As fun as it was, working with his best friend, the restaurant business was hectic, and tiring, and so Francis was glad for this Saturday off. He was curled up reading on the sofa, while Arthur grumbled something about the hosts of the television programme he was watching, when suddenly, their quiet afternoon in was interrupted by a sharp rap at the door. Arthur groaned, and pulled himself up off the sofa.
He didn't want to believe his eyes.
"Ian? What are you doing here?" Arthur's red haired half brother tutted, and took a long drag from his cigarette.
"Artie, ye shouldna be so rude ti yer big brither, should ye?" Arthur cringed at the heavy Scots accent, and the use of his horrid nickname.
"But why are you here?" Arthur grumbled, knowing Ian's intentions were never good.
"Ah wiz in the area."
"Ian, you live in Aberdeen, and you just happened to wander down to South East England?" Ian stubbed out his cigarette with a frown.
"A'right. Av met a lass in London ower the internet, an' a came doon ti meet her. A couldna nae visit ma brither, could a?" Arthur nodded, and shrugged.
"Come in, then."
The second Ian stepped into the house, he locked eyes with Francis. A smirk spread across his face.
"So, fit's happened ti at American?" He asked Arthur, who frowned.
"We broke up a couple of months ago," he mumbled. Ian nodded, his gaze never leaving Francis, who was staring back curiously.
"Am sorry ti hear at. Bit for being affa inti someb'dy, ye fairly moved on fas-"
"Francis is not my boyfriend!" Arthur snapped. Ian didn't miss the small flash of sadness in the Frenchmans face.
"Jist a pal, then?" Arthur nodded. An uncomfortable silence.
"Um, Francis, this is my half brother, Ian Richie. Ian, this is my friend, Francis Bonnefoy. He's living with me for a while." Ian nodded again, and held a hand out.
"Nice ti meet ye, Francis." If Francis hadn't understood what Ian said, like every other time the Scot had opened his mouth, it didn't matter, as he understood the gesture.
"Nice to meet you too." Ian's hands felt rough and calloused against Francis' smooth ones.
Arthur sat in his armchair, and Ian took a seat next to Francis.
"So, who's this presumably lovely young lady, who's only fault is thinking that you are a fine young gentleman?" Arthur asked Ian, who rolled his eyes.
"Her name's Rosa," Ian smiled at the thought of her. "She's an affa bonny lass; lang blon' hair, green eyes, glasses, an a right fiery personality." He paused for a moment. "It's like if you were a quine, Arthur."
"I'm disturbed that you want to date a female version of your brother," Arthur frowned. Ian gave a throaty laugh; the result of years of heavy smoking. "So, will you be staying for dinner?" Arthur asked him. Ian thought for a moment, then shrugged.
"Is lang is it's nae you cookin'," he smirked, causing Arthur's face to turn a bright shade of red.
"Francis will be cooking, actually." He retorted. Francis stood up and put his book down.
"I'll start the dinner," he announced quietly as he traipsed off to the kitchen.
"So, Artie," Ian started, his bright emerald eyes falling to meet his brothers matching ones. "Fit happened wi you an' Alfred?" Arthur sighed.
"We argued too much, and he'd had enough." Arthur explained simply. Ian nodded sympathetically.
"Ye miss him?" Arthur glared at him. "Stupid question, a suppose." The two sat in silence for a moment before Arthur sighed.
"Not as much. I think I'm over him now," he lied.
"At's good. Now, are ye gan ti tell ma i truth aboot Francis?" Arthur froze; just as Ian expected.
"What do you mean?" Ian leaned forward.
"He's nae jist a pal, is he? 'Ere's somethin' differen' aboot him, so fit is it?" The younger brother's face slowly turned a colour to rival the red of Ian's hair, before he shook his head.
"You won't believe me, it's complicated and… Bloody weird." He looked at Ian, who was smirking. "What?" He frowned. Ian rolled his eyes.
"Artie, fan we were bairns, ye believed at green rabbit wiz real. Ye believed in a' o' at fairies an' shite, an' ye probably still do. Don' ye?" Arthur looked away and shifted uncomfortably. Ian continued. "Well, a felt that ma wee nessie toy wiz real, an' a still think thit 'ere's something in Loch Ness. Noo, fitiver yev got te tell ma, al believe ye."
Arthur sighed.
"Keep it secret?" He looked up to see Ian nodding. There were another few moments of silence as Arthur tried to think of a way to tell his brother about Francis. "Well, he isn't human." There, that was a good start, judging by the bewildered look on Ian's lightly freckled face.
"He's nae? Then fit the bloody hell is he?"
"He's… a robot. An android." Arthur explained, finding it hard to believe it himself after becoming so accustomed to Francis. "You remember Kiku Honda?" Ian nodded. "Well, he works in a massive Japanese robotics research and development thing. They developed the technology for these realistic androids to have basic emotions, and form personalities. Kiku wanted me to beta test them, but never told me what it was til I got it."
Ian stared at Arthur in shock.
"Christ, I thought ye were jist embarrassed ti say ye were gan oot we a Frenchman…" He exclaimed. "So, fit are they for onyway?" He asked.
"Companionship," Arthur answered quickly. Ian knew it was more than that by his tone.
"So, they're sex dolls wi a personality?" He sniggered. Arthur glowered at him.
"Sadly, it seems so. But I have no interest in pursuing Francis in such a way." Ian sighed.
"Ye still like Al, don't ye?"
Arthur nodded.
Francis poked his head through the door.
"Supper's ready…"
Francis' meal had been a great success, although he still couldn't understand Ian's thick dialect. Arthur had ushered them into the living room, while he prepared tea. They had sat in an awkward silence for a short while, until Ian broke it.
"You know, Francis, I can talk in proper English. I just like to see Arthur squirm; he hates my accent." Francis looked at him in surprise; Ian's accent was still there, but the words were much more understandable.
"I'm sorry, I had trouble understanding you earlier…" Francis mumbled. Ian shook his head.
"Nah, it's ok, you'll get used to it."
"I will?" Ian nodded.
"My brother likes you mare than that he lets on," he grinned cheekily, not realising his dialect was slipping through. "I think you're gan ti be here for a long time." Francis smiled at Ian, gradually managing to process the dialect.
"I hope so," he answered, feeling more comfortable around the Scot, who was watching Francis.
"Ye like ma brother?" He asked simply. Francis nodded with a wide smile. 'Definitely not human,' Ian mused. 'Not even a blush.' "Well, keep your hopes high, yer jist his type. Jist like Al," he winked. Francis' brows came together. "Al? Who's Al?" Ian's eyes widened a little.
"Naebody, Arthur will tell ye sometime." The Frenchman nodded, still looking a little troubled.
"What if he doesn't like me?" He asked. Ian gave another rough laugh and leaned towards Francis, with mischief in his gleaming eyes.
"Persist!"
Ian hadn't been gone long, and Arthur was having his last cup of tea before bed. Francis had been fidgeting since Ian left, and it was getting on Arthur's nerves.
"Francis, what's wrong with you?" he snapped. The android's cerulean eyes met Arthur's emerald ones.
"Who's Al?" Francis asked him. Arthur broke eye contact as his face gained a blush.
"No-one who matters…" Francis left it there; he could sense Arthur's pain.
London.
From behind her wire framed glasses, Rosa Oakland's jade eyes narrowed at the baking tray of blackened lumps, which had started their lives as scones.
"Where did I go wrong?" She sighed wistfully. It didn't really help that her scales used a different measurement from her cook book, or that in her haste she replaced sugar with salt, but she didn't really know that; the girl should get new glasses. She tipped the abominations in the bin when the doorbell rang. She looked at herself quickly in the mirror, seeing the flour stains all over her face and baby blue dress. Her hair was messily tied into two pigtails, and she looked rather stressed. No time to worry about that though; the visitor was impatient. She opened the door, and her jaw fell.
"Ian?" She squealed. Emerald eyes surveyed her.
"Rosa?" He smiled. She hid behind the door.
"D-don't look, I'm a mess!" She cried. He opened the door, and bent down a little so they were face to face.
"Well, if this is fan yer in a mess, I'd love ti see ye fan yer on a date wi ma inite it 8…" He smirked.