I'm very sorry for the long wait! I'm very busy with school right now, so I'd keep anticipating long waits for updates. XP
There was a tension in the kitchen as Francis smiled on at the twins while Arthur, pale in the face, stared at Francis mutely. The bed-headed Frenchman turned to Arthur, keeping that same pleasant smile and said, "I'm assuming, Arthur, that you would like for me to take precedence in this."
A prominent brow twitched and a vein began to bulge before Arthur answered, "yes," a bit to roughly for his own taste, so he cleared his throat to continue, "yes, Francis, that would be nice." There was a repressed emotion within his voice, something akin to annoyance or anger, but he spoke in a very soft tone.
With that, Francis rose and strode around the table to gently take Matthew's hand, "come, Matthew, my son," he murmured in the gentlest tone he could manage. There was a tender smile at his lips and his blue eyes were darkened with paternal affection. Matthew, defenseless from the look begging trust and speaking of only the purest intentions and love, became transfixed upon the face, and followed where the tender hold led him.
So it was up the stairs and into an alien room where Matthew was taken. The room was much smaller than any he'd been in so far, and it was filled with strange things. The closest was an odd object that was similar, in a way, to the thing he'd eaten at. But when he put his hand on it, it was colder and smoother than the thing he'd eaten at. When Matthew ran his hand along it, there was a deep indent towards the middle, with a sort of hole at the deepest point. An indescribable, shiny, contraption was at the indent's farthest point, and as he ran his fingers along it, exploring it, Francis put his arm around Matthew's waist and whispered, "that is the sink, Matthew."
The teenaged boy looked up at his papa and repeated the word "sink," with wonder, then he turned his attention back down to the great indent and the shiny contraption.
Francis watched Matthew's wonder at the sink with an unusually calm expression, and the man took a breath for courage before ambulating over to the bath. "Come, now," he said before reaching out a hand towards the seemingly mentally deficient boy. So Matthew, hands reaching to fiddle with the bottom button of his pajama shirt as he left the sink, shuffled up to stand behind his papa.
"Now then, Matthew," Francis started as he put the plug in the bathtub drain, "there will be a noise." And with that warning, the Frenchman turned the faucet to release hot water into the tub. At the sudden sound of water rushing through pipes within the walls filling the small room, Matthew leapt in fright, landed upon his feet poorly, and ended up on his bottom, shielding his face in fright. Francis spun around upon hearing Matthew land, and his immediate reaction to the affrighted face of Matthew was to kneel down and embrace the boy.
"Now, now," he murmured in the tone he always used to comfort, "what has you so afraid?"
And Matthew was whimpering, eyes fixed upon the water pouring out of the faucet in horror. Francis tried rocking the teen back and fourth, puzzled though he tried to help, kissing Matthew's face before placing the teen's head onto his shoulder to kiss the top of his son's head. He continued to stroke his son's hair gently, soothingly as he murmured comforts into the boy's ear. Matthew's terror didn't subside until the tub was full, and Francis reached over to the faucet (still holding Matthew) to stop the water pouring. With silence restored, Matthew slowly calmed, and when he lifted his face form Francis' shoulder, the teen was red in the face, eyes glossy and near tears. He rose to his knees, tentatively, and with newfound curiosity crawled over to the water. The teen's papa could only stare as the boy, having quickly recovered from his episode, found his courage again to explore the bath as if it was some wondrous miracle to be marveled at.
Truly not understanding why his son had freaked out, Francis recovered somewhat and cleared his throat, "…erm, yes, Mathew, that is the bathtub," and the teen turned to look at Francis before repeating 'bathtub' just the same as he repeated any other new word. So Francis continued in a slightly less shaken tone, "yes, and inside the bathtub is water." And Matthew repeated 'water' just the same as he repeated any other new word. Getting on his knees, just behind Matthew, Francis continued as he began unbuttoning his son's shirt, "you will need to get into the tub, but first you must undress." Matthew repeated 'undress' just the same as he repeated any other new word. He looked down upon his torso as Francis undid the buttons of his pajama shirt, and he smiled tentatively- he'd figured out how to do that with his brother, Al.
So when Francis had Matthew's shirt off, and was about to start on the pants, Matthew untied the drawstring, and shoved his pants and underwear to his knees. He straightened innocently, grinning now that he'd done something. He turned his head to look at his papa, and he noticed that his papa's face seemed to have darkened a bit. The man's hands still hovered over Matthew's hips, halfway on their way to the drawstrings of the pants now pooled at his knees, and when Matthew looked down at them they were shaking a bit. The smile fell from Matthew's face, and he murmured, "Papa?"
Francis reply was a just as simple as the question; a sigh speaking of joy and restraint, accompanied by, "Matthew." The boy noticed, though, that his name had been spoken differently. The last sound of his name, 'ew', had been pronounced with something. He bit his lip and looked to Francis' nose and cheek (that was really all he could see because the man's head was resting on his shoulder). He felt Francis's jaw tighten on his shoulder, and he felt Francis move his hands to rest upon his upper arms. Though his papa's hands Matthew could feel the muscles in Francis' arms strain, and Matthew was confused. Francis then stood, and with one hand wiped his nose, and when Matthew looked he saw a red streak on the back of his papa's hand. There was a different smile on Francis' face- made his eyes narrow, grin huge and full of anticipation, and that made Matthew a little nervous.
Francis took a deep breath and the grin lessened a bit as far as the intensity of strange joy. He took Matthew's upper arms again and pulled his son to stand, and while murmuring instructions in a deeper, breathier voice he aided Matthew in stepping out of his pants. He applied pressure to Matthew's shoulders to compel the teen to move foreword, and he kept pushing until Matthew was made to stand in the water of the bath. With pressure applied to a different part of Mathew's shoulders, the teen was made to sit in the hot water.
And the first thing that Matthew noticed about the bath, was that the water felt really good. It relaxed the muscles in his legs and lower back, soothing an ache from a tension he hadn't even known he felt, and when Mathew leaned back he realized the smooth, shiny white wall around the tub was of a different texture than the rougher walls in the rest of the room and house. And it, too soothed his muscles and relaxed him, lessening an ache from the tension he hadn't known was there. While still studying his surroundings and being alert to anything new Francis might teach him, Mathew was vaguely aware that something extremely unpleasant had caused the muscles in his body to be tense and achy. He couldn't comprehend such an evil, nor could he recall the ill feelings that the evil had aroused in him. But as Francis looked down at him with the frightening smile gone, kneeling in front of the tub, seemingly taking in the details of Matthew's body as the teen sat cross-legged in the clean sweet water, the teen felt safe and loved, so Matthew expelled all confusing and worrisome thoughts from his mind to focus on his papa (even though he did have some questions as to what the things were that sat on a surface between the tub and the smooth and shiny wall).
There was a silence in the room for some time. Francis began to fret as he tried to figure out how to proceed, while Matthew's attention drifted and he became satisfied looking around, studying his surroundings like the average infant (out of his reflections, Matthew's eyes were no longer darkened with thought). Breaking the quiet, there was a frustrated yell from downstairs as Arthur realized that Francis had left him with the dishes, creating the transition for Francis to decide to just go with his instincts and see where that lead him (though the memory of Mathew not needing any instruction on how to do simple daily tasks when Francis had stumbled upon the toddling personification of the frozen north across the Atlantic nagged him at the back of his head). Francis smiled and took hold of the used rag hanging off the bath faucet, wet it, and reached around to massage the back of Matthew's neck with the wet washrag. The teen relaxed even more, eyes darkening from the pleasantness of the rubbing.
"To take a bath," Francis started, tone low and smooth, "one must make themselves wet." The Frenchman lowered the rag down to Matthew's shoulders, "to do so, one must rub themselves, not missing an inch, until they are sufficiently moistened." He massaged across Matthew's chest and into his stomach, making his way to the surface of the water. There was a crash and some yelling from Arthur downstairs, but Francis ignored it while Matthew didn't appear to notice. The Frenchman continued to rub at Matthew's chest, stomach, arms until his son's front side was dripping with water. There were more loud noises (it was loud footsteps and perhaps a joyous laugh, followed by Arthur's scolding), and again they were ignored. Francis trailed the rag from Matthew's collar bone to belly, moving the rag lower until it was just below the belly button, completely submerged in water. He studied Matthew again, and the teen was limp and relaxed, eyes fixed on his papa's face. More noise was ignored, even as it crescendo'd in the way that sound does as it comes nearer. Francis only heeded the noise when it came to the door and burst into the bathroom.
Francis turned immediately around with the expression that any one of Ludwig's dogs took on whenever they got caught eating paperwork (especially a utility bill), or chewing on the German's good shoes, or urinating on the gift of homage Ludwig was to give the Sultan when he and the Ottoman Empire cemented an official alliance back in WWI, or anything else that was considered Bad and Wrong. And Arthur saw where Francis' hand was.
"You bloody pervert!" was the instinctive yell that escaped Arthur's mouth as he carried on the instinctive reaction- yanking his life long enemy by the shirt collar, slamming him against the sink (and of course Francis cried out and arched when his tail bone was hit against the edge of the counter, and the Frenchman cringed as he imagined the colors that the spot over his butt would turn once the bruise decided to show itself). Arthur then took Francis' neck and throttled the man, not quite cutting off the passage of air as he began to rant at Francis (the general idea was that the sordid, lecherous, vile Frenchman was not to be trusted around the boys when they were in a state as vulnerable as the one they were in at that moment).
So while one of the parental figures was getting assaulted by the other, Matthew watched with a nervous expression from the tub. Alfred backed away from the two towards the bath before turning to see Matthew's reaction. He saw a victim in his brother, and the risk-taking, out going twin felt a protective tendency bubbling up from a fissure within slumbering memories. A bit of the old Alfred seemed to have been uncovered before the oblivious guardians, and the teen began frantically looking around the alien room. He took the washrag (it was floating protectively over Matthew's genitals), and tied it onto three simple knots. He spotted a loofah, and he stuffed both dripping ends of the rag into one of the openings on the cylindrical personal hygiene device. There was a plunger behind the toilet, so Alfred snatched it by the rubber part (unknowledgeable of its purpose), and shoved it through the side of the loofah (piercing the useful thing through the middle so thoroughly that it was quite close to being ripped in half. There was a bottle of Irish Springs shower gel already opened on a wire shelf held up by small plungers beneath the showerhead. Alfred grabbed it so roughly that green ooze spurted out the opening. Seized by a brilliant idea, Alfred squeezed the green stuff with the strong smell along one side of the unfortunate loofah. On the other side, he simply squeezed two dripping dots onto the part of the rag sticking out of the loofah. Grinning at the finished (dripping, smelly, torn, effectively ruined and laughable) product, Alfred turned to the still occupied adults. He wanted to say something, a phrase that would be good to proclaim when he carried out his brilliant plan to stop the fighting that upset his little brother (even though Matthew really was the oldest)… but he couldn't recall it! But Alfred Franklin Jones never backed down because of uncertainty, he knew that for sure, so he raised his creation and threw it in a way that he knew was purely his own.
It hit Arthur square in the face, soap smearing itself into his hair, eyes, nose, and mouth, excess gel spattered into Francis mouth, hitting the poor man in the back of the throat to choke him even more than he already was. The short, furious hazel eyed man turned from his victim to direct his chameleon eyes to his son (they'd turned a bright vivid green with the passion of his anger).
"It's a-!" and he began repeating 'a' as he searched for the elusive noun that he knew he loved even though he couldn't remember it. "I'm a-!" He tried, but the precious favorite word still evaded him.
Arthur gave a fast sideways glance to the creation- loofah now in half, plunger in the sink, and rag on the floor by the door with a green mess of soap all over the place. He knew Alfred well, and he knew the word the teen was becoming increasingly agitated over. "You were trying to be a 'hero'." Arthur told his son, slouching as his eyes dulled to a more natural shade of green because of his depleting anger.
It was as if Alfred had suddenly figured out the meaning of life itself. "Yeah!" he cried as he straightened, eyes taking on an almost electric shade of blue in his excitement. "I used a hero to stop you guys, so I'm a hero!" His arms were in the air with excitement from his revelation, and he looked over his shoulder to see that Matthew didn't look scared anymore. He just seemed to be taking in the scene, relaxed in the bath. There was a tinge of worry darkening his eyes, but Alfred didn't notice.
"A toilet plunger, a soapy loofah, and a wet rag? That's a hero?" Arthur just looked appalled. (An innocently gleeful 'yes!' was the answer.)
The only sound in the room was that of Francis on the ground, coughing and massaging his throat as a purple ring formed around it.
"And why did you do that?" Arthur asked, cocking his head and raising a brow as one corner of his mouth lifted, shoulders slumping even more in the same movement. His face clearly showing that he thought he was speaking to a mentally challenged individual, and was getting very tired of it.
Alfred's eyes clouded a bit in thought, and he turned to look at Matthew. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, "he… he…" was what the teen was murmuring in thought, "he… dam-… dam-… damsel!" he said a bit louder when he figured out the word he wanted (even though it felt incomplete on it's own).
The Englishman's mouth fell open as he became more appalled at Alfred's sheer level of current ignorance, "Matthew was a damsel in distress?" He'd known the phrase that Alfred hadn't been able to recall, and his brow began to twitch a little, his voice had been dull. He wasn't quite sure of what to do at that point.
Alfred turned back 'round to Matthew, and he noticed that Matthew was sitting naked in an odd place (and wasn't getting scolded for it). The gentler brother looked up at Alfred and saw the wonder in his eyes. "It's a bath," he said, straightening, "water feels good," Matthew elaborated as he scootched to the side, giving his brother room. Alfred immediately grinned and shucked his clothes. Curiously stepping in and kneeling down to sit cross-legged like his brother, Alfred's smile grew to be more relaxed from the soothing warmth. He, too, hadn't even known his muscles were achy and tense until they relaxed. He leaned back to the cool tile and felt it's different soothing just like Matthew. Matthew smiled when his brother seemed happy, and he turned to watch Francis rise to clap the still motionless Arthur on the shoulder.
"It was a good move allowing Alfred to come in here- this way we can save water, oui?" He took Arthur by the shoulders and turned the man to face the destruction of the loofah. When there was no reaction from Arthur, Francis added for the sake of provocation, "I'll just bathe them both and you can take care of Alfred's mess." And he walked over to the edged of the tub. To make sure he did a thorough job, Francis lamented, "ah, the rag is dirty now that it's on the floor and the loofah is torn to shreds, so I'll just have to used my bare hands!" That did it.
Arthur spun around and shoved Francis to the other end of the rather undersized room, "no, I'll bathe them, you clean this soapy disaster," he said firmly.
Francis smiled and went on to the task of cleaning up Alfred's mess, and Arthur knelt down at the tub with an air of blatant annoyance hanging about him.
"I am not going to bathe you two." Was the first thing Arthur told the boys, and the pleased expressions were wiped from their faces at their dad's tone. "Just," He started as he cupped his hands and splashed water on both the boys' hair until the water dripped down their faces, and he went for the shampoo. Then Arthur squirted a modest amount onto the top of each of their heads before instructing, "rub that into your hair." They both looked quite confused with the mound of gel on their heads, soaking into their hair. Arthur got a bit more annoyed as the two stared at him, and he placed both their hands on their heads. With both teen's hands resting on their heads, he took one wrist from each of them and rubbed the limp hands demonstratively on each respective scalp. They still seemed confused.
Francis was giving the scene glances from over his shoulder as he rinsed the soap form the floor with the rag Alfred had thrown. He could see the boys get more nervous as Arthur became more and more exasperated. He stood back from the rinsed sink area, and threw the twins a gentle, reassuring smile (he knew his eyes would shine with a loving glint along with the smile, it came naturally with the expression) before leaving briefly to fetch a few towels from a linen closet close to the bathroom.
Once Francis was back, Arthur had already given up and was bathing the two himself. He went quickly from one to the other, washing Alfred's hair, then Matthew's. Washing Alfred's torso, then Matthew's. Instructing Alfred to stand, running soapy hands over buttocks, genitals, legs as quickly as possible before having the teen sit back in the water to rinse, then doing the same to Matthew. He had them both washed in ten minutes. The twins seemed perplexed, and Matthew looked nervous when Arthur had them step out of the tub to drip on the floor, and Alfred followed confidently after his brother. Francis tossed Arthur a towel as he was bending over to unplug the bath stopper to let the water drain, so he hit the Englishman square in the ass. Arthur jumped and grabbed the towel, glaring at Francis as he moved to begin drying off Alfred. Francis toweled off Matthew in a gentler way than Arthur used to dry Alfred, and when the boys were satisfactorily dry Francis said to Arthur, "since we don't have any of their clothes, why don't we go and put these boys in some of my (more fashionable than yours) clothes?"
Arthur seemed about to protest, chest puffing up as though he was going to argue, but instead he suddenly deflated and looked off to the side before saying, "fine. But that's only because you'll have to more laundry to do since they're your clothes, and it'll wear them out more quickly."
So the rivals were able to get their boys dressed, each in a pair of Francis' pajamas (Arthur had been appalled that the man who he thought always slept in the nude ((he was proven wrong on that assumption last night, because Francis had worn pajamas)) owned more than one pair of pajamas, though they seemed rather old even though they were clearly well cared for). And of course if the bath hadn't given enough emphasis to how much smaller the boys were, Francis' clothes seemed far to big on the boys even though only a few days ago they'd both been head and shoulders above the Frenchman. Arthur hadn't been able to remember Alfred ever looking that age, and he wondered in the back of his mind if he'd missed that point in Alfred's development during the period of Salutary Neglect.
From there, they moved into the sitting room, and Arthur whispered into Francis's ear, "I'll stay here and try and get an idea of what these two remember. You should go out of earshot and get a hold of all our bosses, especially America's. You know how his bosses always are; he's likely to be making a national scene if Alfred left his home without letting the man know." This was all said in the old Angle form of English that he knew neither Matthew nor Alfred understood.
Francis made a face, "you know how I hate it when you demand things," he whispered back in French, "but what you say makes sense..." He crossed his arms and straightened, expression becoming cocky, "say please, and I'll do it. In French"
They both glanced back to Mathew and Alfred, and the twins looked confused. Then both men then knew that the boys had forgotten their French.
"This is not the time to play games, Francis, this is about maintaining good relations with national leaders. Just go!" Again, this was spoken in the Angle tongue.
Francis noted the way Arthur was prickling with anger, and he looked over the Englishman's shoulder to see that Matthew seemed to be getting nervous again. He replied in French, "fine," and he turned and started back up the stairs, "but I'll be getting back at you for your rudeness tonight!" he called in a cheery, light-hearted tone when he'd disappeared into the upstairs hall.
Yes. Paragraph twelve. THAT is my description of Francis's rape face. XD Thank you so much, everyone who reads this! Any review I get makes me SO VERY happy, so please review! Oh, and if you have any questions about the meaning of any sentences, please review or message me so I can clarify. :3 I know a few sentences in there are a little hard to get.