OOC: Time for... An AU no one needed but I thought of it at 5 AM!!!
This has probably been done before. It did occur to me - at 5 AM - that Franchat could be Duchess and the 3 kittens be Americat, Canada(is there a cat form of his name??), and Seychat. >u> Of course, that would leave O’Mally to be the remainder of the FACES fam.
Well here goes, this is the fic I was talking about...
Act I
What’s Yours is Mine
They were at a stalemate. Their postures were stiff and eyes sent daggers to the other. Neither were willing to compromise nor let the other win. Five minutes passed. Still nothing.
Five more minutes ticked by until one of them—Arthur—was fed up with the silence. He pursed his lips and crossed his arms. "This will be my office." His tone was demanding and unwavering.
"No," Francis mimicked his husband's gesture and leaned forward. It was the battle of wills and both were too stubborn to admit defeat so easily. "This is my art room."
"My office."
"My art room."
"Office."
"Art room."
"No—"
"Yes."
"You can use the bloody garage!"
"But the noise—"
"Wear earphones," the Brit huffed. They stood in the middle of a bare rectangular room, both imagining their own interpretations of what the room should look like. The paint Arthur was going to use was already set out on the floor, just waiting to be opened. Unfortunately for him, Francis did the exact same thing. It was amusing in the beginning, finding out about each other's plan to make the room their own. That was until it dawned on them that they were both serious.
"I can't concentrate—" Francis begun once more.
"Neither can I!" Arthur interrupted with a glare. The Frenchman took it in stride. It was natural for that to happen. Arthur was stubborn. Frustratingly but also endearingly stubborn. Unfortunately for the both of them, so was Francis.
Knowing that arguing would only make matters worse, Francis devised a new plan. He mustered on the sweetest smile he could and stepped closer to Arthur. Immediately, the Brit's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you doing?" He asked, straightening his back.
"Mon cher," Francis began, finally within an arms length of his husband. He used the closed distance to his advantage and teasingly placed a hand on the other's chest. "I need this room." Arthur gulped as his cheeks slowly turned red. Perfect.
"Good luck with that," he mumbled softly. For a fraction of a second, the Frenchman frowned. But as quickly as it happened, the smile replaced it once more.
"Hm?" Francis realized that he needed to up the ante with his 'persuasions' and brought his face a mere few inches away from Arthur's. The latter's Adam's apple bobbed with uncertainty. "I didn't hear you. Can you repeat it...s'il te plâit?"
The thick-browed man gulped. As much as the man hated to admit it, Arthur had a weakness for anything spoken in French. Especially when Francis was the one talking. "I...er," he stammered. "I said...uh..."
"Uh?" The Frenchman repeated in a low whisper.
Arthur averted his eyes. Francis made a small sound of indignation and focused on playing with his husband's tie. Just a bit more prodding and the room will be the Frenchman's for the taking. His fingers lightly tapped on the knot of Arthur's tie as the Englishman continued to ignore him. "J'ai besoin de la chambre, mon cœur."
"It's...mine," Arthur slowly responded, returning his gaze back to his husband. Francis grimaced. So close. "And you can't stop me."
"We'll see," the Frenchman hummed.
In the end, after hours spent on negotiations, Arthur and Francis settled on sharing the room. Half was Arthur's, the other Francis's. Neither called it a rousing success on their parts, but it settled their argument. However the same could not be said when they had to decide what color they wanted for their shared room.
Act II
Yes, Dear
It was a curious site to see repeat a year and a half later. The argument started similarly with one withholding their plans to change the decorum once more. Like before, among scattered mahogany colored wooden furniture pieces, both sides were convinced that they had the better idea.
"This color looks nicer," Francis said a-matter-of-factly. He placed a mint green colored swatch on the wall.
"I thought we agreed to keep using that one," Arthur grumbled, pointing at a paint can tucked in the corner of the room. God this man! It perplexed the Brit as to why his husband would suddenly change what they agreed on. Rather than waste his time doing nothing and arguing, he shifted his attention to the wooden furniture parts he needed to build. He settled down on the floor and scanned through the instructions.
"It's boring," Francis argued, gesturing to the walls already painted with the color he now detested.
"Boring? You picked the damn color!" The Brit retorted as he grabbed the pieces he needed to assemble.
"I changed my mind."
"Oh for Christ’s sake," Arthur rolled his eyes. He doesn't bother to look back at Francis. Instead, he reached for a small screwdriver and began to attach the pieces together. "What do you really want?"
"Something pleasant to look at," the Frenchman answered, still holding up the swatch. "The boys need to see a soothing color every time they open their eyes."
Arthur scoffed. "The boys won't be able to see the color of the room for three months. They'll get used to it." He finished assembling a third of what's supposed to be one of their soon-to-be twins' cribs.
"I'm being thoughtful here, Arthur," Francis waved a dismissive hand at the man. "Shh."
"And I'm being practical," the Englishman muttered. Having an interior designer for a husband had its perks, but not when it came down to designing a nursery. The man spent countless hours trying to make the room as perfect as possible. It wasn't that which irked Arthur, rather it were the nights where he grumpily woke up to see the Frenchman wide awake and staring at a computer screen long before the sunrise. Dedication was one thing, but Francis's...enthusiasm was a different one entirely.
"You're not helping, cher."
"Then what do you call this?" The thick-browed man gestured to the crib pieces laid out in front of him. "Playing bloody lego?"
"I do the designing," Francis exhaled, rolling his eyes, "while you do the building. Simple, mon lapin. Simple."
"I'd like to see you try."
The Frenchman turned to his husband with a displeased look. Oh here we go... "Are you saying I can't?"
"What I'm saying," Arthur started, attaching half of the crib together, "is that this is harder than it looks."
"So is this!" That much was definitely true in Francis's eyes. "Amour, the colors have to be perfect."
But not in Arthur's. "I know, I know," he let irritation creep into his voice. "Perfect. Of course."
Francis wrinkled his nose. "Cher."
"Yes dear?"
"Je te déteste." He returned his attention back to the swatch, contemplating what type of theme he could create. His husband can complain all he wants, but the outcome will remain the same.
Arthur allowed himself to smirk in response. He attached the last pieces of the crib together and glanced at the second one left untouched in it's packaging. Right, you do the design...and I do all the building. For twins. His smile faltered. "Likewise, dear."
Act III
Parenting 101
Sunlight broke through the new nursery's white curtains and bathed the room in a warm orange glow, indicating the arrival of sunset. The windows were shut, muffling the sounds of the outside world. All of the furniture and toys were neatly arranged and ready to welcome its new occupants. The layout of the room changed more than five times until the final placement satisfied both parents' preferences.
In consideration for double the furniture, the room was split into two sides. Both sides accommodated one twin's crib, rocking chair, and toy box. The cribs flanked a wide window that let in most of the light. A single changing table was placed right below the windowsill. Both toy boxes were placed at the foot of the cribs. The rocking chairs were placed next to each other on the opposite end of the room, ready for the long nights of calming down the new twins.
It took two weeks for the room to be completed. Among the banter and the disagreements, the prospective parents agreed on a woodland theme. Mint green was painted on walls to elicit a calm environment. To keep with the theme, Francis took it upon himself to create the scenery— a myriad of painted trees around the room. Some had owls perched on different branches, while others had squirrels and rabbits milling about on the forest floor. For added effect, a few deer were placed among the foliage or behind trees.
The art office-turned-nursery door opened with a soft creak. Arthur entered first, holding a small newborn in his arms. The Brit paused in front of one of the empty cribs. It was the farthest crib from the door. A forest animal themed mobile hung above it, waiting to be activated. On the wall behind the crib were white rustic letters that spelled, Alfred.
"Here we are lad," the Englishman rocked back and fourth, trying to maintain the calm atmosphere. His movements were stiff and a tad awkward, having no first hand knowledge of handling a newborn. The closest practice he had was when he and Francis agreed to babysit their friend Elizabeta's twin boys. But little Feli and Lovi were already one and almost walking.
Arthur worried whether the long night in the hospital waiting for the twins' birth took a toll on his energy level. A part of him was afraid to hold Alfred. The boy was too small, too fragile. And he was exhausted. But it was worth it, he decided. Well worth it.
Francis entered shortly; he too held a newborn in his arms. Arthur was too absorbed in little Alfred to pay attention to his husband's soft murmurings to the other twin. He felt his heart melt when the boy yawned, his mouth creating a small 'o' as his nose wrinkled. Alfred was gently placed in his crib as he looked around, eyes far too young to recognize his surroundings. Nonetheless, Arthur activated the mobile and watched his son stare at the moving objects above him.
"Ils sont très mignon, non?" Francis said quietly as he walked over to his husband.
Arthur nodded. Indeed they are. "I can't believe the boys are here." He felt the other give him a quick kiss on the cheek.
"Our boys." Right. Theirs.
A small whimper brought the Englishman's attention to the bundle in Francis's arms. "And how is this little gentleman doing?" He asked, gently patting the boy's thin wisps of hair. The baby cooed in response.
"Petit Mathieu," Francis whispered, rocking back and fourth. "He did not want to be forgotten." A smile grew on the man's features.
"Of course not," Arthur softly responded. "He's probably eager to sleep in his new crib."
As if on cue, the infant yawned. Unlike his brother, who continued to look around, Matthew's eyes drifted close. Francis chuckled quietly and placed the newborn in his crib. He then leaned on the railing, watching his new son in awe. Moments after, his eyes glistened.
"...are you crying?"
The Frenchman sniffled. "Is there something wrong with that?" He turned to Arthur, using his pointer finger to wipe away a tear.
"Well no," Arthur answered, offering the other his handkerchief that he always kept with him. "But if you keep that up, you'll be a sorry froggy mess on the floor. How about some wine instead of the waterworks?"
"You hate wine." Francis gratefully took the handkerchief.
His husband snorted. "Not as much as I hate frogs croaking and—." The sound of the doorbell interrupted him. "—surprise guests..." He looked out into the hallway to check if there were indeed people at the front door.
"If it wasn't for the insults, I thought you were being romantic," the Frenchman referred back to their previous conversation.
"Yes well try again later," Arthur responded without missing a beat as he headed to the front door.
The Brit found Gilbert and Elizabeta waiting at their doorstep, holding a basket with balloons attached to them and their twin boys respectively. "Open the door, bushy brows!" Gilbert tapped on the door with his knuckles. "This basket is heavy and we want to see the little tykes!"
In no time, Arthur reached the door and opened it as quietly as possible. "What are—"
Gilbert allowed himself in, handing the basket to a surprised Arthur. "About time, Brows! I thought I was gonna pull something if I held it any longer!"
"Quit complaining, Gil," Elizabeta said, quickly stepping inside and greeting the Englishman with a swift nod. She held Feliciano on one hip and Lovino in the other. Little Feli gave a small wave to Arthur. His brother looked like he could care less. "The basket is lighter than our twins."
"Pfft yeah, I know that," the German man rolled his eyes at his wife. "But Brows took his sweet time opening the door."
It took Arthur a few seconds to get his bearings in the current situation before he started, "How did you two even find out—"
"Franny texted me and Toni," Gilbert cut-off with his trademark smirk. "Toni's probably gonna stop by later."
"Wonderful," Arthur muttered under his breath.
"So," the German clasped his hands together, stretched his arms and looked around, "where are the two new devils?"
"Sleeping," the Briton answered, placing the basket on the love seat next to the door. He eyed the contents nestled in it, making note of a couple of neatly folded onesies, a can of formula milk powder, bibs, and other miscellaneous things buried underneath the rest of the stuff.
"Oh good luck," Elizabeta commented with an almost sympathetic smile as Arthur turned to her. "Enjoy it while it lasts. It's the only free time you two will ever get in a while." She passed little Feliciano to her husband after the former fussed in her grip.
"Mhm,"Gilbert nodded, balancing the weight of the infant on his arm and hip. "I still get less than five hours every night. Welcome to parenthood, you poor sucker." That earned him a light punch from his wife. Arthur swore he saw Lovino frown for a fraction of a second at his father.
"Be nice," she admonished, standing next to her husband. "It's not that bad Arthur. Don't worry."
Gilbert laughed, "Kids. What can you do?" At that moment, little Feli reached for his father's silver hair and gave it sharp tug. "Ow ow ow! That's Vati's hair, Feli… That's—"
Lovino, who was just watching his brother, decided do the same thing.
"Ow! Uh, a little help Liz..!"
Elizabeta was too busy laughing at his predicament to do anything. Even Lovino cracked a rare smile as he continued to tug his father's hair. "You'll figure it out, Gil," she said between her bouts of laughter.
Arthur wanted to laugh but tried to maintain his composure. Apparently his efforts weren't enough as Gilbert took notice and quipped, "Don't think you're immune to this, Arty. Your twins will do the same thing. But they'll go for the eyebrows."
Arthur feigned offense. "Duly noted. But at least I have a few more months to prepare for that," he responded, gesturing to the nursery down the hall. "Francis is in there with the boys." The family followed his gaze and walked to the room with the Brit in tow. Just when they saw Francis, Elizabeta stopped in her tracks and tapped Gilbert's arm.
"We forgot about the stuffed animals," she said, handing him car keys.
"What am I? Your servant?" Gilbert gave her an incredulous look but took the keys anyway with his free hand.
"No. My husband," the Hungarian replied, kissing him on the cheek before entering the room. Arthur flashed the man a smug smirk as he started to head back outside.
"Save it Brows," Gilbert muttered, as he gave a wide-eyed Feliciano to Arthur before passing him with a less than enthused expression. The infant immediately presented Arthur with a toothy smile.
The Englishman, who held onto little Feli with slight discomfort, then followed Elizabeta and Lovino inside. He found her next to Francis, leaning over Matthew's crib railing. "Congratulations you two," she said softly, smiling at the sleeping infant. Lovino tried to take a look, only to become distracted with Francis's hair instead. "You'll be wrapped around their fingers in no time." Francis chuckled. Arthur wasn't sure how to respond. But that was probably true.
Act IV
Plus One More
Three years later
"Ya can't catch me, Matt!" Alfred hollered as he zoomed past Arthur, his superman cape flying into his father's face as he picked up toys scattered around the boys' room. The boy ran out of the room, waving a white stuffed polar bear above his head.
Matthew chased after his twin with determination. "Give Kumajuju back!"
"Boys! No running in the house!" The Englishman scolded, not bothering to give chase. He finished collecting all of the toys and placed them in a bin. "Honestly, why do I bother," he muttered. Frantic screaming from the boys followed right after.
Whenever it was their stuffed animals taken in their game of keep away, Arthur knew that there was no chance of stopping either them. He had to thank Gilbert and Elizabeta for that. Matthew immediately gravitated to the polar bear while Alfred was very fond of Sammy— the eagle plush, which the couple gave them.
A second later, there was a loud crash.
"He did it!" Both yelled.
"BOYS!"
Before he could get out of the room, Francis stopped him. He had the look that told the other to calm down as much as possible. "It's only the dining chairs."
"They broke the chairs?!" Arthur felt his cheeks redden with frustration.
"They only fell. Nothing is broken." The Frenchman had a gentle smile on his face. Why wasn't he angry? "Calme-toi, mon lapin." What's with the smile and him speaking French?...what does he want now?
Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. "You want something," he said accusingly.
"For you to be happy," Francis answered; the stupid smile was still on his face.
His husband snorted. "That is the worst response I've ever heard."
"I am serious."
"Francis," Arthur sighed. "What do you really want?" When it came to the boys, Francis always played the mediator. God knows how many times the twins got off the hook with his help, much to the Briton's chagrin. He's probably going to ask if the boys could—
"A daughter."
"Well tough lu—what?" Did he hear him correctly? Arthur blinked. His fury vanished instantly. It was replaced with confusion.
"A daughter," he repeated. Was he serious? "Alfred and Matthew are old enough to be big brothers. And we are not getting any younger."
The Englishman stared at Francis like he grew two heads. He paused for a moment. They did start talking about adopting once more...but that was months ago. Frankly, he thought nothing of it. "Francis—"
"Before you say no," the bearded man interrupted, "we can support one more and still have more than enough. All you need to do is say yes."
Arthur's answer was silence. He wasn't sure what to say. Admittedly, he did miss taking care of an infant. As much as he loved the twins, he much preferred it when they were just starting to crawl or say their first word. He wouldn't mind doing that one more time. Besides, he and Francis already raised twins out of their terrible twos. A daughter will be a nice change of pace.
"If I agree—"
"Bien," his husband interjected, his smile widening. "The boys seem happy about it and—"
"Wait," Arthur stopped him, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You already told them?"
"I asked if they would be happy with a little sister and—"
"I wanna be a big brother!" Alfred appeared down the hall and ran to his parents, tugging Matthew along. The quieter twin merely held onto his stuffed bear and didn't protest as he was being pulled. "Matt does too, right Matt?" He gave a nod.
Arthur threw a suspicious look at his husband before he knelt down to the twins. He mentally prepared himself to face their dreaded pleading looks. "Boys it's a big decision," he began, "will you two be okay with having a little sister and share all of your stuff?"
Alfred nodded with great enthusiasm. The Englishman turned to Matthew and received an equal response. "I want a little sister," Matthew added, tightening his grip on his bear. "We'll be nice. We promise."
With a sigh, Arthur relented. Elizabeta was right, he thought, the boys did have him wrapped around their fingers.
A few months later
"Yes mother," Arthur sighed, holding a baby carrier in one hand and his phone in the other. "We're bringing her home right now." Francis threw an amused look at the Englishman as he opened the house door. His mother-in-law was probably planning her trip to visit as soon as possible. It'll be quite interesting if his own parents showed up at the same time. After all, she is the first granddaughter.
"Mhm, the boys are very excited to see her and— bloody hell, I forgot to bring down her baby bag," Arthur stopped right before he walked into their home. "No mother, I was talking to myself...Francis, you can show her to the boys, I'll be back." He passed the carrier to Francis as he returned to their car to retrieve the forgotten item.
The Frenchman glanced at the bundle nestled in the carrier and was surprised to see wide deep brown eyes staring back at him. "I thought you were sleeping, mon chou. What are you doing awake?" The infant remained fixated on her new father's face, as the words were merely sounds to her. She’s definitely going to be papa’s girl. Francis smiled at his daughter and stepped inside. Immediately, he heard the patter of feet and soon enough, the twins barreled down the stairs to greet them.
"Is she here? Where is she? I wanna say hi!" Alfred asked in rapid succession. The boy looked like he was in a sugar rush and nearly bounced off the walls.
Meanwhile, Matthew tried to stand on his toes to peer into the carrier. He gave up a moment later and opted to tug at his father's coat. "What's her name?"
Francis patted Alfred's head in an effort to calm him down and said, "She is in the carrier and her name is Michelle." He brought the children to the living room, gently set down the carrier on the couch, and faced it towards the twins. Both of the boys' eyes grew as wide as saucers.
"She's so small!" Alfred said, awestruck. Both Michelle and Alfred locked eyes with each other. "I'm Alfred!"
Matthew took one more look at her in silence before he ran off. "Mathieu?" Francis was taken aback. That was not the reaction he expected from the boy. Arthur, holding the baby bag in one hand, appeared right after Matthew turned the corner and threw a puzzled look at his husband. All the Englishman received was a shrug.
"Where did he run off to?" Arthur questioned as he made his way to the children.
"I don't know," Francis responded with a frown. "He looked at her then ran." Perhaps he was still processing the new change. A new family member wasn't exactly something that one can get used to overnight. "I should check on him—"
Just then, the missing twin returned once again. This time, he had a stuffed sky blue fish in one hand and his favorite polar bear in another. He approached the carrier and presented the toys to Michelle. The baby chortled, seeming to know what her brother was doing.
Both parents exchanged surprised looks. "Lad," Arthur started, not quite sure what he was witnessing. He set down the bag next to the couch and placed a gentle hand Matthew’s shoulder. "Why did you run off?"
"I wanted to give her a friend like Kumajaro," he answered simply, turning to his father with a soft smile dusting his features. "So she can be happy like me with him and Alfred is with Sammy."
"Oh!" Alfred nodded with vigor towards his twin. "I gotta show her Sammy!" He gave Michelle the brightest smile and zoomed upstairs to retrieve his eagle plush.
As the twins introduced their toys and themselves to little Michelle, Francis slipped his hand next to Arthur's before grabbing it. He gave a light squeeze before beaming at their children. "And you said you didn't want kids," he whispered teasingly to his husband.
That was the fourth time Francis noticed Arthur's eyes glisten. The first was when he said yes to his proposal. The second was when they got married. The third time happened when he saw the twins for the first time. And now.
The Englishman elbowed him and snorted, "Shut up, Bonnefoy."
Naturally, he didn't.
Fin.
Here’s a couple of translations:
Mon cher- my dear
S'il te plâit- please
J'ai besoin de la chambre, mon cœur- I need the room, my heart
