The Song of the Nightingale

Chapter Eight:

My head hurt.

My chest ached.

My breathing was uneven and forced.

I lazily opened my eyes to see that I wasn't in the guest room.

The events of the previous night were beginning to return to me.

I tilted my head to look at Francis (to whom I was apparently snuggling with...)

Bloody hell... I must have been really out of it to let him get this close to me...

I noticed that I was practically wrapped around him.

Blushing profusely, I attempted to detangle our legs, the sudden movement causing a wave of vertigo to rush over me.

Before I knew it, I was moving myself closer to Francis to keep from becoming sick to my stomach. I squeezed my eyes shut, and buried my face into his chest.

This woke him up.

"Angleterre?" He asked groggily, his accent thick with sleep.

I panicked, and pushed myself away from him.

"W...what is it, Frog?" I quickly responded.

He arched a brow and rubbed his eyes.

"Well, you woke me up...You did just cuddle up to me a moment ago..."

"I most certainly did not!" I yelled defensively, immediately regretting my decision to do so.

I groaned quietly, the effects of the air raid unfortunately still taking their toll on me.

"Y...You know d..damn well that I...Don't do those sorts of things..." I stuttered out, my words lacking the hostility I wanted so desperately for them to have.

"Arthur, mon cher...Are you still not feeling well?" He pondered.

"I'm just peachy." I barked satirically, holding my stomach. "Of course I'm still ill...London is in ruins...I can feel how powerful the raids are each time they occur..." My voice dropped to that of a whimper. "This one was the worst yet."

I felt the taller man place the back of his hand to my forehead.

"You're running a fever, Arthur..." He told me smoothly. Gently brushing my matted hair out of my face, he instructed me to lie down.

"Oi!" I scolded him. "Aren't you the one that I'm supposed to be taking care of..."

"Patience, mon amour." His voice was dripping with sadness. "I fear you will get your wish soon enough. More of Ludwig's troops arrive here everyday... I can feel the terror they instill in my people. I hope to God they don't use that fact to their advantage... I wouldn't be able to bear that."

I blinked.

Francis leaned down and kissed my warm forehead.

"I'll be back in a few minutes with some blankets and soup." With the ghost of a warm smile, he began to exit the room.

"Stop that, you bloody git!" I exclaimed suddenly.

"Stop what?" He asked, cocking his head to the side.

"How can you possibly be...smiling...at a time like this?" I demanded, my voice cracking.

I watched him slowly pace back to the bed. He raised his left hand, and softly cupped my cheek.

"Arthur, mon cher... I wake up every morning and I get to see you. Isn't that reason enough to be elated? What's not to smile about?" He flashed a pained grin.

"Bloody emotional sap..." I grumbled under my breath, my already flushed face turning an even darker hue of crimson.

"I'll only be gone for a little while, mon beau." He moved his hand away and sauntered out of the chamber, leaving me to my own devices once more.