(( oh gosh. I would have had this up literally a month ago, but I've been patiently waiting for /one/ more review. And that occurred just a little bit ago. I said in the last chapter that I would wait for a certain number of reviews, definitely a low and easy number, before updating. So here we go~! ))

"What?!"

"Calm do-"

"NO!"

"Cher, just liste-"

"Piss off, Francis!" The Englishman bit out angrily as he once more shoved the other away from himself, "Matthew and Alfred should be here soon enough and I wanted to ask them if they wanted to attend dinner with us."

"I understa-"

"Oh, Obviously you don't! Because I planned on giving Matthew this-" Here Arthur gestured sharply to a pale red, nearly pink, sweater that rested on the back of one of the rooms armchairs. It was obviously handmade...in a sense that no store could possible make something so utterly and heartwarmingly tacky. It was decorated in sewn mittens and had almost pastel colored patterns making their rounds about. A christmas tree was dead center, where in place of ornaments there were little maple leaves. The only thing that seemed out-of-place on the garish bit of holiday fabric was the large, dark stain that took on an almost purple hue when introduced to the pale material. "- and Alfred his afterwards so that I wouldn't chance forgetting! That way they'll both have something appropriate to wear when they visit this holiday!"

Staring at his love's pink face, tinted from the energy in which he used to nearly shriek these words, Francis held his hands up defensively, "It was just a slip of zhe hand..." In all honesty, it was hard to tell if the Frenchman was sincere, not below doing something along the lines of this in an attempt to save his boys from the future embarrassment of wearing such attire. He was also aware that the other's temper was most likely a result of worry for what it was that Matthew had been trying to tell him. From how Arthur had ranted and raved for a good twenty minutes afterwards concerning the phone call, it didn't seem to be good.

"Liar!"

Francis sighed and took the chance of moving forward yet again, this time wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist, ignoring the way the other seemed to stiffen. "I am truly sorry, mon cher...please forgive me..." as he murmured this, he tilted his head down and pressed a faint kiss to the Briton's neck, the stubble on his chin tickling the mans exposed skin just like he knew it would. "I'm sure we'll find a way to get rid of zhe stain, oui?"

"I think you mean you'll find a way to get rid of the stains..." Arthur huffed, although he did not pull away and seemed to be finished with his bout of yelling.

"Oui, of course. I'll find a way." the Frenchman quickly amended as he trailed light kisses further up the other's neck, lips soon ghosting over the shell of the Briton's ear, resulting in a small shiver to travel up the younger's back.

However, before things could get too far, a soft knock came from the door just a few feet from them, prompting Arthur to immediately spring away. "Check to see if that's Matthew." he grunted out as he made his way over to the chair, picking up the 'ruined' sweater carefully, "If it's him, I don't understand how he could have gotten here so soon..." he added in a slight mutter before disappearing into the bedroom area.

Unable to keep the soft, forlorn sigh from escaping him at being interrupted at such a time, Francis turned rather glumly to the door, making his way over and not bothering to check the peephole before opening it. His expression immediately brightened, "Ah, Mathieu! Come i-"

"A-Ah...Hel-lo, Papa..."

"..."

"N-Now...before you panic.."

"..."

"I can explain...s-sorta..." The Canadian felt his words soften and become meek at Francis's response...or well, lack there of.

"..."

"P-Papa...?"

"Oh, ce un mignon petit bébé!" Francis abruptly cried, forcefully pulling the surprised Canadian into the hotel room, "Arthur m'a dit qu'il y avait quelque chose de mal...mais c'est incroyable!"

"E-Eh? S-Savez-vous qui c'est...?"

"Bien sûr! Je pourrais reconnaître mon petit chouchou n'importe où!"

Matthew slowly relaxed, lips tugging in a hesitant smile as he bounced the child in his arms, who had been quietly staring at this new person with wide eyes. Now, Alfred lurched forward, babbling loudly as he demanded attention from said person, opening and closing his small hands repetitively. Without a second thought, Francis scooped the child up into his arms, cooing softly as he allowed Alfred to grasp his finger, using the end of said finger to lightly tickle the boy's tummy. Optimism increasing, the Canadian went over to a nearby armchair and set the diaperbag down, allowing Francis his little coofest.

The deaged American seemed quite pleased with the attention, squealing softly as he set to kicking his small feet about, as if in an attempt to free himself from the blanket his brother had cacooned him in. "Bah!"

"Oh, this is too precious..!" Francis crooned as he moved to the area of the hotel room that seemed to resemble a livingroom, sitting down slowly on the couch. Relief further flooded Matthew as he watched, leaning partly against the arm of the chair that he had set the diaperbag on.

Both failed to notice as the Briton reentered the room after having put away the ruined sweater, his step faltering as he attempted to comprehend just what exactly was happening in front of him.

"What..." for once, words seemed to fail the Englishman.

Two pairs of eyes snapped up to stare at Arthur, one panicked and the other reassuring.

"Now, Cher...Just take a deep breath..."

"A-Arthur...? Maybe you should sit do-..."

There was no mistaking it. Those large, enthusiastic, bright blue eyes. And even that damnable cowlick was present in the tuffs of wheat blonde hair that the baby in Francis's arms was sporting. This...This was what was wrong...? Oh...oh...

The world tilted.

Oh, hello floor.

Francis blinked in surprise, although Matthews own shock was greater, "I-I didn't think he would faint!" the Canadian squeaked as he stared at the Englishman now laying on the carpeted ground. Appearing worried whilst Francis only heaved a dramatic sigh, Matthew straightened up and began to move the Englishman's unconscious form onto the carpeted area in front of the couch, prompting Francis to gently nudge the man with his shoe. "Mh...out cold." he noted, continuing to bounce the obliviously happy American in his arms.

"I hope he's alright..." Matthew said quietly, worrying his lower lip briefly as he decided to sit down on the floor beside his unconscious parental figure.

"He's fine, mon loutre." Francis was quick to reassure him, "he's just being a bit...dramatique"

"I hope he wakes up soon..."

"mh..." It was neither a sound of agreement nor dispute.

Arthur's vision was a bit foggy when he next opened his eyes, although it lasted just a few disorienting seconds. With a soft groan, the Brit slowly placed a hand to his forehead as he sat up, closing his eyes once more in discontent at the somewhat dizzy feeling that overcame him.

"Ah, look Alfred~ Daddy's awake..~" An obnoxiously familiar voice cooed somewhere above him, prompting him to open his eyes despite the discomfort and glare up, fearing what he would see. Which was a certain French git holding a happily gurgling baby...no...not just a baby, but America. The git in question was gently holding one of the American's wrists, forcing the child to wave a tiny hand at the Brit. Arthur trailed his fingers up to grip a few strands of his own hair, giving a stressed tug, "H-How..."

"We don't know..."

Arthur's view snapped to the right in search of the source of these words, seeing Matthew standing off to the side, the nip of a baby bottle pressed lightly to his wrist.

"What do you mean you don't know?!" The Englishman hissed, feeling his shock and confusion at this situation ebb to something along the lines of frustration bordering anger. "People don't just randomly turn to infants, Matthew!" Standing, Arthur dusted imaginary dust off the knees of his pants.

"I just found him at his house like this!" The Canadian stated rather defensively, voice soft despite the obvious bite to it.

"Is this what you were alluding to when you called?!" Arthur abruptly shouted, needing some sort of outlet for what was happening, "Did you think saying 'something's wrong' and then hanging up was the right thing to do?! You were raised better than that!"

"Arthur."

Stiffening, the Briton huffed at the sharp tone used by the man on the couch. It only took a few seconds to realize what his shouting had prompted. Alfred's lower lip had set to quivering, little hands shaking as large eyes began to well up with tears. There was a soft, hitched inhale before the infant began to wail, starting off softly and then building in amplitude. Without thinking, Arthur moved forward and stared at the crying infant cautiously, as if asking permission, before he carefully took the American from Francis, who was staring at him rather disapprovingly for what had transpired in the last few seconds.

"Shh..." Seeing those tears...in such quantity on the boy's face...It pulled at his heart sharply, guilt and regret swarming together to such an extent that it made Arthur nearly choke. Alfred clutched onto a piece of Arthur's shirt, piercing wails slowly quieting once the yelling seemed to have disappeared, the slight lull of the Briton's shifting arms also a key factor. Although the baby boy continued to give an occasional sniffle. "There, there, poppet..."

Sighing softly, Arthur looked back to Matthew, who stood silently in the same spot. "I'm sorry..." he apologized almost quietly, "I just...I saw him just last week...he was normal.." he glanced back down at the slightly pink face of the child, using the sleeve of his shirt to gently wipe cheeks that glistened with the remains of tears, "or atleast..normal for him."

"It's fine..." Matthew smiled faintly and shook his head. Well, he hadn't exactly expected it to go smoothly, so this was better than what he'd imagined. Which had been much worse. "Here, he's probably hungry by now." With that, the Canadian handed Arthur the bottle.

Arthur hesitated before accepting it, slowly going over to sit beside Francis as he made sure to carefully cradle Alfred's head with his arm. The baby had caught sight of the bottle and had begun wriggling, making soft whining noises as he reached his hands up, making grabby fists in the direction of it. Indulgently chuckling, Arthur lowered the bottle to be within reach of the tiny American, watching as the boy latched on and began drinking with gusto.

"Well it seems his appetite hasn't diminished by much..." Arthur murmured in one of his rare attempts at lightening a situation, forced to tilt the bottle away slightly in an attempt to keep Alfred from drinking too fast. The last thing they needed was for the infant to choke.

Matthew chuckled softly with a faint smile as he shifted the babybag onto the floor and took the seat that it once occupied.

"Angleterre..."

"hm..?" Glancing up briefly from his task, Arthur arched one of his bushy eyebrows at the Frenchman.

"You said that Amérique visited you recently, oui? What exactly happened?"

Turning more of his attention to Francis, the Briton narrowed his eyes till their green coloring was barely visibly, "Just what exactly are you insinuating, Frog?"

Francis immediately found himself rolling his eyes at the Englishman's extremely defensive response, "You know exactly what I'm insinuating. Is it possible zhat something happened there zhat could have resulted in...zhis?" He then gestured to the de-aged American, who was beginning to fuss as a result of Arthur subconsciously moving the bottle a little too far away. The Brit quickly moved the bottle closer to continue feeding the little one, turning his gaze away from Francis's as his lips pursed in thought.

"It's...possible..."

"What's possible?" Matthew cautiously inquired in his soft voice, moving over to sit down so that he was perched on the edge of the coffee table, facing the two other adult nations.

"He was just being so irritating..."

"Arthur, what did you do?" Francis demanded, leaning forward and turning his head in an attempt to make eye contact with the Brit.

"And I had to shut him up somehow..." Arthur continued to defend, managing to irritate the Frenchman somewhat with how he was avoiding the crux of the matter. However, Francis managed to remain composed as he simply waited for the Englishman to hopefully answer his inquiry.

"I was swamped with paperwork and he was just being so bloody energetic..." Arthur trailed off once more, lips compressing into a thin line as he further tilted the bottle up to help Alfred continue eating, "So I tried to keep him occupied with some tea and cakes whilst I was getting work done...and I slipped some sleeping draught I concocted into his tea.."

"What?!"

The loud shout came from not Francis, but Matthew, who had jolted to a standing position, "You drugged him?!" Surprisingly, the Canadian's angered voice didn't provoke any tears from the still feeding infant; most likely as a result of the fact that the bottle provided a pleasant distraction from whatever it was the adults were yammering about. Food was definitely a good way to keep the little American's attention.

"Calm down, Mathieu..." Francis murmured soothingly as he stood and slowly managed to coax Matthew back into a sitting position. Although the Canadian still leveled the now silent Englishman with an accusatory gaze, lilac eyes nearly blazing. "Zhe real issue here is zhat it's something he made..." Sitting back down as well, Francis frowned at Arthur, "What happened when you gave him zhe drought...or, well, you may as well call it for what it was...a potion." The Frenchman nearly spat out the last word with abrupt contempt, staring intently at Arthur.

Arthur managed to level a small glare at Francis before grunting and shifting the bundle in his arms slightly, "My potions are the most efficient ones there are." He proclaimed with some irritation, "Any side effects are simply because of how it reacted with his body."

Francis made a sound of disagreement in the back of his throat, almost a scoff as he crossed his arms. He knew very well that nowadays his lover's touch for magic was more often than not...less than perfect. "And it worked..." Arthur continued, "He ended up falling asleep on the divan near the window and an hour or so later he woke up, complaining about his stomach aching.." Now the Englishman's bushy eyebrows began to furrow, lips creasing into an even thinner line, "So he decided it would be best to leave before he...ah...as he so eloquently put it, 'blew chunks'."

"Perhaps it was a result of you giving him one of your...'cakes'." Francis couldn't help but suggest, unable to resist a jab at the other's cooking abilities. It wasn't that English food wasn't decent, despite being rather bland in most cases; it was just that Arthur Kirkland was not very skilled in the kitchen.

Arthur sent a hardened glare over at Francis for the remark, making it clear what he would do to the other if he didn't currently have his arms occupied. "I figured he'd gorged himself a bit too much on my wonderful cooking, and combined with the potion his stomach may have been unsettled." He stated firmly before his attention was drawn downward by a faint noise. Alfred's mouth was lazily working around the nip of the bottle as he pressed a hand lightly against the side of it. It was obvious that even with the narrow necked container now empty, the child still wanted to keep in motion. Wordlessly, Arthur set the empty bottle on the coffee table beside Matthew before shifting the recently fed child up onto his shoulder, hand moving to rub Alfred's back in slow, soothing circles.

"Well, obviously not." Francis huffed as he reached over and attempted to gently smooth some of the de-aged American's tuffs of hair.

"Shut it, Frog. I've heard enough out of you." The Brit growled, the slight rumbling in his chest causing the child resting against his shoulder to giggle quietly. Said child then set to gurgling somewhat as he wriggled, pressing one small fist to his mouth and drooling on it. Trying not to look too amused, Arthur set to lightly patting Alfred's back, soon turning his gaze up to look at Matthew, who still didn't look too pleased with the Englishman.

"I know you're cross with me, Matthew. But there's nothing that can be done about it until I take a look at my books.." Arthur stated, referring to his fairly old journals in which he recorded and altered spells. "For the time being we sho-" The Brit abruptly stiffened and his lips quirked as he attempted not to grimace, a faint burp reaching his ears, followed by a content giggle. Turning his head slightly, he tried to get a proper look at his shoulder, shifting the cooing infant off of it. "Oh, bugger..." He murmured, although not without fondness. There was no mistaking the wet substance for anything other than spit up.

A/N: A bit longer than the previous two, but i'm content.

Thank you, Sacaly Amroma, for your offer to help me with when they're speaking French. If you see any problems with the translations, please let me know!

Also, don't worry, SiriusDancer , I share the same headcannon. :3

Oh, ce un mignon petit bébé! - "Oh, What a cute little baby!"

Arthur m'a dit qu'il y avait quelque chose de mal...mais c'est incroyable - "Arthur told me that there was something wrong ... but this is amazing!"

E-Eh? S-Savez-vous qui c'est? - "E-Eh? D-Do you know who this is?"

Bien sûr! Je pourrais reconnaître mon petit chouchou n'importe où - "Of course! I could recognize my little darling anywhere"

Mon Loutre - "My otter" ((I believe it's a term of endearment.))

I love feedback from you guys, as well as hearing what you think is going to happen next. Once again, I'll update after a certain number of feedback from you guys, as i'm already working on the next chapter :) Till then~!