Hi, guys! Here's a little QCON one-shot for the I am Matthewian Project, hope you enjoy! I did, because I just adore these cuties, but yeah...
I will update soon on Love Advice From a Brit, promise!
In case you were wondering, the story is set after some kind of apocalyptic crisis, and I could possibly write a companion piece to it from Mattie's point of view.
Happy reading! (Apologies for so much french, translations are at the bottom)
Drip. Drip.
Drip.
"You wanna talk about it?"
Hazel eyes flicker towards him, then back to the wall.
No.
Drip. Drip.
He reaches out with the cloth, to wipe the blood, but it is wrenched out of his hands.
"Ok-ay...Do it yourself then."
I don't want your help.
Drip.
"Although you might want to, uh, bandage it."
A pointed glare. He raises his hands defensively.
I'm not stupid.
This time the red doesn't reach the floor.
He leaves.
–-
Drip. Drip.
Drip.
The red has seeped through the bandage by now.
He suppresses a sigh.
"I heard you're still refusing medical help."
...And?
"You're being ridiculous."
For a moment the other wrenches his gaze away from the wall, brows furrowed and eyes blazing, but then he clams up again.
"Quebec, please! We can't help you if you don't talk to us."
I don't want your help.
"We're not going to let you die! You-"
I. Don't. Want. Your. Help!
The French province snarls, and Oliver can't help but recoil instinctively.
"Fine! Be that way!"
He gets up and leaves, slamming the door behind him. Then he grabs his head and berates himself furiously for letting the other get under his skin again, when he has formal instructions to make him talk.
The last thing he hears before walking away is a dripping sound.
–-
The next time he arrives, there's a voice coming from inside the room. Two voices, actually. He pauses in front of the door, straining to hear, but the voices are whispering and he doesn't get what they're saying anyway.
He coughs loudly then opens the door, only to find New Brunswick crouching next to Quebec. She looks up, nods, then turns back to Quebec and murmurs something.
Of course...They're speaking in French.
"Hello, Bonnie." Oliver says cautiously. She gives him a slight smile, and squeezes the other man's hand before standing up.
She pauses by the door. "Au revoir, Jean."
"Salut, Marie."
Then she is gone, leaving them alone again.
"She fixed your bandage." Oliver remarks, semi-casually, and he can't help but feel a bit bitter. He's been trying to make the other talk for a week, and in waltzes Bonnie with her shy smile and her soft voice and suddenly Quebec's willing to get better. (That's harsh and he knows it because Bonnie has been through more than he has in this war, but he can't feel sorry yet.)
He knows it's ridiculous, and it annoys him to no end, but something akin to jealousy gnaws at him.
He could've sworn that Jean rolls his eyes. After all, they've always had a thing for guessing the other's thoughts.
Except for now, Oliver thinks.
"She hasn't said anything either, you know. Even Joel couldn't make her talk."
"C'est une brave p'tite."
The Ontarian starts, stares at the brunet, feels like asking "Did you just talk?!" loudly, but he doesn't want to risk upsetting him, so instead he kind of nods.
"She's the same age as we are, y'know."
Quebec shrugs.
"C'est quand même une brave p'tite."
The blonde pauses, hesitating, but ends up leaving anyway.
It's progress. He'll leave it there for the moment.
–-
The next three weeks are hell. New Brunswick just sits crying in her room, not noticing anything around her except sometimes Nova Scotia.
Oliver can feel it too, and so can Joel; to a certain extent. He feels dizzy, aches from all over, his fingers bleed for no reason. More or less the same thing happens to the red-head. They're able to function, at least, but sometimes it gets overwhelming; and Oliver just clutches his head and rocks on his chair while Joel smashes things.
The other provinces seem to be experiencing various degrees of pain, and after trying to think it over through the haze, he concludes there is only one solution: Francis is very, very injured.
His fears are confirmed when there is a call from Arthur, saying something about we had to plug out the drugs he's in danger of being hooked, yes he's doing very badly no not really capable of talking Paris burnt to the ground no we haven't heard from Matthew or Alfred but apparently they're in Poland are you all right how's everyone doing I'm fine we'll call you soon.
One night as he is violently sick, spewing blood for no reason, he hears a scream from somewhere and recognizes it from a long time ago.
He doesn't have the force to go and see, because if he, who has turned English for centuries, is in this state; he doesn't want to see what Quebec looks like.
The next time he passes the door, there are no drops on the floor: there's a river.
–-
When he starts recovering, slowly, the phone calls become less urgent and in the end Arthur's voice says things like he's started talking again the other day he sat up we can't say for sure it looks like he's recovering and Oliver breathes out again.
With all the chaos going on he has to manage, he doesn't get around to seeing Quebec (and if he's perfectly honest with himself, maybe he's a little scared).
Then there's the phone call.
Manitoba bursts into the office, shouting, his eyes gleaming: "MATTHEW'S ON THE PHONE QUICK HURRY UP!" and suddenly they all emerge out of nowhere and crowd around the phone, and yes, really, there's Mathew's voice, exhausted and a bit raw but still Matthew.
"Hey, Matt." Oliver says shakily.
"How're you guys holding up?" Matthew asks immediately, and they all smile because he's asking that?
"We're ok." BC says. "We stuck to the plan you gave Oli- we've managed to form a sorta government and keep the country going. We were lucky with the waves too." She sucks in a breath.
"Yeah," Matthew says sadly, "We were."
"I mean, honestly, we got hit by one outta three waves and nearly none of the heat, plus the earthquakes were mainly towards the Artic! Talk about skill!" Alberta says, trying to lighten the mood.
"Screw you!" A familiar voice exclaims from Matthew's side. "The apocalypse probably just froze it's ass off up north and decided to leave you Canucks be!"
"Alfred?!" They chorus in surprise, as Matthew laughs.
"The one and only!" The American all-but-shouts.
"So you guys managed to get there." Saskatchewan says quietly.
There is a silence from the other line, then Yukon asks softly: "What's going on?"
Matthew takes a deep breath and talks, about Apart from Europe, Russia is ok but weakened we think China is all right but Mongolia's down, no idea for Japan, Taiwan and the Koreas, Hong Kong is with Arthur from what we heard, lots of the Middle East is down, they got hit real bad by the second wave, Australia is fine, don't know bout NZ, Africa seems to be doing well except for the center, the earthquakes were really harsh there, a lot of Argentina and Chili is gone, and well the rest we don't really know
"And in Europe?" Manitoba ventures.
Alfred talks this time, of starting East Latvia and Estonia are gone Sweden is all right haven't seen Finland, Ukraine and Belarus are really ill, dunno bout the south but apparently Portugal is down and so is Sicily, think we saw Spain and one of the Italies but not sure, Austria is dying, we found Poland and Hungary and they're doing ok now but Poland has one arm dead, also he only wants to find Lithuania but we dunno where he is, no idea for Iceland but we saw Norway hauling someone onto a ship once, could be Denmark. He pauses for breath. We found Germany with Prussia and Bavaria but Bavaria died, then we got Luxembourg and he was great, saved our asses twice, then he died, we got separated from the Germans during an attack and now we found Belgium but she's passed out so we'll see bout that.
"So you're with Hungary and Poland right now? And Belgium?" Joel asks.
"Yeah, they're pretty great to have around, actually. Have you, uh, had any news bout the British Isles?" Alfred asks casually, but his voice cracks near the end.
"England calls us every now and then." Oliver says, and there's a sigh of relief from the other side before Alfred curses, sounding a bit embarrassed. "He says he's ok, I think it's mostly true. Scotland is with him, too, and one of the Irelands- the other one died. Wales is ill. About Francis-"
Matthew interrupts: "Oliver. I only have about ten minutes left before the phone dies, so I have three things to do. Firstly: What's the news from the states? Alfred's worried sick even though he's trying to hide it, and he's terrible at hiding things so it's getting on my nerves." There's a noise of protest from Alfred, but it doesn't last.
"They're doing all right, I think, but not as well as us. Arizona and New Mexico are down. We saw New York with Washington and Montana once, and they seemed ok. I think so far there are six States gone. Probably Hawaii, Arizona, New Mexico, Maine, Utah and maybe Alaska, but we're not sure." Newfoundland says sadly.
Alfred gives a shaky breath. "At least forty-four of 'em are still up and about, eh? I think I'm gonna go walk for a bit, though. I-good luck."
Matthew murmurs something and there's a clanking noise before he speaks again, after a pause: "Secondly. I am, so, so grateful you're all ok. I can't even-just, thank you. You're all being wonderful and I know it's horrible that I'm abandoning you like this but-"
"You're not." PEI says firmly. "You're doing what's right, and we're fine."
The nation laughs strangely before continuing: "I just, I love you all very much, ok? So hang in there until I'm back. We'll be fine. Then we can have a conference where Newfie and Nunavut cause mischief, Yukon whines about Alaska, Saskatchewan pretends to be asleep but is actually plotting something evil, Alberta bickers with BC, Manitoba acts aggressive, PEI proclaims herself my mother, Northwest tries to calm us down, Nova Scotia and New Brunswick act horribly sweet, and we all want to murder Ontario and Quebec because of their constant arguing. Oh and I'll be wishing I was somewhere far away from my crazy siblings."
The provinces and territories smile through wet eyes, all murmuring agreement.
"Thirdly...I have to speak to Jean."
Oliver blanches as the others turn towards him.
From far away, he can hear a dripping noise.
–-
Drip. Drip.
Drip.
After the others say their goodbyes, the Ontarian finds himself alone with the phone, walking slowly towards Quebec's quarters.
"Why...Why do you want to talk to Quebec?" He asks after a while, hesitant.
The Canadian sighs. "Oli..You know Jean. I know he's probably shut himself away and refused human contact. I also know that he's been hurt. Not only by the earthquakes and the rebellion, but also when Francis..." He pauses, then continues, determined: "I collapsed when it happened, Oliver, and I'm half English. I couldn't talk for a week. I..Jean...I need to talk to him."
"What do you want him to do?" Oliver asks, quietly.
"You already know, Oli. You just refuse to acknowledge it."
They've reached the room by now. He catches one of the nurses who's passing by, then hisses: "How's he been?" She eyes him tiredly: "Not well. What do you think? We managed to apply basic medical help so he wouldn't, you know, and that was only because he was too weak to argue. But after, he refuses. No help. He looks terrible. And leaving him alone doesn't help." Oliver flinches as this girl eyes him angrily. "I know you aren't like us. I don't know what you are though, but even then I can tell you that you're human enough to need support. And you, for all your work, have purposefully not given any." She clicks her tongue in disapproval, then leaves, calling after her: "I don't care if you have issues with each other. In his situation, you need to forget that."
The blonde feels his head start to ache again, but before he can start thinking about it, he forces himself to grab the doorknob and yank the door open.
"Matthew wants to talk to you." he says loudly, before making a choked sound.
"Oliver? Are you alright?" Matthew asks worriedly.
He is. He's not so sure about Jean, though.
–-
"Gimme a second." He manages, before shoving the phone away and rushing forwards. The floor has apparently been cleaned, but the rest of the wall doesn't look very good.
The desk has been thrown over, paper and pens flung hazardously on the ground; the lamp from the ceiling is hanging oddly, the cupboard has gashes in it and the door to the bedroom has been broken off.
Oliver doesn't even give the room a proper look before he's in the bedroom. He stops at the door, feeling sick.
The lights have been smashed, so the room would be pitch black were it not for the slashed curtains. There's broken glass on the floor, clothes laying around, and random items in places they definitely weren't meant to be. The Ontarian treads carefully forwards, grabbing on to the curtains and pulling one open. With the light, he can now see the walls and bed, which are stained red. The sheets aren't dripping so much as soaked with crimson, and even they look better than the person sitting on them.
Jean is sitting bolt upright, eyes focused eerily on Oliver. His normally immaculate clothes are a mess, and he appears to have torn the bandages off numerous times; his nails are bloody. His hair is tangled, matted; he seems to have lost half his weight. To be brief, he looks like he's been mauled by a bear.
There is a broken knife handle on the bed. Oliver assumes the knife has been confiscated.
The worst part, however, is the eyes. Standing out on the bloodied face, they are dull, darkened, only lit at times with a feverish glow. Oliver finds no trace of Jean in them, and his heart clenches; for a moment a hole opens under his feet and he falls.
Then Jean lifts an eyebrow, and Oliver coughs and says awkwardly: "Uh, Matthew wants to-"
I heard you the first time.
Great, they're back to talking in silence, the province thinks, but he hands the phone over.
He doesn't know if he should leave or stay, and Jean doesn't seem to care either way, so he kind of hovers, listening to Jean's calm voice in the dark.
"Hi. Yeah. I know. How're you? Did you get to-? Hm. Hm. What? No. I'm fine. Hm. No, ignore him, he's exaggerating. I'm fine, Matthieu. Drop it." A long pause, and for a moment the eyes seem to come alive, sharp and keen as usual, until Matthew stops talking. "I'll see what I can do. Either way I'll take care of things. Yeah. I'm all right, Matt, stop it. Hm. Bye. Come back soon, will you?"
The brunet turns swiftly, passing a tense Oliver the phone. Jean had been talking in English, clear, perfect English, the type he only used when something was mentally really, really wrong. Sue Oliver for worrying!
He grabbed the phone, hitting the speaker button by accident. "Hi?" "The line is starting to fail, Oli, so listen up. You guys both know what to do. You're not stupid, just stubborn, so please, figure it out. You know I trust you both the most-not that I don't trust the others, it's just-" He could see Matthew pulling on his curl in his mind's eye. "With Bonnie and Joel, you're the original four, and we've been together since forever, and you two especially...If I lost you, I don't know what I'd-"
The line cut off abruptly.
Oliver's hand slowly lowered until it hung uselessly by his side. He looked at Jean, who looked back.
A drop of blood fell to the floor.
It was time to have a talk.
–-
Jean had stood up while talking, and he was now standing (albeit a bit wonkily) about a meter away from Oliver.
The air seemed to hum with electricity, before Oliver spoke: "Q-quebec. Listen. I don't know what Matthew told you but I mean, I think it's clear that we have to do this together-"
He barely registered the dangerous flash in the other's eyes before it was too late and hands were around his neck, choking him with a force someone so ill should not have.
The cover had crumpled, and the brown eyes were feverish with pain and sheer hatred. The brunet's grasp of English seemed to have disappeared entirely, and so it was in rapid, harsh French that he hissed at the gasping Ontarian.
"Tu oses me parler d'entreaide, ostie d'Anglais?! J'étais en train de crever tout seul 'pis tu t'en foutais ben! Fait pas comme si t'étais trop occupé, j'sais qu't'aurais pu venir au moins une fois par semaine! Faut pas oublier que j'te connais,Olivier! Mieux que tout'le monde! J'vais t'avouer que même à ça je pensais pas que t'étais aussi lâche!"
The blonde winced in agony as the fingers refused to let go. Tears of suffocation sprung to his eyes, and the words stung like a blade. Jean was nothing if not persistent, however, so he continued:
"Tu sais tu ça fait quoi de penser qu'on va mourir, et qu'les autres s'en foutent? Parce que moi, je connais! Les autres, y'attendaient que tu y ailles pour l'exemple! Mais comme toi, tu t'en FOUS-" He was suddenly released, falling to the ground as some of the Jean he knew flew back into the eyes.
"Ca sert à rien de te crier dessus. Vaut mieux te faire voir. Ca te tente tu de mourir tout seul, Ontario?" There was the knife handle in his hands.
Oliver still seemed to be unable to talk or breathe.
"Tu voulais savoir ce qui c'est passé avec moi pis Marie? Tu savais déjà pour le tremblement de terre, bien sur, mais nous on avais toujours pas l'air d'aller mieux, tandis que Joel pis les autres y étaient fins. J'vais t'le dire ce qui c'est passé. On a eu une guerre civile. Ouain. C'est classe, tu trouves pas? Toi tu partais trouver les autres pis moi, j'avais un massacre. Y avait ceux qui voulaient coller avec vous, pis ceux qui vous blamaient pour tout. Et y's sont entretués pendant tout un boute avant que j'puisse faire quelque chose."
"T'es content là, Oliver?"
His mind was buzzing with civil war and french and closed off and death losses tired and francis dying was he dying too and oh, god and that accursed drip, drip until he finally clicked it in order and jumped away from Quebec, who was still holding the handle.
"Jean! S'il te plait! J'suis désolé!" He exclaimed, as Jean growled in disgust.
"Ouain, tu m'excuseras mais j'te crois pas trop."
"Non! Je te le jure! Je suis pas resté à l'écart parce que je voulais que tu meures! Je-j'avais peur, ok?"
A pause.
Then, slowly: "Peur de quoi?"
Oliver feels his cheeks burn but hey, he owes it to at least be honest.
"Je..voulais pas te voir comme ça. Même moi, j'avais mal, et toi..." He can't help but stammer the last part: "J'aime pas ça te voir souffrir. Voilà. Tu peux rire de moi ou me tuer là, mais c'est vrai."
Jean looks at him for a long while.
There's a dripping sound.
Oliver flinches, and suddenly Jean seems to drop it. He sighs, drops the handle, and lowers himself to the floor, where he sits, legs crossed, just kind of staring at Oliver.
He sits, too, and slowly scoots closer until they're barely apart.
The Quebecois looks up at his brother. His eyes are just tired now, but to Oliver's relief, there's something in there.
"So..." Oliver starts shakily.
Jean looks at him disbelievingly. Then, to both their surprise, he kind of gives a strangled laugh and hits Oliver lightly on the shouler.
"Calisse..."
"You can say that again."
The next thing they know they're hugging each other bone-crushingly tight, and someone is crying but Oliver has no idea if it's him or Jean or both and when he finally gets up to leave, the moon is up and Jean is asleep. He hauls him onto the bed, pulls the bedding up and stands there for a moment, before leaving definitely.
There is no dripping sound when he goes.
–-
The next day they're going to have a meeting all together, and Oliver is there first as usual, notes in hand. It strikes a nostalgic chord, the meetings, and he knows they all secretly enjoy them. He's barely closed the door when he notices Jean (he's become Jean again, subconsciously, and Oliver hasn't called him that since centuries) on the couch, peering up at him sleepily.
"Hi..?" The blonde says, somewhat stunned.
"Y'a une ostie de son de gouttes dans la chambre pis j'allais péter un cable si je l'entendais encore une fois." Jean says defensively, sitting up on the couch as he runs a hand through his hair.
Oliver, taken aback, can't help giving something close to a giggle. Which promptly turns into a series of giggles, until he's practically in tears with hysterical laughter.
Jean tries to glare, but it's more amused that offended, and his lips twitch.
"S-sorry, it's just that e-everytime I went there I would-haa-notice the freaking dripping-haa- and now you're-" Oliver doesn't even manage to finsih his semi-apology before he's off again, and Jean just mutters something about "tabernache d'Anglais", but there's no bite to it.
They end up looking over the plan together as Jean attempts to catch up on the work he's missed.
–-
Bonnie bursts into the room, babbling apologies, as the others stumble in behind her.
"I'm so sorry, Oliver, we were in ze hall when we heard Jean was gone and we 'ad to direct ze staff to look for-" Her apologies stop abruptly, along with her fellow provinces, as they notice Jean and Oliver sitting at the end of the desk.
"Oh."
Time appears frozen as the Canadian provinces and territories gape at the Quebecois they haven't seen for more than a month.
"Are you coming in or are you leaving me with the maudit anglais to handle all the work?" Jean dead-pans.
"And here ah was worried ye'd changed." Joel snarks. The group laughs, then settles down, pulling out documentation and paperwork. "But seriously, y'know, it's good ter have ye back." The Nova Scotian says earnestly.
Jean blinks, so surprised Oliver feels like hugging him (He doesn't, though, of course not. He isn't that soft.) "I can't imagine you missed the french ranting." The brunet says then, a bit bitterly.
"Oh, come on! That ain't the only thing you do!" Ralph whines, nudging Owen, who nods. "If you're going to start degrading yourself, then I don't think you're Quebec at all." The Saskatchewanian says half-teasingly.
"Right!" Manny says in annoyance, before mumbling: "Honestly. It's not like you're Oliver."
Said province gives a "hey!" before shutting up at the glare he's getting.
"You're Quebec." Kate starts. "And you're family." Victoria continues. "And we've missed you, lots." Nunny pipes up quietly. "Even Labrador!" Benjamin exclaims.
Emily nods, before continuing gently: "It's not the same when you're gone. Even with Oliver..."
"I mean, I'm NOT suggesting for one moment I'm not Matthew's mother-" cue glare "but you and him and Bonnie and Joel are pretty much the founding four, specially you two." Anne says matter-of-factly.
The blonde New Brunswickian concludes what they've all been trying to say: "It's tough sans Matthieu, but if you and Oliver are together again, on va être correct."
Jean gives one of his quick smiles, then, and Oliver stores it somewhere with the other ones; then he clears his throat and says: "Ouain, bon, I'll choose to ignore the innuendo there and proceed to fix up this country."
Five months later, when Matthew shows up, they all cry shamelessly, limbs tangled in a massive hug, and Oliver can feel Jean's hand in his, and yeah, they'll be ok.
Translation time!
Au revoir, Jean: Good bye, Jean
Salut, Marie: Bye, Marie.
C'est une brave p'tite: She's a brave kid.
Tu oses me parler d'entreaide (..) aussi lâche!: You dare speak of help to me, damn english?! I was dying alone and you didn't give a damn! Don't pretend you were busy, I know you could've came at least once a week! Don't forget I know you, Oliver! better than anyone! I gotta admit even then i didn't think you were such a coward!
Tu sais ca fait quoi (..) tu t'en FOUS: Do you know what it feels like to think you'll die alone, with no one caring? Cause I do! The others were waiting for you to set the example, but seeing as you don't CARE-
Ca sert à rien (..)Ontario: It doesn't help to shout at you. I'll show you instead. Do you feel like dying alone, Ontario?
Tu voulais savoir (...) Oliver?: You wanted to happen what happened to me and Marie? You knew for the earthquake but we haven't seemed to recover even when Joel and the others were fine. I'll tell ya what happened. We had a civil war. Yup. Classy, don't you think? You went off finding the others, and I had a massacre on my hands. Some were for Canada, others blamed you for evrything. And they went on killing each othet for a while till I could stop them. You happy now, Oliver?
Jean! S'il te plait! J'suis desole!: Jean, please, I'm sorry!
Ouain, tu (..) trop: Yeah, sorry but I don't believe you.
Non! j'te le jure! (..) ok?: No, I swear! I didn't stay away cause I wanted you to die! I was scared, ok?
Peur de quoi: Scared of what?
Je voulais pas (..) vrai: I didn't want to see you like this. Even I was hurt, and you...I don't like seeing you suffer. There. You can laugh or kill me, but it's true.
Calisse: Quebecois swear word, in this context f*cking hell
Y'a une ostie de(..)fois: There's a freaking dripping sound in the room and I was going to go insane if I heard it once more.
tacbernache d'Anglais/ maudit anglais: stupid English bastard
sans Matthieu: w/out Matt
on va etre correct: we'll be all right
Ouain, bon: yeah, ok
Woah loads of french, soorrry! It's Jean, though, so...
In case you didn't know:
Jean=Quebec, Oli=Ontario, Joel=Nova Scotia, Marie/Bonnie=New Brunswick, Anne=PEI, Benny=Newfie, Manny=Manitoba, Owen=Sask, Ralph=Alberta, Victoria=BC, Kate=Yukon, Emily=North West, Nunny=Nunavut
Ok, wow, looonnnggg one-shot, hope you liked it and please review!