AN: Sorry for the delay! I had no inspiration for ages, and then it hit; right as I started a load of work! ut I sat down today and finished it! So here we are, the end of this little piece. I hope you enjoyed it, I did. And I'm pretty happy with how it finishes. Apologies if dates are out, I couldn't find what day May 8th was, I made it a weekend~

DISCLAIMER: Still not mine, sadly...


Arthur could feel the tears welling up. A lump appeared in his throat as he watched his son's face shatter as he took in his fathers broken form. His heart flipped and clenched; Alfred was frightened by him. He opened his mouth to speak, to say something to break the awful silence that had fallen, but no sound came out. Alfred, oblivious to his fathers emotions as ever, bit his lip and asked again. "Daddy? What happened, why are you-"

"Alfred," Francis' voice interrupted. Both blonde's glanced over at him, as he rose from his chair. "Why don't you go get your 'omework done first Alfred, we'll talk more then? You'll 'ave all night, oui?"

Alfred's eyes danced between his father and his host, until Matthew's head appeared around the door. "I-I'll help with your maths Al," he offered. Alfred took one last look at his father, before sliding down and trailing after Matthew.

Francis closed the door with a soft thud, before turing back to Arthur. He hadn't made a sound through any of it, rather he had almost become a statue. His eyes were staring intently at a spot on the wall and Francis could see the clenched muscles in the Englishman's jaw. His hands had knotted themselves into fists, fists that Francis walked over to unwind. He knelt by the armchair, gently moving aside the crutch.

"Arthur?" he asked quietly. He hadn't known the man a day, but he could tell he was not one to display too much emotion. He was bottling it in, Francis could see, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall, pushing away the pain. No response from him. Francis gently laid his hand over Arthur's, which got a reaction finally. As if he had only just realised Francis was there, his head dropped to him and he sighed.

"Oh, sorry ah-about that. I..." The Brit trailed off. His hands slowly uncurled under Francis' touch, lying flat on his thighs. He stared down at his legs, at the sudden end in material on his right side. He'd altered most of his own clothes, after getting home, angrily slicing and sewing at the material. It had almost been a release, a chance to release all the anger that had blossomed ever since he woke up in that damn hospital. Half-destroying his clothes let him get angry - but he only owned so many clothes, yet there was so much anger.

Another hand joined his, Francis' long fingers resting atop his. "What is the matter?" he asked, in a voice so quiet Arthur almost missed it. His tongue tentatively licked at his lips as he searched for the words to being with.

"I... Alfred...Its just - oh, God, I don't know! I thought, well, I thought I'd be okay to come back, he'd still want to see me!"

"But 'e does!" Francis protested. "You are the one person 'e cannot stop talking about!" Arthur grimaced.

"Because he wanted his father back, not a strange looking man he can't remember-"

"What are you talking about, it's been, what, five months?"

"I'm not the man I was! Look at me! Look!" He glared down at his legs. "... I used to pick him up with one arm, now look. I can't stand alone, he doesn't like it." Arthur looked up, and Francis could see fresh tears in his eyes.

"He... He's so happy, isn't he? Now, with you... he loves you, I can tell. He's started thinking of you as his father-"

"Now, Arthur!" Francis gasped. "Do not continue that thought for one more second, I am not replacing you!" Arthur shook his head, flopping back into the chair. He threw his hands up and shrugged.

"Well, he looks happy! How can I ruin that, take him home, now that he's here? He's not going to want to go, is he?"

Francis looked over the Englishman. He took in his thin frame, the cool green eyes and those pale, frowning lips. The frown didn't suit him, Francis decided. He leant closer, cupping the Brit's chin with one hand and pulled it up. Confused eyes, followed but Arthur didn't pull back, making Francis smile.

"Who says you 'ave to go anywhere Mr. Kirkland?"


They fell back into a routine, only this time there was a new addition. Arthur became part of their make-shift family, and Francis could see the changes happening. Alfred, it seemed, had been holding back on him and was now louder than ever and had got even cheekier since his father's arrival. More often than not, he arrived home late, Ivan and Matthew in tow, but somehow avoided the whack around the back of the head. Matthew too, seemed more open, which made Francis swell with pride. Matthew had always been quiet, often ignored by others. Now he spoke out more, and while often mistaken for Alfred (who had shot up to match him in height) he had still become more extrovert. He often arrived by Arthur's side in the evening, whenever the man pulled out one of his books. Both of them shared a love for books, and Arthur enjoyed having someone to read to, since Alfred couldn't sit still long enough for him to finish a chapter. They got along like a house on fire, Francis thought.

There were changes in Arthur too, Francis noted. He was getting stronger, having to rely on is arms more now, and each time he lifted Alfred up, it looked that little bit easier. His smile was showing more now too, Francis would catch him smiling happily to himself or into a cup of tea of a night. He had gotten past the polite stiffness of being a guest and become more of a friend. Still, it didn't stop the two arguing like mad.

"What the 'ell are you doing?!"

"I was cooking! Now look what you've done!"

"What I did?! How did I do this, it wasn't me who-"

Most arguments followed this line, and dissolved into the two hurling curses in their native tongue across the room. Yet, Francis had come to learn they didn't mean much, the next morning usually arrived with a smooth apology and a cup of tea, made just for him. Francis secretly enjoyed these make-up sessions, because Arthur would finally be honest with him, and well, he loved to see him smile.

It wasn't just Francis who enjoyed these morning apologies though, Arthur sometimes wasted the night away thinking of the next morning. Not that he'd admit it to the 'damn frog', but he always felt bad whenever he started a row, a little hurt when Francis retaliated. When morning came, he could start afresh, and he could never tire of seeing Francis' face light up when he handed him a cup of steaming tea.

Not that either would admit. They were just friends. Friends.


"Afternoon mon petit Angleterre!" Francis called, as he unlocked the front door one sunny afternoon. He had recently taken on a part time job, cleaning in the big mansion in the village. It paid fairly well for the job, and with Arthur's money from the army, as well as mixing their rations, it meant they could all live comfortably (even if Francis did have to sacrifice some tea to keep the Englishman running).

"I'm in the kitchen, Frenchy," Arthur called back, and Francis could hear the rhythmic tap of his crutch on the tiled floor. Francis slipped off his coat, sliding it onto the hook next to Arthur's. Neither could quite remember when that hook had become Arthur's, it just... had. Like Arthur's seat was always next to Alfred, at the head of the table, or his toothbrush was the one to the right of Matthew's. He was like the missing piece Francis had never noticed.

Francis pushed the kitchen door open, to find Arthur with his back to him, washing a pile of dishes on the side. The long window let in the sun, and it flooded the kitchen, making Arthur almost glow in it's light. He stood tall and straight, expertly balanced on his aid while he gently washed the plate in his hand. The quiet buzz of the radio completed the perfect picture, and Francis was almost bowled over by how... amazing Arthur looked. His shirt stretched perfectly over his shoulders, his hair just tickling the collar. The tea towel tucked into his waistband had come to rest on that flaming gorgoeus ar-

'Non. I did not just... I am not thinking about Arthur like th- has he always been that well built?'

"Francis?" Arthur's voice pulled him out, and he shook his head, returning to the kitchen. Big brows knitted themselves together, as Arthur peered at him. "You alright?" Francis smiled smugly. "Oui... I'm fine," he replied, stepping towards Arthur. The Brit placed the plate onto the draining board, and dropped the sponge back into the sink. He turned to Francis, watching him suspiciously as he pulled out the tea towel. "Okay then - your turn to dry up, I think?" He held out the towel. When Francis did nothing but gaze into his eyes, he batted it at him, tickling his chin with it. "Oi, mister, it's only fair I-"

Francis suddenly had his wrist, and was pulling him closer. "You know, Arthur, you look so 'andsome today?" Then he reached for his chin, and hastily pressed their lips together. Arthur fumbled for a second, fighting against him but goodness, the Frenchman was delicious. He couldn't deny that he had dreamt of this; late, late into the night, maybe once or twice. His arms came to their senses, and he discarded the crutch with a wave, holding himself between Francis and the worktop. Francis' hands ran the length of him, curling into his hair, ravaging his chest and hips - and Arthur mirrored his actions.

All too soon, they stopped, and Arthur grinned wildly up at Francis, who chuckled breathlessly.

"You wouldn't believe 'ow long I 'ave wanted to do that..."


It was almost four years later, on the 8th of May 1945, that the little family was reshaped once again. It was a normal day to begin with, the boys up horrendously early and rolling around the living room floor while their fathers still slept. Eventually, Alfred's yells as he was tackled by Matthew woke Arthur, who in turn rolled over and nudged Francis.

"Go 'n tell 'em to shud' up... Francis..." he murmured, still half asleep. Francis groaned. "You," he insisted. They spent exactly five minutes arguing over who should get up, by which time both of them were awake anyway. Arthur grabbed his cane and Francis' pulled on his dressing gown as they made their way downstairs, hands having got entwined somewhere along the way.

"Boys, do calm down!" Arthur said as he walked in. The two boys looked up from the floor, grinning. "But we're in the middle of a battle!" Arthur chuckled and poked Alfred with his foot. "Becuase we need anther battle, don't we? I've had enough of this bloody war, goodness me," he said as he took his seat and Francis made his way in wih theiir morning drinks.

"Just because you 'ate the rationing Arthur," he laughed, nestling next to his partner. They couldn't marry, they knew that, and the people weren't exactly welcoming about their relationships, but the two felt as safe and happy in the walls of their home to be as in love as any married couple could be.

They watched the boys play as the drank, before Francis asked Matthew to get up and turn the radio on. As had become their routine, the French pair went around making breakfast while Alfred and Arthur cleaned the house. It wasn't long before the four of them sat at the table, quietly finishing their meals. It seemed right that the message come through at the only time the house was ever silent. The radio crackled, and then;

"Yesterday morning at 2:41 a.m. at General Eisenhowers Headquarters, General Jodl, the representative of the German High Command, and of Grand Admiral Doenitz, the designated head of the German State, signed the act of unconditional surrender of all German Land, sea, and air forces in Europe to the Allied Expeditionary Force, and simultaneously to the Soviet High Command."

All heads snapped up, and the first hints of smiles hung on the family's lips. As the message continued, their smiles grew, and before they knew it, they were out of their seats, hugging, laughing and in Alfred's case creating the most noise possible. The boys, suddenly struck with inspiration, ran for the door, finding their neighbors doing the same. People of all ages ran into the street, and there was cheering and hugging everywhere. Francis and Arthur followed them out, finding Alfred at the door with Matthew, Ivan appearing by their side to hug them.

Arthur wrapped his arm around Francis' waist as they stood in the door way, and the Frenchman looked down at his little Englishman. "It's over..." he said, and Arthur smiled. "It's finally over..."

Advance, Britannia! Long live the cause of freedom! God save the King!