[Fic] Wonderful Complications (2/7)
Title: Wonderful Complications
Author: starrdust411
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: France/England
Warning: AU, Slash, Mpreg, Human & Country Names
Summary: England's relationship with France takes a major shift after the events of one long summer. (De-anon from the hetalia_kink meme)
Prologue|Chapter 1
Chapter 2
When England woke up the next morning he wasn't terribly surprised to find France in the bed beside him. The man must have woken up in the middle of the night and decided to relocate himself into his bed despite the fact that it was quite clearly occupied. Not that England could complain. He was a guest in France's cabin and in his current condition France needed to use the mattress more than he did.
He flipped onto his side and was instantly greeted by the sight of blond hair spilling out across the shared pillow. Even though France had his back turned towards him England could still tell that he was sound asleep from the steady puffs of breath that escaped his lips. The sun had already risen, its golden rays peaking into the small cabin, and England felt his stomach give a soft rumble as he recalled that he hadn't eaten anything in a while.
If I'm hungry, then France must be starving, he reasoned.
Gently, he slipped off of the straw mattress, mindful not to wake the other occupant. Yet despite his best efforts he was soon greeted by the sound of France sighing softly before stirring at his side.
"Mm, is it morning?" France half asked, half yawned as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"Yes, but you stay here," England instructed. "I'll bring you something to eat."
"You will not find much," France mumbled, before settling back into the bed.
England went to the front of the cabin and wasn't surprised to find that France had been right as there was only a loaf of bread and a bit of cheese for them to eat. He shrugged as he gathered the bit of food and brought it to the bedroom. It would have to do. When he returned France carefully straightened himself and rested his back against the headboard. England divided the bread and cheese between the two of them, mindful to give France the bigger portion, before settling down across from him on the mattress. The two of them ate their breakfast in an uncomfortable silence, but England felt that it was better than the openly hostile atmosphere that they had endured yesterday.
England split his bread in half and placed his wedge of cheese between it, but France merely nibbled at his cheese before moving on to pick off the crust of his bread before attacking the soft white insides. The scene was so painfully dull that England almost felt himself drifting back to sleep.
"Here," France said, breaking the silence when he offered the crumbs of bread to England. "Feed these to Pierre."
"Oh for the love of... How can you think of feeding that damn bird in a time like this?"
"Pierre is my friend, England cher. You would know about such things if you actually had any."
England grumbled quietly to himself as he accepted the bit of bread France offered him before getting up to deposit it unceremoniously into the bottom of Pierre's cage. Pierre fluttered and twittered sweetly at the sight of the food offered to him and England simply responded by sneering at the little creature.
"Do not mock Pierre," France chided and England had to wonder how he had managed to see England's sneer when his back was facing him.
"Right well, you don't seem to have much to eat, so I suppose I'll go and pick up a few things," England offered. He frowned at his words when he realized that he didn't have any money to spend. "Or perhaps I'll just catch us some fish."
"I will join you then," France ventured as he carefully maneuvered himself off of the bed.
"No, I..." he stammered, stopping himself when France pinned him with a challenging look. "You don't have to do that. I'll be fine on my own."
"I am sure, but I want to come anyway," he said firmly. "The baby likes being out in the sun."
"How can he tell? He's stuck in your stomach."
"Yes and it gets so nice and warm in there." France smiled as he rubbed the top of his belly. "She loves to be warm and toasty."
England frowned at that. This country could get so terribly warm during the summer and he did not envy France for having to be stuck carrying a baby in this heat. The last thing he wanted was to make him even more uncomfortable, but if France wanted to do something then there was no stopping him. "Fine then. We'll just be quick about it."
---
England was happy to say that he had caught quite a few fish. He didn't have a proper line or bait so he was forced to wade into the water and catch fish with his bare hands in the same fashion as the natives who had taught it to him and his men.
The thought of his men was a harsh reminder that he shouldn't be here. He was wasting his time playing in the water and dealing with a man who didn't really want him around. He should have been far away, tending to his colonies and helping with the settlement. England shook those thoughts out of his head. It didn't really matter what he should have been doing. It only mattered that he was here now and would simply have to make the best of this unfavorable situation.
He turned his attention towards France who had found a sunny patch of grass and had settled down to bask in the warmth of the early summer day. England frowned at the sight, wondering whether the other man had forgotten about his pathetic struggles just the other day or if he were expecting to have England help him get to his feet once again.
England soon found himself distracted from these thoughts as he watched France rub small circles into his stomach and whisper soothing words to it. Even after spending an entire day with him, it was still hard for England to see France this way: fat and awkward and at odds with himself. Half the time France looked absolutely miserable and the rest, the times when he focused his attention on the baby and not his own uncomfortable girth, he seemed rather content.
"Does it hurt?" he asked sitting down on the grass beside France. "When he kicks that is," he explained when France only responded to his question with a confused stare. "Does it hurt?"
"It is more uncomfortable than painful," France told him. "She kicks the hardest when she is hungry. It is the worst when she kicks at me from two places at once."
"Two at once? Is that even possible?"
"I assure you, it is," he sighed. They fell silent then. A breeze drifted by and England tried his best to focus his attention on the rustling of the grass instead of the painful quiet. "She is kicking now," France noted. "Would you like to feel?"
"Of course not," he snapped. "Why would I want to touch you? I'll wait until after the lad is born."
France shook his head and went back to pressing the palm of his hand here and there on his stomach. All the while England fought against the sudden urge to ask the question that he knew he shouldn't, but it would not stop gnawing at him no matter how much he tried to push it aside. "How far along are you?" he asked instead.
France thought for a moment before answering with "Seven months I think."
"Seven?" he repeated. "But you're so..." He stopped himself when embarrassment flashed behind France's blue eyes.
Why is this so bloody awkward? England thought miserably. We've spoken before haven't we? It was never this hard to just sit with each other. Well, it was always hard, but in a different way. I suppose it's because we both know what I want to ask. Maybe I should just do it now and get it over with.
"France," he began carefully, focusing his gaze on a single blade of grass instead of France's face. "I know I probably shouldn't ask this since you're still quite miffed at me, but, well, I just need to know you see? I suppose what I'm trying to say is-"
"How do I know it is your baby?" France finished for him, confirming England's prior suspicions. He didn't bother to give any sort of response, instead choosing to wait quietly for France to reply. "That is simple. I just know."
England tore his eyes away from the ground in order to pin France -- who was, much to his annoyance, wearing a pleasantly smug grin -- with the full force of his scowl. "What sort of answer is that?" he snapped. "Are you trying to tell me it was simply your woman's intuition?"
"Something like that," France told him flippantly. England waited for just a moment, allowing his glower to continue to burn into France's side, before the man finally turned serious. "Oh England, you truly have no faith in me. I am not the sort of man that you like to think I am."
"Meaning?"
France shook his head at the question, disappointment weighing him down and causing his shoulders to slump. "Meaning that seven months ago there had only been you."
"Oh," England said simply and once again he found himself feeling like an absolute heel. "Well... do you think you've had enough sun?"
"I think I am ready for some fish," France answered as he gave his stomach a weary pat.
England tried not to smile.
---
The walk back to the cabin was marked by a tense silence that England was starting to become all too familiar with. It had only been a little more than a day since they had entered into this awkward living situation and while they had made some progress it all just felt so painfully slow. He briefly wondered if things would be any better after the baby was born, but he quickly pushed that thought aside. He wasn't quite ready to contemplate that aspect of the future just yet.
When they reached the cabin England made sure to get straight to work at gutting and scaling the fish while France wandered inside, intent on doing as little as possible. Not that England was at all surprised by this. In fact, he tried his best not to think about it, choosing instead to focus his attention on the act of pulling out the fish's slimy innards before carefully running the blade of his knife against its skin. By the time he had finished and set about cleaning up his mess, France was already fast asleep. Once again England was not surprised, just incredibly annoyed.
Remembering that France had briefly mentioned being hungry while they were sitting by the lake, England decided to prepare a simple lunch out of some of his fish. He sliced up one of them along with a few vegetables that he had found while rummaging through the cabin and made a quick soup before salting the rest of the fish and storing them for later. When the soup was finished he went into the back room to rouse France and then lead the sleepy man to the table at the front of the cabin. To his surprise (and secret delight) France didn't put up much of a fight about eating the meal he had prepared for him and went about consuming the broth with an indifferent air.
"Well, this is strange," he commented. "You're actually eating my cooking without objection. No snide comments for me, Frog? No critiques about how bland my broth turned out? No complaints about the vegetables being too hard to stomach?"
For a moment England was afraid he had broken whatever spell had been cast upon France's taste buds when the man turned to look up at him with confused blue eyes. Yet to his continued shock France only offered him a shrug before going back to ladling the soup into his mouth. "Well, it is not good," he muttered between mouthfuls of fish, "but it is not making me retch, so it is good enough."
England accepted the back handed comment, because it was nice to have someone to cook for, even if that someone was France.
He had barely set down to eat his own lunch when France had finished off his own bowl. "Is there anymore?" he asked and England had to admit he hadn't been expecting the question.
"Um, well," he stammered. He had only prepared enough for two, so he simply filled France's bowl with half of his own share and made a mental note that he would have to cook in large quantities in the future.
France finished off the rest of his meal quickly and quietly, not bothering to offer England as much as a muttered thank you. "Well, I am going back to bed," he announced once his bowl was clean.
"What? You only just woke up!" he pointed out.
"Yes, but you interrupted my nap and I intend to finish it," France explained as he pushed himself away from the table and began slowly heading back towards the back of the cabin.
"Come now, France. You can't just spend all day and all night sleeping. It can't be good for you."
France responded to his comment with a sarcastic chortle and England frowned at him in return. "Oh England, how simple you are. You know nothing about pregnancy."
His frown only deepened at that, because France probably knew just as little as he did and was only gaining an informal education in the matter by experiencing it firsthand. Still, it made him wonder just how much sleep one needed while carrying a child. Having another person inside must take a great deal of energy, he reasoned, and with France being a man and thus unfit for the process, it must have been more taxing than usual. Or perhaps France was fit for it. He had gotten pregnant after all, without any conscious effort or intervention from anyone else, so maybe all beings like them were meant to carry children. Or maybe France was just an unusual case and this condition was just a side effect of his amorous nature. Or perhaps France was under some sort of curse.
England shook his head and stopped that train of thought then and there. He didn't want to think about it, because this whole situation just made his head hurt.
He ate what little soup had been left for him and then went about cleaning the cabin, because it was in desperate need of it. France may like things neat and orderly, but he had always been rubbish at chores. The man constantly needed others to take care of him and unfortunately that role now fell on England's shoulders. However, the excitement from that little adventure only lasted him a few minutes, because the cabin was quite small and England soon found himself alone and bored.
He didn't want to wake France, reasoning that the man needed his sleep (and really what would he gain from having him awake other than to have someone to share in the uncomfortable silence?). He paced about the cabin a few times before deciding that he would go into town and buy some food.
England found a small purse full of coins near the bed and took them quietly so as not to wake France. He walked briskly towards the town, grimacing when the sound of voices chattering away in French greeted his ears. His own French was horrendous, but passable. He still remembered centuries ago sitting in a field with France as the other country tried to teach him his language. England had purposely butchered every vowel and syllable just to watch France's face twist in displeasure. They had only been children then and teasing France had been a much more enjoyable activity than being chased around by his brothers. Of course, when France turned the tables on him, things were not so enjoyable.
Now England wished he had tried a bit harder in his French lessons, because every time he opened his mouth to speak to one of the merchants in the settlement they gave him a disgusted scowl that spoke volumes of their desires to do him harm for his butchering of their language.
I hope that baby comes soon, he thought to himself. I don't know how much longer I can stand living among all these frogs.
By the time he decided to give up on bargaining for food, the sun was beginning to set. He returned to the cabin with a basket full of pathetic vegetables and poor strips of meat that likely wouldn't keep for very long. His mind was so busy swirling with thoughts of what to cook for dinner that he almost missed the frantic cries that came from within the small wooden home. England picked up his pace then, heading towards the cabin in a brisk sprint. He had just reached the wooden steps when the door swung open and France emerged, pale faced and frantic.
"England," France panted, breathing a bit too quickly for his liking. "England!"
England stood stunned as France closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms about his shoulder, digging his fingers into England's flesh.
"France, what's wrong?" he asked as soon as he regained his senses. He pulled France away from him and held him at arm's length in order to get a good look at his body. Everything looked fine, but England didn't let his guard down. "What happened? Is it the baby?"
"You left," France gasped, his voice still quivering and tears brimming into his wide eyes. "You left us!"
"Wh-what?" he sputtered, shocked to say the least that his brief disappearance had caused France to come undone. He had always known France to be overly dramatic, but this was ridiculous. "I was gone for all of five minutes!"
"You left while I was sleeping," France went on, his voice pitifully low as tears began to streak down his cheeks. "I could not find you. I did not know where you were."
"I just went into town to get us some food. See?" He raised the basket in his hand to France's eye level, hoping that the gesture would be enough to relieve the tension building inside of France. To his dismay, the gesture seemed to set something off inside of France and he responded to the sight of the food by slapping the basket out of England's hands. "Damn it all, France. That was our dinner!" England chided as he watched his recently purchased goods tumble to the ground.
"I do not care about food!" France screamed. England watched as his face turned a frightening shade of red and his body began to shake. "You ran out on us," he went on, gesturing frantically towards his belly. "You are always so eager to leave us, so just leave!"
With that France stormed back inside, slamming the door behind him. England was left in the fading light of the sun, too stunned to even move as he desperately tried to process what had just happened. He couldn't begin to imagine what could have transpired in the brief time he had been away that would have caused this sort of reaction. England grumbled irritably to himself about nitwitted frogs as he went about salvaging his purchase before entering the cabin.
"See here France, you can't just react like that every time I leave!" he chided, but his indignation quickly faded away when he once again found France slumped over in his chair sobbing quietly to himself. In an instant he went from feeling certain that he was the put upon victim to seeing himself as nothing more than a shameless bully as he listened to the heartbreaking hiccups and whimpers that escaped France's trembling form. "France," he began again, making a conscious effort to soften his tone. "France I'm sorry. I just... well I don't know what I did wrong exactly."
"I had a dream," France whimpered weakly and the words almost sounded childish to his ears. Yet the way France sat there with his arms wrapped around his stomach without bothering to raise his eyes to meet England's gaze or even wipe at the trail of tears marring his cheeks made all thoughts of mockery evaporate inside of him. "It was so horrible. And when I woke up I could not find you. I was sure you had left for good." He watched as France squeezed his eyes shut tight against the thought, the gesture causing two more tears to fall from his lids and drip down his chin. "I do not want to be alone."
England sighed, placing his basket down on the wooden table before going to crouch down next to France. "I didn't leave though," he told him. "I came back. I won't leave you for good."
"How... how can I believe you?" France sobbed. "You hate me. You would not stay with me when I was normal, how can you want to stay near me when I am like this?"
"Well I," he began, but then found himself coming to a gradual halt. What was he supposed to say to comfort him? France was right, he did hate him and always would. Even as he stood there comforting his long time enemy England couldn't see himself feeling anything more than pity for the man, but that wasn't the right thing to say at a time like this. England frowned, fighting against the little voice in his head that told him not to, before he finally decided to put a comforting hand on France's knee. That wasn't so bad, was it? If he could stand to hug him, he could stand to pat his knee. "I'm not going to leave," he assured him. "I want to stay for the baby, because it's bigger than us and, well, I suppose I can put up with you for the sake of our child."
France gave a loud sniff as he sloppily wiped away the tear tracks on his face. He didn't look very happy, but at least he wasn't openly sobbing anymore. "Do you promise you will not try to leave us again?"
England scowled at this, feeling very much as if the man hadn't heard a single word he had just said, but he pushed that aside for now. "I promise," he said at last. "And I promise that I won't go anywhere while you're asleep again. I don't want a repeat of this."
France offered him a weak, very weak, smile and England hoped that it was a sign that they were on better terms now.
"Right, well, I suppose I'll make us some supper," England offered, because the small lunch he had eaten had only left his stomach feeling teased. Yet he couldn't keep himself from frowning at the reminder of the food that had been ruined. "I'm afraid whatever I make might taste a bit worse than usual."
"That is alright," France assured him. "I think the baby has turned off my sense of taste anyway." He jumped a little bit then, before smiling and putting his hands on either side of his stomach. "She is kicking again. Would you like to feel?"
England frowned, shaking his head quickly. "Um, no thank you," he said as he stood up and made to prepare dinner.
Chapter 3
Author: starrdust411
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: France/England
Warning: AU, Slash, Mpreg, Human & Country Names
Summary: England's relationship with France takes a major shift after the events of one long summer. (De-anon from the hetalia_kink meme)
Prologue|Chapter 1
Chapter 2
When England woke up the next morning he wasn't terribly surprised to find France in the bed beside him. The man must have woken up in the middle of the night and decided to relocate himself into his bed despite the fact that it was quite clearly occupied. Not that England could complain. He was a guest in France's cabin and in his current condition France needed to use the mattress more than he did.
He flipped onto his side and was instantly greeted by the sight of blond hair spilling out across the shared pillow. Even though France had his back turned towards him England could still tell that he was sound asleep from the steady puffs of breath that escaped his lips. The sun had already risen, its golden rays peaking into the small cabin, and England felt his stomach give a soft rumble as he recalled that he hadn't eaten anything in a while.
If I'm hungry, then France must be starving, he reasoned.
Gently, he slipped off of the straw mattress, mindful not to wake the other occupant. Yet despite his best efforts he was soon greeted by the sound of France sighing softly before stirring at his side.
"Mm, is it morning?" France half asked, half yawned as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.
"Yes, but you stay here," England instructed. "I'll bring you something to eat."
"You will not find much," France mumbled, before settling back into the bed.
England went to the front of the cabin and wasn't surprised to find that France had been right as there was only a loaf of bread and a bit of cheese for them to eat. He shrugged as he gathered the bit of food and brought it to the bedroom. It would have to do. When he returned France carefully straightened himself and rested his back against the headboard. England divided the bread and cheese between the two of them, mindful to give France the bigger portion, before settling down across from him on the mattress. The two of them ate their breakfast in an uncomfortable silence, but England felt that it was better than the openly hostile atmosphere that they had endured yesterday.
England split his bread in half and placed his wedge of cheese between it, but France merely nibbled at his cheese before moving on to pick off the crust of his bread before attacking the soft white insides. The scene was so painfully dull that England almost felt himself drifting back to sleep.
"Here," France said, breaking the silence when he offered the crumbs of bread to England. "Feed these to Pierre."
"Oh for the love of... How can you think of feeding that damn bird in a time like this?"
"Pierre is my friend, England cher. You would know about such things if you actually had any."
England grumbled quietly to himself as he accepted the bit of bread France offered him before getting up to deposit it unceremoniously into the bottom of Pierre's cage. Pierre fluttered and twittered sweetly at the sight of the food offered to him and England simply responded by sneering at the little creature.
"Do not mock Pierre," France chided and England had to wonder how he had managed to see England's sneer when his back was facing him.
"Right well, you don't seem to have much to eat, so I suppose I'll go and pick up a few things," England offered. He frowned at his words when he realized that he didn't have any money to spend. "Or perhaps I'll just catch us some fish."
"I will join you then," France ventured as he carefully maneuvered himself off of the bed.
"No, I..." he stammered, stopping himself when France pinned him with a challenging look. "You don't have to do that. I'll be fine on my own."
"I am sure, but I want to come anyway," he said firmly. "The baby likes being out in the sun."
"How can he tell? He's stuck in your stomach."
"Yes and it gets so nice and warm in there." France smiled as he rubbed the top of his belly. "She loves to be warm and toasty."
England frowned at that. This country could get so terribly warm during the summer and he did not envy France for having to be stuck carrying a baby in this heat. The last thing he wanted was to make him even more uncomfortable, but if France wanted to do something then there was no stopping him. "Fine then. We'll just be quick about it."
---
England was happy to say that he had caught quite a few fish. He didn't have a proper line or bait so he was forced to wade into the water and catch fish with his bare hands in the same fashion as the natives who had taught it to him and his men.
The thought of his men was a harsh reminder that he shouldn't be here. He was wasting his time playing in the water and dealing with a man who didn't really want him around. He should have been far away, tending to his colonies and helping with the settlement. England shook those thoughts out of his head. It didn't really matter what he should have been doing. It only mattered that he was here now and would simply have to make the best of this unfavorable situation.
He turned his attention towards France who had found a sunny patch of grass and had settled down to bask in the warmth of the early summer day. England frowned at the sight, wondering whether the other man had forgotten about his pathetic struggles just the other day or if he were expecting to have England help him get to his feet once again.
England soon found himself distracted from these thoughts as he watched France rub small circles into his stomach and whisper soothing words to it. Even after spending an entire day with him, it was still hard for England to see France this way: fat and awkward and at odds with himself. Half the time France looked absolutely miserable and the rest, the times when he focused his attention on the baby and not his own uncomfortable girth, he seemed rather content.
"Does it hurt?" he asked sitting down on the grass beside France. "When he kicks that is," he explained when France only responded to his question with a confused stare. "Does it hurt?"
"It is more uncomfortable than painful," France told him. "She kicks the hardest when she is hungry. It is the worst when she kicks at me from two places at once."
"Two at once? Is that even possible?"
"I assure you, it is," he sighed. They fell silent then. A breeze drifted by and England tried his best to focus his attention on the rustling of the grass instead of the painful quiet. "She is kicking now," France noted. "Would you like to feel?"
"Of course not," he snapped. "Why would I want to touch you? I'll wait until after the lad is born."
France shook his head and went back to pressing the palm of his hand here and there on his stomach. All the while England fought against the sudden urge to ask the question that he knew he shouldn't, but it would not stop gnawing at him no matter how much he tried to push it aside. "How far along are you?" he asked instead.
France thought for a moment before answering with "Seven months I think."
"Seven?" he repeated. "But you're so..." He stopped himself when embarrassment flashed behind France's blue eyes.
Why is this so bloody awkward? England thought miserably. We've spoken before haven't we? It was never this hard to just sit with each other. Well, it was always hard, but in a different way. I suppose it's because we both know what I want to ask. Maybe I should just do it now and get it over with.
"France," he began carefully, focusing his gaze on a single blade of grass instead of France's face. "I know I probably shouldn't ask this since you're still quite miffed at me, but, well, I just need to know you see? I suppose what I'm trying to say is-"
"How do I know it is your baby?" France finished for him, confirming England's prior suspicions. He didn't bother to give any sort of response, instead choosing to wait quietly for France to reply. "That is simple. I just know."
England tore his eyes away from the ground in order to pin France -- who was, much to his annoyance, wearing a pleasantly smug grin -- with the full force of his scowl. "What sort of answer is that?" he snapped. "Are you trying to tell me it was simply your woman's intuition?"
"Something like that," France told him flippantly. England waited for just a moment, allowing his glower to continue to burn into France's side, before the man finally turned serious. "Oh England, you truly have no faith in me. I am not the sort of man that you like to think I am."
"Meaning?"
France shook his head at the question, disappointment weighing him down and causing his shoulders to slump. "Meaning that seven months ago there had only been you."
"Oh," England said simply and once again he found himself feeling like an absolute heel. "Well... do you think you've had enough sun?"
"I think I am ready for some fish," France answered as he gave his stomach a weary pat.
England tried not to smile.
---
The walk back to the cabin was marked by a tense silence that England was starting to become all too familiar with. It had only been a little more than a day since they had entered into this awkward living situation and while they had made some progress it all just felt so painfully slow. He briefly wondered if things would be any better after the baby was born, but he quickly pushed that thought aside. He wasn't quite ready to contemplate that aspect of the future just yet.
When they reached the cabin England made sure to get straight to work at gutting and scaling the fish while France wandered inside, intent on doing as little as possible. Not that England was at all surprised by this. In fact, he tried his best not to think about it, choosing instead to focus his attention on the act of pulling out the fish's slimy innards before carefully running the blade of his knife against its skin. By the time he had finished and set about cleaning up his mess, France was already fast asleep. Once again England was not surprised, just incredibly annoyed.
Remembering that France had briefly mentioned being hungry while they were sitting by the lake, England decided to prepare a simple lunch out of some of his fish. He sliced up one of them along with a few vegetables that he had found while rummaging through the cabin and made a quick soup before salting the rest of the fish and storing them for later. When the soup was finished he went into the back room to rouse France and then lead the sleepy man to the table at the front of the cabin. To his surprise (and secret delight) France didn't put up much of a fight about eating the meal he had prepared for him and went about consuming the broth with an indifferent air.
"Well, this is strange," he commented. "You're actually eating my cooking without objection. No snide comments for me, Frog? No critiques about how bland my broth turned out? No complaints about the vegetables being too hard to stomach?"
For a moment England was afraid he had broken whatever spell had been cast upon France's taste buds when the man turned to look up at him with confused blue eyes. Yet to his continued shock France only offered him a shrug before going back to ladling the soup into his mouth. "Well, it is not good," he muttered between mouthfuls of fish, "but it is not making me retch, so it is good enough."
England accepted the back handed comment, because it was nice to have someone to cook for, even if that someone was France.
He had barely set down to eat his own lunch when France had finished off his own bowl. "Is there anymore?" he asked and England had to admit he hadn't been expecting the question.
"Um, well," he stammered. He had only prepared enough for two, so he simply filled France's bowl with half of his own share and made a mental note that he would have to cook in large quantities in the future.
France finished off the rest of his meal quickly and quietly, not bothering to offer England as much as a muttered thank you. "Well, I am going back to bed," he announced once his bowl was clean.
"What? You only just woke up!" he pointed out.
"Yes, but you interrupted my nap and I intend to finish it," France explained as he pushed himself away from the table and began slowly heading back towards the back of the cabin.
"Come now, France. You can't just spend all day and all night sleeping. It can't be good for you."
France responded to his comment with a sarcastic chortle and England frowned at him in return. "Oh England, how simple you are. You know nothing about pregnancy."
His frown only deepened at that, because France probably knew just as little as he did and was only gaining an informal education in the matter by experiencing it firsthand. Still, it made him wonder just how much sleep one needed while carrying a child. Having another person inside must take a great deal of energy, he reasoned, and with France being a man and thus unfit for the process, it must have been more taxing than usual. Or perhaps France was fit for it. He had gotten pregnant after all, without any conscious effort or intervention from anyone else, so maybe all beings like them were meant to carry children. Or maybe France was just an unusual case and this condition was just a side effect of his amorous nature. Or perhaps France was under some sort of curse.
England shook his head and stopped that train of thought then and there. He didn't want to think about it, because this whole situation just made his head hurt.
He ate what little soup had been left for him and then went about cleaning the cabin, because it was in desperate need of it. France may like things neat and orderly, but he had always been rubbish at chores. The man constantly needed others to take care of him and unfortunately that role now fell on England's shoulders. However, the excitement from that little adventure only lasted him a few minutes, because the cabin was quite small and England soon found himself alone and bored.
He didn't want to wake France, reasoning that the man needed his sleep (and really what would he gain from having him awake other than to have someone to share in the uncomfortable silence?). He paced about the cabin a few times before deciding that he would go into town and buy some food.
England found a small purse full of coins near the bed and took them quietly so as not to wake France. He walked briskly towards the town, grimacing when the sound of voices chattering away in French greeted his ears. His own French was horrendous, but passable. He still remembered centuries ago sitting in a field with France as the other country tried to teach him his language. England had purposely butchered every vowel and syllable just to watch France's face twist in displeasure. They had only been children then and teasing France had been a much more enjoyable activity than being chased around by his brothers. Of course, when France turned the tables on him, things were not so enjoyable.
Now England wished he had tried a bit harder in his French lessons, because every time he opened his mouth to speak to one of the merchants in the settlement they gave him a disgusted scowl that spoke volumes of their desires to do him harm for his butchering of their language.
I hope that baby comes soon, he thought to himself. I don't know how much longer I can stand living among all these frogs.
By the time he decided to give up on bargaining for food, the sun was beginning to set. He returned to the cabin with a basket full of pathetic vegetables and poor strips of meat that likely wouldn't keep for very long. His mind was so busy swirling with thoughts of what to cook for dinner that he almost missed the frantic cries that came from within the small wooden home. England picked up his pace then, heading towards the cabin in a brisk sprint. He had just reached the wooden steps when the door swung open and France emerged, pale faced and frantic.
"England," France panted, breathing a bit too quickly for his liking. "England!"
England stood stunned as France closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms about his shoulder, digging his fingers into England's flesh.
"France, what's wrong?" he asked as soon as he regained his senses. He pulled France away from him and held him at arm's length in order to get a good look at his body. Everything looked fine, but England didn't let his guard down. "What happened? Is it the baby?"
"You left," France gasped, his voice still quivering and tears brimming into his wide eyes. "You left us!"
"Wh-what?" he sputtered, shocked to say the least that his brief disappearance had caused France to come undone. He had always known France to be overly dramatic, but this was ridiculous. "I was gone for all of five minutes!"
"You left while I was sleeping," France went on, his voice pitifully low as tears began to streak down his cheeks. "I could not find you. I did not know where you were."
"I just went into town to get us some food. See?" He raised the basket in his hand to France's eye level, hoping that the gesture would be enough to relieve the tension building inside of France. To his dismay, the gesture seemed to set something off inside of France and he responded to the sight of the food by slapping the basket out of England's hands. "Damn it all, France. That was our dinner!" England chided as he watched his recently purchased goods tumble to the ground.
"I do not care about food!" France screamed. England watched as his face turned a frightening shade of red and his body began to shake. "You ran out on us," he went on, gesturing frantically towards his belly. "You are always so eager to leave us, so just leave!"
With that France stormed back inside, slamming the door behind him. England was left in the fading light of the sun, too stunned to even move as he desperately tried to process what had just happened. He couldn't begin to imagine what could have transpired in the brief time he had been away that would have caused this sort of reaction. England grumbled irritably to himself about nitwitted frogs as he went about salvaging his purchase before entering the cabin.
"See here France, you can't just react like that every time I leave!" he chided, but his indignation quickly faded away when he once again found France slumped over in his chair sobbing quietly to himself. In an instant he went from feeling certain that he was the put upon victim to seeing himself as nothing more than a shameless bully as he listened to the heartbreaking hiccups and whimpers that escaped France's trembling form. "France," he began again, making a conscious effort to soften his tone. "France I'm sorry. I just... well I don't know what I did wrong exactly."
"I had a dream," France whimpered weakly and the words almost sounded childish to his ears. Yet the way France sat there with his arms wrapped around his stomach without bothering to raise his eyes to meet England's gaze or even wipe at the trail of tears marring his cheeks made all thoughts of mockery evaporate inside of him. "It was so horrible. And when I woke up I could not find you. I was sure you had left for good." He watched as France squeezed his eyes shut tight against the thought, the gesture causing two more tears to fall from his lids and drip down his chin. "I do not want to be alone."
England sighed, placing his basket down on the wooden table before going to crouch down next to France. "I didn't leave though," he told him. "I came back. I won't leave you for good."
"How... how can I believe you?" France sobbed. "You hate me. You would not stay with me when I was normal, how can you want to stay near me when I am like this?"
"Well I," he began, but then found himself coming to a gradual halt. What was he supposed to say to comfort him? France was right, he did hate him and always would. Even as he stood there comforting his long time enemy England couldn't see himself feeling anything more than pity for the man, but that wasn't the right thing to say at a time like this. England frowned, fighting against the little voice in his head that told him not to, before he finally decided to put a comforting hand on France's knee. That wasn't so bad, was it? If he could stand to hug him, he could stand to pat his knee. "I'm not going to leave," he assured him. "I want to stay for the baby, because it's bigger than us and, well, I suppose I can put up with you for the sake of our child."
France gave a loud sniff as he sloppily wiped away the tear tracks on his face. He didn't look very happy, but at least he wasn't openly sobbing anymore. "Do you promise you will not try to leave us again?"
England scowled at this, feeling very much as if the man hadn't heard a single word he had just said, but he pushed that aside for now. "I promise," he said at last. "And I promise that I won't go anywhere while you're asleep again. I don't want a repeat of this."
France offered him a weak, very weak, smile and England hoped that it was a sign that they were on better terms now.
"Right, well, I suppose I'll make us some supper," England offered, because the small lunch he had eaten had only left his stomach feeling teased. Yet he couldn't keep himself from frowning at the reminder of the food that had been ruined. "I'm afraid whatever I make might taste a bit worse than usual."
"That is alright," France assured him. "I think the baby has turned off my sense of taste anyway." He jumped a little bit then, before smiling and putting his hands on either side of his stomach. "She is kicking again. Would you like to feel?"
England frowned, shaking his head quickly. "Um, no thank you," he said as he stood up and made to prepare dinner.
Chapter 3