A/N: It's been a while since I've written anything but one-shots, so here's my second attempt at a short story. My first attempt was my story "A Secret Unfurls," and I'm proud of that, no matter how rushed and poorly-written it was. But anyway, I came up with this idea while I was laying in bed, under the covers, shivering my butt off and wishing I had someone to cuddle with. Originally, this was going to be a one-shot, but I didn't feel like writing a super long one-shot. So, it's a short story! :D
Anyway, enjoy the first chapter, and let me know what you think in a review. :)
Matthew's grip on the phone tightened as he listened to his southern neighbor/older brother ramble on about his latest "super awesome heroic plan." The telephone cord was wrapped so tight around Matthew's index finger that he might have feared cutting off the circulation if it weren't for his rapidly-increasing horror distracting him from the pain. Now, Matthew loved his brother and would always support his strange and usually-off-the-wall plans, but this was just too much. It wasn't a good idea. Not in the least.
"Alfred, I don't think..." Matthew began uncertainly, attempting to get his brother's attention so he could maybe point out all the flaws he saw with Alfred's "super awesome heroic plan." Or at least suggest something a little less... stupid.
Alfred, however, ignored him completely (as always) and continued on, saying, "No, dude, it'll totally work. It'll be so relaxing, and we'll have so much fun that Arthur and Francis won't even remember this silly centuries-old feud thing. It's brilliant! Told you I was a genius!"
Matthew bit back a defeated sigh. If only it were that easy... he thought as he continued listening to Alfred babble. His older brother talked about skiing and snowboarding and hot chocolate by the fire. It all sounded so amazing to Matthew, even the part about roasting marshmallows and playing charades, a game he always lost. He just failed to see how Arthur and Francis could put aside their differences for even one small weekend.
"So, you're gonna call Francis and tell him, right?" Alfred barked into the phone.
Matthew flinched at the volume of his brother's voice, but nodded solemnly all the same, having abandoned his half-hearted attempt to dissuade Alfred from going through with his plan. "I'll let him know, Al..."
Either Alfred didn't catch the defeated tone in his brother's voice, or he didn't care. He whooped and yelled in excitement on the other end of the line. "Thanks bunches, Mattie. Don't forget - Friday at 3:00. Everyone meets at my house."
Matthew stammered out an affirmative as he heard the line click dead. He dialed Francis's number and leaned against the kitchen counter, silently hoping that his old caregiver didn't answer. He wouldn't be able to tell the man about the trip if he never answered the phone, after all.
Matthew's hopes were quickly crushed, however, as he heard Francis's breathy, "Bonjour, mon cher."
"B-bonjour," Matthew greeted. He mentally cursed himself for his nervous stuttering as he wound the telephone cord around his finger again, worrying his bottom lip.
Francis mistook Matthew's nervous tone for something else, however, and instantly switched to the over-protective man Matthew had grown up with. "Is there something wrong, Matthew? Are you alright?"
The protectiveness and concern in Francis's tone calmed Matthew, but only a little. "Well... well you see..." Matthew began, knowing he was saying the wrong thing before the words had even left his mouth. His worries were confirmed when he heard the soft growl behind Francis's next words.
"Is that barbaric, lumbering Russian giant stalking you again? Threatening and harassing you? I'll make him pay, I swear on my life, mon cher, I will. Just say the word."
The familiar statement calmed Matthew even more, making it possible for him to ignore the violent words and focus instead on the emotion and protectiveness behind the words themselves. Matthew knew that even if Ivan had been stalking him and threatening him again that Francis wouldn't really do anything; he'd always been terrified of the cold, large man, and his words were no more than empty threats.
Holding back a chuckle, Matthew grinned as he said, "No, that's not it. It's Alfred, actually. He has some silly family weekend trip planned and he wants all of us to be there."
Silence. Then, much to both Matthew's delight and horror, Francis laughed. It wasn't the teasing, mocking laughter that Matthew had expected, though. It was a pleasant, from-the-belly kind of laugh that Matthew knew Francis only used when he was told a particularly raunchy or hilarious joke.
Matthew knew that wasn't a good sign for Alfred's plan.
"Francis?" Matthew asked once the other man had calmed down. He could hear the labored breathing on the other end of the line.
"When he says 'family trip,' I'm assuming he plans to invite Arthur as well?" The laughter and the teasing tone were gone, replaced by an edge as sharp as a blade.
Matthew gulped. He could feel his stutter returning but fought to keep it under control as he struggled to salvage Alfred's plan. "W-w-well, that's what he w-was planning. B-but I d-don't think Arthur w-will be int-t-terested in spending a whole w-weekend with y-you anyw-way."
The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Matthew could hear his heart pounding in his chest, the blood rushing through his veins. His skin felt as if it were on fire, as if the act of speaking so boldly had ignited him. However, he didn't know yet if the new-found fire was a blessing or a curse, and chose to ignore it as best he could.
"I'm going." Francis's voice was low, his speech slow and deliberate as he thought about his words, and most likely the consequences for saying them.
Matthew squeaked. "What? Going?"
"On the family trip," Francis explained shortly. His words were quiet and steady, but dangerous. Matthew could hear the resentment and the hatred boiling behind the calm of his words, and it sent a shiver of foreboding down his spine.
"You will?" Matthew could barely believe it. His voice was soft, and he knew Francis had had to strain to hear what he'd said. He'd expected the other man to laugh and decline the offer, forcing Matthew to beg on Alfred's behave. He'd expected insults and curses, maybe even threats. He had never expected Francis to agree right off the bat, with no begging or bribing involved, even if he was struggling to control his temper behind his soft words and the slow, careful structuring of his sentences.
Matthew knew then that he had made a mistake in mentioning the trip at all. He should have just lied to Alfred and told him that Francis had refused to spend a weekend with his oldest rival. But Matthew knew he could never do that - could never lie to anyone, let alone someone he cared for. And because of that, this coming weekend was going to be Hell.
"I won't enjoy it, but I'm willing to be the bigger man and hold my tongue," Francis agreed. "Now, tell me mon cher, what is this little trip that Alfred has planned?"