Shout-Outs: As per usual, here are my shout-outs of thanks and appreciation to all my loyal readers, followers, reviewers, and anyone who has subscribed for this story! I love you all so much! :D

To XxCapturetheLightxX, congrats! xD Thanks very much for the compliment, and haha, knew you'd like it! Now for some reason I want to have Arthur dress in a pirate outfit... I might be able to work that in, lol! xD Just... be careful next time, you crazy person. :P To SillySneeze, thanks very much, and I hope this chapter meets your standards! To Readers-Section, ahaha, thanks again for reviewing! And yes, yes, but we all agree that Francis is a wanker, do we not? But you know, it's okay and all since LOVE CONQUERS ALL and we all know Arthur has a soft spot for vain, obnoxious little Frenchmen, so it's all good. c: To Reviewer, yes, I agree with that, but sometimes I feel as though I'm just blabbing on and on, haha, so please do tell me when it gets to that point. To Piyo13, and I fixed that for ya, ahaha, since more than one person have said that, so thanks very much for that! And hahaha, no worries, because I will admit I do that sometimes. XD To FrUKisLove, hooray, I have a name to refer to you haha. And it's ok, I'm flattered you'd still try and read my fic even on a DSi, though. Thanks for the review and the correction again, I really fail at French. xD And thank you very much for the job luck; I need it so bad. To callous-enigma, ffft, thank you, my little fangirl. And of course you'd love the sarcasm; it's very much you, of course. Not to mention you Carrie hatred. Perhaps I should add in more Carrie clones just to annoy you, ahaha.~

Now, without further ado!

In retrospect, perhaps it hadn't been his best idea to leave the bedroom door unlocked with an innocent fourteen-year-old wandering around the house with his polar bear stuffed toy glued to the side. Well, it also hadn't been his best idea to experiment with a new perfume that had the essence of meat in it (somehow), which was a day that ended up with him having dogs literally barking at his behind. And… it also hadn't been his best idea to carry a gun in a holster in his belt out of habit when travelling in an airport.

He… just didn't have a lot of good ideas, in general.

The first surprise had hit him that morning. It was oddly chilly today, as though it was some sort of forewarning to the cold events that were to transpire that day. However, the man had just barely felt the clammy rays of the morning's winter when his companion, whom he'd found out was Carrie, woke up herself, shining those muddy coloured eyes at him. They were somewhat hollow from exhaustion, and the expression on her face was just so vulnerable that it was as though she was a puppy laying out on the street, waiting for an attack.

And, well, what sort of man would he be if he hadn't seen through her obvious hint and desire for him to ravage her once more? The answer was simple; he would not be a man, and neither would he be true to his nature if he just left the poor innocent creature be.

Ravage her he did… had it not been for the squeak of the door that was somehow audible over the arduous lovemaking, over the screams, moans and groans of his rather docile partner. Whenever she would cry out in ecstasy, he could feel his insides curl in delight and lust, his addiction to the act lashing out and wanting more and more of her. A few minutes in bed with her and he had already concluded that she wasn't as… harmless and innocent as she seemed. He hadn't experienced that much pleasure and exercise all in one go. He was vastly impressed; would she mind coming back? It wouldn't seem to be too hard of a job, seeing as how she was practically attached to him now (quite literally, at that moment too). However, more often than not, he had deemed it not only boring to experience the same woman twice, but it was also rather unsafe, considering his circumstances.

But then again, danger was what made life all the more exciting, was it not?

Now, they were in the midst of what he could dub the most prominent of all climaxes, when, the bedroom door crept open, the squeaking sound going unheard for a few short seconds; he was just a little preoccupied at that moment to really take a glance around. However, when he had, his cerulean eyes dropped wide open, mouth agape as he took in the sight before him. There, with his hand frozen on the doorknob, head tilted in a questioning gesture, was petite Matthieu. His eyes blinked innocently, seemingly confused at the intricate mesh of bodies that now inhabited his father's bed. There were a few tense moments as the two stared at each other, either because they didn't know what to say… or because there was nothing to say.

Francis had to break that barrier, and quick.

Chuckling and smoothly running his fingers through his mess of blonde hair, he deftly moved (read: pushed) the woman aside, grabbing his clothes off the floor in one swift motion and earning himself a huff from his companion. Standing up, he dressed himself with practiced hands (but of course he had to be quick taking them on and off; after all, it wasn't as though the occasion was rare when estranged husbands would come home screaming bloody murder at him for… "pleasuring" their wives. In his opinion, he was doing them a service; those women were one night away from leaving for good. It was a sad, sad thing, nightly displeasure. It was a good thing it was something he could not – and never would – empathize with. Those poor, poor women…), zipping up his pants and buttoning his shirt as he opened his arms, welcoming. The smile on his face was prominent and warm and familiar, especially to his son, who now broke out into a grin and was slowly rushing forward to meet his father.

The thing was, had this been any other person – and he really meant any other person, that including cops, prostitutes, the fat guy down the street, or even a killer – and it wouldn't have been nearly as awkward as it was now. Matthieu… his little angel, was still an innocent young thing; there were numerous days where he could spare him the details of his little… love nest, so to speak, but now was not the time. Clean, pure little Matthieu… oh, how he sometimes rued the day he was born with French blood running through his veins (alright, maybe not really, but that was beside the point). He had managed to keep his son relatively unsoiled, so to speak, and he still felt as though this wasn't the time or place. So with that, he had plastered an easy smile on his face that he hoped would side track his little angel.

Matthieu ran forward and buried his face in his father's chest, who was now kneeling so they could see eye-to-eye. He was giggling, and Francis laughed alongside him, their laughter pealing like chimes on a beautiful summer day.

"Oh, mon petite Matthieu. What are you doing in Papa's room?" he started, as innocently as he could.

"Uhm ... L'école est bientôt commencer, Papa, et je voulais juste vous rappeler que vous avez une réunion avec mes professeurs de demain!"

The thought made him stop; he had almost forgotten. Nodding solemnly before ruffling his son's matching straw-coloured hair, he chuckled, placing a kiss on his forehead. "Oui, but of course, Matthieu. I would never forget if 'eet was for you. Now run along, mon ange, and do not tell anyone about what you say now, oui?"

"Mais pourquoi, Papa?" The question was innocent enough, but Francis had to take a deep breath before acknowledging it, feeling a bitter resentment rise up in himself as he forced the lie from his lips.

"Parce que, mon petit gateau, 'ze bad guys will 'urt you and Papa if you tell. 'Eet 'ees a secret for us, non? I can trust you, right?"

The boy nodded, saluting him, his expression solemn. "Oui! Je ne trahira jamais Papa!"

"Très bon. Now go eat your breakfast, will you?"

He nodded, but not before embracing the man's neck once more. Turning his back, he rushed down the stairs, muttering to his polar bear about being a top secret spy on a mission to never reveal his father's secret.

Francis could only watch him run away with a hint of melancholy on his face. But if only he knew… but if only he knew.

It was just a quick shower after that – or as quick as twenty minutes could be with the various herbal shampoos and conditioners that were absolutely necessary – Francis found himself ready for another day of work. It wasn't particularly a thought he welcomed; yet another day, yet another meeting. But somehow, he wasn't as opposed to the idea as he had been yesterday, given the amount of… interesting circumstances he'd run into yesterday.

Walking out the front door and locking it with a soft click, he mulled through the aforementioned day's events. Although there had been a smorgasbord of occurrences, one particular thing that stuck in his head was that of the blonde policeman's appearance. He chuckled at the recollection; oh, but it was just so easy to poke fun at him. He hadn't had some good-natured fun in a while, and somehow, it drove him to feel a touch of sadness that he would never be able to have someone drabble on and on senselessly with him again. Of course, he couldn't exactly complain, seeing as how that meant that the others were just too tongue-tied with his supreme beauty to ever fight back!

Ah, how he was truly God's gift to earth.

But after a few more seconds, he shook his head; it was just as well that he forget about the whole incident and be ever-so-excited for this glorious new day of meetings. Depression and sadness weren't exactly his forte.

It was upon approaching his red and black Bugatti Veyron Super Sports automobile that his mixed sour and happy-go-lucky mood converted into one of complete apprehension. Smile wiped off his face, Francis had a gut feeling of danger, but to what that was exactly, he couldn't tell. It was a feeling that seemed to grow deeper and more pronounced as he approached. No matter how much he stared, he still couldn't quite place a finger on it.

But he found out soon enough.

Grabbing open the door of his multimillion-dollar car, he took a few careful steps towards the vehicle. Suitcase in hand, he took a few tentative steps forward, ducking his head to enter the vehicle when he heard it. In the silence of the high-class (which to him, paled in comparison to any sort of high-class in France) neighbourhood, granted to him by the sheer early morning hours, there was a rhythmic ticking from inside. He had barely time to assess the situation when the ticking ceased, replaced by a high trilling sound, rapid, insistent.

Eyes widened in shock and realization.

"Oh, merde."

More of reflex than anything else, the man turned on his heel and ran as fast as he could towards the opposite direction, before feeling the scalding heat of his car and the disastrous sound of an explosion from behind him. He felt it in slow motion, but he hadn't gained enough distance between the vehicle and himself, and he was thrown forward violently. He landed on his front roughly on a patch of grass, a cry of pain leaving his lips, but not before another explosion caused him to feel as though he'd just been barbecued alive.

Panting, Francis righted himself up in a sitting position, eyes wide as he surveyed the wreckage that was his car. The fire danced on the automobile, teasing him with its destructive power. Sweat coated his face and soot marred his features as he continued to breathe erratically, suitcase still held on to stubbornly.

A few minutes later, he shook his head, shakily pushing himself up to a standing position. His mind raced, pulling up pictures and facts as though it had been transformed into a high-speed, highly protected computer that was often always in his place of work. Finally, he was able to pull up two barely coherent thoughts:

A bomb. On his car.

It took him a few seconds, before he blanched at the thought; oh, how absolutely… unoriginal. It wasn't to say that it was entirely expected, but it wasn't unexpected. He'd been through harsher fire than that before, after all. However, there was a larger problem than the loss of his car and possibly his life. Someone had better pay for his coat, he thought to himself as he surveyed the tattered mess. It was singed in several places, and it reeked of burning leather. With a click of his tongue, he shook his head and headed back inside; there was no way on God's green earth that he was going to work dressed like this. What would Matilda think!

A hissing sound alerted him to a small flame that was still lit on the hem of his coat. With a resigned sigh, he dialled his tailor – speed dial one. It was all just a mess.

There had been no choice but to – he couldn't even bear to think it – take the public transportation to work today. It was definitely the most painful thirty minutes of his life, and the only possible event that could have matched his pure disdain for such a disgusting piece of machinery was his ongoing mourning for his baby, his car. It had been something that had taken almost two years' worth of salary, but above the fact that he had toiled (alright, maybe that wouldn't be the most accurate term to use) day in and day out for it, it was that he had grown quite accustomed to it. Not to mention, its striking black and red colours often served his desire – his need – for attention.

But now, there went two point five million dollars down the drain. He could only hope that his insurance would cover it.

So when Francis, dressed in striking black and red as part of his ongoing bereavement of his car, pushed through the automatic swirling doors to the agency, there was no denying the fact that he had an air of slight bitterness around him, one that was unusual for the happy-go-lucky man. But he would merely huff and cross his arms childishly whenever someone would point that out to him; he had just experienced firsthand the loss of his second child (Matthieu, of course, was irreplaceable), so a break would have been duly welcome. However, due to the sheer amount of attention that he was receiving from his coworkers and… "bed mates", one could say, he had considerably lightened up after a few hours.

After all, nothing was better than attention. He even contemplated on having his car blown up more times… if it wasn't for the fact that he didn't have another one.

Still, there was no denying the fact that the man's figurative spring had been restored to his step, and a smile was already painted on his face as he pushed through the doors to the meeting that would be held today. Nothing, not even such a droll thing, could possibly ruin the enlightened, floating mood he found himself in after having garnered so much attention (and of course, female numbers; Evangeline was next on his list).

The meeting commenced once everyone had taken their seats, and as had been promised, was presided over by a new face. His name was Honda Kiku, or at least, that was what he could gather in between his humorously strong accent (as if he was one to talk). He seemed like a much more no-nonsense guy than the previous one had been, and of course, this did absolutely nothing to improve the male's attention span. If anything, the tight limits had his mind wandering elsewhere, towards a more important venue like grieving his car and where he could possibly find one that was flashier. It was only at the mention of the murder that occurred yesterday did he snap back to attention.

"… heard the news yesterday?" Honda said, his voice as monotonous as it had been since the beginning. "Our analysts are currently looking into the situation for any clues and hints that we might be able to report to the Director of National Intelligence. If any of you," he paused, glancing around the room (and was it just his imagination, or did his gaze linger over him more than the others?), "have any information, please do not hesitate to step forward. Withholding this vital information may result in serious consequences not only for yourself, but for your team and whoever else might be the slightest bit involved. Feel free to see myself or, of course our own Director – Sir Francis Bonnefoy – for any new leads. Thank you, and you are dismissed."

The general murmur that accompanied the aftermath of these meetings initiated almost at once, but as usual, Francis did not hold any general interest in them. He merely exited the room swiftly, cackling softly to himself at the interesting turn of events that had started to unfold.

Of course, they would discuss the killing yesterday; they weren't centered around "information" for nothing. If anything, he was proud of his work; only he could get a job like that done without leaving any sort of evidence behind. That was, after all, one of the main principles of that career. Never get caught, and never leave anything behind; not a trace, not a dust, not even a piece of hair. This, he knew, was extremely vital. But it was fine, as he had never been graced with the unluckiness of getting caught – or at least, he thought so.

Francis wandered down the halls just a few hours after the meeting had adjourned, whistling to himself in a mood that was far too positive for the recent turn of events. That particular corridor had been emptied, due to the fact that there were only a few select few that was authorized on that level.

It was suspicious then, when upon his mid-whistle of "The Saints Come Marching In", there were audible clacking, rushing footsteps approaching him from behind. Eyes narrowed, instinct rushing in, he found himself twisting around when the footsteps were deemed close enough to his own personal space, his arms jutting out to capture the wrists of his assailant. With the first attack method secured, he pulled the attacker roughly towards him by the wrists, and at the moment that they were to collide, a well-aimed kick was sent to the other's torso, causing them to fly backwards and hit the wall with a thud, a low groan escaping their lips.

Francis then turned his attention to his hands, cursing internally. Oh, wonderful, he had chipped a nail. But at least this time, he had solid proof as to who to blame.

The blonde now approached the other cautiously, muscles rigid in preparation and years of experience. The man – he could only assume so with his tacky fashion sense and sturdy build – was dressed on all black, literally from head to toe. This he could already dismiss as a very inexperienced attacker; what sort of person wore all black unless they were making a fashion statement? And he, for one, knew that it was definitely not in right now. But he shook his head, continuing on with the investigation. A black ski mask adorned the man's face, holed in just right to fit his nose, full lips and jade eyes.

… Jade eyes?

"And what exactly is it, 'zat you wished to achieve but doing 'zis?" Francis asked, an eyebrow rising, offering a hand out to the other as he rolled his eyes.

The man chuckled, taking it and propping himself up, rubbing the back of his head that had no doubt taken most of the impact. He then proceeded to rip the mask of his face, his expression immediately morphing into one of someone who looked as though they had just swallowed too much sour candy all at once. He stuck his tongue out at Francis, his face torn between amusement and pain.

"Ay, mi amigo. Whoever said your skills were rusty must be muy loco."

Francis chuckled. "Oui, but do enlighten me. I highly doubt you were releasing some… sexual tension on me just 'zen." An eyebrow rose. "Unless… it was 'zat… in which case, I would not mind." He waggled his eyebrows seductively.

Antonio merely shook his head, the usual grin on his face diminished to one of seriousness. It was then that Francis could tell that there was something very wrong. "No such luck, mi amigo. The higher-ups are mad, hombre, like, loco como un toro. You almost revealed yourself yesterday, you know?"

The blonde frowned. "Non, you are mistaken. I was extremely careful not to leave any marks be'ind. No footprints, no shoeprints… not even an eyelash. 'Zey do not know what 'zey are talking abou-"

"But that's just it, mi amigo!" Antonio burst out, his expression glaring as he towered over the Frenchman. In this light, although their height difference was minimal, it was as though he had suddenly sprouted a few inches. "You did leave una evidencia!" There was a smack, and somehow Francis found himself pinned against the wall, the Spaniard's arms against his side so as to prevent escape. "I don't know if you know, but there were cameras in that neighbourhood. One of them caught you on tape."

Realization dawned on Francis, but he was more concerned of a growing feeling in his gut. The horror was displayed outwardly on his face, as he managed to squeak out, "Wait! Did they… did 'zey get my bad side?"

Antonio sighed, rubbing his temple, his expression still glaring, though Francis could swear his mouth twitched for a fraction of a second. "This is no laughing matter! Una foto, mi amigo, una foto! You could have revealed us and our entire operation with that one mistake! You're lucky it was only a shot of the back of your head and some of your hair, but with enough proof, you could be implicated! El jefe is not very pleased, mi amigo." His expression softened somewhat, his voice lowered and if anything, was laced with something like fear. "I had to explain to him that it was an accident, I covered up for you as best I could! But you know, with our organization, mistakes can mean el muerte." His eyes met blue ones, pleading.

Francis sighed, pushing the other man away gently. There was a hollow feeling in his gut, and although he couldn't quite place his finger on it, he was quite certain it wasn't fear; no, that feeling had been long extricated from him since the first "mission". But seeing Antonio so miserable, sticking his head out for him, made him feel… almost weak, like a victim, and he wouldn't have someone else take the blame for him – or at least, not Antonio. Not poor, innocent Antonio who was his advisor in more ways than one. So, in an attempt to defuse the situation, he placed a hand on the other's shoulder, and as gently as he could, said, "Well, at least 'ze picture wasn't too bad, no?"

The Spaniard sighed, his look returning to a hardened one, but not as intense as it had been before. "Mi amigo, this is serious. Because the boss has lost his faith in you – and let's face it, you can be a bit… descuidado. He considered, you know, killing you, but I couldn't let him do that, not to you!" Tears welled up in his eyes, and for a second, the gut feeling within Francis intensified, but he could not for the love of him, figure out what it was. "So… we reached a compromise."

The Frenchman's instincts screamed at him to run, but curiosity got the better of him. "And… 'zat is?"

Antonio took a deep breath, before squarely looking him in the eye. His tone and expression erased all possible humorous escapes Francis could use. "Since you cannot be trusted on your own, you will be assigned una guardia. to accompany you on all your missions."

"… Excusez-moi?"

"A bodyguard, Francis. From now on, you will have a bodyguard."

A/N: Well, from now on, my A/N will start with some rant about my job. And yes, if I didn't mention it before, I now work as a cashier for Wal-Mart. I swear, I'm going for part-time but this week I have full-time hours! /dies But somehow I pumped this out for you guys, so please be gentle. ;-; Also, this is longer than my usual so... blame fluctuating muse, ahaha. Also usually I write chapters in one day but this one was split in two days due to my job, which would explain the length. xD

And here we go, ahaha. Some action for y'all, though obviously it'll get more intense later. And bad Francis, WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO POOR MATTIE'S INNOCENCE? But from the looks of it... he's a little dense so I guess it doesn't matter. xD And skipping to the end, I bet you can all guess where this is going, lmfao. Let the love-hate begin!

Again, please do feel free to leave reviews and feedback. Some healthy criticism is welcomed and loved!

Cheers, and happy Canada Day!~ (and Fourth of July... coz well, I love Alfred. c:)

Some more fail translations:

L'école est bientôt commencer, Papa, et je voulais juste vous rappeler que vous avez une réunion avec mes professeurs de demain! - School is starting soon, Dad, and I just wanted to remind you thatyou have a meeting with my teachers tomorrow!

mon petit gateau - my little cupcake

Je ne trahira jamais Papa! - I will never betray Papa!

merde - shit

loco como un toro - crazy like a bull

el jefe - the boss

el muerte - death

descuidado - careless