Sympathique Part 3/?
Title: Sympathique
Genre: Drama/Romance
Characters: France (Francis Bonnefoy), England (Arthur Kirkland), Canada (Matthew Williams), America (Alfred F. Jones) and various others
Pairing(s): FrUK
Rating: T
Warnings: AU, strong language, use of human names, sexual situations and an extremely sarcastic Brit
Summary: Francis and Arthur have known each other since they were eleven yearsold. At the best of times, they can’t stand to be in the same room as each other. However a cruel twist of fate and a life-changing phone call turn their world upside down as the two have to team up to be parents to two orphaned children.
In this chapter: Francis and Arthur go to meet Mathieu for the first time.
Notes: Sorry that I've taken so long to upload this chapter! I've been ridiculously busy with schoolwork recently. I hope that you enjoy this chapter.
Arthur and I are stood at the arrivals entrance, waiting for an air hostess to emerge with a small child. I do not know what Mathieu is going to look like but the police officer I have been arranging this with has said to look out for a little boy with a teddy bear, because of course that narrows it down… mon Dieu, Arthur’s sarcasm seems to be rubbing off on me.
He is just as anxious as I am. He keeps checking his watch and pacing. I don’t think that he truly believes me when I say that the child is my sister’s, despite the fact that I have never been to Canada. His accusations continue to baffle me. He has once accused me of stealing his boyfriend before. Which is not true. I merely helped Kiku discover the wonders of foreplay - something which Arthur severely needs education on.
For the past week, we have spent a lot of time in each other’s company (after I recovered from a three-day hangover, of course). He has been kind to me this week, paying for things for Mathieu and giving himself to me nightly to help me cope with my grief. It is not something that I expected from him. He is usually so indifferent and straight-faced; him showing me any sort of affection is peculiar. But I still have not forgiven him for shaving my beard, which has thankfully almost already grown back.
His pacing is starting to become irritating.
“Can you not stay still?” my voice is clipped.
“Piss off,” he scowls.
Berk, I frown and begin to concentrate on all of the bustling people. We’ve had five false alarms so far. It’s beginning to test mine and Arthur’s patience.
“What if he doesn’t come, Arthur?”
“He will,” he exhales, “eventually.”
“Bien sûr,” I roll my eyes. We are silent for what seems like a millennium before I speak up, clearing my throat. “We should play a game to entertain ourselves.”
Arthur looks unconvinced. “Like what?”
“Uh… how you say… eye-spy?”
“Eye-spy? Honestly, what a childish game,” he mutters before sneering. “Fine. You go first.”
I bet he thinks he’s good at playing this game.
“D’accord. I spy avec mon petit oeil something beginning with… ‘A’.”
“Aeroport.”
“Merde.”
Arthur chuckles quietly.
Then I spot a young lady, red lipstick contrasting against the paleness of her skin. She is wearing the airport’s uniform. Beside her is a small boy with long, curly, blonde hair. He is clutching a white bear tightly in his arms. She is carrying two large suitcases at her sides.
“C’est lui.”
I quickly cross over to them, Arthur following behind me. The child gawks up at me. He is so small, he barely reaches my knees.
“You must be Mr. Bonnefoy,” she puts down the bags and holds her hand out to shake mine.
“Yes, I am him.” I give her my most charming of smiles before kneeling in front of Mathieu, who is still holding on to his toy tightly. His expression changes, eyes widening a little in fear. “And you must be Mathieu?”
He nods, lips pouted slightly.
“He mainly speaks French,” she notes. I glance up at Arthur who is clearly as fascinated by the child as I am.
“Ah, je vois.” Mathieu seems to respond better and I beam at him. “Je m’appelle Francis - salut, Mathieu!” I try to sound as cheerful as possible.
“Salut,” he hesitantly replies, moving closer to the air hostess. He is very cute. His hair is long like my own and similar eyes to me, although they have a violet tint to them.
Arthur is shuffling awkwardly behind me.
“Il s’appelle Arthur,” I motion back at the Brit with my head. “Il est Anglais.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Arthur sounds unsure. Mathieu giggles.
“Je parle, un peu…” he is so quiet that I almost don’t hear him.
“D’Anglais?”
“Oui…”
“Then speak to us, mon chou. You will need to learn the language.”
“O-okay,” he seems to be edging away from the air hostess now, towards me.
“I need to go,” the woman pipes up. Arthur is quick to shake hands with her.
“Thank you,” he’s using his authoritative voice.
“You’re welcome. Au revoir, Mathieu,” she bends down and receives a hug and a sloppy kiss from the toddler.
“He’s definitely French,” I chuckle to Arthur, who grunts in agreement.
She grins at him once more and then she’s gone. We are alone with Mathieu for the first time.
I scoop him up into my arms and although Mathieu is startled for a moment, he seems to relax upon the realisation that he still has his teddy bear. Arthur picks up the luggage as we begin to leave the airport, heading for the car. We now have to travel for twenty minutes on a rickety old bus to take us to where he have parked. Thank you, British government.
“Monsieur?” Mathieu asks as we get on the bus. It surprises me. It’s been a long time since a relative of mine has been polite towards me.
“Ah, do not call me that. I am big brother, okay?” I grin at him. “Mais, oui?”
He fiddles with the stitching on his bear. “Where am I?”
“You are in England,” I confirm. I can’t help but look at Arthur, who is standing a few metres away. He gestures at the seat in front of him, which I gladly take. He remains standing. Perhaps he can be a gentleman sometimes after all?
“Oh,” Mathieu looks confused. “I’m… not in Canada…?”
I’m beginning to wonder how much he has been told.
“Non, you are not.”
“Francis,” Arthur is staring down at us both, holding on to a pole in order to stay up right; his legs are astride the two suitcases to prevent them from falling. His flexibility continues to astound me. “Why don’t you speak to him properly in English? He has to learn the language to be able to do well in school. You can’t keep throwing French at him.”
“He is not four yet,” I protest.
“But he will be next year,” he shrugs and looks distant again.
“J’ai quatre ans dans l’anée prochain,” Mathieu sounds so proud.
“Ah, vraiment?” I purposefully ignore Arthur, who starts to scowl. “Regarde lui,” I smirk at Mathieu. “Il est trés stupide, non?”
Mathieu looks lost.
“Pourquoi?”
Now it’s my turn to look confused. I thought that children enjoyed picking on others and asking rude questions? Arthur, however, smiles.
“Good lad,” and he doesn’t stop smiling until we have gotten to the car.
As Arthur is strapping Mathieu into the children’s car seat (and getting frustrated that he can’t work out the straps), I stand close behind him. He starts to get even more flustered.
“Would you like me to do it?” I sigh eventually as he starts muttering to himself. I can see that Mathieu looks as concerned for Arthur’s mental health as I am on daily basis.
“Yes! My God, it’s like they want children to die because they aren’t strapped in properly!” he storms off, starting to swear now that he’s away from Mathieu. Luckily, the ‘combination’ to securing Mathieu wasn’t that complicated. Arthur had done most of it for me.
“Do not mind him, Mathieu,” I sigh softly. “Il est Anglais.”
Mathieu giggles.
“Anglais,” he agrees and I wink at him before looking back over at my companion who is still swearing despite the fact that I’ve been successful. “Where are we going?” Mathieu speaks up again.
“We are going to your new home.”
“Will there be pancakes?”
“Oui,” I chuckle. “We will have pancakes when we get home, d’accord?”
Arthur shoves the suitcases into the boot and goes to the front of the car, getting into the driver’s seat. In fear that he might leave without me (which honestly would not surprise me if he did), I quickly close Mathieu’s door and get into the passenger seat in the front, next to Arthur.
“They didn’t even ask to see any identification. We could have been anyone. We could have been paedophiles, for God’s sake,” Arthur scowled at the road, gripping the steering wheel tightly in his hands.
“Oui, but we are not.”
“I suppose…”
It isn’t long before we hear Mathieu dozing in the back of the car, head tilted to one side. Arthur keeps glancing back at him in the rear mirror.
“He is very cute, isn’t he?” I turn in my seat to look back at him.
“Yes,” Arthur answers, belatedly with a sigh.
“You don’t think that he is?” I can’t help but frown at him.
“It’s not that, he’s very sweet. I just wonder if he knows what’s going on.”
“Il est un enfant.”
“Exactly, he isn’t a baby. If he was this would be much easier for him. So far he’s experienced his parents divorce and his mother’s death-”
“Don’t say it out loud,” I hit him harshly on the shoulder which causes him to swerve the car slightly to one side before quickly correcting himself with a panicked look on his face.
“What the hell, Francis?! Why did you do that?! That was bloody dangerous - we could have been killed!”
“It was nothing, you just jerked the car a bit into the other lane.”
“Nothing? Nothing?! Francis, tell me, how many people are killed in road accidents in Britain, on average?”
I make a face.
“I do not know.”
“2,000. Do you know how many there are in France?”
“I do not.”
“4,000 - don’t tell me what’s safe and what’s not, Frenchy,” he snaps. His back is hunched forward over the steering wheel. He looks angry but I don’t care. He’s reminded me of Marianne and her fatal accident.
“Do not be so blunt when there is a child in the car,” I growl at him.
“Then don’t be a moron! Don’t hit me. Why did you think that would be a good idea, you bloody lunatic?”
We both fall silent only to hear sniffling coming from the back of the car. I whip my head round whilst Arthur simultaneously looks into the rear-view mirror. Mathieu is sobbing. His lower lip is trembling, cheeks flushed pink and shining with tears. I think he’s dribbling, too.
“Mathieu, what’s wrong? Did Arthur frighten you?” I soften my voice, ignoring how Arthur only tenses up even more beside me.
“I don’t want you to fight. It’s like Maman and Daddy,” he bawled. I can’t help but feel guilty. If I hadn’t have pushed Arthur, he wouldn’t be crying right now.
“Desolé, mon petit. Did we wake you up?”
“Oui,” he whines before the volume of his crying increases. “Je veux voir Maman! Je veux Maman!”
“Mathieu… you cannot, I…” I don’t know what to say. I cannot out right tell him that his mother (ma soeur) is dead and I cannot lie to him either. I feel tears stinging the back of my own eyes. I want to cry, too. I miss Marianne so much.
“Matthew,” Arthur suddenly speaks up, his voice calm and soothing, “how would you like for us to stop and have hot chocolate? Would you like that?”
It works. Mathieu stops crying - mostly. He rubs at his eyes tiredly, nodding.
“Hot chocolate,” he repeats.
“Yes, and we can have McDonalds, too,” I can hear the strain in his voice as he says it, but Mathieu can’t. The child nods eagerly, beginning to smile a little. “I’m sorry that Francis and I were fighting. We didn’t mean to wake you.” Mathieu doesn’t even look like he understands everything Arthur is saying but it sounds so beautifully melodic and friendly, rolling off of his tongue that Mathieu just beams.
We stop at the next service station and go into the overpriced mini-mall. Arthur pays for the hot chocolate and Mathieu’s ‘Happy Meal’. Arthur looks so happy and more relaxed than I am used to seeing him. I think that having a child around makes him feel less pressured to hate me; he hasn’t glared at me once since Mathieu calmed down. When we eventually take Mathieu back to the car, he falls asleep as I strap him back into his car seat.
Arthur is watching me in the rear-view mirror and I feel myself smirk a little. I sit beside him in the front of the car, lean over and kiss the ever-embarrassed Englishman.
Genre: Drama/Romance
Characters: France (Francis Bonnefoy), England (Arthur Kirkland), Canada (Matthew Williams), America (Alfred F. Jones) and various others
Pairing(s): FrUK
Rating: T
Warnings: AU, strong language, use of human names, sexual situations and an extremely sarcastic Brit
Summary: Francis and Arthur have known each other since they were eleven yearsold. At the best of times, they can’t stand to be in the same room as each other. However a cruel twist of fate and a life-changing phone call turn their world upside down as the two have to team up to be parents to two orphaned children.
In this chapter: Francis and Arthur go to meet Mathieu for the first time.
Notes: Sorry that I've taken so long to upload this chapter! I've been ridiculously busy with schoolwork recently. I hope that you enjoy this chapter.
Arthur and I are stood at the arrivals entrance, waiting for an air hostess to emerge with a small child. I do not know what Mathieu is going to look like but the police officer I have been arranging this with has said to look out for a little boy with a teddy bear, because of course that narrows it down… mon Dieu, Arthur’s sarcasm seems to be rubbing off on me.
He is just as anxious as I am. He keeps checking his watch and pacing. I don’t think that he truly believes me when I say that the child is my sister’s, despite the fact that I have never been to Canada. His accusations continue to baffle me. He has once accused me of stealing his boyfriend before. Which is not true. I merely helped Kiku discover the wonders of foreplay - something which Arthur severely needs education on.
For the past week, we have spent a lot of time in each other’s company (after I recovered from a three-day hangover, of course). He has been kind to me this week, paying for things for Mathieu and giving himself to me nightly to help me cope with my grief. It is not something that I expected from him. He is usually so indifferent and straight-faced; him showing me any sort of affection is peculiar. But I still have not forgiven him for shaving my beard, which has thankfully almost already grown back.
His pacing is starting to become irritating.
“Can you not stay still?” my voice is clipped.
“Piss off,” he scowls.
Berk, I frown and begin to concentrate on all of the bustling people. We’ve had five false alarms so far. It’s beginning to test mine and Arthur’s patience.
“What if he doesn’t come, Arthur?”
“He will,” he exhales, “eventually.”
“Bien sûr,” I roll my eyes. We are silent for what seems like a millennium before I speak up, clearing my throat. “We should play a game to entertain ourselves.”
Arthur looks unconvinced. “Like what?”
“Uh… how you say… eye-spy?”
“Eye-spy? Honestly, what a childish game,” he mutters before sneering. “Fine. You go first.”
I bet he thinks he’s good at playing this game.
“D’accord. I spy avec mon petit oeil something beginning with… ‘A’.”
“Aeroport.”
“Merde.”
Arthur chuckles quietly.
Then I spot a young lady, red lipstick contrasting against the paleness of her skin. She is wearing the airport’s uniform. Beside her is a small boy with long, curly, blonde hair. He is clutching a white bear tightly in his arms. She is carrying two large suitcases at her sides.
“C’est lui.”
I quickly cross over to them, Arthur following behind me. The child gawks up at me. He is so small, he barely reaches my knees.
“You must be Mr. Bonnefoy,” she puts down the bags and holds her hand out to shake mine.
“Yes, I am him.” I give her my most charming of smiles before kneeling in front of Mathieu, who is still holding on to his toy tightly. His expression changes, eyes widening a little in fear. “And you must be Mathieu?”
He nods, lips pouted slightly.
“He mainly speaks French,” she notes. I glance up at Arthur who is clearly as fascinated by the child as I am.
“Ah, je vois.” Mathieu seems to respond better and I beam at him. “Je m’appelle Francis - salut, Mathieu!” I try to sound as cheerful as possible.
“Salut,” he hesitantly replies, moving closer to the air hostess. He is very cute. His hair is long like my own and similar eyes to me, although they have a violet tint to them.
Arthur is shuffling awkwardly behind me.
“Il s’appelle Arthur,” I motion back at the Brit with my head. “Il est Anglais.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Arthur sounds unsure. Mathieu giggles.
“Je parle, un peu…” he is so quiet that I almost don’t hear him.
“D’Anglais?”
“Oui…”
“Then speak to us, mon chou. You will need to learn the language.”
“O-okay,” he seems to be edging away from the air hostess now, towards me.
“I need to go,” the woman pipes up. Arthur is quick to shake hands with her.
“Thank you,” he’s using his authoritative voice.
“You’re welcome. Au revoir, Mathieu,” she bends down and receives a hug and a sloppy kiss from the toddler.
“He’s definitely French,” I chuckle to Arthur, who grunts in agreement.
She grins at him once more and then she’s gone. We are alone with Mathieu for the first time.
I scoop him up into my arms and although Mathieu is startled for a moment, he seems to relax upon the realisation that he still has his teddy bear. Arthur picks up the luggage as we begin to leave the airport, heading for the car. We now have to travel for twenty minutes on a rickety old bus to take us to where he have parked. Thank you, British government.
“Monsieur?” Mathieu asks as we get on the bus. It surprises me. It’s been a long time since a relative of mine has been polite towards me.
“Ah, do not call me that. I am big brother, okay?” I grin at him. “Mais, oui?”
He fiddles with the stitching on his bear. “Where am I?”
“You are in England,” I confirm. I can’t help but look at Arthur, who is standing a few metres away. He gestures at the seat in front of him, which I gladly take. He remains standing. Perhaps he can be a gentleman sometimes after all?
“Oh,” Mathieu looks confused. “I’m… not in Canada…?”
I’m beginning to wonder how much he has been told.
“Non, you are not.”
“Francis,” Arthur is staring down at us both, holding on to a pole in order to stay up right; his legs are astride the two suitcases to prevent them from falling. His flexibility continues to astound me. “Why don’t you speak to him properly in English? He has to learn the language to be able to do well in school. You can’t keep throwing French at him.”
“He is not four yet,” I protest.
“But he will be next year,” he shrugs and looks distant again.
“J’ai quatre ans dans l’anée prochain,” Mathieu sounds so proud.
“Ah, vraiment?” I purposefully ignore Arthur, who starts to scowl. “Regarde lui,” I smirk at Mathieu. “Il est trés stupide, non?”
Mathieu looks lost.
“Pourquoi?”
Now it’s my turn to look confused. I thought that children enjoyed picking on others and asking rude questions? Arthur, however, smiles.
“Good lad,” and he doesn’t stop smiling until we have gotten to the car.
As Arthur is strapping Mathieu into the children’s car seat (and getting frustrated that he can’t work out the straps), I stand close behind him. He starts to get even more flustered.
“Would you like me to do it?” I sigh eventually as he starts muttering to himself. I can see that Mathieu looks as concerned for Arthur’s mental health as I am on daily basis.
“Yes! My God, it’s like they want children to die because they aren’t strapped in properly!” he storms off, starting to swear now that he’s away from Mathieu. Luckily, the ‘combination’ to securing Mathieu wasn’t that complicated. Arthur had done most of it for me.
“Do not mind him, Mathieu,” I sigh softly. “Il est Anglais.”
Mathieu giggles.
“Anglais,” he agrees and I wink at him before looking back over at my companion who is still swearing despite the fact that I’ve been successful. “Where are we going?” Mathieu speaks up again.
“We are going to your new home.”
“Will there be pancakes?”
“Oui,” I chuckle. “We will have pancakes when we get home, d’accord?”
Arthur shoves the suitcases into the boot and goes to the front of the car, getting into the driver’s seat. In fear that he might leave without me (which honestly would not surprise me if he did), I quickly close Mathieu’s door and get into the passenger seat in the front, next to Arthur.
“They didn’t even ask to see any identification. We could have been anyone. We could have been paedophiles, for God’s sake,” Arthur scowled at the road, gripping the steering wheel tightly in his hands.
“Oui, but we are not.”
“I suppose…”
It isn’t long before we hear Mathieu dozing in the back of the car, head tilted to one side. Arthur keeps glancing back at him in the rear mirror.
“He is very cute, isn’t he?” I turn in my seat to look back at him.
“Yes,” Arthur answers, belatedly with a sigh.
“You don’t think that he is?” I can’t help but frown at him.
“It’s not that, he’s very sweet. I just wonder if he knows what’s going on.”
“Il est un enfant.”
“Exactly, he isn’t a baby. If he was this would be much easier for him. So far he’s experienced his parents divorce and his mother’s death-”
“Don’t say it out loud,” I hit him harshly on the shoulder which causes him to swerve the car slightly to one side before quickly correcting himself with a panicked look on his face.
“What the hell, Francis?! Why did you do that?! That was bloody dangerous - we could have been killed!”
“It was nothing, you just jerked the car a bit into the other lane.”
“Nothing? Nothing?! Francis, tell me, how many people are killed in road accidents in Britain, on average?”
I make a face.
“I do not know.”
“2,000. Do you know how many there are in France?”
“I do not.”
“4,000 - don’t tell me what’s safe and what’s not, Frenchy,” he snaps. His back is hunched forward over the steering wheel. He looks angry but I don’t care. He’s reminded me of Marianne and her fatal accident.
“Do not be so blunt when there is a child in the car,” I growl at him.
“Then don’t be a moron! Don’t hit me. Why did you think that would be a good idea, you bloody lunatic?”
We both fall silent only to hear sniffling coming from the back of the car. I whip my head round whilst Arthur simultaneously looks into the rear-view mirror. Mathieu is sobbing. His lower lip is trembling, cheeks flushed pink and shining with tears. I think he’s dribbling, too.
“Mathieu, what’s wrong? Did Arthur frighten you?” I soften my voice, ignoring how Arthur only tenses up even more beside me.
“I don’t want you to fight. It’s like Maman and Daddy,” he bawled. I can’t help but feel guilty. If I hadn’t have pushed Arthur, he wouldn’t be crying right now.
“Desolé, mon petit. Did we wake you up?”
“Oui,” he whines before the volume of his crying increases. “Je veux voir Maman! Je veux Maman!”
“Mathieu… you cannot, I…” I don’t know what to say. I cannot out right tell him that his mother (ma soeur) is dead and I cannot lie to him either. I feel tears stinging the back of my own eyes. I want to cry, too. I miss Marianne so much.
“Matthew,” Arthur suddenly speaks up, his voice calm and soothing, “how would you like for us to stop and have hot chocolate? Would you like that?”
It works. Mathieu stops crying - mostly. He rubs at his eyes tiredly, nodding.
“Hot chocolate,” he repeats.
“Yes, and we can have McDonalds, too,” I can hear the strain in his voice as he says it, but Mathieu can’t. The child nods eagerly, beginning to smile a little. “I’m sorry that Francis and I were fighting. We didn’t mean to wake you.” Mathieu doesn’t even look like he understands everything Arthur is saying but it sounds so beautifully melodic and friendly, rolling off of his tongue that Mathieu just beams.
We stop at the next service station and go into the overpriced mini-mall. Arthur pays for the hot chocolate and Mathieu’s ‘Happy Meal’. Arthur looks so happy and more relaxed than I am used to seeing him. I think that having a child around makes him feel less pressured to hate me; he hasn’t glared at me once since Mathieu calmed down. When we eventually take Mathieu back to the car, he falls asleep as I strap him back into his car seat.
Arthur is watching me in the rear-view mirror and I feel myself smirk a little. I sit beside him in the front of the car, lean over and kiss the ever-embarrassed Englishman.