The Sea Against The Storm

Epilogue: Aftermath

"This is certainly not going to be an avoidable subject at the next World Meeting." Arthur noted with dismay. 

After a while of Arthur attempting to fake being asleep, he really did fall asleep. He had no dreams or attacks, and embraced the blackness of the back of his eyelids, along with the peace it brought him. He slept in a few hours later than he normally did the next day, and found that Francis was still there. The bags under his eyes were almost gone now, so he assumed he had slept well last night as well.

Now they both sat down on the couch, watching the tellie. Most of it was about the weird weather conditions all over England, and Arthur felt like he was going to be sick again -- though his fever hadn't entirely passed just yet -- when he learned that people in his country had actually died because of this. 

"Oui. But I wouldn't worry too much about it, yet, Angleterre." Francis said with his usual grin back on his lips. Arthur kept staring at the tellie as though he hadn't heard him, fiddling his fingers with the cup of tea in his hands. He was hunched over with a blanket over him, because he was still freezing. He would make an effort to get better as soon as he could, now, with Oliver gone, because the longer he felt like this, the longer his country suffered. 

Just then, the phone began to ring. Arthur reached for it, but Francis stopped him when he saw who was calling, and picked it up himself. After which he put it on speaker. "Bonjour, Matthew. How're you?" Francis said, avoiding answering Arthur's quizzing look, which no doubt meant he wasn't sure who it was. Then, two seconds later, it seemed to dawn on him. 

"A-Ah, hi... Where have you been, Francis...? I've been looking for you, but I can't find you..."

Francis glanced at Arthur. Arthur shook his head, feeling this was something that shouldn't be explained over the phone. Francis got the hint and nodded, before replying, "I'm alright, Matthew. No need to worry. Arthur became ill, and I'm at his house helping look after him." Arthur's cheeks turned red, knowing how Matthew would react even before the response came.

"O-Oh! Okay... Is he okay now? I saw something about England last night on the news... Is it, bad...?"

It took a while, but Francis managed to convince Matthew that Arthur was fine. All the while, Arthur was silently shushed, which shocked him. But what shocked him more, was that he listened. 

After the call was finished, Arthur set his tea cup onto the coffee table and stood up, dragging the blanket with him, still tightly around him. He had almost left the couch behind him, when Francis realized he was getting up to go somewhere. "Where are you going, Angleterre?" He asked, standing up himself. "You don't intend to go and work, do you..?" His voice was laced with worry and concern. 

Arthur scoffed. "As if. I feel like shit, so I'm gonna go do some boring paperwork. As if..." Then he continued to walk. He only made it a few more steps before Francis had stepped in front of him and stopped him. He seemed to see he was heading towards his room. "What?" He snapped. "The couch is bloody uncomfortable. It's like a rock." 

"Then I'll carry you. You look like you're about to fall over." And before Arthur knew it, he was in the frenchman's arms, bridal style, being carried to his room. "Francis!" Arthur protested. "Put me down this instant! I swear if you don't--" "Fine." And Francis put him down. But where Arthur was preparing himself for cold hard ground, he felt the softness and heard the creak of his mattress. He looked to see he was already in his room. 

Without another thought, he laid down and curled up. Francis rolled his eyes, taking the blanket Arthur had brought with him, off of him, and putting it in one of the corner's of the room. Ignoring Arthur's torrent of protest and curses, he pulled the covers he was laying on out from under him, and then placed them over him. "There." He said, slightly agitated. "Better, isn't it?"

He didn't want to admit it, but it felt a lot better. Arthur laid down on his side, facing the wall, and closed his eyes. He was ready for sleep to take him when he felt a frenchman's body laying down behind him. "Frog." Arthur growled in warning, implying that he wanted Francis off of his bed. "Yes?" Francis asked innocently, but hadn't touched Arthur yet. 

Huffing in defeat, Arthur didn't say another word, and silently welcomed Francis' embrace. It wasn't long before Arthur fell asleep to the sound of Francis' steady breathing. Like this, he almost didn't want to get better, but knew better than to show it. There were more important things than his personal wants to worry about, and those thoughts, were what got Arthur Kirkland into his shell of shutting people off.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

When Arthur woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was that Francis wasn't there. He groaned and took a few minutes to sit himself up, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so. He looked around, and found a note stuck on his nightstand. It was no doubt Francis' handwriting. After his eyes adjusted, he picked up the note and found it read;

Dear Angleterre, 

Congratulations on winning. I don't need to elaborate, I don't think. When I woke up, you were still fast asleep, but I think your fever has gone down tremendously. 
I got a call from Ludwig, and he knows what's been happening around England as well as Matthew. He wants to have a World Meeting no sooner than next week. I tried to persuade him otherwise, but since you're no longer ill, he won't budge. 
I have work of my own to get back to, and likely won't be seeing you again until the World Meeting. Until then, mon petit.

From, 
Francis Bonnefoy

Arthur smiled as he finished the note. He set it back where he found it, and got up off his bed. Francis was right about the fever, he assumed, because he didn't feel as much like shit as he had earlier. The feeling hadn't completely vanished, but he assumed that was just because of how long he'd been lying on a couch without getting up. He retreated to the shower, where he was happy to scrub off the fifth that had accumulated over the course of a few days. He wouldn't surprised if realizing Arthur was fifthly was what drove Francis away, but he highly doubted it.

Once he was finished with his shower, and he got changed into casual lounge clothes. He had no intentions of leaving the house that day. He went over to his office, where he knew the paperwork he had pretended to complain about would be. He also knew he would no longer have to pretend to complain about it, because it had no doubt accumulated even more as a result of the state  England was in. 

And so it was. Things slowly began to regain normality in Arthur Kirkland's life. He was back, neck and neck, with Francis again by the next World Meeting. Matthew, who had previously been worried, looked like that emotion faded along with seeing the two of them arguing again. There was no sign, at least in their world, of the disruption Oliver's death had caused. No doubt that in the future, there wouldn't be anything good coming from it. 

But that is just the way of the world. A storm can come in the dead of night, last for what seems like an eternity, and then, as suddenly as it came, vanish. Of course, storms are not a one-time thing. This would not be the last time Arthur Kirkland or any of the other countries faced hardship and unbalance between them. Either from within themselves, or within the alternate universe that had created their 2Ps.

So, for now... The sky was clear.