"Frog, I said to put him to bed, not to bring him back downstairs and make him something to eat! He's never going to sleep now," Arthur complained as he stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, hip jutted out- in a manner rather effeminate- to support a young purple-eyed boy that was probably only still upright due to the fact that Arthur also had his arm wrapped round him.
"Mon chéri, there is a reason that you didn't volunteer to put Alfred to bed," Francis retaliated from his seat, smiling slightly as he glanced at a second blonde haired child that was almost identical to the first. Alfred was happily devouring a loaf of bread- it wasn't even cut up; he was just happily eating it.
"Yes, I hoped that you had the capacity to do it yourself," Arthur sniped, shifting the younger of the two children into his arms. This boy, Matthew, looked between his father and mother-figure, Francis and Arthur respectively, with an air of soft sadness. Despite the fact he was not truly a human child but in fact a young nation, like any other child he did not like his parents fighting. Even if most of the time it was only in a strange kind of humour.
"No, it is because you can't," Francis retorted, standing up and stretching.
Arthur opened his mouth to continue the argument, but was interrupted by Alfred's loud voice informing everyone within a five meter radius that he didn't need to be put to bed, because he was a hero.
Arthur rolled his eyes but didn't reprimand him, just walked into the kitchen and took Alfred by the hand. "Even hero's need to sleep, Alfred."
"Not me! I'm the most awesome-" he cut himself off by dissolving into a yawn.
"I think we let him talk to Gilbert too much," Francis said mildly as Arthur smiled and started shepherding Alfred towards the door, still carrying Matthew.
"He's your friend," Arthur pointed out, before being forced to turn back to Alfred who was prodding his leg and demanding a story before they went to sleep, tiredness momentarily being held at bay.
Francis watched the three for a moment- Arthur promising both that yes he would tell them about the prince and the dragon- before laughing.
"You make such a good mother, Angleterre."
"Shut up, Francis," Arthur retorted, turning an adorable shade of red.
The Frenchman laughed again, moving forward and kissing Arthur gently. He felt the younger blonde waver for a moment- kissing Francis, or putting the kids to bed?- before kissing him back as much as he could when he still had one arm around his youngest son.
Francis was just trying to consider how they could remedy this, probably by going with the original plan of putting them to bed, when a sharp pain in his leg caused him to jerk backwards. Wincing, and bending down to rub his sore limb, he found the source of the interruption.
An altogether too gleeful Alfred looked back at him, eyes carrying just a hint of something darker, before the boy turned back to a highly amused Arthur and started pulling him off towards the bedrooms. Francis gaped after them.
"You should pay more attention to me, not Dad!" he heard Alfred proclaim from half way down the corridor and, when he moved forward to look, he saw Matthew nod as if in agreement.
Francis could not shake off the lingering feeling that somebody was watching him; and wishing him harm. In his very long life, the French Nation had had many times for this sixth sense to be honed, and it very rarely let him down which only made it more worrying. Well, he reasoned internally, as long as it was not Arthur or Ivan glaring at him, he would probably be fine. As his dear Angleterre was sitting beside him at this very moment, and Ivan was busy terrorising innocent Baltic's, Francis decided he was safe enough.
"Frog, I know it's a dietary need for you, but can you please close your mouth and stop catching flies? You're looking more gormless than usual," Arthur asked, looking at Francis sidelong as he watched the table shake as two unknown Nations had a fist fight beneath it. It was a world meeting, and as was tradition, it took little under fifteen minutes- when Ludwig disappeared for a few seconds to get a drink of water- for a fight to break out.
Francis obligingly closed his mouth only for it to curve into a smirk and reopen after a few seconds. "Perhaps it isn't so much that you think I am looking 'gormless', but you are thinking about exactly what else I could be doing with an open mouth."
Arthur flushed instantly. "Must you turn everything into an innuendo, you tosser?"
Grinning, Francis tilted his chair to one side so he could place a kiss to Arthur's neck and murmur his response.
"Oui~"
Arthur groaned, and Francis shivered slightly as he felt the sense of being watched intensify. Unable to stand the feeling of mentally having holes burned into him, he looked around, trying to identify who was glaring at him. After a few seconds, he met another pair of bright blue eyes those these were a lighter colour. Alfred was silently staring at him from across the table. It wasn't as though his face was contorted into scowl; indeed, he was showing no sign of aggravation. Except in those blue eyes, which were meeting Francis' own with a savage contempt that didn't make any sense. After a few seconds, the French nation realised that it was not only Alfred who was watching him. At some point Matthew had materialised from nowhere next to him, a second pair of eyes looking at him in the same way though this look of simple loathing was more controlled. It was no less unnerving.
"Arthur-"
"Was ist los?"
Francis worry was lost with the arrival of Ludwig and the restoration of order.
As the Nations spilled out of the room and down the corridor with a distinct air of relief, Francis caught Arthur's hand and pulled him off in the opposite direction. He ignored Arthur's half-hearted noises of protest and dragged him into the men's bathroom.
"Francis, whatever perverted thing you're planning is not going to happen," Arthur said quickly, moving backwards to lean against a wall. He reconsidered this and moved.
"It's not that," Francis said, though for a moment he was very tempted to dismiss his worries in favour of more preferable course of action.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe that for a second, Frog."
"Arthur, be quiet for a second. Do you think Alfred and Matthew were acting strange?"
The question obviously threw him. "You what? No. Not really. Why?"
"They were looking at me rather... aggressively."
"Aggressively? Matthew? It's a little bit of a stretch to get Alfred really mad at someone, but Matthew?"
Francis shrugged. "You did not see him; he looked very upset over something."
"Well, what have you done that could rile them both up?" Arthur asked reasonably, deciding to humour his obviously mad partner for the moment.
Here Francis was stumped. "I haven't done anything..."
"I don't believe that either," Arthur replied. "Are you sure you've not groped either of them? Or someone they like?" For a moment, his tone dipped into something accusatory.
"No, I haven't groped anybody," Francis replied with- only slightly put on- indignation. "Only you," he added with a smirk.
That caused him to pause. Blanking out the aggravated- and blushing- Arthur, he thought back for a moment on every time he had ever fallen out with either Matthew or Alfred, or the both of them together, every time he'd been in a situation where one of them was looking at him like that. Almost every time, it had been when Arthur was around. And just now, it had been when Francis had kissed him.
"Maybe that's it," he said thoughtfully, interrupting Arthur. "Maybe it's you."
"Maybe what's me?"
"Maybe you're the reason that they were glaring at me."
"Frog, you're being stupid, they-"
"No, listen Angleterre," Francis said quickly, moving forward and covering Arthur's mouth with his hand. "Maybe they're..." He broke off, looking doubtful.
"Jealous?" Arthur pulled Francis' hand away to look at him with a sort of incredulous confusion. "Of me? Why the bloody hell would they be jealous of me?"
"Jealous of me, Arthur, because of you," it was much easier to say it now that it was turning into an argument, but that had always been the way between them both.
"Don't be vain, Frog, they wouldn't be jealous of you either."
Francis shook his head impatiently, dismissing a comment on how everyone was jealous of the nation of l'amour.
"I mean that they're jealous of my relationship with you."
There was a very long silence, broken when Arthur let out a disbelieving laugh. "Rubbish, of course not. That makes even less sense. Why would anybody be jealous of someone going out with me?" He went slightly red and added quickly, "You're a Frog, you don't count. I mean-"
Francis covered his mouth again but this time with his lips. Smilingly slightly, but still not able to dismiss the lingering sense of apprehension, he pulled back and cupped Arthur's cheek gently.
"Tu es trop mignon, Arthur. But I am serious."
Arthur gave him a soft smile that Francis rarely saw. "You're being silly, Francis. And even if they were jealous, you don't need to worry. I wouldn't trade you for either of them, alright?"
It somehow wasn't what he needed to hear, his mind's eye showing him again the twin glares, but he dismissed it. He tilted Arthur's head up a little and kissed him again, and both nations forgot or ignored the original subject of their discussion.
A few days later Francis found himself yet again the subject of intense glaring. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his eyes darted between Alfred, Matthew and the table. The situation was made all the worse by the fact that Arthur was late; Francis tried to brush off the feeling of vulnerability.
Eventually, he was unable to stand the looks and the fact he still wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve it. Francis got to his feet and gave Ludwig a half-formed excuse before quickly letting himself out of the room and into the empty corridor. It was cooler outside the meeting room, and Francis let out a soft sigh as he let himself relax a little. Starting off down the corridor, he decided to try and locate a glass of water and then phone Arthur to see why he hadn't arrived yet.
It was on his way back from getting a drink that he realised the problem he'd over looked in all of his actions so far. By leaving the meeting room and the steady scowls, he'd left the company of any nations that would act as a deterrent for Alfred and Matthew. And this, Francis reflected with growing unease as he watched the two younger nations walk up the corridor towards him, was a mistake that could be costly.
"Matthew, Alfred. Is the meeting finished?"
"No, we just bailed," Alfred replied with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Francis raised an eyebrow. "Why would you do that?"
Alfred opened his mouth, but Matthew cut across him. "We wanted to talk to you."
"Oh?" Francis flinched. "Can't it wait?"
"Not really," Alfred said flatly, folding his arms. "It's about Arthur."
"Angleterre?" Francis said slowly. One small part of him momentarily felt a sense of satisfaction that he'd been right, but that was quickly absorbed into the rest of him that was deciding which direction he should run in as both younger nations looked at him in a way distinctly more hostile.
"Yeah, England," Alfred said firmly.
"Francis-" Matthew began, but he was promptly interrupted by his- permanently more assertive- brother.
"You're going to split up with Arthur, okay?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You'll consider yourself completely not with Arthur any more, from now."
Francis looked at him, open mouthed. "America, you might be used to getting your way in international matters, but you don't go around telling people to break up-"
"I'm not telling you, Francis."
"Alfred, you're not-"
"Mattie, this was your idea!"
"What? Matthew?"
The Canadian nation looked entirely unapologetic. "Yes? Alfred's right,
Francis."
Francis looked between them. "You're both being ridiculous."
"No, your whole thing is ridiculous," Alfred replied. "You... Arthur doesn't need you."
"All you ever do is argue," Matthew interjected, and for a moment Francis was reminded of him as a child, asking why he and Arthur were always fighting.
"And when you're not arguing, you stop him from talking to anyone. He doesn't give anybody any attention, at all, except from you."
" Vous avez tous deux perdu la raison…" Francis mumbled incredulously. "Mad."
Neither nation appeared to be in the mood for explanation, especially when one was not presenting itself even to themselves. All either really knew was a soft, burning, subliminal desire to have Francis gone.
"Get lost, Francis, or we'll make you."
Had the subject been anything else, Francis would have backed down; he had never been good at fights. But this was Arthur who had been his since before they'd ever found these younger nations sorry continent.
Steadily, he replied, "Both of you should drop this bizarre intention. I have no idea what's got into either of you," he looked at the ground, unable to meet either Alfred or Matthew's darkening eyes. "But whatever it is, it is futile."
There was a brief silence in which Francis dared not look up, that was softly shattered by Matthew's voice that was so quietly threatening.
"On your head."
Francis' eyes snapped up in time to see a fist swing towards the side of his head, but too slow to order his body to do anything to stop it. It collided with his temple in an explosion of pain and the last thing he saw was a pair of twin smiles as he crumpled to the floor.