November 30, 1753, Montreal, Canada.

Francis peeked around the corner into the living room, smiling when he spied his little Matthew studying his letters. Sweeping up behind him, Francis knelt on the ground and wrapped his arms around Matthew, "What are you doing, mon petit?" Francis grinned when he saw that Matthew had spread numerous pages with Francis's handwriting around him, Matthew's own shaky letters on a small piece of paper in front of him.

Matthew squeaked and looked up at Francis, "I'm trying to write a lwetter!"

Francis kissed the top of Matthew's golden head, "who are you writing too?"

"Pere Noel!" Matthew proclaimed loudly, despite the late hour, "I have to finish this tonight!"

"Would you like some help?" offered Francis with a smirk, "you could tell me what to write over supper."

Matthew shook his head, his curly hair bobbing, "I have to write it Papa. Pere Noel won't like it if you do it!"

Laughing, Francis picked Matthew up as he stood, "fine, then I will coach you in your letters over supper. Papa Noel will be able to read your letter then."

"Merci papa," Matthew mumbled as he leaned against Francis's chest during the short journey to the kitchen.

At the dining room table, Francis carefully guided Matthew's hand through the swirls of his letters, listening as Matthew told Francis what he was trying to write.

"Mathieu?" asked Francis after they finished a sentence, "you have been buttering up Pere Noel for several sentences now; don't you think he'd appreciate it if you give him your list now?"

Matthew turned his blonde head to look up at Francis, "I'm only asking for one thing, papa. I have to ask rweally nicely or I won't get it."

"Write away, mom petit," remarked Francis with a small smile, wondering what Matthew could want so badly to give up his Christmas list. "Oh Mathieu," Francis said sadly, wrapping the small boy up in a hug, "why must you be so cute."

"Papa?"

Sighing, Francis tightened his hold on Matthew and stood up, "I'm afraid you're going to need to go to bed now."

Matthew grumbled, "yes papa."

November 30, 1753, Boston, America

The knock on the door was a shock to Arthur. Opening it, he scowled, "what the hell do you want."

Francis rolled his eyes and held out a gloved hand, a damp envelope in it, "I had to give this to you."

"Why would I want some grubby bit of parchment?" Arthur demanded, holding the door tightly.

"Because you need to read it!" hissed Francis, his patience wearing thing, "now for God's sake, let me in or so help me I'll make Boston Matthew's new capitol!"

Using his hand to cover a smirk, Arthur opened the door wider, "don't let the cold in."

Stepping inside Arthur's foyer, Francis thrust the letter under his nose, "read it. Now."

Furrowing his eyebrows, Arthur pulled the damp envelope open and unfolded the letter, "this is written in French."

"Oh, suck up your pride it read it," Francis snapped, rubbing his hands together, "I don't have time for you to act like yourself tonight."

"Did you leave Matthew alone to give me this?" Arthur asked, sighing and starting to read the letter. "What do you want me to do about this," Arthur asked flatly, "how do I factor into Matthew's Christmas letter."

Glaring at Arthur, Francis snapped, "Well, unless you want to go down in history as the man who ruined a little boy's only Christmas wish, I suggest you figure it out."

"Are you leaving already?" Arthur asked, looking up from the letter, "I thought you would stay longer."

"Don't you get hopes any higher than they already are, Arthur."

Arthur scoffed, "my hopes aren't up at all. Especially when it concerns you."

With a wry grin, Francis looked down his nose at Arthur, "Fine. Your hopes my not be up, but something else certainly is."

Francis marched out the door, leaving Arthur standing there, mouth hanging open, cheeks burning red.

December 25, 1753

The soft pitter patter of footsteps outside Francis's door warned him before the door swung open and Matthew entered his room.

"Papa?" Matthew whispered, tip toeing up to Francis's bedside, "papa?"

Rolling over, Francis wrapped an arm around Matthew and yanked him up into bed with him, "Yes?"

Snuggling into Francis's warm chest, Matthew sighed happily, "may we have pancakes?"

"Of course we may!" Francis declared, sitting up and pulling off his covers, "Christmas is the perfect day to eat pancakes for breakfast."

Matthew laughed and Francis's ticked his face with his soft hair, "Papa!"

Francis grinned, "Papa has an early present for you, mon cher!"

Sitting on the edge of Francis's bed nicely, Matthew waited in excitement as he watched his Papa put on his purple bathrobe, and pull out a small red robe, "Merry Christmas!"

Laughing, Matthew jumped off the bed, holding his arms out so Francis could put his robe on, "Red!"

Holding his hand out, Francis smiled at Matthew, "Pancakes?"

Leaning back against the couch with a plate of warm fluffy pancakes dripping with maple syrup on his lap, Francis laughed Matthew, who was gawking at the small pile of presents under their tree.

"Pere Noel came!" Matthew exclaimed, waving his fork around his head, unmindful of the pancake clinging to the fork for dear life, "and he brought us presents, even though I didn't ask for hardly anything."

"Pere Noel knows that you are a good boy, Mathieu," Francis replied with a smile, "even if you do not ask for what you truly want."

Knock knock

"Papa?" Matthew asked in confusion, "this pretty box is for Alfred…"

Knock knock

Francis smiled, "Oh really?"

KNOCK KNOCK

Matthew turned to look at Francis, "Why papa?"

"FRANCIS OPEN THIS DOOR!" Arthur screamed.

Francis watched as Matthew's face lit up in realization before Matthew jumped off the floor and sprinted to the door.

"Alwfred!" Mattie shouted as he jerked the door open, "Ah! Papa it's Arthur!"

Laughing, Francis walked to Matthew and picked him up, "Hello, Arthur."

Arthur glared at the Frenchman, "Francis."

Alfred peeked his head around Arthur's legs, "Mattie?"

Whimpering, Mattie jumped out of Francis's arms and raced to his brother, who was still standing on the front porch.

Francis smiled at the boys before opening the door wider, "Don't let the cold in."