A/N: Watching Casablanca in film class today I couldn't stop thinking about France and subsequently Canada (because I'm shameless). So here's a crappy little one-shot I wrote while trying to stay awake.
Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT THIS VAGUE IDEA.
Historic notes and references to follow at the end, don't forget to read and the knowledge!
"Matthew what in the world do you think you're doing?" My brother paced angrily around my living room. I said nothing, only hugging Kumajirou closer. "Do you understand the… the gravity of what you've done?" He nearly shouted, pulling at his hair. I glanced at the clock; it was almost time for bed.
Alfred paused in his pacing to stand directly in front of me where I sat on the couch. "Matthew." I could hear the fear beneath the façade of power.
"Alfred, I don't see what the problem is." I murmured.
"You know what the problem is!" He shifted from foot to foot, wringing his hands.
"And you know I had to." When he didn't respond I continued. "He's my family. They both are. I won't say any more than that."
Yes, he's my family too!" Alfred moaned, anguish lacing his voice. "But that doesn't mean that I'm going to go jumping into situations that shouldn't involve me at all!"
I raised an eyebrow. "It's not like you're standing around doing nothing either."
Alfred blushed. "It's only a couple of planes…" He muttered.*
"And you expect me to over look your blatant encouragement and participation of your pilots joining the Royal Air Force?" I asked with a smirk.* His blush deepened. "Look Alfred, I know if it were up to you, you'd be over there so fast their heads would be spinning. But your country has decided something else. You can't change that. But my country decided to join, and not only will I support their decisions, it was something I agree with whole heartedly." I tried to reach for his hand around Kumajirou but I couldn't stretch far enough to get around all the fluff.
"Matthew…" He trailed off hollowly, staring out the front window into the storm that had been raging for the last couple hours. "What do we do now?"
I tried for many minutes to think of an answer but as the wind and rain continued to beat against the siding I found nothing comforting to say and no solace in the silence.
Walking into the chilly kitchen I glanced worriedly at the phone. It had been over a year since the start of the war and I could still remember vividly my shock when I'd read the paper; the bold words burning into my eyes, "England and France declare war against Germany". It had felt like the wind had been knocked out of me, and not three minutes later there had been a knock at my door. In surprise I had thrown it open to find my Prime Minister standing on my front porch.
It had been a tense and excruciating meeting to say the least but at the end of it our decision had been made. We would join the fight in Europe.
I had approximately a week* after that to dwell on my thoughts before another unexpected knock on my door brought me out of my crowded head and back to the world. This time I opened the door to come face to face with Francis and Arthur. They'd suddenly barged in talking fluently in both French and English, making my head whirl uncomfortably in confusion.
"Slow down, slow down!" I'd begged weakly. "What are you both-?"
"Sit down Matthew." Francis ordered me, a gentle hand on my shoulder.
"Yes, perhaps you'd better." Arthur had said, taking in my appearance. "You're looking a little shaky on your legs."
I'd slumped into one of the thin wooden chairs that littered my kitchen and gazed at the two of them, both standing straight in the ambient lighting. It had broken my heart to pieces to see the two of them there, brave and gallant. They had both been forced into this war not a month ago and yet here they were, still themselves, still faithful and caring, still mentally stable. No one should have had that much asked of them. No one should be able to be that strong.
"Matthew what is the meaning of the talk on the telly this morning?" Arthur had muttered darkly, cutting straight to the point as he always did. Francis stood behind him nodding, a worried look adding creases to his otherwise flawless forehead.
"Uh, well my minister… he said that…" I'd trailed off quietly. What was I supposed to say? Honestly, over the last week I'd been asking myself that same thing and why I had so vehemently voted to go to war. Now, with a cool head I found myself absolutely petrified.*
"Matthew…" Francis had come forward and lowered himself onto one knee reaching for my hands which were fluttering uselessly in my lap. "Why would you involve yourself in something like this?" His brow had creased farther and I'd fought the urge to reach forward myself and smooth it back to its porcelain perfection.
"Because you two are my family." I'd squeaked, hating my own stupidity and weakness.
Both had frowned; not unhappily but with a trace of worry and something I couldn't name.
"You should not meddle in the affairs of others so lightly."
I'd frowned in turn, trying to decipher what exactly they were trying to get at.
"Be that as it may, you've made your decision and it's too late to take it back now." Arthur had sighed, massaging his temples. "All we can do now is pray." I'd taken a deep breath and before I could blink they had both turned with a wave and headed for the door. "We don't have time to visit I'm afraid." He'd grimaced. "You'll be fine Matthew."
Francis had bitten his lip, a strange look in his eyes. But taking his cue from Arthur he too took a few hesitant steps towards the door.
"Oh and Matthew." Arthur had turned and fiddled with his collar for a moment before fixing me with a meaningful gaze. "I'm sure you'll see him before I do, so please tell that barmcake of a brother of yours that I will see him soon."
I'd glimpsed the lack luster in his normally brilliant green eyes before he turned stiffly and stomped out the door into the street, undoubtedly to catch a flight back to England.
"Matthew." The reserved voice had startled me terribly. "Do not be afraid. All is in the hands of someone much bigger than the rest of us." Francis had murmured quietly before ghosting out the door himself to fade into the early morning mist.*
I sighed, still staring at the phone. I'd come to terms with what being in this war meant not long after Arthur and Francis had left. They'd swooped in and filled me with feelings of first fear and shame and then a strange dignity that had quickly spread through my veins like fire, permeating my mind with an intense desire to do what I felt was right. Afterwards I'd known that to win I had to stand up and accept what was coming.
Wrapping my hoodie more tightly around myself I trudged tiredly to the fridge. It was December and though Canadian I didn't always want to be "shivering in my boots" as it were. I made a mental note to turn up the heat.
Seeing nothing appetizing I all but slammed the door of the fridge closed. I'd be damned if I ate left over oatmeal one more time!
The shrill ringing of the phone sent shivers up my spine. The sound of the phone had long since become a thing to fear. It could only mean one of three things as of late. Either someone had died, I was needed, again, on the front lines, or there was another addition to the list of countries joined together in this massive struggle for power and justice.*
I reached tentatively for the receiver and was met with the sound of yelling, an explosion and more screams to calm down.
"Alfred…?" I asked cautiously. "Are you there?"
"Mattie!" came the enraged shout. "Have you got the radio on? The TV? Anything?"
I shook my head before remembering he wouldn't be able to see and muttered, "No of course not. I just got up."
"He bombed me!" *
My heart stopped and my blood turned to shards in my veins.
"He fuckin' bombed my neutral port! The fucking bastard!"
"Alfred, Alfred what are you talking about?" I asked in a terrified yelp.
"Japan! Kiku! I mean he-!" He broke off breathing heavily. "He sent them in." This time his voice was flat and low, sending shivers of fear down my spine. "He sent in planes and they killed my people. I've sent the document to DC just now. I'm in."
I couldn't speak for a moment, an internal battle raging in my head. I was horrified to think that even my brother had been forced into this shit-storm but another side of me, one I wanted to keep hidden away, was rejoicing in alleviation and comfort that Alfred would be an ally. I couldn't quell the relief that spilled from my chest that Alfred would be there; with his power and brashness, with his bravery and compassion, he would fight with us against an enemy that was slowly but surely wearing us down to nothingness.
"Alfred I'm so sorry." I apologized, tears evident in my cracking voice despite my efforts to hide them.
"Mattie?" He questioned worriedly. "Hey are you-?" He was interrupted by the sound of a door being flung open and exploding against the wall.
"Alfred F. Jones. Where are you?" The voice of one Arthur Kirkland rang out in the deathly silence. I heard Alfred gulp nervously. "What in God's name do you bloody think you are doing? You WILL not enter this war."
A multitude of voices, probably that of the white house staff stationed in one of Alfred's many homes, swelled trying to calm the irate Englishman.
"Just what do you think you're doing by entering this hell?" The voice was closer this time, almost right into the receiver Alfred was probably absentmindedly still holding to his ear.
"I'm doing what needs to be done." Alfred answered stonily. "What exactly did you expect from me?"
There was no response for a moment until a single, muffled sob broke the silence. "I don't want this."
I closed my eyes; Arthur had always had more compassion than I did. He would never selfishly rejoice in the pain of another, not even if it meant that person becoming his savior. He would go down in flames before endangering Alfred. I still remembered the uninhibited rage he'd shown when Alfred had snuck in with his pilots to help the air force. I hunched my shoulders in pain at my incompetence and selfishness.
"Goodbye Alfred." I whispered into the phone. "I'll see you soon," and hung up the phone lightly.
The clock found me, at least two hours later, still seated in the armchair by the front window. It had started snowing a while ago and had piled up considerably. I ghosted my fingers over the frosted window and watched as the ice melted beneath my touch. So much for the uniqueness of each snow flake I thought bitterly. There was no way to tell them apart when they were all squished together like that.
"Matthew?" A voice called from my front hall. "Matthew are you at home?"
I stiffened in my chair; I would have recognized that French accent anywhere.*
In a bout of irrational fear I slipped from my chair and made a dash for the stairs. I couldn't handle this right now. Not him.
Just as my foot made contact with the first step I felt an arm encircle my waist. With a squawk I was pulled backwards into the chest of a very well toned Frenchman. In my head I beat myself with the phonebook. Why did I think like that at a time like this?
"Just where are you trying to go?" Francis asked, laughing. "I am right here."
I frowned. How to escape?
"Matthew, are you well?" He asked, that crease in his forehead again. I scowled at it.
"Yes. I'm alright." I mumbled cautiously. I refused to meet his gaze and instead found myself staring unseeingly at the handrail of my staircase. It was made of a fine cherry wood; deep red and lasting.
"You do not seem fine."
I sighed. Of course I wasn't. What about Alfred? Shouldn't everyone be over there? Why wasn't I? I grimaced. That's right. I was feeling guilty. That was why.
"Mon cher quel est le problem?"
"Nothing." I said quietly. I felt traitor tears prickling at the sides of my eyes and sunk further into my self-abhorrence.
"Oh, ma ma ma." He tutted, running a hand through my hair. "Is this about Alfred?"
I flinched noticeably and he chuckled. Keeping his arm around my waist he began to drag me back towards the living room and threw me, gently, down onto the couch before taking the seat next to me. I couldn't bear to meet his gaze.
"You have nothing to regret. I assure you."
"How can you tell me that when I haven't even said anything?" I asked, turning to stare directly into his cornflower blue eyes.
He blinked in surprise. "Oh, so you do not feel relieved?"
I blushed and clenched my hands in my lap. Looking away I bitterly muttered "Of course I do."
"And what is wrong with that?" He asked in response.
I faltered and my mouth hung open for a moment as I struggled to think of something to say.
"Comfort comes in many forms." He smiled tenderly. "There is no shame in relying on another."
I frowned and bit my lip.
"Especially if that someone is your brother. I'm sure, knowing Alfred," and here he chuckled knowingly, "he is more than thrilled to be of service." Ignoring the dubious shaking of my head he continued, "Matthew there is nothing wrong in being relieved to have another ally; even if that ally is your brother." He gained a somber look and stared at me. "I will admit to being entirely too relieved to hear of your involvement a year ago." He conceded after a moment.
I gazed at him in confusion for a few seconds before blurting, "But that's different!"
He outright laughed this time and took one of my hands in his. "And how is it different mon amour?"
Ignoring the tingling in the pit of my stomach at his choice of words and the strange look in his eyes I swallowed loudly. "I'm not your brother."
"That is true. You are not."
My breath hitched and I found my face was getting rather hot. "I-I don't think it's right." I whispered. I hoped he couldn't hear the anguish in my voice.
"What isn't?" He asked, leaning closer. I felt his breath drift over my ear and suppressed a shiver.
"What do you mean 'what'?" I gulped.
"I mean exactly as I said." He grinned. "What is it that you are referring to?"
Was I no longer talking about Alfred? I frowned. It was possible.
"You have every right to be glad to have help. I mean that with all my heart Matthew. Your loved ones are there to help you. Do not do them injustice by trying to take all the responsibility onto yourself. No one likes a hypocrite." He teased.
I hiccupped; a result of trying to contain my tears and fear and guilt and irritation. "Just who is being a hypocrite?" I muttered, turning my face away defiantly.
Francis scowled and grabbed my chin in his hand. "You are mon doux." His forehead creased again as he forced me to look him in the eye. "Just a year ago you jumped into this without so much as a glance backwards, fighting bitterly and with courage for something that was never your responsibility in the first place and now you expect us to think you a monster for reveling in the assistance of someone who could likely end this whole war?"
I found my lips quivering as I stared desperately at him. He was a mere inch away and I could still see that horrid crease in his forehead.
"I know he can… But I don't… I don't want him to have to." I blurted out, hiding my face in my hands.
"I know." Francis murmured, hand to my hair again. "But it was Alfred's decision. You knew it was coming."
I couldn't argue with that and so remained frozen as I was. In the next few quiet moments I took notice of my comfortable position. Somehow I'd been shifted throughout this conversation and was now on his lap.
Seeming to ignore my very obviously blushing face Francis continued, "Are you sure you are not just a bit upset that Alfred will once again be "the hero"?"
In shock I glanced up, forgetting about my beet red face. "What?" I gasped. Was that was this distasteful feeling was? Jealousy? I frowned in horror.
Francis took in my expression for a moment before resting his face against my neck. "That too is a perfectly acceptable response. You are brave my Matthew. You have fought hard and lost much. To have that snatched away… It must hurt." I hiccupped again. "Your brother is no doubt incredible and something to be reckoned with… but, I at least, notice you just as much."
"I'm not a very good brother…" I muttered sadly.
"Will you support him?"
"Of course!"
"Will you hold this decision against him?"
"Why would I?"
"And will you be appropriately grateful for his assistance?"
"How could I not be?"
"Then you are not a terrible brother. Not in the slightest."
I said nothing for a few moments, thinking through what Francis had just said. Was it plausible to be jealous and still not let the feeling ruin everything? I stiffened, suddenly remembering that he was leaning on my shoulder and carefully looked down into shoulder length blonde hair. It really was beautiful. I sighed.
"You are feeling better?" There was a smile in his voice.
Not trusting my own voice I merely nodded. Yes. I felt better. In fact I might go see Alfred tomorrow I thought to myself with a content grin. He'd definitely want someone to rant to.
"I'm glad." And with that he straightened up and made to lower me back onto the couch.
I don't know why I did it and I'll probably never know but I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him.
The shocked look on his face would have been worth capturing in a picture if mine hadn't been undoubtedly five times worse. The blood rushed to my head and I found myself getting fuzzy. The anxiety and stress of the past year was catching up to me in one giant onslaught and overloading my brain. I watched in mild interest as my vision blurred and contracted into smaller and smaller circles until finally going pitch black.
When I opened my eyes again I was laying flat on my back on my couch. Sitting up quickly I put a hand to my head having sent it spinning wildly at my sudden movement. I felt perfectly fine except for a strange residual burning sensation in my skin. What could have caused that?
Looking around the room I noticed Francis asleep in the big chair by the front window. A book had been propped open on his knee, a hand resting across his stomach. His breathing was slow and quiet, his eyelids fluttering ever so lightly. I noticed with relief that his forehead was smooth and level in his sleep.
Abruptly however he jerked awake and whipped his head in my direction, eyes wide. The book dropped to the floor with a thud and his legs shot out straight.
"Matthew! You are awake!" He rushed forward, the book laying forgotten on the floor.
"I uh… yes…" I trailed off in confusion. What had happened?
He placed his hands on either side of my face and stared intently into my eyes, seeming to be searching for something. "How are you feeling now mon amour?"
"I… I feel fine." I answered in confusion. My brain was still trying to puzzle through the past half an hour. What was it that I'd said? Or I had done?
In a rush it came back to me; the images flooding my brain in a surge of colors and sounds.
My eyes widened as I stared back at Francis. What in the world had I done? My mouth opened and closed several times before I finally managed to choke out a terrified squeak.
"Matthew?" Francis asked worriedly, tilting his head slightly to the side. "What is the matter?"
As my face heated up and turned what was sure to be an incredible shade of red his eyes took on a knowing look.
"Ah, Matthew-"
I didn't let him finish, ripping my face out of his hands and backing up against the couch as far as I could. I was shaking my head wildly.
"Matthew, please." He reached forward but I evaded his hands, squirming awkwardly around them until I found myself on the edge of the couch with nowhere else to go. "Matthew. Why are you so upset?"
Once again my mouth dropped open.
He chuckled and pulling out a speed I hadn't seen in years, lunged across the couch and grabbed my arms. When I flinched he loosened his grip slightly but never once did his strength waver. "Matthew, Matthew, Matthew." He chanted rubbing his thumbs in circles on my arms. "Matthew, what are you so worried about? I'm not mad."
I blinked. "You're not?"
"No, of course not; how could I ever be mad at you?" He smiled warmly, and laughed softly for just a moment. "Matthew mon amour, I could never hold something against you." When I didn't respond he continued. "Especially if it's something I liked."
I kept up my current form of responding and merely blinked. What had he said?
"Ah, Matthew…" He sighed, my name leaving his lips like music. "You are so strange."
My voice had most definitely been eradicated, my brain lost in another dimension.
"You do understand what has happened yes?" He questioned me slowly. I frowned, that crease was on his forehead again. "Do you regret-"
He never finished. I quickly reached forward and ran my fingers lightly across the wrinkles. They had been bothering me for ages and I just couldn't resist the urge any longer and in doing so my brain finally caught up to my actions and anomalous emotions.
"Pfft. Why do you think I even joined this stupid war?" I asked. "You were in trouble."
His answering smile was blinding and he crushed me to his chest. "That is the best reasoning I could ever think of." He leaned away from me for a moment. "You see Matthew? Everyone needs help. Everyone needs a hero."
"I think my hero is a little different than everyone else's." I laughed and snaked my arms around his neck, brushing my nose against his cheek softly, like a feather.
Francis blinked in surprise before giving me a bruising, loving kiss. "Of course, whoever would think Arthur would share his hero anyway?" He joked flippantly.
Huzzah for Historic Notes Time!
* In the beginnings of the war, though the US only changed their policy from "neutrality" to "preparedness" we did enact the Lend-Lease Act which supplied The United Kingdom, The Soviet Union, China, and France with war material from 1941-1945. In total $50.1 billion was shipped to the allied powers.
* Many US pilots who thought it wrong to stand by and do nothing during the beginnings of the conflict joined Britain's Royal Air Force to fight with the UK forming the Eagle Squadrons. They fought in the Battle of Britain and from then on served in the reserve force. (Many other American pilots simply crossed the border and joined the Royal Canadian Air Force.)
~ Kenneth Alford (a British composer) wrote a march, "Eagle Squadron", in honor of the pilots in the squadron and as a thank you to American pilots; sections of the Star Spangled Banner can be heard in the brass during the trio.~
* Canada declared war on Germany a mere week after England and France did (September 3, 1939). Their prime minister (Mackenzie King) announced on September 10, 1939 that Canada would take "all necessary measures" to curb Germany's "lust for conquest."
* This was the first official declaration of war that Canada had ever made upon its own volition as a sovereign nation.
* In my head Francis is somewhat religious, what with Joan of Arc, the crusades and all that...
* By December 1941 the list of countries either allied or axis included
~Allies: United Kingdom (1939), Soviet Union (1941), Poland (1939), France (1939), Australia (1939), New Zealand (1939), Nepal (1939), Newfoundland (1939), Tonga (1939), South Africa (1939), Canada (1939), Denmark (1940), Norway (1940), Belgium (1940), Luxembourg (1940), Netherlands (1940), Greece (1940), Kingdom of Yugoslavia (1941), Tannu Tuva (1941), Panama (1941), and Philippines (1941)
~Axis: Germany (1939), Northern (Fascist) Italy (1939), Hungary (1940), Romania (1940), Bulgaria (1941), Yugoslavia (1941), and Japan (1941)
*Pearl Harbor
*Francis has a lot of free time because France had already surrendered to Germany in 1940. (Though the French State Army was created in July 1940 under the official title of the Vichy Army and part of the French Colonial Empire. Many French fought with Germany in WWII as well. France was divided much as Italy was)