"Another typical Allies' meeting." Britain thought to himself as America blabbered on at the front of the room. The bloody git seemed to believe they could build a plane large enough to move the Earth out of orbit and into a new solar system. Britain sighed; America's logic was so pathetic that it was almost insulting to think he'd raised the chap.
"Bloody ridiculous." Britain muttered under his breath, stealing a glance at the others.
China seemed to agree that this was absurd, as he promptly requested that America let someone with a brain take it from there. Russia was off to the side, chuckling eerily. It made Britain shudder, but then again, Russia was always a creep. Still, something seemed oddly out of place at this meeting. The Englishman couldn't quite put his finger on it...
"America, you bloody git, I agree with China; sit down." He found himself saying.
"But I'm the hero; no one can come up with a better plan than I can!" America said brightly.
Suddenly, Britain realized what was so different- France hadn't said a word since he'd walked into the meeting! As much as he despised the Frenchman, he figured he might as well get him talking.
"Hey France, what do you think of America's plan? Isn't it perfectly absurd?" the Englishman inquired.
There was no response. In fact, the Frenchman seemed dazed.
"Frog! Are you awake over there, you bloody wanker?" Britain tried again.
France jolted slightly, "Oui... Did you say something?" he asked tiredly.
"Never mind that." Britain crossed his arms "You alright, Frog- face?"
China glanced over "If you are sick France, I know some ancient Chinese remedies."
"Non… I am just… how you say? Tired." France replied.
There was silence for several minutes before America continued attempting to explain his farfetched plans. And for a while, everyone forgot about France's peculiar behavior.
At the meeting's conclusion, most left swiftly, each having their own agenda. However, Britain found himself hanging around. He walked over to where France was still seated. The Frenchman was bent forward slightly, his golden locks hiding his sapphire eyes.
"Are you alright, Frog?" Britain asked the other nation.
"Oui.." France said slowly, "…Laissez-moi tranquille." the Frenchman stood to go, but wavered slightly as a look of dizziness crossed his face.
Britain rolled his eyes, "Oh sure, you bloody moron, you look like you're going to fall over! Sit down, Frog."
"Non…" the Frenchman replied weakly.
Britain got a good look at the Frenchman's countenance. His face was flushed and dark circles lurked beneath a pair of dull, blue eyes.
"Bloody hell, France! Sit down." The Englishman ordered, feeling himself growing increasingly edgy.
France shuddered, "…Bonne nuit…" and with that his form sank quickly towards the floor, unconscious.
Britain reacted quickly and caught his old- time rival. His arms quivered slightly under the weight of the larger man. Still, he wasn't about to let the git hit his head off the floor if he could help it. Mustering his strength, he heaved the Frenchman up so he could support his weight better. He swung one of France's arms over his shoulder and held it in place. With his other hand, Britain firmly grasped the Frenchman's waist and began to walk him out of the conference room.
The building was silent, and there was no one to notice them. Pushing the door open with his shoulder, Britain half- carried the Frenchman outside into the humid, summer air. Eyeing a pillar by the front steps, Britain carefully eased the older nation into a sitting position; his head resting on the pillar.
Though he often acted as though he hated France, that wasn't entirely true. No matter how annoying, perverted, idiotic, or just plain disgusting France was- he was still very much an older brother to Britain, and Britain could never hate someone whom he called brother. The Englishman reached over to feel France's forehead, "The frog is bloody burning up." he muttered to himself. He decided the best thing was to take France home with him and try to care for him the best he could. He was sure, had the roles been reversed, that France would do the same for him.
Hastily, Britain went to find his vehicle in the car park and drove it over to where the Frenchman's unconscious form sagged against the support pillar. Getting out of his car, Britain quickly opened the rear passenger-side door and proceeded to heave the ailing Frenchman up, and laid him neatly across the two back seats. When he was satisfied that France was securely placed, Britain closed and locked the car door, proceeding to return to his spot in the driver's seat. Britain sighed and turned his key in the ignition, starting the car. And then he was off- headed down the road toward his home.
Britain pulled into his driveway, glancing in the rearview mirror at his unconscious passenger. The Frenchman looked completely and utterly exhausted. The only sign of movement he showed was the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Britain couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the Frenchman. Though not too sorry, after all, he was going to be taking care of France himself. He shuddered to think what a chore that would be, but it would be worth it in the end to have his rival to argue with once more. Getting out of the car, Britain opened the rear passenger-side door once more to retrieve the older nation. It was more difficult to get the older man out than it had been to get him inside in the first place. Nonetheless, Britain managed to get France into a somewhat standing position as he braced the older nation against his own body. By the time Britain got France inside and onto his sofa, the Englishman was drenched in sweat that came from a mixture of the summer heat and his efforts of lugging around France's dead weight.
Britain resolved he'd get a shower in a little while. First, however, there were more pressing matters at hand. France appeared to be shivering, probably due to the fever, Britain guessed. He went and fetched a thick quilt from his linens closet in the hall and a thermometer from the medicine cabinet in the guest bathroom. Not wasting any time, Britain made his way back to the living room in which the Frenchman lied limply on his couch. Britain gazed at his rival softly; their constant 'war' was always put on hold if it was something urgent- Surely, this qualified. Britain spread the thick quilt out over the sickly nation and wrapped it around him to try and help put a cease to his shivering. Then, without skipping a beat, Britain eased the thermometer into France's mouth and waited for a reading.
"Bloody frog, why didn't you say you weren't feeling well? We could have had China's help!" the Englishman fumed, though mostly he was concerned about France. It wasn't often the older nation got sick, much less passed out.
The thermometer sounding snapped Britain out of his thoughts, and he carefully removed it from the Frenchman's mouth, "Bloody Hell." he muttered to himself.
The thermometer read 40.1°C.
That was a pretty nasty fever, and France simply showed no signs of stirring. He'd have to do the best he could. He supposed he could call a doctor, or even China, but Britain wanted to see if he could get France's fever down without calling in the professionals. Thinking quickly, Britain walked briskly into his kitchen and pulled a tray of ice out of the freezer. Though he had not intended to use it in this fashion, he was surely glad he had it. Britain chose five well formed ice cubes and wrapped them in a clean cloth.
"Now, let's see if this doesn't cool you down." he muttered to an unconscious France as he laid the make-shift icepack on the Frenchman's forehead.
France groaned unconsciously, but did little else.
Britain glanced over to the corner of the room where a lovely wooden chair sat proudly next to a rather tasteful lamp. "I had better keep a close eye on France for the time being." he told himself and pulled the chair closer so it sat facing the sofa.
Whether France liked it or not, when he woke up the first thing he'd see would be the British nation sitting in front of him. That was… if he did wake up. Britain shook his head, banishing the thought. France would wake up, he wasn't that sick, was he? Still, that fever was worrisome. Britain promised himself if it rose any higher, he'd drive France to the hospital.
A half hour passed and the Englishman doubted the makeshift icepack had any more use to it. Removing the wet cloth carefully from France's forehead, Britain made his way back into the kitchen and over to the sink. Turning the cold water on, the British man stuck his hand under the flowing water to test its temperature. When the water felt almost unbearably cold, Britain placed the cloth under the water and let it get thoroughly soaked. Afterwards, he proceeded to turn off the faucet and wring out the cloth so it wouldn't be dripping wet. He then returned to the living room where France hadn't so much as rolled over.
Britain dabbed carefully at the older nation's neck and cheeks with the cold, wet cloth before placing it on the Frenchman's forehead.
France's body seemed to jolt slightly and Britain watched him expectantly.
Author's Note: I'm a fairly new fan of Hetalia who decided to try the series on a whim when I wasn't feeling well and wanted some entertainment. I thought I would hate it, but to my surprise, I enjoyed it thoroughly. It has slap- stick comedy as well as some events loosely based on history. Granted, some people hate on it because of all the creative liberties that were taken, but honestly the same can be said about plenty of movies based on historical events and Hetalia certainly has a unique, lighthearted spin on things that I found myself laughing at more than once. So for the Hetalia fans out there, here is the first chapter of my first Hetalia fanfic- I hope you can find it enjoyable. To anyone else who has read my previous work, yes, I have returned and I do plan on updating if inspiration comes to me. Also: Reviews make me happy =D
Laissez-moi tranquille = Leave me alone
Bonne nuit = Good Night
40.1 Degrees Celsius= Approx. 104.2 Degrees Fahrenheit