I do not own Hetalia

A chappie just before the new year!

Chapter 4 Cecille and Armound Bonnefoy

Cecille Bonnefoy was rather happy with her garden, she had spent years and years working on it and she rather expected it to win again this year; several neighbourhood`s would compete in all sorts of activities and accomplishments; weightlifting, cooking, gardening… the list would go on and on. Cecille would always win the price for best garden while her talented and charming husband would get first price for his excellent cooking abilities. It was a nice event, full of nice people, it had quality. Cecille Bonnefoy liked quality, she liked elegance, poise. It was the way she presented herself, nobody in their nice neighbourhood, nobody living in their grand mansions even, had a clue she once lived alongside beggars and thieves. It had been a short period in her life, admittedly, but it had been the absolute worst few years she ever experienced. She didn't like to dwell on those years, it made her feel sad and depressed. Sometimes, when she found something that reminded her of that horrid time, she would curl up in her bed, sobbing and not resurface for several days. Her sweet husband never blamed her for this, he always looked a little relieved; telling her to let it all out.

Her husband, Armound Bonnefoy was a good man. Cecille knew this very well, his support for her never wavered even a little, his love was never doubted. He was prideful she had to admit, sometimes a little too much, couldn't let any injustice go, even if it didn't concern them. That was the one flaw Cecille could detect in her husband, one flaw only, while she herself had many, she knew this.

A bit of weed had festered itself in her beautiful flowerbed, irritated, she pulled it out. Disgraceful, her garden had to be perfect for the upcoming show. Everything had to be perfect. Looking her garden over one more time, which took a grand total of fifteen minutes; it was a very big garden, she ended up at the huge gate. Next to it stood one of their employed guards, nobody they didn't know got in or out. She turned around and once again looked upon the mansion, their mansion, with awe and pride; they had made it, they had returned to their status they had back in France. More than that; they were even better off, their business was legit, the neighbours loved them and her family wasn't looking over their shoulders anymore. Everything they owned was earned by their own blood, sweat and tears. She should be happy, proud ecstatic. She was.

Yet, she couldn't smile anymore.

Sighing, she walked back to the house, the sky was already darkening and she knew that Armound would worry, even though nobody could enter their estate without their consent. She liked this time of day, the time between the day and the evening; the last rays of sunshine dying out, the sky orange, it made the world look so different. Almost surreal, as if there was another world out there. Cecille Bonnefoy shook her head, it was so unlike her to be that airheaded.

As she had expected, her lovely husband was waiting for her when she arrived, he was standing in the door opening and was gently smiling. He hadn't changed in all those years they had been married, he was the same gentle soul he'd always been. Well, appearance wise he had changed of course; his hair was no longer that deep black she had loved so much, no it had greyed considerably making him look older, but also smart and sophisticated. There were wrinkles all over his face and his eyes had sunken into his head a little. Well, her husband was pushing fifty after all, he had every right to show his age on his body; she herself was showing signs of aging too after all, no matter how desperately she tried to slow the process down.

"You've been away for a while," her husband grabbed her hand and led her inside, exactly the way he had done when they were young; like a princess. He had never treated her any different. "Is the garden as you wish it?"

"It is." She answered him, while they retired to the living room, the fireplace already sporting a roaring fire. They moved to sit on the couch, it was soft, comfortable, just like she loved it. She gave her husband a fond look but she still couldn't manage a smile. "I'm sure the neighbours will appreciate it's beauty too."

"I'm sure they will," Armound answered her. "you've been busy with it."

Cecille nodded, stiffening a little. "It is important." Her husband had sounded anxious. "Is something the matter, Armound?"

"Cecille, honey…" he started, pausing as if he tried to work himself to say the desired words. "I got a message today."

"A message?" Surely her husband wasn't acting so peculiar about some message?

"Oui," He grabbed her hands in a steady grip. "from a certain Matthias Kohler."

Matthias Kohler? She did not know such a man. "Is that a business associate, Mon ange?"

"Non…It is not." He told her. "He's accompanying two young men, they want to ask us some questions…"

"Pourquoi? Questions? What in the world would they want from us?" She did not understand why her husband looked so uncomfortable. He had that look on his face, that look he always had when he was afraid his words would hurt her. "Armound? What are the younglings names?"

"They will arrive shortly, we must make them feel comfortable and be hospitable." He husband was ignoring her question, she knew. But she wouldn't have that.

"Their names, Armound."

"…Matthew Williams and Alfred Jones."

She did not understand, all three names she did not know, all three names did nothing to her. Why was Armound still looking so nervous and even a little sad. She did not get why her husband would behave such a way, it was unnerving. She was by no means delicate; she was a strong, proud woman. Why was he treating her like his words would break her very being?

When his next words reached her, she knew exactly why.

"They're Arthur's family…They want to ask some questions about Arthur Kirkland."

She froze. Cold hands gripped her heart, her eyes widened and she clenched her fists. Her husband always wanted to assist everybody, even the ones that didn't deserve it. It was his flaw, a flaw, normally so small, looked incredibly huge at that moment.

"And you told them they could come!" She spat at him, venom coating her voice.

"Ma chérie…"

"Non! I will not have these people in my house!" At the exact moment she said that, a loud buzzer sounded through the house, signalling someone was standing at the gate. A fierce hate came over her, she could feel her hands shaking. Without a second thought, she whirled around and sprinted back across the garden, towards the gate. Faster than she had run in a long while, her breath ragged and tired, her high heels clicking on the ground, very nearly going through her ankle. Then, within minutes, she finally arrived.

"Stop!" She screamed at the guard, who was about to open the gate. "Don't let them in! Don't open it!"

Exhausted, she came to stop before the surprised guard, huffing and puffing. The three people behind the gate –All three blonde, she noticed- looked wide-eyed at her. They seemed surprised, surprised she had shown up so suddenly, screaming to not let them inside. She didn't care, oh how she didn't care at all.

"Mrs Bonnefoy," The biggest blonde said. "I talked to your husband, he said-"

"He was wrong." She sneered at him, moving to stand straight, like the proud and strong woman she was. "I don't want any of you near my house. Do you get it?"

"But-" the second biggest blonde protested, his sky blue eyes so much like her son's.

"Get out."

They didn't move and she was once again losing her composure. Why did that boy have the same eyes?

"Get out, Get out, GET OUT!"

She didn't stop screaming those words until their car was no longer in sight.

They were all sitting a little dejectedly in the cosy café. It wasn't surprising though, at that moment they felt kind off useless. At least, Alfred sure did. It was just all so uncool, they had all suspected to get a whole lot of information from the Bonnefoy's, but in the end they got absolutely nada, zip, nothing. It was complete BS, that's what it was!

It had already been two days since that crazy Bonnefoy lady had chased them from her property, even though Matthias had called beforehand; the husband had told them they could come! They hadn't expected Mrs Bonnefoy to come sprinting through her garden towards them screaming they should get out. Why did she do that? They were so awesome! It was just crappy as hell, that's what it was!

So, yeah, it had been two days since they had been chased away. Since then, they had tried to call a few times, but now, even the husband didn't want to welcome them into the Bonnefoy home anymore. To make matters worse; their second trip to downhill street had been unsuccessful too; no other neighbours gave them the time of day and Elizabeth White's husband still hadn't returned.

So for now, it seemed they had reached a dead end. Of course, a hero would never give up. That was why Alfred suddenly came up with something brilliant. Something so smart he would swear he was a total genius. He didn't know how he came up with it, but the fact remained that he did.

It was so obvious.

They had seen a lot of flyers around that expensive street, flyers for some sort of contest, a celebration. All in the neighbourhood would attend in nice dresses and suits at the mansion of the person who was the host that year. Furthermore, the guard at the gate had told them –right before Cecille Bonnefoy interrupted him- that, for god's sake, they should be careful to mind the garden and to only walk onto the stone path, because the garden was nominated for a price. Alfred grinned, he would bet his whole collection of comic books that the Bonnefoy's would attend that little celebration on the flyer. That little party was still in need of some talented waiters.

Heh.

They were so going to crash that thing.

Alfred happily told the other two his ingenious plan, who seemed –to Alfred's annoyance- surprised that he came up with it. After that a quick phone call and Matthias extensive flirting was enough to get them the jobs. This probably wouldn't have been so easy if there had been enough waiters, but apparently there weren't so many that wanted to work on such an event. Matthias cheerfully commented that it would probably be because those rich people were complete assholes.

They would be needed the following week.

So all three brushed up on their skills, smuggling trays and glasses into their hotel rooms and trying to walk with those. Matthias was absolutely terrible at it, Matthew was slightly better but Alfred was pleased to see he was the best of all three. During that week they also went back to downhill street a total of three times. All three times they were disappointed; where ever the husband had went off too, he wasn't going back anytime soon.

And then, after an exhausting week of training and driving around, it was finally there; the day of the big event. They had to arrive a few hours earlier, and the whole way there Alfred was bouncing in his seat; this was so exciting! However, he noticed that Mattie was nervous and Matthias seemed disinterested. Alfred didn't know why he was excited, but he felt like he was going on an adventure. Which they weren't doing. They were just going to work and try to wiggle some information out of some rich old people.

When they arrived, all were shocked by the sheer size of the building. It was freaking huge, more huge even than the Bonnefoy's. Whoever lived there sure was loaded, there was all kinds of servants bustling around the place, moving in a hurry so it seemed. A middle aged lady in expensive clothing was standing in the middle of the garden, shouting all kinds of orders, judging by the expression of her face she was not happy with how things were going, she seemed a real hard ass.

No later had they stepped out of a car, did a rather well suited servant appear and ushered them inside. Alfred was kind of feeling sorry for the man, he seemed worn out. The appropriate clothes were hastily stuffed into their hands and the exhausted servant told them to 'hurry up and get dressed, there is much to do'.

And they did just that.

The suit they had to put on looked, just like everything else, really expensive.

Memories assaulted him as he put on his tie.

Alfred looked at himself in the mirror, he wasn't used to seeing himself so dressed up. The suit he was wearing looked incredibly good on him, but it was still uncomfortable to wear; much too stiff and tight. He missed his regular clothing, his baggy jeans and T-shirts.

Defiantly, he glared at the last remaining piece of clothing lying on the bed.

No way he was wearing that.

"You're going to have to wear a tie, Alfred" A soft voice spoke behind him. "Arthur will insist."

Alfred turned to his twin brother, who was standing directly behind him, also clad in a nice suit. Matthew looked awesome, too, Alfred had to admit. He was even wearing the tie, which added to his sophisticated look.

"Screw Arthur! Mattie, don't you find this getup incredibly uncomfortable?"

Matthew sighed and walked towards the door. "You shouldn't make a big deal about it, Alfred, it's just a suit."

"It's principle that counts!"

"Alfred that doesn't make any sense." Matthew opened the door and walked through it. "I'm going downstairs. See you in a minute okay?"

Alfred grumbled a reply and turned towards the mirror again, making a face at his uptight clothing. His friends would laugh themselves in a coma if they saw him now!

A knock on his door pulled him out of his thoughts, without waiting for a reply Arthur stepped into his room also clad in formal wear.

"Oh Alfred! You look so handsome!" Arthur smiled and walked towards him. "I came to check on you, we're almost leaving."

Alfred turned around. "I'm ready Artie! We can get this party started!" He turned his 1000 Watt grin towards his brother.

"…You're not wearing your tie…"

"It will only deprive from my awesome look, now, let's go!"

"Wear the tie, Alfred."

"But Artiiieeeeeeee, It's uncomfortable!"

"Wear it."

"I don't wannaaaaa."

"Oh good god." Arthur snapped, he walked towards Alfred while grabbing the tie. "I'll do it for you."

"But Artie…!" He started to protest, but it was already too late. Arthur seemed determent to finish his evil plan. He had already slung the offending object around his neck. "Sod it Alfred, you want to look presentable tonight don't you? Now pay attention so you can tie it on your own next time."

Alfred turned red. "I know how to tie a tie, Arthur!"

"Sure you do, Alfred." Arthur began to tie the damn thing and Alfred followed his every move, marvelling how complicated it was. "All done!" Arthur told him with a shit eating grin on his face. "You look like a real gentleman!"

Alfred turned to the mirror and made a face; sure, he looked good, but that wasn't the point! How could he ever face his friends after this? Moreover, how could he survive the night in this incredibly uncomfortable suit-thingy.

"You owe me for this, Arthur."

"I know, Alfie, I know. Now go downstairs; your brother is waiting."

He hadn't worn a suit since the funeral.

Matthew did his very best, but it was hard.

The whole night people kept bumping him and nobody seemed to notice him. To top it all off they hadn't yet seen the Bonnefoy's, at least, they hadn't seen Mrs Bonnefoy… maybe they had seen Mr Bonnefoy but they didn't know how he looked, so that didn't help much. On top off that, Matthias and Alfred were doing rather good and Matthew couldn't help but feel inferior. After he was shoved aside again, making all the food on the tray spill on the floor, Matthew had enough. He needed a break and he needed it now, a second to get a breath of fresh air.

It's not like he would be missed.

Swiftly the blonde walked across the room and through the hall, the doors were open and there were several guests sitting in the chairs outside. Neither of them seemed to notice him and he walked further into the garden, so far that he wouldn't be seen, and he couldn't hear those people anymore.

Sighing, Matthew sat down. Those guests had been real snobs and Matthew was normally not so fast to judge a person. But all of those people acted like they were so much better and servants like him were shot down with looks, looks that clearly stated they were nothing but inferior. It was Britain's upper class, and Matthew sincerely hoped he never had to see those people again, he hoped Armound Bonnefoy would be nicer, if they even found him that is.

"Hey you, shouldn't you be working?"

Matthew froze. Was he busted? What would they do?

Slowly he turned around and he sighed a breath of relief when he noticed the person who had talked to him. The tall stranger was wearing a servant's uniform just like he was and Matthew remembered him to be one of the other imported help. The man was wearing a scarf around his neck, probably because it was getting rather chilly and he had blonde hair, hair that seemed to be defying gravity. He had a rather intimidating presence, being big and tall an looking kind of cool.

When the other started to stare at him rather strangely, Matthew realised he hadn't said anything back.

"I-I w-w-w-was taking a b-break, I-I h-hope it i-isn't against the r-r-rules?" After all, he needed a break; they had been balancing heavy trays of foul smelling food for hours now.

The man laughed. "Relax kid, I wasn't planning to rad you out." Now that Matthew looked closer, he saw that the man (or boy) looked roughly the same age as him. "But it sure is against the rules, these people are real tyrants."

The boy went to sit next to him. "But I needed a smoke, so I had to sneak out." With that the other took out a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, sticking it between his lips. He lighted it with an bright orange lighter and exhaled the smoke slowly, seeming to relax instantly. After that, he offered one to Matthew too.

"N-no, T-thank y-you…" Matthew paused, not wanting to be rude but still wanting to tell the other off for smoking. "Y-you know…t-these are very b-b-b-bad f-for you!"

The stranger laughed again, a loud booming laugh. "No shit, I know. But there are a lot of things bad for you, you know? I'm Lars by the way." The blonde extended his hand and Matthew took it, relieved that the other didn't seem to be mad at him for pointing out the obvious.

"I-I'm M-matthew."

"Nice to meet you." Lars nodded at him and Matthew noticed a scar on his forehead. "So, you needed to get out too? Their snobby talk get to you?"

"N-no, I-I-I just…well, t-they kept b-b-bumping i-into me, I s-suppose t-they didn't n-n-notice me."

Lars eyebrows shot up. "Didn't notice you? Fuck, how stupid are they? You're pretty noticeable to me. I noticed you right from the beginning. When I saw you leave, I thought something might be wrong. Us lower income folk has to stick together, you know?"

Matthew felt the blood rush to his face, this person had noticed him? Had cared enough to follow him to make sure he was alright? For some people it might've been creepy, but not for Matthew, he wasn't used to it. Mostly people just forgot his very existence.

"Y-your p-probably thinking a-about my b-b-brother, you must've n-noticed him i-instead of m-me, A-alfred." Matthew told the tall man.

"Loudmouth?" Lars gave a snort. "No, not him. That boy never shuts up does he? Like we need a 'hero-servant'." Matthew had to laugh at this, his brother was so weird at times.

"I-I guess he can be a l-little s-strange." Lars gave him a smile in return and Matthew had to rethink his earlier observation; Lars didn't seem all that intimidating after all.

They continued to sit there for a while, complaining about the snobby people they had to serve, laughing at Alfred's crazy antics, discussing the other servants (although Matthew didn't really knew them). It seemed that Lars was working jobs like this for a while now and he would mostly see the same people turn up at those jobs, so he knew a lot about the others. Matthew listened in fascination as Lars told him all kind of stories about the things he had seen while working; Lars had been living in London for six months now and he was saving up to continue his travels. Because that was what he wanted to do; travel. He came from a rather poor family in the Netherlands and when the school kicked him out for his drug habit (Matthew was a little startled at that) Lars had decided to see the world. He had gotten as far as France and now England, after that money had been spend and he needed to get more cash before he could continue his travels. Matthew was intrigued, what Lars was doing was foolish and rash, but it was exciting and quite an adventure.

Matthew would've never dared to do something like that.

But Lars did make him feel happy; never once did he seem to complain about the obvious stutter in Matthew's voice and he seemed genuinely interested when Matthew began to talk a little about himself, about his brother, about Matthias and finally, Matthew told Lars a little about Arthur. Not the depressing things, not the fact that the blonde had died or the things they had discovered or the crippling guilt that still consumed him. No, he told Lars about late-night bed stories, about football games, about disastrous cooking lessons and amusing speeches. It was nice, nice to talk about his big brother without that cloud of depression hanging over the conversation.

Actually, it was so nice, that Matthew forgot he actually should be working.

Two hours had passed in a blink of an eye.

After the award ceremony, in which his wife had won first place for her garden once again, Armound found himself suddenly surrounded by three servants and he knew immediately who they were. He was perceptive like that.

"Are you mister Bonnefoy?" The oldest blonde asked him. "They called you up on the stage, so I assumed… We called a while back… regarding Arthur and your son."

Armound nodded. "come."

He led them to the abandoned room, looking behind his shoulder to see his wife in a deep conversation with one of her friends, the medal tightly in her grip. When he had ushered all three of them into the room, he firmly shut the door; he didn't want anyone to ease drop. He knew very well why the three had come, Kohler had explained it to him earlier. Armound took a deep breath and turned to the three, admittedly large, men. They all wore anxious expressions and Armound understood they had planned this all out, the only reason they were there was because of the information he possessed. He felt too guilty about his behaviour in the past, or lack thereof, to not tell Arthur's friends the truth.

He didn't linger on trivial matters, he wasn't that kind of guy.

"What do you want to ask?"

"We want to know about Arthur." Matthias Kohler said. "everything you know, everything that seems important."

"Yes!" The younger blonder and happier blonde spoke up. "And what was the deal with your wife kicking us from your house?"

Armound guided the men further in the room and took a moment to decide where to begin. He decided his questions could wait, all three looked desperate for information.

"I'm sorry about Cecille. She and Arthur never had the best relationship."

He looked each of them in the eyes.

"Alright." He started. "I should begin at the very beginning then…"

He couldn't believe it, after all he had been in France, they were now reduced to this… beside him, his beautiful wife broke down in tears and held their eight year old son close to her chest, trying to shield him from the place he would live in from now on. It was all Armounds fault, off course, his addiction to gambling had ruined all three of them, it had destroyed his company, his dreams and his family's future. He thanked god every single day that it hadn't destroyed his marriage. The debt collectors had been vicious and after his company had been declared bankrupt, he lost all his friends and the death threats from people he owed money to became louder and louder. After that, they decided to leave their beloved France behind and seek a new life, in London.

Off course, with the limited money they possessed, it wasn't much of a life. He had known it, still, it was a big shock to behold the neighbourhood his family had to life in. The people they had to live with. In short, downhill street looked absolutely horrid, the houses were rundown and dirty, the streets littered with filth and none of the people living there looked especially happy.

Wishing he had been a better man, wishing his wife and young son would've been spared this fate, Armound guided his family towards there new house.

The first night hadn't been the worse they spend in that house, but nevertheless, it had been horrid. He had held his wife when she wept and wept. As a the night was filled with loud music, with yells and screams, all coming from the other houses in downhill street. Armound was so very, very afraid. How were they supposed to raise their little Francis in a place like that?

Appalled by the people in that street, people that were so very below them in every sense of the word, Armound and Cecille isolated themselves from the neighbourhood. They didn't wish contact with any of them, they were better, Armound knew this for certain. They would escape this terrible fate, this terrible life. Cecille was even more certain of this fact, she told everyone her family would be rich, successful again, she told everyone they were not like those others. The people in downhill street hated them, that was for sure, but it was not a dangerous hate. It was more like a 'don't talk to me and I won't talk to you' hate.

Yes, both Bonnefoy's were content to ignore the world, waiting, until their chances turned and they would return to the people they were supposed to be.

It was too bad Francis didn't share this sentiment.

Francis had always been a bright social kid and it didn't take long for him to befriend the neighbours boy. The boy of a whore, Cecille always said disdainfully. It was a much known fact that their blonde haired neighbour would open her legs to almost everybody. Her son was said to be a bastard, said to be conceived in her teen years, his father had obviously bailed, though there was surprisingly little known about that man, other than that he wasn't in the picture anymore. Thereafter, the woman had gone from man to man, until she had at last married. To a good man, many had told them, but their relationship had gone sour a year before the Bonnefoy's moved there. Supposedly their neighbour had been not a very faithful wife, surprise surprise, and the man had left.

It was a typical story for the neighbourhood, many more circled around about the other people living there. But it was that story they were interested in, since their son was interacting with the child of that woman. Both Cecille and he had been appalled when, one day, their son brought home Arthur Kirkland. The bastard child, with messy and unkempt blonde hair, green eyes and scratches on his face.

Every attempt to nip the growing friendship in the butt had been futile and after a while both had given up on their attempts. Arthur wasn't allowed in their house, but outside little could been done. It seemed their son was really stubborn.

The friendship was a strange one, both boys did nothing but argue and curse. They were always insulting each other and never seemed to exchange civil conversation. But Armound could see that beneath this all, they cared about each other quite a lot. Over time, Armound accepted the friendship and even found that Arthur wasn't so bad. Armound wanted nothing more to shield his son from the violence and hardships from the world, but that wasn't a reality that existed in the place they lived in. To spare his wife Armound didn't associate with their neighbours much, didn't meddle in their business. But he could see his son's disappointed looks when once again the shouting and screaming started up, when they could hear the violence going on, when it was obvious someone out there needed help and Armound did nothing.

Yes, Armound wanted to shield his son. It wasn't much later that he figured out he did no such thing; the only thing he taught his son was how much of a coward his father was.

And so the years went on, his son grew older and bolder. No longer did the boy sit idly by when the screaming started, when another fight broke out. The boy simply marched out of the house, ignoring his mother's desperate pleading, and went to do god-knows-what. He was never injured, so Armound guessed the boy didn't confront Arthur's step father, which would have been foolish anyway, but Francis would often be away for whole nights.

Armound did not know much about his son's private life, he was often away to work, work, work. His job didn't pay much and they needed all the money they could get. To top it all off Cecille got sick, very sick. If this had happened back in France, it wouldn't have been that serious. But medicine was expensive and they needed every penny to put food on the table. As the years went by, Francis seemed to be away more and more, coming home only occasionally and Armound never saw Arthur anymore. Though he wanted his son away from any such influence, the disappearance of the boy did worry him.

Then, one day, when money was especially tight and the future looked desperately bleak, Francis walked up to him and handed over a bundle of cash. A lot of it, enough to get medicine for Cecille. Off course, Armound did wonder and ask where the boy had gotten the money from, but his relief was more immense than his worry. He wanted to save his wife. He accepted the money.

He had been a utter fool.

His wife would always blame Arthur for straying their son to the wrong path, but she was wrong. He knew it, he didn't know where Francis went, where he got the money, but Armound knew it couldn't have been good. Arthur didn't make Francis go the wrong way, didn't destroy any chance of a future, no, their circumstances did. Cecille just had to blame that poor boy, because if she didn't she needed to admit to herself that it was her sickness that drove their son to find alternative ways to find money. Just like he had admitted to himself that he let his underage son solve their problems.

But no matter who was to blame, the fact remained that their life changed dramatically a few months after their son's sixteenth birthday. A change his wife still couldn't face, a change she still had to blame on Arthur Kirkland, because the reality was so much more painful. Eventually, they managed to leave that awful neighbourhood but they could never be the same again. They had gained a lot of scars and lost a son in those years living in poverty. Those years Cecille never spoke about.

Armound stopped speaking, the guilt once again choking him. It had all been his fault, all his fault. Everything. He had been the one to ruin the company, he had been the one to much of a coward to take drastic measured against his neighbour, he had been the one who let his son venture into that world. If he hadn't been so weak, maybe Francis, maybe his son, would still…

"What happened to Francis, Mr Bonnefoy?" Mr Kohler's voice spoke out. Not gentle, not nice, but hard and cold. He must think the same anyone should think; how could a grown man ignore the needs of children? How could he have done such a thing?

Mr Kohler had every right to hear the answer to his question, had every right to know. But Armound was surprised to find out, that even after all those years he still couldn't speak those words, he still couldn't face it.

Huh, maybe he was even worse off as his wife.

"Mr Bonnefoy." Matthias spoke again. "What happened?"

"You need to leave now." Armound said, pointing at the door. "Please leave. I have told you everything I know."

The energetic younger boy spoke up next. "But we need to contact your son! Did he run away or something? You must know where he is?"

"Leave, now!" He was surprised to find out he was yelling.

"Mr Bonnefoy-"

"LEAVE!" they had to go, they had to leave. He couldn't say it out loud yet. He was not ready.

"Where is Francis, Mr Bonnefoy?"

He didn't know! How could he know, when…

"Where is he?"

Francis, Francis, Francis. Oh how sorry Armound was!

"WHERE?"

"Where are you going?" Armound asked his young son. The boy seemed to be troubled about something the past few days. He frowned. "Is everything alright?"

Francis fastened his shoe lace and turned around, a bright smile on his face, it looked so incredibly fake. "Off course I am, Père, I'm perfectly alright! I'm just going to take out the trash, so don't worry."

With that the boy turned around and sprinted across the garden. He seemed to stop running a little further of, stopping in front of a white haired boy and another kid who he couldn't see because of the tree the kid was leaning on. Armound had a guess who that was.

Not even a second later, all three boys ran off.

Francis was not holding any trash.

That same night, Francis was shot.

"It was an accident." His voice sounded emotionless, but he knew better. "A few blocks down an officer had been attacked and the two policemen who came to his aid were furious. Francis and a few friends were close by, the back-up thought they had done it."

They got the phone call late at night, he would've liked to say they had been worried, but if he was honest with himself, they hadn't been. Francis stayed away so many nights.

The phone woke them up and he reached for it.

Not even fifteen minutes later they were already in the police station, gazing at their son's face. Confirming, confirming to the police that the boy indeed was Francis Bonnefoy. As was police protocol.

They son, laying there with a thin blanket covering his naked body, his handsome face covered in bruises and scratches. So very, very pale.

"He died within minutes."

When he ran out of that room, that mortuary, he noticed the boy.

The boy was sitting on a plastic chair, his blonde hair was dirty, blood was covering his clothes. His green eyes were haunted, tear streaks evident on his face.

"Mr Bonnefoy." The boy spoke. "I'm so sorry."

Then they both broke down, the distraught father and the loyal friend and they wept, their sobs drowned out by Cecille Bonnefoy's desperate screams for her son to wake up.

"T-to think…I-I'll…b-be a-able…to s…s-see…y-you a-again…"

A lone tear fell but the smile stayed

"F-Francis…"

Letters to you

Frog,

you-you-you! This isn't funny! All I did was dirty your hair a little! I'm sure your mum could make it right with one of her expensive exotic french shampoo thing! But what you did...! It will take years, years, for my eyebrows to grow back, you stupid frenchie!

You are so dead.

Arthur.

Don't you all worry! This will not be the last of Francis and a lot of Fruk will be forthcoming. But I had to kill him off, why? because it will be a key moment in Arthur's life that will lead to many things. Also, now you can speculate what happened to Francis? How and why did he die? It's all so very, very mysterious :P

But yeah, don't worry, Francis will be one of the main flash-back caracters beside Arthur.

I hope you liked it, feedback is very much appreciated, like always.

With that, I wish you all a very good new year and I hope your christmas was good!