Just a cute little story that I wanted to write. I love France and Canada, but as father and son, not as lovers. I know that Matthew comes across slightly younger than seven but that was on purpose. Also, I don't speak French so if any of its wrong please say so, so that I may fix it. Otherwise enjoy.

Matthew Williams was a bright seven year old child. Though he was often forgotten by his teachers and peers he was happy. He had his wonderful Papa who never forgot him. However, he felt something missing in his life, something he knew should be there and just wasn't. He was missing a mama.

Matthew didn't realize there was a hole in his family picture until one day when he was at his friend Alfred's house. Alfred had a beautiful British mama named Alice. The two boys had known each other since pre-school and though their parents didn't seem to get along they were as close as brothers. Due to their strong bond Matthew felt no shame in asking Alfred,

"Alfred, why don't you have a Papa?"

Alfred, who was hanging upside down on a tree branch answered,

"I dunno, why don't you have a mama?"

Matthew shrugged and pulled his stuffed polar bear closer to himself. They boys had played for the rest of the afternoon, enjoying high seas adventures and jungle expeditions in which Alfred was always the hero and Matthew was cast as the swooning princess. Despite their adventures Matthew couldn't seem the shake the thought that had begun to circle his young brain,

"Why don't I have a mama?"

The thought remained after his Papa, tall and French, had picked him up, all through the drive home, while he watched Dragon Tales, and even into dinner. He just couldn't understand, everyone he knew had a mama, except him.

It made him sad and the blonde child could only pick at his dinner and push it around his plate while he considered the mystery of his family. Eventually his father noticed his son's despondent behavior and set down his fork.

"Mattie, what's wrong? You've been more quiet than usual." He asked in his charming French accent.

Matthew stared into his father's azure eyes and saw only worry written in them. He sniffled and took the plunge,

"Why don't I have a mama?" As soon as he'd asked the question Matthew burst into tears, little body shaking with quiet sobs.

"Mon petit Mathieu!" Francis cried in shock as his son bawled. He stood from his chair and pulled the child into his arms, cradling him against his chest as tears wetted the fabric of his shirt.

Francis moved into the small sitting room adjacent of the dining room, patting his distraught son and making comforting sounds in his throat. He pulled the boy's stuffed polar bear of an armchair and handed it to him before sitting.

Matthew grasped the toy like a lifeline, snuggling his face into it.

Francis had known he would have to explain to his son why his mother had never been a part of his life; but never had he expected to be forced into this conversation so soon.

"Papa?" Matthew blubbered "Why don't I have a mama? Alfred has a mama and Ludwig has a mama and Feliciano has a mama…and…and…" He broke off into tears again.

"Oh Mattie" Francis sighed. It caused a near physical in his heart to his his beloved child's questions and cries.

"You have a mama."

The boy looked up in hope as tears streamed from his blue eyes down cheeks still rounded with baby fat.

"Where is she?" He asked in a broken whisper. Francis contemplated lying, saying something romantic and adventurous. But he couldn't lie to his own child. So Francis told the hard, brutal truth.

"Your mama left us Mattie. When you were a baby." Matthew stayed quiet then asked,

"Didn't she love me?" Francis thought his heart would break,

"Of course she loved you! She loved you with all her heart."

"Then why did she leave?" the child asked. Francis sighed and pulled his son closer to him, sharing in the boy's warmth.

His eyes darkened as he recalled a woman so thin she looked almost skeletal, dark circles under her eyes and a poison in her heart. Francis had loved her for years, dying slowly with her as she destroyed herself with drugs and alcohol. He'd kept her clean of everything for the nine months in which she'd carried his child. The gestation had been living hell for her and she had grown to hate Francis and the child within. He had lied when he'd said that she had loved her son, but there had been no other option, he could not tell his son that his mother had hated him even before he was born.

"I don't know why mon ange. She just couldn't stay, your mama never told me why."

"Do you hate her?" Matthew asked. The question chilled Francis. A child so young and so innocent should know nothing of hate.

"Of course not! How could I hate her when she gave me you?" There was passion in the rich currents of his voice.

Matthew wiggled closer to his beloved papa. In an almost inaudible whisper he asked,

"Are you going to leave me too?"

Francis pulled the boy off him enough to meet his gaze steadily.

"Listen to me Mathieu and don't you ever forget this. Your papa loves you more than ten mamas ever could and he will never leave you. I promise."

Matthew stared at him unblinkingly,

"Cross your heart."

Francis did.

"Hope to die."

Francis repeated the phrase.

"Now pinky swear!" The boy stuck out a pudgy little hand, smallest finger extended. Francis smiled and wrapped his own slim digit around that of his son's,

"Pinky swear."

They released hands and Matthew all but collapsed against his father, stuffed bear clasped to his chest, and a small thumb in his mouth. Francis chuckled; the boy hadn't sucked his thumb since he was three.

"Je t'aime mon petit ange" he whispered. Matthew sighed happily and they fell asleep that way, worries (and dinner) forgotten.