[fanfiction] Divine Intervention 6/9
Chapter 6
Francis grumbled awake as he heard his alarm clock blaring lazily two floors above. Shifting slightly, he found the heaviness on his chest that seemed to have been fading for most of the week had returned full force. As he tried to move again, the weight groaned and Francis opened his eyes.
Sprawled over him, a hand curled around his shirt and blond hair unkempt and wild, was a sleeping Arthur. Unable to do anything but sigh and lean back into the couch, Francis watched as sunlight stretched across the ceiling and the angel lying on him. Flecks of golden hair were caught in its rays, making them glow faintly.
Absently, Francis ran his fingers through the soft strands in an attempt to comb them into submission. The first tightened around his chest and quiet words whispered from between pale lips.
Smirking and untangling his fingers from the blond locks, the mortal carefully slid out from under the Englishman, managing to not wake him up. Draping his suit coat over the scarred shoulders, Francis made his way upstairs, turning off his alarm.
Just as he was about to walk back downstairs, Francis looked into his side room and stopped. The white lily was sitting on the windowsill, staring sullenly out on to the street and seemed to be drooping slightly. Hurrying down to the kitchen, he filled a small mug of water before returning upstairs and pouring the clear liquid into the pot. While the water sank into the greedy soil, Francis sang a quiet lullaby under his breath.
“So you are going to take care of it.”
Francis turned around to see Arthur standing in the doorway still looking half-asleep as he rubbed his eyes. “Of course.” The Frenchman said, placing a hand on his hip and pushing by the angel and hurrying back downstairs. “I don’t feel like making breakfast.” He called up to Arthur, “We’re going to Liz’s.”
Placing the mug in the kitchen, he jumped, finding Arthur right behind him. The angel was already wrapped up in a dark grey pea coat; his tartan scarf nestled under his neck. “Let’s go then.” He smirked, “C’mon, hurry up.”
“Snarky little British imbecile.” Francis whispered, rolling his eyes as he folded his arms over his chest and headed to the front door and pulled on his jacket. Slipping outside, he exhaled at the slightly crisp day.
“Just because you whisper it doesn’t mean I can’t hear it.” Arthur said, leaning against his car and smirking at the Frenchman.
Francis sighed, rolling his eyes. “You delight in annoying me don’t you?” He asked, his heart pumping furiously as he stepped down his stairs and heading towards the small restaurant.
Falling in step beside Francis, Arthur yawned. “I do.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“You’ve got to be in this world.”
Francis found that he didn’t have a comeback and resorted to scowling darkly. As they approached the café, Arthur held out a hand, catching the Frenchman in the chest. “What?” He asked, looking down the street. Three people were hanging near the windows lining the front of the café, arguing over a map. Francis seemed to tune out as the tallest one started yelling, tearing up the map.
-
The three first happen upon the café when trying to find their new house. It is raining harder than expected, but they do not care. They are out of the countryside in a small blustery little city, cosy yet bustling with the promise of bigger and better adventures. It is perfect and though Francis still yearns for Paris, he knows that Gilbert, Antonio and himself will make the city their own.
Before that, they have to find their house first. Gilbert, finally giving into putting his man card away, (after driving around the same four streets for an hour) parks at a café, ready to ask for directions. Francis grins at him, bumping his shoulder against the Prussian’s playfully. Antonio’s phone rings with Lovino’s telltale ringtone - a recorded song with the Italian singing about tomatoes and hating Francis - and the Spaniard excuses himself, flipping the phone open, walking away while trying to talk over Lovino’s frantic and angry words.
Gilbert’s hand rests on the door and he hesitates, obviously having a very hard time swallowing his pride.
“Go inside.” Francis says, pressing his hand into the small of Gilbert’s back, smiling at him. The Prussian hated public affection whereas Francis thrived on it, “I’ll protect you from the scary waitress."
Some would call it love at first sight, but those were people of a more romantic inclination than most. Francis would’ve called it a mutually agreed-upon hatred and loathing of the other. The woman wasn’t particularly beautiful. Nor was she particularly ugly. She was pretty, with a sweet smile and soft body to follow. Her green dress cling to her legs as she turned, hearing the bell overhead the door chime.
The Prussian stops dead in the doorway, swallowing, his eyes travelling over her form. “Uh…” He mutters, most likely at a loss for words for the first time in his life. “You… we… and…”
Grinning, though his chest burns with the unfamiliar feeling of jealousy, Francis pushes Gilbert further inside, giving the girl a once-over with his own gaze. “We’re lost,” He whispers into the Gilbert’s ear, “Remember?”
A small light goes on in Gilbert’s mind, his bolstering countenance returns full force. Hands on his hips, cocky grin and a downright wicked gleam in his crimson eyes. “Hey!” He calls, loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to look round “You! Serving girl! We need directions!”
The woman’s soft features suddenly turn dark. “Who the hell do you think you are?!” She says, throwing dishes down onto the table, causing pie to go everywhere, “Walking into my store and calling me a serving girl?!”
“Who the hell do you think I am?!” Gilbert counters, though he was already backing towards the door, the waitress’ irate expression obviously frightening him, “Gilbert Beilschmidt! And you better remember it!”
The waitress scowls. Quietly, she walks away, disappearing into the kitchen. “That’s right!” Gilbert calls after her, laughing, “Run away, like a scared little girl- is that a frying pan?!”
Francis quickly pulls Gilbert out of restaurant before things get bloody. “Good job.” He mutters, but still smiling as he drags the Prussian to the car, “Stay here, I’ll get directions.” Taking the folded sheet of directions from Gilbert’ pocket, Francis walked back inside. Managing to sweet-talk the woman and figure out where their house was, the Frenchman gives Elizaveta’s hand a small kiss before floating outside, grinning at the desolate looking Prussian. “That’s how a real man does it.”
The next three days are split between filling their small townhouse with an odd assortment of Francis’ chic and nouveau taste, Antonio’s old-fashion and homely style while Gilbert’s bright and imperial overtone. It was an bizarre mix, but they didn’t care, as it seems to mix together in its imperfection.
Because Francis is too lazy to cook, Antonio is too busy trying to find his charging cord because his phone has died and Gilbert isn’t allowed within five meters of the stove since an incident during their childhood, the three starve for one day before giving in and heading to Lizzie’s.
After the first delicious meal, the three return to the café again and again and again and soon they don’t even wait to be seated, rather taking their booth. Elizaveta and Gilbert do not get along, and thrive on hating each other. Francis enjoys watching them bicker, wondering if there is a certain fondness between them as months pass by.
“You guys go on ahead.” Gilbert says one night as the Trio are once again the last ones in the restaurant, “I’ve gotta talk to Liz.” Antonio nods, but Francis hesitates, still trying to quell the grumbling in his chest.
Watching from the window, Francis sees Gilbert hunched over, rubbing the back of his head and flushing as Elizaveta wipes a few table clean watching the Prussian out of her corner of her eye. Pulling out two tickets, Gilbert offers one to the waitress, looking away. For a moment, the Frenchman thinks the she is going to refuse, but Elizaveta takes the ticket, her own face dusted pink and she gets on her tiptoes and kisses Gilbert’s cheek.
As Francis hears Lovino’s ringtone, shrill and alarming in the night, he suddenly feels very alone.
-
“Are you listening to me Francis?” Arthur glared at the Frenchman, “Get in there and asked Elizaveta on a date, okay?”
Francis ran a hand through his hair, watching the waitress’ slightly burred form through the window. “I don’t know if I want to-”
A white thing suddenly obstructed his vision and he read a few lines of elegant cursive. “The list!” Arthur cried, waving it, “Have you forgotten the list?! I am not going anywhere until you finish this goddamn thing!” The angel seized Francis’ arm and dragged him inside. “Elizaveta!” He said, pushing the mortal towards her, “Francis has something he would like to ask you!”
“Yes?” The waitress asked, wiping her hands on her apron before walking over to the pair, “What is it?”
Shooting Arthur a death-glare, Francis smiled weakly at Elizaveta, glad that the restaurant was relatively empty. “I was wondering…” He swallowed, where was that charm he had worked so hard on during highschool? “If maybe…”
“Seriously?” Time seemed to freeze and for a moment Francis thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him until he noticed that Elizaveta had actually stopped moving. He looked around, the busy street outside caught in stillness. “You’re really fucking this one up.” Arthur said, striding towards him, leaning on a booth and raising a bushy eyebrow while stealing a piece of bacon off a customer’s plate.
“I’d like to see you do a better job.” Francis snapped.
“Don’t make me take over your body, ‘cause I fucking will.” Arthur said, poking Francis in the chest, “Use some of that French charm you people are supposed to be born with for Christ’s sake.”
Slapping Arthur’s finger away, Francis glared at him. “Like you could do a better job. Your charm would make even a barbare laugh!”
“At least I would be able to ask Elizaveta out without acting like a goddamn schoolgirl!”
“Fine! I’ll show you how a real man asks a woman out.” Francis said. The angel grinned and time suddenly resumed. Without hesitating, Francis asked, “Would you like to go for coffee sometime?”
The waitress shook her head, looking a little out-of-it. “Coffee?” She asked, gesturing towards the pot simmering on her counter a few meters away, “Is that all you want?”
“No, I just… would you like to go out on a date sometime?”
“Uh,” Elizaveta’s face frowned for a moment before she gave him a small smile. “Sure! I’d love to Francis. Meet me at the end of my shift, okay?”
Nodding and resisting the urge to cheer, Francis whirled around, trying to find Arthur so he could rub his victory in the Englishman’s face. To his surprise, the angel was nowhere to be seen. Francis looked all over the restaurant and even back at his home but found the Brit to have completely disappeared.
In an attempt to ignore the small feeling of dread at Arthur’s absence, Francis spent the remaining time before his date (a date! For the first time in months Francis was going a date! And not a paid one to boot!) shopping for food for his dinner with Elizaveta. Returning home, he tidied up a bit, preparing a few vegetables and trimming his scruff a bit before realizing that he was already late. Hurrying out the front door, he ran down the road, stopping in front of Elizaveta and panting for breath. “Desolé…” He said, straightening and offering his arm.
Giggling, the Hungarian wrapped her arm through his. “It’s no problem, I just finished closing up anyway.” She glanced around inquiringly, “Where’s your friend? You guys have been together almost every time I’ve seen you.”
“He’s not my friend.” Francis said, pouting slightly, before sighing, “I mean… Arthur is… I don’t know what he is to me yet.”
The green eyes glinted for a second. “Sounds risqué,” She said, winking at the Frenchman, “You aren’t keeping secrets from me, are you Francis?”
“Not from you Elizaveta!” Francis said, faking a taken-aback look, “I just don’t know what to think of Arthur, that’s all.”
“You’re saying you don’t like him.” The Hungarian said wisely, clinging close to Francis’ arm and shivering, “That’s what people say when they don’t like people.”
Shaking his head, Francis led Elizaveta across the street, climbing the stairs to his home. “I don’t mean it like that.” He said, opening the door and gesturing her inside, “He’s very sweet in his own backwards way.”
Elizaveta stepped inside, pulling off her jacket and handing it to Francis, brushing off her dress before peering around the small entranceway - her eyes staying for a second on the picture of Gilbert playing his violin. “Well, I like him.” She said, turning to Francis and smiling as he hung up her coat, “And I’m glad you’re… making friends again.”
There was a moment of silence as Elizaveta kept her gaze down and Francis nodded slightly. “Me too,” He gave the waitress a weak smile, “Come into the kitchen, I’m making Chicken Francese.”
It felt nice to have someone in his home again. Elizaveta was just as charming as she was self-assured and was nothing short of the perfect guest as she helped Francis cook, uncorked the wine and didn’t hesitate to return Francis’ cheers of souls that have passed on with her own solemn words. All the while, Francis couldn’t help but let his mind wander and wonder where his angel was.
The night ended with the Hungarian cutting up a few strawberries, feeding them to Francis while giggling slightly as he spoke silly and over-the-top French balderdash at her. Offering to walk her home, Francis hummed pleasantly as Elizaveta hung close to his arm, both quiet, letting the warm night air fill the silence.
Already making it into the downtown, Elizaveta stopped out a large apartment building, standing outside the glass doors, smiling at the old porter who winks, waiting to open the door when he sees Francis. “Umm…” She played with a lock of her hair nervously, “Francis, I had a nice night and everything, but-” Her words stopped as the Frenchman kissed her cheek.
“Don’t worry, I get it.” Francis said kindly, smiling softly at her, squeezing her hand fondly, “Breakfast at eight?”
Elizaveta laughed. “Always.” She gave Francis’ hand an equally tender squeeze before turning on her heel and hurrying inside to her building.
The porter let the door close, frowning at Francis. “You shouldna let her go ya’know.” He said, shaggy moustache fluttering slightly.
“She’s not the one for me.” Francis said, winking at the old man, “I had to let her go. So that we could both move on.” Walking away, enjoying the slightly confused look on the man’s face, Francis took a few alleys, finding himself slightly lost within the city’s downtown.
Frowning, he stopped, looking around and trying to fins familiar landmarks, his eyes fell upon a small, black convertible parked a block away. A figure was leaning against it, smoke curling from the cigarette lit at its side. Hurrying over, Arthur’s thin form quickly came into view, head titled up, staring at an apartment complex.
“See how the light on the sixth floor is flickering?” The Brit asked without even looking as the Frenchman as he took a place beside Arthur on the car.
“Yes.”
“It’s Tuesday.” A long drag of the smoke, “Both Matthew and Alfred don’t have work tomorrow, so they stay up for hours playing video games and watching bad movies. I always hated that because I always had work on Wednesday, so I never got any sleep.”
Francis glanced at Arthur out of the corner of his eye, watching the Englishman snuggling lower into his scarf. “Can’t you go and see them?” He asked, leaning against the Brit, offering his warmth.
Arthur didn’t move away, obviously forgetting the spat they had in the morning. “No. I was breaking the rules even just being seen by chance. Imagine seeing your dead brother pop up at your door three months after you buried him and scattered his ashes in the Channel, wouldn’t exactly be the most sensible of situations.”
“And I thought you weren’t one for rules.”
“I’m not. But I’m doing it for them.” Arthur said, flicking the cigarette away.
1. Paint picture of countryside.
2. Ave Maria live.
3. Horseback riding.
4. Ask waitress out.
5. Love.
Chapter 7>>
Author's Note
So ya, Gilbo/Liz is my het!OTP.
(unbeta'd/unedited. please point out errors if you see them and edited copy will be up later)