Healed By Love

Rose/ Francis-Part 1

"Go ahead und choose, Kylie." She dug her hands around, before something poked her palm. She made a small sound at this pain, but tugged it out gently. It was a pretty red flower! "Hon-on!"A man with long blonde hair and blue eyes laughed triumphantly, and stood up. He looked very pretty, and more like a girl in her eyes than anything. "You 'ave gotten ma rose, Cherie!" "Oh, mother of god," Arthur breathed behind her. "Meeting adjourned…Good luck, Kylie." The blonde man sighed, taking a cross necklace out of the bag and telling everyone else to take their items. "Remember everyone, zhe next meeting is in France, tvo months from nov!" "And we will see you all there, non?" The blonde-haired blonde laughed, coming over to her quickly. "I am sure you will all behave for zhe little girl!" Most of the countries had already up and left, as not all of them put an item into the bag. Some were gathered around said bag and getting their items, disappointed in the outcome but happy for her. "You better take good care of her, Frog-Face…" Arthur grumbled, taking his handkerchief off of her as Frog-Face picked her shivering form up quickly. "Watch those names in front of her!" He turned to look at her, speaking in a strange accent she had never heard before. He smelled like honey and lavender. "My name is Francis Bonnefoy, petit fille. And I am going to show you the love and beauty in the world . . . But first, I will be honored if Alfred or Arthur can do us a small favor? Or my Mattie, where is he…?"..."Your own Caretaker did this to you, Kylie?" She silently nodded. She had just told him the whole story of why she ran away, as he saw her bruises while helping her wash the dirt and grime off from the street. The Frenchman had swooned, immediately losing his handsome smile upon seeing her scars and hearing this story. After a moment, he resumed washing her amber hair. "Pauvre fille…You no longer have to worry about that, understood? I will take excellent care of you!" He gave her a light kiss, which practically smothered her upper body, before washing out the soapy shampoo and conditioner in her now-clean hair. "Look at that! Your hair is so much prettier without that icky muck in it, beau!" Soon she was clean, and he provided a face cloth for her to snuggle up in. He regretted not bringing something warmer, but figured she could make due for the few minutes it would take for America and Britain to come back with clothes, toiletries, and dinner as he requested. He just hoped the clothes were the right size. Francis laughed at how the cloth piled on the floor at her feet, basically making her like a baby bird nestled under it's mother with it's little face sticking out. He took her little hand and kissed it (she found that he kissed her often…He was certainly very touchy-like, but she found that she liked the affections). "I suppose I will have to carry you, oui?" She nodded, allowing him to pick her up and bring her to one of the beds of the five-star hotel, pulling back the covers and tucking her in carefully. He then laid beside her, nuzzling her body with his nose in an Eskimo kiss. "I will only leave your side to take a shower for myself later, ma cherie. We can't 'ave you getting anymore germs on your little body, non?" She had already shut her eyes, exhausted from today, and scooted closer to the warmth emitting from his body. He laughed, a sound that was weird to her but suited him. "Tired already, princesse?" Francis laid a hand around her body, watching her nap and breathe unevenly, agitated in her sleep. He lightly traced a straight line from her forehead down to the curve of her nose with one fingertip, and kissed the top of her head. This action seemed to calm her. "See what a little act of kindness does for one's well-being?...You poor abused baby. I am going to show you there is still love in the world! I am the country of love, after all. You will be so spoiled with me . . ." He chuckled, as someone knocked at the door. America and Britain were here with food. Among other things for sweet little Kylie, anyway. Oh, but that would involve waking her up! Although it seemed like her sleep was becoming nightmarish, so France felt less guilty about it as he got up, making her stir, and opened the door. America was holding—oh dear lord—take-out boxes from one of his fast food places. "Hey France-dude! Where's Kylie?" "Sh!" He nodded back to her, currently rubbing her eyes and yawning, on the bed. Both faces softened at her sleepiness. "Aw, sweetie," Alfred came forward and set the food down at the edge of the bed. "She was tired, huh?" "Oui," Francis cooed and grabbed Britain's bag, which had the clothes and a toothbrush. "After that kind of day," The Brit said as he approached her, "I would be too. She has been rehomed, and if I hear so much as one single complaint from this child France I swear to god that I will—" France placed his hand over the man's mouth. "Your voice is raising. Hush," He tucked her in further into the blankets. "I have raised children before Arthur, you were there for several of them…Until you took them away," He pointedly said. "…Screw you," Arthur said after a moment. "Screw you and your—" "Guys," Alfred butted into the conversation. "Stop. Kylie is staying with Francis unless she needs to be rehomed or she's living on her own or something. So France," He gave France a stern look. "Don't. Screw. Her. Up. That means NO teaching her insults in French, NO fighting between you two…Can you even handle that?" The two looked at each other and gulped.
Several minutes later, she had been woken up and changed into real pajamas. Dinner was, to France's not total horror, sub sandwiches.
And then a new face appeared halfway through this meal…Holding a polar bear. "H-hello...?" "Hi," She shyly waved up at him. "Who's the—Canada!" Francis cheered, and waved the younger man over. "Come over! Have you had dinner yet? I did not eat the other half of my sandwich!" "I'm fine Francis, I already ate," Matthew chuckled nervously and held up the polar bear, which some of the other countries would have imagined to be Kumajirou, but was really a simple plush polar bear. "I brought Kylie a gift to welcome her to the family. I'm Matthew, sweetie." "Thwank you!" She grew wide-eyed as he handed her the stuffed animal, which was almost 4x times her size, and then hugged it tightly. It was clear that she was in desperate need of a snuggle buddy. The other men in the room nearly had nosebleeds. "Um," Matthew patted her head gently with a careful fingertip and smiled up at them all. "Have you guys gone shopping for her yet?" "Non," Francis sighed. "I plan on getting something for her plane ride tomorrow, but I will be shopping in Paris!" "Why not here?" Alfred narrowed his eyes and asked. "…It is cheaper and easier for me to shop in Paris," Francis said awkwardly, not wanting to tell the American most of his clothes for little girls were not the Frenchman's style.
"Whatever, I have holidays I can spoil her in," Alfred laughed. "No, I'M going to spoil her the most!" Arthur exclaimed. "I wouldn't mind just being the fun uncle, eh?" Ten minutes later France had kicked them all out and was taking a shower. She wasn't sure of what to think of this situation, but the Frenchman had been super sweet to her thus far. As far as she could tell, he was a nice man. They all were, or at least she thought so. They were the nicest she had ever met in her short life. After his shower Francis snuggled her close to his body, keeping her warm. She had never experienced this before . . . But it wasn't something that hurt her. It was love. Real love. Something that France would introduce to her as she lived with him. He started that very night, by holding her (and the polar bear plush) close to his body for her warmth..."I know it hurts, you poor bebe…" Francis said, cradling her in his cupped hands. She continued to sob, coughing and hurting horribly. She had just woken up from a nightmare screaming, and was met with a horrible pain in her throat. "The medicine will kick in anytime now, you just need more water. Please, bebe, drink more!" He offered her some from a sippy cup made for Tinies, which she couldn't swallow any of from wailing, and from the pain. "My sweet child, the cries will only hurt your throat more! Sh, sh! Papa has you, you are fine! I know it hurts, I know…" He continued saying these sweet nothings in French, until realizing that A.) She didn't speak French, and B.) He referred to himself as "Papa." A little while after she had settled and gone to sleep (finally), France stayed up late mulling his odd situation over. He then felt her little body nuzzling up against his neck, right against his Adam's apple, and he smiled. He would make her feel better. He would treat her like the sweet angel she was. "Sweet dreams, mon cher...je t'aime."