Yay! Chapter four! I hope you all enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia

The plane touched down a little after five 'o clock, and Canada reached France's chateau before six. He was tearing through drawers and the closet, trying to grab everything that was his. He dashed to the bathroom and threw all of his toiletries into a small bag before tossing in into another suitcase. One entire case was completely filled with his books. The last things packed were several photo albums, some dating back to when the camera was first invented, along with some pictures of portraits the were at least a century older. Mattie flipped to the back of the most recent album, where a large picture of Francis and he was posted. When was this from? It was dated about a month ago and showed the two happily siting on a bench. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, France had his arms around the Canadian as to keep him warm, and the young man was holding a bouquet of roses.

Ah, now he remembered. This photo was from Valentine's day. With a flourish it was ripped in two, and Mattie finished packing. He brought the shredded picture downstairs to throw it away, but stopped when he saw the vase of roses on the kitchen counter. He placed the last suitcase down and walked over to the red arrangement. He reached out a hand to pick a single bloom, but drew back in pain. A thorn pricked his finger, causing blood to ooze lazily from his fingertip. How ironic. He swept the vase off the counter in retaliation, feeling satisfied when he heard it shatter. He grabbed one half of the torn photo and shoved it into his pocket, while taking the other half and scribbling a note onto it. He let it drift amongst shatter glass and rose petals before picking up his last piece of luggage.

The house phone went off. Cautiously Canada walked over to it and read the caller ID... England?

Matthew immediately picked up, "Hello?"

"C-Canada?! Oh thank God you haven't left the house yet..."

"Is something wrong?"

Arthur sounded very flustered, "Well, yes! You didn't tell anyone where you're going to stay! Do you even have a place to stay?!" The long silence was enough of an answer. "Look, try to get on the Eurotunnel Shuttle, I'm sure you can get a spot on the ten 'o clock run. Do you know how to get to London from there?"

"Yeah, I think so..."

"Okay, you'll be staying with us for a while," Us meant him and America, Mattie noticed that he wasn't given a choice in the matter, "The spare key's hidden in the potted plant like it always is, but if you have trouble finding it I'm sure one of the fairies can let you in, they're such helpful little dears..." The young blonde rolled his eyes at the word fairies, "You know what, stay at a hotel in Kent tonight it's much too dangerous to be driving that late—"

Matthew cut him off, "It's only a two hour drive from Le Shuttle, I'll be fine."

"Y-You sure?"

"Positive."

Goodbyes were exchanged and the phone was hung up, the car was packed and pulled out of the driveway. That house had been home to him for almost two years... A strange sense of abandonment arose as Canada's car hit the highway. He was alone again.

The drive was slow and monotonous, Canada stopped twice for coffee, lamenting that he didn't have any syrup with him and praying he didn't have a caffeine crash in the morning. He ran into some trouble with the customs check at the Eurotunnel, but after he disclosed his status as a nation things rolled along smoothly. Around eleven thirty he was on the highway again, fighting his fatigue. Every so often his car would swerve dangerously, jolting him back to consciousness. Luckily there were no cops on the road, or he would have surely been pulled over. Miraculously the Canadian staggered through the front door of England's Victorian styled mansion in one piece. He decided against unpacking and settled for dragging himself towards the nearest couch, which happened to be in the living room. He collapsed on top of it, and sleep took him instantaneously.

xxxxx

Ding-dong!

Canada's eyes fluttered open, then closed once more.

Ding-dong, ding-dong!

With a groan he sat up. Wait a minute, where was he? Right... He was crashing at England's...

The doorbell rang again, forcing Matthew to stumble over to the door. He fumbled with the lock and pulled it open.

No one was there.

Ding-dong! The doorbell chimed. The confused Canadian looked to see a yellow ball of fluff pressing the button that rang the bell. It was a bird, no bigger than a fist, and it held a note rolled up in its beak. "Hi there!" Mattie greeted, holding his hand out to the little bird, "What's a tiny fella like you doing in a big place like this?" The bird flew over, dropping the note in his hand before roosting on his head, peeping merrily. "O-Okay then, if that's how you want to do things..." He went back inside, hoping that the bird didn't make a mess of his hair or decided to fly around the house. Arthur would throttle him if anything happened to the furniture. After a bit of foraging Canada tore up a slice of bread on a plate and set a small bowl of water on the kitchen table. The chick happily flew down from its perch and began pecking at the food. Matthew then decided to look at the note. "It's... Addressed to me?" He asked incredulously. The bird chirped loudly in response, as if to confirm it.

'MATTIE!' The letter began, 'I overheard England and America saying that you were staying at their place and I wanted to see if you got in okay, isn't that awesome of me? So write back and let me know how you're doing! Just give the reply to Gilbird, he knows where to find me.'

"Gilbird?" The yellow bird chirped in recognition, "That's you...?" The bird whistled a happy tune and sat on the edge of the water bowl and began using it as a makeshift birdbath. Canada laughed, "...Well aren't you clever!" He smiled and returned to the note.

'...And don't start worrying about him struggling on the trip back, Gilbird's the most awesome bird on this planet! He can handle anything! DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THE AWESOMENESS THAT IS GILBIRD!' Was it really necessary for the Prussian to restate that in caps? The next line was scribbled out, but when scrutinized the words 'France,' 'hospital,' and 'deserved it,' could barely be read. It was replaced with, 'So, yeah, write back.' The message was signed, 'Always Awesome, Gilbert.' And at the very bottom:

'P.S. You should smile more often,' It was in a very hurried, fast script with words so cramped and sloppy he either had a seizure when the pen was in his hand or he wrote it on impulse and set the message off as to avoid the urge to cross it out.

But why would Prussia ask him to smile?

The Canadian scrounged up a pencil and a piece of stationary (floral patterned, really England?). And carefully formulated a reply.

'Dear Gilbert—' No, that sounded too formal, so he just settled with, 'Gilbert, I arrived at England's around one in the morning, and I woke up about ten minutes ago, (it's noon in London). If you ever decided to go on a road trip across part of Europe, be sure to bring lots of coffee. Physically, I'm fine. Mentally... Let's not go there...' He surprised himself with the openness in his writing, and how comfortable he was telling Prussia these things. Perhaps they were kindred spirits, or as the albino had said, "Loners sticking together." Canada resumed his response.

'You kinda mentioned Francis, or well, attempted to. How is he? I know I shouldn't ask, but I can help worrying about him... Also, I want to let you know that I really appreciated your kindness towards me after the whole fiasco at the meeting. It may sound kind of stupid, but it means a lot when someone even acknowledges me, let alone do all that you have.' The pencil wavered for a moment, '...This question is probably going to sound even stupider, but does this mean we're friends? Hope to hear back from you soon, Matthew Williams.'

The Canadian rolled up the note and on cue Gilbird fluttered up from the water bowl and snatched the note in his beak. "You be careful, I don't want you getting hurt for my sake." He followed the chick to the nearest window and opened it. Out like a little yellow comet Gilbird flew, past the trees and out of sight. "...Wow..." Mattie whispered in amazement. "...Do not underestimate Gilbird..." He shut the door and went back to the kitchen. Again and again he reread Prussia's note, lingering on that crossed out line, and the post script. He put it down with a sigh and went back out front to unload his car, easily hefting the bags up to one of the guest rooms. As he returned to the kitchen to find something to eat his cellphone went off. Hastily Canada pulled it out of his pocket, causing something else to fall out as well. He looked at the caller ID and recoiled.

It was France.

France was calling him.

What.

The.

Hell?

The phone was gripped rather tightly, and the young blonde began to hyperventilate. Should he answer? Let it go to voicemail? Ignore it completely? After a whirlwind of intense deliberation the phone fell out of his hand with a clatter, and he simply walked away.

Fifteen minutes later he returned to four voicemails and three unread messages.

Cautiously Mattie picked up the device, like he expected it to burn him or to just spontaneously combust. He looked at his texts:

'Mathieu please answer me—'

Delete.

'You weren't supposed to find out like—'

Delete.

'Please... I lo—'

Canada was afraid he was going to jam the buttons from pressing them too hard. Expecting worse he moved on to voicemail. He slumped against the nearest wall, his free hand grabbing a fistful of hair in frustration.

"You have four new messages, to play your messages, press one." Message playback.

"Don't hang up. Don't delete this message. Hear me out, please!" Francis's voice was desperate. "Mathieu Williams. Mon Mathieu... Mon amour... Please, please try to understand me. I made a mistake, a horrible mistake. I am a detestable man, not worthy of beholding your wonder." The Frenchman began to ramble about how beautiful he thought Mattie was in a mixture of French and English. "But... If you could ever find it in your heart to take me back... I will be waiting, at... our home... Please, do not let this not be our final farewell. Je t'aime..."

The next message began to play. "'Sup Mattie? It's America! England wanted me to call and see if you're at the house yet, and he told me to tell you that we'll be home sometime tomorrow morning, okay? So just hang tight and relax! Make yourself at home, see ya soon!" Message erased.

"Erm... Bartholomew? No that's not right... Cambodia? No... Well, um, anyway this is Arthur," There was a sigh, "Might as well cut to the chase... If you need someone to... Talk to about the fro— France's behavior, I'll try and help you the best I can. That is what family is for, right? Call back and let me know how you're feeling, or I'll just talk to you tomorrow?" Message erased.

"Oh, it's um... It's Arthur again... I know I shouldn't be saying to you, but I believe that it would be best for both of us if I get this off my chest. You know I don't like that bloody frog—France, his name is France... Sorry. I know he's going to try and win you back, and I know from experience how charming he can be when he wants something. Don't fall for it, Marcus—Dammit, that's not your name, is it? Blimey... I am so sorry. Erm... Look, I know I am in no position to tell you what's best for you... But you really should consider moving on. So, um... Goodbye then." Message erased.

The final voicemail was from an unfamiliar number, but just as Matthew was going to listen to it, that same number called back. "...Hello?"

"Hello, is this Mr. Francis Bonnefoy?"

Canada flinched, "No, may I ask who is calling?"

"Stacy Parker, I'm a travel agent."

He hit his head in realization, "Ms. Parker! This is Matthew. Matthew Williams."

"Oh! Why didn't I see your name first...?" There was the sound of shuffling papers. "Here is it... The passengers were arranged alphabetically, sorry... You paid for two tickets from Paris to Quebec on the fifteenth, correct?"

"Oui,"

"Well I'm sorry to inform you that the plane scheduled for that flight is experiencing extreme technical difficulties, and we have no replacement planes on standby. Also there is supposed to be a major storm on that day and it was decided that it would be in the best convenience of the passengers if the flight was cancelled."

"Ah, I see. Thank you."

"Now would you like the tickets refunded or would prefer to schedule another flight in exchange?"

He was quiet for several long moments. "Could I get back to you on that?"

"Of course sir, just call me back at this number when you've decided."

"Thank you so much, bye."

He quickly went back to his voicemail, and listened to the final message which said, in essence, the same thing. He erased that before listening to France's again. "...Mathieu Williams. Mon Mathieu... Mon amour..."

He was using that voice, that special voice he used for his lovers. Matthew would have like to think that it was his special voice, but he knew the cold truth.

I love you.

I need you.

I miss you.

I want you back.

That is what the voice cooed softly into the Canadian's ear. He listened again, trying to find any note of insincerity, the slightest indication that it was all false... The third time it played was just for the sake of hearing Francis's voice.

The phone was set down on the table and Canada let out a shaky breath. He looked down and saw a scrap of paper on the ground. Did that come from his pocket? He reached down and picked it up. It was the other half of the picture he tore up in Paris. He flipped it over, curious as to what portion of the photo he held. Francis smiled up at him, his expression cheerful and warm. The last words of the message played in his head:

Je t'aime.

No you don't... Matthew thought. If you did you would have told me what happened... He sank down to a sitting position. If you loved me that would have never happened... He felt angry, used, and betrayed. Hurt, scared, and lonely. After carefully tucking the picture away Canada forced himself to stand and walk upstairs. He entered the guest bedroom, took off his glasses, and flopped down, face-first, onto the mattress.

He lost it then and there.

For nearly an hour he screamed into those pillows, bitter, confused tears spilling from his eyes.

xxxxx

Matthew didn't know when he had fallen asleep, but he did know that it was about six when he woke up. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt then went to take a shower. With that squared away he went downstairs and looked through the fridge, hoping to find some dinner.

Instead all he found was old McDonald's and England's cooking. After some digging around in the pantry he discovered a can of soup, so he fished a pot out of one of the cabinets and made that (he hoped that is wasn't rude to do so, America did tell him to make himself at home, after all). His phone was still on the kitchen table when he sat down. He stared at it for what seemed like an eternity before picking it up and dialing the travel agent that called earlier.

"Hello, this is Stacy Parker, here to assist with all your traveling needs! How can I help you?"

"Hey Ms. Parker, this is Matthew from earlier. I've made up my mind about those tickets."

"Okay, what would you like to do with them, sir?"

"I'd like to exchange them both for one ticket to... Wait, how far in advance can I book a flight?"

"Up to two weeks."

"Then I'll take a flight on the twenty-second from London to Ottawa."

"Okay, I'll make sure that it is arranged, and you'll just get refunded for the other ticket."

"That's fine, merci."

He hung up and put the phone back down. A week. He had just given himself a week to stay at Arthur's. Then he was going home. Not to France, but to his real home. It would be nice to get away from everyone for a while, and no one would know he was gone.

"These places and these faces are getting old... So I'm going home...

I'm going home."

IDK if it's 'places and faces' or 'faces and places,' but I was thinking of this song when I wrote this! Poor Mattie... I cosplayed as him at a recent anime convention, and I got so much "Who?" abuse, LOL (I even had a sign on my sweatshirt that said, "Who are you?" "I'm Canada" and "...Who?" It was a riot!)

Reviews make an authoress happy! And since I forgot to put it on the last one (and received no feedback as a result) 5 Reviews = Chapter 5 being posted! Thank you!