Note: The previous chapter is supposed to be an intro or a little entrée before any readers dive in to the main plot. As you can see, this has been changed from 'The Masquerade is Over' to 'Make Me Rainbows' because the song 'The Masquerade is Over' wasn't appropriate for the ending I have in mind. Sorry for the inconvenience.


The subject of Canada was quickly released, none of them feeling the need to resume chatting about it.

The car soon arrived at the bakery - a rather petite yet heart-warming little place - with floral decorations tattooed across the window pane, unique French desserts labelled across the dashboard, the sweet scent of sweets and cakes booming through the front door...

Alfred was dumbstruck by the amount of colour and detail this little shop had, there were even carvings on the ceiling! Alfred took small steps in the bakery as his eyes roamed for every single speck of detail he could inspect, mouth hung agape as a little whimper of awe choke out his throat. Soft jazz playing in the background, quiet chattering, and the laughter only the rich and the sophisticated can giggle.

"Bonjour! I'm Francis, how can I help you?" A heavily accented masculine voice called out behind him. Alfred whipped his head around to meet a man with wavy hair and a tiny stubble waving at him from behind the counter.

He was at a loss of words. He didn't know what to say, what not to say. Ever since he started working for the CIA, he never really had a decent meal before. All of them were brief, empty and off he was hiding again. All he had for the past five years were hamburgers and cold sandwiches, on occasions maybe a slice of pizza from any family parlour secluded from his targets.

"Oh, Mr Kirkland! Are you perhaps coming with...this Monsieur over here?" Francis spoke again, this time directed at Arthur who was standing behind Arthur.

"Yes, this is Alfred. He's my friend."

"Really? Lovely to meet you, Alfred. Can I get you two anything?"

"I'd take a few macaroons; two in vanilla and two in 'Midnight Chocolate'. What would you like, Alfred?" This time when Arthur asked, he was already in front of the counter, turning back to check on the paralysed Alfred.

"W-What? Me? Uh... I uh... What would you recommend?" What a great way to sound groomed when he clearly had no idea what all of these desserts were.

"Hmm... For you? Maybe an éclair would be nice?" Francis suggested, as Alfred took a few steps forward to meet him.

"Y-Yes. An éclair sounds nice." Alfred wasn't used to this unfamiliar French term run across his tongue, as he was trying as hard as possible not to embarrass himself, or Arthur.

"All right, then. Four macaroons for Mr Kirkland and a plate of éclairs for you, Alfred." He repeated the order while scribbling it on a tiny piece of paper before continuing, "Please, have a seat. I'll serve you in a quick bit."

After they were dismissed, the two of them found a seat next to the window pane, giving them a perfect view of the busy street outside.

"Why did you insist on Francis calling you 'Mr Kirkland'?" Alfred began, casually enjoying the view outside.

"Well, it's certainly a more polite way to be greeted by a server, right? I mean, what do you expect him to call me? 'Artie'?" He asked, joining Alfred in enjoying the view, while letting his figure slide down a tad bit for a more comfortable posture as he crossed his legs in a 'two timezone' manner.

"Yeah. 'Artie' sounds nice, don't you think?" He asked, as a few giggling women passed by in colourful coats, shimmering purses in hand.

"Alfred, you're the only one who calls me that." What a great way to let him know that he was the only one who cared enough to come up with a pet name.

"I don't mind if you call me 'Al', or 'Fred'. Heck, you can even call me 'Freddy'. I won't mind that."

"You know, the name 'Freddy' is short for the name 'Frederick'."

"That was my old middle name, so..." Oh no, oh no. They were certainly not going to talk about Alfred's family background or his past. The three words 'Alfred Frederick Williams' are the three words that could set his brain on fire, burn his sanity to ashes and turn him into a completely different angsty person.

Arthur decided to change the subject, again. "So, how's Miss Jones?"

"Oh, Amelia? She's fine, but I think she's seeing someone right now. She's always having mysterious calls from someone called Allen. I wonder what's up with them." The thought of his nanny seemed to lighten his mood a little, even if it's only a little, it's better to think about his life when he was still part of the William household.

"Allen, is it? Is there a full name? And hold on, how old is your nanny again?"

"I don't have a full name yet. All I know is that she has been receiving some strange phone calls and getting all excited about it." He smiled, happy to know that his nanny was finally finding her other half. "And oh, she's only 41 this year. Still pretty young for a nanny, huh?"

"Aren't you worried that this Allen guy might be some young scandal that scams older women?" Did Arthur seriously had to ruin every single happy moment? At a time like this, he still had to be a tad bit more realistic than normal people?

"I know Amelia. She's strong; she knows what she's doing. I'm sure of one thing of her and that's it." With that said, a light drizzle started sprinkling down like snowflakes, spraying itself against the window pane, making it look like the window pane had goosebumps.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure Miss Jones is a strong lady, she knows what she's doing." Arthur saved the day again, even though he was the one who almost ruined it. Again.

"So... How's your brother?" Was Alfred deliberately trying to ruin Arthur's day? Yet again, it was Arthur that brought up family members in the first place.

"He's... I think he's working in Scotland now." His voice was wry, filled with uncertainty. He never really liked his brother for many reasons, in all honesty.

"You think?" Alfred repeated Arthur's words, arching an eyebrow while locking gazes with him.

"I don't know, okay? We never really talked and he moved out when he was eighteen!"

Alfred decided that he liked seeing Arthur in such a flustered stated. After all, it was because he enjoyed seeing Arthur that it got him into so much hot water. It was the one night he called him over, and the next morning his was in the interrogation room of the CIA. It really sucked to be living in such a narrow minded generation, as Alfred would like to say, he absolutely wished to be born with Arthur 50 years later. Perhaps his feelings will be granted them? Perhaps his feelings will finally be accepted by society then?

"Okay, okay. Don't need to get fussed up about this." Alfred chuckled before looking out the window pane again. "How about old man Kirkland?"

"My father?" He asked and Alfred nodded. "Dead."

Arthur might have said it a little too quickly, not even showing a hint of guilt or remorse for hating his father while he was alive. Arthur never wanted to become a lawyer; he wanted to be an English teacher. He wanted to show children the wonders of this language, not argue about who should pay the bill. He would rather go jobless than follow the footsteps of his own father, according to Arthur. However, his father enrolled him in Harvard to study law no matter what, easily ignoring his wishes, and let Arthur take on his law firm.

"How did he..." Alfred trailed off, unsure how to bring up the word 'dead' without sounding too concerned, and without sounding to heartless.

"Die? Heart attack." If anyone didn't know Arthur, they would think that he was a cold blooded beast who didn't even care for his own father. But Alfred knew otherwise. He knew that Arthur had a very confidential reason to despise his father. Anyone would, in Arthur's shoes.


It was early June, 1949. A warm transition from Spring to Summer. Being the lonely child Alfred was, he went banging on the Kirkland household door again. The door was gradually pulled open, revealing a blonde woman with a kind smile - Arthur's mother. She began, "Ah, Alfred! You came to visit Arthur again. How lovely! Come in, come in."

"Thank you Mrs Kirkland," Alfred replied politely. Even though Amelia taught him how to mind his p's and q's, but Arthur's mother boosted it up a level. Table manners, the Queen's language, walking posture, how to please a lady... Alfred was actually acting like that, like a gentleman. That was, before she passed away. Then, he never wanted to used the Queen's language or walk properly any more.

As he walked in, he heard a scream, a painful tortured scream. Which hurt more because it resembled Arthur's voice. How could such a melodic, angelic voice ever sound so hurt, so terrorised?

"Um... Mrs Kirkland... Is everything okay?" He asked, eyes trailing the source of the shrieks.

Mrs Kirkland sensed the fright in Alfred's eyes, patting his head and soothingly replied, "Yes, love. Now run along to his room, will you?"

There was a glint of hesitation in his eyes, before he warily nodded and trembled his way upstairs. Those screams; who was causing them? Mr Kirkland? His brother? Who could possible do that to a child? For all Alfred knew, hurting someone - no matter young or old - was wrong. And it will always be wrong in his dictionary.

He settled himself on Arthur's bed, swaying his legs in utter boredom, mind lingering on the situation earlier. Was Mrs Kirkland really okay will closing a blind eye? Or was she beaten too?

A few moments passed, and a desperate Arthur burst through the door, leaping onto the bed and hugging Alfred. Between sobs, he muttered, "Thank you for coming... If you didn't come, Mum wouldn't be able to stop Father, and..." Arthur then realised he was making a huge mess, he straightened himself, composed himself and let out a breath to stop anymore tears. "I'm... I'm... I'm sorry I've dampened your shirt, I can help you clean it afterwards."

Alfred only realised that his sleeve was basically soaked, but smiled it through. He didn't care, it would just dry up in five minutes under this weather. "It's okay, pal! I don't mind! More importantly, are you okay?"

He was stunned. Unsure of how to reply, he shakily stuttered, "I... I... My father... He..."

"Oh come on, spit it out. I'm your friend, right?" Alfred grinned, wiping Arthur's tears with both his tiny hands.

"W-Well... Don't tell anyone I told you this, okay? Well you see... Recently my father has been drinking a lot... And well, he comes home late at night and starts beating me, and whenever Mum tries to stop him, he beats her too. I don't know why this is happening. Mum says he just needs to pent his anger a little, and if we love him wed understand." He paused, then continue with a harsher tone. "But I don't. I don't love that fool. All he wants is reputation. If anyone on the streets find out that he beats us, we're all done for. That's why... He agreed to stop for a while when you came."

"Then... I'll just have to come more often!" He smiled, finally wiping off all the tears."Mm-hmm! Say, what do you want to be when you grow up?" He asked, finally swaying his legs care-freely like Alfred.

"Me? I'm gonna be the first man to step on the moon! I'm gonna wear fancy suits and a ridiculous hat and put the Star Spangled Banner up there so the whole world could see it!" He smiled excitingly, before turning over to face Arthur. "What about you?"

"Me? I want to be a teacher! I want to teach my students how to protect themselves from evil people!" He let out a rare smile of enthusiasm, rocking his legs more vigorously.

"You don't want to be a lawyer?" Alfred asked, purely out of curiosity. Maybe it was because Alfred was slightly younger that he allowed him to say such things.

"I never want to be a lawyer; unlike my father. All he does is create fake evidence and make up fake facts. I never want to be like that. I never want to be 'Mr Kirkland', I want to 'Mr Arthur'."

And they spent the whole afternoon like that, talking about ambitions, fantasising about their future. One of the most memorable lazy afternoons with a scorching hot sun outside, with them not caring about anything at all. Not Arthur's father, not the Williams household; just the two of them talking about what they wanted to be and who they wanted to be.


Alfred was snapped out of his reverie with the cheery call of Francis. "Four macaroons and a plate of éclairs, coming right up!"

Their dishes were delicately placed in front of them, with Alfred gaping in awe. "Anything else I could get you?" Francis asked, a notepad in hand with a plastic ball pen in the another.

"I'd like a pot of Earl Grey, please. What about you, Alfred?" With the two sets of eyes landing oh Alfred, all he could do was let out a tiny whimper.

"Um... I'd like some coffee, please." Very pathetic for Alfred. Very so very pathetic. How was he a lady-killing CIA agent? He was the 'Smooth Operator', he could get himself out of any trouble, he could seduce sources in giving him information! Yet, why was he so flustered in front of Arthur? For a more convincing cover, perhaps?

"Yes, Alfred. But what kind?" Francis inquired, doubting that Alfred only knew Nescafé 3-in-1.

"Americana." He said, almost too quickly. This was actually the order that CIA agents would order to inform the other spies working with them that they were on the case. If Alfred heard his co-worker from another table call for this particular coffee, then he would take it as a signal that everything was running smoothly. He almost forgot that he was on a mission, not some innocent cup of coffee with his friend.

Francis hesitated, before resuming, "It's a pity, I would've ordered a Café au Lait. It's the house speciality."

Did Alfred hear that right? Did Alfred just hear the confirmation code from the French intelligence? Was Francis part of the French intelligence? Was he on the tail of the Braginski case too? He then tested Francis if he knew the full code. "Francis, are there a lot of ants here? Since it's filled with desserts?"

His eyes sparkled, as if knowing valuable information. "I try to keep this place as clean as possible. But sometimes, even in the cleanest place of the world, a lone ant might just find a way in to steal my sweets."

"And us humans must stop the ant before it passes the sweets to its friends back at home." Mission confirmed. Alfred was informed that a man by the name of Agent Bonnefoy would be on his tail to supervise him. He was also told to order a cup of Espresso when he was close to blowing his cover.

"Fair point. Ah, I have to go check on my cream puffs!" He said, scurrying off to the long hallway behind the staff door, leaving the two alone again.

"So, Alfred. Where have you been finding your income? Are you financially stable?" He questioned, leaning forward to have a good look at those ocean blue orbs. Partly to see whether was lying, partly to apply some pressure, and partly to admire those eyes as blue as the skies... What was he thinking? He was a man, Alfred was a man; things between men couldn't happen! Though Arthur would actually try to woo Alfred if he was a girl.

"My income... I... Actually..." With a look of certainly splashed across his face, he then decided to make something up, trying as hard as possible not to lose eye contact. "Well, my pops finally started to feel bad for abandoning me with Amelia, so he started sending me some money every month. And I also sold a few artworks on the way."

"Hmm... Is that so? The Williams, you say?" He leaned forward again, forearms supporting his body weight, sending a harsher glare, strengthening the stare.

"Y-Yes, the Williams." He stammered, seeing Francis around the corner and sent his mayday signal. "Francis! Can I change my order? Could you change it to Espresso?"

"Espresso? I'm sorry, we're all out of Espresso beans." He apologetically stated as he started sauntering over from the counter. "In fact, we're closing soon. My place is book for a family gathering at 5 o'clock so I have to start my preparations in about... Say, around 10 minutes?"

"10 minutes? Aww, it's a shame. I really wanted some coffee today. Could you help me pack my éclairs?" He begged, still unable to pronounce the foreign dessert smoothly.

"Sure thing! I'll be back in a jiffy." He smiled, swiftly transferring the plate onto his palm to dashed towards the counter.

"It's a shame, isn't it? I wanted to order more desserts for you but it just had to be booked." Arthur commented, leaning back against the board of his chair, a tingly suspicion fluttering within. He definitely knew something was up. He knew that Alfred would rather sleep on the streets than to accept money from the Williams.

"Why not we come back tomorrow? If you're free?" He asked, almost like asking a girl out on a date. Except that this was a man, and he was on a mission, and he might die any moment.

"Sure. Same time at your place?" His British accent strong as ever, even if he was practically raised in the States his whole life. Yet, it would never fail to make Alfred feel so enchanted by it, wanting to hear more.

"A takeaway plate of éclairs, for Alfred." Francis interrupted with a paper bag in hand, and handed it over to Alfred with a quick wink. What did that mean, he wondered.

As they made their way back to the car, he noticed a strip of paper hidden underneath the container. A note. What was it about? Was it about the French intelligence? Was it from the CIA criticising his lack of ability of gaining any information? Was it the CIA thinking that he was no longer useful and wanted him at the headquarters - dead?

Arthur noticed the distressed look in Alfred's eyes and said nothing. He wondered whether bringing his biological family up was a bad idea. The car ride was filled with a whining silence, the world outside seemed to be muffled by their stressful thoughts? They felt like they were underwater - unable to speak or breath, unable to voice their thoughts, unable to escape their problems.

As the tyres squealed and the engine quieting down from rumbling to humming, Alfred got off the car without much force and plainly turned back, quickly added, "See you tomorrow," before turning into the town-house and locking himself away.

As he peeped through the curtains and saw Arthur's car roll away, he reached for the paper bag, blood running cold, all energy drained. As his hand reached for the strip of paper, his eyes were screwed shut, expecting the worse. But all it said was, 'Jones, meet me at Room 483 at the Hilton Hotel room at 2100 hours tonight. I hope you don't ditch us.'

'Us'? Who was 'us'? Braginski's friends? The KGB? Should he turn up? Should he risk seeing the KGB; or should he risk ditching his superiors? If only he could drown himself in the deep Atlantic ocean and never return; yet if he did so, he wouldn't be able to see Arhut again, to embrace him like he did at the same old football field.

He sighed, partly relieved to acknowledge the fact that the CIA still needed him, partly fearing 9 o'clock. Fearing that once he opened the door, KGB members would leap in front of him with a gun cocked in his face; fearing that once he opened the door, he'd see Arthur held as hostage. Yes, this job was dangerous, but it was worth living to see Arthur again.


It was nine, he was in one of his tailored suites, handgun in his pocket, standing outside the hotel room.

The red carpet covering the floor, warm air with the scent of daisies filled the hallway. Paintings of still art and dancing women was aligned across the walls. It was bright, but still felt antiqued and sophisticated.

He gave three knocks on the painted door, before the doorknob spun open to reveal Francis smiling at him.

"You've made it, Agent. Come in, someone important needs to see you." He opened the door wide and stepped to a side, escorting him in.

The carpet inside was a darker shade of crimson, very close to maroon. It was a royal suite, with a large bed by the huge glass window, a large chandelier hovering above them in the centre or the room. As his vision span moved to scan the end of the room, he was a little living area. A nice wooden coffee table, a beautifully designed couch, with the one man he didn't want to see lounging over there.

"Long time no see, my brother."


To be continued...


A/N: Please do not view Matthew or Ivan as the 'villains'. They aren't. I truly believe that they are kind and intelligent individuals that do not deserve criticism of any sort. Thank you for understanding.