You guys requested, so I did the thing.

Bonnefoy-Williams

GarryxMrChairFan

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A/N: Companion piece to my USUK mini-series Mr. Jones. I was asked for Franada, so I did the Franada.

Jeanne-Marie - Monaco

"Jeanne" is, of course, Jeanne d'Arc.

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The pleasant beep of the timer on his stove sounded as Francis set the last of the utensils on the table, making sure the silverware was shining brilliantly and the plates were sparkling before wiping his hands on his apron and dashing back into the kitchen, humming softly. He had just bent down to retrieve the finished dish in the oven when the doorbell sounded, and he could hear his daughter's footsteps as she raced to answer.

"They're here, papa!" Jeanne-Marie's voice carried through from the foyer, calm and quiet like her mother's, and Francis smiled as he set the hot dish down on the stove.

"I'll be right there, chère!" He quickly removed the apron, setting aside on the counter out of the way as he walked back to the front of the house, grinning suggestively as he caught sight of the bright smile on Matthew's face as he hung up his coat, turning into Francis' embrace and allowing himself to be kissed deeply.

"Bonsoir, Francis," he murmured softly, and Francis couldn't help but pat his cheek lovingly. "It smells really good in here."

"Merci, chou. That is dinner." Francis then turned to the twin helping Jeanne-Marie into her coat, and he smiled gently. "Thank you both for taking her tonight, Alfred. I could tell our rosbif was simply thrilled with babysitting duty." His grin turned to a smirk.

Alfred just laughed, straightening and taking the young girl's hand. "It's no problem, man. He knows he owes you, like, at least a year's worth of babysitting nights. Especially for the honeymoon."

Matthew snickered and Francis sighed dramatically. "Really, though. You could have at least warned us you'd be staying an extra week!" He narrowed his eyes at his best friend's husband, who was smiling sheepishly. "That was expensive, you realize."

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and Francis shook his head fondly. "Thanks, though. You guys are seriously the best, so this little princess and I will be out of your long, stupidly luscious hair tonight so you guys can enjoy yourselves."

Francis did not miss the look his lover's twin sent him as he led Jeanne-Marie out to his car, Matthew calling his goodbyes as Francis blew kisses to his daughter. "You're just jealous of my hair!" he called happily, and watched as they left before turning to the Canadian still standing next to him. He leant up on his toes to press another kiss to the tall teacher, searching out his hands and tugging on them to pull Matthew into his home. "Come, chou. We don't want the food to get cold."

Matthew chuckled, allowing himself to be pulled along behind Francis and into the warmth of his house, inhaling once again the savory aroma of whatever it was that the Frenchman had decided to make them for their dinner. It really did smell heavenly, and Matthew was smug about the fact that he'd managed to basically nab the best cook in the entire world as a boyfriend.

Perhaps there was a perk to this "dating your student's dad" thing, after all.

Matthew soon found himself in the small dining room, Francis seating him with the flair of a professional maître d' as he headed off to get the food and wine (because there was never a night that they didn't have wine, though Matthew couldn't complain; it was high quality) and he took to gazing around, a small grin on his lips.

His lover had really gone all out for their date: Matthew was sure the tablecloth was real lace over the cotton, a crisp white that he felt he needed to be careful with lest the Stains of Hell decided to ruin his life sometime during the dinner. There was a cluster of small candles as the centerpiece, lit and giving off a sweet scent that bordered on cinnamon mixed with vanilla, and the glow set a peaceful, intimate atmosphere as the Frenchman turned the lights down when he reentered carrying a dish.

Matthew smiled up at him, watching as the wonderful smelling delicacy was set down on the hotplate next to the candles and the bottle of wine was brought out, Francis uncorking it and pouring them each half of the wine glass in front of their seats. "This looks stunning, Francis," he commented quietly, letting his lover serve them a portion of the food. "You've really outdone yourself this time."

Francis chuckled, seating himself across from Matthew and gazing with a small smirk at his young teacher. "Merci, chère, but it was nothing. You deserve nothing less than the best." He inclined his head and glass as he took a sip of wine. "I do hope you enjoy it."

It was a lovely meal, Matthew had to admit, though that was customary of all of Francis' cooking. They chatted fondly and lightly as they ate, the food simply melting in his mouth with each bite, the wine washing it down smoothly, and Matthew was content to stay in his seat forever if it meant yet another fantastic year with his lover.

These last two years had been amazing, and he wouldn't change it for the world.

He laughed as he finished his food, sitting back in his chair as he set his fork down on his empty plate, bringing his wine to his lips to sip. "Oh, come on! You can't tell me you're still hung up on that."

Francis harrumphed indignantly, but Matthew could see the bright twinkling in his eyes, happy and content. "Bah! He cheated, is what he did, chère."

"He was six, Francis." Matthew gave him a look, shaking his head. "And it's not like we didn't know it was going to happen soon, anyway. You could practically see the tension in the air whenever they were in the same room."

"This is true," Francis allowed, sipping his wine. "I just honestly hadn't thought it'd be that soon. But I suppose it all worked out just the same, oui?"

"Oui," Matthew agreed. "And I suppose it also gave us the right kick, too, hm?" He grinned and laughed when his lover only rolled his eyes.

"Mm, but we would have gotten around to it eventually, if they hadn't." He trained a devilishly suggest look at Matthew, who blushed and smiled back. "I'm just sorry I hadn't asked the day I met you."

Matthew tilted his head in thought, gazing at the flickering flames of the candles. "The day we met," he sighed, his lips tilting up at the corners. "That was a day, hm?"

Francis nodded. "Indeed it was, chère." He was silent a moment before he shook his head and set his glass down. "It seems like it was but yesterday when I walked Jeanne-Marie into your class for the first day of school."

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Francis gripped his daughter's hand tighter as he turned from Arthur and Peter, calling his parting words to meet Arthur after dropping Jeanne-Marie at her class over his shoulder as she led him down the hallway, searching for her class. She stopped outside a door with the name "Mr. Williams" taped in colorful letters to the door and looked up to him.

"They said I had Mr. Williams, didn't they?"

Searching his memory briefly, Francis nodded. "Oui, chère, I believe they did. It sounds familiar." He glanced into the room, seeing kids talking in bunches at desks, introducing themselves and greeting those they remembered from classes of the previous year. He did not see anyone at the teacher's desk yet and assumed that the teacher was still not present. "Do you want me to wait here for your teacher, or will you be alright?"

She turned her head, looking in at her future classmates with an upturned nose, and Francis had to smile at her distaste of mingling with people she didn't know. The distaste notwithstanding, she looked so much like her mother when she did that; he felt his heart clench in sadness.

"Oh. Can I help you?"

Both Francis and his daughter turned at the soft, calm voice, and Francis had to pause and take in the absolutely adorable young man now standing with them. Blond hair fell around his face in loose waves, a lone, looping curl falling in front of big, wide indigo eyes behind a set of circular glasses frames, a small, timid smile on his pale face. He was a good few inches taller than Francis, and he couldn't help but let his eyes pointedly roam over the rest of the young man, a smirk curling his lips.

"Well, well. I didn't know they were hiring models to be teachers," he said, watching a lovely blush fill the man's face. "It's almost scandalous, non?"

Sputtering adorably, the young man shifted on his feet uncomfortably, but Francis could see the small smile on his lips and the humor in his eyes. "It probably would be if I were a model," he replied with a shrug. "But I'm just the new second grade teacher."

"You certainly had me fooled, chère." Francis winked and was delighted when the young man chuckled and bit his lip. "Francis Bonnefoy." He held out a hand and gestured to his daughter with the other, her smile small as she waved timidly. "C'est ma fille, Jeanne-Marie."

The young teacher shook it, his grip firm and sure as he smiled between them. "Matthew Williams. C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer."

Francis put a hand to his heart, feeling it beat faster as he grinned up at Matthew. "Vous parlez français? C'est parfait! No one understands anymore what a gift that is, chère!"

The teacher nodded as he chuckled again. "Oui. I lived a few years in Québec when my parents split, so I suppose I had to, but I've always loved the language."

Francis nearly swooned. "Vous êtes parfait, chère! Can I take you home?"

The words just slipped, as natural as breathing, and Francis found himself staring in horror. This was his daughter's teacher! He couldn't do that! "Je suis désolé; I did not mean—"

Matthew just laughed, waving his hand though his cheeks were very red once again. "Please, it's fine. You're hardly the first." His eyes twinkled playfully, and Francis felt a sigh of relief that he hadn't offended the cute teacher escape. "Besides, I'd take you up on it, but I have class to teach."

Francis looked over, glancing in on the kids still milling about and chatting, seeing that his daughter had also decided that her idiot father could be left alone for a minute or two and was conversing pleasantly with a boy, seemingly deep in discussion over something. "Oh, of course! I apologize for taking up your time." He looked at his watch, grimacing back up at Matthew. "I need to be going as well. Work calls in her sweetly sick tones."

Matthew nodded in understanding. "Have a nice day, Monsieur Bonnefoy. I look forward to having Jeanne-Marie in class."

With another wave and a nod, Francis winked one more time and walked off, feeling his chest lighten and his heart flutter pleasantly. He hadn't felt this content since Jeanne had passed, bless her, and he sent a silent thank you up to her for guiding him to someone like Matthew.

He knew she would be proud.

His smile remained as he reached the class that Arthur had gone into, standing at the door and observing the smaller children as he sought out his long-time friend, and his eyes stopped at the blond man standing next to the Englishman. His eyebrow quirked, his smile turning to a slight smirk.

"I hadn't realize there were two of them."

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"You know, I actually wasn't sure what to do," Matthew commented, finishing off his glass and setting it aside. "I'm not usually that flirtatious on the first meeting." He smiled serenely, pleased with himself.

Francis chuckled. "I was worried I'd crossed a line, which was unusual at the time." He gave his lover a look, waggling his eyebrows. "But I hadn't actually meant for that to come out that way. I like to think I'm more professional than that."

Matthew quirked an eyebrow, tossing his head to remove his curl from his line of vision.

"Oh, be quiet," Francis admonished, his lips turned up. "I was very professional when I asked you out, was I not?"

Matthew shook his head as he refilled his wine, sipping slowly with a smile. "If by 'professional' you mean 'you squealed like a little girl when I asked you out to dinner'."

His lover put a hand over his heart, looking scandalized and indignant. "Mathieu! A romantic such as myself would never squeal!" He huffed, his eyes twinkling. "It was obviously an exclamation of my excitement and surprise."

"Right." Matthew was having trouble keeping his laughter in. "Like I said, 'squealed'."

"Bah!" Francis turned away, waving his hand. "Details."

Chuckling, Matthew reached for his hand, smiling as their fingers twisted together. "We still owe it to Jeanne-Marie. Without her, I'd've never found the courage to ask."

"Hm," Francis intoned. "Children are wonderful things, non?"

"They are, really," Matthew agreed.

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Matthew hummed as he gathered his lesson plans, shuffling them together and putting them away in his bag at the end of the day. Only a few of his students remained in the room, waiting quietly for their parents or guardians to come pick them up. He smiled at the little blonde girl sitting primly in her seat, doodling on a sheet of paper, her braid falling over her shoulder. Setting his things down on his desk, he walked over.

"Bonjour, Jeanne-Marie. Ça va?"

"Oui," she replied, looking up with a small smile. "Et vous?"

"Oui." He glanced over her shoulder, looking over the graceful lines of the illustration on the page. She was very talented, with an eye for detail, and he leant closer to examine the figures sketched in pencil lead. "You're very gifted, Jeanne. Who do you have here?"

She'd turned the paper width-ways, and Matthew could tell for sure there were at least three people situated in the landscape of rolling hills. Trees hovered at the edges, the sun shining brilliantly above where the figures were spread out on what looked like a blanket.

Matthew followed the slim, small finger as Jeanne-Marie pointed. "This is my happiness," she replied softly. "Me, here." Her finger moved to the shortest figure, and he could see her braid swaying with an unseen breeze, her smile wide as she laughed, tucked securely next to one of the other figures.

Her finger trailed to the one she was leaning against. "This is papa."

Matthew felt his heart skip a beat at the carefree expression on the Frenchman's face, utter joy and relaxation in his posture as he held his daughter with one arm and held the hand of the third figure with the other. The teacher's eyes trailed to the third figure, squinting to make out the fine details as Jeanne-Marie's finger moved to it.

"And this is you."

His eyes widened as he saw it, his own small smile soft and tender as he gazed at the two others with him. "Me?"

Jeanne-Marie nodded, delicately tracing her finger over the paper. "Papa's been so sad since maman passed away," she murmured quietly, her finger absently tracing the sun in the background, and Matthew could see the faint outline of a smiling woman, as if she were watching over them. "He doesn't smile much anymore, and when he does, it doesn't reach his eyes."

Matthew felt his chest clench for the poor girl and her father. He really liked Francis— probably more than he should, but if Alfred could have Arthur, he couldn't see the problem with his little crush— and it was heartbreaking to see such a beautiful man so lost and alone save his daughter, the only part of his late wife left to him.

"And then he met you," she continued, and Matthew blinked.

"Me?" he asked again, voice softer than normal.

She nodded, her mouth upturned at the corners. "His eyes light up when he sees you, and he laughs more than he has in almost four years." She turned her piercing gaze on him, her glasses glinting in the light of the window, smiling at him, and he returned it. "You're good for him. I can tell. Maman would approve."

Turning back to the paper, he watched as Jeanne-Marie scribbled a couple of swirls in the corner of the drawing— a signature— and handed it to him. "For you, Mr. Williams. For luck."

Matthew took it gingerly, smiling as he looked at it again. "Merci, Jeanne. For everything." He stood, heading back to his desk and tucking the drawing safely away in his things, glancing up to see the remaining students had dwindled to him and her in that time. He had just packed his finished grading away when the object of his affections swept into the room, smiling at his daughter before turning an apologetic look his way.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, chère." He rolled his eyes, tossing his loosely tied back hair. "I daresay I work with nothing but a bunch of imbéciles."

"It's okay, papa." Jeanne-Marie hopped up from her seat, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, walking over to her father. "I like spending time with Mr. Williams. He's nice."

Francis turned to him, a warm smile on his face as he embraced his daughter. "And I thank him for looking after you."

Matthew shook his head, walking around to the front of his desk. "It's not a problem, Monsieur Bonnefoy. She's a pleasure to talk with. Much more interesting than Al's stories about Arthur." He laughed.

"I would hope so," Francis agreed, smiling down at her before looking back up. "Thank you again, chère. I shouldn't be so late tomorrow, but I really do owe you for looking after her."

Matthew glanced down at Jeanne-Marie, seeing her giving him a Look, and he wasn't sure if it were the glint in her eyes, or if it were a push from beyond, but he smiled up at the Frenchman, looking up from under his lashes, and feeling the blush on his cheeks at what he was about to do.

"Well, if you insist," he said, "I've always been a fan of that little place down on Thirty-Sixth and Main. Does seven this Saturday work for you?"

It was so totally a squeal.

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"Hm, she's always been smart," Francis mused, sipping his waning glass as he gazed at the candles, still flickering happily in the center of the table. "Like her mother."

Matthew grinned, squeezing the hand in his. "Peter was obviously influenced," he commented, chuckling. "I think they were in league against all of us."

Francis hummed in agreement, a smile on his lips. "It is interesting that they managed to get us all together, especially at such young ages! I've been a magnifique influence, don't you think?"

Matthew laughed, nodding. "I'd think Arthur would have a few words about what type of 'influence' you've been, but then he's got Alfred now, so." He smirked.

"This is true, chère. And they are happy." Francis set his glass down, shifting forward to place a kiss to his lover's lips, tasting the remnants of wine and the meal. "As are we. We have them to thank for everything."

"We do." Matthew returned the kiss with equal fervor and passion, smiling against his lover's lips as his face was cupped gently. His heart was pounding in his ears as the kiss became more intense, going from sweet and chaste to deep and a bit more R-rated, and Matthew finally had to push away to suck in air, a laugh leaving him as he nuzzled forward against Francis' cheek.

"Je t'aime," he murmured softly, gazing into sea blue eyes.

Francis smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his young teacher's temple as he slid forward, kneeling in front of Matthew. "Je t'aime aussi, mon amour. I do not know how I could possibly be so lucky, but I wouldn't trade it for the world." His smile remained as he reached into his trouser pocket, keeping his eyes on the beautiful indigo irises of his lover, shining with dawning realization and forming tears.

Holding up his hand, Francis presented the slim, silver band to his lover, the cool metal glinting in the dim light of the dwindling candlelight. "Veux-tu m'épouser?"

Feeling the tears run down his face, Matthew nodded, unable to speak through the thickness in this throat as he allowed his fiancé to slide the band onto his long, slender finger. He laughed, the sound light and joyous, leaning forward to press their lips together again and again.

"Jeanne-Marie was right," Francis murmured against his lips as they broke apart, cupping his Matthew's face in his hands. "You are the best thing that has happened to me in years."

Matthew pressed another kiss to his fiancé's lips, smiling sweetly. "And I hope to continue being just that for as long as you need me."

"I'll always need you, Mathieu." Francis smiled back, his lips curling up farther after a moment into a smirk, and he leant back to look over his young lover. "Mathieu Bonnefoy. That's got a nice ring to it, hm?"

Matthew snorted. "Maybe you'll be Francis Williams—" He cut off, shaking his head. "No. Absolutely not."

They were quiet a minute, before smiling at each other at the same time. Matthew rolled his eyes. "They really are an influence on us, aren't they?"

"Unfortunately," Francis agreed, but his smile was loving and his eyes sparkled as he kissed Matthew once more. "But I like it."

"Me too." Matthew gazed down at his ring, a thoughtful look on his face. "Let's get them inscribed. You think we can make it fit?"

Francis grabbed his hand, bringing it up to his mouth and placing a kiss on the ring. "For you, chère, anything you want."

Matthew chuckled, bringing Francis' face up to his and catching his lips, deciding that any other thoughts and responsibilities— like the dishes— could wait. For now, he just wanted to spend time with the man in front of him, basking in the happy, absolutely unbridled joy he was feeling inside.

He wasn't quite looking forward to the smug looks he just knew he was going to get from Alfred— who he was sure had something to do with this— but he was too excited to care much at the moment.

Bonnefoy-Williams. Maybe having a compound last name wasn't such a bad thing after all.

END

Translations:

"C'est ma fille, Jeanne-Marie." - "This is my daughter, Jeanne-Marie."

"C'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer." - "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Vous parlez français? C'est parfait!" - "You speak French? That's perfect!"

"Vous êtes parfait, chère!" - "You're perfect, dear!"

"Veux-tu m'épouser?" - "Will you marry me?"

These are all fairly accurate, as far as I'm aware, with the exception of the last; I'm not sure if the French ask for your hand in marriage the same way we Americans do, so if there's another way that's more common than a "direct translation" (for any of it, actually), let me know. I am unfamiliar with colloquial French, despite four years of classes learning the language.

Timeline Note: As stated, Francis and Matthew got together roughly a week and a half after Alfred and Arthur, who got together approximately late October/early November of Peter's kindergarten (Jeanne-Marie's second grade) year. Alfred and Arthur dated until the first couple of weeks into Peter's first grade year when Alfred proposed - Francis and Matthew celebrating a year together at the appropriate time - and then were married sometime the following mid-March/early April.

This fic was Francis' and Matthew's two-year anniversary (and as you know, they are now engaged).