Arthur presented Alfred with a bewildered glance after he was asked that very question. Presenting Alfred with two possible answers to his question. The first being, Arthur had spilt the details to his child; and was given hope from Peter in order to stay strong. Or second, Arthur had simply held off from telling Peter-being his normal sad self simply because Peter didn't know what the future had in store.
Did you all guess number two was the correct answer? Because it is. And it exists with a terrible explanation to go hand-in-hand with it.
"No, Alfred, I didn't." Arthur sat his pen down besides his mountain of paperwork-being weighted down by his personal copy of Oliver Twist. "Peter doesn't need to know exactly this moment. Besides! It will give me ample time to figure a method to tell him."
A method to tell Peter? Oh, was Arthur simply going to buy the sweetest cupcakes from the state, present them on a silver platter, and then say 'Your mum, remember her? Yes, she wants you back and my chances of keeping you are slim. So, how are the sweets?' If Alfred F. Jones had any say in this matter, Peter would find out today. But deep down he knew Arthur would only procrastinate, and tell his son a day before the court date. As any comic book hero accomplishes, they take matters into their own hands.
"Y'know, I think Pride and Prejudice sucks, so my opinion doesn't matter to ya, but I also think that you need to tell Lil Arthur." Alfred announced, making sure no prying ears were listening in with a quick glance over his shoulder. "Or I'll do it."
It was that moment where Arthur most certainly desired to violently scream and start swinging his stubby-bitten at-finger nails towards his American student standing before his desk. However, Arthur here doesn't lack self-control, so he did manage to keep his physical movements suppressed. His mental suppression,however, hadn't worked so well. As he was internally telling a string of profanities that used to get him spanked by his mother. "Fine!" It was obvious in his voice that Arthur was indeed holding back a much needed scream, oh so obvious since Alfred had managed to catch it. "If you can raise my son better than I, his own father, can, by all means, give him the American dream."
The Briton shot the younger American a nasty look before doing his normal huff and then returning to grading. Which, in understanding Arthur's behavior, that translates to 'Get the bloody fuck away from me.' and a little bit more that isn't so appropriate.
So, his spirit some how still going strong, Alfred took the message and left Mr. Kirkland to his own devices. Just as Alfred was about to indulge in his.
Returning back to the apartment, Alfred found Peter in the usual location in the apartment complex; sitting with an Australian girl his age and a teenage Italian while watching some edited movie on television. "Hey, Peter!" Alfred called, once he was behind the armchair Peter had claimed in the corner by the television. "I got somethin' to ask."
Peter lifted his head up, in order to see Alfred's head, as the other two minors had diverted their attention from the screen too. "We'll talk about it with some ice cream."
"Ice cream!?" Peter squeaked, surprised with blue eyes widened. The other two kids appeared to have a faint look of jealousy on their baby features as Peter had a little bit of trouble springing to his feet. "C'mon, Mr. Alfred, let's go!" Peter skipped around the armchair and used both his little hands to latch on to Alfred's larger hand. "Papa never gets me ice cream, let's go!"
After being dragged to his questionably child-friendly sports car, Alfred drove himself and the little Kirkland right down the road to the ice cream parlor two miles away. Decorated baby blue on the outside, and fitted with cream colored retro furniture on the inside-Alfred and Peter ventured on inside and ordered. Alfred received his root bear float and triple chocolate scoop mushed into a cone, whilst little Peter was captivated by cotton candy flavored ice cream with partly stiff marshmallows mixed in. They sat at one of the three booths by the large window left of the entrance door-to be precise, the booth in the middle. Alfred consumed his food within fifteen minutes but Peter took his time, his tongue and lips turning a revolting shade of blue.
"Can I ask ya somethin' now?" Alfred said, catching Peter while the little one was chewing on a marshmallow. Peter nodded his head, a loud hum following soon. Causing Alfred to continue with. "Have you seen your mom around?"
"Mummy?" Peter swallowed his food stuff as Alfred confirmed the statement. The Little Briton slightly furrowed his own pair of caterpillar eyebrows, using all his might to think, before spurting out. "Yesterday after breakfast...? Or the other day... that was my mummy."
"Huh?" Alfred was surprised to even get a positive answer. "Did she say somethin' to ya, Champ?"
"She wanted to, but Wendy and I were playing before she went to see Papa."
Alfred narrowed his eyes, lips slightly agape as he exhaled near slightly. Thinking, yes what a foreign concept to him, about how a hero could fix the situation. Until;
"Alfred? Are Papa and I gonna be okay?"
AN: My apologies for the absence of any updates. I attended my state's thespian festival this year, and all my energy was drained from that. But since that has ceased to exist for the rest of the year, I've returned my aattention to writing! I hope you dear readers enjoyed this chapter! And if you all wouldn't mind, could you please leave a review? I adore feedback of any matter! Besides that, I hope you have a nice day!
