Of Family and Being Proud

When Arthur opened the door for him, the man barely managed to get a word out before he was interrupted.

"Out of the way!" someone yelled, and both him and Matthew barely dodged the few people - why did they look familiar? - running out of the doorway. Someone else exclaimed, "Oh nuts, I'm going to be late for my flight!"

"Hi, Matthew!" they greeted as they ran past him, waving. "Bye Matthew! Bye Arthur!"

Matthew blinked, confused. "Oh... hello," he replied, waving at them, not really used to being seen and greeted by name. "And bye?"

"Come on in," Arthur invited. He looked rather flustered. "I didn't think you'd be this early. I've got some guests over and what does that idiot Alfred do? He decides that it would be a good time for some of us to come over to my house, so he could tell us all about some new foolish idea of his."

"Oh, sorry. Do you have a meeting or something? I don't want to impose-"

Arthur was about to answer when again, he was interrupted.

"You call this toad in the hole? It looks more like frog in the bog!" someone yelled from the kitchen.

"Shut it!" a red-faced Arthur yelled back. "If you don't like it then make your own meals!"

"I think I will!" was the reply. "Stupid Pom..."

"I heard that!"

Ah, so some of the Commonwealth came to visit. That explained the crowd, Matthew thought. Wait, was there a Commonwealth meeting? Why wasn't he invited?

Arthur must have known what he was thinking, since the next thing the man said was, "Oh, it's nothing formal, really. Turns out most of them were in Europe for some official visits and such, and decided they might as well stop by and meet up for a bit. Now make yourself comfy and I'll get you some tea."

"Okay, sure."

Matthew was always pleased when his extended family was around. His Commonwealth cousins were indeed a noisy lot, but they more than made up for all the racket by knowing who he was, and more importantly - they had no problems telling him and Alfred apart.

To be where everyone recognised him and called him by name - it was pure bliss, Matthew thought as he picked an armchair and made himself comfortable.

--x--

Francis rang the doorbell. A few moments later the door opened, and Matthew greeted him. "Hi Francis!"

"Ah, hello there, Matthew. Is Arthur home?" Francis greeted and walked in.

"Here," Arthur said absently as he carried a tray of tea into the sitting room. Matthew and Francis followed him.

"What's with all the cars outside?" Francis asked, curious.

"Some of the cousins came to visit." Matthew sat down, while Arthur poured him some tea.

"Oh. Where's Alfred? He asked me to meet him here. Something about a new hero invention..."

Arthur sat down, rolled his eyes and groaned, while Matthew tried to hide his smile behind his bear. Arthur took a sip from his cup of tea before he answered, "Running around in the garden being chased by an angry lot, I expect."

"Eh?"

"He came here earlier, and um," Matthew explained, "well, he said something that Arthur and the cousins took offence to."

Francis raised an eyebrow. As far as he knew, Arthur's extended relatives were a mixed lot; however, not all of them were easily annoyed with Alfred as Arthur was. Some of them had rather good relations with America, in fact. It would take quite a bit of something to get all of them riled up at Alfred. "What did he say?" he asked as he took a seat.

Arthur explained, "He was telling them his stupid thoughts on cricket-"

"Cricket?" Francis looked at Arthur, who scowled at him, annoyed at being interrupted. "Pardon, cher, but while I know some of your relatives have inherited your liking for that ridiculous sport," he said and tried not to wince when Arthur glared at him, "if I remember this correctly, not all of them play cri-"

"And rugby."

"Oh."

"And football."

Francis nodded in understanding. "Then he deserves to be hunted down," said the 1998 World Cup champion. He frowned after a moment. "Wait, I thought it was starting to get popular there in America. How could Alfred have said anything to offend you and the rest? Did he get the rules wrong or something?"

"No, he just had the cheek to call it 'soccer'."

"Ah."

And right on cue, a blond figure was seen racing past the front window, followed by what Francis thought was at least a dozen of very offended nations. Francis noted that three - perhaps four - of them were holding cricket bats. All of them had particularly murderous expressions. He reminded himself not to make Alfred's mistake whenever Arthur and Matthew's relatives were around in large numbers.

"Honestly, I don't know why you're so mad! I thought you guys liked soccer-"

"FOOTBALL!" roared the mob, which immediately picked up the pace.

Alfred's voice grew fainter, as did the mob's shouts of "Quit running, you bastard!" and "I'll show you a cricket bat, you pillock!" as they ran off into the distance.

Matthew walked towards the window and tried to get a better look. "Um, Arthur? Don't you think you ought to do something about that?" he said, somewhat worried.

Arthur sighed. "Fine," he said, "they might ruin my garden with all that stomping anyway. I'll go put a stop to it." However, the man did not move from his chair.

Matthew looked at him, confused.

The smile on Arthur's face could not be described as being only slightly malicious. "Eventually," he added as he took another sip from his cup.

"Anyone for more tea?"

--x--

"I thought you said you were going to hit me with a cricket bat," he said, huffing slightly as he ran, when he realised his nearest pursuer's hands were empty.

Said equipment was handed to said pursuer by a conveniently-waiting accomplice as they all ran past the garden shed.

"Stone the flaming crows, sport. What the hell do you think this is then, a toothpick?"

He ran faster.

--x--

Matthew winced as Alfred ducked just in time to avoid a thrown cricket bat. "That was close."

"How did he manage that? Anyone else would have gotten hit," Francis said, applauding.

Arthur shrugged. "Fool's luck, apparently."

"Arthur..." Matthew looked at the man with pleading eyes, obviously worried about his brother. "Will you please do something?"

It was hard for Arthur to say no to Matthew, since he rarely asked for anything. Arthur sighed and got up. "Oh, all right."

"Sorry to spoil your fun," Francis said, smirking.

"I suppose that's enough excitement for the day. Besides, the sooner Alfred gets inside, the sooner he tells us about his new stupid hero idea." Arthur shrugged. "And then the sooner I get to kick his arse from here to Christmas."

--x--

Arthur winced at the unsightly footprints all over his lawn. "Hellfire and buggery," he grumbled, "what did you lot do to my garden?" It would take ages for him to get his garden back in order again if he did not do something about it now.

He lifted his megaphone.

"All right lads, that's enough! While I highly appreciate your efforts to educate Alfred there with your assorted weaponry, I certainly do not appreciate the damage you're all doing to my garden!"

There were quite a number of protests at that, but were quickly muffled when Arthur added, "If I see any more unapproved acts of violence I forbid any of you from doing your own cooking the next time you come for a visit!"

The threat of eating burnt scones (and other assorted disasters) was enough to calm the mob, even though it was at the expense of Arthur's fragile ego about his own culinary skills. Still, Arthur reluctantly reminded himself, better that than his precious roses.

"Sconer's always the spoilsport," someone muttered.

"I heard that!"

--x--

"I can't believe you just said that about your own cooking! Ahaha, so you finally admit that your cuisine is dreadful and mine is obviously better-"

Arthur silenced Francis by hitting him on the head with the megaphone. "I'll get the study ready. We'll meet up there as soon as that fool Alfred comes in, all right?"

"Okay," Matthew nodded, while Francis whined in pain.

"The first aid kit's in the usual place."

"Oh, right."

--x--

Arthur would hardly admit it, but Francis knew he was proud of them.

On more than a few occasions, Francis had seen Arthur staring at the huge world map in the meeting room, his hands folded behind his back, a thoughtful - perhaps even wistful - expression on his face. When he was sure no one was looking (wherein at this point, Francis would usually be hiding in a closet or behind a tall potted plant) Arthur would place a finger on the map, tracing out some of the nations - the younglings, Francis heard he once called them - he had a great deal in bringing up all those years ago.

At first Francis had thought that Arthur was regretting over how he had to, one by one, let them go, but Arthur's expression said otherwise. The man looked a bit sad, true, but he also looked somewhat pleased.

Oh, Francis knew he kept some emotional distance from them - perhaps he had learnt his lesson with Alfred, and realised that he had to let them go someday - but he was fond of them all, all the same.

After all, some of them had histories almost as bloody as Arthur's - countless wars, insurgencies - and came out of it all to carve themselves a place in the world. While they did not turn out to be empires of huge territories, some were little empires of economy in their own right, while some excelled in other affairs of the world.

While some of them indeed had a few problems, generally, they were all-

"You're all doing fine, aren't you?" Arthur would then say in a soft voice, a small smile on his face.

Francis silently watched Arthur doing the same thing now, looking thoughtfully at the world map on the wall of his study. Francis had gone up to the study, thinking that he might as well let Arthur know that Matthew was patching up Alfred downstairs, only to find Arthur lost in thought.

"They're all doing fine," Francis said softly. "You're doing fine."

Arthur stiffened when he realised that he had company. He turned around and glared at the man standing in the doorway. "What did you say, frog?" he asked, flushing slightly – whether in anger or in embarrassment, Francis could not tell.

Francis could not help being reminded of that time, centuries ago, when he had mercilessly teased a much younger Arthur about the boy's unrefined hair and clothing. Back then that little green-eyed boy had looked at him the same way.

Francis smiled.

Just like Arthur, he too was proud. Proud of his 'little brother', that pale, fragile-looking thing with the mop of unruly blond hair, who would grow up to forge an Empire. Even though Arthur did declare war on him a few times. He supposed the times Arthur went to war with him made up for those.

"Want to guess, rosbif?" Francis replied, smirking. But before Arthur could say a thing, he crossed the distance between them and drew Arthur into a tight embrace.

"Wha-what do you think you're doing?" Arthur sputtered, embarrassed, as he struggled to pry himself loose. He froze when Francis leaned down and planted him a kiss on the forehead, and then another one on the lips.

But unlike Arthur, Francis did not mind admitting it. Just this once.

"I'm proud of you too, cher."

Arthur stared at him, mouth open in surprise. "Wha-what?" he managed to stammer out a moment later. Francis thought he looked just as adorable as that little boy back then, unruly hair and all.

"Why, is that all you can say? Not even a thank you?" Francis teased. "Perhaps you can show your gratitude in... other ways, non?" he added suggestively.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "What on earth are you going on about?" he hissed. "You ruddy pervert-"

Well-used to the danger signs, Francis knew when to flee. He grinned and ran away, a very angry Arthur right after him, screaming death threats involving various sharp implements in very large quantities.

There, he said it.

Now he just needed to make sure Arthur didn't kill him.