Somewhere In Between (1/4)
Title: Somewhere In Between
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: America, Canada, France/England
Warning: AU, Slash, Human & Country Names
Summary: America finds himself struggling to come to terms with his relationship with France. (Sequel to Wonderful Complications)
Prologue
Chapter 1
America met Canada at the airport, although he hadn't exactly been planning to do so. The flight over was long and tiring and his head had been in such a fog that, after grabbing his luggage and shambling off of the plane, America had collapsed into the nearest chair and zoned out for some time. It was there that Canada had found him and the two brothers soon hailed a cab together and made their way to England's apartment in the city.
It was strange to be in London again. His last trip here had been an eventful visit to say the least and America honestly hadn't been planning on returning any time soon. Yet England, and France, had something very important to tell them and insisted that they couldn't do so over the phone or in a letter. So here he sat, in the back of a taxi heading towards England's house and fighting the urge to fall asleep against the gentle rocking of the cabin.
The drive was marked by a pointed silence as America slipped into a hazy world somewhere between sleep and consciousness. The traffic on that day must have been incredibly light, because it seemed that only a few minutes had passed before Canada was giving his arm a good shake, alerting him to their arrival.
They paid the driver and dragged their bags out of the car's trunk. England hadn't told them how long he needed them to stay over, but had made some vague indications that whatever he had planned would take a day or two. America had traveled light, because he planned to go home at the first opportunity, but he could tell from Canada's heftier suitcase that his brother had taken a more prudent route with his packing. "Better safe
than sorry, eh?" Canada had said when America teased him about the size of his luggage.
America doubted that he'd be the one to feel sorry.
They didn't have the chance to knock, because they had just climbed up the first few steps when the front door suddenly swung open and France stepped out from within. America stiffened as he watched France gleefully take each step two at a time in order to reach them all the sooner. Those arms were around him, squeezing until his face was practically red, before America could even think to react.
"Alfred! Mathieu!" France cried out in what sounded disturbingly close to a sob. "It has been too long."
"You saw us two months ago," America pointed out as he struggled against France's hold. Somehow France always managed to overpower him with his hugs. "And you've called nearly every day since!"
"It is not nearly the same as being with you like this," France said in that overly sentimental way of his. "We see one another so infrequently! It warms my heart to actually be able to hold you in my arms."
"Get inside, all of you!" America looked up to see England standing in the doorway, frantically motioning for all three of them to put an end to their little display and take shelter within the apartment. The urgency in his tone had been enough to jolt them apart, but France still stayed close by their sides. "I do have neighbors, remember? This isn't the time or the place for your soppy sentiments."
"Soppy?" France repeated with a huff as he wrapped an arm around Canada's shoulder. "Arthur, they are our-"
"Inside!" England said immediately, cutting in before France could say something that would be hard to explain.
The three of them did as they were told, the brothers grabbing their bags and walking the last few steps into the entryway as France walked just ahead of them. It was only when the door was firmly closed behind them that England seemed to relax and bothered to greet them with something more than a harsh tone. France, however, still was not satisfied and nagged at England until he relented and gave each twin a sincere hug.
"I hope the flight over wasn't an inconvenience," England said in his usual I'm-just-being-polite-in-asking-but-really-I-don't-care sort of way, but America could tell that there was just the slightest hint of actual interest in his words.
"It stunk," America said honestly as he dumped his suitcase in the middle of the hall before heading over to the sitting room where he set himself down on the couch. "Tons of turbulence and delays. Do you have any coffee?"
"As usual, your father only bothered to make tea," France informed him with a tired sigh and America couldn't help stiffening slightly at the word "father." England and France being their parents may now have been a well known fact, but America was still having some difficulty wrapping his head around the idea. After all, he had known them as only his fellow nations for most of his life and to suddenly think of them as something more was a bit... Yet he couldn't help marveling at how easily both seemed to slip into the role of parent. America supposed it was because they had always known and as a result didn't find the situation so odd, and America had to admit he was a bit jealous of them for it. "Fortunately, I have plenty of coffee to spare. I will go brew you a cup."
England watched wearily as France disappeared into the kitchen, shaking his head as soon as he was out of sight. "He's loaded the kitchen with enough coffee to stock a small cafe," he grumbled to them as he ushered Canada into the sitting room to join America.
America wondered briefly then if they were living together, because he found it hard to imagine England tolerating having coffee in his home otherwise. In fact as America looked around the sitting room he could see that England's house was starting to look a bit more French, with France's stylish touches here and there. He had never really been to France's home, but he had a feeling that if he went there he would find that it looked more British than it had any right to.
Canada took a seat on the couch beside America, while England sat across from them in one of his suede chairs. He offered them both a "biscuit" from the tray of snacks displayed on the coffee table, but they refused them because the twins knew better than to accept food from England. "I've been telling him to cut down on the coffee," England went on as he poured himself a cup of tea. "It can't be good for him in his condition, but he doesn't listen."
"It's still nice to see the two of you getting along so peacefully," Canada noted as he accepted a cup of tea for himself. America watched the two add milk and sugar to their drinks with a distant eye. He hadn't been a regular tea drinker since before his independence.
"Yes, well..." England said and then stopped all together.
The sound of England's old grandfather clock ticking away was soon the only sound to fill the room and for a moment America was tempted to ask England to put on the radio, but quickly stopped himself. England didn't really have any good music at his house.
"Here is your coffee, Alfred," France announced as he re-entered the room. He placed the small white mug down in front of America with a smile that seemed far too warm for his tastes. "I am sure you will like it. It is one of my favorite blends."
America frowned at that. He suddenly felt the urge to dump the heavy black liquid on the floor, but the aroma was pleasing and he wanted to put off falling asleep for a bit longer. He added a few cubes of sugar and a little milk to the mug and began stirring until the blackness became a light caramel color. Damn, he thought to himself after taking a light sip. It's good.
"You two have not touched any of the biscuits?" France half asked half observed as he pouted down at the still full tray.
"They're not hungry," England said, repeating the lie that they had fed him.
"Really? How disappointing," France sighed as he sat down in a matching chair beside England. "I made them just for you. Perhaps you would like something else?"
"Oh, you made them?" Canada blurted out. America watched with mild amusement as a blush quickly settled on his brother's cheeks at the realization of what he had just said. "I mean... I didn't... that is," he sputtered and fumbled before finally deciding to stop himself by grabbing one of the cookies laid out on the tray and cramming it into his mouth.
America chuckled and took a few for himself. It was funny that only now he saw how obvious it was that these cookies hadn't been made by England. After all, they were neatly shaped, un-charred, and smelled like actual cookies. He popped a few into his mouth between slips of coffee and America soon found that he was feeling more awake.
"Now that you two are both settled, I think it's time we get down to business," England began seriously as he placed his cup and saucer back down on the table.
"Arthur, do you have to be so formal?" France chided as he shifted and straightened in his own seat.
England rewarded France's question with a withering look, but America's attention was still peeked because this was what he had been waiting for. "What I was trying to say is... well, we wanted to talk to you about the wedding," England went on and America felt his shoulders slump. He had a feeling that this would have something to do with the upcoming wedding, yet still, it felt disheartening to be proven right. "Fran... your father and I were wondering if you two would be interesting in being our best men."
America blinked, Canada stiffened, and he had a feeling that both were a bit lost. "Uh... what?" America blurted out, still feeling uncertain.
"Oh it is simple really," France said with a dismissive laugh and a wave of his hand. "We are both grooms so we will both have a best man and we decided that since you are our children, then you both would be the perfect choice to fill the role."
America didn't know what to say to that. If it were anyone else asking, he would have instantly agreed, because the best man got to throw the bachelor party and that was awesome, but in this case the groom was his "father" and throwing a bachelor party for his father did not seem awesome to him.
He didn't get much time to think the matter over, because -- for what must have been the first time -- Canada spoke first. "Of course I'll do it," he said eagerly. "I'd be honored to be your best man... Dad. Papa."
"Yeah," America relented weakly, because he supposed that he didn't really have much of a choice. "Yeah, I'll do it."
"Oh wonderful!" France gushed.
"That is good to hear." England seemed to visibly relax as if a heavy weight had been lifted off of his chest and he were finally able to breathe easily again. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward in order to retrieve something that had been tucked away under the coffee table. America watched as he produced a massive binder, fat with torn bits of newspaper and magazine clippings and all other odds and ends that seemed to have been jammed inside until the book was ready to burst. "Because there is still a lot to do."
The binder hit the table with a massive thud, one that was heavy enough to cause the liquid in their cups to jitter and the plates to rattle and America felt his stomach drop to his feet. "Wait a minute... what's all this crap?"
"Watch your language," England said instantly before continuing. "Francis and I have decided that we've been putting this wedding off for far too long. So we want to get married right away. In two weeks to be precise."
"Two weeks?" America and Canada chorused and the gesture would have been funny if the situation weren't so horrifying. Even America knew that the idea of putting a wedding together in such a short amount of time was impossible to say the least, especially when it was clear that France and England weren't planning to simply go down to a court house and file paper work.
"That is where you two come in," France explained in a tone of voice that was far too calm for America's likings. "We are going to split the wedding planning down the middle and the two of you will help us."
"Well, Papa, that sounds like a nice plan, but..." Canada's words trailed off as his skin continued to pale in the face of the task ahead of him. "Don't you think that this time frame is a bit... restrictive? I mean... two weeks?"
"You will be able to handle it," France said flippantly. "You two are clever, resourceful boys."
"Yeah, but... two weeks," America emphasized, hoping that hearing the words for a fourth time would be enough to snap some sense into England and France.
"I know it seems a bit daunting," England said dismissively and America had a feeling that he didn't know, "but I'm sure we'll be able to pull it off if we work together. As a family."
America didn't bother to hide the look of sheer annoyance that slipped onto his features at those words and he prayed to heaven above that England didn't pull that "as a family" crap every time he and France wanted to get them to do something unpleasant. Still, America found himself giving in because this really was the first thing that they would be doing as an actual family and he supposed that he could put up with it just this once.
"Fine," he sighed, leaning back heavily against the soft couch cushions. "What do you need us to do?"
"Oh, not too much," France said distantly as he flipped open the book and found a list written in bright red ink. "Just a few small things. We still have to find the band, pick a florist, book a caterer..."
"Hire a photographer," England put in.
"Make a guest list."
"Send out invitations."
"Book a hotel."
"Have a suit fitting..."
"Is there anything you did do?" Canada cut in and America wondered if his head was spinning the way his was.
They watched as France and England gave each other what could only be described as an uneasy side long glance as they took far too long to answer Canada's question. "Well, we did settle on a date," England put in. "May nineteenth."
"Great, so you have a date, but no venue," America noted with a roll of his eyes.
"It's a very trying process," England said defensively, but America could only see this whole thing getting more difficult by the moment.
"Well, let's try to figure out a venue?" Canada suggested hopefully only to be rewarded with another uneasy look.
"Well, that's been a bit of an issue with us," England admitted somewhat sheepishly.
"Everywhere we pick just brings up problems," France went on. "I want to have the wedding in Paris so that it can be classy and elegant, but your father would rather hold the ceremony here in London so it can be dreary and tasteless."
"Then you should pick somewhere neutral," Canada put in thoughtfully as he glanced at a map that had been folded and unfolded and scribbled across for far too long. "Like..."
"The ocean," America piped in.
"America," England began wearily, but France was quick to wave him off in order to allow America to continue.
"You could get married on the Channel," he suggested as he tapped at the expanse of blue set between the two countries on the worn map. "Rent a boat or something for the day and hold the whole wedding there. It'd be completely neutral."
"That is a brilliant idea," France gushed as he grabbed a pencil and began making notes.
America preened as his chest (and his head) swelled with pride. He leaned across the table with a satisfied smile as he tugged at the corner of the book in order to bring it closer. "Well, as your best man..."
"Wait a minute," France cut in suddenly, holding his hand in the air to emphasize his point. "Alfred is your best man or my best man?"
"Oh," England said slowly, his eyes widening at the realization that they had yet another detail that had been completely overlooked. "Well... we never did discuss that, did we?"
America felt his throat tighten, because he wanted England to pick him as his best man. He knew England better and felt certain this whole experience would be that much simpler if it were the two of them being forced to work together. America had a feeling that being stuck with France would just be... painful.
"Well, I suppose there is only one fair way to settle this," England sighed and America knew right away that a coin toss was lurking in their future.
--
"I am so glad things turned out this way," France gushed for what seemed like the hundredth time as he gave the back of America's hand another fond pat. "Do not tell Mathieu this, but I was hoping for you to be my best man. We so rarely get to be alone together and this will be so much fun!"
Fun wasn't the word America would have used to describe the situation. Awkward or grating would have seemed more fitting, because the minute that coin had landed on heads France had dragged him across the Chanel in order to get their share of the work done on time. America had protested, because his boss would probably be pissed if he went to Paris when he'd told him he'd be staying in London, but France didn't seem to care about that and his face had turned positively purple at the mere mention of bosses.
"Did your 'boss' carry you inside of him for eight months through a blistering hot summer in the middle of the wilderness?" France had snapped, seething in a way that America openly admitted was quite frightening and he had let the whole matter go from there.
That didn't make the situation any better, because France had kept talking, kept insisting that he was happy and that this was wonderful and that America was going to have so much fun and America was already regretting ever picking up the phone when England had called last week.
The only saving grace that America could find was that they were in charge of all the food related stuff, because France didn't trust England's taste and wouldn't allow him to pick out anything that would be eaten. Still, sitting in the middle of a French bakery with France's hand over his was not America's definition of fun and he was desperate to see this day come to an end.
"You have not said very much today," France noted as he moved his hand for the first time in order to smooth out the front of his own shirt. The separation didn't last long, because once France felt certain that his shirt was wrinkle free, he shifted his chair closer to America's and then grabbed his hand once more.
"Hn," America grunted, because that was all he had been able to say that afternoon.
"You used to talk all the time when you were a baby," France laughed wistfully.
"Hn."
"Well, not a baby. A toddler really, but I always used to call you a baby. Oh! And you loved my food! I would cook for you and your brother all the time and you would always be the first to clean your plate. And then you would look up at me with your big blue eyes and say 'Moar PawPaw.' That is what you used to call me, 'PawPaw.' Ah, it was so cute and-"
"Hey! Look the food is here!" America nearly shouted in order to put an end to France's increasingly humiliating tangent.
He was relieved when a man did emerge from the rear of the bakery carrying a tray filled with bits of cake. The man exchanged a few words with France before returning to the kitchen.
"Samples," France explained as he offered America a fork and nudged the tray a bit closer to his side of the table. "Try some. I know you have your father's poor taste, so you can help decide what he will like."
America shrugged off the comment and went about shoveling chunks of cake into his mouth. "I like the chocolate," America decided when all of his slices were gone.
A wry smile tugged at the corner of France's lips as he rolled his eyes in amusement. "Of course," he chuckled as he pulled out a small binder and began flipping through it.
America leaned over his shoulder and saw that there were pictures of wedding cakes within the glossy pages, each one more elaborate and more expensive the further he went. "So... does this baker know that you're ordering a wedding cake?" America asked at length as he eyed the wedges of cake that France had yet to sample.
"No," he sighed as he pushed the dessert tray closer to America. "We decided not to tell any of the vendors that it is a wedding they will be working on. We are telling them that it is only for an important dinner party."
"Why?" America asked as he took a bit of sponge cake.
"Well, if I were to say to the baker that he was making a wedding cake then he would ask to meet the bride and things would become quite complicated."
America nodded in understanding, because that did seem quite reasonable. Yet as he watched France flipping through the book of designs, he noticed him turning back towards the simpler ones with a disappointed sigh.
"Who's paying for the cake?" America asked as he licked off the last bit of butter cream from the prongs of his fork.
"I am," France said. He was looking at a black and white picture of a cake, and even without color America could see that the design offered nothing desirable save for its price. All the other cakes were absurdly opulent and insanely expensive, but this one just looked... sad. "Your father is paying for so much. I wanted to pay for the food, because I wanted to pick it out for myself and I do like this boulangerie, but..."
America remembered then that France was still sick because his economy was in the toilet. He knew that France loved food and he felt certain that France shouldn't be kept from having the type of expensive meals that he enjoyed at his own wedding just because he didn't have enough money. Looking around the small bakery, he had a feeling that it didn't used to be this empty and that the people here could use the business. America sighed as he reached into his pocket in order to pull out his check book. His boss would probably get mad at him for spending so much, but he figured it would be okay since it was for his parents' wedding.
"You know... I could always foot the bill for you," America suggested as he grabbed a pen and tapped it against the leather flaps of his book. "It would be a nice wedding present and all."
"But the cabin," France reminded him. "You said that you were going to make that our wedding present."
He cringed, remembering the renovation project that was taking up more time and money than he'd originally thought (because he wanted to add in a few modern features to the old house, like indoor plumbing and electricity), but again he pushed the thought aside. "Yeah, well... this can be my other wedding present."
France smiled as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to America's cheek and he was suddenly very grateful that the bakery was so empty. "Alfred you are a good boy," he told him, giving his arm an affectionate pat. "You are a good son."
Chapter 2
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: America, Canada, France/England
Warning: AU, Slash, Human & Country Names
Summary: America finds himself struggling to come to terms with his relationship with France. (Sequel to Wonderful Complications)
Prologue
Chapter 1
America met Canada at the airport, although he hadn't exactly been planning to do so. The flight over was long and tiring and his head had been in such a fog that, after grabbing his luggage and shambling off of the plane, America had collapsed into the nearest chair and zoned out for some time. It was there that Canada had found him and the two brothers soon hailed a cab together and made their way to England's apartment in the city.
It was strange to be in London again. His last trip here had been an eventful visit to say the least and America honestly hadn't been planning on returning any time soon. Yet England, and France, had something very important to tell them and insisted that they couldn't do so over the phone or in a letter. So here he sat, in the back of a taxi heading towards England's house and fighting the urge to fall asleep against the gentle rocking of the cabin.
The drive was marked by a pointed silence as America slipped into a hazy world somewhere between sleep and consciousness. The traffic on that day must have been incredibly light, because it seemed that only a few minutes had passed before Canada was giving his arm a good shake, alerting him to their arrival.
They paid the driver and dragged their bags out of the car's trunk. England hadn't told them how long he needed them to stay over, but had made some vague indications that whatever he had planned would take a day or two. America had traveled light, because he planned to go home at the first opportunity, but he could tell from Canada's heftier suitcase that his brother had taken a more prudent route with his packing. "Better safe
than sorry, eh?" Canada had said when America teased him about the size of his luggage.
America doubted that he'd be the one to feel sorry.
They didn't have the chance to knock, because they had just climbed up the first few steps when the front door suddenly swung open and France stepped out from within. America stiffened as he watched France gleefully take each step two at a time in order to reach them all the sooner. Those arms were around him, squeezing until his face was practically red, before America could even think to react.
"Alfred! Mathieu!" France cried out in what sounded disturbingly close to a sob. "It has been too long."
"You saw us two months ago," America pointed out as he struggled against France's hold. Somehow France always managed to overpower him with his hugs. "And you've called nearly every day since!"
"It is not nearly the same as being with you like this," France said in that overly sentimental way of his. "We see one another so infrequently! It warms my heart to actually be able to hold you in my arms."
"Get inside, all of you!" America looked up to see England standing in the doorway, frantically motioning for all three of them to put an end to their little display and take shelter within the apartment. The urgency in his tone had been enough to jolt them apart, but France still stayed close by their sides. "I do have neighbors, remember? This isn't the time or the place for your soppy sentiments."
"Soppy?" France repeated with a huff as he wrapped an arm around Canada's shoulder. "Arthur, they are our-"
"Inside!" England said immediately, cutting in before France could say something that would be hard to explain.
The three of them did as they were told, the brothers grabbing their bags and walking the last few steps into the entryway as France walked just ahead of them. It was only when the door was firmly closed behind them that England seemed to relax and bothered to greet them with something more than a harsh tone. France, however, still was not satisfied and nagged at England until he relented and gave each twin a sincere hug.
"I hope the flight over wasn't an inconvenience," England said in his usual I'm-just-being-polite-in-asking-but-really-I-don't-care sort of way, but America could tell that there was just the slightest hint of actual interest in his words.
"It stunk," America said honestly as he dumped his suitcase in the middle of the hall before heading over to the sitting room where he set himself down on the couch. "Tons of turbulence and delays. Do you have any coffee?"
"As usual, your father only bothered to make tea," France informed him with a tired sigh and America couldn't help stiffening slightly at the word "father." England and France being their parents may now have been a well known fact, but America was still having some difficulty wrapping his head around the idea. After all, he had known them as only his fellow nations for most of his life and to suddenly think of them as something more was a bit... Yet he couldn't help marveling at how easily both seemed to slip into the role of parent. America supposed it was because they had always known and as a result didn't find the situation so odd, and America had to admit he was a bit jealous of them for it. "Fortunately, I have plenty of coffee to spare. I will go brew you a cup."
England watched wearily as France disappeared into the kitchen, shaking his head as soon as he was out of sight. "He's loaded the kitchen with enough coffee to stock a small cafe," he grumbled to them as he ushered Canada into the sitting room to join America.
America wondered briefly then if they were living together, because he found it hard to imagine England tolerating having coffee in his home otherwise. In fact as America looked around the sitting room he could see that England's house was starting to look a bit more French, with France's stylish touches here and there. He had never really been to France's home, but he had a feeling that if he went there he would find that it looked more British than it had any right to.
Canada took a seat on the couch beside America, while England sat across from them in one of his suede chairs. He offered them both a "biscuit" from the tray of snacks displayed on the coffee table, but they refused them because the twins knew better than to accept food from England. "I've been telling him to cut down on the coffee," England went on as he poured himself a cup of tea. "It can't be good for him in his condition, but he doesn't listen."
"It's still nice to see the two of you getting along so peacefully," Canada noted as he accepted a cup of tea for himself. America watched the two add milk and sugar to their drinks with a distant eye. He hadn't been a regular tea drinker since before his independence.
"Yes, well..." England said and then stopped all together.
The sound of England's old grandfather clock ticking away was soon the only sound to fill the room and for a moment America was tempted to ask England to put on the radio, but quickly stopped himself. England didn't really have any good music at his house.
"Here is your coffee, Alfred," France announced as he re-entered the room. He placed the small white mug down in front of America with a smile that seemed far too warm for his tastes. "I am sure you will like it. It is one of my favorite blends."
America frowned at that. He suddenly felt the urge to dump the heavy black liquid on the floor, but the aroma was pleasing and he wanted to put off falling asleep for a bit longer. He added a few cubes of sugar and a little milk to the mug and began stirring until the blackness became a light caramel color. Damn, he thought to himself after taking a light sip. It's good.
"You two have not touched any of the biscuits?" France half asked half observed as he pouted down at the still full tray.
"They're not hungry," England said, repeating the lie that they had fed him.
"Really? How disappointing," France sighed as he sat down in a matching chair beside England. "I made them just for you. Perhaps you would like something else?"
"Oh, you made them?" Canada blurted out. America watched with mild amusement as a blush quickly settled on his brother's cheeks at the realization of what he had just said. "I mean... I didn't... that is," he sputtered and fumbled before finally deciding to stop himself by grabbing one of the cookies laid out on the tray and cramming it into his mouth.
America chuckled and took a few for himself. It was funny that only now he saw how obvious it was that these cookies hadn't been made by England. After all, they were neatly shaped, un-charred, and smelled like actual cookies. He popped a few into his mouth between slips of coffee and America soon found that he was feeling more awake.
"Now that you two are both settled, I think it's time we get down to business," England began seriously as he placed his cup and saucer back down on the table.
"Arthur, do you have to be so formal?" France chided as he shifted and straightened in his own seat.
England rewarded France's question with a withering look, but America's attention was still peeked because this was what he had been waiting for. "What I was trying to say is... well, we wanted to talk to you about the wedding," England went on and America felt his shoulders slump. He had a feeling that this would have something to do with the upcoming wedding, yet still, it felt disheartening to be proven right. "Fran... your father and I were wondering if you two would be interesting in being our best men."
America blinked, Canada stiffened, and he had a feeling that both were a bit lost. "Uh... what?" America blurted out, still feeling uncertain.
"Oh it is simple really," France said with a dismissive laugh and a wave of his hand. "We are both grooms so we will both have a best man and we decided that since you are our children, then you both would be the perfect choice to fill the role."
America didn't know what to say to that. If it were anyone else asking, he would have instantly agreed, because the best man got to throw the bachelor party and that was awesome, but in this case the groom was his "father" and throwing a bachelor party for his father did not seem awesome to him.
He didn't get much time to think the matter over, because -- for what must have been the first time -- Canada spoke first. "Of course I'll do it," he said eagerly. "I'd be honored to be your best man... Dad. Papa."
"Yeah," America relented weakly, because he supposed that he didn't really have much of a choice. "Yeah, I'll do it."
"Oh wonderful!" France gushed.
"That is good to hear." England seemed to visibly relax as if a heavy weight had been lifted off of his chest and he were finally able to breathe easily again. He shifted in his seat, leaning forward in order to retrieve something that had been tucked away under the coffee table. America watched as he produced a massive binder, fat with torn bits of newspaper and magazine clippings and all other odds and ends that seemed to have been jammed inside until the book was ready to burst. "Because there is still a lot to do."
The binder hit the table with a massive thud, one that was heavy enough to cause the liquid in their cups to jitter and the plates to rattle and America felt his stomach drop to his feet. "Wait a minute... what's all this crap?"
"Watch your language," England said instantly before continuing. "Francis and I have decided that we've been putting this wedding off for far too long. So we want to get married right away. In two weeks to be precise."
"Two weeks?" America and Canada chorused and the gesture would have been funny if the situation weren't so horrifying. Even America knew that the idea of putting a wedding together in such a short amount of time was impossible to say the least, especially when it was clear that France and England weren't planning to simply go down to a court house and file paper work.
"That is where you two come in," France explained in a tone of voice that was far too calm for America's likings. "We are going to split the wedding planning down the middle and the two of you will help us."
"Well, Papa, that sounds like a nice plan, but..." Canada's words trailed off as his skin continued to pale in the face of the task ahead of him. "Don't you think that this time frame is a bit... restrictive? I mean... two weeks?"
"You will be able to handle it," France said flippantly. "You two are clever, resourceful boys."
"Yeah, but... two weeks," America emphasized, hoping that hearing the words for a fourth time would be enough to snap some sense into England and France.
"I know it seems a bit daunting," England said dismissively and America had a feeling that he didn't know, "but I'm sure we'll be able to pull it off if we work together. As a family."
America didn't bother to hide the look of sheer annoyance that slipped onto his features at those words and he prayed to heaven above that England didn't pull that "as a family" crap every time he and France wanted to get them to do something unpleasant. Still, America found himself giving in because this really was the first thing that they would be doing as an actual family and he supposed that he could put up with it just this once.
"Fine," he sighed, leaning back heavily against the soft couch cushions. "What do you need us to do?"
"Oh, not too much," France said distantly as he flipped open the book and found a list written in bright red ink. "Just a few small things. We still have to find the band, pick a florist, book a caterer..."
"Hire a photographer," England put in.
"Make a guest list."
"Send out invitations."
"Book a hotel."
"Have a suit fitting..."
"Is there anything you did do?" Canada cut in and America wondered if his head was spinning the way his was.
They watched as France and England gave each other what could only be described as an uneasy side long glance as they took far too long to answer Canada's question. "Well, we did settle on a date," England put in. "May nineteenth."
"Great, so you have a date, but no venue," America noted with a roll of his eyes.
"It's a very trying process," England said defensively, but America could only see this whole thing getting more difficult by the moment.
"Well, let's try to figure out a venue?" Canada suggested hopefully only to be rewarded with another uneasy look.
"Well, that's been a bit of an issue with us," England admitted somewhat sheepishly.
"Everywhere we pick just brings up problems," France went on. "I want to have the wedding in Paris so that it can be classy and elegant, but your father would rather hold the ceremony here in London so it can be dreary and tasteless."
"Then you should pick somewhere neutral," Canada put in thoughtfully as he glanced at a map that had been folded and unfolded and scribbled across for far too long. "Like..."
"The ocean," America piped in.
"America," England began wearily, but France was quick to wave him off in order to allow America to continue.
"You could get married on the Channel," he suggested as he tapped at the expanse of blue set between the two countries on the worn map. "Rent a boat or something for the day and hold the whole wedding there. It'd be completely neutral."
"That is a brilliant idea," France gushed as he grabbed a pencil and began making notes.
America preened as his chest (and his head) swelled with pride. He leaned across the table with a satisfied smile as he tugged at the corner of the book in order to bring it closer. "Well, as your best man..."
"Wait a minute," France cut in suddenly, holding his hand in the air to emphasize his point. "Alfred is your best man or my best man?"
"Oh," England said slowly, his eyes widening at the realization that they had yet another detail that had been completely overlooked. "Well... we never did discuss that, did we?"
America felt his throat tighten, because he wanted England to pick him as his best man. He knew England better and felt certain this whole experience would be that much simpler if it were the two of them being forced to work together. America had a feeling that being stuck with France would just be... painful.
"Well, I suppose there is only one fair way to settle this," England sighed and America knew right away that a coin toss was lurking in their future.
--
"I am so glad things turned out this way," France gushed for what seemed like the hundredth time as he gave the back of America's hand another fond pat. "Do not tell Mathieu this, but I was hoping for you to be my best man. We so rarely get to be alone together and this will be so much fun!"
Fun wasn't the word America would have used to describe the situation. Awkward or grating would have seemed more fitting, because the minute that coin had landed on heads France had dragged him across the Chanel in order to get their share of the work done on time. America had protested, because his boss would probably be pissed if he went to Paris when he'd told him he'd be staying in London, but France didn't seem to care about that and his face had turned positively purple at the mere mention of bosses.
"Did your 'boss' carry you inside of him for eight months through a blistering hot summer in the middle of the wilderness?" France had snapped, seething in a way that America openly admitted was quite frightening and he had let the whole matter go from there.
That didn't make the situation any better, because France had kept talking, kept insisting that he was happy and that this was wonderful and that America was going to have so much fun and America was already regretting ever picking up the phone when England had called last week.
The only saving grace that America could find was that they were in charge of all the food related stuff, because France didn't trust England's taste and wouldn't allow him to pick out anything that would be eaten. Still, sitting in the middle of a French bakery with France's hand over his was not America's definition of fun and he was desperate to see this day come to an end.
"You have not said very much today," France noted as he moved his hand for the first time in order to smooth out the front of his own shirt. The separation didn't last long, because once France felt certain that his shirt was wrinkle free, he shifted his chair closer to America's and then grabbed his hand once more.
"Hn," America grunted, because that was all he had been able to say that afternoon.
"You used to talk all the time when you were a baby," France laughed wistfully.
"Hn."
"Well, not a baby. A toddler really, but I always used to call you a baby. Oh! And you loved my food! I would cook for you and your brother all the time and you would always be the first to clean your plate. And then you would look up at me with your big blue eyes and say 'Moar PawPaw.' That is what you used to call me, 'PawPaw.' Ah, it was so cute and-"
"Hey! Look the food is here!" America nearly shouted in order to put an end to France's increasingly humiliating tangent.
He was relieved when a man did emerge from the rear of the bakery carrying a tray filled with bits of cake. The man exchanged a few words with France before returning to the kitchen.
"Samples," France explained as he offered America a fork and nudged the tray a bit closer to his side of the table. "Try some. I know you have your father's poor taste, so you can help decide what he will like."
America shrugged off the comment and went about shoveling chunks of cake into his mouth. "I like the chocolate," America decided when all of his slices were gone.
A wry smile tugged at the corner of France's lips as he rolled his eyes in amusement. "Of course," he chuckled as he pulled out a small binder and began flipping through it.
America leaned over his shoulder and saw that there were pictures of wedding cakes within the glossy pages, each one more elaborate and more expensive the further he went. "So... does this baker know that you're ordering a wedding cake?" America asked at length as he eyed the wedges of cake that France had yet to sample.
"No," he sighed as he pushed the dessert tray closer to America. "We decided not to tell any of the vendors that it is a wedding they will be working on. We are telling them that it is only for an important dinner party."
"Why?" America asked as he took a bit of sponge cake.
"Well, if I were to say to the baker that he was making a wedding cake then he would ask to meet the bride and things would become quite complicated."
America nodded in understanding, because that did seem quite reasonable. Yet as he watched France flipping through the book of designs, he noticed him turning back towards the simpler ones with a disappointed sigh.
"Who's paying for the cake?" America asked as he licked off the last bit of butter cream from the prongs of his fork.
"I am," France said. He was looking at a black and white picture of a cake, and even without color America could see that the design offered nothing desirable save for its price. All the other cakes were absurdly opulent and insanely expensive, but this one just looked... sad. "Your father is paying for so much. I wanted to pay for the food, because I wanted to pick it out for myself and I do like this boulangerie, but..."
America remembered then that France was still sick because his economy was in the toilet. He knew that France loved food and he felt certain that France shouldn't be kept from having the type of expensive meals that he enjoyed at his own wedding just because he didn't have enough money. Looking around the small bakery, he had a feeling that it didn't used to be this empty and that the people here could use the business. America sighed as he reached into his pocket in order to pull out his check book. His boss would probably get mad at him for spending so much, but he figured it would be okay since it was for his parents' wedding.
"You know... I could always foot the bill for you," America suggested as he grabbed a pen and tapped it against the leather flaps of his book. "It would be a nice wedding present and all."
"But the cabin," France reminded him. "You said that you were going to make that our wedding present."
He cringed, remembering the renovation project that was taking up more time and money than he'd originally thought (because he wanted to add in a few modern features to the old house, like indoor plumbing and electricity), but again he pushed the thought aside. "Yeah, well... this can be my other wedding present."
France smiled as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to America's cheek and he was suddenly very grateful that the bakery was so empty. "Alfred you are a good boy," he told him, giving his arm an affectionate pat. "You are a good son."
Chapter 2