AN: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I gift you a mostly beta'ed chapter – there's just a little bit that my beta hasn't gotten a look at yet, so there will probably be a slightly revised version of this chapter up soon.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia. Any views expressed by characters in my story are not necessarily my own views, nor the views of Hidekaz Himaruya.
Chapter Five
"Alfred bought a skateboard today. No, I don't know why. I don't even think he knows why, to be honest. The minute Dad saw it, he tried to break it. Alfred told him he just wasn't 'hip' enough to understand. I think he may have made Dad cry. Papa slipped him a $20 note and hi-fived him. I wish I got money for doing stupid things."
"Alfred just came in and told me he's taking up competitive jump-roping. Someone's been watching too much Disney Channel."
"Alfred's attempt at veganism has lasted 12 hours, 8 of which he was asleep for. The breaking point was Papa making bacon and eggs for breakfast."
"It's Halloween. We're going as Superman and Clark Kent – again. No, he would not let me be Superman. Apparently I don't have the 'manly physique' to pull off blue spandex. I call bullshit."
"Alfred told me writing a journal is girly. I told him that spending four hours trying to get one bit of hair to lie flat is girly. Note to self: One upping Al is absolutely not worth either being yelled at by Papa for not appreciating Al taking an effort in his appearance, or the two hour lecture on sexism from Dad."
"I just walked into the garage to find Al yelling at the floor, tangled up in what looked like two jump ropes. Apparently, the one sport on earth that he can't do is Double Dutch."
Alfred was fucking lucky that Dad had come home unusually late. He was also fucking lucky that Dad had been in too much of a mood to notice that Alfred was not in fact in his room.
Actually the second bit was rather worrying to Matthew, what with Papa not being in the country and the phone call that morning, and just the fact that Dad had looked ever so slightly tipsy when he walked through the door. But there was nothing he could about his dad's problems – and if Matthew had learnt anything from movies, it was interfering in your parents problems only worked if you were a precocious, pre-teen, separated-at-birth twin girl.
Alfred, on the other hand, was something he could tackle. So Matthew had gone to bed fuming, but not until after he'd dug around for something to fix the latch on his window with. If Alfred was going out, he sure as hell wasn't getting back in through Matthew's window. He'd woken up this morning blessedly warm, window shut, for once.
Upon going downstairs, Dad was not there – just a quick note scribbled on a paper towel that he was going in early and would be back late. Alfred certainly was god damn lucky - two mornings in a row with no parent to check on him.
Too bad Matthew was still here.
Note in hand, Matthew stormed up the stairs, with every intention of banging as loudly on Alfred's door as he could. Making his hung over morning hell wasn't exactly the most mature plan, but it would make him feel a little bit better, wouldn't it? Each step of the way was more of a stomp. If either Papa or Dad had been home, Matthew would have been admonished straight away for sounding like a distressed elephant.
He'd promisednot to make Matthew cover up for him again. He'd promised in a stupid, made-up way while drunk, but still. He'd promised.
But in the end, it wasn't really about the promise, was it? Promises, Matthew knew, were just words like any other, only a little bit harder to validate. The strength of the promise relied solely on the promiser – and as much as Matthew loved his little brother, he was sick to death of putting up with his shit.
The phone rang through to voicemail for the third time in an hour, and for the third time in an hour, Francis didn't leave a message. Arthur was probably driving, or something, though he wouldn't normally expect the man to leave home for at least another 10 minutes. He'd called the landline at 7pm, Riverview time, last night, but Matthew had picked up and said Arthur wasn't home yet – which was strange, because on Wednesdays Arthur got home at 5:45pm, no earlier, no later. And he'd had a lovely chat to one of his sons, his husband was apparently, nowhere to be found.
He was starting to worry. Arthur wasn't one for ignoring phone calls, or messages. In fact, he was ridiculously pedantic about returning messages. Once, he'd even caught Arthur calling the public library to say thank you for an automated reserve notification.
It was part of how Arthur had been brought up. Manners and courtesy were everything in the Kirkland household, above personal happiness or individual freedom. Arthur had told him years ago, that keeping up appearances in a family was vital, and that little things, like not returning phone calls, would of course be nitpicked and held up as evidence that your family was not at all well-bred. If Francis could recall correctly, he'd actually laughed at the statement, and Arthur had been angry at him for days.
Francis had never liked the 'esteemed Lord and Lady Kirkland', but he had to admit, that particular habit they'd instilled in their son was quite a good one - though it in no way made up for all the other things they'd saddled Arthur with.
There wasn't much point in trying again, was there? Arthur would be at work soon, and he needed to go meet his mother at the train station in 5 minutes anyway.
Frowning, Francis turned off his phone and hoped that dear mama would ask no difficult questions.
The first thing that surprised Matthew was that the door to Alfred's bedroom wasn't closed. The first knock of his fist on the hardwood sent the door swinging open and crashing into the wall behind it. He had started to apologise, but stopped himself quickly. Damn old habits.
The second surprise was that Alfred was not huddled in a bedraggled lump under the bed covers, avoiding the touch of sunlight creeping through his curtains like he was a vampire with porphyria. Instead, his brother sat on the perfectly made bed, hugging his knees to his chest and staring down at the plain blue bedcovers through his glasses. He didn't look up to greet Matthew. He didn't seem to respond at all.
For a few seconds, Matthew stood in the doorway, not quite sure what to do. He'd had a bit of a rant lined up but the words had flown out of his head at the rather unexpected sight.
"Um…" was the about the only thing he could think of to say.
"I miss my old sheets."
"What?"
"You know. The ones I had with like, astronauts on them. They were bitchin'. I miss them."
Alfred reached out an arm to grab the sheet. He crumpled the fabric in his hand, head still lowered.
"These ones kind of suck. But I couldn't just have astronaut sheets, right? Chicks would laugh at me if they saw I had astronaut sheets. Dudes probably would too."
And just like that, it was like Matthew was 6 years old again and waking up in the middle of a night to his brother sitting on the foster home bed next to him and crying because he'd had a bad dream that Matthew was gone and he was alone and no one, no one would care about him then. Back then he hadn't known how to deal with it except hug his brother and tell him everything would be okay. 11 years later and he still wasn't sure what to do.
He walked over slowly, and sat down. Alfred still didn't look up.
"Al? Are you okay?" he said quietly. Alfred made some sort of movement with his head, but Matthew wasn't sure what it was.
"Are you coming tomorrow?" Alfred changed the subject.
It took Matthew a moment to figure out what Alfred was referring to.
"Your football game?"
"It's the final."
"Yeah, I'll be there."
Alfred let go of the sheets.
"Papa won't, will he?" Alfred looked up as he said this, directing his gaze from the sheet to the wall. "I don't think he's been to a game all season."
"He's been away a lot."
Alfred snorted.
"Yeah, so what's Dad's excuse?"
He had Matthew there.
"Is this what it's all about then? Matthew asked. He crossed the room carefully, and sat down at the end of Alfred's bed. Alfred's eyes looked through him like he wasn't there and Matthew felt that decidedly horrible feeling of concern grow.
"What's what all about?"
"Your behaviour, recently."
"You sound like Dad, Matt." Alfred made a noise which Matthew couldn't quite call a laugh. "But it's not like Dad would ever say that to me."
"What is up with you, Al? Why won't you just talk to me?"
And in that moment, Alfred the Jock returned. His eyes focussed on Matthew, seeing him for the first time. He put on a grin that anyone would have called easy – but Matthew could see that the corners of his mouth weren't quite high enough, his eyes still too tense.
"Dude, you're being paranoid. There's nothing wrong." Alfred stood up and stretched his arms above his head, letting out a yawn as he arched his back. "I came home early last night. Felt kind of bad about ditching you."
"Oh! Okay that's-"
"And anyway, tomorrow night's end of season rave is gonna be like 500% more awesome."
Matthew frowned and stood up in front of Alfred.
"You're actually going to tell them where you're going after the game though, right?"
"Fuck that. Screw our parents. It's not like they'll care about where I am. Besides, you'll cover for me." Alfred shrugged nonchalantly, but he couldn't look Matthew in the eye.
"No." Matthew shook his head forcefully. "We had a deal… or can you seriously not remember anything we talked about?"
"Yeah, I remember but like, I didn't think you were serious. You're my brother. You should do this for me!"
"Well you promised you weren't going to make me lie to our parents anymore!"
"This isn't about you!" Alfred exclaimed, stomping his foot like he used to when he was younger and temper tantrums had been the way to winning arguments. "Why can't you just help me?"
"Why can't you stop acting like a douche?" Matthew shouted back, crossing his arms and standing his ground.
"No! You're the douche!" cried Alfred, before he stormed out of his own room.
"If you're going to go, then at least come up with your own fucking excuse!" Matthew shouted after him. He heard the sound of the bathroom door slamming and the shower turning on. Alfred was clearly done with the conversation, but Matthew wasn't finished.
Was that it? Was everything Alfred had been doing just a massive cry for attention?
The thoughts flitted through Matthew's head as he stood in his brother's room, but he didn't have time to ponder them. At this rate, he was going to be late for school no matter what – so it wasn't going to change anything if he took a minute to put Mr. Braginsky's letter into his parent's nightstand drawer, was it?
Did that action make Matthew a jerk? Perhaps, in Alfred's eyes, but like Matthew had said: they'd had a deal.
After sitting down to a late lunch in his mother's favourite restaurant, the first few questions out of her mouth had been about her beloved grandchildren. How was their health? Their grades? Were they getting along? What have they been doing lately? Would Francis be bringing them for a visit soon?
Question after question flowed in rapid-fire French out of Éléonore's precisely lipsticked mouth, and Francis answered back in kind, relaying every detail he could remember to his mother. At some point, he promised that they'd visit just after Christmas (Francis made a mental note to inform Arthur of their new holiday plans ASAP). His mother had laughed, delighted.
"It's wonderful not to compete with Arthur's parents for the important days." she had said with a wry smile. The statement struck the wrong chord with Francis. Arthur's parents, and the tattered remains of his relationship with them, were a bit of a touchy subject. He'd steered the conversation away after that, moving to more neutral topics. He had acted light-hearted through the starter and the main, and his mother had played along, but halfway through dessert the mood had changed.
"Tell me, my darling," said Éléonore, putting down her dessert fork, and leaning forward a little, lips ever so slightly pursed. "Why do you keep accepting your father's requests to bring you here?"
Francis raised an eyebrow in mock confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"All this time away." His mother picked up the napkin and dabbed lightly at the corner of her mouth. "It must be hard on Arthur, and the children."
"It won't go on for much longer." Francis looked down at his plate, and used his fork to nudge at his food. "Besides, it is for business. Arthur understands."
His mother scoffed.
"Of course he understands! He loves you." Éléonore reached forward and tilted Francis' head up lightly, like she had done when he was a small child. "Francis, my darling, you cannot hide things from me. Mothers always know when something is wrong."
"Nothing is wrong."
"Do not lie to me, Francis." His mother rolled her eyes and patted him on the cheek. "You have been restless and distracted all afternoon. Every time I even mention Arthur, you shy away and change the subject. I am not stupid."
"No. You're right." Francis sighed and put his fork down. "Arthur is not happy. We have argued a lot lately, but I thought we were getting better until…"
"Until?"
"I think something is wrong." Francis shrugged his shoulders. "I haven't been able to reach him. Perhaps he's mad that my flight got delayed?"
"Perhaps." His mother furrowed her eyebrows, as if she didn't quite believe him. For a moment, there was silence, until she spoke again.
"I will speak to your father. Perhaps Monique can sort out this Fournier business for a while."
"Really?" Francis replied in grateful surprise. "Thank you. Thank you very much."
"Arthur will thank me too." His mother smiled back at him, before becoming serious once again.
"Remember, Francis. It has been a long 13 years, but even so, you cannot forget what Arthur gave up to be with you. He left many things behind for you, so you cannot leave him behind. I have always liked Arthur. He is a strong man, but even the strongest men have weaknesses."
"I know." Francis nodded solemnly. "I know, mother."
He thought about how happy Arthur would be to know that Francis would be staying in Riverview for a while. The end of the work trips was like a miracle, and ten tonne weight off of his shoulders. God knew how awfully time sucking they had been on Francis' life. He had felt like, in the last few months, he'd barely seen his family at all. He'd probably missed all sorts of things in his sons' lives, and he needed to catch up with everything that Arthur did too. For the first time in a while, they could have a proper conversation that didn't end in one of the shouting at the other about one thing or another.
He couldn't wait to get back to Riverview and tell Arthur the news.
Arthur had been in a mood all morning, and while that wasn't exactly rare, he'd been exceptionally miserable towards everyone today. Liza had asked him over and over again what was wrong, and pointed out that he'd been jumpy yesterday too, but Arthur hadn't budged. The morning's phone call had disturbed him greatly, but he couldn't bring himself to talk to anyone about it – not even her.
Eventually, Liza had given up and gone off to sort through an order of science journals, leaving Arthur to stew in the office alone. And so he'd spent the morning with a pot of tea by his side, engrossing himself in book classification and resource reviewing. His need to distract himself was rather productive, and he powered through his tasks mechanically. Book lists were compiled in record speed, thoroughly sorted and typed into comprehensive emails for professors searching for class material, and students researching their theses alike. Consumed by work, Arthur didn't hear a thing from Liza until the early afternoon.
"Eric?" Liza's voice drifted in through the office door, which had been left ajar. "What are you doing here?"
It seemed like Arthur might finally meet the fiancé. He took note of the obvious delight in Liza's voice. The tone almost made him smile.
"I swapped shifts with another doctor."
Arthur stopped typing, index finger hovering over 'h'.
"She wished to be at home with her young daughter who's sick with the flu, so I'll be working the night shift for the next week or so. I thought it might be nice to bring you some lunch."
The sound of the accented voice was altogether too familiar.
"It was quite difficult getting here though. This campus is a labyrinth."
"You're just awful at finding places."
That laugh was certainly familiar too. But from where, exactly? Arthur struggled to place the memory as the voices grew gradually louder.
"…anyway, that was awfully sweet of you. But I work in a library, Eric."
"Right. This is just like my first day of university all over again..."
"Oh?"
It couldn't possibly be…?
"I thought I'd try to make friends with my roommate by bringing him lunch but instead -"
It was!
"I had a bit of a fit at you, didn't I?" Arthur interrupted, as they entered through the doorway. Arthur recognised the tall brunette straight away.
"Kirkland?"
The shock that lay on one Roderich Sebastian Edelstein's pretty face was rather amusing. In 13 years, the man hadn't changed much. His hair still retained its deceptively casual waved hairstyle - which, having shared a room and then a flat, with the man for four years, Arthur happened to know took actually took at least 30 minutes to create in the morning (the one part of his appearance that was deliberately effortless, instead of actually effortless) . Those wire rimmed glasses had to be the same ones that had been constantly lost in university, instead of in their rightful place perched upon a narrow nose. That same nose, however, no longer had someone looking down it – it seemed like Roderich had certainly lost a bit of that arrogance he'd carried throughout the four years Arthur had known him (though, to the man's credit, most of that pompousness had disappeared by the time Arthur had graduated).
Between the three of them, Arthur wasn't sure who was the most surprised. Poor Liza looked between the two of them in confusion, and while Arthur evaluated Roderich, it was safe to assume Roderich was assessing him. The stunned silence lasted for a minute until Roderich spoke.
"Of all the places to see you again, I never thought it would be here, Arthur." he said with a carefully raised eyebrow.
"I could say the same." Arthur replied, mirroring the expression. "Far from home, aren't you?"
"It's been… 12 years?"
"13. You're awful at maths. How you ever got through med school, I'll never know."
"Okay, that's enough." Liza snapped out of her confusion and pointed at her fiancé. "I think we should all sit and have a chat, don't you?"
While Lisa busied herself making a new pot of tea, Arthur and Roderich sat somewhat awkwardly opposite each other at the table. As quickly as they had fallen into bantering upon their reunion, the initial jolt had worn off and 13 years of absence had settled in. Small talk about the weather became what seemed to be their mutually chosen neutral ground.
"Oh for god's sake." interrupted Liza as she down, placing the pot carefully in the middle of the table. "You are grown men. You can talk to each other."
After a moment more of silence, she rolled her eyes.
"Right, I'll start then."
Carefully, she poured the two of them a mug of tea each.
"Clearly you two know each other."
The two men nodded.
"Where from?"
"University." said Arthur.
"We were roommates." Roderich chimed in.
"Okay… second question." Liza looked at the two of them pointedly. "I must have mentioned you two to each other at least a hundred times. How on Earth did neither of you make the connection?"
At this implied accusation of their incompetence, both Arthur and Roderich leapt to defend themselves.
"I didn't realise he was going by Eric now." Arthur huffed, crossing his arms.
"And the Arthur I knew in university would have never moved to America, of all places." Roderich scoffed, wrinkling his nose.
"Oh, speak for yourself, Roddy."
"Roddy? Oh, Eric, that's adorable!" With a laugh, Liza stood up. "Mission accomplished! Now try and keep that line between you two open while I pop out. I'm going to leave you two alone to catch up!"
Arthur and Roderich's attempts to protest were quickly shut down.
"Shush now. Thank you for the lunch, sweetie, but share it with Arthur. I'm actually supposed to meet Katya now anyway, and I really shouldn't keep my poor maid of honour waiting. I'll be back after my lunch break, Arthur!"
And with a kiss on Roderich's cheek, she swept out of the room, leaving the two men looking at the doorway, and then each other, in dismay.
"So…" said Roderich quietly, adjusting the positioning of his dark purple scarf.
"So what ever did happen to Roddy?" was the question that slipped from Arthur's mouth before he really had a chance to think about it.
"I left it behind me in Vienna. I needed something new – and 'Eric Edelstein' had a lovely ring to it."
"You never did like that nickname, did you?"
"Despised it." Roderich accompanied this with a look so disgusted, that Arthur couldn't help but laugh. This seemed to put the Austrian at ease, and he smiled.
"It really is good to see you again, Arthur."
"You too, Roderich." Arthur picked up his mug of tea. "I certainly feel just a tad stupid for not recognising who Eric the Austrian HOD really was though. But I never would have expected you to work in the Emergency Department. You always used to say you'd take up a cushy, less time-consuming role. What was it you used to say? 'More time for my music', if I recall correctly?"
"I had a lot of time to think, after you and Antonio graduated. I still play though, of course."
"Of course." Arthur nodded. "But ED… I can't see 1996 Roderich Edelstein getting his hands all bloody."
"Perhaps 1996 Roderich Edelstein grew up a little."
"Why Riverview?" Arthur asked. "Liza said you moved here last year from Vienna."
"Ah. Well. It's actually because of Antonio." Roderich laughed.
"Antonio? Really?"
"We kept in touch after he graduated. After I finished my degree and moved back to Vienna for my residency, I would see him sometimes. The architecture firm he worked for had a project there, and every so often we would meet to catch up."
"Should I be insulted that I wasn't gifted with your correspondence?" Arthur ask dryly. "Or is that reserved for ex-boyfriends only?"
"It's rather difficult to correspond when one doesn't leave any contact details." Roderich replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Point taken."
"In any case… keeping in contact with Antonio got me this job. He called me a year and a half ago, said the last HOD was retiring, and if I wanted a change, he was sure I'd be a great fit as a replacement."
"But Antonio's a lecturer?"
"Apparently he's friends with the HOD Surgery."
"Right."
Typical Antonio. Back in university, Arthur's other roommate had been known for making friends with everyone and everything in sight. If you needed a connection, Antonio was the person to go to. Antonio had gotten Arthur his job. He was just that kind of guy.
"So how did you get here, Arthur? Working in a library is paradise, I assume but… America? That's the last place I would've imagined seeing you again."
"We'll, you know how it goes." Arthur shrugged. "You get married. Have kids. Go where family goes."
"So that answers my next question. I guess that means you and Francis -"
"I married him."
"Oh!" Arthur knew, that if Roderich had been anyone else in the world, his eyebrows would have shot upwards so fast that people would fear they'd fall off. But Roderich was far too composed, and instead reacted with only a slight twitch.
"I supposed I must belatedly congratulate the two of you then." Roderich chose his words carefully.
"Come off it." Arthur snorted. "You and I both know no one expected anything to come of it."
"Well… No." Roderich admitted after a moment of staring at the table. "We all thought you were crazy. Even Antonio didn't think it would last."
The strangest look passed across Roderich's face. Arthur took it as confusion.
"Yes. Well. We have." Arthur suppressed a grimace. Thankfully, Roderich either didn't notice, or was simply too polite to ask.
Arthur was relieved when Roderich enquired after his children and the conversation shifted away from Francis.
I thought I should clarify – when Francis is in Paris, everyone's speaking French, unless English is specified (or talking to someone in America etc.). I figured it would be better for me not to awkwardly Google translate entire conversations and instead just write them out in a language you all understand.
If there's one thing I'm proud of in this fic it's that I've somehow accidentally managed to have include a high school American Football final at the right sort of time, despite knowing little to nothing about it and having written the story timeline way before deciding on including it. Also, sneaking in little bits of Francis and Arthur's past was pretty fun! We've almost reached the point I've been waiting for in this story…