"Britain... Why are you...? And... Sorry about the dog-"
"It's fine..." the UK sighed, rubbing her melancholy eyes and scratching Saoirse affectionately between the ears, "You're awake early, Ireland..."
"Couldn't sleep," Ireland grimaced, "But that doesn't matter; why are you... you know-"
"Looking like I was dragged through several hedges backwards and living in a tent in the middle of a rainstorm in December?" Britain finished, gazing down at the muddy ground surrounding the pair and mustering a nihilistic smile.
"Well, I suppose... When you say it like that, yeah..." Ireland muttered, watching the UK with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"Last Sunday was my final court date with France..." The UK began, her head resting in her hands, as if mourning the life she'd lost to Brex*t, "It was a nasty divorce... She took everything: the house, most of the furniture, my savings, even custody of the kids... Plus anything bought with our joint account was given to her... She even took my Co-Op Card..." Despite her best efforts, a burning-hot tear slipped out from Britain's eye, rolling down her ice-cold cheek and onto the back of her dirty jumper sleeve.
"I'm so sorry..." Ireland stuttered, taken aback and far too exhausted to comprehend just how brutally France had abandoned the Brit. "You... You can stay with me if you want? I have a spare room..."
Slowly, Britain lifted her head, gazing at Ireland in total disbelief at her charity. Her blush masked by the cool moonlight, she replied, "I... I'd love that... Thank you. Are you sure you don't mind?"
"I'm sure," Ireland grinned, offering the UK her hand, which the Brit gladly accepted. "Need help packing?"
"Nah, there's barely anything in here anyway: a few clothes, a hand sanitiser from 2020, a toilet roll, a slightly manky blanket and the tent itself-"
"You poor thing-"
"It's fine..." Britain sighed, shoving her few belongings into a rain-soaked rucksack and draping it loosely over her shoulder. "Now... shall we get back to civilisation?"
Giggling, Ireland nodded, calling Saoirse over and clipping her lead to her matching collar. Together, the two nations left the unkempt park, gradually becoming more and more drenched by the taunting blusters of Storm Gerrit... However, neither country paid the weather any attention, the UK lost in the heartache left behind by France, and Ireland drifting in and out of unpleasant memories of much darker times.
At some point throughout their dreary walk home, one of the pair slipped their hand into the other's, an emotional display that would usually be out of character for them both, but the subtle embrace was warm and provided comfort, something that they were both in desperate need of. Neither country pulled away, both just glad that they weren't entirely alone in a cruel, bitter world.
"Home..." Ireland muttered as they finally reached her emerald-green front door, gently letting go of Britain's hand and unlocking the cottage. "Fancy a cup of tea?"
"Yes please..." the UK grinned, still blushing slightly and hoping Ireland wouldn't notice, "Do you have any Hobnobs?"
"What on Earth is a Hobnob?"
"You... You don't know what a Hobnob is?! You're missing out, darling..."
Darling... Ireland could already feel the blood rushing to her face as she processed what Britain had just called her. It was a strangely affectionate gesture, especially coming from the UK, but Ireland didn't mind... In fact, it was rather comforting to feel as if she were close to someone, even if it was simply through a kind of shared grief and a sense of unexplained belonging.
YOU ARE READING
Tea Time (BritIre)
FanfictionThe bitter December winds are only getting colder, and the UK has nothing left. The divorce with France has left her more alone than she's ever been and she's stranded with her only worldly positions in a bitter Winter. Britain has never felt more a...
