Arthur Kirkland, despite his grumpy exterior, was secretly a giant mother-hen.

If one looked past his appearance, this would in fact be obvious. He'd always wanted a big family to be in charge of. Perpetually single and biologically incapable of having children (due to a dark memory he would only ever refer to as 'the piano incident' and never say anything further about), Arthur had taken to adopting children from foreign countries many years back.

It seemed he wasn't any good at parenting, however, if the depressing number of adopted children he'd had who had run off and declared total independence from him said anything. If pressed, Arthur would admit that he had been a bit authoritarian in his younger years by demanding more than the poor children proved capable of dealing with from him.

He dealt with it. He was English, and stood firmly by the tenant of keeping a stiff upper lip. Mostly by adding alcohol to his tea (because he had to keep up appearances, after all.)

Like he said, he dealt with in. In whatever way he could.

As one of the few of his adopted children left (not officially…just in his heart, though he'd never admit it), Matthew was often of his foremost concern. The poor child had a lot to deal with, so Arthur tried his best to watch out for him.

So when he noticed that over the last two weeks or so a Frenchman seemed to have suddenly appeared in Matthew's life and started following him around, Arthur's protective instincts were instantly roused. He was worried, and the man seemed suspicious. Overly charming and becoming close to Matthew far too rapidly! And to make things worse, Matt's life seemed to have started to revolve around the Frenchman as well!

Arthur was very, very worried. It all screamed serial killer/rapist/stalker/cult member to him. He'd thought Matt had better sense than this.

So Arthur had put his amateur detective skills to the test. He was hardly a professional, but being a huge fan of the Sherlock Holmes novels and various spin-offs had to count for something, right?

He'd looked the man up. Then, he'd made his discovery – 'Jacque-Jean Renaud' was a false identity. Cleverly done as well, he'd give the man that. The man had clearly done this sort of thing before, or had a very professional forger work this all out for him. All the official documents checked out.

But the Frenchman's lecherous tendencies would be what gave the game away. Checking the man's internet history had revealed, amongst all the extremely explicit porn sites, a private message from what seemed to be a jilted ex. He'd felt like a proper detective code-breaking, trying to use his high-school knowledge of French to figure out what in the hell it said. Laurent, you dog! It began. Or is it Jacque-Jean now? Whatever you are, you are a liar and a coward! Changing your identity just to run away from commitment, really, you disgust me!

I bet you don't even remember that you only met me through Marie. It continued. Did you forget we were friends? Is this what you do, seduce women just to dump them and run away? Well, too bad for you. I went crying to Marie that the man I wanted to marry had disappeared, and showed her a picture of you. And guess what? She was shocked because she recognised you as 'Sebastien'!

After that, the message went on and on about the trivial dramas between the two, ending with a You bastard, I hope your (private parts, Arthur had tactfully translated) shrivel up and drop off! As amused as Arthur was about the message, it had been the two other names the lady had revealed that had caught his attention. Research into those names turned up previous identities of the man's, with hints of many more identities with less internet history.

He'd felt sick and angry on Matt's behalf.

This was why he'd tracked the man down to a normal-looking apartment (deliberately so to decrease suspicion! Arthur thought.)

Arthur was not a stupid man. He'd taken all the necessary precautions (and some unnecessary ones as well.) A message was timed to be sent to the proper authorities if he did not confirm he was safe and well, he'd dug up a black-market protective vest he'd gotten back in his rebellious punk days from the bottom of his wardrobe.

He'd also managed to smuggle in an illegal gun from America. This was going to get him into a lot of trouble if he got caught, but better caught alive by the cops than found dead or worse a few months later at the bottom of the local river.

All in all, he was strongly reminded of his punk days, when he'd been all into that anarchy thing. Although he liked to think himself a proper gentleman now, there would likely always be a bit of him that lived for this sort of thing. He'd even dug up his old leather outfit! (Which still fit, even if it did bulge a bit around the waist, which he stubbornly attributed to the protective vest rather than the thought he might have let himself go.)

Even Matthew wouldn't recognise him in his old kit. Having thought it'd be best if nobody realised it was him giving the perverted Frenchman a piece of his mind, Arthur had given in to nostalgia and gone full-on punk. It was a bit embarrassing, to be all dressed up in in his torn Union Jack t-shirt, leather jacket and trousers and all, but this was for the best, he reminded himself. It could help intimidate the French bastard. It was necessary.

Alright, perhaps it wasn't quite as necessary to raid his office stationary for safety pins to jam into his ears, or reinsert his old facial piercings, or attempt to gel what he could of his short hair into a mini Mohawk (an attempt which failed). But even Arthur could admit that he looked surprisingly good for someone pushing forty once you got him out of his jumpers and cardigans.

And so that was what Francis opened his door to.

"Yes? What is it?" Francis asked politely while notably running his eyes up and down Arthur and looking approving of what he saw.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Get straight to the point, he thought. Ignore the lech's perverted tendencies. Reverting to his childhood accent(Cockney, he was ashamed to say, which he'd successfully overridden with a much more proper sounding Received Pronunciation), he spoke, playing it right up. "I've seen yer been 'angin' round Matt. You got one chance to tell the truth, or else. Wot's yer business wit' him?" he growled.

Francis blinked. "Pardon?"

Arthur was beginning to get right narked. "You 'eard me. Spit it out. Wot's yer business wiv' 'im?!"

"I'm afraid I don't understand- "

Arthur always did have a problem with anger management when he didn't get his way. "Don't understand, my arse!" he exploded. "I know you've been hangin' round the poor boy, and he's got enough to deal with without some weirdo like you makin' trouble for 'im!"

The Frenchman looked startled. "Uh-" he began.

"Don't you fuckin' get start'ed, now! Don't think you can brush me off all cute like, the way you do with your ex-girlfriends!" He hissed accusingly in what he felt was a menacing way (and not at all like the angry cat it actually sounded like.) "I'm not goin' ta fall fer your lit'el tricks. So you'd best start talking, you fuck'in' frog."

The Frenchman just gaped at him for a few seconds. Then: "I have no idea what you just said, but you sound sexy when you're angry."

Arthur punched him right in his pretty French face.

Well. That was embarrassing for multiple reasons, Arthur thought, later. Should've realised that his English mightn't have been good enough to figure me out.

As a sort of grudging apology he'd helped bandage up the man's face. Though there was little he could do about the man's whining about the resultant broken nose "ruining my beautiful face!"

He wasn't at all sorry about that. Served him right, the idiot.

Although, as was only right, he did apologise about the whole misunderstanding and finally figured out that the bloke was Francis Bonnefoy, Matt's uncle who'd been falsely accused. He'd called Matthew to confirm the truth, and Matt had laughed his head off for a full minute at the events that had transpired before he confirmed that yes, Francis was his uncle, and that yes, Francis was a good guy at heart.

He'd still glared at the Frenchman as he threw his phone down in disgust.

So that was how Arthur came to accept Francis' presence in Matt's life, even if he still thought the frog was a right pervy bastard.