Hey everyone :'3 I know I'm supposed to be on hiatus right now, but mehh... Revision sucks =_= *shrugs*
Anyways, to the fanfic ~ This fanfic is dedicated to my girlfriend, who is beyond amazing - I still don't know what I've done to deserve you ~ Thank you for everything you do for me, sweetie :') I'm so sorry this is so late as a birthday fic ('cause I changed my mind about what I was writing... again... /shot) but, well, happy belated 'birtday', and I love you *heart*
Enjoy everyone ~ !
SUMMARY: Their lives were like oil and water - always side by side yet never really touching. But what happens when Arthur and Francis find themselves inexplicably connected by two orphaned boys? And who, or what, is ADAM? AU, FrUK, Laven.
MAIN PAIRINGS: FrUK, Laven
WARNINGS: T rated for England's potty mouth and, well, France. Might go up in the future.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own D Gray Man or Hetalia - if I did, an official crossover would exist between them already *laughs*
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
Homeostasis - Chapter 1
Arthur Kirkland hated kids.
He absolutely despised them. They were loud, and whingey, and messy, and fussy with food. So, basically, they acted far too similarly to the one man Arthur couldn't stand; Francis Bonnefoy.
Just thinking of the Frenchman made Arthur cringe, causing him to slam a can of tuna for his cat on the counter before him rather hard, making the poor employee at the till cringe and back away slightly, making her mutter something fearfully in German.
Arthur and Francis had known each other for years. First meeting one rainy day at primary school, it was hate at first sight. They were complete opposites, liking different subjects, always getting in each other's way when painting in Art, or pushing and shoving each other in the lunch queue so much so that their food would always end up decorating the floor.
Plus Arthur resented the wealth that Francis' parents had - he was always boasting about what country he had visited in the half term break, always rubbing it in Arthur's face because he was a 'poor little rosbif '. Was it Arthur's fault that his parents simply couldn't afford big fancy holidays abroad? Of course not.
But, still, it grated on his nerves nonetheless.
"Th-that w-will be £32.20 in total," the shop employee stammered, avoiding eye contact nervously. Arthur sighed, simply nodding and handing the woman the money he owed, trying not to roll his eyes at her upside down name tag saying Miranda Lotto.
Soon enough, Arthur was heading out of the big supermarket with his bags of shopping and making his way towards his car. Along the way, he spotted a family getting out of their car near to him, children screaming, the parents trying not to have mental breakdowns. Arthur walked past them, grimacing.
That was again another reason not to have kids; relationships.
Now, Arthur was not asexual - he did like women (and the occasional man), but every single relatonship that he had had ended up failing miserably. With his first girlfriend in secondary school to his most recent boyfriend, every one of them either dumped him or were dumped by him. It just never worked out.
And of course Francis used his miserable love life as further ammo against him.
For it was common knowledge that the Frenchman was a whore, to be blunt. He slept with anything that moved. Well, apart from Arthur and most Englishmen. Oh, and Americans. Which led to Arthur's last boyfriend, Alfred, not getting on very well with Francis.
Now, why would Alfred have had to put up with Francis in the first place? Because Francis and Arthur lived in the same apartment building.
Arthur had seriously believed that fate hated him. He had managed to escape the Frenchman all the way through university, making him think that he had finally gotten rid of the poncy blonde. Then, after graduating from his degree in English Literature, Arthur picked a lovely apartment building in the outskirts of Brighton to settle down in.
And who just had to be staying in the room above his own? Francis. Of all people.
It seemed the Frenchman was just as surprised to see Arthur as he was to see the Frenchman. Having accidentally knocked into each other one morning on the way to breakfast, they had immediately apologised before realising who the other was.
And so their bitter rivalry continued.
Arthur reached his car and dumped his shopping inside, getting in on the driver's side and turning the engine on. Soon enough, the Brit was heading home. Humming to a song by Mumford & Sons on the radio, Arthur pushed all thoughts of Francis away.
He had far more important things to deal with. For one of his closest friends was coming to visit him, and he had been told by said friend that there was a big surprise waiting at home for him.
A very big surprise.
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
Francis Bonnefoy hated kids.
He absolutely despised them. They were smelly, and needed constant care and attention, and would affect his sex life. Francis couldn't really bring women home every weekend if he had a child to look after, could he?
Francis groaned and stretched a little, almost tipping the saucepan filled with custard in his hands onto the floor. The blonde quickly righted himself, giving his boss a sheepish grin as she glared at him.
"Stop fucking about and get on with it!" she snapped, taking a plate of food from another cook and giving it to a waiter. "Do you want to get fired?"
"Non, Madame Klaud," came the somewhat exasperated reply from Francis.
The blonde couldn't help it if he was distracted! Children reminded him too much of a certain annoying Englishman with caterpillars for eyebrows. Arthur Kirkland acted just like an immature little brat, always pouting when he did something stupid, and shouting and swearing like a brute when angry, and he was a rather horrible drunk to top it all off.
"Stupid rosbif," Francis muttered under his breath, scowling. Just thinking about Arthur pissed him off. However, the thought that at least Arthur's loud and obnoxious boyfriend was finally out of the Brit's life was comforting - Francis almost cheered when he heard that they had finally split up. Alfred F. Jones had been by far the most annoying American that Francis had ever met.
It was also obvious from the beginning that Arthur and Alfred were never going to work out. They were too different, too contrasting in how they acted and thought and showed their feelings.
There was no way that the super-affectionate Alfred would have been able to stand Arthur's closed-off ways for long.
"Ahh, done!"
Francis smiled as his pudding was finally completed, the custard being the finishing touch. Ignoring the heated stare from his boss, Francis handed the plate to a waiter so it could be served. Just as he did so, a rather loud squeal from a young child made both Francis and the waiter jump.
"Mon dieu!" Francis exclaimed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The squeal was followed by a quite vehement berating from the child's mother. Francis wrinkled his nose at the mother's untidy appearance and the bags under her eyes that were barely covered up by make-up.
Yet another reason why Francis disliked children.
Women became somewhat less free and frisky after having kids, wanting to settle down and get married instead. Just thinking about marriage made Francis shudder. To be so tied down, and restricted to one person... It would get so boring!
Meaningless one-night stands suited Francis so much better - there was no heartbreak, no commitments, no obligations but having a good time and parting ways afterwards. Relationships were overrated in Francis' opinion, and Arthur's failed attempts at finding a lasting relationship proved Francis right.
"Now, get on with the ratatouille that was ordered by Table 10," Klaud demanded, startling Francis out of his reverie. "You can finish your shift after that."
"Wh-what? Really?" the blonde asked, stunned. His boss nodded, beginning to look rather pissed off again. Francis cheered and kissed Klaud on the cheek. "You are as kind as you are beautiful, ma cherie! I should take you out somewhere and show you a go-"
Francis made a choking sound as Klaud smacked him round the face with a ladle.
"Get on with it, you idiot!"
And with that she left the blonde to carry on working. Francis pouted as he rubbed his face.
He didn't feel down for very long though, for a good friend of his was coming to visit later on that day and he'd been told rather cryptically on the phone that there was a surprise waiting for the blonde when he got home.
All Francis could hope for was that it would be a rather nice surprise. Involving strippers.
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
"You want me to do WHAT ? !"
"Oh calm down. It'll only be for a little while."
"A little while? A little while ? ! You're going to India for three years!"
Cross sighed, resisting the urge to set Arthur's eyebrows on fire with his lit cigarette.
"I can't just leave the brat at home alone, idiot. You're taking care of him."
And, as simply as that, Cross Marian waltzed out of Arthur's flat.
"Wait a fucking minute! GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!"
Arthur ran out of the room and into the hallway outside. Suddenly, a rather menacing gun appeared in front of the blonde's face out of nowhere. Arthur gulped.
"You will take care of him. Understood?" Cross demanded menacingly, single red eye glinting as he poked the Brit's forehead with the gun in his hand. Arthur nodded, trying not to have a heart attack. Cross smirked. "Good. I'll send you money to pay for the brat when I feel like it."
As Cross walked away, Arthur knew that what he had just been told was a big fat lie.
"Like hell you'll pay me... wanker." the Brit mumbled, rubbing his forehead where the gun had poked him rather hard. Sighing and suddenly very much desiring a bottle of whisky (or several bottles), Arthur turned around and headed back into his flat, shutting the door behind him.
Standing in the centre of his kitchen was a young boy of around 6 years of age, his startling white hair and silver eyes reminding Arthur of some kind of manga protagonist that Kiku would undoubtedly find adorable. The boy was dressed in a smart little suit and, as soon as the boy saw that Arthur was looking at him, he started fiddling with the ribbon around his neck nervously.
"So..." Arthur began, feeling somewhat awkward. "What's your name?"
"Allen Walker, sir," the boy replied politely, his accent undoubtedly English. Arthur blinked. Then, stepping towards the boy, Arthur extended a hand with a partly forced smile - he could at least be the gentleman and be polite in return.
"Pleased to meet you. And do call me Arthur," the blonde replied. Allen smiled a little, blushing shyly.
"Okay."
For a while there was silence. Then, all of a sudden, Allen's stomach grumbled really loudly. The boy blushed bright red in embarrassment.
"W-would you like something to eat?" Arthur asked tentatively. Allen nodded.
Opening the fridge, Arthur took out a plateful of scones that he had made earlier. Allen's mouth watered. The instant Arthur placed the plate on the kitchen counter, Allen reached forward and ate all of the scones so quickly that Arthur swore he was hallucinating.
"Ahh, they were really tasty!" Allen cried, beaming and smiling contentedly. He turned towards Arthur with pleading eyes. "Do you have any more?"
Arthur blinked. Then blinked again.
"... Y-you thought they were... tasty?" the man stammered, surprised. Allen nodded vigurously.
For a while Arthur did nothing. No-one, and I mean no-one, had ever liked his cooking before. Looking down at the white haired boy before him, Arthur found himself smiling warmly and ruffling the boy's hair.
"Would you like to help me make some more?"
"YES PLEASE ~ !"
And, suddenly, Arthur didn't really mind taking care of the boy after all.
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
"You want me to do WHAT ? !"
"I am too old for this, you idiot! I have to go to this archaeological dig whether you like it or not!"
"You're going for three years! Three! I refuse!"
"You will take care of him!"
"I will not!"
"You will!"
"I will not!"
"You will or so help me I will tell the police about what you did to that poor Chinese man the other da-"
"Oh come on Bookman, Komui knew what he was in for the moment he agreed to come home with me!"
"He ended up in hospital, Bonnefoy!"
"And? That doesn't mean anything! And to think I thought my surprise was going to be a stripper..."
"You fool! All you think about is women."
"Oui, for women are amazing creatures of beauty and sensuality and -"
"You're French?"
Francis cocked his head at this question, turning towards the one who had asked it. The boy was quite young, probably around 10 years of age, and had deep red coloured hair and mismatched eyes - his left eye was a dark emerald green, but his right eye was a bright turquoise colour. The boy was smiling.
"Yes, I am French. Why do you ask?" Francis questioned curiously.
"I just like speaking French, that's all," the boy replied, grinning. Francis blinked.
"Y-you can speak French?"
"Oui, je le parle. Mais il y a beaucoup des lettres que j'ai besoin de apprendre." [Yes, I speak it. But there are many letters that I have to learn.]
Francis' face lit up.
"Comment t'appele tu, mon petit lapin?" he asked, kneeling down in front of the boy. [What's your name, my little rabbit?]
"Je m'appele Lavi Bookman," the red head replied, smiling. "Et vous appelez Francis Bonnefoy, non? Le Grande Perverti Sexuel!" [I'm called Lavi Bookman. And you're Francis Bonnefoy, no? The Great Pervert!]
"Hahaha oui, je suis Le Grande Perverti Sexuel!" Francis replied with a laugh, patting the boy's head. [Yes, I am the Great Pervert!]
"Vous ne voulez pas me violer, oui?" [You don't want to rape me, right?]
"Ahh non non, je n'aime pas les petits garçons. J'aime seulement des hommes et des femmes." [No no, I don't like little boys. I only like men and women.]
"Yeay! Bon-papa pense que t'aimes les petits garçons." [Gramps thinks you like little boys.]
At this the blonde Frenchman pouted.
"Oi old man, you should not spread such mean th-"
Francis froze; Bookman was gone. Lavi started chuckling.
"Yeah, Gramps is good at suddenly disappearing," the boy said cheerfully, picking up his suitcase and walking past Francis towards what looked like a spare bedroom. "Guess you've got no choice but to take care of me, huh?"
Bookman was so dead the next time Francis saw him.
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
"Arthur?"
"What is it ? ! This is the 5th time you've called for me!"
Arthur stood in the doorway of the spare bedroom, glaring at the white haired boy sitting up in bed looking sheepish. At first, Allen had asked for a glass of water. The second time, a lighter blanket. The third, turning the hallway light on. The fourth, turning the TV down. And now, for the fifth time, Arthur had to come and see what the boy wanted.
"Seriously Allen, I'm at my wit's end," the Brit snapped, sighing. "I'm missing all of the new Doctor Who wi-"
"I'm scared."
Arthur fell silent. Allen looked a little ashamed, refusing to meet the older man's gaze. For a while nothing was said. Then, muttering as he did so, Arthur grabbed Allen by the hand and pulled him into the living room.
"You can stay here for a while," Arthur said, pushing the young boy onto the couch and sitting beside him, huffing and looking slightly embarrassed. "B-but don't expect this treatment every time, brat."
Allen blinked a few times then gave the blonde a shy little smile, cuddling up next to him on the couch despite Arthur's protests. In silence they watched the television, Allen's eyes soon drooping and falling shut. It was only when Doctor Who had finished that Arthur noticed that the boy was even asleep.
"Idiot..."
The Brit grimaced at the child cuddling his arm and practically shuddered when some drool dribbled onto his shirt sleeve. Deciding that having drool covered bedsheets would be more preferable than a drool covered shirt, Arthur picked Allen up and placed him in the guest bed, pulling the blanket up and covering the white haired boy. Almost absentmindedly the blonde brushed a strand of hair away from the Allen's face, then froze and yanked his hand backwards, scowling.
Muttering as he went, Arthur left the bedroom and headed into the kitchen.
He needed a beer. Maybe a few beers. Or a full barrel full of the stuff.
Suddenly, the sound of a song playing caught Arthur's attention: At the first sign of the morning light, Old Glory's in the sky. Across the pond it's the afternoon and the Union Jack flies high... It was the ringtone for his mobile.
Wondering who would call him at so late an hour, Arthur strided over to the kitchen counter, where he had been charging his mobile for most of the evening, picked it up and answered it.
"Hello?"
"Ach, finally! How long does it take to answer the bloody phone?"
"Oh shut it, Ròidh! I've had a very traumatic evening."
"Aww is little brother not coping well on his own?"
"Little brother is now a parent, wanker."
"WHAT ? !"
"Cross has dumped a little 6 year old boy on me for the next three years."
"... well, that's Cross for you. What are you gonna do with the wee lad?"
"Take care of him until the red headed bastard comes back from India. What else can I do in this situation?"
"..."
"So... what did you need to bother me with in the first place, brother?"
"I need to talk about something with you."
"Oh? What is it?"
"In person, you stupid Englishman."
"And what could be so damn fucking important that you need to come over? I've got enough shit to deal wi-"
"It's about ADAM."
Arthur's heart stopped.
"... Come over Friday evening, 7pm. Don't be late, or I'll kick your Haggis ass all the way back to Bonny Scotland."
And with that Arthur hung up.
Cursing his bad luck, the blonde found himself shaking as he placed the phone back down on the counter. Burying his face in his hands and letting out a string of foul swear words, Arthur sank down on the floor and whacked his head against the cupboard behind him. He knew what the news was going to be already.
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
"Oh would you just go to bed already, mon petit lapin!"
"But I can't sleep without a story!"
Francis looked up from his magazine and scowled at the pouting red head standing before him. The boy was dressed in a bunny pyjama set, a blanket clutched in his right hand trailing across the floor. Lavi's eyes glinted mischeviously as he stepped forwards and shut Francis's magazine.
"If you read me a story, I'll go straight to bed and stop bothering you," Lavi said with a sickly sweet smile, tilting his head slightly. "Or do you want me to keep ruining your evening?"
For a minute or two Francis sat in silence, eyebrow twitching in annoyance. Eventually, after calling Bookman every curse word under the moon inside his head, in both French and English, the blonde stood up and stomped into the room where Lavi was sleeping.
"Come on, or do you wish to aggravate me further?" Francis snapped, flipping his hair back as he spoke. Lavi chuckled.
Walking past, humming as he did so, the heterochromatic red head got back into bed, wrinkling his nose slightly at the 'stylish' silk sheets. As soon as he was settled, Francis sat almost awkwardly on the edge of the bed, unable to think of a single story to tell.
"Are you gonna tell me a story or what?" Lavi asked, raising an eyebrow. Francis shot the boy a glare.
"I am trying to think, you little brat! Tais-toi!"
For a while the Frenchman sat and pondered, still internally cursing Bookman and wishing he died a very painful death. Eventually, he thought of a story and smirked evilly. Lavi gulped.
"Have you ever been told the story of Semara and The Ring?"
Suffice to say, Lavi was white as a sheet and glancing nervously at the television on the other side of the room by the end of the tale. When he was finished, Francis ruffled the boy's hair in mock affection and chuckled.
"Sweet dreams, mon petit lapin!"
And, with that, the blonde Frenchman turned out the light and left the room.
Practically skipping down the hallway, Francis entered the living room and went to his computer, unlocking it and logging onto his email. There was a numerous amount of emails in his inbox, most of them advertisements from porn websites, but one in particular caught his attention. It was from an old friend, one whom Francis had not seen in years. The blonde opened the email curiously and read it. And re-read it. And re-read it again.
"Mon dieu..."
Leaping upwards, Francis made his way quickly to his landline, face pale. He dialed the necessary numbers, and waited. Suddenly, a voice.
"Hello?"
"Tyki? It's me, Francis."
"... You got the email too, didn't you."
"Oui. We're in deep shit here."
"Yeah, I kinda know that. Thanks for stating the obvious."
Francis ignored the sarcasm in the man's voice and sighed, fingers tightening around the phone.
"What are we going to do? ADAM isn't supposed to be out."
"I have no idea. If we're found by ADAM or the police, we'll never see the light of day again."
For a while, silence. Then, Francis sighed again.
"... Are you free next Friday night, mon ami?"
"If I can get Lizzie to babysit, yes. Why?"
"Come round. We can discuss this further then."
"... Okay, got it. Be careful."
The phone went dead.
/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /
1) Sorry if my French is completely incorrect - please do correct me. And 2) I am open to any suggestions about interactions between characters from both animes - this fic is gonna be serious at times, but mostly comedic and fluffy. So yeah, I welcome any suggetions ^^
Hope you liked this and reviews would be much appreciated.
Oh, and one final thing - to those who read my D Gray-Man fic, Prophecy : Shin, I am trying amongst my revision to write it - I've been unable to drop it, despite promising myself a two month break XD So expect a chapter soonish?
Thanks again ~ xrowa-chanx