Taking Over Part 9

::Face Family Drabbles, AU, baby America and Canada::


     What are you doing?"

     "Kooking"

     "I can see that," England chuckled as he passed the chair America was standing, kissing the boys head he picked up a measuring cup to inspect its contents. He sniffed it cautiously a few times and was about to taste the odd mixture when America yanked it out of his hands.
     "Zhis isa supwise." The boy reverently put it aside out of England's reach and returned to mixing the flour in his bowl.
     "What is it that you're making?"
     "A supwise!!" America cheered.  A surprise indeed, not only was the kitchen clean, the boy was being unusually serious, and mature.  Just as he was about to ask why type of surprise Alfred sent him a look that made him feel, dirty.  Suddenly he felt like an intruder in his own home. The little American held his ground and he found himself inching toward the door. This once he'd let his rule of 'no playing in the kitchen' slide.
      "Well," he hedged, looking around the alarmingly clean kitchen. "You know the rules; if you make a mess, clean it up. Call if you need anything."
     "I will."
      And with that, he left. Walking the halls England kept an eye out for Mathew who undoubtedly was Alfred's kitchen aid.  But as he went from one end to the other he saw not hid nor hair of the boy. It wasn't until he reached Frances suite that he saw anyone.
       "Do you know where Matty is?
      "Is he not in the kitchen with Al?" France flicked a page of his magazine, boredom glazing his eyes.
       "No, I was just there. Have you been in the kitchen?"
       "Oui."
       "Do you know what they are doing?"
       "'haven't the foggiest."
       "Or the nerve to ask." England smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe.
      "I do not see you wielding information about what is going on." France glanced up lazily then went back to his magazine, turning the pages with more disinterest.
       "Touché, old man." England picked up a crayon picture from Frances desk inspected the front and the back, then put it down.
      "How long have the boys been in the kitchen?"
France checked his watch, "about, fifteen minutes."
      "We probably should go stop them. Or at least supervise."
      "Or," France purred "you could go take that bath you've needed for a week." It was his turn to smirk, which he did with great relish.  Pulling out a red marker he closed his magazine and placed a big red X across the cover then tossed it on to his bed where it joined a small pile of other magazines with similar markings.
      "We can't leave three year olds in a kitchen by themselves! It's irresponsible."
Francis sighed and flipped the first pages of a new magazine,
      "They are good boys, well Matthieu is. And I have taken away all the pointy things."
      "So!"

      "So, the worst they can do is a mild flesh wound, which we will hear, and you've had the hospital on speed dial since they learned to roll over.  What is there to worry about?"
      Prolonged silence from the doorway mad France look up.  What he saw made him grin, he had finally rendered the Englishman speechless, as well as driven his roommate to self mutilation, the man was rhythmically pounding his head against the door frame.
      "If it means that much, I will watch them." He announced casually, trying to mask yet another smirk. "Go, take your bath, it will do all of us some good."
England rested his head against the frame and looked skeptically over at the bed.
      "Are you sure?"
      "Of course!"
      Arthur closed his eyes and sighed.  "Alright, but if something happens..."
      "I know, you will kill me in some unimaginative way."
      Arthur left Frances bedroom with a murmured "too right I will" and hastily walked back to the kitchen.  Peeking around the door he saw that the room was more or less the way he'd left it.  Matthew had arrived, and the two were intently looking at something on the counter.  The boys had their backs to him and were blocking the object from his view.
       Disappointed that he had no reason to intervene, he sullenly made his way to his room and it's conjoined bath.
       After a surprisingly relaxing soak, Arthur gripped the doorknob of his bedroom, gearing up for whatever carnage that surely waited for him outside it.  On a silent count of three, he yanked it open and was greeted by, nothing.   Cautiously he leaned out, no one and nothing was about.  The hall was free of debris, smoke, awful odors and blood.
       Journeying out in only his rob, England inspected each room as he made his way to the kitchen.
       "Did you enjoy your bath?"
       Jumping a little, England turned to see France coming out of his office.  "I-I did, where are the boys?"
       "Their fine, still in the kitchen, but don't you smell good." France laid a hand on Englands waist and sniffed his hair playfully.
       "Leave off, haven't you been watching them?" England asked, tilting his head away from Frances questing nose.
       "Oui?"
       "You're asking me?  Francis!"  
       "You are not very trusting are you, mon cher?" France sighed as he watched Arthur run down the hall.  He didn't know if he should be offended or amused, the man had after all taken the bath he suggested.
       Arthur arrived in the kitchen doorway disheveled and out of breath, at his entrance both boys looked up.  Their eyes suddenly were full of fear, which ate at Arthurs very soul.  Hurriedly he straightened his rob and smiled, then his jaw dropped in awe.  The room wasn't in flames, nor were the boys hurt, which was more than could be said when he cooked.
       Taking advantage of his Fathers frozen state, Alfred hesitantly got down from his chair, picked up a plate and took it over to him.
       "S-supwise!"  He held out the plate with a little lump of something bread-like in the middle of it.
      "And what is this?" France sang happily as he came in behind Arthur.  Canada picked up another plate and immediately joined Alfred, holding up a plate for Frances inspection.  France slung an arm around England's shoulders.  England looked at him uncertainly.
      "It could be worse Mon Ange, you could have made it."  Quickly France ducked away from Arthur.  Gracefully he took Matthieu's plate and bit into the treat.
They all watched, anticipation written on every face. Though England looked more sympathetic then anything.
      "Exceptional!" He declared, taking another helping.
The boys beamed at each other then turned their expectant faces on Arthur.  Stuck between a gloating-Frenchman and food-baring toddlers, he took the less embarrassing route, and bit into his own "surprise."  A soft, warm, sweetness filled his mouth; it was good.
      "So?" France asked ribbing him with an elbow, "what do you think?"
      "It's good, well done lads." He added smiling down at his happily children.  "What is it?"
      The boys told them.  France stoically turned green in the doorway while England ran to the kitchen sink to throw up.
     "They cook like you after all."  France turned away before the boys could see his eyes watering, and then bee lined it for the closest bathroom.