Two weeks later
Arthur sighed and leaned back casually in his chair. It was a skill he had picked up from his family; he could achieve a sort of effortless elegance even when he slouched or lazed. It was a useful skill to have. Especially in situations such as these.
"Arthur, what do you have to say for yourself." It was not a question but he was expected to answer.
"I'm sorry, did you expect anything more from me?" There. Let her chew on that for a while. Arthur was glad at least that she didn't pretend to look shocked anymore. She had finally given that up when she realized it was no longer effective. Now, her eyes adopted a steely look and she narrowed them.
"Of course not," she said. "But a woman can hope, no matter how naïve such a hopeless venture should make her appear."
"Oh, but mother. Men love hopefulness in women. A woman is expected to hope where there is obviously none. It gives her a childish appeal and an innocent luster. Men appreciate her more that way."
"Indeed." She smiled a perfectly false smile at him and he returned the gesture. Years of misunderstanding and cold separation passed between them in that one look and it was possible that mother and son had never been more connected than they were in that moment, hateful though that connection was. In her son's eyes, Lady Kirkland could see rebellion, a desire for freedom, and mischievous disobedience. In his mother's eyes, Arthur Kirkland could see disdain and aloof disgust. He refused to give in.
"So, I assume, then, you have a reason for coming all the way to France in pursuit of me?" he asked airily, examining his nails as though they were manicured. He loved doing that in front of his mother. It was, after all, a habit he learned from her. "For there is absolutely no way you came here just for a friendly visit. Enjoying the decor, mother?" He saw her minute twitch and inwardly rejoiced. She recovered quickly. His mother looked at him through cold eyes, long having lost whatever warmth of love they may have held for him. She sat perched elegantly upon one of his apartment's plain wooden chairs, and Arthur had no doubt that his mother thought the damn thing a better sight than him.
"Everywhere you go, you make a spectacle of yourself," she said plainly. "It is insulting to our family. You were unfortunate enough to have been born a Kirkland indeed, as we were unfortunate enough to have you." She stood.
"But, no matter the misfortune of our circumstances, you will live as you were bred. And you will live that life proudly. There are more freedoms to this way than you may think." Arthur's triumph seeped from his body as though a floodgate within him had been opened. He knew that tone. This was going to become a long history of the family, Arthur could just tell. He sighed and made a point of settling himself down for the long boring lecture. His mother sneered at him.
"There are women somewhere on our godforsaken spit of an island that would have you," she said. "Lord knows I do not understand why, but it is true nonetheless. And I know that there is a part of you that would cherish an opportunity to have one of them." She leaned forward and looked at him with her cold soulless eyes. "Wouldn't you, my boy? An abundance of lovely ladies to choose from. It is simply a dream come true for a bachelor, is it not?" Arthur was quivering and he glared at his mother. He opened his mouth to speak but she glided past him with a disdainful ease. She spared no other glance at him.
"I shall see myself out. I expect you back at England in a fortnight this day. Send a letter when you arrive. We have much to discuss. Good day." She left the apartment with a quietly triumphant air. Arthur glowered after her.
"Dammit! Fuck the bitch a thousand times," he cursed. "No, a million times!" But it was too late. She had done the damage and now he couldn't do anything but seethe in anger. And swearing after her wasn't going to change anything. Arthur had learned a long time ago that his family was brutal with anything that opposed them, even kin. When he was in college, there had been an incident. It had the potential to scar his reputation and even had come close to driving him out of England. Had not his family stepped in, Arthur didn't know where he would be right now.
It had ended terribly. Some other poor bloke took the blame and Arthur was let off the hook. Arthur didn't know who the man was and his family didn't tell him. Every time Arthur thought of it, there was conjured a sick image in his mind of his father sitting at a polished oak desk flanked by burly tough looking men, telling him in a scratchy throaty voice, "Don't worry about it." It was like the damn mafia, and Arthur hated it to this very day.
Anyway, the point of it was, Arthur could not escape his family because if he tried, they would stop hiding him from the world and reveal his deepest darkest secret as a parting gift. That would be their farewell; that would be them bidding him stand on his own two feet without their help after they had just knocked the wind out of him.
Arthur had lived his life the best he could as free of his family as he dared, and he often toed the line, which frustrated the Kirklands to no end. And he gloried in their frustration. Sometimes he felt he lived for nothing more than the twitch in his father's left eye that was the only hint of his anger. Sometimes he felt he lived for a scandalized look from his stoic mother, a gasp of surprise from his frigid sister, an uncontrolled growl deep in his superior brother's throat.
But he hadn't gotten any of that just now.
No, now had been one of his failures, and he bemoaned the failure.
Arthur's head fell to his hands and he released an angry sigh. Oh, good god, he was not in the mood for this.
His thoughts shifted to Francis and he made a split-second decision. He hoped the damned bastard would be able to cheer him up at least a little bit.
"You seem very… chipper… today." Arthur glared at the Frenchman beside him, taking careful note of the sarcasm.
"Sod off," he grumbled. "Today's just been a bad day."
"Better now that I am here, mon petit lapin?" Francis grinned, leaning close to Arthur to waggle his eyebrows playfully. The Brit growled and shoved him away.
"What part of sod off don't you understand? And why the hell do you keep calling me that? How am I like a bloody rabbit?" Francis answered unblinkingly.
"Your eyebrows remind me of one." Arthur's stare was so comically stupid that Francis had to stop walking to control his laughter. Arthur blushed bright red in embarrassed anger. He grabbed the lapels of Francis' jacket and pulled him in close.
"You leave my eyebrows out of this, you wanker!" he threatened. Francis waved his hands weakly in a peace gesture and tried to wipe some of the mirthful moisture from his eyes.
"Je suis désolé, Arthur, s'il vous plait! Je ne peux pas respirer!" (I'm sorry, Arthur, please! I can't breathe!) He continued laughing for another obnoxious minute and Arthur waited in a silent huff for him to calm down. Francis finally seemed to get the memo and tried to stem the flow of hilarity that had so suddenly overtaken him.
Arthur rolled his eyes and continued walking, fed up with the Frenchman. Francis jogged after him, a teasing grin still adorning his face.
"Oh, come on, Arthur," he mock pleaded. "You can't seriously be so upset just because I had a little fun, oui? Come now, Arthur! It's all – what was that phrase again? Ah! Water under the bridge! It's all water under the bridge, non?" Arthur slowed his walk and Francis grinned wider. He slowed his pace as well.
"I apologize for having such fun at your expense, mon ami. It was uncalled for and very rude and tactless on my part." He saw Arthur's shoulders shake a bit and knew that the Brit was fighting off laughter. "Well? Am I forgiven?"
Arthur stopped completely and turned around to flash a lopsided smirk at Francis. He walked up to him and gave him a hard elbow to the gut. Francis grunted and stumbled away from Arthur, taken entirely off guard.
"What was tha—"
"I suppose I can forgive you just this once, you damned frog."
"How very… gracious of you," Francis mumbled, rubbing his stomach. Arthur ignored him and stuffed his hands in his pockets, indulging himself in his need to sulk. Francis watched him.
"Something is wrong?" he guessed with a tiny grin. Arthur shot him a sideways glare.
"No fucking shit," he grumbled moodily. "What a bloody genius you are." Francis rolled his eyes and moved over to Arthur's side, slinging an arm about the Brit's shoulders and pulling him in close. He took advantage of his height and forced Arthur to walk a little shorter. Arthur yelped indignantly and Francis placed his cheek on the forcibly shortened man's head. He sighed dramatically.
"Oh, my poor little Englishman," he sighed. "Vous savez, François ne pouvait tout faire mieux! If you would just tell him what was going on~" (You know, Francis could make everything better!) Arthur ripped himself away from Francis and roughly jabbed a fist into his shoulder.
"You bloody bastard, what the hell was that for!" he demanded. Francis chuckled and put his hands on his hips, lifting an eyebrow. He glanced mischievously at his companion.
"You always respond," he said simply. Arthur stared at him a moment more and then groaned and resumed his walking and sulking. Francis walked beside him once more, serious this time.
"Are you ready to tell me what it is that is bothering you?" he asked.
"My mother demands I return to England two weeks from today," Arthur responded without looking at Francis, who blinked in confusion.
"Why is that so bad?" he asked. Arthur spat out a laugh and shot Francis a wry smile.
"I see we've never exactly discussed my family life, have we?" Francis shook his head.
"Non," he said carefully. "I figured you would speak of it if you want to." He stopped. "Wanted to," he corrected himself quickly. Arthur nodded and scanned the street for vacant benches.
"Well, I guess this is me wanting to," he grinned, catching sight of an empty bench and indicating towards it. The two sat in unison. Arthur's head flopped forward and he moaned his frustration.
"Okay. Where do I start?" Francis leaned back against the bench and ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. He hadn't tied it back today. He rather liked it better when it was down. He grinned.
"Wherever you feel would be best to start," he answered. "I do not know anything about your life." He sounded surprised as he said this and Arthur understood why. It had barely been two weeks since he'd met this man and already he'd developed a routine that virtually revolved around him and his schedule. It was odd to be so close to someone for so short a time and then suddenly realize just how short that time really was; when one suddenly realizes just how little one actually knew about someone else.
Arthur released a heavy breath and leaned back against the bench, crossing his legs casually and resting an arm over the back of the bench. His elbow brushed against Francis' and he jerked it away impulsively.
"Alright, well, my family is very rich, for starters, and they're very reputable in England. I hate them." Francis chuckled to himself and muttered something under his breath in French. Arthur heard and smiled himself, shaking his head. "Completely. Anyway, I was always raised to become a bloody priss, like them, but I resisted and here I am." Francis gave him a curious look.
"Really, Arthur, you can do better than that," he admonished. Arthur glared at the Frenchman.
"One step at a time, Frenchie," he growled. "We'll cross that bridge when we bloody well come to it." Francis threw his hands into the air in a hopeless gesture.
"Oh, you are insufferable!" he cried.
"No, I'm bloody hungry. Let's go get something to eat, frog."
"…Salaud."
Nevertheless, they stood and began to make their way towards the food they sought. Arthur nudged Francis.
"So, where do you want to go today?" he asked. Francis shrugged and tipped his head back, casual smile on his face.
"It does not matter to me," he said. "But I would love to sit outside, I suppose."
"Le Jardin?" Arthur asked immediately. He loved that place. Francis nodded.
"Oui, I could stand a meal there." He grinned. Arthur clapped his hands together.
"Alright, the bloody Garden it is," he exclaimed with a smirk. Francis twitched.
"Le Jardin, salaud stupide!" he corrected vehemently. Arthur chortled.
"Yea, alright," he mocked, raising a thick eyebrow in Francis' directions. "Le Jardin. Can we bloody go now?" He grabbed the Frenchman's arm and dragged him towards the intended restaurant.
"So, your parents are rich?"
"Augh, good God, man, you're still on about that?" Francis threw his hands up into the air.
"I have only mentioned it twice!" he cried quietly (they were in a restaurant after all). "And the first time it was only because you brought it up!" Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Oh, please, I'll bet you were just dying to ask about it for the longest time—"
"Mon Dieu, I've only known you for two weeks-!"
"—And when the opportunity presented itself—"
"Correction! You presented the opportunity-!"
"—YOU, like the bloody frog you are, jumped on it, with your little French froggie legs!"
"Oh, well isn't that just the most mature, original thing I have ever heard—"
"And now, your nosy French arse is stuck in all the wrong places—"
"Well, if it bothers you that much, you can just—"
"Euh, excusez-moi, messieurs… vous êtes assez fort…" (Uh, excuse me, sirs… you are quite loud…) Both Francis and Arthur jumped and turned to see a mousy looking waiter looking between the both of them nervously. Behind him the entire restaurant, it seemed was staring at them. Arthur turned bright red.
"Sorry," he mumbled quickly, while Francis apologized to the man in French. The waiter looked satisfied with this apology and told them quickly that they could stay if they kept the volume down. As Francis made to sit down again, Arthur glared at him and plopped back down into the seat. Whereas Francis seemed to glide back down to his previous seated position, Arthur sank heavily back down to the seat as though he were made of lead. His arms crossed on the table and his head fell with a thunk between them.
"Well that was embarrassing," he muttered. Francis shrugged.
"Serves you right," he sniffed. Arthur groaned into his arms.
"Oh, don't bloody start again," he moaned. "I'd rather not get kicked out of this place before I get my bloody food, thanks." Francis, at least, had the decency to look mildly ashamed.
"Well, you did not need to overreact—"
"Neither did you," Arthur deadpanned, shooting Francis a sideways glance from the table. The Frenchman looked away.
"All I wanted to know was more about your parents—" he began.
"And I've told you all I want you to know, end of story," Arthur interjected. Francis pouted.
"But if we are going back to your home in L'Angleterre, don't you think I should at least know a bit more about your—"
"Wait, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait." Arthur's head shot up and he held his hands out to Francis as though to halt him. "I get called back home and suddenly we're going to England? Where the fuck did this come from!" Francis smiled and rested his chin on his hand.
"I have always wanted to go to England," he confessed with a romantic sigh. "I want to see if the women there are really as big-feeted as everyone here makes them out to be." He paused to chuckle. Arthur made a mental note to maim him later.
"But—"
"Besides, my parents want to get rid of me. They want to me to go places to see if I can make something of myself." He chuckled again. Arthur detected something in his voice that wasn't entirely mirthful, though. He ignored it.
"Still, you weren't bloody invited and I'd rather not have to worry about dragging you all over the place," the Brit growled. Francis shot him a crooked grin and reached across the table to tap his nose.
"Oh, you worry about me, qu'il est doux! (how sweet!)"
"I do not, dammit!" Arthur stormed out of the restaurant.
Okay, so this is more of a transition chptr then an actual progression of the plot. I'm trying to set stuff up with this one, I'm sorry about the slow-going-ness of it! Oh, and I also wanted to write these two arguing, cuz it's super fun! ;D And now, Arthur is back to his old self (I hope) and Francis is acting a bit more like his annoying in-your-face self too. I hope I did alright with their characters!
SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME WITH THE FRENCH! Seriously, I love the French language, I think it is one of the sexiest languages out there but I don't know crap about it, so if anyone can help me with the crappy google translator French translations, that would be much appreciated!
So, yeah, we're moving forward bit by bit. The one thing I want to make sure that I don't do is move to the climax too quickly. So updates may not be exactly regular, and I'm sorry if it ends up taking a while! Editing is a long process and I still make a lotta mistakes. -.-
Once again, if anyone catches anything that is wrong or doesn't make sense, just lemme know and I'll get on it! Gracias!