The choices we make

[gwenchan]

 Fandom: Hetalia

Characters: HWS France/Francis Bonnefoy; HWS England/Arthur Kirkland

Rating: General

Additional Tag: Alternate Universe_Humans, Alternate Universe_Nyo; Alternate Universe_Soulmates; Alternate Universe_Naga; Alternate Universe_A/B/0; Multiverse; Everything is connected; Complex relationship; Domesticity

Prompt: I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we’d choose anyway. And I’d choose you: in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.
 

 

Arthur is the son of a wool merchant. He has five brothers, a talent for numbers and maths, and the Church filled him to the brim with fear of love. He speaks fast, blunt and rough, and though he's been living in the village for a year now, Francis still struggles to keep up with the language. 

It matters little. Where words don't reach, they can use gestures. 

 

Tonight is a night for celebrations, torches and the full moon lighting the sky, the whole village gathered in the square to eat, drink and dance. Arthur laughs, tipping his head back to drink the last drops of his beer and Francis thinks coming here has been an excellent decision.

 

***

 

They're eating grey food in a grey world. The young man is dealing with his fruit salad, head so deep in the bowl it seems he wants to dive inside. When Francis asks if he can take the empty seat, he doesn't even turn to look. 

 

Francis would call him out for his rudeness if the seat didn't turn into the same colour as the sky outside the window. Also, the young man is dressed in the most horrible colour combination Francis has seen - little does it matter he has been able to see in colours for less than a minute.

 

The young man has the same hair-colour as Francis - the colour of bread - only a shade lighter and eyes sort of like lettuce, but not quite the same. 

 

Fate says they are soulmates. However, it's not Fate that chooses Arthur. Francis does. 

 

 

***

 

Rose loves Jane Austen and likes to pretend she's a lady from a good family. She carries a ruler in her purse, lest someone cuts her hair more than strictly necessary and she fills her weeks with hobbies to keep occupied. She's twenty-three with rapunzel hair and still wears ponytails. 

"She'd be so much prettier if she decided some other hairdo," the hairdresser whispers to Francis, twirling a pair of scissors in her hands. "But maybe you little charmer can make her change her mind," she adds, not missing to pinch his cheeks as if he was a kid. 

"Leave it to me," Francis winks back. 

 

Before letting Rose go, a gorgeous plait now falling down her back, he slips a note and a number in her purse. 

 

 

***

 

Francis would choose Arthur if Fate approved. He would've at least tried. But Fate never gave him time and it never approved. Because Arthur's an omega and omegas don't go with betas. Once, maybe, but not in this new world. 

Francis would fight back, if he had the chance, and work through Arthur's resistance to win him. Instead, he can only watch as another alpha comes and takes him away. 

He's a beta and betas get the scraps.

 

 

***

 

Secondary gender has little to do with this choice. Even when Arthur's omega smell is mouth-watering beneath all the scent-blocking, it's not the reason why Francis finds himself drawn to him. It's the way he speaks, so witty and sarcastic and a rough beneath all his pretence of propriety. He's raw and aggressive, an omega in the wrong body, and Francis likes a good fight. 

 

Arthur Kirkland will become his mate.

 

 

***

 

They live a normal life, with no glaring episode to be named. They met in college, they fight, start to date, break up, fight again, make-up, graduate, fight, try again, go living together, decide it was a terrible idea, decide to give it a second chance.

They marry, adopt two boys - two adorable brats - and a little girl later. 

They form a family and they are happy

 

***

 

Rose shouldn't be here. She's smart, sharp and clever, and she shouldn't be locked in this asylum that is every day more prison and less a hospital. She likes to spend her days reading quietly when she can put her hands on some books when it's quiet enough to read. 

 

Nurses shouldn't become attached to inmates, it's unprofessional and potentially dangerous. Celine, however, cannot help it. While she didn't like Rose at first, she couldn't stop her affection from growing every time more. 

 

She promises herself she will save Rose. She will take her out of this place, let it be the last thing she does.

Meanwhile, she can try to make Rose's stay here a little less horrifying. 

 

 

***

 

They're in space, somewhere in a future that long forgot about Earth, both sons of those exiled about a century before. They grow up together, close friends till they aren't anymore. Puberty brings with it a new desire to excel. kills all remnants of affection between them and accentuated those differences in personality they could ignore before. They stand starkly one next to the other, the cynic and the dreamer, the loner and the casanova.

 

Still, sometimes Francis misses Arthur. He thinks he'd be nice for things to be as they were. 

 

Sitting in the Dome, he watches Arthur dealing with the sudden annihilation of everything he believed. Francis gives himself a moment to enjoy the sight and file it for future reference. Then, he stands up.

Arthur, however, is already gone

 

He doesn't expect Arthur to approach him, some months later, arms filled with paper and calculations. 

Yes, they can work together. It'll be a start.

 

***

 

Arthur is not meant for him. He'll marry whomever his royal parents decide, a princess probably, and be a pawn for the sake of his kingdom. For how much he likes to deny the fact, proudly proclaiming Arthur is only crossing the bridge ahead of time, Francis is well aware. 

Princes don't marry other men. If he were a girl, he'd still not be wife-material in Albion's eyes.

 

Francis didn't plan to fall in love with the foreign prince, an Albish prince of all. Bothering him was only a pastime and a nice source of rumours.

 

It should've been a game. Then why is his heart aching?

 

 

***

 

A boy who can't hide his folksy accent and an announcement searching for new members to form a band. This Arthur lives in a shitty apartment, plays the electric bass and surely could loosen up a little. It's not Francis type, but he can be a past-time. He's different enough from his usual dates to promise to be a nice distraction.

Francis doesn't really care to be in a band, but he can have some fun with Arthur for a while till he'll get bored. 

 

He could even bet about it.

 

***

 

The King of Sun chose the Prince of Moon aeons ago, since the moment the two celestial bodies were both placed high in the sky and, shining, they bestowed their light and power over their kingdoms

 

They meet during an Eclipse, the first visit of thousands of others, as many as the Moon will hide the Sun's light. 

 

For the Sun, it's love at first sight. 

 

 

***

 

The orders are clear, mingle with the British soldiers for the sake of victory. Their sections in the trenches bleed one into the other while snow and rain turn everything into shit.

It takes a lot of spirits to still find time to read in these conditions. Yet, this fellow soldier has curled on one side of the trench and hunched over his book. By how fast he flips the pages, it must be quite an interesting read.

Francis doesn't speak a single word of English, but orders are orders and this soldier is peculiar enough to pique his interest. 

Together they'll have a better chance to survive the winter.

 

 

***

 

This Arthur doesn't choose him. He came to their village on a secret mission and no space or time for love. Life and war have hardened his heart and by the time Francis crosses paths with him again, he cares for nothing but to recompose his family. 

Francis' offers to help him. Inside, he hopes for a little more time.

 

He realises too late time was never the problem. 

 

***

 

The English want to open a branch over here. It takes Francis a single look at their market plan to decide they have no hope. Also, their products suck. It'll be a miracle if they can survive a year before giving up and going bankrupt.

Francis wouldn't care if he didn't like this new job. Losing it due to British incompetence would be a real pity. 

Of course, things would be easier if his counterpart wasn't a stick-up-the-butt and no doubt a pain in the ass. It'll be Francis' pleasure to teach him a lesson and show him how things should be done. 

 

***

 

"Why did you save me?" the man groans, rolling on his back in the sand. He coughs seawater. On the shore, Celine flaps her powerful fin, splashing around.

"Should have I let you drown?" she questions, in the human language she learnt in years of following the ships and saving the occasional sailors when they look sufficiently interesting. 

"Uhm, I guess no," the man mutters, voice hoarse. Celine studies him, interested. He's not pretty but he has beautiful eyes.

"Well said."

As he lies on the shore, she brushes her long fingers against his chest and the strange second skin all humans she saves have. "It would have been a waste."

 

*** 

 

Rose isn't the most beautiful female of the neighbouring clan. She's thin, bony, and as sharp as she's cunning. A lethal huntress, she poisoned all who tried to approach. When Francis announces she'll be his mate, his friends say he's crazy. He's welcome to try, of course, if he has a death wish, but then there are less painful ways to die. 

 

But Francis's stubborn naga and he's patient, too.

 

 

***

 

In a place of lust and sin, hiding behind a human name, Arthur screams in pleasure and pain, strong wings sprouting from his back and the light of his holy halo dull.

The Incubus drinks in all his lust, draining it to the last drop, a feast till the next time.

 

With their fleshes bound together, in holiness and sin, they are linked

 

***

 

They run. They run one against the other till their hearts explode in their chests and their legs hurt. Fireworks of rivalry blast the first time they meet, kids during a Junior Championships. Things only went downhill from there. Whenever there’s a meeting to which both of them partake, it’ll certainly be a show. There will be sweat and blood. 

 

They grow together, meeting after meeting, year after year, with a rivalry whose passion could be mistaken for love. For each gold Arthur win, Francis will win the next.

 

Arthur’s quite the show when he runs. He’s fast, precise and coordinated, with a fire lightning his eyes that cannot be ignored.

 

Just back from an injury, Francis wonders why he hadn’t noticed before. 

 

 

***

 

Francis doesn't think when he dives his arm in the boiling water to retrieve the soldier gasping just below the surface. This is a disaster and everybody must do his part. 

 

And if that means having his boat stolen and placed onto an unplanned detour, so be it.

 

***

 

A girl practically sitting in his lap, Francis lazily stirs his drink. Over at the counter, talking with a colleague, Arthur looks like a person who wants to murder someone. If stares could kill, Francis would be dead already. 

It’s the same glare he gave Francis the first time Francis tried to test the water around him. He has a philosophy that everyone could be the perfect date if given the chance. But Arthur had bit back, a shark looking for blood in the water like they have been taught in graduate school. 

He must be regretting that now, burning with jealousy and Francis thinks he can enjoy the show a little longer. 

 

***

 

Arthur's a lighting designer and Francis just happens to need one for his upcoming exhibition. A friend suggested he hired Arthur, recommending to not be fooled by his age. Arthur didn't disappoint. For him to be also kinda cute, maybe with some adjustment, is only a bonus. To see him deep at work is a sight in itself, one Francis wishes to crystallise.

Though, the portrait is only an excuse

 

 

***

 

Marianne's life is perfect. Beneath his grumpiness, Arthur's the best husband a woman could desire. 

The twins, Amelia and Meggy, are their pride and joy. They aren't wealthy, but they aren't poor either and they can get by. They have a nice apartment, they can afford some days of vacation, they go to the theatre sometimes and the twins are always well-fed and dressed. 

 

It's a happy life and it lasts too little.

 

***

 

A second-rate club is not the place Céline would normally frequent, and surely the man sitting at the counter isn't her type. He's vulgar, rough and his style is atrocious with all spikes, pins and piercings. He blends perfectly with this endeavour. Céline could leave him dwelling in its acidity, except she likes to poke people and she's a little intrigued.

 

She's going to test him and by the end of the night, she might even decide to give him a chance.

 

 

***

 

They meet as kids, babies in a changing world and with a weight on their shoulders they still don’t understand. They don’t know it yet, but their lives are going to be intertwined, forever.

 

***

 

"America thinks there are infinite universes," England says one day, apropos of nothing, over the trashy tv show they are watching while they wait for the lasagne - Romano's recipe - in the oven to cook.

Francis pauses and lifts his head from the magazine he's reading.

"And you don't believe him.” It's not a question, but England answers all the same. 

"Of course I don't. Why would I?" 

"You believe in fairies.” 

"I don't believe in fairies. I know they exist."

"And America hides an alien in his house. Your point, exactly?"

England scoffs, displeased in having to agree with Francis, out of spite. Except he met Tony too.

"So, you think that too? That there are infinite universes?” 

Francis ponders the question for a moment. "I don't see why not if the universe is infinite. A universe where we are girls, maybe. One where you are me and I are you."

"Don't ever joke about it."

Francis chuckles. "One when you accepted my proposal.”

That too makes Arthur shivers. “Or one where you accepted mine,” he retorts, a vague bitterness in his voice. “Or one when I don’t have to deal with you.”

"That would be a sad universe. And one I don’t believe exists.”

"What? Do you believe we'd find each other in all possible realities? Like in some kind of big Fate plan?"

 

"I do believe in Fate," Francis says after a moment of consideration. Whether you call it Fate or God or Chaos, something surely is messing with us. And I believe we have won our right to get some reward."

 

Arthur scoffs, but takes the remote and lowers the tv volume. "Did you recently visit Greece again?"

He is the one who always gets lost in these kinds of discussion, normally unprompted. Though, thinking about it, France had a tendency too, him and his Existentialism. 

France chuckles a non-answer. “I like to think there’s a plan. That things have a meaning. It's more comforting than believing everything is chaos and nothing matters." 

England doesn't find it comforting, not at all. It's only terribly limiting. 

"So, everything has already been written? We have no choice?" he says it with disgust to which he knows he has no right. Freedom is not something their kind can enjoy, no matter how much America or France love to flaunt it in their motto. 

“No,” Francis replies, blunt, “I believe in choices. Fate pulls us together. What we do from there afterwards is up to us.”

 

That explanation is one England likes more already. "Fate creates the setting, but we decide the script."

He tried to not sound too intrigued. “But still, if universes are infinite, we cannot meet in everyone. It’s doesn’t solve, mathematically.”

“Are you putting limits on Fate?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

 

He braces himself for the inevitable reply. He didn’t expect this to evolve in a full-fledged discussion, but this time he cannot blame anyone but himself. To think he could bring the topic up with someone like France and expect he would let it go … truly foolish. He wonders if he should take it as another sign he’s getting old. 

 

“Then it means I would have to fight a little harder in those universes to find you.”

France says it, unwavering; like it is a declaration of love. For a fraction of a second, its intensity is sufficient to take Arthur by surprise. For a moment he thinks it’s the most romantic thing he ever heard and it fills his chest with warmth. For a second he's about to say he too would search for him in every universe and suffer for the emptiness in those where he cannot.

 

“Stalker,” he snaps instead a second later. That’s better. “And after you worked so hard to find me, it would be my pleasure to turn your back onto you.”

“Except for the universes where you don’t.”

 

Arthur cannot argue with that, even though he wishes. He can admit when he has no basis. Infinite universes mean infinite possibilities, and that means also a universe (or more) where his counterpart decides to throw himself into France's arms; universes where two enemies grew into something more. He guesses there’s no much use in discussing that now. Another time. 

“Except for the universes where I don’t," he sighs. 

Then, he thinks long for what he’s about to add if today he feels so magnanimous. He supposes he does, just as the oven timer rings. “In this universe, I didn’t.”

And in the end, that’s all that matter.