Chapter 8

Francis did not flirt with anyone on the plane this time. He sat, huddled under a baseball cap Arthur had lent him, and didn't make eye contact with anyone. Despite this, people continued to "walk by" in first class and snap pictures of the two royals on their phones until Arthur complained and the stewardess erected a curtain barrier. Uncaring, Francis ignored all of this as well as Arthur's commentary until they were nearly in Paris.

"Eat something," Arthur fretted. Francis huddled in on himself further and tucked his chin to his chest, so that the brim of the cap nearly covered his face. He was resting against the window, doing his absolute best to completely ignore Arthur's presence. "Come on," Arthur tried again, "just a few bites."

"No," Francis replied. The typical jibe about food that came from Arthur was non-existent. That alone worried the British royal.

"Alright, fine. Drink some water instead," Arthur suggested. Francis merely sighed.

"Didn't you bring a book or something?" Francis asked rudely. Arthur huffed and took a swig of the water he'd just been pushing at Francis.

"I'm only trying to take care of you."

"Well don't," Francis replied snappily. Arthur frowned. He would have been equally lost if Francis had been a mess of tears, but at least he would have felt more sympathetic. Instead, Francis had been in a permanent bad mood, irritable because he could not smoke on the plane.

When they landed in Paris, they were swiftly escorted to a private car with black windows, where they drove to Francis's vacation home. That's where his mother was staying with Arthur's mother, Mary. Christophe's death was splashed all over the tabloids—messy, graphic photos of blood smears in an expensive looking tile bathroom. He'd slit his wrists in the bathtub. The police speculated that after he'd done it, he'd panicked, maybe regretted it, and tried to get help. It was also possible he'd thrashed around as much as he did because of the alcohol in his system.

Francis didn't know which scenario was worse, so he tried not to imagine it. Of course, that was impossible. The mental images wouldn't go away. Even if he had been successful in forgetting for a moment, the story was everywhere in France, and there was no escaping it. Their vacation home was flocked with press, and well-wishers, and just the general, curious public. Arthur and Francis had to be muscled inside, protected by Francis's bodyguard and the man that was usually assigned to Arthur.

Once inside the beautiful, though very coldly elegant home, Francis was instantly swept up in his mother's arms. He stood stoic as she seemed to melt around him. Finally, after a long few moments, he wrapped an arm awkwardly around her and patted her heaving shoulders. Arthur was drawn to his mother's side like a magnet. He leaned against her (a little surprised at his own increasing height) and soaked up her comfort like a sponge.

"Alright there, poppet?" she asked him. Arthur just shrugged, feeling helpless and sad. It also felt wrong to watch Francis's mother have a break-down in front of him. The moment felt very intimate, and it made him feel clumsy and out of place.

His mother gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. "Come on. Let's give them some time. I'll put the tea kettle on and make you some biscuits."

For a moment, Arthur caught Francis's eye and he frowned thinly. There was no other word for Francis except for miserable. Arthur had a strange flashback to Christmas, when they'd joked about dating, when the house had been full of laughter and innocent teasing. It all felt so innocent now...but, in retrospect, Francis's parents had been bitterly fighting even then.

It made Arthur start to wonder about some of the things Francis had been saying all summer. Maybe love wasn't so perfect? Sure, he loved Alfred and they were happy, but Christophe and Madeline had once been happy, too.

Now look at them. One a wasted away mess of tears and guilt, and the other was in the bowels of some funeral home being neatly dressed for his burial. It was sobering.

Arthur found his mother's hand, and squeezed it.

"There, there, love. Don't you worry about Francis. We'll take good care of him and Madeline," his mother soothed. Once they were nearly in the kitchen, Arthur voiced his real fear.

"Francis doesn't believe in love anymore," Arthur said, as he eased himself into a bar stool at the kitchen's island. Mary went about finding ingredients for her biscuits and fixing the tea.

"Arthur, I'm going to talk to you like a man. You're not a little boy anymore, sad as I am to admit it. Christophe was always sensitive. He was never really cut out for his work, or for life in the media. Madeline was too high strung for him. Instead of grounding her, he'd lose himself in her problems and anxieties. They were a bad match, and life was not kind to them."

Arthur considered her words, naturally wondering if he and Alfred were a good match.

"So I guess what I'm saying is that anyone can fall in love, and that love can be wonderful, but it takes true compatibility for a marriage to work. What has happened in this family is terrible, but they weren't compatible from the start, and they only brought out the worst in each other. She made him nervous, and he made her insecure."

Arthur was grateful for the tea his mother placed in front of him. Besides being sparse in design, decorated in black and white and pale blue, the house was physically cold. Arthur's teeth were chattering.

"I'll go turn on the heat. You look a little peaky, love," Mary fussed, before leaving him alone in the kitchen. Arthur pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened a new text message to Alfred.

I love you. Miss you.

He pressed send and waited, staring at his screen with tears clouding the corners of his emerald eyes. It took nearly a full minute, but his phone buzzed and Alfred's words returned to him.

Can you call me?

Arthur glanced over his shoulder to see that his mother had become absorbed in fussing over Francis and Madeline in one of the nearby sitting rooms. He pressed Alfred's number and waited.

"Hey, babe. What's up?" Alfred asked, his voice full of concern. Arthur swallowed thickly and brushed at his tears.

"It's just sad. I wish you'd come after all," Arthur confessed.

"Okay. I'll get on a flight as soon as I can," Alfred said instantly. Arthur knew he was being weak—hadn't he been the one assuring Alfred just the day before that he would be fine?—but the promise filled him with relief and he nodded, even though Alfred couldn't see the motion.

"I love you," he said again, quietly. The words felt strange inside the house, as if maybe there they were less real, or less certain.

"Hey Arthur?" Alfred asked.

"Yeah?"

"If I start laughing at the funeral, you've got to pretend you've just said something really funny," Alfred said. Despite himself, Arthur snorted.

"That's terrible. No."

"Arrrtthhhuuur! All the Frenchies will get mad at me!"

"That's your own damn fault," Arthur replied, a grin tugging at his lips.

"But you said you loved me!" Alfred whined. Arthur's grin faded into a simple smile.

"More than anything," he replied. Alfred was quiet a moment and then answered him.

"When I get there, I'm going to kiss you so that you never get scared again, okay? I'm going to hold onto you really tight so you know I'm not going anywhere. I'll be your hero, 'cause of how much I love you."

Arthur felt fresh tears slide down his cheeks, and he let his eyes drift shut. He didn't know if he was crying for Christophe, or for Francis, or because he felt like a little of his innocence was gone, but he did know that Alfred's voice on the line made those tears okay.

"I'll wait for you then," Arthur replied. Slowly, he hung up the phone.

"Oh, poppet, why didn't you tell me the biscuits were burning!" Mary questioned as she came running in. Arthur jolted in surprise as the smell of smoke hit his nose. Overhead, the fire detector began to beep angrily. Drawn by the noise, Francis and Madeline appeared in the doorway. Madeline sprang into action, pulling up the heavy drapes and opening a window. Francis grabbed the nozzle of the kitchen sink and used it to combat the flames now spewing out of the oven.

"Oh my goodness!" Mary exclaimed, her mouth a horrified little 'o' shape.

The flames were extinguished and the smoke began wafting out the window. For a second, nobody spoke. Then Francis cautiously lowered his fire extinguisher and sighed.

"Aunt Mary...I think your biscuits are done," Francis said dryly. Madeline still had tear tracks on the hollows of her cheeks, but she let out a dark chuckle.

"God, Mary, is nothing safe from your terrible cooking?"

The tension broke, and everyone laughed. Life moved forward again, shaking death's presence off as if it were merely rain drops clinging to life's rain slicker after a storm.

The funeral was on a Saturday. They had somehow limped through the week together, Arthur sitting with Francis while he chain smoked and Mary helping Madeline to sort through Christophe's summer suits for one that was suitable.

Francis held up well until the day of the funeral. He was strong for his mother, holding her each time she cried, and he made many of the decisions that she felt too weak to make. On the day of, however, Arthur couldn't get him to leave his bedroom.

"Maybe I could try?" a soft voice asked. Arthur spun in surprise to see Matthew standing in the hallway, his luggage still clutched in his hands.

"Matthew? What are you doing here?" Arthur asked in surprise. The soft-spoken boy set his bag down in the hallway, looking a little uncomfortable.

"I came with Alfred. He's here, too. Your mother is trying to feed him. You should probably go save him," Matthew suggested with a small smile. Arthur huffed in amusement and nodded. As he passed the other boy, he gently touched Matthew's elbow and captured the other boy's gaze.

"I'm glad you came," he said. "You have a kind heart, Matthew."

"I...I had to come. I love him," Matthew said quietly. Arthur nodded, though he wondered what would become of Francis and Matthew.

Whatever happened, it was out of his hands. No one, certainly not him, could predict the path of love.

"Good luck," Arthur offered, before going to find Alfred.

Matthew braced himself, squaring his shoulders as much as he could. He stepped up to the door.

"F-Francis...I need help with my tie," he said softly. The door opened hesitantly, and then Francis just stood there, staring at him as if he were a ghost. After a long pause, he spoke.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice cold. Matthew's eyes fell to the ground, but he extended his hand. He felt kind of silly doing it, but Francis didn't stop him and eventually his hand was resting on the other boy's chest. Francis wore only a simple white T-shirt, and Matthew felt the coolness of the other boy's skin through the material. Beneath skin and rib, the gentle thudding of Francis's heart beat like an erratic metronome. Matthew lifted his eyes to meet Francis's confused, suffering gaze.

"I'm just h-here. I'm sorry that I ran away...earlier...when you needed me."

Francis gently clasped Matthew's hand. He gave it a soft squeeze before he pulled it off his chest. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, his fingers moving to the sloppy knot at the hollow of Matthew's throat.

"It is okay," Francis said finally. He tightened the knot expertly, so that the tie looked smart and crisp. "You are here now," he added. Their eyes met, over the rustling sound of fabric, as Francis moved the strip of blue silk over and around, under and through. When it was done, Francis's hands drifted down slowly from the tie, over the lapels of Matthew's suit. The shorter boy leaned forward, and their lips met softly. The kiss was simple and chaste.

"I'm not like him. I would never...but I've thought about it...since it happened. I can't stop thinking about it," Francis said. His words sounded muffled in the hallway, like footsteps on carpet.

"They're just like b-bad dreams. The thoughts will go away, when you aren't scared anymore," Matthew said. After a moment he added, "I know something that might help...but you'll think it's silly," Mathew said.

"No I won't," Francis replied.

"Okay. Then come here," Matthew said, and hooked his finger so that Francis would lean over. The taller boy did so, a questioning, haunted look in his eyes. Gently, Matthew kissed his forehead.

"Wha—?" Francis said, a bit surprised.

"There. All better," Matthew said. With a small smile he added, "That's what my mom used to do for me, if I had bad dreams. She'd kiss my forehead and say 'all better!' The funny thing is—it always was, just a little bit."

Francis smiled, and pulled Matthew into a hug. After a moment, he began to cry softly against the other boy's shoulder, and Matthew held him.

The funeral was a national affair. The press was everywhere and Francis felt like his father's funeral was being violated each time a camera flashed. He stood with his mother, and Matthew couldn't really stand with him, but it was enough to know the other boy had come and was sharing the experience with him. Even if they never talked about it, even if they never dated again, Matthew's acknowledgment of what they had once had and had once been was enough to give Francis some small measure of peace.

But it was not enough peace. He felt tired inside, and homesick, even though he sort of hated France for being so damn nosy and his mother for never running out of tears. So he was a little surprised himself when he told his friends he would not be returning with them to the states just yet.

"I am one of the top students in our year. I can afford to take off a month or two. My place is here with my mother now. She can home school me until we have figured things out," Francis explained. Arthur predictably began protesting the idea of missing school.

"Our sophomore year is the most important for academics, when you truly think about it. Are you entirely sure you can pull off a break and miss all the foundation lessons?" Arthur fretted. Nearby (she was puttering around the kitchen) Mary smiled in fondness.

"Have no worries on that account, Poppet. Madeline was the very brightest in our class. Francis won't miss anything, or fall too far behind. Tutoring him will give her something to do," she added gently. Then her smile turned to Francis, and it was the proudest smile Arthur had ever seen her give. "You're a good son, Francis. She's lucky to have you. I know you want to go back, but staying with your mother to help her is a man's choice. You've grown into a very good, young man," Mary praised sincerely.

Francis returned her smile with a slightly embarrassed blush, and Matthew smiled at Francis, though it was bittersweet.

"I'm proud of you, Francis, for staying to take care of your mother," Matthew said quietly. "I'll keep in touch and help you with assignments, if you need me to."

Francis nodded and the two shared a look that was full of meaning.

"Way to be, like, Hero Club member of the year!" Alfred added brightly. Francis glanced at the exuberant boy and his expression turned serious.

"Take care of Arthur while I am not there to keep you in line. Make sure he gets out of the library every great once in awhile, and do not let him get too big of a head as student council vice-president."

"Oh, shut it," Arthur replied, though the command lacked malice. Alfred laughed, perhaps too loudly considering they'd all just left a funeral, and the boys began to discuss flight arrangements and luggage logistics.

In all the hubbub, Matthew managed to pull Francis aside.

"Call me if you need me, okay?" Matthew asked. For a long moment, Francis merely stared at Matthew, as if he were a puzzle.

"Something's different about you, mon cher. I can't quite place it," Francis said. Matthew predictably blushed.

"Nothing's different about me. I'm just the same old Matthew."

"No, there's definitely something there. When I come back, I hope to see more of it—whatever it is," Francis said softly. Matthew eventually just shrugged and smiled.

"I'll try, I guess."

"And you'll call me if the new boyfriend steps out of line, right?" Francis demanded. Matthew's eyes shifted guiltily to the side.

"It's not really like that with Alex," Matthew confessed.

"Not yet it isn't...but you want it to be," Francis replied.

"What?" Matthew asked, sounding genuinely surprised. "But Francis, you're the one I...for over a year now it's been you that—"

"Think of it like this, mon cher. Right now, we are on two different roads. My road goes through a dark wood, and I have to walk that road alone. I have to see what sort of man I am when I emerge on the other side. For now, you walk with another, but you will only walk together for a time. Soon our roads will merge and we can walk together again. I will wait for that day," Francis smiled a bit wryly, "I miss our walks together."

Matthew was flushed with adoration for Francis and his romantic way of speaking, nearly caught up in his spell, when Alfred butted in.

"Sounds like somebody's lost. You guys talkin' about how to get back to the airport? 'Cause I have GPS on my phone. We can all just go on the same road. I don't think we have to go through any woods," Alfred offered. Francis sighed.

"Thank you, Alfred, for ruining the moment," Francis said, with mock gratitude.

"No problem! Anytime! Hey...wait a minute!" Alfred spluttered. Rolling his eyes fondly, Arthur tugged Alfred out of the kitchen.

"We'll give you two a moment to say goodbye properly," he said. Then turning to Alfred he added, "Without Alfred's help."

"What? How was I supposed to know he was trying to get in his pants?" Alfred replied. Arthur shook his head.

"Because it's Francis. He's always trying to get in someone's pants," Matthew replied, feeling quite proud of himself for his wit.

Everyone froze. Francis's eyebrows were nearly in his hairline. For a long moment, Arthur, Alfred, and Francis just stared at the usually soft-spoken boy who never said a mean thing about anyone. Then Arthur dramatically clapped.

"Well said, Matthew!" Arthur congratulated.

"That was epic!" Alfred crowed, already beginning to explode with laughter. Francis's shock faded into a reluctant smile.

"I suppose I had that one coming, though I definitely did not expect it from you," Francis admitted softly. Matthew just blushed and rolled his eyes.

"Geez guys, you don't have to act like it's a newsworthy event just because I said something witty and didn't get tongue tied for once. Even I have my moments sometimes, eh?"

Matthew's small show of attitude made Francis grin—his first true smile since the funeral.

"I will see you again soon, Matthew," he said. Matthew met his eyes, still blushing faintly, and nodded.

"Soon," he agreed. With one last look to burn between them, Matthew followed after Arthur and Alfred.

Michelle closed her eyes shut tightly as she pushed her finger towards the back of her throat. It was harder and harder to do, considering how long she'd been doing it. Finally, her gag reflex triggered and the meager contents of her lunch came splashing back up into the toilet.

She knew she was supposed to feel bad about it, but all she could feel was pride. The sense of control it gave her to watch the calories flush harmlessly away was worth any negativity society might throw her way. A little shaky, she rinsed her mouth and checked her phone, listening to the voice mail from her agent again.

"They loved ya, Shell! You fly out to L.A. this weekend for the shoot. I'm telling ya, babe, this commercial is huge. You and Jones are going to be the it couple after this airs. Call me back and I'll fill you in. Love ya, Money." Since Michelle had met the fast-talking agent, that's what he'd called her—Money in the Bank. His confidence in her was flattering, and she felt like it had nothing to do with the fact that she'd slept with him, though she imagined it couldn't have hurt.

Lowering her phone, she checked her reflection in the mirror. She was everything a model should be—tall, thin, with exotic features. She ran a hand over her flat tummy and frowned, though.

"I need to work out. The camera adds ten pounds," she muttered to herself idly. She checked her phone again, wondering if Francis would call her or not. Even though she knew he was emotionally unavailable, it just made her want him more. It seemed like she only was interested in a man if there was some huge reason he could never be with her—a family, a dramatic age difference, or an old love, in Francis's case.

Not wanting to seem overeager, Michelle simply texted him her big news about the commercial. He replied back that he was excited for her, but that he wouldn't be returning to school.

Michelle frowned as she plopped onto her bed.

"That's gay," she said, tossing her phone away from her. After a few moments, she picked it back up again. She bit her lip as she texted Francis back.

Can u ask Arthur to let me hang with him? I'll be so bored w/o u! Plus, I'll be working with Alfred. They want him for the male lead in the commercial.

She sent the text and waited, but the response was a long time coming. Finally, her phone buzzed in her hand.

I've asked Arthur and Alfred to keep you company. I don't think Alfred knows about the commercial yet. Let me know if they don't look out for you.

Michelle smiled in fondness for the French royal. She liked Francis quite a bit. She hadn't figured out how she was going to do it yet, but she definitely wanted to date him before the school year was over. They'd make for a glamorous couple, and it would definitely attract media attention, which she needed at such an early point in her career.

"Hurry back, Francis," she muttered to her empty room. "I can't make you love me if you're half way around the world," she complained.

She thought about her text a few moments before she sent it.

If u need to talk, u know my number, babe. 3

A few seconds later and her phone buzzed with an incoming message.

I think Matthew and I are going to try to work things out.

Michelle frowned, but it came off more as a sexy pout. Her thumbs flew over the keypad of her phone.

Do what makes u happy, but don't u think u should protect him? I mean, he hasn't been through what we've been through.

There was an even longer pause this time before the reply came, but when it finally did, his words made her smile.

Maybe you're right. I know I need help, but I don't want to drag him down with me.

Michelle smiled at the message and replied once more.

I think you're doing the right thing. I know you love him, but he's just not like us, babe.

She waited, but Francis didn't immediately reply. She could only hope he was thinking about her words, and letting doubt shift his opinions and thoughts until he believed there was no role for Matthew to play in his life.

A/N: So yeah, Seychelles is officially an original character at this point, with a cannon name, lol. I'm sorry she's so out there right now guys. I am working towards her true character, but it's gonna take awhile to get her there. In the mean time, she's gonna ruin everything. Or will she? Dun dun dun...

On a side note, my students are reading a novel about the Civil War. I gave them a test over it, and one kid actually wrote in an answer that a character went to fight in the Civil War and died fighting against the British. I came this close to writing "Arthur was not present in the Civil War. Alfred was merely having an internal debate."