France's Daughter // Hetalia

Chapter One - Welcome, Mon Petite Lapin

- Stories like this always have boring first chapters. Feel free to skip -

France (Francis)
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I've always been fond of Paris in the Summer. There's nothing more refreshing than seeing tourists huddled up together, sightseeing, travelling, spending time with a loved one... Ah, love is always in the air here. Even when you least expect it, picking up someone's dropped pencil could lead to wedding bells and a white gown. I don't yearn for this type of lifestyle. I've learned not to. It's not worth watching someone grow old while you stay young just to get a bit of comfort, a grazing touch, a tender morning kiss. It's nice to see my citizens enjoying the small things, though. They may never know how important it is that they cherish each moment they have. 

I sigh, content yet dissatisfied. The battle between work and pleasure is never easy, and will forever remain unfinished. However, as I stand here now, the moonlight illuminating every pebble, every street sign, the basket in front of me, I ponder the existence of a purgatory. Before me lies an angel in a bassinet, wrapped carefully in pink cotton, cooing and babbling as if she had seen this place so many times before. I had only been walking for a moment before I stumbled upon her in an alleyway between the bakery and the hair salon. Such buildings were vastly unoccupied- Hell, I'm not even sure they're still in business. So why, when I take this path instead for my nighttime stroll, do I come across a human baby, all alone, but unafraid?

I look around, back and forth, left and right, but no signs of life greet my gaze. I let my eyes flicker to her dark ones, and kneel towards her. Such a striking similarity to Joan. Perhaps one of her next of kin? I tend to come across her great great great great great great great grandchildren every once in a while- yet fear doesn't run in her bloodline... I know that for a fact. So why is this baby here? Abandoned, completely alone, left to die between the bakery and the hair salon. Even in spirit, Joan would make sure every child with her blood was cared for.

Is that why she's crossed paths with me?

She trusts me enough to raise the child her family couldn't care for. To be completely responsible, both financially and mentally, for a human baby... To be able to part with her when the time comes. I scratch my beard slowly, watching her every movement as I contemplate the emotional baggage that comes with either decision: Leave her in the hands of an orphanage, or take her in? Would she be able to understand the extent her own mortality if she's with me? Will she be able to understand that I can't be with her forever? Will she even like me enough to stay by my side until she's an adult?

An adult. That's it! I look down at her, admire her plump, rosy cheeks, and barely visible strands of hair, and smile for the first time all night. The crease in my eyebrows softens, and I slowly pick up the sweet bundle from the bassinet, cradling her gently. I will raise her to become a fine woman, with the chicest clothes, and the best taste in food and music- And when she turns 18, I will set her free. Teenagers like that sense of freedom, right? I will not let myself get attached. I will be her guardian, her mentor, not her father. 

"Bonjour", I grin, kissing her tiny nose softly.

She coos as a response. I'm lucky she hadn't begun crying the moment I picked her up. Who knows what kind of scandal the media would concoct afterwards. 

"Francis Bonnefoy last seen taking a crying infant!" 

"Francis Bonnefoy- Kidnapper?"

"5 SHOCKING things you didn't know about Francis Bonnefoy"

I chuckle at the thought, making my way back home. I feel her eyes on me, but don't acknowledge it with a glance. I watch the stars begin to break through the darkness above, and stare, trying to decipher any constellations. Having been alive for so long, you'd think I'd know where they were. A small whimper snatches my attention back to reality, and I look down to the baby, who looks as if she's on the verge of tears. I press my forehead against hers, feeling her freezing skin against mine, and pick up the pace. Not particularly a run, I don't want to alarm bystanders, but not a calm amble either. 

When I finally reach home, I'm not really sure how to open the door. With the baby in one arm, I balance her just right so that I'm able to dig my keys from my back pocket. She stirs, anxious and cold. 

"I know, ma cherie, just hold on...", I whisper, finally retrieving my keys.

I slowly and carefully unlock the door, careful not to make any sudden movements. She stays still, stays quiet, and as relieved as I am, this is no time to relax. I make sure to double lock the door once inside, and sprint to the bedroom. I wasn't particularly prepared to house a baby, so I don't have any of the necessities... I need another person. I need a mother. Someone who's raised a child before, who knows what they'll need, what I need to buy. 

I wrap the little girl in the comforter, and dig my phone from my pocket. Only one name comes to mind when I think of raising children. I call him, listen to the phone ring and ring and ring, watch the baby warm up slowly yet not enough, and I feel the anxiety finally settle in my chest. What have I done? I can't raise her! Even if it is the wish of Joan... I just can't! 

"Hello?"

I snap back to reality, and focus on the voice coming through the phone. I take one deep breath, before swallowing every ounce of dignity and pride I had.

"Bonjour Angleterre! Listen, I have a few questions..."