Take Me Away

Synopsis: Matthew lives in a warzone between his biological father, Francis, and his stepfather, Arthur. One day things change when Matthew meets Alfred, the son of an American billionaire. The two run away together and travel the globe to escape it all.

A/N: While the title is based on Fefe Dobson's song "Take Me Away" the actual story itself is slightly based on B.O.B's single "So Good". It's not a song fic though…these songs just helped inspire the writing behind it.

A/N2: I don't know how long this story will be…it has a loose plot so…Also, it's rated M for a reason…you'll see why somewhere down the line.

A/N3: I don't know anything about lacrosse. Not many Canadians do…which is kind of a shame since it's one of the many sports we invented. It is, in fact, our national summer sport (hockey is our national winter sport).

The main over all pairing is USCan, but there will be others showing up. The other immediate pairing (for now) is FrUk. I'll let you know when another one surfaces.

Crash!

Matthew cringed upstairs in his room as he heard the sound of some type of dishware being thrown against the wall. He was sure it was probably his stepfather Arthur who had done it since his biological father, Francis, would never think to break a wine glass or plate. Not only would there be one less plate or glass for his precious food and wine, but there'd also be a horrible mess to clean up.

He sat for several minutes trying to drown out the aggravated shouts of his father and stepfather with loud music tucked away in his giant faux-leather rimmed headphones but when a second loud crash was heard over the classic rock band he was listening to he turned his iPod off and dashed downstairs to make sure neither of them were hurt.

It was the same old, same old for Matthew. Days, even months at a time, would go by and things would be fine. Francis would chat pleasantly with Arthur about his cooking class at the local college and Arthur would share the office gossip of his small financial company with Francis. The two would laugh and discuss things over a glass of alcohol – Francis favouring a nice glass of Chardonnay, while Arthur preferred a pint of beer. However, when things got ugly, they were seriously ugly. And dangerous. Matthew was surprised no one had called the police or children's aid on them yet. The two adults would shout verbal abuse at each other, calling each other horrible names, they'd throw punches at each other and slap each other, they'd threaten divorce or police intervention, and sometimes Arthur was bold enough to threaten to take Matthew away – something which when Matthew was younger would really set his father off. The threat was no longer useful however, as Matthew was now an adult himself; freshly 19.

Reaching the bottom step of the classic 1930's brick "downtown" style home Matthew turn on his heel on the wooden floored hallway, which was quite narrow, and headed away from the front door towards the kitchen at the back of the house. This is where all the noise was coming from.

Entering the room he saw two shattered wine glasses at the base of the far wall, adjacent to the backdoor. Yup, he thought to himself, definitely Arthur. He looked to the other side of the room past the light brown, circular wooden table to where Francis was pointing an angry finger at Arthur yelling at the Brit for smashing his two favourite wine glasses.

"You're going to buy new ones for me! And you'd better make sure I like them!" Francis screamed in his thick French accent.

"I'm not buying you a bloody thing!" The Englishman charged back, his voice swirling.

Matthew sighed internally. He's drunk; no, they're both drunk. That was usually when it got bad. If the two were fighting as sober men it tended to resolve itself with them turning their backs to each other and shouting things as they walked away. When they were drunk however, it was a never ending battle where they fought to have the last (and most threatening) word. When they were drunk, backing down was not an option. It was what Matthew hated about both of them the most. They had egos the size of the universe – an ego that wouldn't let logic through when it was needed the most.

Matthew hoped his intervention would loosen things up – sometimes it did, sometimes it made things worse and sometimes they ignored him or turned their fury on him. "Dad? Is everything ok?"

Both Francis and Arthur looked over at the blonde haired young man and blinked. The room fell into a momentary silence. But just as suddenly as it went quiet, the arguments just as quickly came back…

"Everything is fine, Matthew. Go back upstairs." Arthur instructed him.

"Everything is NOT fine! You broke my wine glasses!" Francis hissed, "And don't talk to my son!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Oh for God's sake…"

This time around Matthew seemed to have made things worse as he was now being used as an indirect pawn in their fight. The two older men clashed with each other over "ownership" issues regarding Matthew and Francis continued to whine about his glasses, "First you destroy my invaluable wine glasses, now you're trying to steal MY son!"

"Seriously guys!" Matthew attempted to raise his own voice so he could be heard, "Enough! Stop! If you can't get along right now just don't talk to each other!"

To Matthew it was simple. If you were having a rough time with someone, avoid contact and let the situation simmer down. To Matthew a stupid fight over a couple of wine glasses wasn't worth nearly twelve years of partnership. To him it was so logical; why couldn't Francis and Arthur see that?

"Matthew, go away!" Arthur shooed him out of the kitchen, "This is none of your business."

"No!" Francis fought back, "I want a witness to everything you're doing! Mathieu, stay there, I want a witness when I call the police."

Matthew's pleads for his papa not to do that were drowned out by Arthur bellowing out a laugh, "Oh, you're going to call the police are you?"

"Oui! Yes, I am."

"Non père," Matthew frowned, "you don't need to do that. You just need to go somewhere else…"

"Why should I go somewhere else?" Francis snapped at his son.

"No, I didn't mean it like that…" Matthew voice was starting to shake under pressure.

"See, even Matthew doesn't want you around," Arthur jabbed.

"That's not what I was trying to say…" Matthew tried to clarify himself but was continually ignored by the two in favour of attacking each other with cheap shots.

"Come along then Matthew," Arthur staggered away from the kitchen counter past the fridge, "We'll go live without Francis."

"No you're not!" Francis grabbed Arthur's wrist as he walked away.

"Take your hands off me!" Arthur broke free of the grip and pushed the Frenchman back towards the sink.

Oh no. This was always Matthew's most hated part – the physical violence. There was only one option at this time and that was to get between them. It meant Matthew might have to take some hits himself (as they attempted to reach across him to hit each other) but at least it would keep them divided.

On this particular occasion Matthew decided that he'd take a different path – one that had been more successful in the past. He still managed to wedge himself between his father and stepfather but instead of taking hits from them he grabbed the cellphone out of Francis's hand and dashed to the living room with it.

"Mathieu!" Francis called after him, "Where are you going with my phone!"

The confusion seemed to have killed the tension between the two arguing adults long enough for Matthew to rapidly dial the number of his Uncle Bruce. Bruce, a proud Scotsman, was Arthur's older brother and had been the one who had introduced Matthew's father to Arthur. Bruce and Francis were good friends whose relationship spanned more than two decades. If anyone could break up this fight, it was him. Francis respected the man, and Arthur (more or less) feared him.

"'Ello?" A deep voice came from the other end.

"Uncle Bruce?" Matthew squeaked out.

"Mattie? Is that you, lad?" Mattie was the nickname his uncle had used for him since his birth.

"Yeah, it's me…" Matthew's voice gave away his trouble.

"What's wrong? Why do you sound so distressed?" Before Matthew could respond, the Scotsman figured it all out, "They're at it again, aren't they?"

Holding back tears of relief, joy, pain, sorrow and every other emotion mixed up inside him Matthew nodded. His uncle didn't have to see the head movement to know it was being made, Matthew's silence alone was telling.

"Aye, I'll be there soon."

)()()()()(

Matthew was careful to watch his step as he climbed down the stairs that were imbedded into the grassy hillside. His large duffle bag filled with his lacrosse gear was blocking his view as he made his way down towards the field. He was glad the final round of tryouts was being held here instead of at the stadium; the air always felt cleaner by the river that ran through the city.

The blue eyed Canadian tossed his bag at the bottom of the slope and walked over to the coach to sign in. Before he could get there his coach saw him and nodded. The burly man called to him to get his equipment out and find a partner to toss a ball with.

Matthew headed back to his bag and proceeded to pull out his long lacrosse stick and a white sphere similar to the size of a tennis ball. Scrounging around in his bag for some gripping gloves he found a small, slightly ruffled picture of he and his two dads. He stared at it momentarily before letting the image fall to the back of his mind and zipping up his bag.

It had been a week and a half since the large brawl out between Arthur and Francis. In ten minutes flat Uncle Bruce had arrived at the house and was working to settle the two aggressors down. After what, to Matthew, felt like forever the tall Scotsman managed to separate the English and Frenchman and eventually removed Arthur from the home after he attempted a swipe at his own brother. It wasn't until the following evening that the Brit returned home, but even than all was silent in the household. Finally two days later Francis and Arthur began speaking to each other again and, as usual, it was over something small and silly.

"Would you pass me a mug?" Arthur said one morning, reading the paper.

"Uh, yeah…sure," Francis, standing by the cupboards turned and grabbed a mug, "Do you want me to pour some coffee in it?"

"Yes," Arthur responded not looking up from the article he was reading about the European Union's burden of tackling Greece's national debt, "Please."

And that was how they started talking to each other again.

"Hey Matthew!" One of his friends from the university he was attending waved, "Come over here. You, me and Greg can pass the ball to each other!"

"Yeah! Sure!" Matthew waved back and ran over.

After practicing for a few minutes the coach blew the whistle and called the boys in. It was time to get serious. The city had a reputation for having a strong lacrosse team and the coach was determined to pick the best in order to become the first coach in the Canadian Amateur Lacrosse Association's history to three-peat as champion. When, four years ago, the city lost in the semi-finals they called on Coach Birmingham to fix the team up and since then the city went on to win two finals in a row. Matthew had been a part of last year's winning team. He proudly displayed his trophy on his dresser in his room along with a detailed article cropped from the local newspaper.

"Okay boys," The coach spoke loudly in a booming voice, "Lots of good news and bad news this year. The bad news is that only three cities across this country have ever repeated a championship three years in a row. The good news is that our city is one of them. If we're going to win again we need the best of the best talent. Hope you boys like working up a sweat, because today is going to be tough!"

The group of remaining tryout kids were split into two teams. Matthew was fortunate enough to be on a team with his two university mates, Greg and Nathan.

Greg was the tallest of the group and only knew Matthew through association with Nathan. He was tanned and lean, but the muscles on him were still clearly visible. Matthew thought he looked more like a basketball player than a lacrosse star. His brown hair was cut short and was gelled up in the front. Like Matthew and Nathan he was wearing the appropriate t-shirt (white) and knee length shorts (black).

Nathan had had a few classes and tutorials with Matthew over the past year. Nathan had also tried out for the hockey team, but failed to make the cut. He was more of a summer sports person anyway, he argued, shrugging the whole thing off. Matthew liked Nathan because he was a calm and quiet person, but still fun to be around. Matthew both respected and agreed with his very liberal ideas. Nathan came to the try outs in a blue t-shirt with a darker blue logo on it and dark blue shorts. He normally wore a chain around his neck, which Matthew could only assume he'd taken off for practice. His messy chestnut brown, bordering black hair was hidden underneath his orange helmet – a mandatory piece of equipment.

Before coming to practice Matthew had opted to wear his lucky red Team Canada t-shirt, the same one he'd worn the day his hockey team won their championship a few months back. Like Greg, he was wearing black shorts, but he had a red stripe running down either side of the outer leg.

The nets, styled similar to soccer nets only they were much smaller and the mesh was pulled back into a triangular shape, were set up quickly as the whistle was blown. The coach tossed the ball in the air and two teams official began their challenge.

Matthew was the third one to nab the ball. Running a good 30 yards from the centre he reached the net of the opponents team, who, to be properly identified were wearing orange sashes around their waists. Seeing two larger boys about to tackle him he threw the ball over to Greg who had caught up to him. Greg proceeded to pass the ball to another teammate before it reached Nathan who had finally caught up in the rear. By now Matthew had managed to get back up and had a direct position in front of, though facing away from, the net. Nathan wasted no time passing the ball to him. Believing he didn't have time to pivot around Matthew wiped the ball between his legs hoping for the best.

Success! The ball went in and the non-striped team rejoiced, huddling together in a tight embrace. Every goal their group got meant one step closer to being on the official team.

Gathering back at the centre of the field the process started all over again. By the end of the game Matthew had scored a hat trick and two assists. It was more than clear that last year's overtime goal scorer would be on the team again this year.

)()()()()(

"Congratulations Matt," Nathan patted the blonde on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Matthew frowned, "It's just too bad you were cut. I could've sworn you'd make it. You had a lot of great passes."

Nathan shrugged, "Well if it's any consolation, if anyone gets injured I'm next in line to take their place."

The young man's positive attitude made Matthew feel better. At least someone was seeing the upside.

"Well anyway," Nathan added on, "Greg and I are going to grab a slice of pizza. A kind of celebration for him making the roster and me being on the back-up list. Wanna come?"

Matthew thought about it for a second before deciding to decline, "Nah, I think I'm going to head home."

"Well, alright than. Hope to see you over the summer." Nathan gave a quick wave over his shoulder as he walked with Greg down the sidewalk at the top of the grassy hill.

Matthew turned and walked in the other direction, ignoring the sound of the cars on the road beside him. On the other side of the street people were busy running back and forth between stores located at the bottom of tall buildings. Matthew examined them for a moment wondering what was in the upper level of the structures. Apartments? Offices maybe? Realizing it didn't matter he headed for home.

"Oh hey, it's you."

Matthew continued walking, drowning the sound of chatting people out.

"Dude, I'm talking to you."

Strolling along the Canadian thought of taking his iPod out and placing the accompanying tiny white buds in his ears. He was longing to listen to music but his ears were still slightly ringing from all the effort he had put into today's tryout practice.

"Are you seriously going to ignore me? That's kind of rude you know."

Matthew was startled by a hand on his shoulder. Whipping himself around he came face to face with another blonde. The Canadian had a signature curl that liked to creep out of his hair, but this blonde had an ahoge poking out at the top. The out of place hair made Matthew want to laugh, but knowing it would be impolite opted not to.

"I'm sorry…" Was all Matthew could think to say as he stared into similar blue eyes.

The young man shrugged, "Nah, that's okay. There are a lot of people on the street. I guess you just didn't know I was calling for you."

Matthew smiled no longer feeling so guilty, "I'm sorry if I sound ill-mannered but…why were you calling me? I mean, I don't think we've met before."

The other blonde laughed heartily, "No, we haven't! Sorry! I saw you playing lacrosse back there and thought you were really good; just wanted to tell you that. Where I come from great athletes are very highly prized."

"I see…" Matthew went blank for a moment. Suddenly a question popped into his head, "If you don't mind me asking, where are you from? You don't sound like you live here."

The young man laughed again, "Nope, you're right. I'm not from here. I'm from the States. New York to be exact…well…most of the time…sometimes we're from Florida and sometimes California."

"We're?"

"Oh right," The American bonked himself lightly on the head, "My dad and I. He's here for a business convention and since he wants me to learn the trade he dragged me up here with him. It's kind of boring, really."

"So your dad owns a business?" Matthew couldn't comprehend why he was wasting time talking to this kid, but he didn't want to be impolite and just leave.

"Yeah, a tech company. You know, computers and stuff. Just…lots of technology."

"Oh," Matthew nodded, "So you're part of that infamous 1% Americans are going on about."

The young man frowned, looking a little disheartened by the comment.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to insult you." Matthew added his own frown.

"No, that's okay," He responded, readjusting his square-shaped glasses.

"Well…I'd better get going…" The blonde Canadian looked at his watch, "It's almost dinnertime and my parents are expecting me."

"This may sound like an awkward question but," The American rubbed the back of his neck, "do you mind if I walk with you?"

"What about your dad?" Matthew pondered aloud, "Won't he worry?"

"Yeah, you see…about that," The young man rolled his eyes around thinking of the right thing to say, "Let's just say the two of us aren't on the best of terms right now. And like I said, I'm seriously bored of this business stuff."

"Well," Matthew thought about it. He didn't see the harm; it was just one walk, "Sure."

As the two carried on down the street together Matthew had the sudden urge to ask another question. It seemed so simple at the time but asking for this one piece of basic information would spark a new, unshakeable, relationship.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Alfred. Alfred F. Jones."

Please read (well I think you've already done that part if you've gotten this far) and review. It means A LOT to authors like myself. It gives us a good idea of what's likeable about our story and things we need to do to improve. If the impression is sent that no one is reading the story, or that no one likes the story it could potentially be dropped. We wouldn't want that to happen right? So if you ever read a story you like, take minute to review it. Sometimes a one line sentence can make all the difference.