A/N: Thanks so much to everyone still following, and especially to the reviewers!
Adelita Jameson, or Miss Addie, as she lets Alfred know that she prefers, is rummaging through a cardboard box perched on top of her cluttered kitchen table as her houseguest takes in his surroundings and a long drink of sweet tea, sitting in a rickety lawn chair. It seems that her window A/C unit has decided to give up the fight, leaving Alfred's glasses slipping down his sweat-slicked nose, so he grabs an old church bulletin off the countertop next to him and starts to fan himself. He's already explained who he is… and what he's done.
He's grateful for the way her eyes had only briefly darkened at him upon hearing it.
She'd offered him a look around the second floor to begin with, which he'd hesitantly accepted, but he'd met nothing but an empty apartment, rooms cleared out months ago and prepared for a new tenant. So they'd meandered back downstairs, and she'd gone digging through a closet and returned with the box.
"Here we go!" Miss Addie proclaims suddenly, and produces a worn leather book with nothing printed on the outside. She holds it tight to her chest and looks him straight in the eye. "You want to know about Arthur, right, honey?"
He nods.
"Well, I can't help you much with that. I can tell you what I thought of him, and so can anyone else that knew him. But if you really want to know Arthur, you've got to go straight to the source."
This doesn't make much sense, but before he can tell her so, she sets the book in his lap—then holds his hand back when he reaches to open it.
She answers his puzzled look, "I want you to fully appreciate what you're getting here. Arthur was always so private… I expect that comes with having four brothers—I would know, being the sixth of twelve children—but people don't lock up just any old junk. They lock up treasure, and that's exactly what he was. He could be the sweetest thing when he wanted, but more often than not, he hid inside his grumpy old shell, which is unfortunately what you'll hear the most about when you start asking people about him."
Alfred begins to realize what the book in his lap is, and it must show on his face, because Miss Addie heads him off quickly.
"Now don't you think for a minute that you're not gonna take this," she says, pointing a finger in his face. "I think if anybody deserves to know, it's you. I think you need to understand more than anyone what you've taken away from us. It might be harsh, but it's the truth, and you know it."
It is the truth, and he does know it.
It doesn't, however, change the fact that he's contemplating how much Miss Addie's opinion of him would change for the worse should he become violently ill all over her kitchen floor.
Before he leaves, she slips the book into a paper bag, along with a stack of cookies and a photograph that he can't manage to get a good look at before it disappears inside the sack.
The cookies are pretty good the first time around.
The second… not so much.
When Alfred pulls out the picture and takes a long, hard look at it, he has to duck into an alley and empty the contents of his stomach into a half-full trashcan, holding the bag and photo out of harm's way.
"Please, let it mean something…"
At the time, he hadn't been able to tell. The streetlights had been that weird shade of greeny-yellow, and everything had been washed in a pale, sickly hue… including the small, dark puddle pooling around his shoes and under the form he'd clung to so desperately.
But the photograph is clear, and his eyes are green.
Bright, bright green.
Matthew says nothing when Alfred comes home, and Alfred says nothing about him being in his apartment. He gave him a key, after all. It affords Matthew certain privileges, like opening doors and sitting on couches and waiting for his twin to come home so he can be smothered and cried all over while keeping his mouth completely shut, thank you.
… which Matthew does, because he's Matthew.
