet of what he had thought to himself only the night previously in the Frenchman's disfavour. Arthur glared at Francis for a second, before bursting out into laughter.
"…What?"
"Oh, nothing! Hah. I just remembered something from last night, that's all." Arthur sniggered, remembering those thoughts clearly now. ('There was a prat… France was the nation… who was a complete total molesting git.')
"…Well I'm glad you're happy." Francis pouted. "Do you remember anything else?"
"…Not a thing." Arthur confessed. He was not sure whether Francis knew that he requested against 'Alfred's' knowledge of what had happened the night before. Vaguely, Arthur could remember the hot tears that streamed down his face and the cascading rain heading haphazardly from the skies, the heavens erupting along with him in his sadness. He couldn't remember why he had been so sad, or why he found himself drowning in crimson from his head wound. There was a thud in his memory, he knew that much. He didn't remember anything else being there except from Toris and Feliks, so obvious whatever hit him was self caused - was it not?
For some reason, Arthur couldn't help but imagine the faded ghostly face of a little boy… his expression was so happy initially, though somehow the image suddenly turned miserable in his mind's eye. The little boy frowned, rain flowing straight through him and dispersing his face just like a mirage. …For some reason… the boy's face suddenly grew older - a man in uniform now stood weakly, an expression showing a stronger sense of fear and pity than Arthur thought possible. In the vision, Arthur could decipher a gun… pointed directly at the man's throat…
…Alfred?
"France. What happened? No one has explained anything to me. Who… is Alfred?" Arthur whispered lightly.
"You threw a birthday party for Alfred; you were organising it for about a month… getting the right entertainment, drinks, food, guests… everything. I was actually very impressed - I don't think any of us expected you to do such a good job. I can't remember why you had it in London and not his home… I think it was because you didn't have any good contacts over there and it would be easier.
It was going really great, until Alfred started complaining about some of the things - nitpicking a bit. He kept saying a few things behind your back, just little insignificant things… and then you heard him mention something. I'm not sure what it was, but you went absolutely crazy at him for it. Biggest argument I've seen with my beautiful eyes for a long while. Next thing we know, you've ran out crying.
He was talking to Canada at the time I think… only he and Alfred knows what he said now that you've hurt yourself. Whatever it was, it must have hurt you so much. I've never seen you run away from something like that before Arthur. And needless to say - no one saw you hurt yourself. If Toris and Feliks had not found you, you probably would have been in serious trouble." Francis sighed.
Arthur blinked up a few times, utterly speechless. He hadn't thought that he and the Alfred person had such a harsh relationship. So why did it hurt so much whenever he thought about that name? It seemed, Arthur crouched up in the bed, as if it was a love that was not returned at all - completely one-sided. Why else would he have spent so long trying to create a birthday party that took a month to prepare? Why else would he have gotten so offended when he heard Alfred speak, presumably, against him? Arthur stared blankly at the covers, trying to focus that image in his head once more.
"Mon cher, I'll be leaving. You've obviously got some recovering to do. You will try to remember some of the things we've done, non?" Francis smiled before heading back over towards the door. "Just remember… if you ever need any comfort, you know exactly who to turn to.
And Arthur - for a moment, I made you believe we were lovers, did I not? You accepted the possibility very quickly. This person, Alfred… you are in love with him, aren't you?"
Arthur stayed silent, opening and closing his mouth a few times awkwardly, before finally passing a few conceivable words. "I… don't know."
"Don't think too much into it, merci." Francis smiled, more out of comfort and sympathy for the slightly young nation than joy. He opened the door and begun to walk outside, before sticking his head back inside for one last remark.
"Take care of Manchester and York for me!" He sung.
"GET LOST YOU STUPID FROG-FACED GIT!"
Part one of tormenting Arthur for joy… success! Francis grinned and headed away down the hospital corridors. Truth be told, he was hurt internally by the thought of Arthur and Alfred having such an intimate relationship. He had always craved the sexual affections of Arthur for himself. Yet now, at least he knew that Arthur was unsure about his sexual alignment… a fact that he would never have been able to fetch from the nation before the accident happened. There was a chance; after all, that Alfred and Arthur would never bring it upon themselves to make up - especially when Arthur did not remember which nation Alfred was. All the physical interpretation of the United Kingdom knew was that he had an argument with that man…
There was still a chance for his advancements to make a dramatic effect. Francis smirked happily, trying to formulate a new strategy to woo Arthur's affections. The G8 meeting tomorrow would certainly be interesting…
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Thank you for reading my fan fiction…!
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