[Not that he always made the right decisions, or was the best person, or completely rational one-hundred percent of the time but he was not happy. There had been times, in their shared past, that France had relished in discomfort he had caused the man. It was a shared opinion, politically speaking... but France hated to see him reduced to this and held a heavy amount of disdain for himself for having part of it.
There's a lot that France would like to keep to himself. Project what he wanted to be seen, and maybe who he was-- and keep the more private things private. Hard to believe, isn't it? That he'd want well enough not laundered and tidied on the proverbial line. And it never works, not with England. He should dislike you on principal.]
Did you come to me wanting perfection? [Did you think he wouldn't hurt just in the same? That seeing America disappear had set his mind at ease? But he'd come to you, hadn't he? To ease the grief the best that he could. It hurts that any following compassion seems to mean nil; and maybe it leaks through in his intonation.] For someone that knows every speck of dirt on my shoulders you expect too much. We have been through too much together for me to smile and nod while you throw yourself away. I reacted harshly, I admit -- and it pains me to see someone like you in the state you are in but did you ever... for once think, that I reacted because I was scared?
[The confession makes him look vastly uncomfortable. His pride is just as bad as England's. They'd get along better if it wasn't set in stone. France's lips thinned as he watched the man on the screen for a second. It doesn't do good so he looks away. Everyone expected him to be that oily snake in the weeds, wiggling away. England certainly did-- and usually he did have a certain way with words, and he was good at compassion, and soothsaying. Until it breached into something deeply personal where it couldn't be idealistic or unattached.]
You were not the only one to lose Amerique! I did, as well. And then you come to me... You come to me and say that you do not want to be here anymore either. So I lose you as well-- [Even if it had been temporary, and maybe by now he wishes England had just broken his nose for the hundredth time. Taking temperatures? Perhaps it was Arthur's turn to go see the doctor and maybe they're both too broken to fit right now.]
I do not throw myself upon you because it is amusing. [It's his own way of saying that like it or not, he needs England there. Or just needs.] I am your ally. We fight, but that does not mean I hate you, or wish to humiliate you-- and I thought that after all this time you knew!
[He's not saying that what he did was right. Just get that out there right now, he's not. But he's hinting that their relationship was never meant to be sunshine-- they were who they were. They would fight, and take offense, and fight some more before going to the other for support.]
Perhaps I wished to see you to make amends-- Or, heaven forbid I missed you.
[Clearing things up was never meant to be done like this.]
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There's a lot that France would like to keep to himself. Project what he wanted to be seen, and maybe who he was-- and keep the more private things private. Hard to believe, isn't it? That he'd want well enough not laundered and tidied on the proverbial line. And it never works, not with England. He should dislike you on principal.]
Did you come to me wanting perfection? [Did you think he wouldn't hurt just in the same? That seeing America disappear had set his mind at ease? But he'd come to you, hadn't he? To ease the grief the best that he could. It hurts that any following compassion seems to mean nil; and maybe it leaks through in his intonation.] For someone that knows every speck of dirt on my shoulders you expect too much. We have been through too much together for me to smile and nod while you throw yourself away. I reacted harshly, I admit -- and it pains me to see someone like you in the state you are in but did you ever... for once think, that I reacted because I was scared?
[The confession makes him look vastly uncomfortable. His pride is just as bad as England's. They'd get along better if it wasn't set in stone. France's lips thinned as he watched the man on the screen for a second. It doesn't do good so he looks away. Everyone expected him to be that oily snake in the weeds, wiggling away. England certainly did-- and usually he did have a certain way with words, and he was good at compassion, and soothsaying. Until it breached into something deeply personal where it couldn't be idealistic or unattached.]
You were not the only one to lose Amerique! I did, as well. And then you come to me... You come to me and say that you do not want to be here anymore either. So I lose you as well-- [Even if it had been temporary, and maybe by now he wishes England had just broken his nose for the hundredth time. Taking temperatures? Perhaps it was Arthur's turn to go see the doctor and maybe they're both too broken to fit right now.]
I do not throw myself upon you because it is amusing. [It's his own way of saying that like it or not, he needs England there. Or just needs.] I am your ally. We fight, but that does not mean I hate you, or wish to humiliate you-- and I thought that after all this time you knew!
[He's not saying that what he did was right. Just get that out there right now, he's not. But he's hinting that their relationship was never meant to be sunshine-- they were who they were. They would fight, and take offense, and fight some more before going to the other for support.]
Perhaps I wished to see you to make amends-- Or, heaven forbid I missed you.
[Clearing things up was never meant to be done like this.]