Hetalia kink meme (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hetalia_kink) wrote2011-02-26 01:33 pm
hetalia_kink) wrote2011-02-26 01:33 pm
Past Part Fills Part 2 -- CLOSED
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"Life can be difficult" 1.2/?
(Anonymous) 2010-01-28 11:30 pm (UTC)(link)An awkward silence falls over the table as she refuses to look up, just staring into the bottom of her wine glass instead. He can tell from the sceptical tilt of her lip, an expression he still remembers well after all these years, that she does not believe him.
“Anyway, my dear, must I remind you that it was you who stole from my bed as I slept. It was you who did not say goodbye. If you was you who refused my efforts or communication after you left.”
“I needed to get the plane...I was busy,” she mumbled, flushing. He smiled, a point to him.
“True, I may accept that you needed to leave, but you may have woken me. Or, my dear, you may simply have replied to my e-mails once you returned home.
“Look, you damn frog,” she snapped. “Fine, it’s my fault. So, that still doesn’t explain why you asked me here. We fucked, I left, why drag it out?”
“Well, I happen to remember the charming your student I met all those years ago. The beautiful woman with whom I spent two week arguing and flirting. I had hoped that we might find some of that connection again.”
“You mean you thought I might fuck you?”
“You wound me England. For me, the sex was only a culmination of the tensions that had been building between us for the past two weeks. Admit it to yourself, you wanted me.”
“Don’t call me England,” she said, though now she seemed to be pouting. “I don’t have toaccept teasing from a guy like you. I have a name, you know. Do you even remember it?”
He remained silent. If he was truthful he did not remember her name. England had been his term of affection to her, their small joke. She was the only English person in their lab and she was so very English. She would drink tea at every opportunity. She wore sensible shoes. She baked scones for the office one day. It had been teasing, comforting. Still, it was unforgivable that he had forgotten her real name.
She stood and glared at him then turned and left, as simple as that. He relaxed into his chair with a sigh. Apparently, this evening had been a miscalculation. He had felt nostalgic when he saw her. Nostalgic for the young lady who had been so charmed for him and worked so hard to hide it. The girl who he had convinced to have her hair styled properly for the first time. The girl who’d let him talk her into her first manicure and her first pair of heels. It seemed he was the only one who regarded those memories with fondness after all.
~*~*~*~
"Life can be difficult" 1.3/?
(Anonymous) 2010-01-28 11:31 pm (UTC)(link)He turned and looked at her. She was stood with her arms crossed. Her hair was tied up in those ridiculous children’s tails she favoured and she was wearing an oversized beige cardigan, it screamed England to him.
“Yes, my dear,” he said, flashing her one of his best smiles. He hopes she had not found another slip of his that she cared to point out to him. He had only so much patience. She bit her lip and scuffed the toe of her shoe a little and he felt himself relax.
“I...I need to apologise...”
“Of course, my dear. And I shall accept you most gracious apology,” he flashed her a large grin. “I understand that you do not wish to dine with me, I should have been more thoughtful with my invitations.” Of course it wasn’t fine. However, one of the things that Francis remembered clearly about this woman was how stubborn she could be, and if she was extending the hand of peace he would also.
“No,” she said, tightening her arms around her. “Look, I need to talk to you. Can we...can we go somewhere and talk?”
“Certainly. Would you like to meet in the bar after the conference concludes for the evening?
“No. Look, this is important and I need to tell you and I’m not even sure I can hold me nerve long enough to get it out of my mouth. I’m not even sure if telling you is the right things but....well...you deserve to know. Can we just talk now?”
“I had been hoping to attend the next seminar...”
“Now, Francis!”
She turned and walked away. He glanced at his program, sighed and then followed her. He would very much have liked to attend that talk but, well, when he had known her she hadn’t been given to wild exaggerations and what kind of man would he be if he did not listen to the wishes of the woman he wished to please?
They moved to a casual seating area in the main foyer. The session had just started so the place was relatively deserted and they easily found a couch. She was a bundle of nervous energy, perching on the edge of her seat, and he felt almost bad for lounging beside her.
“Now, my dear, what on earth is so important?”
She did not say anything but drew a picture out of her jeans pocket. For a moment she held it shielded from him, starring in deep concentration at the image. Then, slowly, she lowered her hands and offered the image to Francis.
He plucked it gently from his fingers and turned it around. The photo was of two young boys. He did not have enough experience of children to guess their age but they were clearly twins. They sat on a couch, looking at the camera.
“They are lovely,” Francis said, holding the photo out for her to reclaim. “However, I fail to see the relevance of this image to myself.”
"Life can be difficult" 1.4/?
(Anonymous) 2010-01-28 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)Sons. Sons? No, there must be a mistake. He could not have sons. He was always so careful, always so diligent with the use of protection. There simply must be a mistake. He was not enough of a fool to not have protected himself from this!
The image was still in his hand and he looked at it again. Of course, the boys did look like him, not that it proved anything. Resemblance was not enough. But then, if the timing was right. She had been, awkward. She had not rolled giggling into his bed as many of his women did. She was hard, tough, almost afraid to trust herself to touch him. He could not envision her rushing back to England and producing these children. But then, how well did he know her?”
She flicked his forehead and he blinked the room into focus again.
"Have you listened to a word I just said?"
"Of course..."
"What are they called?"
"Excuse me?"
"If you have been listening, what are their names?" Of course he had not been listening, which he was forced to confess with a shrug.
"You're useless," she sighed, taking the picture back. He felt oddly deprived to have it plucked from his fingers and almost reached to snatch it back. Those children, they may be his. She believed they were his. And they did look remarkably like him. They looked so small, so happy.
"This is Alfred," she said, pointing to the shorter haired twin, "And Matthew."
"They are fine names," he said, almost automatically. Of course they were, though not necessarily the ones he would have chosen. "My dear, do these children know of me?"
“Not yet,” she admitted with a shake of her head. “Look, they’ve not quite got to the age yet where they’re questioning where their father is. Not to my face anyway...but they will soon. I guess it was almost fate that I ran into you, I’ve been struggling with what to tell them for years, now maybe you can help me.”
“My dear, of course we much be married!” he exclaimed, the words slipping from his lips without pausing to consult his brain first. She growled and for a moment he thought she may hit him and he flinched slightly.
“You’re mad,” she snapped. “Just because I’ve given birth to your kids doesn’t mean I want you to be my husband. I think the world is past that. It certainly won’t help anything. Look, all I need from you is to know if you’re going to be part of their lives. I’m giving you a choice, if you walk away now we’ll pretend we never saw each other again, I’ll tell the boys their dad is dead or something and they’ll never know you. But, well, if you do want to be in their lives you can. But you need to know I won’t let you walk in, meet them and then abandon them again. If you’re going to meet them you need to be in for the long haul because I won’t let you hurt my sons.”
With that she stood and, for the second time in two days, left him sat there in shock.
~*~*~*~
"Life can be difficult" 1.5/?
(Anonymous) 2010-01-28 11:33 pm (UTC)(link)He had never wanted children. He mother always told him he was too selfish to have children. He liked his life how he lived it now, he did not need children in it. Children required time, love, guidance. He was not built to provide that to them. And he had never been around children.
His mother had always wanted Grandchildren. This was not a decision he made simply for himself and the children. If he declined to see them he lost two sons and they lost a father, but his mother also lost her grandchildren and they her. He knew, though she did not talk of it, that she dreamed of beautiful golden haired grandchildren.
Could he deny her the right to know them? Deny them the right to know her?
But would be he be able to properly connect with his children? They were already so old. Did they have room for him in their hearts? Could he still be a true parent to them? Surely leaving them would not harm them too greatly. If they did not ever know him they could never be disappointed with him.
But they were his children.
He accepted that they were physically his...but were they really his. They were hers. She had birthed them, raised them. She had been there for their first words, their first steps, who was he to walk in now? He had made love with her once. Yet she would allow him this opportunity. The chance to be a father to these little boys, to be a part of their lives.
They seemed to young, so small.
He could walk away.
He never need know them.
Could he do that? She was right about one thing, he could not commit to this by halves. He could not meet them and then make a decision as to if he would love them. He must love them from the first moment he laid eyes upon them. He must commit himself to being a father, a real father.
He did not wish for these children to grow up without a father. He did not want them to lack, to deprive them. He did not wish for them to grow up never knowing the name of their father.
How could he forgive himself if he walked away? To know that there were two beautiful children in the world who would never know their father because he was scared. Because he did not wish to be tied down.
Or maybe they would be better without a father like him.
Did he want that?
[/chapter 1]
Re: "Life can be difficult" 1.5/?
(Anonymous) 2010-01-29 12:04 am (UTC)(link)Re: "Life can be difficult" 1.5/?
(Anonymous) 2010-01-29 12:43 am (UTC)(link)I can't wait for more, please keep up the good work!
Re: "Life can be difficult" 1.5/?
(Anonymous) 2010-01-30 04:39 am (UTC)(link)OP
(Anonymous) 2010-01-31 07:12 pm (UTC)(link)Re: OP
(Anonymous) 2010-02-01 09:28 pm (UTC)(link)reCAPTCHA = Like enzymes. Well, they are scientists...
"Life can be difficult" 2.1/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-01 09:20 pm (UTC)(link)PART 2
The train ride was a study in uncomfortable silence. She would not meet his eye. He was too nervous to try and ease the mood.
He felt himself somewhat justified in his nerves. After all, it is not every day a man travels to meet his sons. There were so many variables. It was more than a little scary. He would have liked a while to prepare but he saw her point when she said there was no point in putting the meeting of. He would only become more nervous. They had slipped the conference a day early and caught the train so he could see them.
She had seemed surprised by his decision, and in a way he could see why she would presume he did not want to know his children. Of course, he had no wanted children. That did not mean he would ignore the children he had, though.
He wanted to meet his sons. He didn't want his sons to grow without a father.
Still, as he sat there with her silent disapproval he found himself questioning the decision. Surely the boys did not need him if they had her. She clearly loved them enough. She would be sure that they got everything they ever needed.
Could he love them as much as she did?
Would they love him?
It was too much for him to think about now. He could question it all day and in the end he would be nowhere. He had made his decision; he would not take it back now.
He pulled the photo out of his pocket again. It was already beginning to seem a little battered but still he carried it. He imagined what his mother would say when presented with this image. Two beautiful children for her to fuss over. He had not phoned her before leaving to meet them; somehow it felt best that he meet the children alone first.
He tried to tell himself that this wasn't so he would have a chance to run away, but part of him knew that it was. Children were...a huge change. How would this work?
He’d brought a book for the journey but quickly found that he couldn’t concentrate on the words. The journey was two hours but it may as well have been ten years. Eventually they reached the station. Francis could not get his bag and leave the train fast enough. She followed, gripping her bag so tightly he was afraid she may break it.
She moved off quickly so he was quite glad the station wasn’t too large. It was a small city where she lived, which she had told him rather defensively suited her just fine. He lost sight of her in the rush to the ticket barrier and when he broke free of the crowd and saw her again she was crouching down, holding two children in her arms. She was a changed woman, kneeling there. The anger and resentment that he dogged her for the journey were gone, replaced with a genuine smile.
The boy with the shorter hair was apparently overexcited. Francis could hear him screaming “Mummy” over and over even above the noise of the crowd.
"Life can be difficult" 2.2/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-01 09:21 pm (UTC)(link)As England stood to properly greet her mother he caught the first real look at his children and he felt as though his heart had stopped. There could be no question as to who was the father of these children. It was like looking at himself as a four year old, only with a few features lifted from England which made them all the more endearing. He walked forward more quickly now, coming into range to hear this conversation.
“Al, have you been good for Grandma?” England asked, reaching down to ruffle his hair.
“That’s not what I’d call it,” her mother grumbled, folding her arms over her chest. She looked up and met Francis’ eye and he knew within seconds that he did not have a fan here. It stood to reason, really, as he was the man who had caused her daughter to have these two children out of wedlock, but it had hardly been his intention.
The other boy mumbled something, his voice too low to catch and a blush on his face, but his words seemed to be lost to the people standing closer to him as well while England was filled in on Al’s activities. He drew close but hung back a little, not sure of his right to approach. Should he introduce himself or wait for an introduction. He now wished they had used their time on the train more productively.
Luckily he was saved the decision when Matthew’s eyes fell on him.
“Mummy, is this your friend?” he asked, tugging at her sleeve worriedly, his voice a little stronger than the last time he spoke. England threw him a look then turned her attention to Matthew.
“Yes, something like that. It’s good to see you again baby. I don’t suppose I need to ask if you’ve been good?”
“I helped make dinner,” he said, biting his lip in concentration, “And I tidied my room and I ate all my vegetables and I did everything Grandma said I should do just like you told us we should.”
She smiled and reached out, pulling him close and mumbling into his hair how much she loved him, how much she loved them both. Al grinned and Matthew blushed, but a small happy smile appeared on his face, and Francis fell in love.
~*~*~*~
"Life can be difficult" 2.3/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-01 09:22 pm (UTC)(link)In the car Francis concluded that it was not so much that the mood had eased but that the children seemed in a strange way to make him immune to it. Her mother was glaring at him from the rear seat, making her hatred known. England was happy, relaxed, but still refusing to talk to him and focusing her attention on the boys. The boys seemed vary of him, but Matty had given him a small smile and said hello at the train station and that was enough for him to hold to for now.
The car was filled with their chatter as they recounted what had happened while England was away, Al telling the stories with an excited voice and wild gestures and Al pitching in much more quietly to offer minor corrections and clarifications, though his brother ignored him. Francis could have listened all day. It was a moment of serenity where he could enjoy them as a stranger before he must face them as a father and he was all too aware of the need to cherish it.
Her house was exactly the kind of house he would have expected her to have. A small mid-terrace, nothing remarkable, it screamed England Working Class to him. Al seemed during the ride to have dismissed him entirely and as soon as the car came to a stop he flung himself free and ran for the house, his mother screaming after him. Matthew, however, seemed less sure. As his mother and grandmother moved away to deal with his brother he hung back, studying Francis intently.
“Hello,” Francis said, trying not to wither under his son’s gaze, “I am Francis. I take it that you are Matthew?”
The child nodded, focusing his gaze around Francis' shoes.
"It is nice to meet you, Matthew," he said, extending his hand. Matthew looked at it in shock. Then, much to Francis' surprise reached out and gently took it.
"Hello," his son mumbled. "You can call me Matty if you like."
"Indeed, I would consider it an honour to do so."
Matthew smiled at him then released his hand as gently as he’d taken it and ran to the door where his Grandmother stood watching them with a disapproving glare. Francis leisurely followed his son’s path, meeting the woman’s eyes, but before he could reach her she turned and stalked inside the house.
The inside of the house confirmed the impression he had made looking at the outside. The living room was small, dominated by two oversized leather couches shoved in at odd angles to allow both to face a TV, a battered looking coffee table between them and the entire area sprinkled liberally with toys. Though the walls were cream the furnishings were all of a dark brown that pub Francis in mind of how he believed a traditional English pub should look. There next room was a strange hybrid between an office space, a kitchen and a dining room. What had presumably been two separate rooms, a dining room and a galley kitchen, had been opened to a single room, so the sounds and smells of the cramped kitchen invaded the dining space. The room contained only a battered pine table and four fragile-seeming pine chairs. Half of the table was spread with homework and stacks of paper crowded the walls.
All in all it was not a very good impression. Francis’ own home was spacious and clear of clutter. Still, this was his children’s home.
The thump of footsteps on the stairs told him Al’s location. He shouted and his mother answered, also from up the stairs. The grandmother stood in the cramped kitchen next to the kettle and glared at him so he retreated quickly to the living room. Matty was still in the living room when he entered, curled on the edge of the couch clutching a large plush polar bear to his chest.
"Life can be difficult" 2.4/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-01 09:23 pm (UTC)(link)“That is a very nice Polar bear,” he said, then winced at the inanity of it. This was his son, the son who he had not known he had until yesterday. Surely he deserved a better conversation…but what did one day to establish a relationship with one’s own newly discovered four year old son? Nothing had prepared him for this.
Still, Matty seemed happy with the question, smiling and burying his head in the anima’s fur. “I like polar bears,” he mumbled. “I like them because they’re big and scary but I can cuddle them too. This is Kumajirou.”
“Hello, Kumajirou,” Francis said, smiling awkwardly, and was rewarded by his son meeting his eye and smiling.
“Sometimes because I’m only quiet, nobody can hear what I say,” Matty mumbled, burying his face in the bear’s fur again. “But Kumajirou always listens to me. Mummy bought him for me because sometimes she’s at work or busy or Al is being too loud and she can’t hear me so I can tell what I need to say to Kumajirou and he’ll remember it all and remind me to tell Mummy about it later.”
“That is nice…” Francis said, wondering what kind of circumstance would mean a woman couldn’t notice her own child. Still, at least she seemed to be trying. “It’s hard to be quiet, isn’t it? It is good that you have a friend.”
“You talk funny,” Matty blurted suddenly, then shook his head and buried it further in the bear’s fur. It did not seem as though he had intended that comment to escape. Francis smiled softly. The way Matty was so embarrassed was quite endearing. He doubted most four year olds, his other son included, would realise the comment was not appropriate.
“Yes, I do,” he said, smilling. “That is because I am French, so I have a French accent.”
Matty’s eyes lit up and he shuffled a little closer.
“Really?” he said, biting his lip nervously. “Mummy was watching something on the TV a while back and someone was talking French. It was really cool. I wanted to lean and Mummy said that I will when I’m a big boy and go to school but maybe you can help me learn a little bit now?”
Francis felt a tightness in his chest as thought the love he felt for his child, his quiet English child who wished to learn French and talked to a stuffed bear, was overflowing from inside him. It was more that his heart could hold. He desperately wished that he dare reach out and embrace his son, but Matty seemed so caution, so introverted, that he knew that acting on his impulse would be an awful idea.
"Of course," he said softly. "I would be more then happy to teach you some French."
Matty grinned but before he could speak they were interrupted by the thundering of feet on the stairs as Alfred came barrelling down clutching a crudely constructed wooden aeroplane in one hand and making a strange screeching noise. His grandmother emerged briefly from the kitchen to scold him for making a noise then disappeared back into the kitchen. Al seemed content to ignore her, dropping the toy and turning to look at them.
"Life can be difficult" 2.5/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-01 09:24 pm (UTC)(link)“He’d not suspicious,” Matty replied, and Francis felt warmed by the remark. It think of his son defending him after such a short time, it was wonderful.
“He is so,” Al creid, stamping his foot. “Get here now!”
Francis moved to intervene in his own defence, but before he could say a word England thundered down the stairs in her son’s footsteps, scowling.
“Al, stop bossing Matty.”
“Mum, I’m only taking care of him because I’m a hero and Matty’s just a regular kid so he doesn’t realise that this guy is suspicious!”
“Matty can take care of himself,” she snapped, glaring at her son, “Besides, this guy isn’t suspicious…well, I guess he is…” Francis frowned, “But he’s someone very important and I need to introduce you to him.”
“I think he’s suspicious.” The voice made them all jump. They’d been so caught in the conversation they hadn’t noticed her mother come to the door. “I think it’s best that the boys aren’t introduced to him. Are you really going to do this?”
“Mother, I’m 31! Let me make my own decisions!”
“Well, don’t come crying to me when it all goes wrong!”
England’s eyebrow twitched in a way Francis remembered most fondly. It meant that at any moment this may degrade into a screaming match, on her part at least. It seemed clear where Alfred had acquired his temper.
Thankfully, the older woman didn’t let it go that far, stalking past them all, taking her coat and bag from beside the door and slamming out of the house.”
"Worthless interfearing old woman," England whispered, clenching her fists tightly. Matty edged another step towards Francis, his wide eyes betraying how the fight had bothered him. Al seemed largely untroubled, his attention entirely back on his plane now, which he was trying to crash into the wall.
England turned to glare at him for a moment and he feared he may take the brunt of her anger. She sighed and moved to sit down on the couch opposite him.
“Al, Matty, pay attention, this is important,” she snapped. Matty moved in another step, he was almost touching Francis now. Al directed his plane into t he back of the couch, screaming as he crashed it.
“Al, attention!” she snapped again.
“You’re no fun,” he said, pouting. She reached for him and he ran screaming to crash on the sofa beside Francis. For a second an expression crossed her face that showed that this behaviour from Al was not unusual. It was no wonder Matty came to be ignored, his brother was so demanding of attention.
"Is it about this wierd guy you found?" Al asked, pointing a finger into Francis’ cheek.
"Life can be difficult" 2.6/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-01 09:25 pm (UTC)(link)"But he is, he talks funny," Al pointed out.
"That's because he's French," Matty said, jumping to his defence immediate and even daring to life a hand and brush it lightly against Francis’ leg before letting it fall to his side again.
"Still, why’d you bring some French guy here?" Al asked, turning to look at his mother.
"Well...you see..."
Her face clouded over and she bit her lip, quite deeply. Her gaze seemed fixed on a spot on the floor and it did not take a genius to realise she was struggling for words. Here he could be of help.
"Alfred, Matthew," he said, reaching to lay a hand on each of his sons shoulders. "The reason that I am here today is to meet the two of you, and the reason I wish to do that is that I am your father."
There was an odd silence for a few seconds, then Al laughed loudly. “Don’t be stupid!” he exclaimed, pushing Francis’ hand from his shoulder. Francis turned to Matty and was glad to see that this boy, at least, seemed glad of the news.
“You’re our Dad?” Matty asked, raising the hand again and actually allowing it to settle on Francis’ knee this time.
“Yes, I am,” Francis said, smilling cautiously at his son.
“You can’t be a dad,” Al said, punching his shoulder. “Dad’s don’t just show up. You’ve got to be here all the time to be a dad!”
“I am sorry for that,” Francis said, wincing slightly and turning his attention back to Al. “Truly. You see, you were made by your mother and myself. However, since I live in France we lost contact and until yesterday I did not know of you. Now I do and I rushed straight here to meet you.”
"How did you manage to make a baby if mummy was in England and you weren't?" Alfred asked.
"He's telling the truth," England snapped quickly, butting in before Francis could formulate a response to that. "I was visiting France and we made you and now he’s here. He's your father, and so he has a right to spend time with you and, well, from now on you'll be seeing more of him."
"Really?" Matty gasped, tugging lightly at Francis' trouser leg.
Francis turned his attention to the quieter of his sons and gave the child his largest, brightest smile, then finally gave in to his impulse, reaching down to hug his son. Matty responded quickly, throwing his arms around Francis’ neck and clambering to his lap. “Yes, really,” he said. “I hope to see a lot of you now.”
"You're moving to England?" Al asked, still keeping his distance.
“That is not possible right now, I am afraid,” Francis said, tightening his hold on Matty. “I have a very important job in France that I must keep, but I do promise that I will visit you and call you as often as I can.
Al frowned but England intervened quickly, pulling him onto her lap and telling him to behave himself. Matty straightened out of Francis' embrace but made no move to leave his lap, looking around the room.
"So, I believe we should take some time to get to know each other."
Re: "Life can be difficult" 2.6/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-04 08:30 am (UTC)(link)Re: "Life can be difficult" 2.6/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-04 04:18 pm (UTC)(link)This is so cute, anon, omg. ;-;♥
"Life can be difficult" 3.1/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-05 11:50 pm (UTC)(link)He had not expected it to feel as though he had been punched in the gut. As he walked out into the Airport and saw them, England looking frumpy and nervous in an oversized sweater, Matty with an open grin on his face and Alfred torn between excitement and suspicion he was suddenly struck with every mile and every second between the last time he had seen them. A month only, but in that moment it seemed an eternity. He could not remember the last time he’d walked from a plane to find someone waiting for him. To stand here now, facing his family. It was quite special.
When they spotted him Al ran forward a little before remembering himself and turning to grab hold of his mother's trouser leg. Matty waited until Francis was closer and it was safer to walk over, arms raised for a hug. Francis happily dropped his case and bent down to scoop the boy into his arms.
"Ah, Matty," he sighed, squeezing him, "It is quite wonderful to see you again."
"You too, papa," Matty mumbled, hugging him tightly. Al's desire for attention quickly overcame his desire to let Francis know that he was an interloper and he ran over to stand at Francis' side, arms raised impatiently for inclusion in the hug. Francis knelt and wrapped an arm around his other son, smiling a most content smile.
"I have missed you too, Alfred." He still felt a surge of awe every time he looked at these children, to think that they were his. It seemed preposterous that something so wonderful could be a result of something that he had done.
"Come on," England said, her tone buisness like. "I hate airports, let's get out of here quickly." Francis looked up and noted the faint flush on her cheeks. It was quite endearing. He would happily have embraced her also but he was not at all certain how she would take that.
"Ok, mum," Al said quickly, wriggling from Francis’ arms and running to take her hand. It seemed the boy was capable of doing as he was told when it was in his favour. Matty held to Francis’ neck a few seconds longer before letting go long enough for Francis to straighten and collect his luggage then quickly slipping his hand into Francis’.
It was wonderful, the feel of that little hand in his. His son. This was his son. He beautiful, intelligent son who wished to hold his hand. What more could a man wish for that this?
He was glad that on the drive to the house it seemed that some of the tension which had marked his last visit had eased. Presumably by staying in touch for this past month, phoning his sons, jumping at the chance to see them, he had won a little of her respect at least. And she was not a woman who gave it easily.
Through the ride Alfred filled the car with his chapter about their adventures in preparing for school, Matty’s soft corrections hovering behind the story. As he listened to tales of uniforms and books he could not help but wish he had been able to be here with his sons earlier. However, in order to be there on the Monday morning to see them for their first morning of school he had worked through the Saturday. Every second of that work was more that worth it to see them.
Once they reached the house and had unloaded themselves from the car England slammed away to make dinner, Al running after her shouting about helping and making hamburgers. Francis let himself fall onto the couch and was not surprised when Matty approached him clutching a book. It was strangely nostalgic to sit there with his son on his lap reading. Of course he had not done this before, but his own father had done the same for him. Thinking of Matty’s stumbling attempts to learn French he resolved that next time he should bring his son some French children’s books.
"Life can be difficult" 3.2/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-05 11:51 pm (UTC)(link)He ate it anyway, with a smile on his face, for she wished for him to. As he ate Al told him at length how he’d helped to make the meal for them all. It was truly a wonderful meal.
By the time they cleared their plates it was late and the excitement of the day was wearing on the boys, even Al had become quiet as he was so tired. Francis felt more then a little privileged when, after dinner, his sons came to sit on either wide of him on the couch and promptly fell asleep. He was touched that he was able to carry Alfred upstairs in his arms, following a beautiful woman who held his other son. He was charmed by the sleepy way they changed, brushed their teeth and allowed her to steer them to bed. He felt humbled as he kissed his sons goodnight and received a tired “I love you” from each of them.
When he pulled himself away and went downstairs he found England waiting, holding some blankets.
"Sorry about the mess," she said, holding them out to him, "I'm knackered, going to go to bed. See you in the morning."
"One moment, England," Francis said, standing and reaching towards her, though stopping short of actual contact. "I was hoping that it would be possible for us to talk. We have not talked since you told me the boys existed."
"What do you mean?" she asked, frowning. "I e-mail you, and you phone once a week."
"That is not what I mean and you know it,” Francis said, returning her frown. “We communicate, yes. You will tell me you are ok before handing the phone to Al or e-mail me to say what times and days are good to call but that is not talking. My dear, I have missed much of the lives of my sons, unavoidable but still. I hoped, well, I had hoped that you may talk to me about them. I wish to know how they were as babies, I wish to know about their first words and steps and how it was for you."
"Shut up," she mumbled.
He blinked. There was real malice behind the words, hatred of the kind he had not heard in her voice for a long time. A glance showed him her fists were clenched.
"Just shut up. I don't want you to sweet talk me. I don't...just...shut up." She turned and ran up the stairs, leaving Francis standing shocked in the living room.
~*~*~*~
"Life can be difficult" 3.3/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-05 11:52 pm (UTC)(link)The beach was not as busy as he had feared it would be. It seemed that most English people did not see fit to spend the last day before their children returned to school at the beach but Francis could think of no better adventure. It had taken an amount of effort he had not anticipated to make England agree to him plan but, in the end, she had accepted and they had pilled into the car with a picnic and headed to a nice quiet beach.
Al had been as enthusiastic about the beech as he was about everything, stripping down to his swim suit the moment they hit the sand and running into the waves. Francis had followed him quickly. The plan had been forming in his mind for a week or so now so he had brought swimming trunks and a loose shirt with him. Matty and his mother had been more hesitant. England had set up well away from the sea and insisted that everyone be covered in sunscreen. Al had objected to this to the point where Francis had caught him and carried him back to his mother.
He could not seem to decide if England enjoyed the beach or hated it. She enjoyed it, surely, but she complained. She refused to wear a bathing suit, instead dressing in shorts and a t-shirt, and she sat on a towel reading a book rather then playing. She complained about the sand getting in everything but she sat there with a smile on her face and when Matty had asked her to help find shells to decorate his sand castle she had.
Matty's sand castle was a sight to behold. Matty had been working on it with tight concentration for most of the day, using a plastic bucket and spade to craft towers and build walls and using shells and seaweed to decorate. It looked beautiful, even if his pride as a father demanded that he say so.
Alfred, as expected, had been more boisterous and Francis had enjoyed running and playing with him in the surf. He was very grateful for that. Al had been more then a little reluctant towards him, he had hoped this outing would allow them to bond and that did seem to be the case.
As the hour had begun to grow late Francis had noted this and began to set his final plans into motion. He wanted to drag Matty to the sea at least once, or this would not be a trip to the seaside, then they would head to a supermarket as he would insist on cooking dinner for them and they would end with a pleasant evening in the living room.
Matty seemed oddly distrusting of the water. He studied the ground intensely before every step and gripped Francis' hand tightly. It was quite adorable. He would jump and shiver every time a wave washed over their feet.
Francis knelt and was about to pull Matty up into his arms, sparing the child a walk he did not enjoy and taking him back to his family when he heard a familiar scream. A scream of outrage. He spun then froze. The scream had been England. She sat on her blanket, her mouth hanging open and her book on her lap entirely covered in sand. It may have been hilarious were it not for Al stood grinning triumphantly in the ruins of Matty’s castle.
"Alfred," England screamed, jumping to her feet. "Do you have any idea how hard your brother’s been working on that?"
Francis didn't hear Alfred's reply but he did hear the soft sound of a choked sob from his other son. Quickly he completed his earlier motion, pulling Matty into his arms and standing, holding his close.
"No, my love, do not cry," he mumbled, rubbing Matty's back. "I'm sure it was only an accident. My love, it is all going to be alright."
"Life can be difficult" 3.4/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-05 11:54 pm (UTC)(link)He walked back up the beach quickly, Matty held close in his arms.
"Alfred," he said, as he came into normal vocal range. "Why did you destroy your brother's castle?"
Al had been in the act of taunting his mother and she looked torn between throttling him and behaving in a proper English way.
"It was stupid," Al yelled, waving his arms. "Nobody cared and it was going to get washed away in the sea anyway."
"That is hardly the point," Francis said, trying to be as firm as he could. "Your brother worked hard on that castle and he was proud of it. You would not be happy if Matty had destroyed something you had worked on. Apologise."
"Don't want to," Al yelled, falling to the floor and crossing his arms.
He looked at England only to find her looking at him, the most hopeless expression on her face. It read volumes. Of course he was aware of Alfred’s nature. He was bright, generous and caring but also loud and demanding and he knew how to throw a fit.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, "He gets like this sometimes. He thinks he's the most important person in the world and, well, I've tried punishing him but he doesn't seem to respond to it and it's so hard..."
"I see," Francis said in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "He does seem rather...brash. It can not be easy to raise a child like that. For now, shall we leave the beach? Maybe that would be best. If we just picked up our belonging and left?"
"Al..."
"Leave him," he mumbled, leaving closer. "Maybe if he is ignored he will behave himself? He does not wish to listen to reason, maybe this will help? I know my mother did the same with me in my more boisterous childhood years..."
"Well, I wouldn't know," England replied, reaching down to scoop up her towel. "I was always a little angel as a child, just like Matty."
"Of course, my dear," Francis grinned. He watched as Al watched her fold her towel and collect her book and the rubbish. This had clearly not been the result the child had been expecting. He remembered it well from his own childhood. He remembered what it was to wish to be the centre of the world, he thought it was likely that England did also. He wondered what had caused him to throw such a fit and spoil their otherwise nice day. Once their things were gathered England set of to the car and Francis moved to follow, Matty still held in his arms.
"Hey," Al yelled, jumping to his feet again.
"Life can be difficult" 3.5/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-05 11:55 pm (UTC)(link)As they walked Matty drew his face from where he had been hiding it in Francis neck and threw a worried look back to his brother. He wiggled until Francis released him then ran to take his mother’s hand. She looked at him, the remains o tears staining his face, dropped her belongings and knelt down to hug him close.
"I'm sorry Matty," she said. "I do love you both, I'm sorry you tend to get ignored since Al's so loud but I do love you."
"I know," Matty mumbled, wrapping his arms around his mother's neck, and Francis couldn't help feeling proud. His son seemed to mature. He was only a baby really, so very small, but such a little adult. He wondered if that was part of the reason Al acted out so. Maybe his trouble was the only way he knew of to gain attention against Matty's quiet charm. It must not be easy for one with such a desire for attention to be a twin.
"Hey!"
Fancis turned to find Al on the path behind them, his arms folded.
"You left me on the beach, that's not fair."
"Apologise to your brother."
"Won't!"
"My boy, if you do not then when we get home you will sit alone in your room until you do!" England said, her arms tightening around Matty.
"Won't!"
"I think you will," Francis replied, smiling. "Your mother way well be overwhelmed with the two of you, but I am here now and I even out the numbers. You will do as you are told eventually. I think you will find that I can be a very patient man."
"I hate you."
It felt a little like being kicked in the gut to have Al say that to him. His own son, with such an angry face, telling him that he hated him.
"Al!" England exclaimed, but Francis threw his hand up to stop her.
"You may hate me if you want," he said, though it felt terrible to say. "But you will respect your brother and mother. Now, apologise and we can go home.
"No," Al screamed, throwing himself to the ground and screeching. Francis turned his back resolutely though every fibber of his being screamed at him to pick him son up. England was biting her lip and looking at Al, Matty still in her arms, but it seemed that for now she was happy to play things his way. He hoped this was a play for attention because if it was not then he did not wish to think he had distressed his son for nothing.
When Al made no immediate moved to apologise he went to the car and waited for England. She followed more hesitantly, glancing over her shoulder and holding Matty’s hand. Francis could only hope that this worked, he did not wish to appear cold towards his children in front of her.
They dried of with a new towel and got into the car. Matty seemed particularly glad to have the sand away from his body and England complained constantly about the places she found the substance. Then all pretended to ignore Al but his presence was there in Matty's worried glances and his clenched fists and Francis' and England's tense backs.
Eventually, when they had all moved to sit in the car, the back door was swung open.
"Sorry Matty."
"It's ok," Matty mumbled, looking at Francis from under his fringe. "Thank you."
"Welcome back Alfred," Francis said, turning to smile at his son.
"You'd better get in the car," England mumbled, picking up the towel she'd left in his lap and handing it back to him. Quietly, he did.
~*~*~*~
"Life can be difficult" 3.6/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-05 11:56 pm (UTC)(link)"What for, my dear?" he asked, laying the book down. She walked into the room and perched on the chair, looking at him intensely. The thanks could be for anything. He'd made them a lovely dinner, helped put the boys to bed again, he'd even helped bathe them to get rid of the sand. When England had disappeared upstairs he'd presumed that was the end of his day.
"Well, for how you were with Al at the beach. He just, well, of course I love the boy but he's just too much for me sometimes, I never know how to deal with him."
"It is no problem, my dear," Francis said, smiling softly. "Actually, I was afraid that you were mad at me. After all, you were the authority and I felt a little as though I undermined you..."
"I won't lie and say I was happy about that," She said, bringing her knees up to her chest and hugging them. "But, well, I fight with Al a lot and I nearly always loose. I worry. Matty gets lost in it all more often then not. I just...I don't know how to deal with it."
"I'm sorry, my dear, but other then ignoring Al when he decided to play up I am not sure what to suggest. Though I think his temper is all yours I do believe the attention seeking to be mine. I shall ask my mother next time we speak how she dealt with me if you like."
"That would be useful," she sighed. "I...I just don't know how to deal with him any more. I keep hoping and hoping that it will get better but, it doesn't seem to. He just..."
"I know," Francis smiled. "He is certainly a handful. I hope for both out sakes that he calms with age."
"Maybe," she smiled. "Anyway, that's not all I came down for. I was thinking...about what you said last night. I, well, you do have a right to know how your sons came to be who they are. I mean, I should have told you when I was pregnant. I think...maybe I was just scared. It was easy to pretend you weren't in their lives because I didn't need you, harder to think it was because you rejected us."
She was blushing bright red now, quite endearingly. He smiled softly. He could not condone it, obviously. He had lost years in which he could have been a father, but in an odd way he understood her worry. Besides, they could not make the decision again; they must simply live with the consequences.
"England, I would be deeply thankful of anything you would share with me." he said, smiling softly.
"Ok, I guess I'll get the photo albums."
~*~*~*~
"Life can be difficult" 3.7/?
(Anonymous) 2010-02-05 11:58 pm (UTC)(link)"Move," England snapped, poking at him with the toe of her shoe. "You have a flight to catch and I have a job to get to."
"You're so cruel," he mumbled, glaring at her. "I have had barely thirty minutes of sleep and watched my two wonderful sons take their first steps on their own into the adult world, I believe I deserve a moment to collapse."
"I do wish you hadn't cried," she mumbled, moving around him to pick up the cup of instant coffee she's abandoned on the TV table in the rush that morning.
"Is it not traditional to be emotional at such times?"
"I've been sending them to day care for years," she said with a sigh. "I mean, I know it's different but you didn't need to cry so much!"
"But do you not think that their school uniforms made them look so very much younger?"
"Francis, get of my couch or so help me!"
"Yes, yes, I am moving," he sighed, pulling himself up again and reaching for his bag. He wished dearly that he could stay to pick up his children from their last day of school but there were time sensitive tasks he would need to run to the lab to complete as soon as he got back to France. He stood up, picked up the bag, then walked towards the door, waiting for her to move back and join him.
"One thing, England. Thank you very much for talking to me last night."
"Even though you didn't get any sleep?" she quirked him a small smile.
"Even so," he grinned. "Thank you." Then he lent over and kissed her softly on the cheek. Predictably she flushed red and blustered out the door. Francis smiled to himself. She was quite adorable.
These chapters keep getting longer T_T Just wanted to say thanks for the comments, I love every comment I get XD Next chapter is in progress and will be with you soon.
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