Chapter Text
Disclaimer:nothing is mine, story belongs to the magicmeep
Kaitlyn=Ireland
"What crawled up your arse?" England says without preamble, France winces at the reminder that Scotland isn't the only kirkland sibling with a mouth like a sailor only he's more used to England hiding it.
"Nothing,"
England raises an eyebrow and France realises how petulant he sounds, he gives himself a shake, unused to this crawling feeling between his shoulder blades and the barely concealed rage flowing through his veins, it's the one of the things he hates about being immortal. Everyone has long memories. And no one is willing to give second chances.
England's hand settles in the nook of his arm pulling him closer so that they can speak semi privately. Familiar green eyes bore into his with startling intensity and even one step removed from Scotland's it's a hard confession to voice.
"Do you think Scotland trusts me?"
To England's credit her face betrays no reaction, she has trained herself only to reflect what she wants the world to see but France knows her; can read the incredulity under the gossamer mask.
"Does my sister look like she wastes time on people she doesn't trust?" She gave a self deprecating shrug, "apart from me of course."
France works his jaw, "I've lied before, I could be lying again, sleeping my way around the world while Scotland waits keeping the bed warm."
England tilted her head, cataloging France's features with an intensity that unnerved him; he was used it being stared at; admired but this was different, England was measuring him.
"That doesn't sound like you France, I mean it sounds like your actions but since when do you care what anyone else thinks,"
Deliberately England glances towards the throng of nations crowding the bar, "that sounds like them."
France's silence is her answer.
"Listen France if I took what they said about me to heart I'd be a nervous wreak who wouldn't set foot outside her own front step, but I am England and you are France and there is a reason why we are not embroiled in a Hundred Years' War anymore. There's a reason why Scotland invites me to the pub when a few decades ago she wouldn't even contemplate it. The reason why I can have a civil conversation with my sister kaitlyn. We're not those people, we've grown up, I hope."
She grins a truly terrible, beautiful grin, " and if I thought for one moment you were up to your old tricks I would scalp you so fast, and trust me you would thank me for getting to you first before Scotland had a chance."
England takes a sip of champagne, using the glass to point to Scotland who was sitting at a table, fussing with her gown. France watches her, pale skin and flame red hair a beacon in the dark and crowded room.
"The dopey look on your face tells me you're genuine France" England says at last. "You'd better go save her before the Netherlands gets a stiletto shoe in an unmentionable place."
France chuckles, shoulders beginning to drop as the anger washes through him. When he breathes a little easier he finds that England has disappeared into the crowd and France takes her advice moving back to their secluded little spot.
"You alright?" Scotland asks, concern lacing her tone adding a melodious note to her accent, it thrills France that he is allowed to hear it.
"Do you trust me?"
Just as England had done Scotland's eyes fell to the bar, her expression hardening.
"I wouldn't be here with you if I didn't, I'm not a party animal. This isn't exactly my scene."
France nods, "we need to talk, properly. But for now..."
He holds out his hand and without pause Scotland takes it, and under the gazes of most of the world they leave.
Together.
End