A/N: ...How should I put this...I'm very sorry for such a gap...My first few weeks of my summer have been VERY hectic. First Graduation, then going to Chicago, then getting new hardwood floors, and finally my orientation at my college in Tennessee (which I just got back from a few days ago). Things would be MUCH easier if I had my own laptop. Oh well!
Anyway, on with the story!
Chapter 7
"We aren't gonna to get interrupted again, are we?"
Francis shook his head. "Non. It's all taken care of." Matthew's shifting in his seat caught his attention. The blue-violet eyed male had been somewhat subdued the whole time he'd been in Francis' room. What had his Mathieu so troubled?
This is your second time meeting him, and you are already attached… France shook his head in disapproval. This is sad.
What do you know?!
I know you…
Alfred's voice snapped him out of his internal conversation with France. "Hmm?"
Alfred frowned, seeming slightly annoyed for having been ignored. He hit the button on the recording device and placed it on the nearby table. After having made sure that it wouldn't fall over, he repeated, "Let's start with the basics: family, friends, what you like to do, etc."
Francis smirked. "Only if Mathieu agrees to tells me a little about himself~!"
"He does."
"I said if Mathieu agreed, not if you agreed for him." He directed his attention at the honey blond male. "So, do we have a deal~?"
You really want to get to know this blond, don't you?
Francis ignored France's remark. Hearing that Mathieu agreed, Francis clapped his hands together. "Let's see, where to start? Oh, I have two best friends, who are both in the building—"
"As inmates or staff?" Alfred grumbled under his breath.
Francis was unimpressed. "As patients...anyway, I'm from France (figure out which city), I love to cook, be fabulous, and meet new people!"
And sleep with them.
Francis scuffed in annoyance. "C'était il y a longtemps déjà!"
Oh, don't lie to yourself; you know you miss the sex.
Matthew's voice stopped Francis from retorting.
"What was a long time ago?"
Had Francis really spoken to France aloud? "You understand français?"
The honey blond nodded.
Alfred glanced from one to the other. "Oh, no you don't! Don't you dare do this whole thing in French! I only know enough to get by when Matti's yelling at me in French, which doesn't happen that often."
The Frenchman feigned being hurt. "Oh, you wound me so! Why would you ever think I would do such a thing?"
Alfred gave a disbelieving look. "Family?"
At least he wouldn't have to tell them about France yet. The previous subject seemed to be dropped. Crisis averted, at least for now. Maybe he could break the news about France gently. Perhaps while telling one of his stories. "I had a father and I don't give a damn to where my mother is. I don't even care if the bitch is still alive."
The twins shared a look of skepticism. Matthew rummaged through an envelope and pulled out something that looked like a photo. "Could you tell us about this?" He handed it to Francis.
Once the photo was in his hands, he gazed at it for quite some time, running his thumb over the surface a few times. It'd been such a long time since he'd seen that scene. The photo was of better times: when his father was still alive, his mother, if he could even call her that, didn't hate him completely, when the three of them were somewhat of a family. He flipped it over seeing the orange ink on the back. Had it really been almost ten years since this had been taken? Had it really been that long ago when things started going to hell? He missed his father greatly. If there really was some sort of heaven or afterlife, maybe his father would be there waiting for him. Francis glanced from the photo when Matthew spoke again.
"Tu n'as pas besoin de faire ça si c'est trop pour toi, voilà."
"Non, it is fine. I should probably begin a few years before this photo; it'll make more sense that way."
Matthew and Alfred nodded in unison.
He took a deep breath and began speaking. "My mother hadn't always hated me. At first the three of us were a cohesive family."
"Maman, can we go to another play soon?", asked Francis without looking at his mother because the majority of his attention was on the puppy they were watching for the family down the street. He was playing tug of war with it. The puppy was putting up a good fight, too.
Helene was seated in a single seat couch reading a book. She laughed lightly shaking her head disbelievingly at her son. "Mon ange, we just saw one on Tuesday, today is Thursday."
He let go of the rope making the puppy roll backwards a little which made a small sound of annoyance, and turned around when he heard the sound of laughter. His mother looked younger than she really was; many would ask if she were old enough to be a lawyer. She would promptly reply that she went to school just like the rest of her colleagues. She had dark brown hair which framed her face and stopped just below her shoulders. She had brown eyes to match her brown hair and fair skin. "That shouldn't matter! I had so much fun and I wish to see another!"
She gave a short sigh but was still smiling. "Alright, fine. We'll look to see what's coming soon. Remember the magazine papa grabbed when we were at the theater on Tuesday?"
Francis nodded.
"Do you know where it is?"
Francis nodded again, this time with much enthusiasm.
"Good. Go fetch it for me."
With that, the little boy dashed out of the living room and up the stairs to the study. The puppy followed until it reached the stairs; it started pacing in circles when it figured out that it couldn't climb the stairs in a manner that would not cause it any harm. Francis found himself staring up at a fairly large bookcase. Two shelves from the top he could make out the edge of the magazine that his mother was speaking of. He frowned. Why did it have to be so high? Glancing around the room, he found a chair and scooted it in front of the shelf. He stepped on it, it wobble which made him freeze.
Maybe this isn't the best corse of action, you will most likely fall and hurt us both, a voice much like his own mused flatly in his head, though he knew that he hadn't thought anything of the sort.
There was that voice again; where was it coming from?
Once the wobbling stopped, he grabbed the magazine and jumped off the chair. Before he left the study, the phone rang. The number on the caller I.D. looked remotely familiar. He hadn't learned all of the phone numbers yet. In fact his mother had made him a card that had all the contacts that he needed: home, Mom's work, and Dad's work. The card was laminated, just in case someone pushed him into a nearby water source, say a fountain. Hey, children could be ruthless, especially that British girl, if she could be called one, down the street. Always calling him some words in English that he didn't understand. He would have to ask his parents what "frog" meant later, she seemed to favor calling him that among other things.
He picked it up and said, "Bonjour."
"Francis, is that you?" came the voice from the other end.
He recognized his father's voice immediately. "Père! Are you coming home?"
"Oui, I am leaving as soon as I hang up the phone."
Francis grinned from ear to ear. "Okay! See you then!" He was about to hit the end button when his father's voice came into the receiver. He put it back up to his ear. "Did you say something, père?"
"Put your mother on the phone." His father sounded slightly different. Maybe he was nervous about something. He shrugged. Or maybe it was nothing.
He walked down the stairs and handed the phone to his mother. She arced a perfectly manicured brow as she took the phone from her son. "Bonjour?" There was a pause then she spoke again, but this time to Francis' chagrin she spoke in English. He had a hard time learning how to speak the dreadful language, Spanish was much easier in his opinion, he'd become quite fluent in it with Spain being the country's neighbor and all. He sighed and left the room, but not before placing the magazine on the table in the room, to look for the puppy.
He found the puppy near the back door with it looking between him and the door. Francis opened the door and the ball of fur bounded, as best as it could, out the door. The blond closed it behind him and sat in the grass watching the puppy nip at the grass and roll in it too. It was quite the amusing animal.
She's never spoken English over the phone with papa.
There was that voice again! Was he going crazy?
No, I can promise you that you aren't. I've been with you since you were born.
"Who—What are you? And how did you hear me?"
I am you, but slightly different. The voice sighed. I can hear you when you speak aloud or think in your head. We share the same body.
Francis mulled that over for a moment. What did the voice mean by that? The puppy gave a small bark, climbed into his lap, and laid down. Francis petted the soft fur.
So, you can hear me when I do this? Francis thought to himself.
Yes, I can.
Francis remembered what the voice had said earlier. Do you think something's going on between mama and papa?
Maybe...I don't know! I just seemed odd to me…
Do you have a name? Francis asked out of the blue. The voice seemed to be getting a bit frustrated. Maybe distracting the voice would help.
The voice laughed. We share the same mind you know. But to answer your question I don't have one. When I'm out I usually go by your name.
What do you mean when you're out?
When I have control of our body.
Francis paled. Y-you haven't been doing anything bad, have you?
No, that would be stupid. I like having freedom.
Francis sighed in relief. Thank goodness! They had been silent for a while when Francis asked, Can I name you?
Sure...I don't see why not…
How about Hermes? Francis was met with silence. Or Alex?
That's better but keep going.
Ken?
Like the Barbie doll? I'll pass.
Éric…?
The voice exhaled in exasperation. Quit giving me stupid names! Pick something that describes us!
Francis was silently thinking over what described them both. Then it came to him. France…? he tentatively offered.
France...the voice repeated. I like it.
Matthew jolted and frantically pulled his phone from his back pocket, but not before giving an apologetic look towards Francis. He answered it. "...Well hello to you too, papa." He glanced at Alfred. "Yeah, he's here." Another pause. He handed the device to Alfred who took it and through the door to talk in the hall, but not before turning off the recording device.
"Sorry about that," Matthew apologized and looked down in shame at his lap.
Francis shrugged. "It happens."
"You speak English fine now."
"Ah. My friend Antonio helped me with that." Oh the things we did together. "Doesn't Alfred have a phone?"
Matthew smirked. "It's probably either dead or back at the apartment."
He stood stretching his arms above his head until a few soft popping noises came from his joints. "You seem very quiet today. Do you wish to tell me what is wrong?"
The honey blond was silent for a moment, then said, "I don't want to be a bother. I'm supposed to be interviewing you, remember?" He frowned a little. "So you talked to yourself?"
"Don't change the subject." He inwardly sighed."It might help if you talk about it." He walked over to the other, lifting his chin, blue-violet locking with concerned blue. "Unhappiness doesn't suite you."
Matthew turned his head away with a slight blush on his face. "The other day a friend of mine told me that."
"Well, that friend of yours is completely correct. Doit-moi ce qui te dérange."
"I'm not getting out of this, am I?"
Francis shook his head "no".
Matthew sighed in defeat. "I-I got into a fight...no, that doesn't quite describe it. There was an intervention..." When he trailed into silence Francis coxed him to continue. "My friend...he...I found out that he cut himself..."
Francis tilted his head to the side not following the blond in front of him.
"On a regular basis..."
Oh. That never ended well. "Is this the same person you were referring to earlier?"
"NO!...I mean no. Someone else."
The Frenchman placed his hands on either side of the blond's shoulders to still him. He had started shaking sometime during the conversation. "Tell me names so I do not get confused," he murmured.
"Miguel was the one who said the thing about unhappiness. The one who cut himself was...Roderich."
Francis froze. That couldn't be a coincidence...there was no way that—
"I r-really shouldn't be telling you this. It doesn't even pertain to you..." he began to ramble.
"Actually, I think it does."
Matthew glanced up at him in confusion.
Francis inhaled then exhaled. "When some partakes in cutting one's self, there is always a reason. What is Roderich's reason?"
Matthew studied the other for a few moments. "He said something about losing Gilbert."
The door opened and Alfred walked back in, his eyes wide. Matthew worriedly studied him, but Alfred shook his head and handed the phone back to the other and retreated back through the door.
Matthew stood up. "Al!"
Francis walked over to where the recording device was, picked it up and handed it to the honey blond. "Here. Seems you might need to go after him."
"I'm so sorry for having to cut this short...I'll see you next week, eh?" Francis nodded. Matthew grabbed the envelope and bag and started for the door.
"One thing before you go." Matthew halted and turned around. "Where were you raised?"
"Here in Canada by my mama." He left Francis' room.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope to have this one up in a more timely manner! Oh and if you celebrate the holiday, Happy 4th of July! (Well it'll be valid in a few days. ^^)
Translations provided by Xou:
C'était il y a longtemps déjà! —That was a long time ago!
Tu n'as pas besoin (de faire ça) si c'est trop pour toi, voilà. —You don't have to do that, if it's too hard for you.
Doit-moi ce qui te dérange. —Tell me what bothers you.
Maman — mom/mommy
Père — papa/father
