Author's Note

Hi, this is my first time posting on . I hope that the story is to your liking. I have decided to use French and German in the story so translations will be at the bottom of each chapter. My french is accurate because I'm native from Paris and if my German isn't it's because it came from Google Translate :) Let me know what you think, I love reviews and suggestions for this or future fics. Also tell me if you want me to include other pairings !

Enjoy,

The PirateChick020497

Chapter 1 - A Typical Parisian Morning

Matthew's alarm shrieked it's morning salute at six a.m sharp. The Canadian groaned in discontempt as he slowly pulled himself out of bed. He went straight to the bathroom and hopped into the shower. The sudden burst of hot water on his still sleep induced body quickly jolted him into awareness, he had a very long day ahead of him and he doubted, judging from the amount of sleep he had acquired, that it would be pleasant. He stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist as looked at his reflection in the mirror. He had delicate purple bags under his eyes and his hair hung wet and limp at the sides of his face, his curl protruding in front of his face. Matthew sighed and finished up with his morning activities.

At seven thirty Matthew grabbed his pet polar-bear Kuma... Kuma... Kuma- something and headed out the door to the Parisian streets. It was a bleak day, the sun was veiled by grey clouds and light misty drops of rain tainted the concrete a few shades darker. Matthew hailed a passing cab that screeched to an abrupt halt in front of him.

"L'Hotel de Ville s'il vous plait." Matthew said as he got in. The driver nodded and took off with frightening speed, weaving between lanes quickly. Matthew panicked, he had forgotten that French drivers had a reputation almost as notorious as the Italians, they drove frightenly fast and had crazy maneuvers as well. The driver seemed to sense Matthew's discomfort and he smiled.

"Vous ne venez pas d'ici j'imagine."

"Non, je suis canadien, je ne suis pas habitué a ce genre de conduite." Matthew answered.

"Canadien. Dites, il fait froid la ?" the driver asked. Matthew shook his head no. Foreigners always assumed Canada was a frozen winter wonderland all year round.

Soon enough Matthew arrived at L'Hotel de Ville and he headed into the meeting room. The room was empty with the exception of France and Spain ; both were fast asleep in chairs. Canada imagined that they had probably been out late. After all they were know as big party goers. Canada took the seat nearest to the back door of the conference room and started to set up his report.

Gilbert bounced about happily. Surprisingly, even with only four and a half hours of sleep, Gilbert felt positively... awesome. He decided to skip taking a cab with his fussy younger brother and opted for the subway instead. When he got to the subway the morning work rush was in full swing. Sleepy eyed Parisians boarded the narrow green and white trains, bags clutched close so as to not be the next target of the many pickpockets of Paris. Gilbert stood next to a woman who was furiously jabbering away in French to her friend sitting in front of her.

"Oh le salop ! Il a couché avec elle, c'est pas croyable !" the first woman exclaimed. Her sitting friend, who was looking quite annoyed replied and Gilbert didn't have to understand French to know that her sentences were colorfully laced with bad language. Judging from other onlookers reactions, this conversation was a juicy piece of gossip. Gilbert chuckled inwardly, French people sure were entertaining ! At the next stop a bunch of teenagers got on the train, adorned with skinny jeans, converse high tops and multitudes of piercings they talked and laughed. A few of the girls snuck looks at Gilbert who merely looked at them and beamed. They giggled and said hi.

"Bonjour... parle pas Franzosisch." Gilbert said with a very thick accent. He spoke many languages, Mandarin, German, English, Russian, Spanish and many others but French was not one of them.

"Il est peut etre Allemand." "Il est mignon." the girls exchanged opinions for a while and laughed. Soon they got off but gave him a card with the name of an art school on it.

"Come visit us !" they said and waved goodbye.

Gilbert's stop eventually came and he stepped out onto the streets. It was damp and grey out but somehow Gilbert figured this was a typical Parisian morning. Gilbert arrived in front of the impressive Hotel de Ville. A few people gave him on looks, he wasn't wearing a suit like all the other people there. He had on dark grey skinny jeans, combat boots and his favorite leather jacket.

Oh well, he thought, so I'm not in uniform, big deal.

He entered the building and went up to the conference room. Gilbert pushed open the door and sighed, oh how he hated these meetings.

(TRANSLATIONS: L'Hotel de Ville s'il vous plait. - The Hotel de Ville please.

: Vous ne venez pas d'ici j'imagine. - Your aren't from here I imagine.

: Non je suis canadien, je ne suis pas habitué a ce genre de conduite -

No I'm Canadian, I'm not used to this kind of driving.

: Canadien. Dite, il fait froid la ? - Canadian. Say, is it cold there ?

: Oh le salop ! Il a couché avec elle, c'est pas croyable ! - Oh the bastard!

He slept with her, unbelievable !

: Bonjour... parle pas Franzosisch - Hello... don't speak French.

: Il est peut etre Allemand - Maybe he's German.

: Il est mignon - He's cute.