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Home for Christmas
Arthur Kirkland stood staring up at the airport's flight tracker blankly. He had been there a good thirty minutes or so, watching flights being delayed one after another, silently hoping--and perhaps even praying--that his would be safe. He had come to New England to escort his boss on official business, and was prepared to get home to spend Christmas his usual way; alone and drunk. However, an unexpected snowfall was making that look highly unlikely.

He glanced down at his pocket watch and bit the inside of his lip. Only ten minutes until the flight was supposed to start boarding. Ten minutes. Inhaling slowly in an attempt to calm his nerves, England sat down and opened his thermos of hot tea, taking a long drink before screwing the cap back on. He had just begun to relax a bit when an unfortunately familiar arm crept around his shoulder.

Knowing he would regret it, England turned his head slowly to his right--and jumped up out of his seat with a horrified look on his face.

"Ah, Angelterre," came the smooth, French-accented voice. "You act unhappy to see me!"

"I am unhappy to see you!" Arthur exclaimed, grabbing his thermos defensively. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Oh, I inquire the same of you." Francis said, still holding his leisurely pose, as if the airport bench were a loveseat. "I merely wished to pay you a visit while you're here. In New England." He put a bit of an emphasis on the last bit, smiling smugly.

England gave him a dirty look. He was amazed that France had the nerve to speak to him with such familiarity after what had quickly become known as the "Great Pie War" not so long ago. He decided it was best to ignore the elder country and simply pretend he didn't exist, but he wasn't even able to start when France spoke up again.

"Well, well, that can't be good, can it?"

Arthur turned around to face what Francis was looking at: a big "ALL FLIGHTS CANCELLED" display on the tracker.