The Secret Grave~

~ Rating: K+

~ Major Characters: England, France, Prussia, Spain

~ Warnings: Violence, Language, Angst/Hurt/Comfort

~ Plot Summary: England finally goes to visit France's new restaurant that he's been gloating about for months, only to find that he isn't there. Spain accidentally tells him that France is at home and England decides to find out the reason for his absence.

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Chapter 1~

"Okay, fine! I'll go to your bloody restaurant!"

England slapped away France's groping hands and attempted to regain his composure at the World Meeting. The nations were, as usual, not paying any attention to the matter at hand. Even Germany was staring out the window at the summer day, wishing he were out on a stroll with his three mastiffs.

America almost choked in the middle of slurping his extra-large drink and stared at England. The nations that were close enough to hear England's statement stopped their conversations and also turned to look. They all knew that France had been pestering England for months now, in an attempt to show off his awesome (as Prussia would say) cooking skills and hopefully teach him how real food tasted like.

England had, of course, initially expressed shock that the Frenchman had dared to invite him and then ignored his subsequent luring attempts.

Said Frenchman was now grinning in glee and triumph.

"Really, Angleterre? Finally, I'll be able to teach you how to cook and spare your poor people from the horrors of your cooking," France replied, exaggerating his words with a dramatic flourish of his hands.

"I can cook FINE! I'm just going so that you stop bothering me about it every day," England replied, bristling from the insults and almost strangling the other man.

By now, the closest nations were congratulating France on his success. America, however, chose to tease England about it.

"You finally caved in, Iggy," he said, with a hearty laugh, "I never thought you'd agree!"

"Yeah, well I was tired of being annoyed by the git. And don't you call me Iggy!"

Thus, the rest of the meeting was happily spent with France shouting out his success for everyone to hear and telling England the food items that he would be trying. Which made England even more nervous, of course. He didn't like the sound of some of the names that France was spewing out.

What the hell's an escargot, anyway?

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It had been a week since that fateful day England had agreed to come to France's restaurant and now he was dreading it. But, of course, a gentleman never goes back on his word and so here England was, getting ready to spend his lunch in France.

With France's description of the restaurant in mind, he had set off looking for it and was now standing (rather lost) in the middle of a quaint little lane just outside of Paris, with a piece of paper that had the address scrawled on it. Around him, people happily strolled along, spending the sunny weekend shopping with family and friends.

England looked carefully at all of the surrounding cafés and boutiques but none matched the restaurant's description or name. He gave up after a while and gathered the courage to ask someone.

"Erm, excusez-moi! Où est la restaurant 'Belle Amies', s'il vous plaît?" England hoped that the man he just asked would excuse the terrible pronounciation.

"Ah, oui! C'est juste coin de la rue." The man pointed it out and spoke slowly, assuming that England was a tourist.

"Merci beaucoup," he replied, and set off in that direction.

He would never admit to France, but England could understand French perfectly and had picked up how to speak it years ago.

At last, he came upon the restaurant and saw that it was a homely little affair with bunches of flowers hanging from the roof in baskets. The sun fell directly on the glass windows and lit up the faces of the people already eating inside. Some chose to bring their food outside to the round little tables shaded by a canopy.

England was surprised. The café didn't fit France's personality. He had come expecting a sprawling five-star restaurant in the middle of Paris with several trained chefs. He could see many locals enjoying their lunch inside. Waiters scurried about with trays of plates and bowls and there was the usual pleasant noise of people chattering away and utensils clinking against china plates.

One of the uniformed waiters came up to him.

"Table for one, sir?" he asked in French.

"Yes, please. I was also wondering if I could see the owner? Francis Bonnefoy?" England used France's human name, "Could you please tell him that Arthur Kirkland came to visit?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but he didn't come in today. He sent two of his friends in his place though."

He's not here? I wonder who could possibly be friends with that guy...

England asked the waiter if he could see his friends instead and was led into the spacious kitchen in the back.

As calm as the waiters looked outside the kitchen, it was near chaos inside. A large man in a white apron was directing (rather, yelling) orders at the four other chefs, two of them female, while cutting up a large fish at the speed of light. Vegetables seemed to be flying around from the supplies to the cutting board to the pan and several delicious smells from various spices mingled in the air to make England's stomach grumble.

"They're in here, sir." The waiter pointed to a door away from the main kitchen and he went inside.

The room was smaller than the other one and held a few refrigerators built into the wall, several pantries to hold supplies, a large wooden table in the middle, and two occupants who were sitting at said table and cutting up food.

It was Spain and Prussia.

"You two! What are you doing here?"

"England! Ah, did you come to eat? France told us you finally agreed to visit." Spain laughed.

"You picked the wrong day to come though," Prussia grinned, cutting off England's retort to Spain, "He's not here today."

"Yeah, he's at home with a cold so he asked us to help out around here," Spain said, earning him a warning glance from Prussia.

England noticed Spain shut up immediately and return to cutting up a tomato in front of him.

Now what was that about?

"Y-yeah guess his economy's been down lately," Prussia said, uncertainly. "Anyway, he told us that if you come today, we were to send you back because he wants to be here to see you eat."

"What? No way I'm going back after all the trouble I had in finding this place. And besides it's already past my lunch time so I'm eating here whether that bloody frog is here or not!"

Prussia's eyes sparkled with mirth.

"You actually want to eat here, don't you?"

"Why, you...! I just said that I'm only eating here today because I'm hungry! Now, if you'll excuse me..."

England left in a huff with a pink tint on his cheeks, Prussia smirking at his back. Once he was sure the English man had gone, he turned to Spain with a glare.

"You idiot! Why'd you tell him he's at home with a cold?"

"Well, because I had to tell him something or he'd be suspicious. It's not like France left us any instructions on what to do if England showed up."

"Yeah, but it's England! He probably checks France's economy every day so he'd know if it's even bad enough to make France have a cold."

Spain was quiet. He hadn't thought of that.

"Do you think he'll go to his house?"

Prussia frowned.

"He'd better not. France is not in the mood to see anyone today, especially England." He thought of something and growled in annoyance. "Although, knowing England, he'd probably head straight there to bother him or something so we're going to follow and make sure there isn't any trouble."

Spain nodded in agreement.

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England stood outside the restaurant, blinking in the bright sunlight, his stomach pleasantly full. He would never tell France this, but he possibly just had the best lunch of his life. Of course he didn't really understand what he ate, exactly, and had to ask for descriptions from the waiter...but everything was just so perfectly combined with the food melting in his mouth that he didn't really care to know.

I wonder if I should try making this at home? If only I had the recipe...

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, England started strolling quite aimlessly down the pretty lane, past the restaurant.

I wonder what I should do now...

He suddenly remembered France. Spain and Prussia had said he was down with a cold so this was the perfect time to go annoy him! Gleefully, he thought of how he could tease France about not even being at the restaurant when he was the one who had invited England. Thinking up insults, he directed his route towards the victim's house.

In his excitement, however, he failed to notice the two people who were now stalking him.

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France's cottage lay peacefully outside of Paris, about a ten minutes drive from his restaurant.

The little lane that led to it veered off the main road and was surrounded by neat flower bushes. The main house was framed by several thick trees and partly hid a stone pathway leading away from the house. The area was quiet and almost isolated, though there were more houses on the main road.

England paid the taxi driver who had brought him there and sauntered down the lane.

He had come here only once when France had offered to host the nations' yearly Christmas party (and promised to be civil), but he noticed that France hadn't changed anything and maintained the place scrupulously. Ringing the doorbell, England prepared himself to be loud and annoying. The chime echoed inside and he listened for footsteps.

Nothing.

Confused with the lack of response, he rang the doorbell again.

Is he that sick? But his economy wasn't that horrible the last time I checked...

A bit annoyed now, he thought of the possibility that Spain and Prussia had lied to him. They were acting a bit suspiciously. Sighing, he turned around from the door and went down the porch steps.

A black, iron gate pulled his attention to his right. He remembered that France had kept it locked the day of the Christmas party and was surprised now to see it slightly ajar. He noticed the stone pathway beyond the gate that lead away from the house and decided to follow it in case France was just resting outside.

The little stones that made up the gravelly path massaged his feet. It was a bit narrow and was outlined by hedges of evergreen bushes. It traveled a short distance away from the house, which was now partly hidden by the thick trees, and opened up into a wide grassy area.

England stepped out of the pathway and softly gasped at the beauty of the garden that France had set up here. The rectangular plot of land was artistically outlined with neatly trimmed hedges. Bunches of short flower bushes dotted the landscape and two stone benches stood symmetrically on either side of the garden. A small fountain was positioned in the exact middle, and a steady trickle of water sprung out from the spout.

It seemed like a haven, perfectly preserved in secret. England would never have thought that something like this was part of France's house.

A thin, carved gate stood wide open at the back of the garden, behind the fountain. He walked up to it and saw that it was a smaller extension of the main garden. A brick wall around this area hid it from outside eyes. He peered in and saw that it contained more flower bushes and a rectangular stone slab buried into the soil in the middle of the area.

England's eyes widened as he realized that the slab was a tombstone.

A grave! Why does France...? And whose...?

His mind sputtered as he tried to think of possible explanations and he moved to inspect the carved letters on the headstone. Before he could, however, a soft voice from his right interrupted his approach.

It was France.

End Chapter 1~

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Translations

1. Angleterre (French) :: England

2. Escargot (French) :: type of French food that consists of snails.

3. Excusez-moi! Où est la restaurant 'Belle Amies', s'il vous plaît? (French) :: Excuse me! Where is the restaurant, 'Good Friends', if you please?

4. Ah, oui! C'est juste coin de la rue (French) :: Ah, yes! It's just around the corner.

5. Merci beaucoup! (French) :: Thank you very much!

Author Notes

Wee~ My first multichapter fanfic! By the way, if you like GerIta, you should go read my first fanfic that I recently submitted (shameless advertising...) Anyway, sort of a cliffhanger here. Why does France have a tombstone? Did he murder someone and bury them here? Questions...

The next chapter will be up probably tomorrow. Until then, reviews will be appreciated!

With Pasta and Love, dolcespoir~