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The Price of Dignity	By : larien04 Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 2023 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I dont own Hetalia and I make no money off this fic; although if you'd like to pay me for it I wouldnt exactly say no.

Chapter List
- 1-The Price of Dignity
- 2-The Price of Dignity Part II
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- 2
The English Nation arrived at his London home after a long drive later but not before he had taken a pair of pants and a belt from his brother’s room. The pants had been much too big for his slim frame and he detested wearing the other man’s clothes but he wasn’t about to go driving through the country side pants less.

Pulling out his government issued Blackberry; possibly the only thing he detested more than his bastard of a brother, he looked at the time and noted that it was nearing 7:30pm. His husband was probably having a heart attack back at their Parisian home wondering why he hadn’t come home yet. Arthur felt physically nauseous at the thought of facing Francis right now after what had just happened; there was no way in hell he was ever going to tell the man what had happened. If he ever happened to notice the burn on his neck then he would just explain that he had gotten into another quarrel with Scotland, which was technically not a lie and was perfectly believable.

Walking into the kitchen to make himself some dinner he noted that he still had the torn and bloody undergarments in his hand and he angrily tossed them in the garbage leaving the kitchen in a huff; he didn’t exactly have an appetite anyways.

Marching up the stairs he started the shower in the bathroom; intent on scrubbing every inch of his body clean. Undoing his belt and getting out of the borrowed pants as fast as possible he decided he would burn the garments later and send the ashes back to Scotland in the mail. Taking his shirt off he frowned at the now black smear of ash on his white shirt and tossed it roughly to the ground in frustration.

Stepping into the shower and letting the water run over his body he took the bar of soap and began to scrub everywhere in an attempt to get the vision of that bastard’s arrogant smirk out of his head. It didn’t matter how hard he scrubbed or how raw his skin became, though, he still couldn’t get those damning words out of his head ‘He just wanted to know what it was like to be me. He wanted the power, the control, and to feel the little guy squirm under him; that’s the only reason he’s ever been with you.’ The Brit shook his head fiercely not willing to believe the words and stepped out of the shower just in time to hear his cell phone ring.

He knew who it was without looking at the caller id and he ignored it until it went to voicemail. He didn’t want to talk to Francis right now; he knew that the instant he looked at him he would confess everything and he was not about to allow that. Toweling off, he slipped a pair of soft pajama pants on as well as a simple t shirt and pressed the button for the voicemail to play “Arthur, it's me. Please answer your phone; you were supposed to be home hours ago. I'm worried sick.” The British Nation frowned at the tone of his husband’s voice but it couldn’t be helped; he just wasn’t ready to face him yet.

Heading towards the couch on the first floor he was annoyed to feel his phone vibrate again. Sighing he picked it up, knowing that if he didn’t answer then Francis would start freaking out and start looking for him. “I'm fine. I just got caught up in some business and it got to be later than I thought” the Brit answered, not even bothering with a greeting.

There was silence on the phone for a moment before the man on the other end responded “When will you be home Arthur?”

The British Nations heart constricted at Francis’ tone, the man sounded so lonely and upset. “I’ll be home tomorrow” he promised.

There was another moment of silence and Arthur thought he could hear the sound of keys being jostled in the background. “Arthur, is something not right? Are you sure you're fine?”

Damn Francis for knowing him so well. “I'm just exhausted. No need to worry.”

“Come home cher, you need rest.”

“I think I'm going to stay in London tonight....it's getting late.”

“I’ll meet you there in an hour” came the instantaneous reply.

Arthur knew he was losing this battle fast “No. Stay there. It's late. I promise I'll be home first thing tomorrow morning.”

He could perfectly envision Francis shaking his head on the other end of the phone “Non, I insist. I'll cook you a nice hot meal when I get there.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Why the hell couldn’t that wine bastard ever understand that he wanted to be left alone for once? He was too vulnerable; too weak right now, he didn’t want France to see him like this at all.

“Arthur, why don’t you want me to come to London? Don’t you remember when you used to ask me to meet you there after a long day at work? Please, let me come take care of you, je t’aime Arthur.”

The Brit hesitated for a moment weighing his options; one the one hand he truly did want Francis there to hold him and tell him everything was fine; he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he found comfort in the Frenchman’s arms. He was ashamed to admit, though, that he had been taken advantage of by his bastard of a brother. “I...don’t need you to worry about me damnit” and with that he hung up the phone, pressing the button down that would shut his phone off for the evening. He knew, though, that that wasn’t going to be enough to deter Francis; if he knew anything about the man at all he knew that right about now he was driving to the airport and would be walking through his door in around a hour’s time.

Surely enough about an hour and a half later he heard a key being put through his lock and his name being called from the doorway.

Putting a pillow over his head he attempted to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. It was only a matter of seconds though before he felt the pillow being tugged from his face. “Arthur, you didn’t seriously think that that was going to work did you?”

“Yes” came the mumbled reply. “I thought I told you to stay at home, why are you here?”

Ignoring the Brits harsh tone Francis knelt down so he was eye level with Arthur and ran his hand through his hair lovingly “Arthur, I was worried about you, what else could I do?”

“Stayed home” was the annoyed response, but Francis noticed that Arthur wasn’t exactly pulling away from his touch.

“Tell me what’s wrong, cheri, you’re upset, please, talk to me.”

Arthur didn’t want the frog there but he couldn’t exactly do anything about it now so he decided the best course of action was to just act as if nothing had happened “I’m just exhausted is all; I had to pay a visit to my brother today.”

“Scotty?”

Arthur flinched at Francis’ nickname of his bastard brother like they were old pals or something. “Yes” he gritted out.

A knowing look crossed Francis’ features “A coincidence that you suddenly had to visit him on business the morning after I told you I slept with him.”

Arthur didn’t respond and Francis wasn’t looking to get on Arthur’s bad side any more than he already seemed to be so he let it go for the moment. “It doesn’t matter. How about some dinner? I promised you a hot meal and I intend to keep my word.” Not waiting for a response he pulled the nation up and led him to the kitchen pulling out a seat for Arthur at the dining table and then rummaging through the cabinets to see what god awful food Arthur kept in his house on a regular basis.

“Mon dieu, Arthur, your stock is deplorable” he held out a box of instant rice “Is this really all you have?”

The Brit had the decency to look ashamed “Forgive me for not keeping a fully stocked kitchen; usually I spend my nights in Paris.”

Francis smiled a little putting the bag of rice into a pan of water and turning on the heat to the oven. He wondered what the hell had gotten into Arthur to put him in such a mood. It didn’t matter though; he would tell him in time, he always did.

Taking the now empty box of rice he moved to step on the little lever that would pop open the trash can and his heart stopped at the sight of what he saw. He picked up the torn pants that were bunched up in the trashcan stared at them in confusion. “Arthur, what is this? Are these your clothes?”

The color drained from Arthurs face “Fuck” he swore, he had completely forgotten he had tossed those in there. Why the hell did he have to choose the most obvious place in the world to discard the clothes?

“It’s nothing, Francis….” Arthur’s voice was tight with emotion. He didn’t want to do this now, damnit; what he wanted was to go to bed and forget anything had ever happened.

Francis turned the clothes over, inspecting them and trying to make sense of what was happening and then he eyed the boxers that had been bunched up into a ball. A look of horror and disgust washed over his face as he eyed the stained material. “Is this blood?!” he asked incredulously “Merde, Arthur, are these cum stains?!”

Refusing to listen to his husband’s hysterical findings a moment longer the Brit got up from his seat and quickly exited the room heading up the steps towards the bedroom.

Swearing in French and turning the oven off Francis tossed the clothes back into the garbage can before following Arthur out of the room and grabbing him by the arm halfway up the stairs “Arthur! I want an explanation.”

Arthur wasn’t ready for this confrontation just yet; he wasn’t ready to admit, out loud, what had happened earlier. He needed Francis gone so that he could deal with his issues alone and he knew there was only one sure fire way he would be able to get the man out of his house but it was going to hurt like hell. “What's there to explain? I got horny; you weren't around. Put two and two together” he snapped.

Now, Arthur had never generally been one for lying; the couple had always had an unspoken pact of brutal honesty with each other, which occasionally made things tense around the household but overall it saved them from many arguments and lost time spent beating around the bush. This was different though; there was not a chance in hell that he was going to admit he had gone over his brother’s house to get some answers out of him only to come back sexually assaulted and scarred; he was a man after all, and even more than that he was a bleeding nation; he had some dignity.

Francis cocked an eyebrow “Arthur, what do you mean?”

“I never said the clothes were mine” came the arrogant response accompanied with a perfect poker face. Arthur really had never been one for lying; but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t good at it when he wanted to be.

The Frenchman dropped his grip on Arthurs arm in shock “What?!” he breathed, completely taken aback, “Arthur what are you saying?”

“Don’t worry about it, France, it doesn’t mean a thing. I got worked up talking things over with my brother and I had to work off some steam.”

“…France?” the only time Arthur had ever called him that was either when it was business dealing with their respective countries or back when they couldn’t stand the sight of one another. “Arthur, this isn’t a game. Were you…?” he couldn’t even think the words much less speak them out loud, the thought of Arthur with someone else made him ill.

“Was I what?”

“…with somebody else?” the words were barely audible.

“ I certainly couldn’t have done those things to the boxers by myself.”

The look that crossed Francis’ eyes was not one that he had been accustomed to seeing; the man’s eyes had always been a cool gentle blue no matter what the situation; it didn’t matter if they were fighting or making love, he could always see himself reflected in the beautiful sapphire orbs. These eyes were different; they were a hard cold ice blue and Arthur had only seen that expression once before and that had been when he had ordered the death of a certain blonde girl in the 1430’s. “Who was it?” the tone was tempered as if he was holding back a great deal of emotion. “Who did you fuck, Arthur?”

It was at that very moment that Arthur realized that he probably should have chosen a different lie than the one he was currently perpetuating, but there was no going back now. “I... didn’t get his name” he lied, voice a little shaken “I don’t even remember what happened really, the bastard and I were fighting and then everything is a blur afterwards.”

“Merde!” he shouted in disbelief and anger “I can’t fucking believe you!” He shoved Arthur against the wall with force making the Brit wince in pain from his previous injury “What were you thinking?! We’re married, we have a life together!”

“Don’t worry, darling, it didn’t mean a thing to me” he prayed to God that Francis didn’t hear the tremble in his voice. “I suppose you’ll be leaving then?” he questioned when it was clear that Francis wasn’t going to respond.

“Non. I will not be leaving; I’m going to get to the bottom of this right this second.” That said he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed a single number.

“If you don’t mind; I’m going to bed now.”

“Don’t move” came the command and it was in such a tone that Arthur stayed perfectly still.

“Yes, it’s France. What do you mean you knew I would call you? No, Arthur did not give me any instruction to phone you. Listen, what happened between the two of you today; Arthur told me that you got in a fight and then he left your house and he claims to have picked up a local man to ‘blow off some steam’ with.” He then hit the speaker phone button on his phone so that Arthur could hear every word.

“Ha. Is that what the little bastard said? He's lying to you. The only name he was moaning was my own.”

“You’re his brother; there’s not a chance he would have slept with you, I’m not playing games right now, please tell me what happened, Scott.”

“Oh I’m telling you the truth alright; you should have seen it, he was so hard –“ France hit the “End” button on the phone before Scotland could get any more explicit.

“Just tell me why, Arthur.”

“Fuck, Francis I don’t know. I was horny. Can I go to bed or not?”

The heart broken Frenchman shook his head in disbelief and anger “You sicken me. Go to bed. I'll be down stairs; it’s too late to go back to Paris tonight but I will be gone in the morning.”

This was not what Arthur wanted at all; he had just wanted Francis to leave for the evening, not for good. He had planned on confessing everything in the morning and smoothing things over; all he had wanted was to be alone with his thoughts for the evening not to drive the man away for good. His heart constricted painfully and he could barely breathe “Francis…” he managed “This wasn’t what I wanted…”

“This wasn’t what I wanted either, mon Angleterre” he whispered in return turning to head down the steps.

Arthur’s eyes went wide and he grabbed the man by the wrist, much in the same way that Francis had grabbed him earlier. “Come upstairs with me…” he pleaded “I’ll tell you what happened.”

“Arthur, I’m exhausted, don’t waste anymore of my time.”

The Brit tugged on the man’s arm, pulling him up the steps “Please.”

The French Nation let out a ragged breath shaking his head but following Arthur to the bedroom anyways.

The Englishman led his husband to sit on the edge of the bed and took a seat next to him. Without a word he slowly removed his t shirt, tossing it into a corner. “What do you see?” he asked tilting his neck, voice barely above a whisper.

Francis eyes immediately went to the bright red burn mark on Arthur’s neck and he ghosted his fingers over it “Where did this come from?”

“From a cigarette…”

“Whose?” he knew the answer but he didn’t want to believe it.

“I told you that Scott and I got in a fight...he may have gained the upper hand.”

The proverbial light bulb went off in Francis’ head and his eyes went wide “You didn’t willingly sleep with him did you?”

“Never” he responded with conviction “He said that he had earned himself some payback from when you left him….I didn’t want to tell you tonight, or ever, I didn’t want you to know I was so…weak.”

Francis didn’t know what to believe, he didn’t want to believe that Scotland would do such a terrible thing to his brother but Arthur would not have made up a story that twisted. “Is this the truth?” he asked with some trepidation.

The Brit nodded wordlessly in response, hanging his head and refusing to meet Francis’ eyes.

“Why couldn’t you tell me this from the beginning?” Francis asked, using a finger to lift Arthurs head so he had to look him in his eyes.

“I was afraid of what you would think of me, Francis, so I lied to preserve some semblance of dignity….but seeing you turn your back to me to go down those steps made me realize that losing you was too high a price to pay for my dignity. Please, forgive me.”

“You’re such an idiot” the Frenchman chastised, wrapping his arms around his love and kissing his forehead.

“I know.” Arthur tightened his grip on his love afraid that any moment he would get up and leave. “Please, stay…” he pleaded.

“Arthur, tell me something, do you really want me to stay?” and it was clear that his tone meant something more permanent than just for the night.

“Yes” he responded immediately.

“You’re still in trouble for putting my heart through such an ordeal and we will discuss what I’m going to do with you in the morning, but the bottom line is this; I love you more than words can express but if you ever lie to me again I will not tolerate it. Do you understand?”

“Yes” the Englishman breathed out, heart beating rapidly.

“Bon. Now kiss me” he smiled laying his one true love back on the bed and pressing his lips lightly to the burn on the man’s neck. Things wouldn’t be exactly perfect between them for a while but for now they would end the night how they always did; in each other’s arms.
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The Price of Dignity