Chapter I

"Non," Francis breathed, hurrying up the stairs. His hand clung onto the banister as he leapt up two of the steps at once, "Arthur?"

The figure in front of him, the one with choppy, short blonde hair, a sailors gait and a lean physique, was walking purposefully along the hallway that lead off of the stairway.

Francis remembered the walk, recognised it from the years he'd spent admiring the owners legs (pale and luscious but with knobbly knees) and from trying not to develop the stride himself when he spent time on the ships. He also knew the haircut as, once upon a time, he'd been the one to wield the scissors which styled it, and he knew the physique but from where he was standing it seemed to be a little…better, more built, than it had been.

Francis scowled at himself and looked away from the man's back.

"I didn't know that you still came to France," He called.

The man stopped walking.

Francis' eyes flicked back to the figure as they turned around, the green eyes looking a little to his left before latching onto him, "Francis?"

"Bonjour."

***

Francis Bonnefoy enjoyed the sunshine. The light lit up things, beautiful things, which might have been missed if the sun had not chosen to smile on them.

Like the fourth mate.

Bringing the camera away from his eye the Frenchman began to scroll through the pictures he had managed to snap that morning: the uniform lines of crates, the fourth mate rubbing a bushy eyebrow, a peculiar pattern that a few clouds made, the fourth mate running down a set of rusty steps, the foam created by the propellers, the fourth mate looking perturbed as he rolled his sleeves up, the fourth mate searching for his fountain pen, a picture of the man's face once he found it.

The fourth mate stood in a patch of sunshine on the ships deck, his lips beginning to turn upwards as he took a moment to look out across the large stretch of blue in front of him.

Francis sighed, placing the camera on his lap, while absently running a hand through his hair.

"Je pense que je pourrais avoir un problème," He murmured to himself, "Énerver."

***

Arthur was gaping at him.

"You look a little shocked to see me." Francis continued weakly.

Arthur's ears began to redden, "Well, I wasn't exactly expecting you to be here was I?" He sputtered.

"Non, I suppose you weren't."

The hall was almost empty, a few doors down a woman was trying to keep a hold on a toddler while opening a door, and another few doors down a man was just leaving his room, turning his sign over to the side which said 'clean me'. Francis and Arthur were the only other people there.

Francis swallowed, "It's been a long time since I last saw you."

The flush which had begun at Arthur's ears was now creeping along his neck. He cleared his throat, "Yes, it's been at least three years."

"You seem," The Frenchman tilted his head to the side, pausing briefly. What could he say? No matter what he did it would probably be taken in the wrong way, "Shorter, have you begun to shrink? That happens sometimes when people get older, although I've heard that it is much more common in women than in men."

"Why! You –"

***

Francis couldn't stop watching him.

"Snap!" Arthur slammed down a card, his eyebrows rising as he smiled triumphantly, "You're falling behind, Bonnefoy."

"Am I now," His throat felt gravelly, and his feet shuffled underneath the table, "I shall have to do something about that."

Arthur huffed, his lips twisting into a half pouting half smirking expression, "You can try." He leaned forward, new creases forming in his shirt, and rested his arms on the tabletop.

Francis' eyes followed the movement of the British man's fingers when they fumbled with his sleeves, beginning to do up his cufflinks again.

"I can," He replied hoarsely.

***

Arthur crossed his arms, "I'm only twenty-three, you blighter!"

His shoulders slumping, Francis chuckled softly, "Arthur," It almost felt as if his tongue would become stuck there, on the British man's name. It had been so long since he had last had a reason to say it, "I am only teasing."

Arthur sighed heavily, his shoulders falling as he exhaled. He lifted a hand to rub his temples, "You're always bloody teasing."

"Non," Francis shook his head, "Not anymore."

Both men were quiet.

The woman with the toddler dragged her last suitcase through the door to her room, glancing at them briefly before shutting the door behind her with a quiet click, while the man who was leaving nodded politely at Francis and Arthur as he passed them and descended the staircase.

Arthur was staring at his shoes (they were polished, shiny and black, Francis thought they looked familiar) and the hand which had been at his forehead was now fiddling with his collar. Francis felt itchy and wanted to undo his hair, let it out of the constraining ribbon he had tied it back with that morning, because of the awkwardness; it wasn't pleasant.

"Are you holidaying?"

Francis blinked, confused and a little surprised that the other man had been the first to speak again, "Pardon?"

Arthur stepped from one foot to another, "You used to keep a house in Paris, right? So, you're down here for the holidays."

"Oh, oh, non, I am here for work. Christmas is a good time to take photos, and," Francis smiled, "You know how fond I am of the south of France; although I admit to being more inclined to visit it in the summer months."

"Ah, so you're still pursuing a career in photography?"

Francis pursed his lips, "I am no longer pursuing a career, Arthur; I have made one for myself. If you're interested then I have several books out in the stores." He announced this with pride – he had worked hard, and despite some doubts it had paid off. He had done well for himself.

Arthur was looking at him with a strange expression on his face, his lips were twitching into a smile but his domineering eyebrows were harshly pulled down, "A congratulations is in order then."

"Ah, merci beaucoup."

"Yes, well…"

"Are you…holidaying, Arthur?" Francis asked.

The British man's expression returned to neutrality, "I am."

His cheeks tightening as he smiled widely, "Is the job proving to be too stressful? I've heard that it is rather…full on nowadays."

"The job is fine!" Arthur snapped at him.

Francis was quiet for a moment before he continued, "I heard that you sailors are hardly ever let off at the docks, I think it's a shame."

He continued to smile as Arthur replied, "We have busy schedules, but occasionally we can still spend a day or two exploring the cities."

"I am glad to hear that." He really was.

***

"So, we have a day of shopping in Allemagne ahead of us," Francis asked, brushing his fingers across the back of Arthur's hand as they walked to Arthur's cabin.

"Only if you behave," Arthur hissed, flushing, "Because if you don't we aren't leaving this ship."

Grinning smoothly, Francis began to take longer strides so that he could keep up with the shorter man, "I would not mind that either." His fingers wrapped around the palm of Arthur's hand.

"We are not staying on board." The British man looked ready to stamp his foot.

"Mais, mon cher, are you sure? Shopping does sound nice but as long as I am with you I do not mind where we are." Francis simpered, smiling giddily.

"That was incredibly corny." Arthur scoffed. Though, when he turned around, about to open the door to his quarters, he was smiling too, "I'm going to call the taxi, I won't be a minute."

"I would wait for an eternity if it was for you, mon amour."

"Oh, shut up, you frog."

Francis delighted in the blush that was spreading over the other man's face, and stealthily reached down to grasp the camera that hung around his neck.

"Arthur, smile!" He laughed jovially.

"Wha –"

***

"I left the last ship at Hamburg, actually, and flew over from there." Arthur added.

"You've just finished a voyage, then?"

"Yes, a busy one."

Francis laughed lightly, "I cannot say I'm surprised, they were always having the fourth mates run around like – "

"I'm first mate now." Arthur cut in, "I've made quite the career for myself."

Francis tried not to look shocked. He had always thought that Arthur was a natural seaman but it was a difficult, controlling career. He had wondered if, maybe, Arthur would end up desiring a different path in life.

The Frenchman schooled his face into an amiable expression, "Then I congratulate you, Arthur. You have done well for yourself."

Arthur's expression softened so that even his eyes, which were still so green, seemed to relax, "Thank you, Francis."

"Je vous en prie!"

"You know I have no idea what you just said." The shorter man said bluntly.

"Ah, pardon, I said you're welcome."

Arthur opened his mouth to say something else but was interrupted by a preset, grating ringtone that Francis presumed belonged to the other man, since he was now doing something which resembled a jig while he tried to fish something out of his blazer pocket. Francis watched him in amusement.

Eventually, Arthur pulled out a slim silver mobile. He looked between the phone and Francis before nodding at the Frenchman, "It was g-good to see you again, Francis, but I need to take this so…"

"Yes, of course, it was lovely," Arthur's lips twisted down, "To see you too."

"You'll excuse me then."

"Goodbye, Arthur."

Nodding in farewell, the British man opened the phone and turned away, striding down the hall.

"Hello, Arthur Kirkland speaking…" The voice became quieter as he got further away.

He was gone so quickly.

Francis was left watching as the shorter man walked away, with an uneasy feeling spreading through his chest, and felt his heart thud as Arthur turned the corner.

"Mon Dieu," He breathed, "Francis, je pense que vous avez un problème."

***

Francis had never missed a voyage with Arthur, but rules were being enforced and if no passengers were allowed on board, then no passengers were allowed on board.

"I will miss you." He whispered sincerely, his eyes stinging.

"I'll be back in three months," Arthur was holding his hand, "Hardly anytime at all."

Francis chuckled, keeping a steady gaze on his companion, "It might seem that way to you, but it's a long time for a, um, a landlubber like me."

The hand around his tightened, "…You're not a landlubber," Francis laughed again, "Hush you, like I said, you're not a landlubber, you have your place on the sea as well."

"I am sure the dolphins shall miss me taking pictures of them, but they shall have to bear it the best they can." Francis smiled, trying to hide a sniffle. Francis had no idea how Arthur could stand goodbyes like this.

"Yeah, they will."

Ten minutes after this Arthur had hoisted his bags onto his shoulders, and began to ascend the gangway; Francis felt his eyes burn as his heart thudded in his chest.

"Au revoir, mon amour." He called.

Arthur put his bags down when he had boarded the ship, and leaned over the side. He looked down at Francis and smiled, "It's just three months, frog."

***

A hand waved in front of Francis' face.

AN: Thank you for reading the story. I don't know whether I will continue with it or not, but I hope that I will.

French translations (I hope these are right, feel free to correct me if they are not):

Je pense que je pourrais avoir un problème. Énerver. = I think that I might have a problem. Bugger.

Allemagne = Germany

Je vous en prie! = You're welcome!