We're Enemies

chapter 18

France PoV:

Just like America had promised... When I reached my destination at 7:00 P.M., I found the cemetery empty.

The smell of roses still fresh.

I find the stone I was looking for... 

 ...I don't know what to say. I can't seem to find the words to form the apology that I wish was not needed.

Before me lies the sight I never could have imagined I'd have to see. "Arthur Kirkland" reads the neat white lettering on the polished black stone.

I lower my bouquet amongst the others already there. 

Along with them, there is a picture of you... A small smile playing on your lips...

You are so beautiful Arthur... And so brave... Why did you have to leave?

I can't stop my own tears, and I am thankful there's no one else around. 

I kneel in front of the stone, I can't ignore my impulse anymore...

"Arthur... Arthur, why?"

I can't stop myself from repeating his name... It's foolish, but I can't help it. I need something. I need something to seek comfort in, to seek refuge in... 

... And his name is the only thing that comes to mind.

The name of the man who branded me as his enemy even before we spoke.

The name of the man who stood opposing me every chance he got over centuries...

...The name of the man who was also there for me when I could see no one else around.

The man who would come rushing to me if I simply called his name, despite his constant display of hatred for me...

I catch my breath and lower my head in front of the stone.

"Hey... Arthur... I don't know if you can even here me... neither do I know if you can ever forgive me... But I need to say this to you... I'm sorry. Arthur. I'm so... so sorry."

The false sense of being heard by him in the silence of the surroundings goads me into keep talking. Every thought and every word I have been holding back for the past week slowly pours out.

"You know... Arthur," I keep using his name, I know he wouldn't approve of it, but he's not here... and I need him... his name on my lips is the closest thing to a smile I can get to, "I wasn't really drunk as you thought... Neither am I as close to Scotland as you thought. It was so loud there... It was impossible to hear anything... I thought you were only venting your usual anger on me... I didn't even grasp the seriousness of the entire situation until an offhand comment of Spain's. He suddenly said, 'From when does England use your name? I didn't think he even knew it.' ... Only then did I realise what I had truly done... I swear, I swear to you England, I rushed out at once... but you were already gone. I saw you enter the taxi, and I followed you in the very next empty one. I met America in the lobby too. He said you didn't seem that off... I thought maybe it wasn't too late ... how foolish of me ... That's when the gunshot took everyone by surprise... We ran up the stairs and broke into the room ... It all seemed so quick, but the damage was already done... I was too late... I'm sorry."

I hear footsteps behind me. I quickly straighten up and wipe my face.

"See! I told you we'd find this brat here!" comes Scotland's booming voice.

"I see you were correct but you could use a better set of words, you know." replies Germany's chiding voice.

I get back on my feet as Scotland's hand grabs my shoulder and forces me to face them. "You've  got some explaining to do, my dear Francis."

"Hello Alistair. Hello Ludwig. what are you too doing here?"

"Scotland here wante-"

"Shut the fuck up Germany. Let me do the talking, will you?" Scotland interrupts him. "Look here Francis. You've been missing for a whole damn week, when you're supposed to be helping me now that the bastard's gone for good."

"That 'bastard' is your brother. Have some sense of shame, will you?" I mutter

"Why the hell would I be ashamed? He was just a stupid coward who got what he deserved." came the reply.

I glanced at Germany. He was watching stoically, but I knew from his stance that he would interrupt if things got ugly.

"Maybe the fact that it was your bullet that killed him? ... Actually the bullet was just a catalyst, no? You may think you are some sort of victim in this scenario, and that can fool everyone else here, not me. I have seen what you did to him... I know everything about your doings, and that will be the end of you if I want it to."

The eyes that looked back at me were glowing with a strange malignancy. 

My head hit the marble edge as I fell back, and I raised my arms to guard myself from the punch I knew was about to come.

...But it didn't land.

I looked up to see Germany restraining Scotland's raised fist.

"Don't you dare try that again. I've sat through your bullshit once. That was not a very pleasant scene. I'm not doing that again."

"How dare you! You Nazi fuc-"

In one swift stroke Germany lands a blow that throws him off me and into the dirt.

He looks up, about to curse, but the expression on Germany's face is warning enough to keep shut.

The same face that I had seen ages ago... 

The face of my nightmares...

The nightmares that He chased away...

"You better remember who you are talking to. You are nothing without your allies. You are nothing but a weak bitch jealous of your own little brother. And you better behave yourself with Francis as well. With one order he can crumble your entire damn country."

Scotland averted his gaze and stood up quickly. 

"Look, Scotland, I do not wish to start a fight. Leave here if you wish the same." Germany added with a cold voice.

He turned on his heel, and walked off briskly; but not before throwing a final jab...

"You can blame me all you want Francis, but don't forget, this is your fault just as much. You can cry all you want, but you still remain his lifelong enemy!"

This is what I've always found the most terrifying about this man... Not his battle prowess, not his anger fits... But his ability to mess with people's minds with his words...

Always the truth...  so harsh, so cleverly worded to support his cause, so skilfully sewn together to unnerve his opponent...

... But truth, nonetheless.

"Get up, Francis." Germany says to me, offering his hand.

I mutter a thanks as I take it and pull myself back to my feet.

He looks at me with concern, the icy sharpness in his eyes contrasted by his furrowed brow and a small frown on his lips.

"I'm sorry... I just..."

"I don't know how much help I'll be, and if I were being honest, Italy is more suited for this job... But if you need someone to talk to, I'm willing to listen."

Oh,Germany...

"Thanks. Thanks a lot. Really." I wrap my arms around him.

He reluctantly hugs me back...

His arms feel so different from His...

But I guess, that's the price I pay...

It's a little too late.