There's not nearly enough Arthur and Matthew centered fics to suit my obsession. Seriously, Alfred and Arthur are my absolute favorite to pair Matthew with. In fact, I really only like Alfred to be paired with Matthew. But I digress. This fic was borne out of my desire to have some somewhat sweet Arthur-Matthew interaction. I mean, I enjoy Hetalia but I find it really, really difficult to believe that Canada is that forgettable. Okay, sure I tend not to think about Canada that much but I know he's there (sitting of America and Mexico and enjoying it). And I just don't like the idea of him being overlooked (How can you overlook the guy screaming obscenities at a hockey game? I mean, I don't even watch hockey regularly but I was ready to fly to Vancouver to tie Luongo to the net during the Olympics...) Anyways~ I thought I'd share this thingy. Please enjoy~
Warnings: language, mentions of war, OOCness, hints of slash
Pairing: I suppose it could be seen as Arthur/Matthew... (you'll see what I mean)
Disclaimer: I don't own.
Arthur watched coolly as Francis kneeled next to the small blond toddler. The Frenchman held the boy closely, murmuring, no doubt, comforting words. The little boy's purple eyes were serious and the child was listening intently.
But every so often, those bright, young eyes would flicker towards the sandy-haired Englishman. Arthur would try to smile warmly, but as soon as he did, the toddler looked away, focusing back on sorrowful azure eyes. And Arthur would feel the slightest bit of jealousy unfurl in his stomach, but he quickly reminded himself that Matthew was his colony now because Francis had lost to his superior military strength.
And Francis losing always cheered him up.
Finally, the blond gently kissed each of Matthew's cheeks and pulled him in for a final embrace. Then, reluctantly, the older blond pulled away and, without a glance in Arthur's direction, exited the room.
And the toddler just stood there, dressed in a snow-white nightgown with a scarlet ribbon, utterly silent, watching his former guardian leave with forlorn eyes.
Arthur quietly walked over to the child and knelt down next to him. Matthew turned towards him, babyish face almost wary.
"Come on then, poppet." He said, green eyes kind. "Let's get you home."
"I'm not going to see Papa again, am I?" Matthew asked, tiny hand reaching up and clutching the rich wool of his uniform.
No sense in lying to the child. "No."
"Alfred, have you seen Matthew?" Arthur asked, striding into the room, barely managing to keep the frantic note out of his voice. He raggedly ran his fingers through his hair, wondering where on earth the quiet boy could've gone.
"Nope." Alfred said, unconcerned. He was currently playing with the set of wooden soldiers Arthur had carved for him years ago, setting them out in battle formations. Suddenly, the blond perked up, attention diverted from his play. "Wait, is Mattie missing or something?" His sky-blue eyes widened and he jumped up. "Is he in trouble? Does he need a hero?"
Alfred was so excited that he didn't even wait for Arthur to answer him before he whirled on his feet and ran out of the room, bare feet pattering on the wooden floor, hollering, "I'll save you Mattie!"
"Well, that was entirely unhelpful. Adorable, but unhelpful in every possible way." Arthur muttered, looking away. "Now where could that boy be?"
Matthew, Arthur realized quickly, had the unfortunate habit of disappearing at random moments, fading in and out of sight without notice much to Arthur's dismay. It was as though the boy straddled the border between the spiritual and temporal world, free to come and go as he wished.
It didn't help that the boy was naturally quiet and shy, preferring to stay in the background and out of people's way. Sometimes he was so quiet, Arthur and Alfred would forget he was in the room and when Arthur would go to tuck Alfred in, he would hear the pitter-patter of footsteps and turn to see Matthew frowning up at him, little legs striving to keep up.
Those nights Arthur would let Matthew choose the bedtime story.
"Matthew!" Arthur finally shouted, voice bouncing off the walls in a vain attempt to draw the colony from wherever he was.
"Who?"
"Bloody hell!" Arthur cursed, jerking back slightly.
The strange white bear merely glanced up at him, dark eyes unimpressed with the other's reaction.
Huffing and throwing a dirty look at the animal, Arthur asked, "Do you know where Matthew is?"
Wordlessly, the bear shifted and slowly lumbered away and towards the entryway. Shrugging and not seeing any harm in following the creature (since the bear was protective of Matthew and always knew where he was, despite never remembering the child's name), Arthur opened the door when the bear pawed at it. Stepping outside into the frigid weather, Arthur looked around at the snowy landscape, fluffy clumps of snow still falling slowly.
"From now on, I'm going to ask Titania to follow Matthew." He grumbled, stomping about in the freshly fallen snow, keeping a sharp eye out for a glimmer of gold.
And there was Matthew. The child was tumbling about barefoot and completely at home in the frozen garden, holding out his hands and trying to catch the falling snow. Giggling cheerfully with rosy cheeks, Matthew looked happier and more alive than he had in weeks. Arthur couldn't stop the affectionate smile that rose on his lips seeing his colony so merry.
But the child was still a child, personification of the land or not, he was still susceptible to illness.
"Matthew!" He called out, moving quickly over to the small boy. Immediately, Matthew's demeanor changed. The joy vanished from his face and was replaced by guilt.
And Arthur felt like a right bastard for the swift change.
Wavy hair the color of marigolds fell in front of Matthew's chubby face and he avoided Arthur's gaze.
"Matthew." Arthur said, face stern but voice soft. "Do you know how worried I was?"
"I'm sorry."
Arthur sighed, realizing that Matthew was fully expecting a spanking or scolding. He felt whatever irritation he had evaporate and he, instead, swept the child up and pulled him close, hand rubbing soothing, warming circles against his back. "Next time, tell me before you decide to go frolic in the snow drifts, love."
Matthew stiffened slightly at the lack of anger and looked up to make sure Arthur really wasn't upset. Seeing no rage in that emerald gaze, the colony nodded, contrite, and nuzzled his face into the warm of Arthur's coat.
"That's a dear lad."
"Hey! I wanna play outside too!" Came Alfred's enthusiastic voice and Arthur groaned softly as the blond bundle of energy sprinted out into the snow and then fell flat on his face, most definitely soaking his entire suit.
Matthew giggled and began to squirm out of Arthur's hold.
Arthur sighed, putting Matthew down and watching him run over to Alfred who was getting up and shaking snow out of his hair. With a grimace, he realized he would definitely be cleaning up puddles later that evening.
Matthew is absolutely silent, hovering in the doorway and watching his guardian with concerned eyes. He holds a teacup and saucer—Arthur's favorite teacup and saucer—and doesn't know if he should finally enter the man's private study.
Arthur doesn't realize his colony is watching him. He is instead leaning against the window frame, watching the rain pour on London with moody and somber eyes.
Its been a few years since Alfred left, turning his back on a broken Arthur as the rain soaked them both, as though the heavens were lamenting the destruction of the family. But the rain hadn't washed away anything, the wounds were still fresh and his pride still stung.
His son left him. He was defeated by fledgling nation, a little idealistic upstart blinded by his own delusions of eventual glory. The final blow had been the cold fact that, despite how much he loved Alfred, none of it mattered.
None of it mattered.
"I made you some tea." Matthew finally said, stepping into the room. When Arthur didn't respond, the blond wordlessly brought the cup to the elegant desk and set it down. He began to turn, preparing himself to leave, but then paused. Hesitating only for a moment, Matthew stepped behind the desk and tugged Arthur's sleeve.
Arthur, torn away from his sulking, raised a thick brow and glanced down at the adolescent. "Yes, lad?" His tone was clipped and Matthew flushed in embarrassment.
"I…" Matthew began, clearing his throat and flushing darker when Arthur's face began to look impatient. "…I leave tomorrow. But…I could postpone my departure?" Matthew finished softly, avoiding Arthur's gaze as he turned and fled.
Green eyes widened at the earnest statement and a sense of guilt began to creep up on Arthur. And, just as Matthew was passing through the doorway, Arthur called out, "We can visit Scotland."
His elder brother was quite fond of Matthew, despite his dislike of Arthur, and Matthew adored him in return.
Matthew didn't turn or respond, but Arthur could see some of the tension in his shoulders lift and the Englishman was fairly certain his colony was smiling.
After the Great War, Arthur sends Matthew back to his land. There's no time for rest and, as proud as he is of the lad, he can't coddle him because Matthew has duties he must attend to and Arthur, though he will never say it aloud, thinks that if Matthew returns to his native soil, the strange darkness that fills his eyes will eventually fade for good.
Arthur visits sometime later, purposely not visiting Alfred, just Matthew. The blond is gracious and has the guest bedroom prepared for Arthur.
However, the first night he is there, Arthur is about to fall asleep when he senses something utterly wrong. It's an extra sense he picked up over the years and right now its ordering him to find Matthew.
So he sneaks to the younger man's door and pauses and when he hears the creaking of the mattress and whimpers, he wastes no time opening the door and making his way to the boy's bed.
Matthew's kind face is damp, tear tracks marring his cheeks and face twisted fearfully. He whimpers and cries out every so often, murmuring "Nonononono" under his breath as he shakes his head, wavy hair tossed asunder. His hands clench and unclench and, without hesitation, Arthur gently grasps the closest hand and sits on the edge of the bed. Matthew's hands are still battle-rough but his bones feel delicate and birdlike and Arthur thinks one good squeeze would destroy it.
Matthew was such a terror during the war, looking wizened and scarred beyond his years. Utterly fearless. Completely reckless. Loyal to a fault and focused.
Arthur has no idea how he managed to raise such a son.
But, looking at him now, trapped and tormented by the cruel nightmares of the all too real past, Matthew looks like the child Arthur had always secretly wished he would remain but knowingly mercilessly shoved into manhood by transporting him across the ocean, gun in hand.
Arthur, unnaturally tender, brushes back the curling strands that stubbornly stick to Matthew's damp forehead. The touch seems to calm Matthew and Arthur rests his hand against the curve of his cheek, holding the boy's hand with his other hand.
And Arthur stays until the stress lifts from his colony's face and the whimpering ceases.
Then he stays a little longer.
"Congratulations, wine bastard. You've reached a whole new, deplorable level of pettiness."
"You cannot deny the fact that 'e 'as French blood." His accent thickened.
"Unfortunately." A dismissive snort. "Thanks to that little stunt, the child's been a right mess."
" Enfant? Pas du tout, mon ami." A rich chuckle. " 'e is all grown up. Mathieu—"
"Matthew. His name is Matthew. Refrain from perverting it."
"Pervert? 'ardly, I am merely making it beautiful."
"You're ruining it. Just like you're trying to ruin him."
"Ruin? You dare accuse me of ruining my own son? You insult me."
"Oh that's hardly new. Everything insults you these days."
"You boor. Why Mathieu did not seek independence sooner, I will never know. I would've gladly 'elped."
"Matthew, you twat. And I'm sure. Just like you kindly helped Alfred." Eyes as sharp as emeralds glinted dangerously.
"Pauvre Angleterre!" was the hissed response. "Still so wounded, so broken, so lost. You could never 'andle loss well. Jamais! One colony gets away and you weep for years. What do you even know about true loss? You've never 'ad your son stolen away!"
And Arthur sees the raw pain in Francis's normally cheerfully sly gaze.
He averts his eyes.
" 'e loves you." Francis murmurs, defeat and hurt tangible in his low tone. "There is no competition."
Arthur has no response.
"You deserve far better than me, Matthew." Arthur says suddenly, setting down his teacup with a firm clink.
Matthew looks rather surprised, poised to take a sip from his own cup. In polite bemusement, the younger nation sets his cup down and violet eyes are trained on Arthur. Matthew regards him carefully and then, with a small shrug, smiles and says, "I know."
Expecting a frank remark but not so cuttingly honest, Arthur is, for a moment, at a loss of how to respond.
Thankfully Matthew saves him the trouble by adding, "And, believe me, I'm not settling on you. I know there are others…" He smiles softly and lifts his teacup to his lips. "But I like you better."
Vague ending ftw? Yes? No? How was it folks? All feedback is welcome. Now to get to work on some unfinished things... -trudges away-
Translations of Fail!French:
Enfant? Pas du tout, mon ami. = Child? Not at all, my friend.
Pauvre Angleterre! = Poor England!
PS: Sorry for the Francis's fail accent. ^^;