Forever after, England would remember that morning. The sense of calm, and quiet that had enveloped his house. He'd made tea, and set himself up in a chair in his garden to spend the morning hours with a book and the quiet company of a few fairy friends.
The ringing of the telephone inside the house went ignored for the first few attempts. No one should need him urgently at this hour- he'd done all his paperwork yesterday in preparation for his afternoon departure for America. There was no looming crisis in his lands- he would be the first to know-
America, however had been a bit under the weather lately, and this trip would be multifold. To see his lover, because it had been far too long since the two of them had had a weekend together- and to provide the younger Nation with some measure of comfort as he battled a series of financial woes.
When the urgent ringing spread into the second quarter hour, and was accompanied by a hollow thumping that England recognised as someone beating at his own front door, he sighed and set aside the volume that he'd been trying – and failing- to absorb himself in before he needed to leave to catch his afternoon flight.
A wild looking France stood on the other side, and before England could make heads or tails out of the sudden relief that crossed over the other Nation's face to replace the unaccustomed anxiety, he was seized in a sudden crushing embrace.
Which, also uncharacteristically, was free of wandering hands.
"Dieu merci," France was murmuring in his own language as he just held England close. There was something else, but England didn't quite catch it in the sudden surge of indignation. He recovered enough to start pushing France away, but froze, caught by the sudden realization of exactly what France was saying.
"Thank God, we were afraid you'd already departed- that we'd lost you both."