Weary [France]

[[x] Spain]

[... I hope you're happy...]

Spain hated how he felt right now.

He felt dirty, inside and out.

He can't believe Portugal saw him break like that. He never had mental breakdowns around people. He made sure not to; it wasn't a pretty sight. And by the stains and splatters all over his spare uniform, he knew that he had done something bad.

Maybe a nice smoke would help him...

"Francia~" He wearily dropped onto a pristine cot and threw an arm over his tired eyes. "Fraciaaaaaaaaaaaaa~" He whined a bit, trying to get his friend's attention.

All he wanted to do was clean up and forget the whole ordeal. But at the very least, a nice, long drag of a cigarette would help him calm down a bit. Hopefully the blonde would have one on hand...

[France]

France sighed as he heard Spain enter the clinic and call for him. He was in the middle of checking his inventory to see what he needed for the next time Eastport was able to stop by and drop off supplies. They were running low on disinfectants and bandages. Everyone here went through them like toilet paper.

"Yes Espagne, what is i-" cutting off mid sentence, all France could do was stare at his friend. His clothes were practically in tatters and soaked in blood and mud and.........other things he couldn't quite identify. Rushing over to the Spaniard, he quickly tried to evaluate his condition. There were no visible wounds, but all that blood had to come from somewhere. Plus he couldn't help but worry over his friend.

"Mon Dieu! What happened Spain? You look like roadkill!"

[[x] Spain]

Spain's heart jumped a bit when he saw his friend's worried look. Sure, he had some little wounds, but nothing too major. Half-smiling, he tried to act normal. "Well... I picked a fight with some zombies... And well... I got kind of carried away." Sheepishly, he rubbed the back of his neck and looked around. "And you wouldn't happen to have any cigarettes on you, would you?"

He vaguely flashbacked to the last time he asked for one. Which happened to be the last time he had a breakdown. Which only served in reminding him that he really can't hide when he has them. "Because I could really use one. Like, now."

[France]

France immediately ceased his fussing when Spain asked for a cigarette. Spain smoked, yes, but rarely. And when he did it was usually to calm him down when he was shaken up. He stopped to look him up and down once again, closer this time. Sure he was a mess, but he didn't seem to be hurt. At least not physically.

Mentally on the other hand......

France could tell that something had happened to his friend. And from how nervous he seemed, whatever it was couldn't have been pretty.

Sighing for the second time, France walked over to his little desk and opened the top left drawer. Cigarettes were hard to come by now a days, it being more of a luxury than a necessity. So he saved them for times when he really needed them. Come to think of it, he hadn't had one in weeks had he?

He decided to pull out two and go join his friend over on the cot. Handing Spain one, he shuffled through his pocket to find a lighter. "England would kill me if he found out I was smoking in the clinic so let's keep this a secret, oui?" he tried to lighten the mood. But just looking at the Spaniards face he could tell that humor wasn't what he needed.

"So," he said finally pulling out a lighter. "want to talk about it?" he asked with a sad, knowing smile.

[[x] Spain]

Spain sat up quickly, though regretting it nearly as fast as his head hurt again. He held his cracking skull in one hand and nodded as took it and lit the end of it, taking a nice, long drag of it and exhaling. He could already feel himself calm down and his headache disappear.

"It happened again."

That's all that needed to be said to start before he let loose and went on.

"I knew I could've prevented it, too. I could've shortened my hours just a little, gotten a bit more rest, sat out of a few spats... But no, I had to jump in. I had to try and help everyone." He took another long drag before continuing. "I should've known that would've only help speed up the process. Though I was lucky enough to get out before I seriously hurt someone. I came close a few times, though. Scotland and I got into a fight and I lost it. Lucky for me, Norway was there and snapped me out of it with help from Tina. Still... I was this close, hermano, from seriously hurting him."

Another deep breath, another long inhale and exhale of the numbing substance.

"But I was thankful I didn't. I suppressed it just long enough to get outside. Though barely at that. I didn't get two steps from the warehouse before I lost it completely. I tracked down a few zombies and for once was glad that they were there, so I didn't have to take it out on anyone I really cared about."

The Spaniard flopped back, his green eyes slowly glassing over with tears that would never be shed. "I was merciless, Francis. I didn't care what they looked like; men, women, children. Children I slaughtered. And what terrifies me... is that if they had been living, I don't think I would've cared either." He closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath. "And to make matters worse, Portugal saw me like that. She saw me brutally take down all those zombies... I don't even know how many there were. I just kept going and going until I couldn't go anymore. I don't even remember how I got out of it this time. There could have been anywhere between ten and twenty zombies I took out. Playing with them, toying with them, enjoying myself when I saw them stumble and fall. I was a monster out there. A real, breathing, monster."

[Scotland]

[Intruder alert! Intruder alert!]

The shock of having Argentina in the way of his wrath had been what snapped Scotland back into control. Even in the grip of anger and remembered pain, he didn't want to hurt an innocent, especially a woman he appreciated. At the same time he was a little disappointed she had picked Spain over him. In Scotland's head, she should have let him settle the spat the way men such as he settled things and then babied Spain afterward. He didn't blame Canada and Norway because they had come to him and their protest was more about not fighting at all than protecting Spain.

He tossed down his smoke and rolled the butt against the ground with the bottom of his boot. He looked up at the night sky as the cold wind ripped the last breath of tobacco smoke from his lips. It had been a while since he'd felt threatened. Between being the United Kingdom and his little brother drawing all the attention, Scotland had been enjoying many years of peace and a lack of fear since Nazi Germany's bombing of his cities in World War II. Of course, not taking into account the occasional act of terrorism.

He'd gone to the roof, just outside the greenhouse to be by himself for a while. He didn't need to share his feelings, but he wanted to talk to someone. Someone he could sit in relative silence with and know they completely understood. Wales, Ireland and France fit the bill. Like hell he was going to talk to England. He could already see the smug look that would likely spread across that snarky face. Wales was holding down the fort back home, he didn't know where Ireland was flitting about, but he knew where France spent a lot of his time. Too bad they weren't back home. Having some of France's cooking at the man's kitchen table was always a good time.

He walked down the corridor of the hospital wing, wrinkling his nose at the smell of disinfectant that always hung around sterile or hospital environments. With his left hand in a pants pocket, he pushed open the door with his right and stepped in. He looked around for the blonde and stopped in the doorway, eyes falling on the two sitting on the cot together. The absolute last person he wanted to see was sitting with the person he wanted to see most.

There was a deep conflict in Scotland's head, torn between charging in and just leaving. He wasn't the jealous type, but having Spain sitting where he needed to be was too much. The only thing he was jealous of was the fact they were smoking indoors. At least that's what he told himself.

One hand still on the door and the other still in his pocket, he kept his eyes on the source of his bad mood.

"Yer doin' this a'purpose," he growled from the doorway. "Ye should leave. Yer wee lass cannae save ye here."

[And here we go...]