The silk sheet was still twisted around his legs, immobilizing him. Matthew felt his ears go hot, realizing what had just come out of his mouth moments ago.

"Ah, I apologize. I- I didn't mean to call you a… well, never mind." Matthew looked down.

He was in his underwear.

He quickly grabbed his clothes, yanked the sheet away from his legs, and haphazardly threw on his shirt and trousers. "I'm terribly sorry, sir. I- The hallway was dark last night. I must have entered the wrong room." It was half-truth.

If Matthew had been paying attention more and flushing less, he would have seen the small, amused smile curling at the duke's lips. In any case, he grabbed the rest of his things and bolted for the door.

And promptly smacked into the wall.

The man chuckled behind him and Matthew turned to see a blurry figure approaching him. The duke stopped just before him and Matthew wished he could phase through the wall, away from his noble gaze. "Are these yours, Monsieur…"

"Williams," he squeaked. "O-oui, merci." He took his glasses from the duke's gloved hand and slipped them on. Matthew flinched. His face was closer than he thought. He could see the deep sapphire irises, the long nose, and the carefully maintained growth at his chin. "Um. Good day, sir," he said at last and bounded across the hall and into his bedroom.

Matthew fell against the door and groaned. Had he just slept in the duke's bedroom? And had the duke appeared over him that morning? Matthew wouldn't leave this room, he decided. He'd stay here and be a lookout from his window.

Minute by minute his nerves settled and he berated himself for the foolish thinking. He just needed to clean himself up and continue his job. He glanced at a mirror over his mantle and frowned at the state his hair was in.

What a great first impression he'd given the duke. Half naked and disheveled.

Matthew dressed and descended the stairs, looking for the crew. It was between breakfast and lunch so workers were spread about the grounds. Matthew hunted down Duval and found him in the grand salon with others.

"Please give me a job to do right now," Matthew whispered intently.

"What?"

"Anything, please."

Duval looked over Matthew's shoulder and he grinned. "Ah, Monsieur Bonnefoy!"

Matthew's heart pounded at the name. He turned to see the immaculate form of the duke entering the room, walking with grace and elegance. Was he imagining the little smirk he sent Matthew's way?

Duval shook hands with the duke and he introduced him to Matthew. "This is the Duc de Lablanche, Francis Bonnefoy. I don't think you've met yet."

Bonnefoy smiled at him. "Non, you must have been hiding away somewhere."

Duval didn't pick up on the inside joke, but Matthew could have sunk into the ground.

Matthew swallowed and greeted him. "Matthew Williams," he said, shaking the duke's white-gloved hand.

"He's my assistant," Duval explained. "And a very diligent worker."

"Good to know you won't be sleeping on the job then."

Alright, now he was just playing with him. Matthew narrowed his eyes by the tiniest fraction but Francis remained unperturbed. He turned to face the room and spread his arms out.

"Ah, it's… different to see my grand salon filled with crates instead of partygoers."

"We apologize, Monsieur," Duval said. "You'll have it back when the threat of war is gone."

Francis shook his head, tendrils of blond hair swaying. "Nothing to apologize for. As long as France's art is safe you do what you must."

"Thank you," Duval said with an inclination of his head.

"Monsieur Bonnefoy," Zwingli said from the doorway of the salon.

"Zwingli! Mon frère!" Francis said, his face alight with a friendly humor.

"If you're not busy, I need to go over the security plans with you," Zwingli replied, as serious as ever.

"Of course." Francis turned to them. "Please, continue as you were. Monsieur Duval," he nodded gracefully. He shifted that amused gaze to Matthew and in return Matthew could do no more than dumbly quirk his lips up in what he hoped was a smile. "Monsieur Williams."

Francis left the room with a flourish, his arm coming around Zwingli's shoulders as they walked out.

One of Matthew's coworkers mumbled under his breath, "What did I tell you? He's a frou-frou , alright."

Duval shot a warning glare at him but the man simply shrugged and returned to his work.

He sure was something. Matthew breathed a sigh of relief, glad that it seemed no one knew of the mistake Matthew made the night before, or his embarrassment this morning. He'd never hear the end of it if the others knew.

After the lunch shift change, Matthew was working alongside Duval when one of the workers burst into the salon. He approached Duval and gave him a sealed letter. It was from Jaujard in Paris.

Matthew watched Duval open it there and begin to read, remaining quiet until Duval spoke again.

"Things are progressing quickly. And not in a positive direction," he said. "It won't be long now before war is declared."

Matthew swallowed a lump in his throat. His hands felt clammy but his mind focused on their task.

"Any more news from the Louvre?" he asked Duval.

Duval folded the letter and shoved it into his back pocket. "Jaujard is sending one last convoy to Lablanche. She's on it. They'll be arriving late tonight." He gave a reassuring smile to Matthew. "Come, we'll need to make space for the new arrivals."

Matthew began to wonder what the impending war meant for them, but he quickly dispelled those thoughts. Nothing official had been declared yet, he shouldn't worry over that. He needed to be focused on his job. Their next load of cargo would be some of the most important yet. His job was to protect centuries-old, priceless art. It was more than that, it was history. Again, he silently thanked Francis Bonnefoy for his dedication to the country's beloved belongings. He hoped it'd be enough.

.

September 3, 1939

Matthew's hands shook with awe and fear. In all honesty, they'd been shaking for over a day, and understandably so; the Mona Lisa was in their possession and she currently inhabited the space under Matthew's bed.

How was he even supposed to sleep at night knowing the most priceless artifact, the most important piece of history lie under him while he slept? As he lie in bed, he could almost feel her secretive gaze burning into his back. So he'd flip onto his stomach, but then he felt awkward lying over her like that, her little smirk right below him. On his side, it as easier to ignore the weight of duty placed upon him. He could gaze out the window until the moonlight and the breezes lulled him to sleep.

He'd get an hour's worth of sleep until he was jerked awake. It was like that feeling of falling combined with remembering a forgotten thing. His mind told him he couldn't lower his guard for one moment, and so kept him awake.

Duval and the others had ultimately decided on Matthew's room as the hiding place for La Jaconde. After all, his bedroom was a single room at the end of the hall, away from the grand salon. In case of robberies or Germans they'd at least have time to move her away without suspicion.

Matthew agreed to their plan, seeing the logic, but he didn't take into account the mental repercussions.

It was five in the morning on that day, the 3rd. The light of dawn stretched over the trees and Matthew gave up trying to sleep. He changed his clothes, washed his face, cast a protective glance at the crate under his bed, and sought out something downstairs to distract him.

Matthew approached Duval in the foyer. Duval turned on him with wide eyes.

"Matthew, you look terrible, my friend."

He cringed. "Thank you, Laurent."

Duval shook his head. "I'm sorry, but have you looked at yourself today? You have been sleeping, right?"

Matthew glanced to the side, where the large mirror hung over an entryway table. He hadn't, in fact, noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the slump to his shoulders, and the unruliness of his hair, which he'd tried to tame. "Well," Matthew began. He didn't know what to say.

Duval sighed. "I put too much responsibility on you. You're worrying yourself sick about her aren't you?"

Matthew was quick to deny it. "No, no, I'm… I'm fine. I'm getting used to it."

"We can move her if it's too much for you. There are other safe locations in this house."

Matthew smiled. "I'll be fine."

"Okay," he replied, exhaling a breath. "Breakfast is soon. Relax until then."

Two loud woofs punctuated the statement and both men turned to find Kuma lumbering toward them.

Duval's expression was neutral, Matthew's was delighted.

He knelt and the huge, white dog bathed his face in licks and snuffles. Matthew laughed and ruffled his thick coat, jingling the pure silver ID tag attached to an artisan leather collar.

Kuma was Francis Bonnefoy's dog. When he first met the dog Matthew truly wondered if it really was Francis's. He wouldn't have pegged the guy with a dog the size of a small horse and the thickest white coat, drooping jowls and sober, characteristic eyes. Granted he was fit for his size and his coat as healthy as money could buy.

Kuma had taken a sudden, but welcome attachment to Matthew. Matthew didn't mind in the slightest.

"Where's your owner, huh Kuma?" he said, ruffling the dog's ears.

He received hot panting breaths in his face as a reply.

"Why don't you take him for a walk around the grounds? It'll be a good distraction." Duval's voice came from behind.

Matthew stood and brushed off his pants. "That sounds nice. Send someone for me if you need me."

Duval simply smiled and waved them off.

Matthew scratched Kuma behind the ears and he followed Matthew loyally out the front doors. The tiniest sliver of dawn was breaking through the trees and the early morning mist felt cool on his skin. Kuma tromped beside him, sniffing the grass.

Matthew meandered around the property, never having been able to really see it until now. He'd been so occupied by the art, and then he only saw the grand salon, the dining room, and his bedroom.

Kuma wandered around him, never straying more than fifteen feet, lumbering from one side to the other in search of scents to sniff. Matthew watched the sky lighten as the sun rose. His mind was perfectly at ease.

Kuma sniffed around the base of an old oak and Matthew dropped himself beside it, gazing upwards into the canopy. The air was warming and combined with the exercise it was lulling Matthew to sleep. He succumbed to it, stretching out on his back, hands folded across his stomach, ankles crossed.

Kuma huffed and curled himself at Matthew's head, resting his muzzle on his shoulder. Matthew smiled and smoothed the top of Kuma's head before falling asleep to the dog's steady breathing and the sounds of nature around him.

.

How long Matthew had been asleep, he didn't know. All he knew was that he woke to footsteps crunching the grass and the brighter light of mid to late morning.

Matthew blinked and rubbed his eyes, blearily noting Kuma's excited wagging.

The newcomer was Francis Bonnefoy, and Matthew quickly sat up, twisting a kink out of his back.

"Look at you, silly dog," Francis said when he approached them. "Lying about like some common hound."

There was no real chastisement in his words and Matthew laughed. "He found me earlier so I took him for a walk."

To Matthew's surprise, Francis sat down next to him on the grass and welcomed the snuffling nose of his dog into his arms.

Matthew watched them and Francis noticed.

"Didn't expect to see someone like me with this kind of dog, did you?" he asked with a knowing glint in his eye.

Matthew laughed and scratched the back of his head. "Not really, no. What breed is he?"

"Great Pyrenees," Francis answered. "A poodle would probably fit the image better, right?"

Matthew tried to imagine it. "Now that I'm seeing it, I couldn't picture you with any other kind."

Francis cooed praises to Kuma, who accepted the words and scratches with a blissful smile. "I originally got him thinking he would make a good guard dog. It wasn't long before I realized that Kuma would sooner snuggle the enemy to death rather than attack him."

Matthew snickered, thinking the same. He then voiced a question that had been on his mind. "His name though, Kuma. It's not French."

"No. That is a short, but fairly interesting story," Francis began. "A few years ago a friend of mine, japonais, was visiting. Monsieur Honda's father had dealings in Lyon and he came as an assistant. Since I had inherited the château by that time I was scheduled to arrange some things with them too. The three of us had lunch and when Monsieur Honda's father stepped out for a business call, we spent the rest of the day touring the city. The dog came in rather unexpectedly." He paused to stroke Kuma, who had settled himself between the two men. "A breeder was in town, showing Kuma's litter in a little pet store. I must admit I have a weakness for the soft and fluffy, as I came out with this lazy thing. An unplanned purchase, but one of the best I've ever made. My friend told me he looked like a little bear. A kuma, he said.

"It fit remarkably well, and there you have it."

"You have friends all over the place, don't you?" Matthew inquired. He'd never known anyone from as far away as Japan.

Francis shrugged. "It comes with the territory."

Matthew bowed his head and picked at dirt underneath his nails. "This might sound stupid," he said. "But why are you talking to me, Monsieur Bonnefoy?"

"Stupid," Francis repeated, as if contemplating it. "Because it is a beautiful morning," he sighed. "Because my dog has a hidden troublesome streak. Because my house is no longer quiet. And because we're equals now."

Matthew lifted his face and Francis was watching him with soft blue eyes and a gentle upturn to his lips.

"Equals." Matthew held his gaze.

"War tends to do that."

"You're sure that there will be war?"

"I know that the country is already facing food shortages, that men are gearing to fight above and below ground, figuratively speaking."

Matthew exhaled and his shoulders slumped, his gaze falling to his limp hands. "That means the art is still in danger," he mumbled to himself.

"But Matthew," Francis said gently and Matthew glanced up at him, his patient face knowingly pleased. "I'm also talking to you because I find you stimulating company. I have a house full of people, more people than I have ever had at one time, but I see a friend in you. If you'd like."

Matthew wordlessly nodded, secretly immensely relieved to hear him say that. It's not that Duval and his coworkers weren't enough, but getting to know Francis would be something new to distract him with through this impending ordeal. "I'd be… honored."

Francis grinned. "No need to speak of honor, Mathieu. We are friends now, remember?"

He couldn't help it. Matthew grinned back. "Right."

Francis shifted on the grass, making to stand. Before he did, he clasped Matthew's shoulder in his hand. Matthew stared at it, and then his face.

"One last thing," Francis said. " 'Monsieur Bonnefoy' is a little too formal, don't you think?"

Matthew chuckled. "I guess so, Francis."

Francis grinned and squeezed his shoulder before letting go. He finally stood and whistled for Kuma. "Lunch should be served soon, let's go," he called over his shoulder.

Matthew stood as well and paused. He could still feel the ghost of Francis's hand on his shoulder.

It was still warm.

.

That night Matthew stood in his bedroom, staring at the space underneath the bed. The space where the Mona Lisa slept. He wanted to get in bed, but he didn't. He didn't think he could sleep any better than the night before and wondered how many sleepless nights were ahead of him. But it was late, and he needed to try to sleep.

His bedroom door was suddenly nosed open by Kuma's furry mug. The dog trotted in like he owned the place, which in a weird way, Matthew thought, he sort of did. Kuma bypassed him in favor of jumping onto the bed, turning in circles, and finally laying himself down with a huff.

Matthew stared at him, then at the door. He peeked out the door, wondering if Francis was close behind. The hallway was dimly lit, and empty. Matthew turned back to Kuma, whose droopy eyes flickered back and forth over his face.

Matthew sighed and resigned himself to sharing the bed with Kuma. He lifted his undershirt over his head and changed into his pajama pants before sliding in under the covers. Curling around Kuma's body he could instantly feel the dog's warmth. Kuma himself shifted once Matthew was done, turning so his head was near Matthew's.

"Do you sleep with Francis?" Matthew quietly asked, smiling at the way the dog's eyes blissfully squinted shut. He stroked his smooth head for a peaceful few moments. He missed the smell of a dog. When Matthew closed his eyes, he breathed in the scent of dog and was brought back to his youth and his childhood pet.

Matthew fell asleep promptly, breathing in sync with Kuma.

.

Matthew was woken from dreamless sleep by his bedroom door swinging open and light footsteps on the carpet. He blinked his eyes open and saw Lili from over Kuma's back.

"I'm sorry to wake you like this, Matthew," she said, inclining her head in a small bow, "but Monsieur Duval requires your presence in the dining room."

Matthew pushed himself up and knit his brows. "Duval? What time is it?"

"Five-forty, monsieur. He wanted to make an announcement at breakfast."

He slid on his glasses and Lili's anxious eyes told him that she knew something. "Alright. Thank you, Lili."

She nodded again and closed the door behind her as she left. Matthew rubbed his face and withdrew a new set of clothes from the armoire. Kuma lifted his head and wagged his tail across the bedspread. After he finger-combed his hair back, he beckoned to Kuma.

"Let's go, boy."

The dog jumped from the bed and followed Matthew down the hall, the stairs, and into the dining room where his other coworkers were filing in and sitting. Duval and Francis stood at the head of the table, in front of the buffet. Francis spared his dog a quick glance but held Matthew's gaze. Matthew's eyes darted between him and Duval as he took his usual seat.

The hushed chatter fell silent and Duval cleared his throat.

"Coworkers, colleagues," he began. "This morning is no different than every morning we've spent at Château de Lablanche and our job remains the same as yesterday. However, the stakes have risen significantly. France and Great Britain have declared war on Germany."

Voices immediately swelled in the room; protests, useless threats to enemies far away, disbelief between coworkers. Matthew remained silent, a lump in his throat.

Duval raised his voice to quiet the uproar. "Our job remains to protect the art by any means. Jaujard is still in Paris and we still receive our orders from him. No matter what happens, we have a duty to art, to France, to history."

Duval exhaled, having calmed the group. "Don't let this distract you. We're fighting a different kind of war here, and as long as we have Duke Bonnefoy's support, we will continue like always."

Francis nodded. "The château is not immune to the world; already the country is being rationed. But as long as you work under this roof, I promise you will not want for basic comforts."

Sincerity shimmered in his eyes, and Matthew instinctively moved his hand to stroke Kuma's head, who sat dutifully beside him. Matthew caught Francis's eye and he gave him a small, sad smile.

Francis excused himself and the hushed room resumed the acts of gathering food, albeit more somberly.

Matthew stared down at his fingers stroking through Kuma's fur. The dog panted happily.

A clink and the sound of someone sliding into place next to him. A plate of food now sat in front of him and Duval next to him.

"Eat up, Matthew," he said.

He ate robotically, only able to finish a portion before pushing the plate away and standing up. "I'm sorry," he said. "I need some air."

Kuma followed him, needing no command, and Matthew walked out of the house.

He sat at the base of the stone steps, watching the light grow on the horizon. Kuma sat next to him, tail wagging, princely and smiling. Matthew sighed and ruffled his fur, laughing into the soft white. To be as carefree as a dog.

"It's too beautiful of a morning for such news, hmm?"

Matthew looked up. "Mo– Francis."

Francis hummed, his hands held nobly behind his back.

"I was only a child during the Great War," he said, taking a seat next to Matthew. "And even then I didn't fully understand. My maman and I spent a lot of time in Switzerland, with the Zwingli family–that is how I came to know Vash. Their family was in security, and friends of my father. It was a safe place for us."

Matthew found himself listening intently, hands moving absently over Kuma's fur.

"Then the war was over and I grew up learning how to be my father's successor. I'm not much of a fan of war," he said, chuckling under his breath. "I'm afraid I'm more of a coward than a fighter. But I have to put on a brave face for everyone. I've got a full house to provide for."

Matthew thought it was pretty brave of him to admit that to an acquaintance like himself. He swallowed and forced himself to say what even he wasn't so sure of. "We'll be okay."

Francis smiled. "We'll be okay," he repeated, affirmed. He turned to Matthew. "Would you like to take a walk?"

Kuma's wagging increased in excitement at the word. Matthew nodded, standing to join Francis. "I would."

Thanks for reading loves!