Chapter 21~XD Whoo...a lot going on here. XD
The DC Improv theater was packed that night.
Nathan, Alfred, Laura and Arthur arrived at the theater early, all piled into Alfred's (inconspicuous) Secret Service Sedan, with Laura driving, as Nathan's bike was still a wreck and Arthur forbid Alfred to drive. Once there, Nathan and Alfred retrieved four of the six tickets from the will call office, and proceeded inside.
Originally, Nathan had invited Svetlana to join them (and, by extension, her father Ivan, to Alfred's dismay). However, the young woman had turned him down, claiming that she had something prior planned with her father. Not used to being rejected by his (he considered) girlfriend, Nathan nonetheless respected her wishes, and donated the last two tickets to the wait list.
Inside the building, the four were escorted to their seats - right up front by the stage! There, they had plenty of leg room and a great view of the show. Nathan sank low in his seat, so that his head barely cleared the top of the cushion.
Despite his father's confidence, Nathan had been silently counting down the last few hours of his deadline. Somewhere in the middle of the show, his time would run out - and Alexi had eyes everywhere. The paranoid youth folded his arms across his chest in an attempt to hide his anxiety. He missed the concerned glance Alfred threw his way as the lights were turned down.
Wyatt came out in stage in his favorite Vancouver Canucks jersey and jeans, carrying a wireless microphone and a glass of water. The water he left on the stool already onstage as he greeted the audience.
"Hi, hola, aloja, g'day, guten tag, buon pomeriggio, konnichi wa, privet, and salut!" The comedían grinned. "That is, by the way, the only German, Japanese, Russian, Italian and Spanish I know." A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. "Laughing already? Good. That makes my job easy." More laughter. Wyatt smirked.
"So…how many of you out there are French?" One or two people cheered. "British?" A few more people clapped; Laura whistled sharply. "Ooh, a proud Brit!" Wyatt snickered. "How about Canadian?" Someone whooped from the back of the theater. "One person?" Wyatt shook his head incredulously. "Only one! That's pathetic….okay, how many Americans?" The vast majority, almost the entirety of the crowd burst out cheering. "Damn. We're outnumbered!" He shouted to the Canadian at the back of the crowd, eliciting more laughter. Wyatt chuckled himself and leaned back on the stool.
"Alright, alright, humor aside, guys, thanks for coming out tonight." He smiled. "It really makes me feel good, even though my humor is based almost entirely on making fun of my target audience." The crowd laughed. "I cannot believe you laughed at that…"
The show seemed to pass too quickly, Nathan thought. He hadn't laughed so much in years, and it was awesome to look over and see Arthur (from whom Nathan had gotten quite the stuffy vibe) snickering quietly when he thought no-one was looking, and, more often than not, using Laura's unrestrained cackle to hide his own.
True to his word, Wyatt did make fun of his audience - most prominently, the people sitting in the front row. Arthur was mortified when the Canadian pointed out Laura's wild attire to the entire theater, but his daughter just giggled more, enamored by the attention. Then Alfred and Nathan were targeted because they weren't able to stop laughing at Arthur's reaction. The show ended with one of Wyatt's trademark stories - the 'tale of the Canadian ninja'.
"Alright, so I'm 6'3"," Wyatt began. "And, for all intents and purposes, conspicuous." The crowd giggled. "My last job - before this comedy crap took off - was at this ice rink. Now, I'm not naming names…coughMartincough…." More laughter. "But my 'nameless' boss was a serious stickler for punctuality. If you were one minute late, he stuck you on 'lifeguard' duty." Wyatt rolled his eyes. "Now, I love anything to do with ice skating and hockey, but trying to reign in 40+ little monsters," Here he cringed, drawing more laughter from the crowd. "Wearing blades on their feet, and wielding the power of the overprotective parent, is NOT my idea of a good day at work. So I always arrived thirty minutes early." He paused.
"My boss neeeeever saw me." The crowd laughed. "I could be standing right beside him, or running the registers with him, and he'll be yelling 'Where the hell's Wyatt?'" The man imitated his former employer's voice. "'Where's that lazy Canadian?' and everyone else would just giggle and ignore him or play along and pretend I wasn't there." He pouted. "It was real funny 'til he tried to fire me for ditching work." The crowd burst out laughing, and Wyatt had to wait until the laughter had died down enough or him to speak.
"I had to tape the freaking timecard to his office door before he would believe I was on time! And then he said I was cheating!" He made an incredulous face, appealing comically to the crowd. "How can he think I can fake a timecard? I can barely set the VCR clock!" Nathan giggled and Laura elbowed his ribs.
"Oh hush, you can't set it, either." Now Alfred snickered, so Nathan poked him. Alfred poked back, Nathan retaliated again, and a silent, front-row poke war was waged. Laura turned to her father, shoulders shaking in mirth. "This," She gestured to the father-son poke war. "Is almost as entertaining as the comedy."
In their taxi to the hotel, a sleepy Benoit curled up again, with his head on his father's lap. France kept one hand on the boy's back, making sure he stayed in the seatbelt without waking him. The cab driver chuckled softly as he glanced at the sight in the rearview mirror.
"Cute kid ya got." He remarked. "How old is he? Ten? I've got a daughter 'bout that age." He laughed. "Big age, that is. Where're you two from?"
"France." The older blonde smiled. "We are visiting some family friends in Washington D.C. this weekend, and playing tourist in New York at the same time." He smiled and patted Benoit's shoulder softly. "This is his first trip out of the country."
"Sure t'be a trip t'remember." The cab driver nodded. "He speak much English?"
"Non, but he can understand it fine." France replied. "He is not the type to wander off, anyway."
"Y'never know." The cab driver shrugged, making a right onto a smaller street. "Kids're real curious at this age. S'metimes the smallest things can distract 'em." He turned again and pulled up beneath the overhang of the Marriott front doors. "Here we are." He parked and shut off the meter. "$32.60." France paid the fare, then slid out of the cab. He unbuckled Benoit and lifted the little boy to balance him on his hip; the child leaned against his father's shoulder, still fast asleep. France removed their bags, thanked the driver, and walked inside to check in.
Once inside the room, France dropped their bags on the floor near the bathroom, and pulled back the covers on the bed with one hand, laying Benoit down gently and tucking him in. The man paused to brush a little silky hair from his son's face, smiling softly. The boy looked so much like Mattheiu had at this age…but for one difference.
This boy was his son. His blood relation. Not a territory he'd found wandering the frozen tundra they called home. Granted, that didn't mean he cared more for Benoit than he had for Canada, but he did feel different. It was a separate treat, knowing that this little child was his entirely.
France stood and walked across the room, pulling his phone from his pocket and dialing an old, familiar number. He waited for the ringing to end, but frowned in disappointment when he only received the man's voicemail. France waited for the recording to end, then left a message.
"Bonjour, Angelterre," He spoke softly. "I am just calling to say that I have arrived in America, with my son, Benoit." Even a blind man could have recognized the pride that crept into the blonde's voice with these last three words. "We are spending the night in a Marriott in New York City, and tomorrow, we shall spend a little time exploring. This is, after all, Benoit's first time out of the country." France chuckled quietly. "We shall see you on Saturday, non? Au revoir." He ended the call, then set his phone's alarm for the next morning, and turned the device off.
"…S'il vous plaît ne me quitte pas…" (…Please don't leave me….) The tiny, whispering voice made France turn around. Benoit was squirming beneath the bed sheets, and whimpering like a lonely puppy. "... maman, reviens, s'il vous plaît ..." (…mommy, come back, please…) France set down his phone quietly, frowning. The boy must be having a nightmare…but about his mother? "J'ai peur - Je ne veux pas être seul! Non!" (…I'm scared - I don't want to be alone! No!) The little boy started to cry and wrapped his arms around Pierre, the stuffed bird he had been clutching ever since leaving the orphanage. France knelt beside the bed and placed a hand on his son's head.
"Benoit, réveille-toi, ma chérie." (Benoit, wake up, sweetie.) He whispered. "Il est juste un cauchemar." (It is just a nightmare.) Benoit whimpered, but jerked awake with wide eyes.
"P-Papa…?" He gasped. France gently shushed him and pulled the little boy into a hug.
"Calmez-vous, mon fils ... c'était juste un rêve. Rien de tout cela était réel." (Calm down, my son…it was just a dream. None of it was real…) He soothed. Benoit started to cry again.
"Il était réel." (It was real,) He cried. "Il était environ maman. A propos quand elle a quitté." (It was about mommy. About when she left.) He started to sob and buried his face in his toy's plush back. France quietly lifted the little boy into his lap and held him, patting his back gently to help calm him down. He began to sing, softly - something he hadn't done since Canada was young. But, this trick had always worked on little Mattheiu…
"Doucement, lentement, doucement, lentement,
Vent de la mer de l'Ouest;
Faible, faible, respirer et souffler,
Vent de la mer de l'Ouest;
Au cours des eaux qui coulent aller
Venez de la lune de mourir, et souffler,
lui souffler à nouveau pour moi,
Alors mon petit, tout en
Ma belle dot…" Benoit's crying gradually slowed as he listened to his papa sing. He buried his face into the older blonde's chest and just listened for several long minutes. When France reached the end of the verse and stopped, Benoit looked up shyly.
"Papa? Puis ... pouvez-vous chanter à nouveau ...? J'aime ta voix ..." (Papa? Can….can you sing again…? I like your voice…) He asked quietly. France smiled gently and patted Benoit's hair.
"Bien sûr, mon fils…" (Of course, my son…) He hugged the little boy reassuringly. "Pas plus cauchemar, maintenant. Vous n'êtes pas le seul plus..." (No more nightmares, now….you're not alone anymore…)
"Вы умный человек, Iconovitch." (You are a smart man, Iconovitch.) Svetlana frowned. "Мне трудно поверить, что ты ... верю в такие дикие претензии на бессмертие." (I find it hard to believe that you...believe in such wild claims at immortality.) Alexi put on a look of mock hurt and placed a hand across his heart, fingers splayed.
"Почему так официально, дочка?" (Why so formal, daughter?) He asked. "Я бы думал, что вы знаете меня лучше, после всех этих лет."( I would have thought you would know me better now, after all these years.) Svetlana paused, not liking the way Alexi had stressed those last four words. The man smiled placatingly.
"Вы возраста очень изящно, не так ли?" (You age very gracefully, no?) He added. Svetlana straightened her spine and sat up straighter, trying to appear more composed than the wildly racing heart now trying to beat its way through her ribs.
"Он взял тебя так долго заметить, что ли?" (It took you this long to notice, then?) She remarked. Alexi chuckled.
"Много лет, я знаю. О вас и вашего друга." (Many years, I've known. About you and your other.) Alexi's smile suddenly seemed more sadistic than gentle. "Нет обычного человека могли бы выжить после столь многих разрушительных аварий." (No normal human being could live after so many devastating crashes.) Svetlana narrowed her eyes. "Но, Nathan не человек, это он?" (But, Nathan is not human, is he?) Alexi finished.
"Я полагаю, вы знаете, в противном случае." (I suppose you know otherwise.) Svetlana replied in a clipped tone. She stood from the armchair and straightened the hem of the blue tunic top she wore beneath her fur jacket. "Прости меня, Alexi, Но я должен вернуться к Nathan. Мне нужно, чтобы проверить его из больницы." (Forgive me, Alexi, but I must get back to Nathan. I need to check him out of the hospital.) She lied. Alexi nodded, not moving from his own chair.
"Конечно. Пожалуйста, быть на вашем пути." (Of course. Please, be on your way.) He watched Svetlana stride out of the room at a casual pace, though much tenser than she had been upon arriving. Not an unusual change for one leaving Alexi's home office (alive). For normal people. "Быть безопасными, дочь." (Be safe, daughter.) Svetlana flinched at this name as the doors closed.
The young woman left the home in a hurry, exiting out the back door to avoid the off-duty mafia members still playing poker in the front hall. Once outside, Svetlana rushed down the street until she could safely turn a corner and not be seen. Hidden from the eyes of the Bratva, at least, for the moment, Svetlana opened her fur jacket and plucked the small black microphone from her shirt front.
"I am out." She spoke into the little device. "Отец, it is worse than you thought. Iconovitch knows. About me, and about Nathan."
And so, the plot thickens...XD Something funny, something fluffy, and something serious.
1) Sile Authoress - Thanks. XD Sorry there's no Alphonse in this chapter, but this chapter needed Russians! You'll get sexy Frenchmen next chapter. XD
2) cross-over-lover232 - I'd imagine so, yes. XD
3) Rain Karami - Liet's only got one. XD And Prussia's will arrive soon! Hmm….like a kid for Aus/Hun? Ohh….now you've put ideas in my head. XD
4) Aviantei - I actually DO have the idea that NY has kids. XD Two. Twins. Like Mattie and Al, only not. XD They'd represent cities, instead of states or territories. And there actually IS a story behind Nathan's middle name. XD Originally, I'd wanted that to feature more prominently, and so I designed Nathan's mother as a romantic type, and a fan of knights and such. But, while that idea faded, the name 'Lancelot' stuck….so I just left it. XD
5) Everyone else - Thank you SO MUCH for all the support! 8D It really means a lot to me!
Lullaby translation:
Sweet and low, sweet and low
Wind of the western sea;
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea;
Over the rolling waters go
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again to me,
While my little one, while
My pretty one sleeps.