Series: « L'histoire française », 20 historical Francis Bonnefoy drabbles. Written for lj/hetachallenge. Find my table at lj/coeurgryffondor.
L'histoire française
Annex
He knows as soon as their landing is announced that his selfish dream is dashed, the one where France might one day take back Canada and Francis be reunited with Mathieu. It was always a long shot; now the dream is dead.
The diplomats discuss the terms of the sale of Louisiana in the other room. Three weeks ago they took full control of it back from Spain, three weeks since Antonio came and Francis drunkenly got into a fight with him, calling his sometimes-lover a pervert and a prostitute. Antonio has yet to reply to his letters since then but the Frenchman doesn't care; he has other sometimes-lovers.
Money will be what it comes down to, the debt the United States still owes France and how much more for the land itself. Francis knows the Americans will surely come out ahead though; France is in another war and needs that money, badly. Most of his letters to Antonio have been on the subject since he knows the Spaniard will not reply, where the Austrian would be much more offended being the one to receive Francis's rhetoric rantings.
Arthur, of course, is furious with him.
In the other seat beside the large, open window Alfred shifts in his suit uncomfortably, taking in the surroundings. It's nowhere near as impressive as when the American nation had last been to France with then-Ambassador Thomas Jefferson; he returns on behalf of the now-President. It's a place to start.
"How is Jefferson?" Francis asks in slow French, the kind he knows Alfred understands. The American stills at that, smiling youthfully.
"Good but been better; I think he misses our time here."
"I can imagine," and he winks, both men laughing knowingly at the joke meant to comfort, to cover up how much Francis hates his new life and just how aware of that Alfred is. "And you Alfie, how have you been?"
Alfred shrugs. "No offense but I miss home. Nobody's quite sure if this is allowed, buying territory from you." The boy still doesn't know how much land he'll be leaving with, to annex and carve into new states.
"They will fall silent when they have their new land." So too does the conversation fall silent at that.
The American watches him with curious eyes before Francis acknowledges him, raising an eyebrow. "Why do you do this?"
He tuts. "Napoleon would like to humble England and thinks this will put the United States in a better position to do so-"
"I mean," Alfred interrupts, "why do you put yourself out there? For me?"
Francis thinks for a minute, watching the youthful boy so like his estranged brother but so unlike him as well. He remembers finding Alfred, how the boy had barely come up to his knees. He also remembers his brother.
"This isn't about Mathieu," the French nation murmurs. "I care for you separately. You and I are free to interact, as we please. It is a lovely rarity Alfie." The young man nods.
"If- if you'd like," and he becomes more sure of himself as he speaks, his voice dropping as he leans in. Instinctively Francis leans in to him too, "I do manage to get my correspond smuggled up into Canada, to Mattie. I can bring him something, from you. Whatever you want Francis, just say the word."
"Why?" he asks because it has never been exactly in Alfred's nature to be this selfless, especially for the Frenchman he was raised to call enemy.
The American smiles. "He's still my brother, and I'm about to get a good deal out of you old man." Laughter fills the room as the door opens, negotiations done.