[fanfic] Tu seras dans mon coeur (You'll be in my Heart) (2/2)
Title: Tu seras dans mon coeur (You'll be in my Heart) (2/2)
Author: silentside
Characters: Post-Seven Years War!France and England/bitty!Canada/and some annoying bitty!America and lCanada totally kicking ass in Normandy.
Rating: PG (Oneshot - 2 parts.)
Warning: Again, an uncalled for mind-dribble written for nearly 6 hours straight. (It's my weakness if bitty!Canada is brought into the equation orz) Tweaked and re-worded, now with more descriptive heartbreak (but still expect some grammar fail and probably historical inaccuracy due to fluff \o\)
Sorry for the double-post ;w;
Part 01 - Loss
Summary: Taking place in the aftermath of the Seven Year's War, Matthieu starts to wonder at the sudden change in his Papa's behavior as the nation with horrid brows known as 'Angleterre' starts to show constantly by their doorstep.
---
“Think of it as your needlework~! You have taken great pride with them and I do so with clothes!”
“Aaaaa!”
“Well, a boy’s clothes are not supposed to be this bloody frilly!”
Francis must be amused at his suffering as Arthur struggled trying to place the last piece of clothing, a thick coat, over Matthieu's head. It would be easy if he could just stop swatting his hands.
The same swatting and struggling he received when he tries to put him into his stockings, into his breeches, into his inner garments, buttoning his cuffs, buttoning his vest, fixing his little cravat around his collar. Seriously, Francis is spoiling the little one with all this impractical fancy little things, he wondered if the boy can even go and play outside with all this finery.
"He can dress himself up, Angleterre. He just don't know how to tie the ribbons on his shoes."
"Oh great, that information could have been very useful earlier!"
"Angleterre!" Matthieu echoed as his head finally popped out from the warm furry collar. He is quite an adorable thing Arthur noticed, not to mention he is very much a spitting image of his other boy-with the exception of having that frog's hair that Matthieu unfortunately inherited.
"It's going to be Dad now." He pointed to himself as he slowly stood up. "Angleterre...England? I'm going to be your Dad."
He merely looked up at him and blinked, "Huh?"
“Come on now, give me your hand, we are going outside.”
“Quoi?”
Francis shook his head and handed over a duffel bag to him. "/My precious one/, He does not speak English."
"More bags?"
"That's the last of it...it's...it's important. You have to have it near him."
Grumbling, Arthur hoisted the bag over his shoulder and reluctantly looked down at the wide-eyed boy beside him reluctantly holding his gloved hand.
He...really does not know.
"You don't have to worry, mon cher...he can manage! It's not like it’s going to be a long walk towards the carriage!"
"Anything else," Arthur asked grimly, "Francis?"
Matthieu is standing between two towering figures. He grabbed his toy again and observed them alternately. Papa said they're going out to have fun. Then why are they all acting so serious then?
"Beavers are sacred to him."
"You got to be kidding me..."
"I’m serious! He also likes Maple Syrup...and for the love of god Angleterre, don't feed him your cooking!"
"There is nothing wrong with my cooking! If anything it's vastly superior than yours!"
It does not sound 'fun' anymore.
They started arguing, again. Matthieu really wished he can understand what the grown-ups are saying, but then again Papa never lets him learn more but a few phrases in English.
Next thing he knew, he is being lifted over to the crook of 'Dad England''s arm who furiously carried him outside.
"Well, he will learn how to speak my tongue, frog!" he dashed out angrily, slamming the door behind them as his face reddened once more. "And by the next bloody century, more than half of his population will be speaking English!"
Matthieu expected his Papa to say come out and say his rebuttal. But nothing happened.
There is nothing now but dead silence, the gentle snow starting to fall from the sky and while being carried by this man---his father's rival of all people--away from his home.
"Fun? Where?"
"Ah!" Arthur reacted, pleasantly surprised as he looked down. "So you do speak English then!"
"Oui, Monsieur!" he piped up.
"..."
"Dad?"
"Yes, Matthew. I'm your Dad now."
"Dad? Is what?"
He sighed heavily, how could he explain this. He gently set Matthew to the ground and they continue to walk. He pointed a finger to himself.
"Dad...Papa." he repeated it slowly, "Papa...Angleterre...England. Papa..."
Matthew hesitated briefly and shook his head, "Non." and pointed behind them, pouting. "Papa...!"
"Yes...that’s Papa, but I’m your Dad now."
"Huh?"
Arthur is spared from having to explain everything in elementary detail (and in French) as they start approaching the carriage. He let out a frustrated grunt as he find his Alfred sitting among the luggage, looking bored as he fiddled with a branch while Arthur’s men busied themselves packing Matthieu’s things.
"Alfred!" He quickly reprimanded the boy who looked up with a start. "Why aren’t you helping?! And why are you sitting on your brother's things? Didn't I told you to get in before you catch a cold?"
The boy ignored his statement, "He is my new brother? Wow, he have fluffy hair!" he exclaimed, eyeing Matthieu from head to toe. The other boy squirmed at the scrutiny, and nearly jumped when Alfred pulled his hair loop. “Like, really fluffy hair. Maybe if you know, you cut all that off, then it will really look cool and you wouldn’t be so pansy looking like Francis.”
“Q-quoi?”
“You have a carp?”
Arthur’s brow twitched, "ALFRED!"
Alfred quickly jumped to his feet, "Yes, yes, I'm getting in! Geez!"
"God, he had lots of things!" Alfred groaned, the carriage creaking heavily as he gets in and he starts to toss some items to get a clear spot. "I will move this!"
"Alfred...don't…don't throw it like that! Alfred stop!"
The boy is strong, there is no doubt about it as Alfred tossed a small trunk carelessly which took two of his men to carry, outside the carriage to make free room for them to sit in. Arthur gasped in horror as he heard something break and the impact caused it to break open.
"Whaaat?"
“You git! You broke something!”
“Aren’t they all packed up anyway?”
“Just…stop! Don’t touch or throw anything!”
As if upon cue, Matthieu finds himself being beaned on the face with a big polar bear toy. It took him a few seconds to realize what have hit him.
He stared back.
He have a big collection of polar bear toys back in his house, what is his favorite bear doing outside?
Why is it in the possession of that loud boy called Alfred?
“Don’t throw that!” He can hear Monsieur Angleterre scream, forcibly pulling Alfred outside before slapping him loudly at the back of the head.
“Owww!”
“Now, get it!” he demanded, “--and apologize to your brother!”
“Okay! Okay!”
Matthieu clutched on his other bear tightly.
“Bro, you can give it to me now.”
He shook his head. Why would they take his toy away?
“Come on!” Alfred groaned impatiently, tugging the toy. “We better get going before it gets cold! Get it inside!”
“Non!” he held on his toys possessively. Giving the other boy a deathly glare “ il est à moi! il est à moi!”
Alfred glanced at a worried looking Arthur, “He doesn’t…?”
“No…”
“You got to be kidding me!”
“I’m not kidding---“ Arthur turned to his side as Matthieu quickly darted past behind him. “Hey!”
He watched as the boy frantically scrambled at the tossed trunk outside, clambering over the broken lock and opening it.
“Matthew…”
Arthur can hear him huff, making uneasy breathing sounds as he starts going through the items, every piece seemingly familiar: the coats, the clothes, the books…the gifts…
His toys…
/Dad...Papa...Angleterre...England/
/You are going to have a new brother!/
/Why would I want a brother?/
/"But don't you want a family? A big one?"/
He is teasing him, making fun of Monsieur Angleterre, telling him everything will be alright and yet his blue eyes, they look so…sad.
The breathing is growing increasingly irregular.
“Pa…Papa?”
Arthur slowly approached him, reaching a hand over his shoulder. “Matthew…come here now…”
The boy violently shrugged him off, letting out an ear-splitting shriek.
Oh goodness, no…
“Matthew!”
In an instant, he is up to his feet, scrambling to whatever his arms can scoop, his ragged breathing starting to increasingly quicken, as if at any given moment his heart would burst.
“Matthew! Come here!” Arthur called to him once more, trying to reason with him, trying to get a hold of the boy. But he wriggled himself off from his hands once more.
“Matthew!”
“Aaaa!”
“Uh, What’s with him?”
“You! Get back in the carriage, now!”
It was the distraction Matthieu needed from the thick browed nation. He straightened up and starts running as fast as he can, with all the things he can carry, as he headed back to his house.
“Pa…paaaaaa!” he starts wailing, his breathing hitched. “Paaa!”
Arthur bit his lip and muttered a curse under his breath. “Goddamnit.” He went after Matthieu in quick furious strides, “Goddamnit, you bloody frog.”
--
He caught him just in the nick of time just when Matthieu have thrown himself over the door. Arthur is relieved that the child didn’t injure himself, as he encircled his arms around his tiny waist.
"Damn it, Matthew! Come here!"
He was kicking and screaming, hammering his tiny fists on his face.
“Ow, stop that! Stop that this instant! Oww!” he screamed, trying to hold him still. He even wondered if he can understand what he is trying say.
Matthieu starts screaming in rapid angry French once more, before finally grabbing his thick brows.
“Sourcils! Sourcils!” he screamed, before pulling them with all his might. Arthur let out a pained scream, dropping him down instantly at the ground.
Francis hasn’t left the study yet, "Angleterre,” he grumbled, emerging near the shelves. “Haven't you heard of knocking?"
He was greeted with a red crumpled cursing English heap on the ground.
"PAPA!"
And Matthieu.
"M-Matthieu?"
He was standing there, with a messy trail of clothing and belongings behind him, looking in such a pitiful state.
“Oh, mon dieu…”
“PAPA!” he bursts into tears, running towards his direction. Matthieu starts sobbing convulsively as he tries to reach for his Papa’s arms, but to no avail, as he immediately shrugged him off.
“/W-what are you doing here?!/” he said stiffly, trying to steady his voice. “/I told you to be a nice boy and be with England!/”
He let out a hiccup and ran towards him again.
He brushed him off, harder this time.
“/I-I d-don’t want to leave!/” he cried, rubbing his eyes as tears starts to spill copiously to his cheeks, his sobbing making it hard for him to talk clearly.
He does not want to see him like this.
“/You have to leave!/”
“/Whyyyyyy?/” He cried once more.
“/Just go!/”
Matthieu persisted and surged forward, managing to circle his arms around the Frenchman’s waist. He looked down hesitatingly as his crying starts to worsen.
“Papa….! Paa..”
"Damn it Francis, you should have told him."
The blond looked up, Arthur have dusted himself and is now standing in front of him.
He laughed bitterly, “Do you think it will make things easier?”
“I….”
“It will just always end up in heartbreak no matter what, Angleterre.” He bit his lip, prying forcibly the tiny arms away from him as Matthieu squealed violently in protest. He gave him a rough push, “Now, just take him away from here.”
“Francis…”
"Papa!" he wailed, sobbing convulsively as he tried to get back to his feet. “/D-do you h-hate me, P-Papa? Why, Papa?/”
“Your Papa does not hate you…” Arthur offered lamely, knowing that the boy probably didn’t understand his words. “Come on now…”
Matthieu screamed, flailing and kicking in protest as the other man's arms encircled around his waist once more, picking him up from the ground. His father, the proud nation that is known to everybody as France, starts to turn away from him.
“Ah, Merci…”
He persisted.
Papa couldn’t hate him…
His blue eyes…
His sad blue eyes…
Furiously, he struggled from Monsieur’s Angleterre’s grip and clambered over his shoulder.
“H-hey!
“Aaaaa!”
With all his might, he stretched his arm and reached for his father’s ponytail, pulling it. Francis let out a surprised yelp as Matthieu struggled in vain to pull him near, and there is nothing much that Arthur can do but inch a little closer or Matthieu will fall from his shoulder. He continued to cry, breathing in frantic irregular patterns as he tried to press himself closer to the man he knew as his Papa. To touch his face one last time, to breath his scent of roses and wine for one last time.
To breathe the man who have raised him one last time…
“Papa…Papa..”
Arthur looked away. He does not want to see this. The proud and flamboyant nation finally broke down, turned to face his young one, cupping his crying tiny face, pressing it close to his.
His lips quivered, “M-Matthieu…”
His tiny hands nervously moved about Francis’s face, trying to imprint everything for the last time in his memory.
“Je t'aime…Matthieu.. Je t'aime…” he murmured, as he starts to hastily untie his ponytail, removing the silk ribbon from his hair. With his hands trembling, he placed it in the boy’s hands, clasping them together before fervently kissing it.
/”Don’t forget me, my dear heart…don’t forget….”/
He then huddled him even closer, running his shaky fingers through Matthieu’s wavy blond hair so much like his own, whispering words in a low raspy voice that Arthur can vaguely hear. His young one clutching the precious silk ribbon close to his heart.
Somehow the conversation gradually calmed down the hysterical sobbing Matthieu, and after a brief moment of silence, nodded obediently. After kissing him longingly on the forehead, Francis gently tore himself away from his young colony one last time, Informing Arthur that since
Matthieu is now his responsibility and he have to learn how to control him.
He then turned away and starts to leave the room.
Matthieu starts to cry again, but more quietly this time. It seems that somehow he sadly understood what is going on.
“Francis…”
The Englishman managed to get a brief fleeting glance before Francis finally left his study.
There were tears.
---
6 June 1944
On board the HMCS Prince Henry
Dawn
D-Day
"I'm sorry..."
Matthew glanced down as the receiver crackled to life. He is now in the company of his people, the 3rd Canadian Infantry division, and in a few minutes they will be landing on the beach, between Graye-sur-Mer to Saint-Aubin-sur-Mer. to a decisive battle that will conclude and end this terrible war.
"It’s okay if we get delayed by few minutes dad." He replied calmly, finishing his breakfast, watching as all the ships go to their action stations. “We can’t risk attacking recklessly with the weather, its best to be prepared.”
"N-no, its not about the weather, you git!" Matthew can imagine the other nation growing red with embarrassment, "That's not what I meant! What I meant was..."
"I'm just kidding." he softly chuckled, "I know..."
"Do you even know what I'm talking about?"
“You don't have to feel bad about it, Dad. It's long ago.” He said, looking outside. The men on the ships can make out the dark grey line of the French coast ahead, and the allied battleships and cruisers are starting the bombardment of the beaches.
“It's a war, there are bound to be casualties, consequences."
"Matthew..."
"I know you can't be there all the time, but at least you are nice and you tried."
"Is that EVEN a compliment?"
He laughed lightly once more. "Hey Dad, we are steadily approaching now...I think you will hear from me once this is over, eh?"
"Matthew!"
"Yes?"
"I....I..."
"?"
"I...when you see that wine bastard and if he is still in one bloody piece, tell him all the bloody trouble it cost me to saved his a--"
"I will send him your sincere greetings, Dad! I love you both!"
"M--m--Ma...!"
He shook his head, a smile gracing his lips as he hanged the radio receiver and starts to secure his helmet on.
A young solider came in and made a quick salute, “My nation?”
“Yes?”
“The reinforcements are now heading off to shore by the bridgehead, are you coming with us?”
He stepped out the cabin and lifted his head up, scanning the beaches of Normandy near the horizon. Even as the ships have already started bombarding the beaches, the enemies have yet to return fire.
It wouldn’t be easy once they’ve reached the coast. Matthew swore he could hear the planes roar overhead above the skies. He can almost hear Alfred in his cockpit grinning proudly “I got your back bro!” as he heads the airborne division and land units ready to take Omaha, Pointe du Hoc and Utah, like the proud hero he is.
“Yes, I’m coming.”
Nervously, he glanced at his helmet, wondering if he even got the right size---it’s a little too big for his head. Matthew then got an idea and fished out something from his pocket, took his helmet down and starts to fiddle with it.
The soldier watched him, confused. “S-sir?”
“It’s my good luck charm.” He smiled, putting the helmet back to his head. There it was, a bright blue ribbon tied on the side of his headgear and sticking out prominently like a sore thumb.
“My nation, I appreciate your sentiments…to whatever it may be, but….” The man started embarrassingly, “You do know, that the enemy will make an easy target out of you with that bright ribbon on your head?”
A slow smile of nostalgia gently curved his lips.
/Papa, that’s too much! You are soooo bright!/
/Well, it’s better than having tacky clothes, oui?/
/But they are going to see youu!/
/But at least when I go down, this gorgeous creature that is your Papa is going down in style!/
/Papaaa…!/
“S-sir Williams?”
“Johnson,” he smiled, setting his sight on the shore. “Let them be, at least they know that it is I who is coming.”
“Sir?”
“I’m coming home.”
== FIN ==
A/N:
Sourcils - eyebrows XD
Look fallenangelkat 8| I totally revised the WW2 scene because I'm a sucker for historical moments like that. What have you done to me ;A; you made me wrote fluff when I should be on hiatus aaaaaahhhh
And since cramming all that info on such a short scene on D-Day: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Overlord explains it. But I concentrated more on Juno Beach:
" The Canadian forces that landed on Juno Beach faced heavy batteries of machine-gun nests, pillboxes, other concrete fortifications, and a seawall twice the height of the one at Omaha Beach. Juno was the second most heavily defended beach on D-Day, next to Omaha.[54] Despite the obstacles, the Canadians were off the beach within hours and advancing inland with minimal casualties.[55] The Canadians were the only units to reach their D-Day objectives, although most units fell back a few kilometres to stronger defensive positions."
I-I'm biased XD and I need to sleep.
" Don’t forget me, my dear heart…don’t forget…."
Thanks for reading~
Author: silentside
Characters: Post-Seven Years War!France and England/bitty!Canada/and some annoying bitty!America and lCanada totally kicking ass in Normandy.
Rating: PG (Oneshot - 2 parts.)
Warning: Again, an uncalled for mind-dribble written for nearly 6 hours straight. (It's my weakness if bitty!Canada is brought into the equation orz) Tweaked and re-worded, now with more descriptive heartbreak (but still expect some grammar fail and probably historical inaccuracy due to fluff \o\)
Sorry for the double-post ;w;
Part 01 - Loss
Summary: Taking place in the aftermath of the Seven Year's War, Matthieu starts to wonder at the sudden change in his Papa's behavior as the nation with horrid brows known as 'Angleterre' starts to show constantly by their doorstep.
---
“Think of it as your needlework~! You have taken great pride with them and I do so with clothes!”
“Aaaaa!”
“Well, a boy’s clothes are not supposed to be this bloody frilly!”
Francis must be amused at his suffering as Arthur struggled trying to place the last piece of clothing, a thick coat, over Matthieu's head. It would be easy if he could just stop swatting his hands.
The same swatting and struggling he received when he tries to put him into his stockings, into his breeches, into his inner garments, buttoning his cuffs, buttoning his vest, fixing his little cravat around his collar. Seriously, Francis is spoiling the little one with all this impractical fancy little things, he wondered if the boy can even go and play outside with all this finery.
"He can dress himself up, Angleterre. He just don't know how to tie the ribbons on his shoes."
"Oh great, that information could have been very useful earlier!"
"Angleterre!" Matthieu echoed as his head finally popped out from the warm furry collar. He is quite an adorable thing Arthur noticed, not to mention he is very much a spitting image of his other boy-with the exception of having that frog's hair that Matthieu unfortunately inherited.
"It's going to be Dad now." He pointed to himself as he slowly stood up. "Angleterre...England? I'm going to be your Dad."
He merely looked up at him and blinked, "Huh?"
“Come on now, give me your hand, we are going outside.”
“Quoi?”
Francis shook his head and handed over a duffel bag to him. "/My precious one/, He does not speak English."
"More bags?"
"That's the last of it...it's...it's important. You have to have it near him."
Grumbling, Arthur hoisted the bag over his shoulder and reluctantly looked down at the wide-eyed boy beside him reluctantly holding his gloved hand.
He...really does not know.
"You don't have to worry, mon cher...he can manage! It's not like it’s going to be a long walk towards the carriage!"
"Anything else," Arthur asked grimly, "Francis?"
Matthieu is standing between two towering figures. He grabbed his toy again and observed them alternately. Papa said they're going out to have fun. Then why are they all acting so serious then?
"Beavers are sacred to him."
"You got to be kidding me..."
"I’m serious! He also likes Maple Syrup...and for the love of god Angleterre, don't feed him your cooking!"
"There is nothing wrong with my cooking! If anything it's vastly superior than yours!"
It does not sound 'fun' anymore.
They started arguing, again. Matthieu really wished he can understand what the grown-ups are saying, but then again Papa never lets him learn more but a few phrases in English.
Next thing he knew, he is being lifted over to the crook of 'Dad England''s arm who furiously carried him outside.
"Well, he will learn how to speak my tongue, frog!" he dashed out angrily, slamming the door behind them as his face reddened once more. "And by the next bloody century, more than half of his population will be speaking English!"
Matthieu expected his Papa to say come out and say his rebuttal. But nothing happened.
There is nothing now but dead silence, the gentle snow starting to fall from the sky and while being carried by this man---his father's rival of all people--away from his home.
"Fun? Where?"
"Ah!" Arthur reacted, pleasantly surprised as he looked down. "So you do speak English then!"
"Oui, Monsieur!" he piped up.
"..."
"Dad?"
"Yes, Matthew. I'm your Dad now."
"Dad? Is what?"
He sighed heavily, how could he explain this. He gently set Matthew to the ground and they continue to walk. He pointed a finger to himself.
"Dad...Papa." he repeated it slowly, "Papa...Angleterre...England. Papa..."
Matthew hesitated briefly and shook his head, "Non." and pointed behind them, pouting. "Papa...!"
"Yes...that’s Papa, but I’m your Dad now."
"Huh?"
Arthur is spared from having to explain everything in elementary detail (and in French) as they start approaching the carriage. He let out a frustrated grunt as he find his Alfred sitting among the luggage, looking bored as he fiddled with a branch while Arthur’s men busied themselves packing Matthieu’s things.
"Alfred!" He quickly reprimanded the boy who looked up with a start. "Why aren’t you helping?! And why are you sitting on your brother's things? Didn't I told you to get in before you catch a cold?"
The boy ignored his statement, "He is my new brother? Wow, he have fluffy hair!" he exclaimed, eyeing Matthieu from head to toe. The other boy squirmed at the scrutiny, and nearly jumped when Alfred pulled his hair loop. “Like, really fluffy hair. Maybe if you know, you cut all that off, then it will really look cool and you wouldn’t be so pansy looking like Francis.”
“Q-quoi?”
“You have a carp?”
Arthur’s brow twitched, "ALFRED!"
Alfred quickly jumped to his feet, "Yes, yes, I'm getting in! Geez!"
"God, he had lots of things!" Alfred groaned, the carriage creaking heavily as he gets in and he starts to toss some items to get a clear spot. "I will move this!"
"Alfred...don't…don't throw it like that! Alfred stop!"
The boy is strong, there is no doubt about it as Alfred tossed a small trunk carelessly which took two of his men to carry, outside the carriage to make free room for them to sit in. Arthur gasped in horror as he heard something break and the impact caused it to break open.
"Whaaat?"
“You git! You broke something!”
“Aren’t they all packed up anyway?”
“Just…stop! Don’t touch or throw anything!”
As if upon cue, Matthieu finds himself being beaned on the face with a big polar bear toy. It took him a few seconds to realize what have hit him.
He stared back.
He have a big collection of polar bear toys back in his house, what is his favorite bear doing outside?
Why is it in the possession of that loud boy called Alfred?
“Don’t throw that!” He can hear Monsieur Angleterre scream, forcibly pulling Alfred outside before slapping him loudly at the back of the head.
“Owww!”
“Now, get it!” he demanded, “--and apologize to your brother!”
“Okay! Okay!”
Matthieu clutched on his other bear tightly.
“Bro, you can give it to me now.”
He shook his head. Why would they take his toy away?
“Come on!” Alfred groaned impatiently, tugging the toy. “We better get going before it gets cold! Get it inside!”
“Non!” he held on his toys possessively. Giving the other boy a deathly glare “ il est à moi! il est à moi!”
Alfred glanced at a worried looking Arthur, “He doesn’t…?”
“No…”
“You got to be kidding me!”
“I’m not kidding---“ Arthur turned to his side as Matthieu quickly darted past behind him. “Hey!”
He watched as the boy frantically scrambled at the tossed trunk outside, clambering over the broken lock and opening it.
“Matthew…”
Arthur can hear him huff, making uneasy breathing sounds as he starts going through the items, every piece seemingly familiar: the coats, the clothes, the books…the gifts…
His toys…
/Dad...Papa...Angleterre...England/
/You are going to have a new brother!/
/Why would I want a brother?/
/"But don't you want a family? A big one?"/
He is teasing him, making fun of Monsieur Angleterre, telling him everything will be alright and yet his blue eyes, they look so…sad.
The breathing is growing increasingly irregular.
“Pa…Papa?”
Arthur slowly approached him, reaching a hand over his shoulder. “Matthew…come here now…”
The boy violently shrugged him off, letting out an ear-splitting shriek.
Oh goodness, no…
“Matthew!”
In an instant, he is up to his feet, scrambling to whatever his arms can scoop, his ragged breathing starting to increasingly quicken, as if at any given moment his heart would burst.
“Matthew! Come here!” Arthur called to him once more, trying to reason with him, trying to get a hold of the boy. But he wriggled himself off from his hands once more.
“Matthew!”
“Aaaa!”
“Uh, What’s with him?”
“You! Get back in the carriage, now!”
It was the distraction Matthieu needed from the thick browed nation. He straightened up and starts running as fast as he can, with all the things he can carry, as he headed back to his house.
“Pa…paaaaaa!” he starts wailing, his breathing hitched. “Paaa!”
Arthur bit his lip and muttered a curse under his breath. “Goddamnit.” He went after Matthieu in quick furious strides, “Goddamnit, you bloody frog.”
--
He caught him just in the nick of time just when Matthieu have thrown himself over the door. Arthur is relieved that the child didn’t injure himself, as he encircled his arms around his tiny waist.
"Damn it, Matthew! Come here!"
He was kicking and screaming, hammering his tiny fists on his face.
“Ow, stop that! Stop that this instant! Oww!” he screamed, trying to hold him still. He even wondered if he can understand what he is trying say.
Matthieu starts screaming in rapid angry French once more, before finally grabbing his thick brows.
“Sourcils! Sourcils!” he screamed, before pulling them with all his might. Arthur let out a pained scream, dropping him down instantly at the ground.
Francis hasn’t left the study yet, "Angleterre,” he grumbled, emerging near the shelves. “Haven't you heard of knocking?"
He was greeted with a red crumpled cursing English heap on the ground.
"PAPA!"
And Matthieu.
"M-Matthieu?"
He was standing there, with a messy trail of clothing and belongings behind him, looking in such a pitiful state.
“Oh, mon dieu…”
“PAPA!” he bursts into tears, running towards his direction. Matthieu starts sobbing convulsively as he tries to reach for his Papa’s arms, but to no avail, as he immediately shrugged him off.
“/W-what are you doing here?!/” he said stiffly, trying to steady his voice. “/I told you to be a nice boy and be with England!/”
He let out a hiccup and ran towards him again.
He brushed him off, harder this time.
“/I-I d-don’t want to leave!/” he cried, rubbing his eyes as tears starts to spill copiously to his cheeks, his sobbing making it hard for him to talk clearly.
He does not want to see him like this.
“/You have to leave!/”
“/Whyyyyyy?/” He cried once more.
“/Just go!/”
Matthieu persisted and surged forward, managing to circle his arms around the Frenchman’s waist. He looked down hesitatingly as his crying starts to worsen.
“Papa….! Paa..”
"Damn it Francis, you should have told him."
The blond looked up, Arthur have dusted himself and is now standing in front of him.
He laughed bitterly, “Do you think it will make things easier?”
“I….”
“It will just always end up in heartbreak no matter what, Angleterre.” He bit his lip, prying forcibly the tiny arms away from him as Matthieu squealed violently in protest. He gave him a rough push, “Now, just take him away from here.”
“Francis…”
"Papa!" he wailed, sobbing convulsively as he tried to get back to his feet. “/D-do you h-hate me, P-Papa? Why, Papa?/”
“Your Papa does not hate you…” Arthur offered lamely, knowing that the boy probably didn’t understand his words. “Come on now…”
Matthieu screamed, flailing and kicking in protest as the other man's arms encircled around his waist once more, picking him up from the ground. His father, the proud nation that is known to everybody as France, starts to turn away from him.
“Ah, Merci…”
He persisted.
Papa couldn’t hate him…
His blue eyes…
His sad blue eyes…
Furiously, he struggled from Monsieur’s Angleterre’s grip and clambered over his shoulder.
“H-hey!
“Aaaaa!”
With all his might, he stretched his arm and reached for his father’s ponytail, pulling it. Francis let out a surprised yelp as Matthieu struggled in vain to pull him near, and there is nothing much that Arthur can do but inch a little closer or Matthieu will fall from his shoulder. He continued to cry, breathing in frantic irregular patterns as he tried to press himself closer to the man he knew as his Papa. To touch his face one last time, to breath his scent of roses and wine for one last time.
To breathe the man who have raised him one last time…
“Papa…Papa..”
Arthur looked away. He does not want to see this. The proud and flamboyant nation finally broke down, turned to face his young one, cupping his crying tiny face, pressing it close to his.
His lips quivered, “M-Matthieu…”
His tiny hands nervously moved about Francis’s face, trying to imprint everything for the last time in his memory.
“Je t'aime…Matthieu.. Je t'aime…” he murmured, as he starts to hastily untie his ponytail, removing the silk ribbon from his hair. With his hands trembling, he placed it in the boy’s hands, clasping them together before fervently kissing it.
/”Don’t forget me, my dear heart…don’t forget….”/
He then huddled him even closer, running his shaky fingers through Matthieu’s wavy blond hair so much like his own, whispering words in a low raspy voice that Arthur can vaguely hear. His young one clutching the precious silk ribbon close to his heart.
Somehow the conversation gradually calmed down the hysterical sobbing Matthieu, and after a brief moment of silence, nodded obediently. After kissing him longingly on the forehead, Francis gently tore himself away from his young colony one last time, Informing Arthur that since
Matthieu is now his responsibility and he have to learn how to control him.
He then turned away and starts to leave the room.
Matthieu starts to cry again, but more quietly this time. It seems that somehow he sadly understood what is going on.
“Francis…”
The Englishman managed to get a brief fleeting glance before Francis finally left his study.
There were tears.
---
6 June 1944
On board the HMCS Prince Henry
Dawn
D-Day
"I'm sorry..."
Matthew glanced down as the receiver crackled to life. He is now in the company of his people, the 3rd Canadian Infantry division, and in a few minutes they will be landing on the beach, between Graye-sur-Mer to Saint-Aubin-sur-Mer. to a decisive battle that will conclude and end this terrible war.
"It’s okay if we get delayed by few minutes dad." He replied calmly, finishing his breakfast, watching as all the ships go to their action stations. “We can’t risk attacking recklessly with the weather, its best to be prepared.”
"N-no, its not about the weather, you git!" Matthew can imagine the other nation growing red with embarrassment, "That's not what I meant! What I meant was..."
"I'm just kidding." he softly chuckled, "I know..."
"Do you even know what I'm talking about?"
“You don't have to feel bad about it, Dad. It's long ago.” He said, looking outside. The men on the ships can make out the dark grey line of the French coast ahead, and the allied battleships and cruisers are starting the bombardment of the beaches.
“It's a war, there are bound to be casualties, consequences."
"Matthew..."
"I know you can't be there all the time, but at least you are nice and you tried."
"Is that EVEN a compliment?"
He laughed lightly once more. "Hey Dad, we are steadily approaching now...I think you will hear from me once this is over, eh?"
"Matthew!"
"Yes?"
"I....I..."
"?"
"I...when you see that wine bastard and if he is still in one bloody piece, tell him all the bloody trouble it cost me to saved his a--"
"I will send him your sincere greetings, Dad! I love you both!"
"M--m--Ma...!"
He shook his head, a smile gracing his lips as he hanged the radio receiver and starts to secure his helmet on.
A young solider came in and made a quick salute, “My nation?”
“Yes?”
“The reinforcements are now heading off to shore by the bridgehead, are you coming with us?”
He stepped out the cabin and lifted his head up, scanning the beaches of Normandy near the horizon. Even as the ships have already started bombarding the beaches, the enemies have yet to return fire.
It wouldn’t be easy once they’ve reached the coast. Matthew swore he could hear the planes roar overhead above the skies. He can almost hear Alfred in his cockpit grinning proudly “I got your back bro!” as he heads the airborne division and land units ready to take Omaha, Pointe du Hoc and Utah, like the proud hero he is.
“Yes, I’m coming.”
Nervously, he glanced at his helmet, wondering if he even got the right size---it’s a little too big for his head. Matthew then got an idea and fished out something from his pocket, took his helmet down and starts to fiddle with it.
The soldier watched him, confused. “S-sir?”
“It’s my good luck charm.” He smiled, putting the helmet back to his head. There it was, a bright blue ribbon tied on the side of his headgear and sticking out prominently like a sore thumb.
“My nation, I appreciate your sentiments…to whatever it may be, but….” The man started embarrassingly, “You do know, that the enemy will make an easy target out of you with that bright ribbon on your head?”
A slow smile of nostalgia gently curved his lips.
/Papa, that’s too much! You are soooo bright!/
/Well, it’s better than having tacky clothes, oui?/
/But they are going to see youu!/
/But at least when I go down, this gorgeous creature that is your Papa is going down in style!/
/Papaaa…!/
“S-sir Williams?”
“Johnson,” he smiled, setting his sight on the shore. “Let them be, at least they know that it is I who is coming.”
“Sir?”
“I’m coming home.”
== FIN ==
A/N:
Sourcils - eyebrows XD
Look fallenangelkat 8| I totally revised the WW2 scene because I'm a sucker for historical moments like that. What have you done to me ;A; you made me wrote fluff when I should be on hiatus aaaaaahhhh
And since cramming all that info on such a short scene on D-Day: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Overlord explains it. But I concentrated more on Juno Beach:
" The Canadian forces that landed on Juno Beach faced heavy batteries of machine-gun nests, pillboxes, other concrete fortifications, and a seawall twice the height of the one at Omaha Beach. Juno was the second most heavily defended beach on D-Day, next to Omaha.[54] Despite the obstacles, the Canadians were off the beach within hours and advancing inland with minimal casualties.[55] The Canadians were the only units to reach their D-Day objectives, although most units fell back a few kilometres to stronger defensive positions."
I-I'm biased XD and I need to sleep.
" Don’t forget me, my dear heart…don’t forget…."
Thanks for reading~