Splintered

Splintered Words

Paris/France+Oregon

France

He stood at the Arc de Triomphe, with Amérique and Angleterre, finally bearing witness to what he sincerely believed ws the greatest moment in recent French history.

They had won back his beautiful city. All around him church bells tolled, two different bands played the same song, and his wonderful people were weeping with joy for the first time in five years.

He had not doubted that this day would ever come, but there had been times when he feared that it would take decades.  Certainly until December 7, 1941, he had not counted on his son to enter the war.  Amérique had wanted to remain neutral so badly.  But even before Japan attacked him, he had slowly begun to assist Angleterre with more and more supplies.  And so France had known that it was only a matter of time.

"Daddy!"  A young woman called out.  Intrigued by her light, musical voice, France turned to see who was calling out.  "Papa!"

To his surprise, the voice belonged to the most exquisite creature France had ever laid eyes upon.

And the people she called to were none other than Amérique and Angleterre. They both hurried towards her, grabbing her up into their arms, and she held onto them in such exhausted relief that France knew without a doubt that she probably hadn't seen them at all before today and hadn't known if they were even safe.  From the looks of them, they were going through the same feelings.

Her eyes rested on him as he glided gracefully towards the three of them, and her cheeks flushed pink.  Of course, he remembered her:  before the landings took place, he had gone over to Southampton in the disguise of an RAF officer, and after getting permission from a rather intoxicated Angleterre, he had taken the lovely girl to dinner and had found out her name.

Daria.

His heart ached at the beauty of her. She was speaking to Amérique, looking as though she were fighting tears, and both Amérique and Angleterre quickly moved to comfort her.  Amérique saw him over her shoulder and beckoned to him.

"Francis, this is my Daria," he introduced, and the young woman quickly pulled herself together and gave him a graceful, polite curtsey. Delighted with her already, France took her hand and gently kissed it, never taking his eyes from hers. "I am honored to meet you, Monsieur Bonnefoy," she said, her eyes telling him that it was much more than honor that she felt.

"Mais non, the honor is all mine," he replied.  "Many have told me of your bravery.  All of France is in your lovely hands."

Perhaps that was a bit too much to say, because after that, both Amérique and Angleterre quickly separated the two of them--without actually physically separating them.  But France knew that he was not to attempt any flirtation, especially with Angleterre nearby.  Daria, who he now knew was Oregon, had just given her sires the unpleasant news that although she and her sister, the red-haired Washington, had been together in Strasbourg after her return from Finland, they had become separated.  She had not seen Washington since, much to her distress.  When Amérique asked her if she had any idea where Washington might have gone, or why, Oregon quickly looked away.

"No, Daddy," she said softly.  "But I thought she'd be okay if she went to visit her dad.  You know, Finland," she added, knowing that he would freak out if Washington went to visit Russia.  "So I...Even when she didn't come back to the hotel after she said she'd be back I wasn't really worried.  But when she didn't show up when Uncle Mattie came to take us through to Paris, I knew something was wrong.  Especially when Uncle Mattie sent out an APB."

Amérique had then contacted Finland, who confirmed that Washington had been there, but she had since left and he didn't know where she was headed.  France could see the frustration on Amérique's face and wondered what Oregon was hiding.