Meeting The Family II: FACE edition.
England and France meet their possible future sons-in-law. How will they take their sons' respective choices? Part of the "Meeting the family" series. Human AU.
Chapter 1~ Russia And America
Arthur returned home from work with a pain in his back and a large cloud hanging over his head. Be a college professor, they said. It's an easy gig, they said. Not if you're surrounded by idiots it's not. By the way, the terms "YOLO" and "Twerk" didn't feature in the book "War and Peace". YOLO was an acronym. Both had only made their way into the dictionary very recently (first twerk then YOLO for those interested). Bloody gits, torching his eye-brows with a cigarette lighter (only to have them grow back within thirty seconds), calling him "Harry Potter", knocking his books so he'd have to bend over and pick them up. That last one struck a particular chord with the Brit. Not only because it was it positively benign. No, he hated it because it sounded like something Francis would do. Of course, while his students were trying (and succeeding) to break the English professor's back, the Frenchman would be more interested in pinching his backside or something perverted like that.
This left him distracted knowing that the blonde was teaching design in the next room over. Incredibly, after twenty-six years of knowing each other, eleven years of being together as a couple and three years of engagement (they were getting around to it...okay?) Francis still had that effect on him. Arthur sometimes wondered if the Frenchman had used some sort of black magic to distract him from his work whenever possible.
Think of the frog and he shall appear, because he was making his way over to Arthur. The stubbled man walked down the hallway as if it were a catwalk. Not that Arthur thought Francis looked like a model or anything... Together, they'd raised two children, bought a house in a nice suburban neighbourhood and lived out their lives in relative peace. Well, as peaceful as it could get between those two. Yet they never really got bored of each other.
Francis said the insults and arguments kept the relationship alive. (He didn't say those exact words but his version was a lot more descriptive, mature and included honhonhonning.) And Arthur agreed (again, not a direct quote as the words "frog", "git" and "wanker" would have appeared in that particular quotation).
"Don't you have classes until six?" asked Arthur as he hung his trench coat on the stair-rail (Alfred had used the coat-hanger as a device for jousting and now it lay broken in the closet), revealing a green sweater-vest that seemed to age him by about ten years. Francis gave him a sour look. "Don't tell me you wore that all day. I swear, if the fashion-police were a real thing, you'd be serving a life-sentence." he then spotted the floral shirt underneath "No, you'd be on death-row."
"Don't tell me you left work and got that Polish man to cover." sighed Arthur, ignoring the frog.
"There's nothing wrong with-"
"Yes, but the man has his own classes to teach. Bloody inconsiderate snail-sucker."
"Oh, he's qualified and he loves it! But no, I got the day off because the textile room was set on fire by a crazy girl yelling something about someone stealing her brother."
The Englishman frowned, he actually believed the story. Not really because he trusted the flamboyant, snail-eating Frenchman. But this did sound like the kind of stuff that generally happened to them.
"How was your day?" inquired the Frenchman casually.
"Shit." Arthur was never sure if Francis actually cared because his reaction was the same every day. Indifference. Mind you, Arthur's answer was also the same every time he was asked. Now it was Arthur's turn to play the 'we're in a totally normal healthy relationship' game. "How was your day?"
"Since I got out early, I was able to work on the show a little."
"How's that working out for you? Skin any alligators to make leather underpants?"
"That's stupid. You don't get leather from alligators." Francis rolled his sky-blue eyes and sighed... so he would have no qualms with making leather underwear? "But it went fabulously; Dianne is pregnant so we'll have to hire another once the bump starts to show. However, you know me; I love a good baby-shower!"
Arthur would never admit to being jealous over Francis' contact with the many models that had been frequenting their home for the past month in preparation for the show. "Well, maybe she'll keep the baby-weight and cease to look like a stick-insect."
"Stop being bitter because the doctors can't find a cure for your eyebrow condition."
"Piss off." Like clockwork.
Francis had a fashion show in three weeks. This would be the first since he moved to America. He'd spent allot of time frantically preparing for this event. It was funny that while eighty-per-cent of the time he was a lazy sod, when it came to something he cared about the blonde suddenly became persistent and hard-working. 'Hard-working Francis' sketched, tucked and sowed for hours on end, making sure everything was done correctly. Sometimes, he'd even ask Arthur to model. At which point Arthur would do what every loving, caring, supporting partner would. He'd tell him to piss off only to end up in a teal suit or a seashell bra (It was one time and he was drunk, okay?) by the end of the argument.
Even in his tsundereness, Arthur always provided a listening ear and comfort. Sometimes, he wouldn't even be snarky. But it was hard. The Englishman always though the beauty of being with a man was that they didn't PMS. Nervous Francis was an exception. The man may as well be holding a hot water bottle to his stomach, eating things he'd regret eating later and cancelling his swimming arrangements for the next week. He knew everything about the pain in his side people called "Francis". Including how to calm him down, making this process easier but not a walk in the park either.
Francis and Arthur had known each other since childhood. And since then it almost felt as if the universe had decided they should never part (be it for better or worse). Same class, same hang-outs, heck, they were neighbours growing up. They'd lost contact for about seven years shortly after the birth of Matthew and Alfred. Other than that time spent apart, they were linked by a string of coincidences that forced them to keep in contact. In fact, their boys were what brought them back together. Now, neither could imagine life without the other.
"So, if this opens doors into the world of sequins and bad choices... will you stay at Hetalia?" Asked Arthur awkwardly.
Francis shrugged "I don't know. It depends on how big it gets. I may have to go to Paris or Milan to a big fashion-house and escort the models if there's a show elsewhere."
Arthur didn't let it show, but the idea of not seeing Francis every day killed him a little. The Pandora's Box labelled "Serious conversations which forbid the "W" word (that means you Arthur)" was opened. Now the two would address the other elephant in the room before they dissolved into any sense of comfort.
Francis turned to his fiancé (they were getting around to it, okay?!) and tried to approach the topic as delicately as possible. "Arthur, you'd better comb your eyebrows 'cause Alfred's bringing home his better half in an hour."
"It doesn't take much to be the better half of Alfred."
"Oh, don't get your nickers in a twist. It'll be fine."
"Stop using our expressions frog. If anyone wears female underwear it's you!" spat Arthur. "And he's only nineteen. The child's lacking half a brain, never mind a better half." The Englishman sat on the couch, trying to recuperate. (It's acceptable to make eye-brow jokes, stupid American jokes and to use the word "nickers" in these types of conversations by the way.)
"Stop being overprotective."
"I am not!"
Yes, they had a cruel pair of boys. Alfred and Matthew had decided to have both their respective partners meet the family one day after the other. The brothers had gone out with people in the past. Dates, short relationships but these seemed serious and were moving too quickly for Arthur's liking. The situation worried the Englishman for many reasons but first and foremost because he didn't really trust his kids (especially Alfred) to make smart decisions. Although the Frenchman understood this fear perfectly, he wanted his children to experience things, make mistakes and he couldn't in good conscience rob them of that.
Francis crossed his arms. Time to bring out the big baguettes. "By the time you were fourteen you were a potential father."
"I was a father." corrected Arthur. "But that's different!"
"Why?"
"I was drunk."
"That's worse!"
"Hey, you were in the exact same situation as me! In fact, you were the other candidate!"
"Yes, we made our mistakes and now it's time for Alfred to make some of his-" Francis stopped himself. "More mistakes."
"But these kind of mistakes land you in bad situations. I paid for what I did!"
"With two beautiful boys?"
"Hey! You can't use that, git!"
"Honhonhon~"
"What are you honhonhoning about? For all we know, Alfred and Matthew could be yours!"
"I'd be very proud of that. Alfred's strong and cares about the well-being of others and Matthew's a calm, logical young man studying under Antonio and managing not to fail." Arthur scowled but the Frenchman continued. "Look, do you remember when Alfred went through his 'independent' teenage rebellion' thing and you were all "I am the law!"" Francis always did his over-the-top English accent that sounded exactly like Arthur.
"I am the parent!"
"You put a tax on tea." Said the Frenchman slowly, making sure the Englishman fully absorbed the stupidity of his past actions. "You didn't want Alfred drinking so much tea because too much theanine is "bad for a growing boy!""
"So?!"
"You made him pay fifty cent out of his own money per teabag."
"And?!"
"Do you remember how that turned out?"
The Englishman looked to the floor and muttered sheepishly, remembering why they moved out of their old Boston neighbourhood. "He dressed up as a native American, cut open all the teabags, flushed their remains down the sink and ran around the town wearing nothing but a feathered head-piece, Captain America briefs and war-paint screaming "The British are coming" as I chased him with a pair of pants."
"How much did we lose financially?"
"Git! That-"
"How much?"
"Fifty on the tea, one-hundred-and-eighty on the public nudity, and we had to call the plumber in to fix the pipe for the sink so it came to two-seventy. Oh, forty for the war-paint-"
"Not to mention we lost our deposit on that house. Landlord freaked."
"But we did save on our current home."
"The forty was for my lipstick. Not war-paint."
"Looks like war-paint." said Arthur under his breath. If Francis had heard that he would have gone full diva.
"Do you get the point?" asked an exasperated Francis "Alfred isn't someone who can so easily be tamed. He needs to be free. Or at least think he is."
"He's a bloody git, that's what he is! He's not-"
"Come, calm down. I'm sure whoever Alfred brings home won't be so bad."
Arthur looked at the Frenchman seriously. "Can you guarantee that?"
Francis put his arm around the English professor in a comforting manner. "I promise. After all, you'd need the patience of a saint to deal with Alfred. Whoever he found must have a beautiful heart, a kind disposition and a forgiving soul."
"I said to you that Russian's petrol is better than your American crap, you ass." smirked Ivan.
"Well, at least we can make rocket-fuel. I don't see your flag on the moon. Communist pig."
"We were in space first."
"We invented angry birds."
"We made tetras."
"America allows gays."
"Gays can only get married in some states. Russia allows drinking under the age of drinking."
"No it doesn't!"
"I said Russia allows, never said was legal. Not same thing."
They both turned to the Swiss man at the counter who regarded them with cool indifference. "I really don't give a shit who did what. Now pay for your gas and unless you're planning on buying something else, and get out." The strict but neutral man pointed his hunting rifle at the couple who were too involved in their own argument to actually react to the fact that they were at gunpoint. One of the only people on earth who wasn't afraid of Brinski. Good for him.
The couple bought two packs of liquorice (one red one black), paid for the gas and proceeded to have a black vs red argument in the Russian's pick-up truck. Actually, it was his sister's but Alfred always found pick-up trucks less menacing than big black vans. He didn't want his over-protective English father to think Ivan was a serial-killer right off the bat. He'd at least wait for Ivan to speak or breathe.
The Brinski's weren't rich but the two older ones both had part-time jobs in transporting goods, (Irunya also worked at Hetalia but got crappy wages.) making the cars benefits in kind. Despite his modest upbringing he was currently putting himself through collage trying to get a degree in astrology. This was how he met his classmate Alfred who despite acting like an idiot most of the time, was Ivan's constant rival for top of the class.
"Yanno," yawned Alfred "this is an American model."
"It breaks down once a week at least."
"Sorry we don't build stupid wind-up commie-cars but like it or not, you're in the capitalism mobile now!"
The Russian smiled sweetly (Or evilly) "You know that you're wearing one of my jackets?"
"Because it's freakin' freezing, yes."
"Turn it the other side."
Alfred hated following orders, but curiosity got the better of him. The American turned the jacket inside-out. "YOU COMMUNIST BASTARD!"
On the inside, Ivan's jacket was basically a Russian flag.
"It's bigger on the inside. Because Russia is bigger than America." Chuckled Ivan.
Alfred got it (he lived with an Englishman after all) but was too outraged to give the Russian kudos on a perfect reference. "I'VE BEEN INFECTED WITH COMMUNISM! NOW I'LL WAKE UP WITH THE COMPULSION TO CARRY LOGS AND ELECT TOTAL MORONS INTO GOVERNMENT!"
"I think your country already nailed the second one." drawled Ivan, proud that he'd gotten the hang an American idiom and having too much fun to remind Alfred that Russia's no longer communist.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT OBAMA?!"
The patriot proceeded to beat his boyfriend with red liquorice (because black liquorice is only for communists and old people whose taste-buds are shot). The Russian, who of course should keep his eyes on the road, fought back with a black one (because red liquorice is only for children and stupid people).
"Yanno...my dad's an English teacher."
"And?"
"You gotta improve your grammar around him or he'll summon the devil or something."
"I believe I can take whatever he calls from portals of summoning."
Alfred shrugged. "I dunno... he claims he can summon Charlie Sheen. If you hurt Charlie Sheen he'd sue your ass. Guy's got more money than Donald duck's cheap uncle."
"I'm not looking forward to this." grumbled Arthur "I just want you to know that, frog." Arthur had showered and changed into something 'acceptable' and was reading 'Pride and Prejudice' on the sofa.
"Let the boy live his life. You know he craves your approval."
Of course he knew what Francis was saying, but he was still ticked off. His son should be focusing on his astrology degree, not some mystery lover!
The Frenchman put bowls with different verities of food on the table while his fiancé belly-ached about Alfred's life-choices. "Where's Matthew?"
"I'm here." Came a small voice from the couch.
"How long have you been there?"
"Since this morning." Matthew was used to not being noticed by now, even by his own parents. The Canadian was just thankful his father hadn't sat on him. "I have to do an essay on tomatoes."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Whoever let Antonio become a teacher should be shot point-blank in the face."
"He's a great gardener and botanist." disagreed Francis "He's just a petit fixated on tomatoes."
"Papa," said Matthew quietly. "It's 8600 words. On the relevance of tomatoes in pop-culture."
"Very fixated on tomatoes."
"Tomatoes in hostile environments, benefits tomatoes in diet, do tomatoes feel?, tomatoes in religion and mythology, tomatoes in modern medicine, tomatoes in ancient medicine, tomatoes increase brain-activity, Italian vs Spanish tomatoes, commonly-used pesticides on tomatoes, cosmetic uses for tomatoes, extinct verities of tomatoes, tomatoes are a fruit, why are tomatoes different colours? and our friend the tomato." The Canadian took a breath. "Those have been all the topics for my essays since I transferred to botany."
Francis frowned. "Well...you're getting an extensive tomato-related education."
The doorbell rang. It played the tune of the French national anthem. "Bloody frog! Who said you could change the doorbell?!"
"Better than God save the queen."
"That's a brilliant work of art!"
"If you're the queen!" Francis flipped his luxurious locks. "She has no interest in the common people. When our nobility got too big for their boots we-"
"You weren't there, frog! Stop acting like you were part of important historical events!"
"I was talking about last month's strike."
"Which is why France is a ghost-town all the bloody time! You frogs are always on strike!"
"I think a normal ding-dong would suffice." contributed Matthew who was ignored. "...Celine Dion?... Robin Sparkles?" He sang quietly "Let's go to the maaaall today."
Francis beat Arthur to the door, curious to see who his son had brought home. Alfred had made a big deal out of it being some sort of secret covert surprise operation because he was the hero and for the glory of America and therefore, the world...or something like that.
The last thing anyone would have expected was for Alfred to show up with his biggest rival. Looks like he did follow in his parents' footsteps.
Ivan stood at the door with a large bouquet of sunflowers which he'd picked from his own garden and had managed to survive the trip and Alfred by his side. Both Arthur and Francis were confused as to why Alfred was going out with his 'nemesis' but neither asked any questions or argued as they didn't really feel like entering the rabbit-hole that night.
The couple were led to the kitchen where food was ready and Matthew sat patiently. He'd been told to do his essay later and basically be sociable. Not that the Canadian avoided social interactions, people just kind of ignored him or mistook him for Alfred. Matthew, like everyone else was a bit on edge about being in the same room as the Russian terror. Everyone had heard the rumours. Like how he had three or four guys as his henchmen, or how he'd once smashed the skulls of six guys outside the cinema after they tried to mug him at twelve. Besides, the guy was a tank! Six foot something and built like a, to quote Arthur "brick shit house".
The five sat and ate in relative silence for a while. The couple awaiting a verdict and the family just gawping at the unnatural sight before them. Well, Arthur was somewhere between that, blowing a gasket and being annoyed about the fact that he owed Francis twenty clams. The 'silence' was a first in FACE family history. Well, Canada did mutter "He brought a goddamn spy." under his breath but nobody heard him.
The 'silence' was eventually broken by Ivan with a question that had bothered him ever since he found out they were all related.
"Why do you all have different surnames?"
"We're not married yet." replied Arthur. "The frog has commitment issues so he only proposed three years ago."
"Three years is a loooooong engagement." complained Alfred "I wanna make you guys a glow-in-the-dark red white and blue cake."
"We're getting around to it, okay?!" the elders answered in unison.
"You've been saying that since I was a teenager and before that it was all "Why would I marry a bloody frog?" or "Honhonhon French.""
"A wedding takes allot of preparation and planning. It's not something that can just be done overnight, especially when you have a partner who shoots down all your ideas."
"You're the one who can't decide whether he's Protestant or Catholic! And then you planned to sacrifice a goat!" Francis was very opinionated when it came to hosting social events. "That's tacky."
"You wanted to have a sex-themed wedding!"
"EVERY WEDDING IS A SEX-THEMED WEDDING! YOU JUST DON'T KNOW IT! IT'S THE ENTIRE POINT OF MARRIAGE!" the frog took a breath. "That and love, can't forget the love."
As much as the Russian loved seeing people fighting (and agreed with the French man about that last statement), he did want his questions answered. "No, why is Alfred, Alfred Jones and Matthew, Matthew Williams?"
Alfred answered this one. "My middle-name's Joan while Matthew's is William, Francy-pants and Earl Grey didn't want us to feel as if we only belonged to one parent but they didn't want to get us beat up for life with a surname like Bonneyfoy-Kinkerland or Kinkerland-Bonneyfoy so they took our middle-names, made them more last-name-soundy and changed them from Alfred Kinkerland and Matthew Bonneyfoy to Alfred Jones and Matthew Williams."
"That's confusing."
"True, true. But if you try to think logically, you'll be nothing but confused in this house."
"It would have definitely been Kinkerland-Bonneyfoy." muttered the Englishman under his breath.
"It would have been Bonneyfoy-Kinkerland." corrected Francis.
"And why do you think that?!"
"I'm obviously manlier than you!"
"Sorry mister long-haired, fashion-designing, cross-dressing, food-making-"
"Sorry sir clean-all things, shorter than me, likes-"
"STOP!"
"Why? Am I right? Honhonhon~"
"No! But I could sense the impropriety of the next comment, pervert!"
The Russian and the American sat there awkwardly for a while and waited for the argument to end. Mushy peas and the occasional spoon flew back and forth between the engaged couple. They'd perfected the two-way food-fight system over the years they'd been living together to avoid hitting their children with bits of flying food.
They stopped...eventually and Arthur decided that it was time to be a parent and ask Ivan a tonne of awkward questions.
"Do you have a job?"
"Van-driver for coal company."
"How long do you work?"
"Nine-to-five on weekends, three hours on school days."
"How much do you make?"
"Minimum wage."
"How many people are in your family?"
"Three without me counted."
"Specify."
"Two sisters. One twenty two, works in Hetalia, nurse. One doing her second year of high-school in the September and my grandfather. Retired. General."
"Where do you see yourself in five years?"
"With a degree working on a project between Russia and America that has been done for last six years. Alfred and I will probably have taken out mortgage on house by then."
Well, at least the Russian seemed somewhat serious.
"How long have you and Alfred been together?"
"We've been couple officially for three months but we've been one for five. Seven times. Before the relationship beginning." The Russian answered the question with a little more ease than he should have considering his answer.
"What do you mean?!"
"I think it's best you don't know." Francis was actually blushing. "I think you can work it out though."
"Ivan! I'm in crap now! You don't tell Arthur these things!" scolded Alfred.
"So I can tell Francis?"
"Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should!"
Arthur was ticked off and spouting every curse-word he knew English, American, even French. "How could this happen?! You..."
Francis sighed. His fiancé was at a loss for words right now so he provided an explanation. "When pressure is built up over a large amount of time it has to be released and-"
"NO PERVERTED COMMENTS!"
"It's perfectly natural."
"How can you be so calm about this?!"
"I'm French. Besides, it was bound to happen soon." said the Frenchman "He is eighteen after all."
"Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should!"
"Matthew. Stop texting." snapped Arthur. "We're in crisis!"
The Canadian rolled his eyes and put the phone away. Francis guessed he was texting his own other half but said nothing as Arthur would probably die. The big-browed man was never the most understanding or liberal of people. His son going out with Ivan of all people was enough of a shock to the system.
Ivan's chair gave in and he fell on the floor with a large thud. The killing-machine looked up at the family with large, innocent eyes. "I think the legs gave in."
This seemed to be a testament to the man's colossal size. Alfred was pretty tall but even he seemed like a woman next to Ivan. (Women are generally smaller than men and if you're a tall female, lucky you. You can reach shelves!) Francis just thanked god that he didn't break through the expensive floor and into the wine-cellar (Francis was French and Arthur was a drunkard). An idea made its way into the English-professor's brain. "Don't worry about it Ivan." Arthur smiled a sweet smile that wasn't his own. "I'll get another chair for you."
Francis now worried for the Russian's safety as he watched his fiancé leave the dining room. Francis started with his own, less harsh interview process. For once avoiding perverted questions. He would be proud to hear that his son inherited some of his father's 'skills' but Alfred was still his little boy and it would have been creepy to hear. Even by Francis' standards. From what he'd read in one of Arthur's interrogation books, it always helped to make the 'prisoner' comfortable. "You must be very warm with that scarf and jacket on."
"I'm fine." replied the Russian.
"It's very hard to get him to take 'em off." said the American. "Especially the scarf."
"My sister made scarf for me." Ivan explained. "And I have bad blood-circulation. I need keep warm when possible. It's part of my body. It no comes off."
Didn't Alfred know that! It had taken hours to convince the Russian he didn't need to bring vodka to avoid getting turned into an ice-cube, the American just learned to count his blessings with Ivan.
"You are wearing clothes under that... right?" Francis remembered his creeper days and how there were more answers than you'd think to such a question.
"Yes. I am." Smiled the Russian. Francis wasn't sure he believed him.
"I'm back!" announced Arthur, struggling with an antique chair. "You can sit on this."
"Busby's chair?" questioned Ivan, reading a small inscription he almost missed.
"It belonged to my great uncle Busby Kinkerland." lied Arthur
"But you told us never to sit on that chair, that it would have repercussions!" exclaimed Matthew.
He was ignored. As soon as Ivan sat on the chair it exploded without explanation. Francis and Matthew hadn't said a word about it afterwards for they valued their sanity. Ivan shrugged it off as he was badass and Alfred didn't see because he was looking at a majestic, heroic ladybird that had made its way into the house. Arthur lamented the loss of his chair, muttering something along the lines of "Great, first I can't use it on Francis and now that I have chosen a new victim, it decides to die."
A/N: I'M SOWWY! I HAVEN'T WRITTEN MUCH BUT I HAD LACK OF WIFFI! I love the FACE family and so does M. If you can reach shelves (regardless of gender) good for you! This is the second story in the Hetalia "Meeting The Family" series woot woot! Review to give me ideas! ~C