By the end of the day Francis had not managed to fill in any more of his workbook nor any of the other material they had gone over in class. It wasn't for a lack of trying though. He had struggled to do some of the work, any of it, but it had all been in the same foreign language that the workbook had been. He guessed that it was the same language that his teacher used in class.

When the bell rang he quickly packed up his supplies and hurried over to line up with the rest of the class. The teacher stood by the door, watching the students leave. As Francis started to step out of the room a hand blocked his path. The door was closed and a hand on his shoulder pulled him further into the room.

"I do not know what your previous teachers were like but in my class you will not cheat, you will do your work, and you will listen to me. Do you understand?" Francis didn't answer, not knowing what the teacher had said, again. "Great," the man grumbled. "They gave me one of those stupid kids who can't speak." He walked over to the door and opened it, pointing into the hall. "Out."

Francis hesitantly stepped towards the door and when he wasn't halted, walked into the hallway just as the phone on the desk rang. The door slammed shut as the teacher went to answer it.

Now Francis was at home where he felt calmer, safer. Arthur was in his study, doing a last bit of work, so Francis was in the living room. He looked around and noticed that one of the pictures on the side table wasn't standing up with the others. Walking across the room, he picked it up and looked at it; it was the picture of Arthur with the two kids that he had seen previously. He wasn't sure why the picture had been laying down so he stood it back up with the others on the table.

The sound of a door opening caused him to look up and move into the hallway. A few doors down Arthur was exiting his study. Upon spotting the boy, he stopped, quickly peering at his watch.

"Oh I'm sorry, Francis", he whispered. "Dinner is going to be late tonight."

"Can I have some paper to draw on?"

The innocent question caught him by surprise.

"Of course." He slipped into his study to grab some paper from the printer for the boy. "Here you go," he said as he handed it to him

Francis thanked him and went back to the living room. He retrieved some colored pencils from his backpack and laid down on the carpet to draw. A drawing of three people, one of whom was holding something, was visible by the time Arthur came to collect him for dinner. Again Arthur tried to ask Francis about his day at school but the boy wouldn't talk about it. He eventually gave up trying and they ate in silence.

While Arthur put away the food and cleaned dishes, Francis went back to his drawing. He was so caught up in his picture that he didn't notice Arthur reenter the room and come to his side.

"What are you drawing?" he asked politely.

Francis didn't look at him and instead pointed to a woman on the left side of the picture. "That's my Mama." He moved his finger to point at the man on the right. "That's Papa." His finger hovered over the middle person. "And that's me."

"It looks very good," Arthur complimented causing a cheerful smile to appear on Francis' face. Leaving Francis to draw, he sat in an armchair and picked up a book on the table next to it, beginning to read silently. 'The boy had drawn his parents,' a stray thought tugged at him. 'He remembers them and he drew them. You can see what they look like.'

He dismissed the thoughts and tried to focus on reading. Soon enough it was time for Francis to go to bed so he sent the boy up to start his bedtime routine. He waited for a few minutes before diving across the room and snatching up the paper. The adult Francis was quite a talented artist, whether he wanted to admit it or not, and it seemed he had been rather skilled as a child as well.

A young woman with long blond hair and bright blue eyes like Francis was looking up at him. Her hair was in a tight braid and a flower was peeking out from behind her ear. 'A rose,' he noted. She had been drawn wearing a light green garment, possibly a dress, with a pale, yellow belt around her waist.

He tore his eyes away to look at the man. He had curly brown hair and green eyes, similar to Spain. His face was less angular than the woman's and looked identical to how the adult Francis did. The man had been dressed in a plain white shirt and tan bottoms that weren't drawn in enough detail to determine what period that had been from.

Doing some quick calculations he rationed that it had to be before 476 when the Roman Empire fell. That was if Rome was truly Francis' grandfather. He guessed that one of them was probably Gaul but when had Gaul fallen to Rome again…? He wracked his brain. It was one of the more obscure dates he knew so it took him a few moments to remember but when it did his eyes widened and he dropped the paper.

Gaul had fallen in 58 B.C.E. Francis had been born before 58 B.C.E. He had thought Francis came into being in the 400 or 500s but if he really was Gaul's child then he was even older than he had thought. The man, or boy as he was currently, was over two thousand years old.

AN: Italics- speaking in French or internal thoughts

No Italics- speaking in English