[Fanfic] Sands of Unrequited Love
Title: Sands of Unrequited Love
Pairing: FrUk
Rating: T-ish[?!]
Warning/s: fem!England!; completely AU
A/N: Happy Valentine’s! Consider this as a FrUk fanfic as well ^ ^
Note: Supposedly these are my OCs based on France and England for a Mafia RP with a friend but I've also considered this as a France x fem!England fanfic. France's name in my OC world is François. The timeline has nothing to do with the Hetalia timeline. let's say they were in a different situation and world.
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Sands of Unrequited Love
"Je tremble dans la crainte pensant à vous perdre,
mais je n'abandonnerai jamais toujours, jamais”
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His blue eyes found their way to her emerald ones, seeing the nervousness in them. As always, when she finally realized that they were locking eyes, she would look away with a stubborn look on her face. Typical Arthuria, he thought, a small smile forming on his gentle lips. But there seems to be a catch for today was different. Different in which she did not lash painful insults to him this time, unlike always ever since their engagement. Francs had noted this significant change in her behaviour for the past month and a half and was curious enough to bring it up immediately; however, knowing the woman, he bided his time until now.
"Ma chaton, is there something bothering you?" Francis asked, his hand brushing away a stray lock of hair from the British lady’s face.
The Brit slapped the hand away her face, an action that the Frenchman was used to after ten years of knowing her, and sighed as she crossed her arms in front of her bosom while glancing out of the limousine’s bulletproof glass. It was a cold autumn day and they were traversing from the airport to the Chrysanti manor in order to meet up with a man named André Chrysanti. Although, Francis was supposed to go alone, he was rather surprised when his wife asked if she could come along, with an excuse to get away from the French culture surrounding her. He couldn’t blame her though, she was indeed cooped up in that manor for such a long time now and she deserves a bit of a break.
Now that their nine year old daughter is in the best finishing boarding school in France, why not take the opportunity?
As he watched her gaze outside with a barely readable expression on face, he could feel his heart breaking into a million pieces. He has always known that although she was married to him, that she was legally his, she could never love him as he loved her. He knew the sad truth that she just married him out of duty and debt to her parents as well as to hide the shame by being pregnant with his child just after she was forcibly separated from the one she called her ‘true love’. He knew that she hated him with a passion, that she could never let herself see him beyond the written title of husband. He is madly in love with her but she was madly in love with someone else. Every time he would try to be in par with the man called Alfred Walker, she would always make it a point that he can never BE Alfred in any aspect, even if he tried to.
Sometime he wished she would just realize how deep his feelings are for her. Every moment he’s with her hurts like hell. As a passionate Frenchman, he undeniably makes it a point to express his love for her in every way possible.
Even if all of those attempts are openly rejected. He just loves her too much, he’s willing to be her footrest and kiss the very soil she walks upon.
“Arthuria you know you can tell me anything.” He pressed on a bit, choosing his words carefully. He knows well on how his wife’s anger bouts can get bad pretty quick and braced for an incoming slap, punch or kick.
But somehow they never came which could probably be considered as a relief for the blonde man.
Instead, a sigh erupted from the Brit and a rather tired reply, “Francis, if you’re looking for another brawl I suggest you get off from this vehicle, fly to London, get drunk in a pub and land fists with the morons there. I’m sure they’ll appreciate your punches.” That definitely was the shocker of the year according of the Frenchman. However despite his shocked state he managed to throw in another one, this time something concerning the cause of the gap between them, ever since the start of this lie of a relationship, “Is he still in your mind?” he asked simply but very blunt. “After all these years, do you still wish to be with him instead of me?” Arthuria’s head whipped around to face her husband, a look of surprise and horror on her face. He figured that she’ll be point blank honest with him again and was anticipating another rant about THAT man, her parents and the pointless engagement between them but was once again caught in surprise at her reply, “Although I would be lying if I said no, I think it’s a kind enough answer to say that. I’m sure you’re tired of being hurt.” She managed to say a lump rising in her throat.
Francis stared at his wife, unable to answer back. Call him crazy but did he hear that right? “A-arthuria...? Is there something wrong with you?” sure his wife was acting differently today but it was starting to startle him out of his bones. “Do you have a fever or something?” he pressed on, reaching forward to feel his wife’s forehead. Arthuria, sighed in an annoyed manner, but this time she did not push him away. “I’m fine Francis. I’m perfectly fine as you can see. Now, please stop fussing over me, it’s annoying.” She replied staring at him with a bored look. The Frenchman was caught in between happiness and surprise. Another thing he was actually surprised at is that, she dropped the usual name calling of ‘frog’, ‘wino’ or ‘wine-bastard’ and finally called him by his name in a soft manner so unlike her.
“Chaton... “ he mused, his eyes softening more as he gazed down on his beloved rose.
Arthuria, though, looked as if she was about to crack, biting down on her bottom lip as if tormented by something. Something that Francis had an idea on but was too much of a gentleman to ask. It would be pushing her too much. “...it’s alright. You can always tell me when you’re ready. I can wait.”
“Francis...”
The blonde French looked at her with a soft look on his face. It was the face only reserved for her even if treats him less than their family dog. Yet something in that look, although she has seen it for so long already, stirred something in her. “Je t'aime ma chaton. Even if you will hurt me until I bleed to death I will still love you. I may not be able to out-match that American but...” he leaned forward to plant a kiss on her quivering lips, “...I will keep on proving to you, no matter what it takes, that I can as wonderful as him in my own way.”
Arthuria looked down on her tightly clasped fingers. How can she tell him? She was sure that things may not be the same once she tells him this but she somehow feels that she must tell him sooner. She feels that she’s running out of time. Fast.
“Francis, I-“ she stammered, fidgeting in her seat.
“Oui?”
“I think I’m fal-“
The unkind screeching of the limousine and sudden inertia propelled them both forward to the carpeted floor of the car with a nice loud thud interrupted her sentence. As Arthuria groaned softly and managed to lift herself up, she heard noises from outside the car. Looking over momentarily at Francis, who also managed to recover himself, she looked outside to see the driver and the men on the limousines before theirs, were suddenly being taken out roughly but men in black suits from their respective cars. She held back a gasp as she watched men began to exchange bullets, some of their own ending up dead.
“Chaton... hurry. We must make a run for it. André’s place is not far from here and we could reach the manor if we act now.” Francis stated, taking his wife’s hand into his and tugging her to the safe said of the car. “Y-yes...” she replied shakily, as she crawled out with him to the unlocked door. She knew that their men were holding out the best they could just so both of them could escape. What bothered her was, why them? She was aware that they have some secret affiliation with the Giglio Nero but then again it was not known that much.
Unless...
“Hurry, love...” Francis panted as he dragged his wife along a rather damp alley. Italy was full of shortcuts, maybe good enough to be some kind of maze. Take one wrong turn and you’re dead. And worse, with a situation like theirs, they WILL end up dead if they do. He had tried giving André a call but his cellphone’s battery died on him, in which he regretted not charging it before the left for Italy and now they were on a blind run.
Arthuria panted behind him, holding the hem on her side. She was tired and it was clearly shown in her features but she knew well that they have to keep on running. As they both ran into a darkened corner to rest, pressing their backs on the wall to keep them hidden in the dark as possible as cars belonging to their attackers whirred by.
“Francis...” Arthuria murmured softly as the sounds began to travel further away, depicting that they were safe for now.
“Yes, chaton?”
“I-I’m scared...” she said simply, looking down.
It was clear to the Frenchman that the once strong-willed and sharp-tongued woman before him was scared to the bone and noted that she was trembling, even if she was trying to hide it the best she could. Francis’ eyes softened and gathered the now frail-looking woman into his arms. Stroking her golden locks, something that their daughter inherited, in a careful manner, he was shocked on how she acted so vulnerable right now. It was an unusual sight to see. “Arthuria...” he murmured dropping the nickname and reverting to her given name. It sounded better like that and sweeter to boot. “It’s going to be alright...”
“Alright...? ALRIGHT?! God Francis! We’re running like a couple of bloody idiots all over Italy just to get away from some chaps who wants us dead for a reason we vaguely even have an inkling about and all you can utter is that EVERYTHING WILL BE OKAY?! Git!” the female screamed, grabbing her husband’s collar and shaking him wildly the best she could just to prove her point. François stared at her softly for a moment and despite her constant poundings to his chest, he could help but bring her closer to his embrace. He hoped that somehow that would make her feel safe, even for a brief manner. “Arthuria... Arthuria, love, listen to me, please.” He whispered holding her ever so tight, willing that she would just stay still for a while. Luckily, Arthuria did so but in exchange for being a miserable heap of sobs and sniffles. “Arthuria... Look at me.” He urged, brushing away the loose hair from her cheek. The Brit obliged and looked at her husband’s blue hues with her tear-streaked emerald ones. “Listen to me. No matter what happens, you’ll have to do everything I say.”
“W-what? I don’t understand you Francis...”
“Just do it. No questions, chaton.”
As Arthuria opened her mouth for another retort, making her confusion and disagreement clear, she had to be cut short [again] but the sound of men shouting at each other in Italian. She wasn’t well versed in the language itself but she could recognize some of the words they hollered to each other. The blonde looked at the French gentleman to confirm her roughly translated thoughts and by the anxious look on his face, her worst fears was confirmed.
They were still being hunted down to no end.
“François... we have to go. NOW!” Arthuria snapped in a panicked manner.
The blond Frenchman looked down on his wife, his hands now resting on her shoulders in a tight yet secure manner. “Arthuria...do you trust me?” The blonde English looked at her husband in a shocked manner. Of all things to ask her right now! “Bloody hell Francis, we don’t have time for your mind games or whatever you’re planning to do! We have to run!” she cried out hysterically, taking his hand with one hand and tugging him to run with her.
But the Frenchman did not budge an inch.
Instead, he let go of the Brit’s hand, surprising her along the way and faced her direction, his back against the opening of the alleyway. “You, run as fast as you can. André’s manor is not far from here and if you leave now you can still make it out alive.” As he said this he reached inside his coat’s pocket to retrieve a fully loaded .45 calibre pistol. Francis always made it a habit to carry a gun in self-defence. No one can blame him; he was a successful businessman with close ties with the European mafia. With both of those in one line, anyone would want him dead.
Arthuria looked at the blonde man, her husband, in disbelief.
Was he trying to say that he’ll stall those blood-thirsty gun men single-handedly while she run away like some scared little bird to his comrade’s home?!
True that she was reared as a lady and a proper lady obeys her husband’s command no matter how stupid or insane it is. That’s the duty of the so-called noble lady. But Arthuria begged to differ. She glared at her husband and stood firmly on the ground with a barely readable expression. “I’m not leaving without you Francis.”
Francis stared at his wife with a surprised look on his face; his blue eyes seemed to be bluer than they initially were due to him opening them as wide as saucers. This was definitely the shocker of the year for him. “A-arthuria... wh-?” but before the question could fully leave his lips, he found himself being shoved aside quickly followed by two consecutive gunshots.
Everything seemed to slow down for the Frenchman. He watched in a horrified manner as his wife’s body arc back and falls on the ground with an audible thud. He stared briefly in shock as the once unblemished white blouse on his wife’s own body was suddenly transformed into a canvas of dark red. “C-chaton....?” he murmured in a shaky voice. What answered him was a cough of blood and droplets of it clung to his pants leg as Arthuria lay on the ground shaking uncontrollably from the involuntary spasms her body was doing.
Francis shook his head and muttered sounds of denial as if this was all a dream. Yes, a horrible dream from which he will soon wake up from in the comfort of his own home!
“N-no. Nononononono...NO!”
Pointing up his pistol he shot wildly at the men who had just become visible from their hiding places. Driven mad due to his frustration and distraught, it was wonder that his aim was perfect and precise, hitting the assailants in places that they can never survive from. But sadly, there is no such thing as unlimited ammo unlike in games where one can type a cheat code and receive an infinite supply of bullet from who-knows-where. Pretty soon, Francis realized that as his pistol began to click due to an empty ammo barrel. Cursing in his native French, he tossed his gun aside and proceeded to scoop Arthuria in one swift motion into his arms and run, all with the help of adrenaline.
His surroundings were blurred; the noises shut out save for the sounds of his wife’s ragged breathing and his hitched breath. He, the usual calm and collected Francis Bonnefoy, was panicking. But his panic was not for his own safety or for the fact that he was lost within the mazes of Italy but for the fact that his wife, his beloved Arthuria, was slowly slipping away from his arms.
Skidding to a halt in another alley way, he made a mad dash towards its dark depths and looked around wildly hoping for some kind of miracle or divine intervention. It would seem that the Powers from above had some sort of mercy towards the poor man for there along the red bricked building that made up the alley was badly boarded up door. Kicking the door open with all his might, François busted in, he himself soaked in blood both his own and his wife’s, mixed with sweat. After quickly settling his dying wife on the floor, with his own coat serving as a rug, and few words or comfort in French, he quickly went back to the door to lock it up, praying to the dear heavens to give him time or better yet luck. Luck in which that their pursuers lost track of them and that André himself would find them.
Taking steps back to where is wife lay, the blonde Frenchman knelt down beside the barely breathing woman. “Merdé. Oh Arthuria...” as much as he tried his best to keep calm, to keep himself from breaking down in front of her... he just couldn’t help himself.
His whole world was crumbling down before him and it was too real to declare it a dream. He didn’t want this. He refuses to accept it! Punching the ground beside him and relishing the pain that coursed through his fist up to his arm, he felt the tears that he was trying to hold back well up to his blue irises. “Arthuria...”
“...you dolt. Stop...crying.”
Francis felt cold fingertips brush along his tear stained cheek and immediately grabbed it to placed feverish kisses, blinding hoping that his kisses would bring back some warmth back into them. “Chaton... Ma chaton...” he sobbed, holding on to the hand even more. He knew that his ministrations will not work but he was hoping, hoping for a miracle. “Arthuria, my beloved Arthuria...” A ragged intake of breath answered him along with her weak reply, “Francis, I’m dying and you know it.”
“Non!” he replied, his expression hysterical. He cannot take this fate-caused tomfoolery any longer. That unsophisticated, penniless American dolt had already taken away the affection and love that he had longed for from his own wife and now the heavens are asking for her life?! He will not accept such an unfair bargain! “Non! You are not dying!” he insisted, placing more kisses on her hand, the tears streaming down uncontrollably from his blue eyes. “I won’t accept this!”
“Francis... sweetheart.”
Francis held back a whimper and another wave of hysterical sobs and tears. “W-what did you just call me...?” he asked, disbelief in his tone. This MUST be a dream. Yes, truly a dream.
“...Am I not allowed to call my husband that?”
The Frenchman choked in his own breath and couldn’t help himself but gather the once strong woman in his arms. Oh, how he had ached for this simple yet impossible thing. Oh, how he ached to finally hear the words, the words that seemed right and rightfully his by canon law, by contract and by nature. But he did not want to hear them in this way, this situation and at this moment. “Mon dieu Arthuria... sil vous plait, awaken me from this dream.” he mumbled, the rest of whatever came after that was in French, racked with sobs and barely a whisper against the crook of his wife’s neck. “H-how...?”
“Funny... how one becomes fond of the other after a while...” his wife replied weakly but somehow managed to give the man a smile, one of the true smiles that she had ever given or shown to anyone in her whole entire life. “I have fallen in love with you Francis Bonnefoy. There are so many things I wish I had done to atone for everything I’ve ever done to you but I believe that this must be my price.” She paused to take a deep breath. It was getting hard to breathe. Her whole body feels like lead, and pretty soon she would be either unable to feel anything or have the will to open her eyes or keep on breathing. But she needed more time. She wanted to tell Francis everything. Everything he needs to know so she can finally give him the happiness that he deserved due to her depriving him because of her own selfishness and stubbornness. Francis deserves the happiness more than her. He had no fault while she was full of sin. “I was a fool to think that I can still be with Alfred. A bloody fool, I tell you.”
Tears had started to fall on her own cheeks as her lips formed into an apologetic smile. “I should have seen it before that it was you, not Alfred, who tolerated me without question throughout these years. I’m so sorry, my love.” Arthuria sobbed, her numb fingertips brushing his cheekbones again, their eyes locking with synchronized emotions for the first time in their life as husband and wife. “I love you, Francis. I love you so bloody much...” she whispered, her voice thick.
She was slipping and she knew that in a few minutes, she will be gone. But somehow, even if everything that she had wanted to say was out, she cannot bear to leave this man behind. To do so would give her the greatest regret but what can she do? She was dying from gunshot wounds. They did not have time to run to the hospital to give her the medical attention that could save her fragile life given the fact that they were on the run and the paths of Italy were foreign to them. Taking in another ragged breath, she held the Frenchman’s face with both hands and pulled him in to a kiss. To Arthuria, the kiss gave her the feeling that she used to feel whenever Alfred would kiss her but there was a huge difference. This kiss, this tender kiss, given by her for the first and probably the last time, need not any words to be described; for words do not give it any justice.
Francis could say that he was living in a nightmare-like-dream.
Dream in a sense that his affection and love for his estranged wife was finally being returned with mutual affection. A nightmare in a way that she, the reason for his very living breath, was dying and also because that he was going to be alone in this world once more. He was scared. Most scared in his whole entire life. Hearing his own wife’s confession, his mind had flashed a possibility that his wife must be playing a trick on him but he knew too well that Arthuria was in no condition to kid around and that she was often serious. He stared down on her lithe form in shock as the words seeped into his grief-stricken mind. He wanted to say something, to say the words that went oh-so well with hers but his voice seemed to have taken a break at the worst possible time. But as her chapped shivering lips brushed against his, it was too much for him to handle. The array of emotions he was feeling right there and then was too much for him to handle already. Holding her tight against his lean frame, he kissed her back with all his might, with all what’s worth, while mumbling against her own quivering lips, “I love you!” in both English and French, letting both languages mingle in perfect unison.
To Francis, it was different from the kisses he manages to steal from time to time from those strawberry flavoured lips. This kiss meant a lot to him. It was more than all the wealth in this world combined. It was the kiss that he would give up his riches for. He doesn’t need his money, even if it can buy him all of the pleasure and luxuries the world can come up, all he had longed for was his wife’s affection. His wife’s “I love you”. His wife’s love for him, and him alone. It was a simple desire but it was hard to receive give the fact that when they first met, she did not have any affection for him at all because her heart was sewn on the sleeve of man, who lived across the Atlantic.
“Francis...” she murmured against his ear as he held her close. “It’s cold.” Francis choked in his own sob and held her even more tightly against him, her own blood seeping into his clothes and skin. “Please hang on a bit more...” he pleaded, “André is sure to be looking for us. Sil vous plait... Please Arthuria don’t leave me just yet.” Murmuring sweet words of love and comfort in both broken French and English against the skin of her cold barely warm neck, Francis felt like the world was mocking him in the meanest way possible. It wasn’t fair to finally have the happiness had craved for to be given to him for only a few minutes. He had been a good Christian, a good son to his own parents, a good father to his little petit princess and a good husband to his Arthuria, never complaining nor abusing, always a gentleman as he had vowed to be. He deserved to be rewarded for this! A reward to last him a lifetime! The more Francis began to think about this the more he began to doubt if there was really a Sovereign power up there watching over His followers. He sobbed helplessly, his shoulders shaking as he held his wife even more closer to his body, his actions speaking louder than his words from before.
Arthuria had never felt so bad in her whole entire life. As she felt her breath and consciousness being slowly taken away by Death’s hand, she mustered the strength to lift up a hand and sooth the distress man holding her close. He was scared lose her as she was scared to die and leave him alone, the meanest thing should ever do in his whole life. If only she was given another chance to be with him again, to be his Albion to his Gaul, she would gladly make amends to him in every way possible to mankind. “Hush now Francis, I’m not that dumb to... to leave you alone just yet.” She replied, but it was a white lie. A lie to give her husband the reassurance he needed to get through this hell.
However, sad to say, things like this had to be cut short. Reality bites doesn’t it?
A shout in Italian was heard from the outside along with footsteps and the clicking of safety cocks and snapping of ammo barrels in place shortly followed. Suddenly the wall, door and window were being pelted with lead bullets continuously with no end. Francis ducked, using his body as a cover for his wife’s already pelted body and because of that, he himself was hit in various places. Arthuria gasped as she held the front of his shirt helplessly, fresh blood from her husband’s wounds mingling with her dried ones, and prayed to heaven that somehow Divine Intervention would fall from the sky. Francis gritted his teeth, forcing the shout of pain back down to his throat. He wasn’t going to back down. He won’t allow them to lay another finger [more of another bullet] on his wife.
“Arthuria...” As his consciousness began to waver, the Frenchman suddenly heard a familiar male voice call out and another series of gunfire ensued outside. Looking up to the door, he saw it being kicked open and a familiar man walked up to him briskly, being followed by his own men that covered his back. The Chrysanthemum pin on the man’s dress shirt collar flashed the only name he could come up with whenever faced with such symbol. “André....” his voice was hoarse but filled with relief.
“Monsieur Bonnefoy, we’re going to get you medical attention now.” The young Mafioso lord intoned as he looked back and barked orders at the men nearest to him in urgent Italian.
“Arthuria... first... dying... hurry” he gasped as he looked down to gaze at his wife but only saw next was darkness but he was able to catch a faint voice say. “Thank you and I love you.”
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White, everything was in white as those blue eyes would see it. Pure, untainted white. Unblemished white, like what she wore earlier that day. Yes, like what his beloved Arthuria wore that morning.
Francis snapped his eyes open wide, his whole being and spirit jolted awake from the thought alone. Memories of that day started to flood back to his mind and made him dart his eyes wildly hoping to find a sign of his wife. “A-arthuria...?” he called out, hoping that she would answer him along with the usual side remark on how he looked pathetic. However, he was answered with something out of the ordinary.
“I’m afraid the Madame is gone... She did not make it to the hospital.”
The blonde Frenchman looked at his side to see the sober looking Italian Mafioso by the door of his hospital room. “P-pardon....?” he asked unable to take in such cruel news. André only shook his head in reply and it was more than enough to collapse the last firewall Francis set up for his own sanity. Covering his eyes with his hands, he cried aloud into the heavens angry at the Sovereign that he believed in. He can take everything from him; his riches, his wealth, his sanity if He dared, but to take away the only person he loved was too much for him to handle at all. “Why... why am I still alive...?! WHY?!”
“The doctors managed to save your life by giving you a blood transfusion and taking out the bullets lodged within you.” André calmly explained his face stoic. “However, you still have to undergo another operation to replace some of the organs that have been sho-“
“May I leave my petit princess in your care, André?” Francis asked without looking at his friend. The Italian raised a brow at his statement but cannot refuse a request that seemed to mean a lot to his friend and just nodded in reply. “As you wish... Francis.” And with a click of his heels, André left to do what he must do. The blonde Frenchman sighed softly to himself. Looking out to the window, he spoke to someone who might be as well waiting for him. “I’m coming chaton....”
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The end of a story is a little sad,
However, my irreplaceable memories will always shine dazzlingly.
At times cold, at times gentle,
Embracing the past to heal these wounds carved in my heart.
The sands of time continue falling down,
And at the day when I finally close my eyes to sleep,
I want to leave to you only my smile, which will never fade away.
Even if we cannot shake hands again,
Even if my voice cannot reach you anymore,
I will always be here.
My heart will be at your side,
Forever,
Forever...
-Toki no Suna; Akiko Shikata
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Post A/N: I think my nose bled too much after this whole fic. And the quoted song was taken from one of the songs in the SAKIYA=RUMEI album. Anyone who’s familiar with the Ar Tonelico series will get my drift. Also my fail!French is utter fail. lol
Cross-posted in my FF.net account