DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya
THE CALL OF THE WILD
LOST BOYS
EPILOGUE
THE ISLES
FOUR MONTHS LATER
Ivan, this looks wonderful!" Matthew praised, leaning down to study the architectural drawing. He had wedged himself in between Ivan and Scott, who were sitting at the kitchen table, a cuppa tea in his hand and a six-month's swollen belly protruding in front of him. Arthur had already dismissed the possibility of it holding twins—much to Gilbert and Alfred's shared disappointment—but Alfred couldn't believe that one pup took up so much space. ("He's going to hurt like a bitch coming out," he had tactlessly said to Matthew. "Gods, Westerner pups are big!" Matthew had rolled his eyes, then countered: "Yeah, good luck with any Easterner pups you conceive." Alfred had shuddered at the very thought and hadn't mentioned Matthew's size again.)
"Is this a nursery?" asked the Omega-father-to-be, pointing at the drawing.
"Yes," Ivan confirmed. "It'll be beside your bedchamber with an adjoining door. On the other side, just here," he indicated, dragging his finger across the thick lines, "is another bedchamber for when the pups are old enough to leave the nursery. This corridor will connect to a side-stairwell, which leads to the kitchen in the middle. There will be doors here and here, but none on the second-level, so you needn't worry about the safety of your pups."
Matthew smiled, very pleased.
Scott harrumphed. "I don't know about these renovations. I still think that we should be building out, not up. How do you know these pillars won't collapse beneath the weight of new walls?"
"They won't," Ivan promised, a pinch exasperated. "I know what I'm doing. I'm good with my hands."
"Yes, you are," Alfred purred teasingly from across the table.
"Alfred, chéri,please," said Francis, sitting beside him. "You'll upset my appetite."
Alfred rolled his eyes. "It's been four months, Papa. I'm mated, get over it.
"And soon Ivan and I will have our own house," he added smugly, "so you won't need to worry about your delicate constitution," he joked, elbowing Francis. "I can't wait! Why Mattie and Gilbert want to stay and live here in the pack-leader's house is a mystery."
Gilbert swallowed a mouthful of jam biscuit, and shamelessly said: "Six live-in pupsitters, that's why."
Alfred laughed, but he knew the real reason Gilbert and Matthew were staying in the pack-leader's house was much more secretive. And political. It had become apparent to Alfred that Scott had begun grooming the Westerner to be the next pack-leader. Alfred had no doubts that Gilbert was qualified for the job, but he had still felt a bit insulted that his Alpha-mate hadn't been chosen. But a late-night conversation with Ivan had quelled it:
"Scott should have at least considered you to be the pack-leader," Alfred had said, brooding. "I don't see why Gilbert is a better candidate than you. It's not fair."
"It is," Ivan replied, surprising the Omega. "Scott approached me and asked if I would support Gilbert as the pack-leader, and I said yes."
"But why? You'd be just as good a pack-leader as he would," Alfred praised. "You'd be better!"
Ivan had chuckled. "I appreciate your loyalty, little one. But no, I most certainly would not be, if for no other reason than I don't want to be. I don't want to lead. Gilbert does, so let him have it."
"But—"
"This will be my project for the next couple of years," he said, showing Alfred the architectural drawings for the first time: one for the pack-leader's house, and one for just he and Alfred. "I would rather focus on building us a home without the stress of politics."
Alfred fingered his bear pendent as he looked at the drawings, now. He had been very proud when Ivan had first presented his ideas to the rest of the family. My Alpha-mate is so talented, he had thought—then and now. My Alpha-mate is the best Alpha-mate ever!
Alpha-mate.
Gods, he loved that he could legitimately call Ivan his Alpha-mate now. It had taken much too long.
Alpha-mate. Alpha-mate, he crooned to himself.
Ivan caught his eye and frowned, wondering at his mate's blatant giddiness.
Alfred smiled smugly back.
You're smiling," Matthew whispered to Alfred, who joined him at the kitchen window.
"Yeah," Alfred acknowledged, "I do that a lot now."
Together, the Omegas crawled onto the window-ledge—Alfred with considerably more grace than Matthew—and sat with their backs pressed to the shudders and their legs entangled. Contently, Matthew rested his head against Alfred's and surveyed the crowded kitchen: Owen tuning a stringed instrument in the corner; Liam reading a hunting report, Patrick aiming a dagger at a target on the wall; Arthur yelling at Patrick and then cursing artfully to himself as he stirred in a deep cauldron; Francis offering cooking advice that got him kicked; Francis adding unhelpful amateur suggestions as Ivan and Scott argued over architectural improvements; and Gilbert leaning lazily against the opposite window, which was open to let out steam. He was looking out across the rolling hills like he already owned them, like there was nowhere in the world he would rather belong.
I know how you feel, Gil. There's nowhere else I want to be either.
It wasn't perfect, and it didn't feel like the happily-ever-after ending of a fairytale, but Matthew was glad. He had never believed in fairytales anyway, and he certainly didn't want to know the ending of his and Gilbert's story so soon. The thing that made him happiest was the simple, wonderful fact that his home finally felt like home. He didn't feel like a ghost wasting away his days, alone and ignored and taken advantage of. He didn't feel lost anymore. There would still be trials and expectations of him, but for the first time in his life he felt ready to face them. He no longer felt like he was going to break. Like the floodwaters that had once terrified him, the fear and anxiety he had lived with for so long was gradually starting to recede. And if and when he ever did doubt himself again, he had a whole family who loved him, and supported him, and would protect him no matter what.
As if cued by Matthew's thoughts, Alfred reached over and took his twin's hand. He didn't say a word, but he smiled.
Matthew smiled back.
"Has Gil talked to you yet?" he asked, keeping his voice low and his tone conversational.
"No. Why?" Alfred asked curiously.
"Oh, it's nothing—never-mind," Matthew teased, diverting his gaze.
Alfred bumped his shoulder. "Mattie, tell me. What does Gil want to talk about?"
"Well, you know that Uncle Scott wants Gil to be the next pack-leader, right? Papa thinks he's a good choice, too, even if he won't verbally admit it. I think he is warming up to Gil, though. Albeit, slowly. I overheard them talking in French yesterday—well, talking is a generous description for it; Gil doesn't know much beyond military jargon and curse words—but it's still good progress. Anyway," Matthew shrugged, "nothing is official, of course. The Clan Leader still needs to approve Scott's choice, but if Gil wins the position then you might find yourself rather busy, Al."
His brother's brow furrowed, not following the thread, so Matthew elaborated:
"Gil will need a second-in-command," he said. "And guess who he wants?"
"Me—?" Alfred gasped too loudly.
Arthur glanced up, wondering at his pups' secretive whispering. He eyed them both as if they were plotting something devious before returning to his work.
Matthew pressed a hand to Alfred's mouth. Alfred's blue eyes sparkled.
"Gilbert wants me to be his second-in-command?" he asked more quietly.
"Maybe." Matthew winked. "But you didn't hear it from me."
