A/N: Inspired by a conversation withEllarose C and her Cajun!Francis in her high school AU (Which you should all also read). Basically, we just discussed how canon!France would feel about being made a Cajun, and then how he would feel about interacting with his American descendants.

Francis sighed and decided that there really was nothing useful he could do. Mathieu wasn't due to arrive until tomorrow, Arthur was out picking up a few last minute groceries, and Alfred flatly refused to let him do anything more than look at the food, and even that seemed to make him nervous. And seeing as Francis hated being in a kitchen while there was cooking going on and not contributing, he realized his only options were perusing Alfred's selection of books (and no thank you, as he'd found long ago he and Alfred didn't exactly share a taste in literature), or flip channels on his television and attempt to find something bearable in the trash that was modern entertainment, and modern American entertainment at that.

Hm…History Channel. Well, maybe after the commercial break they would be playing some sort of charming and completely inaccurate documentary about this odd holiday he was forced to celebrate twice a year despite many of his people not even knowing what "Thanksgiving" was. He set the remote down and waited.

When the break ended they came back to what appeared to be a group of men in dirty clothing attempting to haul a crocodile into a small boat – though for what purpose Francis had absolutely no idea.

He continued to watch this odd display with a mixture of disgust and fascination for some time, attempting to understand the speakers' words through their thick accents. Luckily, the producers were thoughtful enough to provide subtitles in some places. Apparently even other Americans had difficulty with this particular accent.

There was a pause in the action to center in on the man Francis perceived to be the head on his family, standing in a stretch of swamp, and talking about his ancestry.

…Wait.

came down from Canada… And now they were in…

…No.

No.

It couldn't be…

It was at that moment that a key jangled in the lock and Arthur stepped through the door with plastic shopping bags hanging from his other hand, stuffing his keys back in his coat pocket. He nodded briefly at Francis as Alfred came in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

"Ah, just in time!" He stepped over to take the bags and stole a kiss in the process. "Thanks, baby."

Arthur's cheeks pinked just slightly, and he smiled. "Of course, love. No problem."

Francis, at this time, recovered from his blank staring at Arthur, just as Arthur himself seemed to notice it and was about to question him.

"You," he said, pointing an accusing finger at Arthur. The Englishman blinked at him.

"Me?"

"Yes you. I've long gotten over you taking Mathieu from me, but when you expelled my people and sent them south, and…and… this," he gestured frantically at the television, "is what became of them!"

Arthur merely blinked again, confused by Francis's outburst and glanced at the tv, rolling his eyes and making a note to ask later why Francis was watching reality television.

Alfred, who had stopped half-way back to the kitchen, just laughed.

"Hey, Francis, now don't go hatin on my people. There's nothing wrong with their lifestyle, and they're just as smart as anyone else." He paused in thought for a moment. "Freakin' crazy though, I'll admit that. But all the more fun. They sure know how to throw a party!" He grinned, and Francis shook his head. "And hey, they even still speak French!"

Francis cracked one skeptical eye open from where his face had been resting against his hand. "Why do I have the feeling it bears no resemblance at all to my beautiful language?"

Alfred laughed. "Well, I would say 'because it doesn't', but it was good enough for them to work as translators for me back in the war. Yeah, you owe your freedom to those guys, buddy." He stuck out his tongue and made his way back to the kitchen.

Arthur looked between his retreating form and Francis as if trying very hard not to laugh. "See? My taking over Matthew's raising ended up saving your arse later on," he joked, stealing the remote and plopping down into the armchair. Francis threw a couch pillow at his head, but Arthur blocked it easily and flipped to History International, where there was indeed an appropriately inaccurate Thanksgiving documentary playing.

When Francis had focused his attention on the show, Arthur reached for the pillow and threw it back, hitting Francis squarely in the face. His expression was Arthur's "I'm thankful for _" at dinner the next evening.


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A/N: "Cajun" is shortened from "Acadian," a group of people exepelled from the Acadia region of Canada after the Seven Years War who settled in various parts of the French Louisiana Territory, but concentrated especially in what eventually became the modern state of Lousiana. I AM NOT bashing Cajuns here. I have Cajun heritage myself, but there is no denying the craziness inherent in the culture. I inherited a little of it myself. I thought Francis would be appropriately shocked, and I wanted to showcase it.