"I miss mine too... Wanna see a picture of her?"

He nodded. "I'd like that."

Francis stood up and walked out of the room before walking back in with a black picture frame. "This is her and dad..." He handed the picture to him.. It had a handsome blonde-headed man with his arm around a rather lovely blonde haired woman's shoulder, and the woman was holding a baby. "This was after I was born..."

He smiled. "I can see where your good looks came from." He handed Francis a photo of his mother and a man with blonde hair and dazzling emerald eyes. There was a little boy, maybe five, with thick eyebrows and the same green eyes as the man. The woman was holding a baby with blue eyes like her own. Everyone in the picture except the little boy who's face was straight and blank. "Thats my family."

"I see where your good looks come from." He stated, completely serious. "Al looks so cute as a baby..."

"Thanks. I look a bit like my father I guess."

"You do.." He smiled and handed the picture back.

England was more than happy. "Thank you. I seriously appreciate that. I really wish I looked even more like him."

"I think you, mon cher," Francis wrapped his arms around Arthur. "Look absolutely perfect, just the way you are"

Arthur returned the embrace. "Thank you love. I do think you're perfect as well."

Francis smiled and kissed the top of Arthur's head.

Arthur caught Francis' lips. "Bet you didn't see that coming."

Francis chuckled. "No, I did not, mon cher."

England leaned against Francis' body and enjoyed the feeling of just being held by the one he loved. It was moments like this that made him believe he could make it through this life of his, even of it hadn't been very good up until now.

Francis rubbed Arthur's back softly, then swayed them very slightly. He really didn't feel like letting go of the boy. He seemed to fit just perfectly in his arms, and he'd like to keep it just like that.

Arthur pulled Way as the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" Alfred ran to the door as well, both boys opening it quickly. There stood a man in solid black, a gun in one hand. He grabbed Arthur and held the gun to his throat. He slowly pointed said gun at Alfred and shot the young boy in the head. "ALFRED!!!" Arthur screamed in agony, his heart clenching up painfully. He was dragged away to a truck and tossed in. He was so traumatized that he couldn't even remember about Francis or his time in France. He could remember bits and peices of his father, mother, and now brother dying.

Arthur escaped his captors a few months afterward, forced to live his teenage years on the streets. He managed to put himself through collage and ended up representing the United Kingdom, particularly England. He was now twenty three years old. He walked into the large conference hall to meet with all of the nations' represenitives for the first time. He'd been in meetings with other representatives one on one, but now this was all of them. He was known to argue and get him way, using coldness and cruelty to get his way in any situation.

Francis held a funeral for Alfred, paying all the expenses himself. He never saw Arthur again, and he never loved anyone as much as he had loved that boy, no where close. He went through a very extensive college program and wound up being the representation of the entire country of France for world conferences at age twenty-five. When he was at the most recent meeting, he saw across the room, a blonde haired country, with emerald green eyes. "Non, it couldn't be..." he said quietly to himself. He had honestly figured the boy to be dead.

Cold green eyes stared out into the room, hardly taking any notice of the rather attractive franchman. He'd learned not to really love anyone. Not since that dreadful year that he lost everything that ever mattered. "Should we begin?" The American representative asked, and it became quiet. The older American man spoke a bunch of nonsense about helping out with a war that wasn't anyone's concern. "That's just like you to give aid to a country that previously tried to kill you." The Englishman snapped. "I refuse to agree with this nonsense." The man's jaw dropped. "Excuse me Mr.Kirkland?" He demanded. "Children and Women are dying over there!" Arthur stood up and slammed both hands on the table. "And that is a thing that happens with war. I will not risk my men for your pointless, idiotic plans!" The American slammed his hands down just as hard. "We don't need you redcoated twits anyway!" Arthur felt his eye twitch. "Don't forget your were a part of this nation!" He yelled, blonde hair sticking up slightly. It covered over his eyes and the American tried to move it, but Arthur smacked his hand. "Don't touch me!" The rest of the people hadn't even gotten in a word.

Francis just watched silently. Arthur had changed... Cracked you could say. And he understood why. He really just wanted this meeting to end so he could speak with him.

By the time the meeting had ended for the day, nothing had been accomplished. Arthur had yelled, his American enemy had yelled, and no one else had a chance to do much more than watch the two have a yelling fight. The meeting was ended when Arthur received a slap in the face and had punched the American man in the face for slapping him. He grabbed his things and prepared to leave.

Francis ran over to Arthur as he was packing up. "A-Arthur... I thought you were dead!" He said, sounding entirely relieved. "What happened to you??"

Arthur backed up. "That's not funny. I'm quite sure we haven't met. I'll have you know I don't have a very decent sense of humor, therefore I do not believe you and I will be very compatible for friendship." On that note he walked himself out, not looming at Francis twice.

"..." Francis ran after Arthur and grabbed him by the shoulders. "You don't remember me?? You were... Do you remember Alfred?"

Arthur was startled by the random contact and he slapped Francis' hands away hard. "Get away from me you bloody Frenchman! How the hell do you know my brother? You know what, I don't want to know...just leave me alone!" He ran away as fast as he could.

Francis put a shaky hand on his cheek, tears welling in his eyes. He'd been forgotten. He left the conference and went back to his home in France after reporting to his boss. He didn't even bother to go home, but went to the grave of Alfred. "He remembers you Al..." He sighed and took the dead, wilted flowers off the grave. "I'll replace these later..." he said, knowing the boy couldn't hear him, but it was for himself. He went home finally, trying to figure out what to do about Arthur.