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Faux Paw	By : Florville Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 3288 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The Monkey's Paw is property of WW Jacobs, and I only reference it in passing. Hetalia does not belong to me, and I do not make any money off the writing of this fanfiction.

Chapter List
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I desperately needed to write, and since Dominant Nation is currently dead in the water due to my Russia muse being an obstinate bastard, this...is what came out. Dear fans, please forgive me...this fic is going to be a strange one. And it was the only way I could indulge my UK/Canada fetish without a shit-ton of angst, so...enjoy?

Faux Paw

1

Matthew shook his head as he walked through England’s study, dusting the shelves and going to the open window to shake the duster out every now and again. “Honestly,” he muttered, “I don’t know why I’m helping out like this, it’s his own fault for trying to punch Papa in front of me!”

Canada waited a few seconds for the obligatory ‘who?’ from Kumajirou, at which point he realised that the bear was sound asleep on a wing-backed chair in the corner. “Great, I’m talking to myself now,” he sighed, moving the feather duster along the top shelf as he recalled the incident that had gotten his kind-hearted self into this mess.

“I’ll punch you in that chuffin’ frog face of yours, you bastard!!”

“Oh, cheri, you are so much more attractive when you’re angry…”

“I’ll show you attractive!! America, get out of the bleedin’ way—eat this, you prat!”

Of course, it hadn’t been America who had been trying to hold the drunken Englishman back from decking Francis (if America had been there, he would’ve been on the sidelines pointing and laughing as was his usual wont). It had been Canada who had saved France from a swing that would likely have broken the Frenchman’s nose, had it not connected with a plate glass window instead.

This, of course, had many unfortunate consequences: first was an immediate rush to the hospital to stop the bleeding, second came the entire sordid affair with the police and reparations for the broken window (Matthew was surprised it had taken so long, Arthur was charged with being drunk and disorderly at least once a month, wasn’t he?), and third came Matthew’s offer to stay with England for a few days and look after him until his hand had healed up.

Why had he offered to help? Well, it was a strange matter of taking responsibility, in Matthew’s typically Canadian way. Matt’s logic dictated that, had he not been there, Arthur would’ve put his fist through Francis’ face, rather than a glass window; thus, he was at least a little bit responsible for the injury, wasn’t he?

Actually, if Matthew was to be completely honest with himself, it was more than that. He felt a sense of duty toward the older nation; England had raised him and cared for him more times than he could count. He knew what it felt like to have a broken hand, as well…it hadn’t been his own doing, of course. One of the Brotherhood had slammed the butt of a rifle down on Matthew’s knuckles when he’d been reaching for a weapon to defend himself during the Fenian raids. England had not only defended him, he’d wrapped his hand afterward and had looked after him for a few days once the smoke of battle had cleared.

“It’s more than that, though,” Canada murmured softly, holding the feather duster to his chest for a moment as he looked out the open window. He wasn’t sure why Arthur’s gardens seemed to sparkle in the sunlight…England always talked of fairies and the like, and as hard as Matthew tried to see them, all he could ever spot were flickers of motion that his logical mind insisted were just bugs or dragonflies. “I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him, deep down. Not that he’ll ever notice.”

“Who?”

Canada jumped, clutching the feather duster tighter against his chest for a moment before relaxing when he realised the voice belonged to his furry friend. “England.”

“Oh. Sexy eyebrows man,” the bear grunted, yawning and resting his head on his paws again, wishing his owner would stop grumbling to himself, as it was interfering with his nap.

“So help me, Kumakichi, if you ever say that in front of him, I’ll feed you nothing but canned tuna for a week,” Matthew threatened, blushing deeply at the reminder of something he must’ve uttered while under the influence of a good deal of alcohol. The bear seemed to ignore his partially empty threat, and Canada sighed, returning to his dusting. He jumped back with a startled squeak when a brush of the feather duster along the top of the bookshelf dislodged something and a small wooden box came hurtling towards him.

He winced when it struck the hardwood floor and the ancient latch broke, and an odd furry item went tumbling under Arthur’s desk.

“Maple…I hope that wasn’t important,” he mumbled, glancing over at the doorway, not surprised that Arthur hadn’t come running to see if he was all right. Even Kumajirou hadn’t done much, other than tilt his head to try and see what had rolled under the desk, simply huffing and returning to attempting to nap when he couldn’t spot the item.

Inspecting the box and sighing when he saw that the old brass latch and locking mechanism were indeed broken beyond repair, Canada set it on the desk and began to pat around underneath it for whatever had fallen out. “What the heck,” he murmured when his hand closed around something and he drew it back.

His first reaction was, of course, to drop the item again, brushing his hands off on his jeans frantically. “Ew!! Oh, that’s revolting! Why would…where would he even GET something like that?!”

After a solid minute of staring at the shrivelled paw, Matthew reached out again, picking up the box from the desk and setting it down on the floor, then picking up the paw and making a face. “Don’t tell me Arthur actually believed that story about these things granting wishes,” he muttered, setting the item down in the box and shaking his hand out again, as if he could shake loose the feeling of unease it had instilled in him.

Closing the box and setting it down on the bookshelf, Canada resumed his dusting, resolving to tell England about the broken box after he was done tidying up. However, as he continued cleaning, his gaze kept returning to the box over and over again, until he finally couldn’t suppress his curiosity any longer. Taking the box down and retrieving the dried up paw, Matthew shook his head, muttering an admonishment for his own silliness as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Although really, what did he have to lose?

“I wish I wasn’t so invisible to Arthur,” he muttered.

*

Arthur had been dozing lightly in his armchair, his needlework resting on his knee, the cup of tea that Matthew had made him nearly an hour before still resting on the end table, half finished. He was startled awake by a crash from the upper level, and he leapt to his feet, grabbing the first weapon he could find and bolting up the stairs.

Not pausing a moment to think about how a broadsword was a rather useless thing to use when today’s intruders tended to arm themselves with guns, Arthur slowly stalked down the hall toward the study from whence strangely rhythmic thudding noises were emanating.

Peering around the edge of the door frame, Arthur immediately let out an explosive sigh of relief, lowering the sword and chuckling. “Percy, you nearly scared the wits out of me! What on Earth are you doing in my…study…”

England trailed off, his fuzzy brows furrowing when he realised that the magical beast standing before him was not only not Percy, it was a creature he’d never met before(which was odd, as he usually sensed when newcomers were around). Oh, it was a unicorn, all right; however, the body was an unusual pale tan colour, and the mane and tip of the lion tail, as well as the hair around the beast’s cloven hooves, were all a shade of blonde that was strangely familiar.

Seeing the unicorn panic and try to hide behind his desk, Arthur dropped the sword and stepped forward, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Shh, shh…calm down now, my good fellow, you’re perfectly safe here,” he soothed, extending a hand in greeting. “I’m England. I don’t believe we’ve met before. Really, it’s a shame Percy’s not here to do the introductions, I’m sure you’d feel more at ease…”

The creature gave him a quizzical look, then huffed and emerged from behind the desk, the floor groaning and creaking under his weight. Pointed ears flicked back, then forward, then tilted to the sides as the lion tail swished contemplatively between his hind legs.

“There now,” Arthur encouraged as he gently rubbed the unicorn’s nose, trying to arrange the forelock neatly around the base of the golden horn. Odd…there was a rather striking white star underneath, although it wasn’t a star in shape…

Taking a step back, England went rigid when he recognized the leaf shape for what it was, his green eyes narrowing. Yes, there it was too, that damned errant stray hair of his that always drove Arthur crazy…

“Matthew?”
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Faux Paw