I won't lie, folks. I love this story because I feel I can really play around with Canada's relationships with England, America. Maybe I'll even work in France. XD (Heck yeah!). I feel like this is the only time I can do so. So I'm kinda milkin' it. But I do hope people find it interesting as well. Thanks to everyone who is following this story. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I like writing it. Thanks for reviewing and fav'ing and waiting for it to be updated. ILU~

Warnings: Alcohol use (legit warning, people), flashback (completely in italics), OOCness, slightly dark undertones

Pairings: hinted England/Canada

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Arthur swirled his drink gently, watching idly as the firelight reflected off the gin. Drinking was something he enjoyed. He relished the burn the liquid left in its wake as it slid down his throat. He enjoyed the warm feeling it gave him. Some called it a vice, a weakness.

He called it a distraction.

True, it did turn gentlemen into criminals, good law-abiding citizens into monsters. If one didn't know their limits, one would lose control and wake up, ill from excess and with regret. But Arthur didn't find any reason to worry. He was a gentleman and a criminal and a monster. He woke up with regrets after a night filled with phantoms of horrors past so often even the servants stopped questioning the shrieks and blood-shot eyes. He was a sinner and a saint, all at once. Drinking changed nothing.

Besides, nations had worse vices than alcohol.

Yes, he was most likely drunk. Good.

"Arthur." A soft voice, a mere whisper, cut through his musing and emerald eyes flickered toward a slender blond boy standing at the door of his study. Arthur hadn't even heard Matthew enter.

The faeries twittered around his head, bell-like laughter filling his ears. With a slight frown, he gently batted the incessantly flickering creatures away, not in any mood to deal with their cheer when he was in such a mood. Not offended in the least, the faeries fluttered over to Matthew and twirled around him, their light illuminating the concerned expression on his face. However, Matthew didn't notice the magical creatures orbiting him and instead moved closer to the empire sprawled in an armchair in front of the fireplace.

"Did you need something Matthew?"

If the violet-eyed boy was surprised that Arthur remembered his name, he didn't show it.

"I planned to ask you the same." He said with a gentle smile. "You've been brooding here all day. Do you plan to sleep here as well?" Matthew asked teasingly, coming to a stop in front of Arthur. Without hesitating, the boy eased the glass away from his guardian and set it on the miniature table next to the chair. "Have you been drinking the entire time?"

"That is none of your concern." Arthur responded coldly, eyes flashing and reminding the colony of his place.

Violet eyes hardened for the briefest moment before softening. The action did not go unnoticed by Arthur. "Of course. I apologize for bothering you." With a slight tilt of his head, Matthew turned on his heel. But before he could walk away, Arthur's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

"Don't."

Matthew's shoulders stiffened and, though he glanced warily at the older man, allowed himself to be pulled down until he was perched precariously on Arthur's knees so that the arm of the chair was digging into his back and he could look down at Arthur.

"I'm not drunk." Arthur mumbled, arm looping around Matthew to hold the boy in place. "I just don't want you to leave. I want to hold onto you."

And Matthew knew his guardian was in one of those moods. The moods had began shortly after Alfred successfully declared independence and increased as the new nation grew in strength and challenged the other older nations to tread on his side of the world. Arthur would sulk for hours in his study, drinking. Of course, the empire also spent hours in his study working. So Matthew never really knew the reasons for his self-imposed exile until he spoke to the man himself.

During these moods, Arthur would brood, feeling the weight of an empire on his shoulders. He'd snap at any servants who made the slightest mistake—once making a new maid burst into tears for adding too little milk in his tea. He'd reminisce to whomever in earshot about his darling Bess and Will. He'd talk about the Crusades and of sailing the sea. He'd curse his elder brothers, the Vikings, France. He'd rant about ungrateful colonies and disrespectful upstarts.

He'd also remember Matthew without fail. He'd call for him, if Matthew never came. And not once would his eyes drift to the side, trying to recall who the youth was in front of him. He'd never slip and say 'Alfred'. He'd be affectionate, often pulling Matthew close to him (just like he was now).

Matthew hated it when Arthur got like this. He hated the way the other would sulk and say 'Alfred this' and 'Alfred that'. He'd hate the way he'd go on about how he'd like to 'dismember that flamboyant frog and show him how a real empire behaves'. He'd hate the way Arthur would pet him and tell him stories about his childhood.

He hated how Arthur seemed to remember him the best when he was at his worst.

"You hated me so much, Matthew." Arthur said softly. "You refused to speak when you first came to live with me. And you hated it when I would pick you up or pat your head."

Matthew could feel calloused fingers idly stroking his side.

"You would always cry for that frog. You have always been so cold to me."

Matthew bit his lip, trying to keep back the retorts that danced on the tip of his tongue. He may have been distant at first, but then it was Arthur who left. "I'm sorry." He said, instead, blandly.

Arthur's fingers suddenly tightened. "Don't apologize. It makes you look weak."

Matthew stayed silent.

"I did my best. But you continued to call for him. You always loved him more, didn't you?" Arthur whispered accusingly. Matthew felt his heart beat pick up. "Why don't you call me father? You did before. Why did you stop?"

Because I realized I would only ever be a replacement for Alfred.

And Arthur, whose head was so clear earlier, was now muddled. All he could concentrate on was the strange way his heart ached and the warmth radiating from his colony and the way those strange eyes reflected the flickering fire. And Matthew said nothing, choosing instead to avoid Arthur's searching gaze.

"Won't you call me father?"

"No." Matthew whispered so lowly Arthur had to strain to hear it.

"Why not?" He asked sharply, feeling the ache intensify.

Because I tried that once. Because its impossible now. Because you're not anymore.

Matthew just smiled sadly. "I'm sorry."

Arthur read over the reports carefully. He needed to be kept aware about everything back home while he was across the ocean. As far as the court and parliament knew, the ever busy, dignified man who seemed to never lose favor with the king, was finally taking a holiday. They would twitter about how even the sternest and occupied man would fall prey to the stress of work. They'd make snide comments about how he wasn't as infallible as he acted.

If they knew they were gossiping about their nation, they'd shut up quickly enough then.

Looking up from his work, he gazed at the two boys playing on the carpet in front of the crackling fireplace. Well, one of them was playing. Alfred was setting up the wooden soldiers he carved in an amateurish battle formation. Such a strategy would never work in a real war. Arthur snorted. It's not as though the vivacious blond would ever have to worry about war anytime soon.

Matthew, on the other hand, was quietly curled on top of his white bear. Matthew, before they had left Europe, had cried (in French) that bear had been a companion since the beginning and pleaded with Arthur to let it stay. Arthur, wanting to make a good first impression, agreed. And though he had hoped that Matthew would see what an understanding man he was, only got a strange look from the boy before the little blond ignored him for the duration of the voyage.

Now, the child was staring distantly into the fire, small hands curled into the bear's fur.

Arthur frowned. The boy had been painfully quiet since their arrival. Though he and Alfred had gotten along well together their first visit, the two seemed to have lost interest in each other. Matthew, instead, played with his bear and idly flipped through brightly colored picture books and explored the wilderness behind the manor.

"Alfred," Arthur said, clearing his throat. The boy, who was banging together two wooden soldiers and clumsily mimicking the rumbling of canons, turned bright blue eyes towards his guardian. "Why don't you share with Matthew?"

Alfred's face scrunched up in distaste. "I don't want to! You made them for me Iggy!" Mouth set in a severe pout, Alfred crossed his arms and turned away. The display of selfishness and insolence was quite distasteful, in Arthur's opinion. But just as he was about to open his mouth to scold his young colony, Matthew tumbled off his bear and slipped out of the room, bear waddling slowly behind him.

"See! He doesn't even want to play." Alfred announced triumphantly, going back to his toys.

With a sigh, Arthur stood up and stretched before hunting down his new colony. Luckily he caught the boy as he was making his way down the hallway, bare feet pattering against the hard wood. Quietly, Arthur snuck up and lifted the child up and pulling him close.

Matthew didn't like the action.

"S-stop struggling, Matthew!" Arthur said, trying to keep his voice gentle as the toddler began to kick and try to tear himself out of the man's grip. The bear growled threateningly up at Arthur. "Calm down, luv." Matthew stopped trying to twist out of his grip and instead stared stubbornly down at the floor. "That's a good lad. Now, do you want to go back to the room?"

Matthew shook his head.

"How about a nice snack?" Matthew shook his head harder and began to struggle again.

"Alright, fine. You did have dinner not too long ago. Do you want to go to your room?" At this Matthew nodded and let his self be carried back to his room. The room was plain, but had all the things Arthur believed necessary for a growing child. Matthew didn't seem to particularly like it, but Arthur refused to coddle the boy. Knowing Francis, the boy was probably already soft from being over-indulged by that poncy twit.

Pulling back the coverlet, Arthur set the child on the firm bedding. The little blond, who was already dressed for bed, obediently rested his head down on the pillow and let Arthur tuck him in. "Would you like a story, Matthew?"

Matthew shook his head and buried his face into his pillow. Arthur sighed. "How much longer do you plan to continue this act?"

In response, Matthew rolled over and squirmed until he was at the opposite edge of the bed. Arthur scowled. Ever since he told Matthew to only speak in English, the boy had refused to speak at all. But because the boy was so tiny and young and Arthur hesitated to punish his impertinence, he let the boy continue his little rebellious act.

Let him cling to his French. It didn't change the fact that he was Arthur's now.

The next day, Arthur gave no indication of remembering the previous night. Matthew didn't say anything either.

"I plan to leave at the end of this week." Arthur said briskly, setting down his teacup. Matthew stopped pouring maple syrup on his charred porridge and turned wide eyes on the older nation.

"You only just arrived…" He said softly.

"Yes, well. There seems to be something rotten brewing in the Continent. It would be best for me to return as soon as possible." Arthur said, watching as Matthew nodded and went back to pouring the syrup. Wavy golden bangs fluttered down to shield the colony's face and an awkward silence settled over them, oppressive and cold. The barest flare of guilt filled his chest at the dejected slump of Matthew's shoulders, so he added, "I will return once matters settle."

Matthew chose not to mention how Arthur always said that…before coming back almost a decade later. "Hopefully all will be well." He replied, focused on his task.

Yes, I did mention events leading up to WWI. So, I don't know how I feel about this chapter. I just wanted drunk, moody, possessive England and long-suffering Canada and a flashback scene. -sighs- I might go back and rework this chapter. I don't know yet. I like this story, but writing this chapter was difficult (and also a distraction from studying for an art midterm...) So, right. I'll just decide later. Thanks for reading everyone! Let me know what you think! G'night! -rolls into bed-