It was a completely ridiculous suggestion. An utterly preposterous, ludicrous, idea; it was absurd, England thought, that his boss had even considered the scheme, let alone gone along with it. This was outrageous initiative was something that no sane nation would ever have come up with.

So obviously Francis was responsible.

It was for this reason, that Arthur was risking his life and limbs, and potentially the lives and limbs of a number of others, on the French roads, punctuating every dangerous swerve and near miss with a mixture of unbelievables, laughables and outrageouses along with a liberal sprinkling of swear words just in case the red face, flaming eyes and terrible driving hadn't already given away how livid he was.

Fortunately for French road safety Arthur, even when practically combusting with anger, was far too wise after centuries of fighting Francis to bother calling at his house. Francis was French, the French are cowards, thus Francis was not about to get trapped alone in a room with an England who had just dug out his cutlass and was in the mood to baptise it with EU blood.

Arthur therefore bypassed the house, cutting the journey considerably, and went straight to the Élysée Palace, with a mind to murder France's boss after he'd finished killing the nation himself.

Whether it was a measure of French cowardice or Francis' fore-planning Arthur didn't know and frankly he didn't care but despite looking armed and bent on disembowelment the ex-pirate was waved in by the guards. And neither the cutlass, the pistol or indeed the musket were mentioned when a secretary (tall, blonde and very France) showed him into the office.

"Ahh Angleterre, mon chere, we were just" he said gesturing to the short man still on the telephone "discussing you".

Apoplectic at this point, Arthur was speechless and Francis was delighting in this opportunity, though not enough to approach the enraged Englishman which was probably fortunate if he had any hopes of future romantic entanglements.

"It is not that bad mon ami, we have all agreed that it's sensible. You must look toward the future Angleterre...."

"Angleterre?"

"Angleterre, I'm beginning to get worried. Surely you should have tried to kill me by now? Or have you finally remembered how irresistible I am and have come to beg me to take you to bed?"

"Francis..."

"I thought not."

"FRANCIS!"

"Yes mon chere"

"My boss told me the strangest thing today" began England who was beginning to move forward with a rather wild look in his eyes. Francis not liking the level or indeed the place where Arthur's slowly circling cutlass was pointing began to tactically retreat. Some parts were too precious to risk.

"He told me about this wonderful expensive plan that the European Union had come up with and which he had agreed to."

Francis internally cursed the architect who thought that this office only required one door which was inconveniently placed behind the ever advancing armed madman.

"Despite the bountiful benefits that will apparently result from this after I've spent a bloody fortune on it, I have some reservations."

Francis began to eye the windows.

"And what reservations would they be mon ange?"

"THE ANGLO-FRENCH POND!"

"Yes we thought that might be a slight snag."

"Really?" replied England in a familiar and terrifying tone of voice that France hadn't heard him use since the a Hundred Year War. The windows were looking better and better with every word that Arthur spoke.

"You thought renaming a twenty two mile strip of water that has been known internationally as the English Channel since the second century AD, destroying a defining part of my history and make-up while simultaneously making every map in the world obsolete would be a SLIGHT SNAG!"

Arthur had trapped Francis against the wall with only a few centimetres separating their bodies. In other times Francis would definitely be taking advantage if this, but then in other times England wouldn't be brandishing a cutlass with a very scary look in his rather angry eyes. Or explaining how he was going to tie France to an anchor and throw him off the cliffs of Dover with bait for the bluebirds.

The windows it was.

Just before Francis was about to make good his escape they were interrupted by the blonde secretary from before.

"A Mr Brown wants to speak to a Mr Kirkland, he says it's quite urgent..."

Though loathe to tear himself away from the beating that Francis had had coming to him for a long time, England was aware that he had flown out of his boss' office very quickly and very rudely. Abandoning Francis for the telephone was a great sacrifice and he was going to make sure his boss knew it he thought as he went to answer the phone, making his continued displeasure very clear by slamming the door rather loudly in a most ungentlemanly fashion.

Francis breathed a sigh of release that was echoed by the president currently getting up from under his desk where he had been either picking up a fallen pen or cowering away trying not to attract the attention of the furious Englishman, depending on whose version you heard.

Francis turned to him disbelievingly.

"I can't believe we got away with that."

Despite being separated by three inches of solid mahogany the two Frenchman were still deafened by the not so dulcet tones of Arthur roaring down the phone.

"KENT, CORNWALL, NORTHERN FRANCE! THE TRANSMANCHE ZONE!"

The president began to slip under the desk again.

"I'm not sure we did."

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia or the charcaters and I certainly didn't come up with the stupid idea of renaming the English Channel or splitting Europe into weird zones. That was the EU. Blame them.

I apologise for the awful title, I'm tired and I just wanted to write a quick story, unfortunately no titles came to mind. Feel free to suggest a better one.