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The Aftermath	By : larien04 Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 1403 -:- 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 Aftermath
- 2-Chapter 2
- 1
- 2
Things had seemed normal for the couple for the first few weeks after the ‘incident’ and so it was easy enough for Francis to keep his word when Arthur had made him promise to not confront his brother…but that had been before the trauma set in, that had been before the Arthur he knew so well, his fiery Brit, had turned into a mere shell of himself.

It had started one evening in the middle of the night when Francis had woken to a shift in the weight of their shared bed. Both of them were light sleepers, something that came with being a nation, an occupational hazard, and neither of them were particularly tossers in their sleep, so when Arthur started tossing and turning Francis took notice right away.

He didn’t particularly pay much attention to the words that the Brit was muttering in his troubled sleep, he had just merely assumed Arthur was having another of his World War II nightmares and he hoped to assuage his loves troubles with a tender kiss on the neck and by pulling him closer, whispering a soft “je t’aime” into his neck. This was, after all, what usually worked anytime Arthur had one of his nightmares so he was surprised when the man jolted upright, wrenched himself from his embrace and practically screamed out “Don’t touch me!” in a tone that spoke of sheer terror with wild eyes that frantically searched the room for whatever or whoever had been invading his dreams.

“Arthur!” Francis spoke with some authority gripping his husbands arm in an attempt to make him focus and calm down. He wondered what Arthur could have possibly dreamt about that had made him react in such a way, though he had a pretty good idea.

The touch on his arm seemed to jolt Arthur back to reality and he looked down at Francis as if it was the first time he noticed that there was another occupant in his bed. The sincere look of concern in Francis’ eyes made Arthur sigh in relief and run his fingers through his damp hair.

“I’m sorry, love” he apologized sincerely “I didn’t mean to force you away like that… I thought you were…somebody else.”

“Qui?” France asked with some trepidation having a pretty good idea of who Arthur could have dreamt about that would make him react in such a manner.

“I don’t want to talk about it…please, let’s just go back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you…” he whispered, laying back down and molding himself perfectly against husbands form.

“Alright, cheri” Francis relented wrapping his arm around his husbands form protectively “it’s late, we’ll talk in the morning” and his tone was such that Arthur knew he wouldn’t forget.

********************************

Of course, that had only been the tip of the proverbial iceberg; he had forced a confession out of Arthur in the morning and the Brit had admitted that he had been having quite vivid nightmares of the rape but they weren’t usually as bad as the most recent one.

To say that hearing about these dreams pissed Francis off would be an understatement, but he had given his word that he wouldn’t go after the Scottish Nation and he wasn’t going to break his word over this. After all, he was used to Arthur having nightmares; he had had them pretty badly after the London Blitz during WW2, they had stopped for the most part, nowadays, but every once in a blue moon or on a stormy evening they would resurface and Francis would have to calm his husband down in the night.

After the nightmare Arthur’s appetite had become almost nonexistent over the course of the following week, and their playful banter and arguing had not only dwindled but stopped completely. If he had been watching more closely he might have been able to piece together that all the signs were pointing to depression, and then maybe he would have had some time to mentally prepare to see his once fiercely independent husband reduced to a sort of complacent dependency. But hind sight is always 20/20 and even if he had noticed that Arthur was slipping into a depression he still would not have been prepared for what was to happen.

He had come back early from his customary morning jog and was eager to rinse off and spend the rest of the day in relative peace with his husband with the hope that Arthur would get through this phase, he was almost certain that it was just a phase, and that hopefully he could get him to eat something today.

“Arthur!Je suis à la maison, cheri!” he called cheerily, shutting the door behind him and heading up the stairs towards the bedroom to get a change of clothes after surveying the downstairs area and not finding his husband in the library where he assumed he would be. Arthur had been spending an abnormal amount of time in their library recently losing himself in fantasy novels to avoid talking about what had happened.

Confused as to the whereabouts of his husband, but not being overly concerned, he proceeded to grab his clothes from the bedroom and head towards their master bathroom.

“Ahhh” he remarked noticing the door was closed to their bathroom, “That’s where you are” he spoke to himself.

Rapping on the door lightly with his knuckles he called out to his husband “I’m home, cheri, are you alright in there?”

Fully expecting some sort of tirade about why in the world he wouldn’t be alright in the bathroom he was startled to not hear a peep from the other side of the door. There was no possible way Arthur hadn’t heard him, especially from this close, as nations they all had excellent hearing.

Fearing the worst, since there was no reason that Arthur should be ignoring him today, sure they didn’t talk as much lately but Arthur hadn’t completely shut him out, just yet, he announced his entry and opened the door.

He had seen many sad things in his long life; he had seen his country torn in two during a revolution and he had seen families forced to beg in the streets for money and food after wars, but very few things had ever tugged at his heart strings more than the sight before him.

The British Nation sat in their overly large tub with his knees pulled up to his chest and his head between his legs not moving and not making a sound. The only indication that the man was alive was the steady rise and fall of his chest.

After setting his clothes on the edge of the sink, he knelt down by the side of the tub and slowly, cautiously, put a hand on his husbands back in a tender fashion.

He was surprised, if not alarmed, to see that his husband’s skin was freezing cold and by the look of the water he could tell that Arthur had been in the tub for some time.

Using his thumb to rub small circles on the nations back with one hand he used the other to gently lift England’s head to face him.

“How long have you been like this Arthur?”

The Island Nation gave no response averting his eyes and refusing to answer the question or give any clue as to why he was in his current state.

There was absolutely no doubt that Francis wanted to desperately know why his husband was in such a state but he realized he wasn’t going to get an answer right away so he shifted his focus to getting his husband warm and dry.

“Come on, love, let’s get you up” he offered pulling Arthur into a standing position.

Neither of them spoke while Francis took the time to dry off his husband. Francis was honestly unsure how to proceed; Arthur had never relied on him for anything other than his daily meals, in all of the time they knew one another. So it was honestly a little unnerving to the French nation to see his husband stand perfectly still with a despondent look on his face and allow himself to be toweled off.

“Did you want any lunch, cheri?” he offered hopefully after getting Arthur dressed and sitting him down on their bed.

Arthur merely shook his head in the negative, still unwilling to talk.

“Alright, how about I make you a cup of tea then? It will help you relax.”

“…alright” Arthur answered in an exhausted tone as if it had taken some great effort just to get the word out.

Francis smiled just slightly, at least he knew he his Arthur was still in there somewhere if he was still taking tea. “I’ll be right back.”

“…wait” Arthur reached out for Francis’ arm as he turned to leave and just barely missed grabbing it.

“What is it, cher?” Francis stopped in his tracks hoping that maybe Arthur might ask for something to eat.

“Let the water boil this time, don’t just get it hot.”

Francis rolled his eyes and suppressed a sigh “That only happened once, Angleterre, let it go” and with a dismissive wave of his hand he left to prepare Arthurs tea.

Waiting for the water to boil Francis allowed himself a small smile, even in his current state of depression Arthur had managed to show a hint of his usual indignant self and he hoped that was a sign that this was only temporary.

Returning to the room some short time later with a tray of tea and sandwiches for them both Francis was a little unnerved to see that Arthur hadn’t moved an inch since he had been downstairs, not even so much as a shift in body weight.

“Here, darling,” he spoke sitting next to Arthur on the bed and laying the tray across their laps. “I know you said you weren’t hungry but I made you a sandwich, just something light. Will you at least try and eat it for me?”

Smiling ever so slightly at the way his husband fussed over him Arthur adjusted his position carefully so as to not overturn the tray so that his back was pressed against Francis’ chest. “Thank you, love. What would I do without you?” he whispered.

“Simple, cher, you would starve” the Frenchman lightly teased, nudging Arthurs sandwich closer to him to emphasize his point.

They sat together in a companionable silence for some unknown length of time and Francis watched as Arthur barely forced down one half of his sandwich. The food seemed to do nothing to bring Arthur out of his silence but by the time he had moved on to his second cup of tea he had visibly improved to the point where Francis deemed it safe to ask him again what seemed to be troubling him.

At first he didn’t think the Brit was going to respond, he suddenly seemed to be absorbed by the liquid contents of his cup as if tea was the most fascinating thing in the world, and to him it probably was. Eventually, though, and making a point to continue to stare downward at the tea, he answered “I’m sorry if I worried you, love. I got…” he paused to consider the correct word “…overwhelmed” he decided on.

Francis looked at him expectantly but Arthur looked as if he had no plans on offering any more of an explanation.

“Arthur…” he chastised “Please, continue.”

The man in question frowned as he realized that his vague explanation was not going to fly with a man who knew him better than he knew himself, he was going to have to do better than that. “I was simply overthinking…I was dwelling on things that I should have not let myself think about and you merely caught me in a moment of weakness. No need to worry yourself.”

“Arthur, don’t patronize me with that formal tone of yours and don’t you dare brush this aside as if nothing is wrong. You have to tell me what’s going on inside that head of yours so that I can help you. Is this about Sco-“

“—don’t you dare speak his name in this household” Arthur cut him off harshly.

“Well, is it?”

“Damnit, I don’t want to discuss it; are you too dim to see that?”

Francis ran a hand through his own hair in frustration “Arthur, please, don’t push me away. I know that this is hard for you to talk about but you aren’t taking into consideration how difficult it is for me to sit here and see you like this. You haven’t been yourself since the inc-- for a while now and I’m worried sick about you. You’ve barely eaten anything in a week and you’re already slim enough, Arthur, you can’t afford to lose any more weight.”

Moving the tray from their laps and setting it on the side table Arthur adjusted his position so that he was looking directly into Francis worried gaze. If Francis wanted to know the truth then he was going to get exactly that. “I couldn’t do it anymore, Francis…”

“Couldn’t do what?”

“Any of it…I…I just started thinking about everything, about how I get up in the morning and then I shower, and then around then you’d come home for breakfast, and after that we would have the rest of the day to plan, of course that’s all assuming neither of us have any business to attend to, and it just got to be too much…I just don’t have the energy for it.”

This was not what Francis was expecting to hear at all from his husband. The Arthur that he knew absolutely adored routine, in fact he lived for routine; any deviation from it would usually put the Brit in a foul mood.

“Is that what put you in that state earlier?”

“I’m just so tired lately, Francis, it’s as if every time I even think about doing something the thought alone exhausts me. I know you worry about my health but I just have no appetite whatsoever, and I want to eat your food, I desperately want to, but I just never have an appetite.”

“Arthur, I can’t stand seeing you like this” Francis didn’t bother to hide the desperation in his tone. “What can I do to help you? I’ll do anything.”

“Just stay with me, please” Arthur almost pleaded, a tone that Francis was unused to hearing from the Brit, “I often think about how one day you will get sick of me, of this, and you’ll leave me. That thought scares me half to death; the thought of waking up without you terrifies me and--. “ Choking on the words and unable to finish his sentence Arthur could do nothing to stop the tears from streaming down his face.

Francis was unsure how to react, he could count the number of times he had seen Arthur openly weep in his presence on one hand and they had been together for centuries, seeing Arthur in such a state was breaking his heart. “Arthur, mon dieu, how could you think such a thing? I would never ever leave you.”

He pulled his husband to his chest as tight as he dared in a comforting embrace but he couldn’t stop his own tears from falling from the sight of his husband openly weeping into his chest. The last time he had held Arthur like this had been during the late 1700’s.

“Don’t worry, cher, we’ll get through this” he promised. He wasn’t sure when or how they would but they would pull though just like they always had; together.

A/N: Originally I had no intentions whatsoever of writing a sequel to the Price of Dignity but the overwhelming amount of reviews I received from other sites have inspired me to continue the story. I'm not sure how many chapters this is going to be yet but I hope those of you that read it enjoy it. ^ ^

Translations:

Arthur! Je suis à la maison, cheri! : Arthur! I am home, darling!
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The Aftermath