[Fanfic] Shh...Don't tell.

[deegeeak]

Title: Shh..Don't tell.
Characters/Pairing:  England, France, America, Canada, mention of Scotland.
Rating: PG
Warning:  Drunken England, clueless France and a manipulative Canada.
Summary:  Another de-anon from the Kink-Meme.  Prompt:  America has loved England forever.  Really Forever and Ever.
Note:  I wrote this, posted it and at the time was rather satisified.  Then I made soup, took a nap, cleaned house and went "WTF WAS THAT" as I made tea and pizza.

In retrospect this hadn't been the best of ideas.  According to his lover, about two months ago or so (France stopped paying attention, preferring to imagine Canada naked, and it wasn't like this was particularly exciting news), England and America had had some sort of fight.  Over what, no one knew for sure as neither party was speaking to anyone at the moment.  Concerned for his brother and sort of father figure, Canada had attempted to uncover the reason why.  America hadn't said anything and England hadn't returned his phone call.

Scotland however had.

When Canada had 'suggested' (read: ordered more like) that France help Scotland figure out just why England had all but locked himself in his house for the last month and a half, France hadn't predicted this result.  Sort of.  He knew that the siblings that made up the United Kingdom more often then not normally handled emotional upset with as much alcohol as possible.  It was reasonable to think that helping Scotland with England would mean they would end up in a bar, pouring beer and ale down England's throat.

What he hadn't expected was to get a weepy England thrown at him and Scotland putting as much space between himself and England as possible.  He'd retreated to the far side of the bar the moment England had been drunk enough to go teary on the other two nations. France glared at him. He should have known better. Scotland glanced up, and then back down into his ale, studiously ignoring France's angry gestures over the top of England's head.

"I never, la-id a ha, hand on him," blubbered England. "Not ever ever!"

"Oui, oui, I understand. Never touched him. We understand that at least," France said crossly.

"NO!" England surged out of his chair, eyes wild, hair eschew and grabbed France's collar with both hands. France wanted to die from the stench of far too many beers combined with England evidently forgetting to bathe for a few days. "I-Never-Touched-Him!"

At the other end of the bar, Scotland's head shot up at the yell and stared for a brief moment. Evidently deciding it was France's own fault for being within arm's reach of England, he shrugged at the man next to him and ordered another pint. France groaned to himself and swiped the last bits of England's own pint. He choked in horror.  He'd forgotten that when drinking to forget, England favored alcohol so dense it was just this side of being a liquid.  France wasn't totally sure, but he suspected he'd just drunk liquid soil.

"England," he began. England stared at him, swaying slightly on his chair. "I will ask this only once because we are both very drunk, oui?  And we shall never speak of this again, oui?"

England nodded drunkenly.

"What is the matter," he asked, speaking slowly and carefully so that his meaning couldn't be misunderstood, even by the very drunk. "You love America, yes? He also loves you?"

England cringed and muttered something.

"What was that!?"

"I said, he's loved me forever, you flea bitten, mangy Frog," England snapped.

Good god, what was wrong with England? "So? This is a good thing, yes?"

To his horror, England went teary again and snatched a pint of something out of the hands of a startled barkeep. "You don't understand," he wailed into it.

France was beginning to consider options that included leaving the premise - Canada threatening to cut off sex or not. It would do very nicely to dump the drunk, slightly damp mess of England back on Scotland who had retreated again, this time to a table near the door. Did he not think France couldn't see what he was doing? Bastard. 

"He asked when I fell in love with him," England muttered into his stolen pint.

"So? You love him, he loves you. This has been the case for decades. Why does this matter now?"

"He said he's loved me since forever Frog. Forever!"

France wanted to strangle England. He wondered if Scotland would interfere this time or not. "Rosbif..."

"He's never not loved me, he said. That he picked me cause he loved me.  And he'll always love me.  And never ever not love me."

"Rosbif," France started again, this time well and truly about to leave no matter what lovely Canada might have to say about that. "I do not understand."

"Was it something I did? Or said? What did I do," wondered England. "He was barely a child, France, a baby!"

France frowned.  England was implying something rather distasteful, no matter what Netherlands believed.  Or did England even realize what he was babbling on to the worn wood surface of the bar.  Neither one of them saw a tall blond duck into the bar.  Nor did they see the newcomer stop and speak with Scotland who directed him to where the two nations were speaking.  The blond glared at France for a moment, before jerking open his phone, stabbing at the buttons.

England moaned something into the bar, idly drawing arcane designs on the bar.  France sighed. It appeared as if he would be having a very dry spell for a while, or at least until he could convince Canada to forgive him. "It is time you went home, yes?  Perhaps -"

"I've got this France," came the interruption. Both nations turned to stare at the sudden appearance of the very subject they'd been discussing (or in England's case wailing about). America frowned at France and snapped his cellphone closed, tucking it into his pocket.

"America?"

"Go home France. I've got England," America had opened up his wallet and had pulled out a credit card for the barkeep who just looked relieved to get paid - and to be rid of the nation sobbing into his bar. France blinked at the action, a small notion beginning in the back of his brain. "Hey! Barkeep, I'm here to pay the tab!"

"What did I do," England yelled into the collar of the jacket America began to stuff him into. "It's not right!"

America rolled his eyes and waved good bye to France as he hauled the drunken nation off the bar stool. "You can yell at me later, lover."

France's eyes narrowed, the small notion getting bigger and bigger.  Was England trying to say that...  He flipped open his phone and dialed a number he knew as well as his own. If anyone had the answer it would be his own North American lover. "Canada?"

There was a sigh from the other end, "Oui?"

"Did America mean?"

Canada interrupted him. "If you come home now, I'm sitting in bed, still naked, with a bottle of maple syrup."

At that point, France choose to go home rather then stew over England's issues, and allowed his enthusiastic former colony to banish the little notion from his brain. 

He didn't hear the phone ring some time later, happily dreaming of more things he might be able to convince Canada to do dancing in his mind. If he had been awake to hear the conversation, England's issues would become crystal clear.

And he might be sharing in them next time they went drinking.

"I told you not to tell him moron."

"But Matt!"

"Why do you think I always change the subject when France asks me? Idiot.  You should have known they'd freak out."

"I know. But I love him so much, I just wanted to share how much I love him with him."

"A little self-control goes a long way, Alfred. Besides, it's best neither of them realize it."

"Well England knows.  Sorta."

"If you tell France, I will make the last hockey game we played look like a kindergartner's daydream."

"...Night Matt."

"Night Alfred."