Shout-outs: Deemo - Thanks very much, and I do apologize for that. Dx I had a feeling I overdid it a bit, but I was more or less trying to prove a point, trying to empathize and see what it would personally be like actually being traumatized to a point of immobility. I obviously have no such recollection of being traumatized (and I hope not), so I just went on a wing here. However, if you do have suggestions as to what I could have done/what I could do in future chapters, that would be very much appreciated! And alright then, good to hear. (: I do realize now there's a lot of SpUK fics... just in Spanish, which is great but not helpful to some avid English SpUK fans. xD
Readers-Section - Oh, well thank you very much! A conflicting opinion from Deemo's, and I'm grateful that it did leave a mark on you, as that was what I was going for, though I still do fear that I may have overdone it a bit. There's something to be said about me being long-winded, which arrives at the fact that I'm making a chaptered fiction. xD Please don't hesitate to comment if I am being such, and I will try to cut down. After all, it's just as good making shorter paragraphs that are more direct and straight to the point. In regards to the crime scene, yes, thank you! xD I think that's the hardest part of a crime fic, where the main char is smart, slightly more so than the audience, but not by much. I was actually looking at how to do those sorts of things, and usually they recommend having a leader character (Arthur here) and a secondary character (Francis) whose intellect would be that of a common person's. I used that since Francis would be more of the "physical" part of the duo, in the fact that he's the sniper with agile reflexes. Also, watching Criminal Minds and CSI for hours on end helps, I'll give you that. You should try it. 8D Also, for the Baltics, yes! Bet you didn't see that coming; I purposely made it like that so not just anyone could guess who they were at a glance. I did retain an element of the group revealed in a later chapter, but for now, I'll keep that a secret. Also, I realize as I was writing the next chapter that I had Francis with a little bit of a sadistic streak for some reason, which I think could be sort of understandable given the circumstances of his job. I only thought it be fitting that some of it carry on to some other parts of his life... and unfortunately, it is to Arthur. And. Because. He. Just. Is. Just don't kill him. )x
callous-enigma - Thanks for still reading, oh fangirl of mine (did I get that...?)! Pft, but by saying that, you are responding! And... whatever you say, I can never tell with you. It's like you lack this thing called excitement, I won't say "emotion" since your being laidback can... sort of be considered an emotion. But thank you very much~ Also, who said you could read at one in the morning? Damn you and your insomnia! I demand you read my fics at an actual normal time, and before you go on about your definition of "normal", you know what I mean. And of course I did; I said I would, wouldn't I? Props to you~ And don't worry, Francis will get shot... eventually. I just know when it will be, and it won't be now. P.S. That was very helpful. Thanks for narrowing that down for me, Ms. Pessimism.
XxCapturetheLightxX - No, starved. The threat wouldn't have worked otherwise, gosh. And OH GEE, well THANKS. I can tell how much you love me! I hope smex-starved Francis does get you, so hah, there! Enjoy (I'm not sure if I was being sarcastic here or not LOL)! Oh, really? That's sweet! Hello then, fellow Canadian. xD We are just so awesome, eh? But wait, then why are you in the States (aka Canada's pants)? But that sucks though, although I'm not saying having a job is exactly glamorous; it just kills me and I'm actually looking forward to school now. xD And... yes, HE is. Well, I think you would be too if someone's head got split open and the blood and brains and whatever else was in said head splattered all over you. I think it would just be a tiny bit more of a push and something like this would happen... I think. LOL, yeah, I did that on purpose because I didn't want anyone guessing Toris/Raivis right off the bat, so I hope you liked that little element of surprise. As to the line, I obviously could not resist adding that; who could? The invisible powers strike again! And... wow, you perverted person. Actually, I will sick smex-starved Francis on you, since you seem so comfortable with it! And kay, good to hear, but I have to settle out the plot details. And as for my updates, my A/N will mention it.
fantasyAge - You didn't submit a review but I wanted to thank you publicly for the little Spanish assistance. I'll try to learn, but knowing me, I'll probably get to it in a week or something. /extremely lazy Thanks again for that!
Reviewer - Oh, my, thank you for this lovely review. It was insightful and gave me some feedback on my writing, and you pointed out things that I would have never bothered to look at, or had forgotten about entirely. Now, I don't exactly agree with you in that PoV aspect; I love them both, and if anything, I like Arthur's better. I'm a sarcastic person in real life (though not as bad as callous-enigma here), so I can empathize sometimes. Just not in the points where he'd rather gouge his eyes out, but everything else about how life basically sucks and that it's quite hard to find anything positive in life in general. I know, depressing, but it's not that bad. I don't go around pointing out the suckiness of everything (like Arthur)... though I'm close to doing so, ahaha. But make no mistake; Francis' PoV is good too, especially when I'm feeling empty-headed or "happier", in general. That's when I find I do my best work. Also, I love your analysis of their relationship. That was what I was going for, almost all of it! You actually just gave me an idea (and I won't tell, of course!) and so you better just keep looking forward to it; I'll probably credit you for it, or you'll just catch it. And yes, yes, I love the crime scene too; it was a pain to write because of the length, but it was balanced due to the fact that it was also fun to do. It continues on to the next chapter (which I assume you haven't read yet), so you'll understand just what happened to Arthur. Thanks for following!
Fan - Haha, yes, again, this was inspired by Criminal Minds/CSI. Honestly, I was just sitting there, with a pen and paper in hand, glaring at the screen and waiting for muse to come burst out of the TV. This is the baby of such a distorted muse and forced TV watching session. Hopefully it was good though, and if you liked this scene, I'll try to have more in the future! xD Please stay tuned!
Rawr, rawr, here we go!~
Ah, ah, what was he to do now? What a little dilemma this was, he pondered, as he sighed and weaved deft fingers through the mess that was ses beaux cheveux. His precious little bodyguard was infuriated with him, and probably wouldn't pass up the first chance to shoot him. (To be honest, there was a split second where he was quite certain he would shoot, but he had caught a quick flash of hesitation of which he had played upon by teasing him; perhaps not the best idea, but it was much too fun to pass up). Not to mention, he'd actually aimed a gun at him. At him. At any other time, he would have thought it ridiculous; how dare he threaten such a beautiful face? But no, he didn't feel that at that moment. No, if he had to sum it up in one word, he was… amusé.
And very much so.
Chuckling, Francis sauntered over behind the huffing, shorter male, sparing a quick glance behind them, eyes searching the darkness for any signs of movement. As there was no such thing, he shrugged and moved forward, still quite unbelieving of the things that had transpired. He had never had anyone threaten him so openly (the females were, more often than not, quite submissive, and if any such words of aggression left them, it was that of pure pleasure, courtesy of him), let alone point a firearm at him. Well, he supposed he couldn't blame the other, although hadn't that just been a little aggressive? After all, he'd done was leave him in an alley with men who looked like complete thugs; surely there was nothing wrong with that? He knew he would have lived, or otherwise, as he had mentioned, he would be no good to him as a bodyguard.
Perhaps he could even say it was a test.
As to the reason, however, behind conducting a test, he couldn't quite fathom. Perhaps there was some deep, underline psychological reason that he had almost abandoned the man to die on a whim… Oh, who was he kidding? Of course there was no such thing; Francis Bonnefoy very rarely took things on such a serious level (thus explaining the one-night and occasional two-night stands; he wasn't quite sure he could survive with no females or luscious sex for more than two days), and that didn't exclude his motive behind the action. He would have to admit it, well, at least to himself. The sole reason he had done such a thing was because it was funny to him, amusing. The British man was just such a fun toy for him to play with, something he could toss around and use to entertain himself with. Much like a child and their fire truck, he would outgrow it and hold no sort of attachment to it; he might as well enjoy Arthur while he lasted, no?
Plus, his reactions were really quite to die for… even if he had almost just died.
But… of course, he couldn't die. He was the Francis; his name was immortal. Little Arthur and his little gun were all a game – albeit extremely dangerous – he finally found himself extremely willing to play. Perhaps being assigned a bodyguard wasn't too bad, after all.
Arriving back at the crime scene, Francis had noted that Arthur was now out of sight. Blue eyes skimmed the area before the landed their sights on an extremely tense figure in the vehicle that they had used to drive here, his fists white as he glared murderously at the steering wheel, like he was about to snap it in half. The Frenchman suppressed a giggle; now, wasn't that just too much? He wouldn't have protested releasing such tensions upon him (preferably in bed), but was the car to suffer? Sometimes, he really couldn't predict what was in that man's head, and with the earlier events…
He shook his head; what had that been all about? Clearly, Arthur could not remember a moment of the incident; well, it was either that, or he was a very professional actor. He highly doubted the latter. He might not have the smarts and seeming investigative and deducing skills that Arthur possessed, but he could at least conclude that the other was someone who did not hold back his thoughts and feelings, no matter what. Why he would have pretended to forget about being such an adorable little damsel in distress, let alone allow himself to be so easily touched, was just out of the question. He could only conclude that there had been some sort of trauma, some sort of incident, but he really couldn't have cared too much at that point. He was too busy holding back his laughter at staring at the man who was still as a statue and still throwing the steering wheel a death glare.
No doubt the other wanted to escape, but first, there was business to take care of; luckily, Arthur had made it easy by shutting himself off from the world around him. This couldn't have been done if he was within hearing range.
Approaching the policeman, Francis spoke in a low voice. "Oui, so as discussed, we shall take 'ze bodies out of your 'ands. 'Ze Agency will be dispatching crime scene investigators and keep 'zeir bodies close, and 'zey will continuously update us wiz' 'ze information as 'zey find 'eet."
Yao nodded sincerely. "Yes, thank you so much, aru. I don't know what we'd do without you, but is this case really that important, aru?"
"Oui. You see, 'zere 'as been a strange rise in deaths recently, and so 'ze Agency 'ees taking into account every single odd death out 'zere. 'Zis will be filed for future reference as well. We appreciate you informing us."
"Of course, aru! It's my job!"
Francis smirked at his fervour; it was oddly comforting to him. Ah, how he wished he had that sense of dedication, but… really, if anything else was added to him, it would be too unfair to the rest of the world, no? "But, between you and me, monsieur, does 'zere 'appen to be any information you left out of 'ze report?"
Yao frowned as he pondered on the question, before he perked up and snapped his fingers. "I don't know, it might not be much, but there was a witness just before the killings, aru. She said that she saw someone come into the building – not too tall but definitely built, she said – and it was quiet, aru. She didn't think it was anything suspicious, of course. It was quiet for about ten minutes, she said, but then after that, the screaming started, aru. I don't know if that's relevant, though, aru…"
"Oui, 'zat is certainly odd. 'Eet adds more mystery to 'zis killer; what was 'e doing in 'zose ten minutes? Why did 'e not strike instantly? S'il vous plait, speak to 'zat witness, and tell 'er 'zat an artist will come over tonight to draw what she saw."
"Will do, aru! Thank you very much, sir!"
Francis smiled, extending a hand that the other took heartily. "My pleasure, monsieur. Be careful and-"
A loud, honking sound came from his left, and he turned to face an irritated blonde punching the steering wheel horn. Francis chuckled, waving happily to the other who returned the gesture with a hard glare. With a nod to the Chinese policeman, he sauntered over to the police car… in no hurry.
After all, it was so much more amusing that way.
Now, what to wear, what to wear? Pacing in front of a full-length mirror, Francis clicked his tongue and shook his head over what seemed to be the hundredth item he had tried on. How could there be nothing good to wear? He wailed in desperation; it was his wardrobe, and yet, there was nothing suitable at all for tonight? What had gotten into him! Skimming the bright tangle of clothes on the rack, he realized that he had worn them all at least twice, and he shook his head; now, that simply would not do. It was an unspoken rule in the Bonnefoy residence that unless it was absolutely necessary, outfits must not be recycled. And, on the occasion that they had to be, it was absolutely vital that they not be paired together in a similar fashion as they had been the first time. It was something he repeated to Matthieu repeatedly; at least the boy would grow up to dress sharp, smart and most importantly, flashy, like his father.
Nothing could have made him prouder.
…That, or a new pair of cardigans.
Flicking through the hangers, Francis ended up sighing resignedly as the grim fingers of truth reached out to him; it was useless, absolutely useless! He realized now that he hadn't yet gone on his weekly shopping spree, one that had been scheduled two days ago. That was the day that he had some rather important "business" to attend to, and not to mention, it would have been extremely rude of him to leave a lady in the lurch like that, especially when Carrie's eyes seemed to beg for him to please her… What kind of monster would he be? Non, that had been the right choice. He would simply make up for it tomorrow; that is, unless there was work to be done.
Sadly, there was always work to be done, but being the Director and all, that had to come with a few advantages, didn't it? Yes, yes, surely they would understand if he called in sick for a fashion emergency, would they not? Ah, well, even if they did not, he wouldn't show. Nothing would come between Francis Bonnefoy and a shopping spree. Nothing!
Finally (grudgingly) deciding on a set of a pink, collared, long-sleeved blouse that very well extended past his wrist and some black dress pants (noted, of course, that the first time he'd used this blouse was with a pair of rather conspicuous capris that drew attention towards places other than his face; ah, but that was a remarkably successful night), the male surveyed himself meticulously in the mirror. There was still something… missing, despite the strip of glitter that marked the blouse across his torso, spelling out various French words that shone like disco balls when just placed under the right light. It just wasn't moving, wasn't obvious enough, and when Francis Bonnefoy did not have all eyes on him in a room, then there was something very apocalyptic about the matter.
And so, he did the only thing he could do for now: mutter a silent prayer of mercy to God, sparing the women (and men, he wasn't sexist!) the misfortune of being depraved of his looks tonight. Oh, have mercy on their poor, wandering souls.
Adjusting his collar and folding up the sleeves on each side twice, Francis cast himself a somewhat satisfactory smile. Even if he wasn't at his best today, he would definitely be catching some eyes tonight. He just hoped it wouldn't be one of Matthieu's teachers… Actually, that wouldn't be too bad. The boy deserved himself some high A's.
It was so eerily quiet on his drive to Sherwood Middle School (note: drive; he had borrowed one of the company's cars. If he had to take the public transportation one last time, he couldn't guarantee his best performance that night and really, who wanted to see a half-alive Frenchman?). Even fiddling with the radio on the bright blue Chevrolet Corvette, there still seemed to be a dull humming in the background that the music could not satisfy. He couldn't quite place his finger on what was now lacking, but he supposed it would come to him later.
Ah… but perhaps it was just the laughter of women in the backseat?
The Bonnefoys lived quite a ways from the school, and so he had arrived just about on the nick of time for when the parent-teacher conferences started. As usual, he was usually called down for these things due to Matthieu's outstanding schoolwork (courtesy of the Papa, of course), more often than not for his artistic prestige. No doubt the teachers would once more want to discuss accelerating the boy a grade or two, but he wouldn't do it. Obviously, he wanted his son on for bigger and better things, but the boy was just so shy and vulnerable that the sudden shock coming from a whole new environment might destabilize him.
He wouldn't have his petite ange hurt that way, not over his dead body.
After hearing the satisfying beep that the car emitted after ensuring its locked doors, Francis turned heel and made his way down the main entrance of the school, where light and laughter – as well as other parents (ah, but positive thinking made him see the females as widows) – gathered into a crowd. He reached the iron doors just a step ahead of a couple, whose daughter was getting visibly irate with their slow pace and was dashing forward in all her childlike wonder. She was definitely a few years younger than Matthieu, and if the mother's running to keep up with her was any indication, she was probably still in the third grade, or so.
Time for some magic.
Opening the door smoothly, having timed it just right so as the woman would be in front of it when he had, Francis offered her a suave wave and a small nod of his head as in a bow, turning on a megawatt smile that would shame the sun. "Ah, let me get 'zat for you, mademoiselle. 'Zere is no need to exert your pretty self, non?"
The woman visibly faltered, having dropped the binders that she had secured in her arm. It was a little too easy, in Francis' opinion, but it was an urge he could not resist, like an itch he could not scratch. She was flustered, no doubt about it, as it took her a good few seconds to realize what she had dropped, and when she did, she bent so robotically that it was so laughably awkward. Francis had to almost shove his fist into his mouth so as to avoid laughing.
"Ah, let me." Bending down, he gathered the mess into his arms, arranged them, before handing them back to the female, who could only stutter a muttered "thanks". She then proceeded to hurry into the door, but not before giving Francis a quick look behind her back, the flush in her cheeks becoming more prominent as he laughed and winked at her. She almost bumped into someone else again.
The woman's husband, no doubt, followed through the door that his wife had passed, which was still being held aloft by the Frenchman. He shot the blonde a bitter glance – one that seemed so shockingly familiar, but from where, he couldn't quite place – before hurrying after the woman he loved… who was so obviously enamoured by him. Ah, the joys of romance. Non, non, even Francis Bonnefoy knew not to come between the driving arms of love… sometimes.
Francis prepared to move inside the doors as well, but on a whim, he decided to take the back way in. He wasn't quite sure what possessed him to do it, but a tug in his gut told him to go around and take the back route. He supposed that if it came to him that logically, he had no choice but to comply. Plus, it was his chance to make a showy entrance. He scoffed; the front door was so yesterday.
The male was familiar enough with the school to know that he would find the large playground by the back, and soon enough, he did. It was like an abandoned forest of twisted metals in the shape of seesaws and monkey bars, swings and tire swings. It was unfortunate, but the lack of children and laughter in it made it seem so depressing, so much so that he couldn't bear to look at it for another second. However, as he turned to avoid the dilapidated mini-village, Francis heard a hushed muttering, a string of curse words that were barely intelligible.
Curiosity escalating, he followed the sound that grew louder as he approached the trees from where the tire sets hung. He hadn't noticed the figure, half-squatting and his back hunched over to him in the pale darkness due to the fact that the tree's shadow had completely enveloped him. But now that he did, he could see that it was no doubt a student here, blonde hair matted roughly and somehow still evenly around his head. The metal of glasses could be seen wrapped around his ears as he moved slightly, and Francis gave a start.
"Matthieu?"
The boy jumped, startled, and this time, he could swear he heard the words "what the hell!" coming from the boy's mouth, before he turned and stood up. Now again, it was the man's turn to be shocked. Expecting the lavender eyes of his cupcake, he was met with the hardened, but somehow still willowy sky blue eyes of a teenager. Non, this was not Matthieu, if not for both the hair that was horribly dry and unkempt and the fact that he had just sworn. His boy was clean and soft-spoken; never would he curse like this. Still, it was interesting to him how this one looked almost exactly like his son, save for the few subtle differences.
The boy's eyes searched his face, as though looking for something, but not finding what he wanted there, he relaxed, but still glaring. Oh, the glare, the glare. Francis smirked; he was getting a lot of those today. The boy seemed to take this as an insult, as he stomped a foot forward, causing an errant cowlick on his hair to bob slightly. "What are you laughing at? And who're you supposed to be?" Francis couldn't help but note a slight accent in his voice, but it was so horribly garbled that he couldn't make heads or tails out of it.
"Rien du tout. Calm down, gosse," the male said, lifting his hands up and trying to calm the boy. How rude, the parents must be so proud. "I am only a parent 'ere."
The boy sighed, and shook his head, before taking a deep breath and staring up at the Frenchman with sturdy eyes, not the apologetic ones that he had expected, which made his words less convincing. "Ah, yeah, right, sorry man. You just surprised me there." He looked down, brushing the dirt that was clinging to his knees, before he restored eye contact with the taller.
"Think nothing of 'eet, my boy," Francis said, nodding. "So why are you out 'ere?"
The boy shrugged, fidgeting slightly. "Nothing much, just had some business to take care of." An eyebrow rose – again, another familiar gesture – as he surveyed the male, searching. "How about you? I'm guessing you're here for the conference, so why'd you come out back? You lost or something?"
The Frenchman shook his head. "I wanted to, uh, 'ow do you say 'eet, make a flashy entrance?"
The boy laughed, and it was a sound that melted his heart with its familiarity. Although Matthieu's voice was softer and a pitch higher, it warmed him all the same, and he found himself laughing quietly along. "Yeah, and I suppose the front entrance is overdone, huh?"
"Oui."
"Smart move, man, smart move. I like you." He grinned, before jutting out a hand, which the Frenchman promptly took. "Nice to meet 'cha."
"As do I," Francis replied, grinning as well. Well, now wasn't this interesting! Although his former impression of the teen was rude and vile, he had immediately retracted that. He guessed he was just a sucker for a smile and anyone younger than sixteen. He sighed; ah, the things Matthieu did to him. "And 'eet 'ees my pleasure as well."
"So," the boy said, as he turned around briefly and shouldered the backpack that was lying behind him. "Need a tour or something, or can you find your way around just fine?"
"Ah, non, I know my way around fairly well. But merci beaucoup for 'ze offer." The boy shrugged dismissively, as though he thought nothing of it. "'Ow about you? Should you not be inside and meeting wiz' your parents?"
The boy blanched, something Francis had noticed was triggered by the word "parents". He decided not to pry, but now that he knew that there was something there, he would not eventually have to attempt to fish it out of the teen. His seductive skills weren't made only for the bed, after all. However, before he could pry on the subject, the other spoke up. "Neh, I wouldn't worry too much about them. Plus, it's only parent; Mom's not coming." Muttering incoherently, he added, "Obviously."
"I see." An eyebrow arched, but he dismissed it quickly. "Let us go in 'zen, shall we? 'Eet's getting razzer' dark out and I do 'ave to meet my son as well."
"Oh, oh yeah, sure!" Now the picture of a typical teen, Alfred swung his backpack onto his back, before walking forward and gesturing to Francis to lead him forward. The male easily did so, keeping in stride with the somewhat sullen teen. He hadn't missed the hitch in his voice when he had mentioned his mother, or the added sarcasm.
"Anyway, 'ow is your father?" Francis asked after a few seconds of silence, never being one to be surrounded by such (especially in bed, for that was just a sure sign he was failing and Francis Bonnefoy did not fail in bed). "'Ow will you find 'im?" He looked around at the throng of people. The better question was, how would he find Matthieu?
"Wouldn't worry about that," the boy said, shrugging. "And my Dad's fine. He's probably looking forward to this more than I am." He snorted, rolling his eyes in that typical teen fashion. "Though I dunno why he is, we always have this crappy thing every semester. I swear, it's like Christmas to him."
Francis chuckled at the little rant, relieved that the boy had answered quite easily. "Well, 'e sounds like an interesting man, no doubt."
"Pft, interesting, hardly," the boy replied, the sarcasm marring his tone. "Definitely interesting, though probably not the way you'd describe it. Though, you know, I wish he'd stop acting like a kid around here, so happy and excited. It's freakin' embarrassing, man."
"I am sure 'e means well?"
He snorted. "Doubt it. But, whatever. Can't choose your parents. No matter how much I would love that."
Francis frowned, but he quickly erased the look on his face. Was it really possible that a child could hold this much disdain for his own flesh and blood? He couldn't even fathom what he would do if Matthieu turned around one day and walked away, shunning and disowning him as this boy certainly was. Even the heartache and pain of the past would not hold a candle to that. "Ah, yes, I suppose so," he said, in an effort to seem complacent and empathizing. He decided to change the subject then, just in case. "So, 'ow long have you been in 'zis school for?"
"Hm… let me see," the other replied quickly, as though he too, did not mind the subject change. "Dunno, maybe a year, maybe a little more? I can't really remember, sorry. I don't really care, either."
"Ah, 'eet 'ees no problem. 'Ow are you finding 'eet so far?"
"S'not bad, I guess. School is school, so it sucks, you know?" He laughed. "Homework and all that crap. The only hard part is making friends and whatever, but aside from that, s'ok." He looked up, scanning the corridor before making his way towards a set of doors that hid stairs that led upstairs. "Sorry for bringing you along around here, mister."
Francis waved his hand dismissively. "Pay 'eet no mind! I would love to meet 'zis fazzer' of yours, for 'aving such a charming young man as a son."
The boy snorted, rolling his eyes. "Okay, now that's just creepy, dude. But I can tell you now, don't get your hopes up. Dad's… not exactly the social type." The boy turned the corner, and muttered a quick, "Figures." Opening the doors to the next floor, he peeked around, as though hiding from someone, before he stepped into full view. "Oh, dude, I forgot! Dad would kill me for my manners. Good thing he's not around. I totally forgot to introduce myself!" He held out his hand, grinning. "Name's Alfred Kirkland."
Francis followed suit, before taking the hand and chuckling. "Pleasure to meet you, Alfred. Je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy."
The hand in his grip tightened if for a second, and Alfred's smile slipped ever so slightly. Had he not been paying attention, he would have missed it, as the boy quickly recovered. Francis' eyebrow arched, but before he could inquire, Alfred had spoken. "Oh, dude, that is a bad-ass name. Sorry, I thought I heard your name somewhere before." He shuddered. "Bad memories man, bad memories."
Somehow, Francis went from curious to slightly insulted. Someone out there had a name like his? Ugh, but the nerve! Someone was going to have a stern talking to. "Pas de problème. And 'ere I thought my name was unique!"
"Guess not, huh?" Alfred offered him a cheesy grin, before his penetrating eyes surveyed the area. They ceased once they landed on the back of a mess of blonde hair, lighter in hue than his own, but similar in style. Well now, Francis knew where he got his sense of fashion from. "Oh, there's my dad. You wanted to meet him, right?"
"Oui."
"Fine, fine, but don't say I didn't warn you."
They approached the male, who still had his back turned to them, having a conversation with someone they could not see. Francis kept his eyes on it; why was it so familiar?
The answer didn't elude him for too long.
Alfred stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Yo', Dad, sorry I'm late."
"It's ok, Al-" The man started with a signature accent, before he turned. Time froze. Francis could have sworn that he could have died laughing from the way the other was staring at him, an expression mixed with confusion, apprehension, surprise and, well, hate (the usual), all done so by his half-agape mouth. "What-?"
Alfred scowled, crossing his arms at the man, clearly oblivious to the atmosphere. "Nice manners there, Dad. And you're the one so anal about it, too. Anyways, wanted to introduce you to this awesome dude. This here's Francis Bonnefoy. And sir," the boy said, turning to him quickly with a ghost of a smile, "this is my dad, Arthur Kirkland."
Next thing he knew, Francis was clutching onto the nearby support for dear life, tears streaming down his cheeks in uncontrollable guffaws.
"So," Alfred started, before taking a huge bite of a hamburger he had somehow procured out of nowhere magically. "You two-" he made a gesture with his pointer finger in a horizontal line back and forth, as though linking the two men who now sat on a park bench, " – know each other?"
Arthur and Francis spoke at the same time.
"Oui", came the slightly amused answer.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, lad!" came the consternating reply, to which Alfred promptly responded with a mental eye roll, but did as he was told. Swallowing, he looked pointedly at his father. "Happy now, Dad?"
"Very much so," Arthur replied, looking at his son with a hint of paternal love before it was quickly erased when he turned his attention to the Frenchman who sat beside him.
Francis had just met the blonde a few minutes back, and after he had successfully recovered from his laughing fit, had gone and retracted his darling Matthieu from Arthur's hands. The uncanny similarity between Matthieu and Alfred was curiously interesting, but he didn't think too much of it. For one, he knew for a fact that Matthieu was cuter, smarter and way more superior in all ways, that is, if the sparkling certificate he held in his hand now was any indication.
"Okay, whatever," Alfred said, before waving his hand dismissively and taking another bite out of the burger, completely oblivious of the tension between the two adults. He gave the Frenchman a nod of recognition, before he approached Matthieu who was now playing in the sandbox and was modelling what looked to be a bear. "Hey, Matthew –" Francis winced at the accent that had been rolled into the French name " – bring your award over here and let's play by the monkey bars."
Matthieu looked up with a shy smile on his face – Francis resisted the urge to just hug him right then and there – before nodding and grasping the frail paper to his chest. "O-oui, Alfred. E-est-ce que v-vous poussez la b-balançoire pour moi aujourd'hui?"
Alfred a glance behind him, one that, at first, looked like anger, but was masked with fondness and exasperation, as though this had been done too many times before. He gestured with his hand to get Matthieu to move faster, before muttering, "English, dude, English."
Francis chuckled, before training his eyes on the Englishman, who was visibly trying to put as much space between him and the other, but without too much success. One could only go so far without falling, after all.
"And just when I thought my day couldn't get any worse, you show up," Arthur started, irritation palpable in his tone.
"'Allo to you too, monsieur Kirkland," Francis replied with a smirk, emphasizing on the last name.
"Why are you even here? I thought someone as promiscuous as yourself would have something better to do than stalk someone."
An eyebrow quirked. "Did you just imply 'zat you are not good enough to stalk?" Francis pointed out, before moving himself a few inches towards the other, who, at this point, had already reached his end of the bench. "Because, as you know… you are right." He laughed, earning a scowl from his companion. "And as I 'ave mentioned before, mon ami, I 'ave a son 'ere, unless you are blind," Francis pointed out. "Also, if you 'ad told me your last name earlier today, we would not be in 'zis… predicament, non?"
Arthur glared at him. "I saw no point in revealing that information. We seem to be going by a first-name basis, regardless, so it was a moot point. And I doubt such a minor obstacle would have stopped someone as idiotically stubborn as you. And, well, now that you know, you can leave."
Francis chuckled, making a tut sound while wagging his fingers to and fro. "Uh-uh, mon britannique. I 'ave as much right to be 'ere as you do. 'Zoh why 'zey let just anyone in 'ere without a proper dress theme is beyond me." He purposely eyed the other's outfit, and snorted. Ah, but it was so like Arthur to dress in such a manner; he should have known that the only reason he looked so prim and proper this morning was because it was part of his uniform, something that had been picked out for him. The man held little to no fashion sense, a fact that he had noticed on his son, Alfred. He shook his head pityingly; the poor lad would no doubt be subject to mockery in his future years.
"What?" Arthur hissed, glaring at the man (ooh, la, la, like father, like son?). "Are you trying to imply there might be something wrong about my outfit, sir?"
"Something, nothing," the Frenchman replied, shrugging. "Everything. I mean, admit 'eet, mon britannique, but a sweater vest. Really? Did you pick out 'zat outfit in 'ze dark or something?"
The Briton huffed, folding his arms across his chest as though covering it up. "And what the bloody hell is so wrong with one? I happen to think it's quite decent."
"And 'zere 'ees a sure sign 'eet 'ees not. Mon ami, I 'ave seen better fashion sense sur les chiens sauvages." He stated this as a fact, shrugging and laughing internally at the British man's expense, who so clearly did not understand-
"I don't need to be a genius to know when I am being mocked, you frog. But I, at least, use my brain for things that bloody well matter." He sneered at the other, before it was replaced with a different expression. Softer, but definitely not nicer. "Well, then," Arthur said, suddenly calm in tone, causing alarm bells to ring in Francis' head. The expression on his face was bluntly sarcastic and mocking, and although this was done unconsciously or not, hugged his arms closer to his chest. "If you believe yourself to be such an expert, why don't you show me this "fashion sense" of yours?"
It was there, plain and visible.
He could smell a challenge.
And everyone knew that Francis Bonnefoy was not someone who backed down in the face of one. Seductively smiling back, a contrast of cool and hot, he muttered, "J'aimerais."
Oh no, he didn't.
A/N: Hoo-boy, here's another chapter from yours truly! I don't think this was as long as the one before, but if it is, sue me. o.o I'm kind of out of it, and I've been writing like mad, because WalMart is not helping me at all. So please give me some credit here, and if not, well, Francis will avenge me! Better lock your closets and windows tonight, ladies and gents!
So here, I have again alternated a daily life chapter and an action chapter, because realistically, they can't always be out there fighting bad guys. But in this way, if you're more of a "no danger" person, you'd like it, and if you're more of the "action" person, then you'd be looking forward to the next one.
Also, here's more of a glimpse of teenage!Alfred. Little bugger, isn't he? But he seems nice enough to Matthieu, or at least I hope it came out as that. Even by his mannerisms, I tried to make it so he does notice Francis' little kid, and doesn't pick on him (because let's face it, with Matthieu's looks and demeanour, it isn't surprising he is being picked on, poor lad). But if you don't see this, no biggie because their relationship will be mentioned more on later!
Also, WHOO, shopping. Can't wait to see this.
Finally, what I should note are my updates. I'm probably starting to sound a little whiny and erratic, but I'm sorry! I don't think I can handle weekly updates. I'm not going to say they'll never happen, but looking at it right now, if I can't handle it with work when I have days off, it's even less likely with university (I will be attending, first year! in September) everyday. So I'm not going to give a definite timeline as to when I'll release chaps (maybe even twice a week, if my muse is good), but I will limit it so you will not go two weeks MAX without an update. Hope this suffices for everyone, and in a way, it has to. I have fun writing and if I feel like someone is continually breathing down my neck, it takes the fun away and my muse dies.
/breathes AND THAT WAS MY RANT. Without further ado, fail Google Translations!
ses beaux cheveux - his beautiful hair
Rien du tout - Nothing
E-est-ce que v-vous poussez la b-balançoire pour moi aujourd'hui? - Are you going to push the swing for me today?
les chiens sauvages - wild dogs
J'aimerais - I would love to