Chapter 5: Artie's also a pretty princess
Arthur stood in front of the mirror in the hall, checking his appearance. Suddenly an arm wrapped around his neck, and he was forced into a loose chokehold.
"BLOODY HELL ALLISTOR LET ME GO YOU TOSSER!" Arthur yelled as his hair was messed up and Allistor laughed.
"O hell nah! I got tae wish me wee brother luck on his date!" Allistor teased. Arthur threw his brother off, and stalked off to the kitchen.
"It's not a bloody date. It's a meeting with a client and a house inspection, and said client happened to be kind enough to throw dinner into the mix. Also I don't think I could ever go on another date after what happened." he said, pain filling his voice at the last sentence. "Besides," he continued, tone becoming brisk "I have a five year old son. And I haven't even met this Francis fellow for crying out loud."
The normally cheerful Scotsman grew serious, and he laid a comforting hand on Arthur's arm. "I know this is hard for ye, but ye need tae move on." he muttered, his voice sorrowful.
"I'll move on, but i'll never forget. Now if you excuse me, I must get going or i'll be late. Call me if there's an emergency. And by emergency I mean something serious happened."
"Oh ye know me what's tha worst tha can happen." Allistor responded, removing his hand before his brother had the chance to slap it away.
"Oh I don't know what about that time when you and the twins set the house on fire. WITH ME INSIDE."
"THA' WAS FIFTEEN FOKIN YEARS AGO AND YOUR REACTION WAS WORTH IT. besides twas only tha kitchen you just overreacted."
Arthur turned around with a huff and walked to the living room, finding Alfred on the floor, surrounded by crayons. "Alright Alfie i'm going to go to a meeting with someone ok? Uncle Allistor is going to stay with you. I'll be back a bit late, so don't try to wait for me like you did the other night. Have fun and call me if Allistor is being more of an idiot than usual."
"I HEARD THA'!"
"Shut up you know it's true. Now come say bye to daddy."
Alfred finished drawing and sprang up, hugging his father tightly. "Bye daddy!" he chirped, crushing nearly all the air out of Arthur. He released him after a couple seconds and ran back to his drawing, holding it out to Arthur. "Look I drew our family!" he said, looking up into Arthur's face, joy all over his own.
"T-that's lovely. Why don't you run along and tell Uncle Allistor to hang it on the fridge?" Arthur said, a small smile crossing his face as he ruffled his son's hair. "Bye Alfred."
As Arthur got into the car, he drove about 15 minutes to the address that Francis had sent him, reminding himself to drive the American way. When he first moved to Philadelphia seven years ago he nearly got into an accident the first day. As he turned onto a small street, he was greeted by a beautiful house.
No way that's where this bloke lives.
Arthur thought as he parked the car. He double checked the address and yep that was it. Arthur walked up the short path to the door, admiring the roses that lined the stone path. The air was sweet with their smell, the roses in clusters of different colors, from light green to deep red.
This Francis fellow might not be bad. I mean props to anyone that has the time and patience to manage such a beautiful garden. Now all that's left to do is see if my analysis of character based on garden is correct.
Arthur looked at the stained glass panels on either side of the door, admiring how the light reflected off them.
The Brit raised his fist and knocked three times on the door, chuckling as he saw that the peephole was designed in the shape of a blooming rose. A voice and some shuffling was heard, and a couple seconds later the door opened. Arthur stared at the empty space, wondering how the door had opened on its own. A slight cough was heard, and Arthur looked down and saw Matthew, who had opened the door. Green eyes met light violet, and there was silence for a couple seconds. Arthur snapped out of his shock at the boy's peculiar eye color and squatted down to the boy's level.
"Hello there. Where is your father?" Arthur asked in a soft voice. Matthew stared for a few seconds, and Arthur began to worry.
Oh shit is this the wrong house? No I double checked the address. Did I say something? That's absurd I only asked where this boy's father is.
Eventually Matthew understood, mouth opening into an o shape.
"Un moment." he said softly, holding up one finger. "Papa! Quelqu'un est ici!"(someone is here) he called behind him. He received a shout of something Arthur could not understand in response, and Matthew opened the door a bit more, stepping to the side to allow Arthur to enter.
"Do you speak English at all lad?" Arthur asked, concerned about the boy's earlier behavior. As he opened his mouth to reply, the pattering of footsteps was heard, and Arthur straightened up. A man came into view, and Arthur was rendered speechless for a few heartbeats. Sure he had seen a picture of his client before, but that was not enough preparation for meeting him in person. The man was just a tad taller than Arthur, with wavy honey coloured hair, currently tied back with a ribbon, a few locks flying loose around his face. There was a bit of well groomed stubble on his chin that had not shown up in the photograph. He had smiling azure eyes, framed with long, dark lashes. To put it simply, he was beautiful.
"Bonjour!" he called out, smiling widely. "Enchanté monsieur, je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy." he said, extending his hand for a handshake.
Oh my god he is gorgeous. Wait how long have I been looking at him? Has he noticed that i'm looking at him? C'mon Arthur he want's you to respond! Say something!
"Arthur Kirkland," Arthur managed to say, shaking Francis's hand.
"Come on in and let me show you around." Francis said, inviting Arthur into the house.
"Is that your son?" Arthur asked, stepping over the threshold and removing his shoes, as he noticed that Francis and Matthew's feet were bare.
"Oui zat iz my son. Matthieu, why don't you introduce yourself?" he said to the child, who was hiding behind Francis, arms wrapped around his leg.
"B-bonjour, je m'appelle Matthew." Matthew stuttered, still clinging to Francis's leg.
Francis laughed softly. "En Anglais, s'il vous plaît." he chided, tapping Matthew's head softly. "I do not zink 'e bites."
Matthew poked his head out from behind Francis, and shyly said, "H-hello Mr. Kirkland, my name iz Matthew." with a very thick French accent like his father.
"Très bien!" Francis praised, smiling fondly at his child.
"Does the lad speak English at all?" Arthur questioned, curious as how someone could live in Canada and barely know enough English for basic introductions.
"I understand more zan I can say." Matthew said, looking up at Arthur. His eyes studied Arthur, head cocked a bit to the side as if trying to figure something out. He then turned to Francis and asked him something in French. Francis laughed a bit, and shook his head, amused.
"What did he say?" Arthur asked.
"I'm sorry if you find zis, 'ow you say… rude, but Matthieu asked why you talk so funny. 'E 'as never 'eard an English accent before. It iz simply merveilleux zough. Essex?
"East Anglian." Arthur answered, shocked that Francis knew about the different types of English accents. "You were very close though, I must admit I am surprised, most assume it is an accent from London. And don't worry about the comments I get them all the time from my own son. Why, just this week he asked why my eyebrows were so large!"
Francis laughed, a throaty chuckle that sounded like "honhonhon"
"You 'ave a son? 'Ow old?" he asked.
"The same age as yours, although they could not act more different. If Alfred opened the door, he would squeeze the life out of you with a hug, all while talking a mile a minute."
"Do you 'ave any pictures?" Francis inquired, seemingly interested. Arthur whipped out his phone and scrolled through his gallery until he found the picture from this morning. Francis took one look at the photograph, and burst into laughter.
The picture showed Alfred standing on the couch, sword raised proudly and an impossibly large grin on his face while Allistor was tied to a chair in front of him, looking utterly defeated.
"Oh mon dieu that is gold! And your child is trés adorable!" Francis chuckled, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "Somezing tells me zat ze man who iz tied to ze chair iz not acting."
"He's really not, I spent about half an hour untying him. I have a better picture of Alfred if you would like to see."
"Oui, s'il vous plaît."
Arthur smiled and scrolled through the pictures, elated that someone was interested in hearing about Alfred. He presented the phone to Francis proudly, but was met with wide eyes and a gasp. "Is something wrong?"
"Non, non, it'z just zat 'e looks exactly like Matthieu. For a second I was zinking zat zat was 'im." Francis said, studying the picture. He looked down at his own son for a bit, then back at Alfred. "Ze eyes and 'air are different, ozher zan zat zey could pass for ze same person."
"My thoughts exactly when I saw the included picture on Matthew's file. If I may ask, what gives Matthew such a beautiful eye color? I must admit, i've never seen such peculiar purple eyes before."
"It iz a condition zat I 'ave very much difficulty pronouncing, zough I will try. 'E 'as a form of heterochromia iridum." (I actually looked on Hetalia archives and it says that Prussia has this when he has multiple eye colors and i've seen pics of Canada where it looked like he had multiple eye colors so this is what happened) Francis said, saying the name slowly to eliminate his accent.
"Lovely. Now why don't we sit down to review the papers I brought along. Is there someplace where we could sit?"
Francis waved a hand in response, gesturing for Arthur to follow him deeper into the house. The Frenchman spun around elegantly on one foot, leaving a faint smell of roses and lavender in his wake.
He smells really good.
Arthur followed Francis up a small spiral staircase, admiring the works of art lining the walls. Oh who was he kidding he was admiring Francis. The walls were lined with scenes of Paris, all painted or sketched skillfully. The Frenchman led Arthur into an open living area, which had a cozy armchair, a small couch and a glass coffee table with a vase of roses in the center. Arthur set his folder containing all his papers on the coffee table, taking a seat on the couch while Francis sat down in the armchair. Francis flew to his feet with a gasp. "I almost forgot!" he hurried out of the room, leaving Arthur behind. Arthur sat there for a moment, not knowing what to do, before looking around the room. Francis walked back into the room, a bottle of wine and two wine glasses in his hands.
As Francis was pouring the wine, Arthur cleared his throat. "So we need to go over the Pennsylvania custody laws, and figure out how to convince the judge that it is in your son's best interest to remain under your care." he stated, accepting the glass that Francis handed him and pulling some papers out of his folder, handing them to Francis. The Frenchman's face grew serious as he looked over them, his brow creasing.
"Ze laws make… ah 'ow you say in English… very little sense. Can you explain zem for me, s'il vous plaît?" Francis asked, a mix of worry, confusion and frustration in his eyes. Arthur felt a pang of sympathy for Francis, and nodded, taking the papers back to skim over them.
These laws make little sense to the people who's job it is to study them, no wonder he can't understand them. My client's usually don't ask me for help though, preferring to suffer in silence.
"So this is the brief summary: Which of you is more likely to encourage and permit frequent and continuing contact between your child and the other parent; which of you is more likely to maintain a loving, stable, consistent and nurturing relationship with your child; and which of is more likely to attend to the daily physical, emotional, developmental, educational and special needs of your child is the one that gets primary custody."
Francis snorted. "I can assure you zat ze parent zat does all of zat iz moi, Arthur." He muttered darkly, swirling his wine around in the glass.
"Well i'll need to ask you questions about that and record your response. They are just going to be questions about your job, how often you are at home, what you do for Matthew, what she did for Matthew, and then we will all go for a meeting together to try and work out the custody arrangements." Arthur said, getting his notebook out. He noticed how Francis stiffened up when Arthur mentioned that Emillise would be at the meeting, his hand clenched tight around the stem of the wineglass. "Judging by your reaction to me telling you that she would be there, i'm assuming the split was quite messy."
"Oui, if messy iz ze word to describe actual 'ell." Francis said cynically, leaning forward and putting his head in his hands.
"If you don't mind me asking, what happened?" Arthur inquired."You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, of course." he added hastily, putting his hands in the air. Francis glanced up at him, blinking his azure orbs. Arthur had only known this man for about an hour, but was still shocked and saddened at the depths of pain in the Frenchman's eyes. He laughed shakily, and sat up to face Arthur properly.
"Oh non I don't mind. I zink it would 'elp me to talk about it. I 'aven't told anyone in person yet, only friends in Europe but what can zey do? Ze reason for ze split was…" he trailed off, head drooping. "She cheated on me." He said, his voice barely a whisper.
"Oh… good grief… that must have been heartbreaking." Arthur responded, shocked by this new information. "Though courts are reluctant to give the child to cheaters. Now if we can prove that you would take better care of your child, which just by judging from this past half hour, I would vouch for."
Francis smiled softly, obviously encouraged by Arthur's opinion.
Why in the world would someone leave him for someone else? It obviously tore this poor man's heart out. I haven't even met his ex wife but I already want to slap her.
"What is your job? It mentioned it in the file but i've forgotten, and I need a bit more detail."
"I work at ze restaurant zat I started called La Belle Rose. I relocated it from Canada when we moved."
"How long are the hours and how much time does that leave to spend with your son?"
"I 'ave very flexible 'ours, and i'm free for any emergency zat comes up. I was ze person zat would drop and pick Matthieu up from 'is school, alzough je ne sais pas pourquoi, as Emillise was always 'ome." (I do not know why)
Arthur raised a brow at Francis's statement, and scribbled something in his notepad.
Interesting… even though she stayed at home all day Francis had to care for Matthew. If that doesn't sound suspicious I don't know what does.
"Any additional details you can share about the mother/son relationship that Matthew and Emillise have?"
"As far as I know, zey 'ave very little of a relationship. You might 'ave noticed zat Matthieu only speaks le Françias and not English. Zis is because I was ze one zat taught 'im 'ow to speak."
"Why the hell didn't you teach him proper English instead of French?"
Francis shrugged. "Because, mon ami, my English as you can see is not ze best. When Matthieu was learning 'ow to talk, we were living in ze Québec province of Canada, which iz mainly French. It makes sense to teach my son a language zat I grew up on and ze one zat 'e would 'ave used ze most if we 'ad stayed zere, non? 'Ave you wondered why 'e 'aden't picked up at least a tiny bit of English by speaking to 'er? You see, Emillise ne parle pas Français."
"Ummmm… translation please?" Arthur asked, after a couple seconds of trying to figure out what Francis had said.
Francis sighed. "She does not speak French. Ze chienne said zat I 'ave to teach 'im 'ow to speak, she never specified what language." Francis said, a self satisfied smirk crossing his lips.
"I have a strong feeling that chienne translates to bitch."
"Oui."
Arthur could not hold back his laughter, and snickered loudly, trying and failing to stop when Francis looked at him, utterly puzzled. Francis laughed alongside him, his throaty chuckle mixing with Arthur's.
They soon finished the questions, and Francis got up, stretching. He extended his hands over his head, arching his back. Arthur also stood up, gathering his papers and notes in a neat stack.
"I shall go set ze table for dinner." Francis said, collecting the now empty wine glasses and half full bottle. Arthur began to walk away, but stopped when he heard a faint honhonhon noise behind him.
"Is there a problem?" Arthur asked, looking back to see Francis trying hard not to laugh.
"Mon ami I zink zat you should know zat zere iz a barrette in your lovely 'air zat says, 'I'm a pretty pretty princess'."
Arthur patted his head frantically, feeling nothing there, his face rapidly colouring.
Allistor you wanker i'm going to castrate you for this.
Francis sighed. "Let me get zat for you, mon cher."
Suddenly Francis was behind him, softly untangling a pin from Arthur's hair. He plucked it out and handed it to Arthur with a flourish. Francis then sauntered off to the direction of the staircase, swaying his hips slightly. Arthur had never been happier that his face could not be seen.
He said I had lovely hair… goddamnit why does he have to walk like that, it's taking all my self restraint not to stare at his arse. My bloody face must be the colour of a fire truck right now. What does 'mon cher' mean?