"Alfred, stop that! You're making a mess!" Snapped the Englishman from across the table. Alfred had his meatloaf on every inch of his face. "You're six years old and you still obviously don't know how to eat properly! You look like such a slob!"
From the head of the table a rose a soft and muffled chuckle from the Frenchman the boys called Papa.
"Arthur, dearest, leave the boy alone, he's only enjoying the food." He said sweetly as he reached for his wine glass.
"Yeah!" Alfred said through a wall of chewed up meatloaf. "I'm just enjoying the food!" Arthur rolled his eyes and jabbed at his own meatloaf for a moment before raising his eyes to look at Matthew who was across from Francis.
The small boy had been quiet all through the meal as usual, sometimes the boy was so quiet the family almost forgot he was there. Upon noticing his father staring at him he let a small smile fill his face. Arthur smiled and returned to his own food.
Later that night as the boys were having a book read to them by Arthur, Francis had poked his head into the room.
"...So you can imagine my surprise when I was awakened at daybreak by a funny little voice saying-" Arthur read out loud to the boys until he noticed his husband standing the doorway. "Will you be joining us tonight?" He asked. Francis smiled a tad.
"No, no, continue. Though, I'd like to speak with you, Arthur once you're through." He says this, kisses the top of both the boys heads and then leaves the room.
So, Father finishes the story and then tucks Alfred and Matthew both into bed.
"Goodnight, boys." He says as he goes to turn out the light.
"Wait!" Alfred calls, sitting up in bed. Arthur looks back at him.
"What now, Alfred?" He asks. The boy looks around the room and then lifts his hand to point his finger to a shelf. Arthur looks over to spot a stuffed whale.
"Why do you need that?" He asks as he walks over to the shelf to retrieve it for him.
"Well...Mattie has his bear...I want a friend too!" He says innocently. Arthur smiles and hands the whale to Alfred, he brushes back a strand of hair that keeps slipping out from behind his ear.
"Goodnight now, sleep tight." Arthur kisses the cheek of the boy and then turns out the light. The boys listen as his footsteps fade down the hallway.
Arthur steps into the living room where Francis had been waiting for him. The blond haired Frenchman sat on the sofa reading the newspaper, Arthur inserted himself beside him.
"What was it you wanted to talk about?" He asked. Francis folded the paper and placed it on the coffee table before responding.
"I noticed some money was missing from our bank account..." He said, turning to Arthur now. "I also noticed that you've been writing Dylan again."
Dylan was one of Arthur's older brothers, he likes to travel as most outdoorsy types do...He's become quite fond of Wales recently and actually plans to live there. Which, in turn, is rather hard on Arthur because Dylan was really the only one of his brothers that still bothered to speak and visit with him.
"Why does it matter at all if I'm writing my brother again?" Arthur asks, crossing his arms.
"Every time you talk to Dylan he ends up conning you out of our good money for his own travels, Arthur..." Francis says without hesitation. Arthur raises an eyebrow.
"Conning me? He doesn't con me!" Arthur snaps. "I send him money, yes, but it's willing. He says he'll pay us back and he always does anyhow, so why is it such a big deal?"
"It's a big deal because you never even bother to ask the one who earns the money, Arthur!" Francis's tone went from something so smooth to something rather gruffy- for a Frenchman anyhow. Arthur stayed silent a moment, took a breath and then got up from the sofa.
"Where are you going?" Francis asked. "This conversation isn't over!"
"I can't believe you said that," Arthur says quietly, staring off into space as he faces away from Arthur. Francis sighs and brushes his hair back out of his face.
"That's not how I meant it," He says. "It's just that you know I don't like it when you don't even think to consult me about these things...That's our money, mon cher, our kids money...Not your brother's."
Arthur kept silent and bit the top of his thumb, Francis moved toward him and put a hand on his shoulder.
"...It wasn't for his travels, you know..." Arthur says quietly, still refusing to meet his husbands eyes. "It's money so he can pay to see a psychologist." Francis raised an eyebrow now.
"In Wales?" He asks, puzzled. "Why does he need a psychologist?" Arthur takes a breath and steps away from him and walks to the kitchen. It's silent for a moment before Francis trails into the kitchen as well and watches Arthur make a kettle of tea.
"Mon cher..." He urges. Arthur turns the stove on and lets the water boil.
"He's seeing his illusions again..." Arthur replies, staring at the blue flames as they seem to tickle the bottom of the kettle. Francis stays quiet but keeps his eyes locked on Arthur. He sighs.
"I'm sorry," Francis speaks quietly as well now and then he gets up. Arthur finally snaps his head around to glance at him.
"Now where are you going?!" He asks as he stays on Francis's heels as he exits the kitchen.
"I'm going out." Francis spits coldly as he snatches his jacket off of the coat rack.
"Because I told you where the money went?" Arthur snaps. "Because I did like you asked of me?!" Francis shoots him a glare.
"Because you're sending money to help a person who's never helped us even once." He corrects. "Don't even open your mouth, you know it's true. Back when you were having your illusions badly and often and needed help he didn't even raise a finger to help, no matter how many times we called or wrote. Come to think of it, none of your siblings did! If it hadn't been for my father God only knows where you'd be right now!"
Arthur shoots the glance right back at him.
"I've earned half of this money therefore I'm able to do whatever I want with half of everything!" He remarks. Francis chuckles and shakes his head.
"You don't make half of anything." He speaks the ice in his tone still frosting over each word. "You're taking whatever damn pennies you come home with and taking half of what I make so I can feed and clothe our children and sending it to people who don't give a damn about you any which way, Arthur." He looks back at his husband as he swings the door open. "Accept the fact that you're wrong for once and then we'll talk."
Before Arthur could make a comment, Francis disappears behind the front door and out into the night. The high-pitched squeel of the kettle was the only thing peeling the Englishman away from the door, he walks to the kitchen and flips the knob to the oven. He doesn't remove the kettle yet- instead he sinks down to the floor and cradles his head in his hands. He sits in silence for a moment taking deep breaths before hearing sniffles on one side of the kitchen.
He takes his head from his hands for a moment just to look to his right and see both of the boys standing in the doorway...Matthew was crying. Alfred had his arm on his brother's shoulder as he stared at their father.
"Is Papa coming back..?" He asks softly. Arthur swallows and keeps his glance on the boys.
"...Y-yes," He replies, not knowing exactly how to answer. "I'm sure he will be...Come here, now...Both of you." He holds his arms open and both the boys pile into a hug. Matthew clings to Arthur's shirt and sobs, though he's still trying to keep it quiet. Alfred himself is tearing up a bit, he'll never admit to Father that he is though so, he just lays his head on his chest.
"It was just a little spat, boys." Arthur assures them, stroking Alfred's hair and patting Matthew's head. "Things will be just fine...I promise."