Author: Pixie-Rings

Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia

Pairing: France/Canada

Genre: humour, inexcusable fluff

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: APH belongs to Himaruya, and the countries factually belong to themselves. Or their bosses and the people that live there, rather.

Word count: 1,339

Warning: none

Summary: Canada tries to teach France to skate. He fails, but learns exactly what France thinks of him.

A/n: France isn't my favourite character, even though he's a load of fun. I alternate between detesting him and adoring him. Canada, on the other hand, is just fucking adorable, and can do no wrong. Also, French title might be fail. If something is wrong with it, please to infolm me, aru.

This was an extremely stupid idea, France decided, as he grabbed the railing and held on as hard as he could. He was rather happy that only a young couple with their little boy and another man with a beard were the only ones that could see this indignity. Canada, enjoying himself far more than could be deemed polite in the face of another nation's predicament, went gliding past on his ice-skates easily.

"Come on, France," he said encouragingly. "You'll never learn if you don't try."

France gritted his teeth and tried to stand upright without looking undignified and flailing... too much, anyway. He'd already fallen seven times. It was at times like these that he wished Canada was not quite so nice.

"Oui, oui," he said with forced enthusiasm. Someone should remind him why he was doing this again. Honestly, what fool could come up with such a crazy idea as wearing boots with blades on the bottom and sending people onto slippery surfaces with them? Really, Canada made it looked so easy and elegant...

"Here, I'll help," Canada offered, holding his hands out. France laughed with false cheer.

"No, no, mon cher, I can do this perfectly well on my own..."

As if to underline this fact, he let go of the railing of the rink, slipping away a small distance from it. He miraculously kept his balance, and was about to turn to Canada and smirk when his equilibrium lost its centre and he almost went crashing to the ground. He flapped his arms around with no small amount of gracelessness and grabbed the railing. He would later convince himself he had not whimpered.

Canada chuckled, not mockingly. "I can see that," he said, shaking his head fondly. He skimmed over to about the centre of the rink and clapped his hands.

"Right. Watch me!" He ordered. "Keep your feet out to the side, like this..." He demonstrated it slowly. "When you want to stop, put weight on your heels. Easy as pie!" He assured, skating back over to France and offering his hands again.

France gave him a miserable look, but took them. "Right, now out, out, out... Keep your body straight, don't lean too forward or too far back... Excellent..."

France looked at his feet, surprised. They weren't betraying him quite as readily as before. "Ah, mon cher, you are an excellent teacher," he remarked, smiling. Canada blushed a little.

"I try," he mumbled. "Now, see if you can try a little on your own."

He slowly let go of France's hands, nodding encouragingly, and France tried. He really did. He managed to make it a metre before falling flat on his derrière.

"That hurt," France winced. He was put out to find it hurt much more than the falls he'd had before, and that there were tears in his eyes. "That hurt very, very much."

Canada sighed and helped France up. The older nation was rubbing his behind, his face twisted in pain.

"You fell on your tailbone," Canada said. "That's always extremely painful. We'll continue tomorrow, come on, let's go in."

France had to agree. At least Canada hadn't been cruel enough to say that France was getting old. He decided to make the joke himself.

"I appear to be getting on a bit, don't you think?" he said, laughing. Canada chuckled.

"No, believe me, it's happened to the best of them. I know how much it hurts first hand."

"Well, now what do we do?" France asked. He hoped his voice sounded lewd enough, despite the pain he was still in. Canada rolled his eyes.

"How about hot chocolate?" he suggested, heading to return France's skates to the rental desk. He stuffed his own into a plastic bag and into his backpack in the cloakroom.

When he returned to the little bar room, France was already sitting down, his fingers knitted in front of his face. He was looking out of the window, where it had started to snow lightly. The young couple were playing with their son, lifting him up and swinging him between them. They reminded him of Sweden, Finland and Sealand, except Finland wasn't actually a woman.

"Ah, Mathieu," said France easily, smiling when Canada sat down. "I have already ordered, if that's no trouble."

"None," Canada said, smiling gratefully. The waitress soon brought them their drinks. Canada's had marshmallows, which the younger country was happy to see (and a little touched – he'd only mentioned it once, ages ago). He turned away, ignoring France's obligatory flirting with practised ease. He closed his eyes with a wince at the sound of flesh colliding with flesh, and he turned back once the girl walked away. He tried not to chuckle at the handprint on France's face.

"As Japan would say, a nice apricot, huh?" he said. France pouted.

"Your women do not appreciate my charms," he said, ever the martyr. "Neither do your men."

Canada chuckled again, picking a marshmallow from his chocolate with a spoon and eating it. "It's the way you go about it," he said easily. "If you're forceful you scare people off."

France scoffed, throwing his arm over the back of the bench and sipping his chocolate, which he had furtively added cognac to. "You don't run off."

Canada laughed self-deprecatingly. "You're the only one who remembers who I am except America, and he's my brother."

France lowered his cup and took Canada's cup from him, placing it down. Canada stop looking puzzled when France took his hands. They were a little cold.

"Mon cher Canada, if they don't remember you they aren't worthy to know you," he said, kissing Canada's hands easily. Canada blushed the colour of the maple leaf on his flag and looked down.

"O-of course you're going to say that," he mumbled. France smiled.

"I say nothing if I believe it untrue," he said. Canada muttered something under his breath, and France laughed, leaning over the table and kissing him. Canada gasped, barely responding, but France didn't care.

"Canada, mon chou, you are an amazing country, and others simply do not appreciate you. If they do not notice you, it is because they are not looking for wonder and beauty hard enough." He tugged on that impertinent hair that refused to go where it should with a chuckle, making Canada shudder. "They see only with their eyes. I see with my soul and heart."

Canada looked as if he might faint. France leant back and sipped his hot chocolate, smiling. Canada took a deep breath, willing his blush down, and looked at France.

"You mean that?"

"Chaque mot," France replied. Canada smiled a little at that, before frowning.

"Why did you call me your cabbage?"

France burst out laughing and kissed him again.

Let's translation time!

Mon chou – my pastry, or cabbage (apparently the cabbage endearment is intended more frequently in Canada, and the pastry endearment in France, although that's not first-hand knowledge, as I'm very much not French, French-Canadian or even good in French [how I managed to ever get 7/10 in every test is a mystery…])

Chaque mot – should mean 'every word'.

Seeing as the majority of Canada speaks English, Canada speaks that fluently. He knows French, but often doesn't get the finer points of the language. Also, tailbone fall is PAIIIIIN! TΔT