One drink turned into two, and two into three, and by the time four had rolled around, it was all the men could do to stop from rolling themselves, nearly falling to the ground in the fits of laughter that would overcome them as the conversation marched ever on and on. The laughter to Arthur was something new; he couldn't think of a time in which he was drunk and jolly at the same time. In fact, "jolly" was hardly a word that could describe him at any time of the day, sober or inebriated.

As much as it hurt to laugh, he welcomed the pain. He couldn't help himself, with Francis being here so close to him, helping him to be supported upright, babbling on in between the not so infrequent sips of spirits and bursts of chuckling. Oh, and his smiles; perhaps they were the only thing that got Arthur to stop laughing. Francis would beam at him with that smile, showing off his one tooth to the left that was just the slightest bit crooked, and he would find himself growing silent, the ache in his stomach now more poignant than ever. But that smile gave him just the right amount of anesthesia to shut him up and stare without the pain truly ailing him. So when Francis finished off his glass, found himself through with the laughter, and opened up with that smile and said "How about we get out of here?", Arthur was more than willing to comply.

For the first time, being drunk made him feel alive. Sure, he wasn't plastered to the point where he'd lost control of all actions and thoughts, but he was in that wonderful blurry state of delirium, where much of the world was reduced to the point of a cool breeze coming from nowhere accompanied by a world composed of fuzzy shapes of colored light, refusing to come into focus until he was right on top of them. Because of this, not only was it impossible for him to see where Francis was leading him, but neither did he care. As long as he wasn't going home tonight, that's all that mattered.

Leaning against Francis as they walked, Arthur allowed for his companion to do the majority of the work, simply putting one foot in front of the other without any thinking -for his mind was concerned elsewhere.

He was thinking of the last time he had been drunk.

It happened right before he had left, actually. Arthur could hardly stand the thought of travel, the feeling of the world moving beneath your feet and knowing that once you emerged again from whatever contraption you had left in, the place you had once known so well would be far behind. At the time too, he could hardly stand the thought of France. To him, the place was even more sickening than the ride over.

So he decided that he was going to get rid of the bad taste in his mouth -replace it with something a bit stronger, and if it proved strong enough, maybe by the time morning came, he would leave the house without even remembering where he was headed. That night, he passed out in the large reclining chair in the living room, only for Peter to have to come and clean up his glass and throw a blanket over him so Arthur wouldn't freeze. The morning came right on time, and he was livid to find that he still remembered exactly where he was headed, exactly was he was meant to do, and had a terrible headache to top it all off.

In the end, drinking just didn't work.

Not until tonight it hadn't. All of the bad things were melting away into the darker corners of Arthur's mind, replaced instead by visions of Francis' bright smile, accompanied by an ambiance filled with the sound of his laugh, the small hums he would give as they walked down the street, the steady in and out of his breath...

For that night, he was determined: wherever Francis lead, he would follow...

Francis certainly did lead, but to where exactly was the real question.

Arthur was certain they had gone to the car first, but they didn't stay there for long. There was a quick click of the trunk opening, and then a slam shut that came equally as fast. After that, it was back to walking, step right, step left, step right...The lights of the town were gone by then; for miles, nothing in particular truly shined, instead the land being washed in the broad range of moonlight rather than the distinct points of interest that had been there before. They wandered through the dark until a particularly fine spot was found, to which Francis pulled back on Arthur's arm to let him know the time for walking had ended.

"Stop here," he spoke up. "This looks perfect."

Arthur smiled. "I would back you up on that, except that I can't see a bloody thing."

"You will soon," was all Francis said, and then unfurled a large blanket and spread it out on the ground before taking a seat on top of it; he motioned for Arthur to join him, but the gentleman more rather sank onto the blanket than sat.

"Why do I get the strangest feeling that we're out in the middle of nowhere?" Arthur asked, still swaying a bit from the impact of landing. "I still can't see anything."

Francis tried to steady him the best he could. "We're certainly somewhere; lean back a bit and look."

He didn't quite understand what any leaning would do, but he did as instructed, and still nothing came into view. Perhaps a bit more, he thought, and leaned even further, further again, maybe a few more inches, until finally, Arthur was flat on his back, looking all around. Even while he was at that point, what he gazed upon was nothing but a thick banner of black across his vision, until slowly...it wasn't.

It started out just as a general haze, a bit of light that was overcoming the darkness. After a minute, a few shapes came into focus, like the dim outline of the mountains and some of the trees that must have stood in this field, as it appeared to be. A minute more and he found where the source of this light was coming from: a brilliant moon resting high in the sky, full and bright, watching over them as the little specks sitting on the earth they must have appeared to be. Arthur allowed his gaze to linger there, and once he did, he saw it.

Everything. All of the light and powers of the universe condensed into tiny pinpricks of whites and reds and blues on an endless backdrop of black; never had he seen the stars so clearly, even if he was in a drunken state. There was no other light to block out their radiance, untouched, unpolluted...He couldn't bring himself to peel his eyes away.

"You seem to have a knack for this," was all he could say, folding his arms across his stomach to settle in, now that he'd found what he was looking for.

"Pardon?"

"Finding beauty."

Francis smiled, one that Arthur didn't see. "I would like to think so; I've become better at it as of late." He genuinely thought so, because while Arthur was staring at the beauty he had found, Francis was looking instead to him, still the most beautiful thing he ever saw. He wasn't a breathtaking landscape, a newly bloomed spring flower, the smile on a young baby's face, or even the stars...but it was the fact that he wasn't any of these things, his own separate beauty entirely, that convinced Francis he would never find such a gift again.

Arthur gave a light chuckle at this comment, closing his eyes for a moment. "I grew up in the countryside, outside of London, in this big ugly house, but not as ugly as the one I live in now."

"...That's...That's unfortunate, I suppose."

He glanced over to Francis a moment, smirking. "Last time I checked, I thought you were dying to hear about me."

The man's eyes went wide then, realizing what he had just interrupted. "No, of course; please, continue," he said, arranging himself now on the blanket in a way similar to Arthur's position, prepared to listen.

"I say it was ugly, but I guess when I think about it, that house was my favorite place in the world. There were gardens, full of trees and these huge butterfly bushes that the poor things would just flock to; Liam made a a sport out of catching them and putting them into jars. Dylan would cry and beg to let them all go, chasing him around the house until Allistor caught the two of them and clanged their heads together until the nonsense stopped." Arthur smiled at the memory, but he didn't feel happy. "That's back when we were still brothers...when we had a family."

"And you don't now? I thought you mentioned you all still worked together."

Arthur nodded. "We do, but that doesn't mean we like each other -or even get along. Once we all hit a certain age...it was clear that our differences weren't just in personality. We all wanted different things...different paths. And when Peter came along..." He had to stop to let himself laugh. "It couldn't have been more evident."

"Peter?"

"My little brother," Arthur clarified. "My father was a very wealthy and affluent man. He...got around a lot."

"Ah."

"We didn't know about him for the longest time, and then one day...a letter showed up from him, out of the blue after my father's funeral. He was naive -still is...said that he was packed and currently on his way to come live with us, since his mother would rather have nothing to do with him. He obviously thought it wouldn't be a problem, but after that all hell broke loose between my brothers and I. They didn't want him, and I'd be lying if I said I did at the time, but they were cruel when he arrived. They refused him, and he ended up staying in the country, well -nearby, although he had no one. I would write to him occasionally out of pity more than anything."

He paused, took a deep breath. It was so stupid looking back on it all now. How stupid they all had been.

"My brothers had already considered leaving at that point, many times, but as soon as they heard I was considering taking Peter in, that was the end of it. Allistor was the first to leave, then Liam, and once Liam was gone, Dylan had no reason to stay; I had the house to myself. Except I didn't want it either...the memories were tainted, and the halls were too empty to fill all by myself, even if Peter did end up staying with me...which he did. So I sold it."

Francis was thinking. "You don't seem to regret it."

"I don't," Arthur said with a slight nod. "It was the right thing to do. I was still rather young myself, a bachelor of nineteen with a low paying job...I could hardly take care of myself, let alone an estate. Sure, I could afford it considering Father left me the better portion of the money but...mentally, it was out of the question. So I bought a smaller place about a half an hour away and sent Peter the address. I didn't even bother sending it to the other boys; they had made their decision clear. If they wanted to talk to me, they would." Arthur laughed. "They didn't. Not for another two years, at least."

Francis lay back completely on the blanket now, mirroring the man beside him. "Two years can really change a person, but I guess it wasn't enough."

"Oh, it was enough to keep up a conversation, at least," Arthur said, relaxing his hands behind his head. "Allistor called me up and told me that he had an opportunity for me -that he was getting the boys together again. We'd scattered to all corners of the Agency: Ireland, Scotland, Whales...I couldn't see why he would want to bring us all back to England."

He knew the answer, it was almost too obvious; his eyes began to squint as the words rolled off of his tongue. "He wanted you to become Agents."

"Exactly. Apparently in the years since he'd left us, he'd joined up with the Agency and with a few clever moves, a bit of luck, and a few unfortunate mishaps, moved his way up the ranks. Now he supposedly wanted to be surrounded by people that he trusted. Little did I know that meant us." He sighed. "By the end of the week, I was in basic training."

"You accepted that easily?"

"...I wanted a second chance." As stupid as it sounded, it was true, and Arthur couldn't stop the words from coming. "I wanted to see if there was any way to make things right -to prove my worth to them. Instead I got stuck in a room with all of them, arguing and whining like we were all young tots again, except now the whole world hangs in balance and we threaten to tip the scales every time someone throws a temper tantrum. And since they're all too busy throwing fits, I'm always the one fixing the problems, cleaning up the mess..." He could feel the exhaustion of his work even now, sitting heavy on his chest. "It gets tiring feeling like everything is in your hands."

Silence settled into the air around them, mingling with the soft sounds of the crisp breeze and the breath of two men who should have been far away, elsewhere...

Francis spoke after that moment was gone. "And it's been like that ever since?"

"Of course," Arthur said with a nod. "Once you're in, you're in for life. Being an Agent is...all I'll ever be."

"You can't possibly believe that, not when there's so much more to do."

"It was the path I chose." One he chose long ago, at that. He had never really given thought to doing anything else. This persona, this Agent...he'd been this person for so long that the thought of other possibilities had never really crossed his mind. So what Francis had to say next made his heart skip a beat.

"Then choose a different one."

Arthur turned then to see the Frenchman staring at him, and in an instant realized that they were lying much closer than he expected them to be. He could see the light in Francis' eyes, smell the rosy alcohol on his breath...it took him a moment to realize that neither of them were talking, and that if someone didn't start soon they might remain there forever this way, frozen in time. Arthur cleared his throat in hopes of getting things moving.

"Anyway, that's far enough about that," he said. "What about the tragic life of the Frenchie?"

"Me? No." Arthur could tell Francis was trying hard not to trip over his words. "I mean, what is there to tell? The French are born, we achieve greatness, we fall into tragedy, and then we die beautiful and romantic deaths."

"Oh, don't be foolish."

"You think I'm lying?" The laugh that came from his throat was one of disbelief. "All us French are the same; ask anyone and you'd hear the same exact story as anything I could possibly tell you."

Arthur couldn't tell if he was actually joking or not, but the thought in itself was interesting. "Are you telling me you already know how you're going to die?"

"I have a pretty good idea."

"And what part are you in now? The greatness, or the tragedy?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out for awhile now." His tone was so serious that it seemed as if this were a totally different man, but as soon as the stranger came, he left, signified by the sudden grabbing of the gentleman's hand, grasping it with a warm and friendly squeeze. The smile he wore on his face, however, seemed tortured. "I believe I'm wedged somewhere in the middle."

He was paralyzed, and he knew it; Arthur couldn't have moved an inch even if he wanted to. For some odd reason, he was glued to this place, this man, and with all his strength he concentrated until he could regain control of his hand, telling it to move away before the danger grew too strong. But for some reason, it refused to listen, and only held the man's hand tighter, filling his arm with a semi-sweet sensation of burning pain with something kinder underneath. Something he was scared to place.

"You grew up in Paris, you had a father and a mother, and you were an embarrassing little boy who collected santons; I'd say that's a place to start."

Arthur couldn't exactly understand why Francis was being such a drama queen about it, rolling his eyes and whatnot; either the man was simply embarrassed, or there was a clear, unknown reason as to why he didn't want to speak. "You're really not going to let it go, are you?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't have to be everything."

Francis took his gamble at stargazing this time, turning his eyes to the sky as he spoke. "We were like any other family in Paris, I guess...trying to stay safe, struggling to get by -but we did it. We made it because we loved the city; it was hard not to. I still do...or I guess I wouldn't be stuck in the job I have now."

"Joining the Alliance?"

Francis gave a short laugh. "Joining it? More like creating it."

It would be a lie to say Arthur wasn't surprised. All this time he assumed he was playing around with some sleazy low-level Alliance man who didn't give two shits about his job. Apparently he had been wrong. Very wrong. He found himself panicking a little, but was too drunk to really get himself all that worked up.

"If you really are the head of the Alliance, my brother might as well appear out of thin air and smite me right this instant."

Finally the old Francis was back, cracking up like an idiot. "No, no, no; just because I founded it doesn't mean I'm the head. I gave up that position a long time ago. 'Found' I guess is a strong term for it anyway; of course there was an Alliance before I was in the picture, just as there was an Agency before you all joined up. I just happened to organize the mongrels into an actual system instead of just a pack of violent individuals. But honestly, I don't give a damn about what the Alliance does anymore...it's kind of hard to when nothing ever gets done."

"But...how? How can someone even do something like that?"

"The same way the Agency was once put together, I suppose, except forged in darker fires. I was tired of seeing everyone around me die, just sitting by, watching as everything I knew and loved fell into ruin...no, I couldn't let that happen." Francis swept a thumb over the back of Arthur's hand; talking about this and being with this man in the same instant was almost too much to take in. The irony was almost laughable, but Francis supposed that's what fueled him forward. "After my father got caught up in the cross-hairs, that's when I knew for sure. He was gone, and there was nothing I could do about that. Mother of course didn't last long after he was gone, with the pain of him missing...so her life ended tragically and romantically not too long after."

Arthur gave him a good kick. Francis only smirked.

"I saw that there was nothing I could do to fix what had happened to them, but I would let myself go crazy before I let that happen to even more people. And that's how I began going all over, searching for contacts in the worst of places. It was tiring, but I found them eventually. Especially when talking to the representatives of fallen nations, it wasn't too hard to convince them to team up and work together to try and win everything back. But...let's just say some of them got a bit carried away and had their own plans, so I let them take the wheel." He looked so very unamused when he said, "Now I'd do anything to shove Boss' title up his ass."

"Well, at least we've got that in common."

"What's that?"

"Having to put up with superiors who're convinced they're God."

God.

Francis couldn't really say he was someone he thought too much on.

Like many other children, he was raised with religion -practically by it- specifically in the Catholic faith. While he was there, he would play the role, eat the wafer and drink the wine, but when he left, his mind traveled to so many other places, ones that he considered to be beyond the space of God. And what was God anyway? A figurehead? An idea, perhaps? Either way, God wasn't someone he'd necessarily seen much of since his childhood...and for some reason, he had expected Arthur to be the same way.

And yet, here he was, bringing up God. Sure, it seemed like a passing mention, but it had still been enough to catch Francis off-guard.

Still, like always, Francis tried to shrug off the things that bothered him. "How do we know one of them isn't God?" he asked with a smile. "Or both?"

"Don't be silly," the Britt answered a bit more seriously than expected. "They can't both be God -in fact, I sure as hell hope that neither of them could ever be."

The mystery of Arthur Kirkland marched on and on. "I never really took you as a believer."

This accusation made the man hide, almost bashfully, against the folds of the blanket. "No, I believe in God. I also just believe he must not like me very much."

That's rediculous, Francis thought almost at once, if there were to be any God at all, he wouldn't have any choice but to love you. Almost more immediately, he thought of how he must not allow himself to think while he was buzzed, or else bad things were bound to happen.

"From what I understand, God, theoretically, only fucks with the people who've done something wrong," Francis said, "and not just something little. I mean, complete and total anarchy, blatant disregard over and over again -things like that."

"Then maybe I've been doing something wrong for an awful long time."

"I can't possibly imagine anything th-"

"This job."

In the second it took for Arthur to say that, Francis could have sworn he died, because when he said "this job," for some reason he automatically assumed that had something to do with him. More logically however, Arthur thought he'd done something wrong for a long time, and well...as sad as it was, they really hadn't known each all that long. He brushed the idea aside. "Your work with the Agency, you mean."

Arthur gave a nod. "What if...what if this destruction, all that's happening in the world...what if we aren't supposed to mess with it? What if trying to prevent it is the wrong thing?"

"Saving people is never the wrong thing." Francis was certain of this. "I believe in people and the good they can do...maybe that's why I consider myself more of a humanist than anything; it's a lot easier to believe in people than it is in God. Besides -shouldn't you just live your life and believe in things as they come to you?"

"...I don't think it's that simple."

"Sure it is!" He couldn't help but edge the slightest bit closer to the gentleman in all of his enthusiasm. "I mean, if this was us, and we were laying in the dark right now, and you'd never seen the Sun, would you believe me if I told you it was there? Of course you wouldn't. But when it came up in the morning, you'd be amazed -you'd have something to believe in."

Arthur was starting to get the idea, but since he didn't quite understand entirely, decided to remain silent.

Francis on the other hand, was on a roll. "And then if I told you that this light was so powerful that it could actually burn your skin, you'd think I was delusional. Sure, this light is here, somehow, but it cannot be seen. But, as soon as you got sunburn, you'd start having second thoughts."

"And is it that you've just never been sunburned before?"

"Of course I have, but-"

"You can't see the light, but you see it's affects. Just like God." Arthur smiled. "I just think he hasn't burned you yet."

"Maybe, maybe not. Who knows?" He smiled back. "I'm not God."

Arthur felt the man's free hand on the back of his neck before he ever saw it, could distinguish that the fingers were fluffing his hair lightly, sending shivers all the way down his back. Just as before, he leaned into the touch rather than away from it, realizing that exploring this emotion was a far better option than leaving it untraveled, even if he was frightened not knowing to where it would lead. As he soon figured out, it lead his hand to the side of Francis' face, and his to Arthur's, and their bodies very close together, their breath sharing the same path until...

...Until he could tell for sure it wasn't Addie Perkins he was snogging anymore.

This was Francis: a sodding asshole who might as well have been God in that moment, making him feel all sorts of things he never thought were possible. Francis who had saved his life, had been perhaps the only human in existence to go out of his way just to say hello, give some kind words and affection because he actually wanted to. Francis who had made him laugh, blush furiously...made him feel so wonderfully angry and passionate and alive. He had never imagined you could hate someone so purely only to turn around and realize the only reason that hate existed was because of how explicitly different they made you feel compared to anyone else, and the difference was enough to chill anyone's bones. He'd been so sure of himself before, and now here he was, hardly a clock's tick later, tottering around in the grass of God-Knows-Where, bodies locked together, lip upon lip in some sort of fantastical confusing whirlwind that took his breath away.

And all Arthur could see behind those closed eyes was his smile.

When it did end, it hardly even seemed like it was over at all, because Francis was still somehow there, holding him, their foreheads touching -but Arthur clenched a fist against the man's chest if only but to make sure. He wanted to bury himself, tangle his hands in that long golden hair and just feel his heat. So that's what he did, remaining perfectly still, somehow trying to accept what was happening, and just be for the first time he could remember.

"I take it back," Francis said, words somewhat lost in his still heavy breathing. "I must believe in God."

"Wh...why do you say that?"

Francis grabbed him even tighter as they spoke, moving his lips to place a small kiss against Arthur's jaw as he spoke. "Because," he said, another kiss... "I once thought that believing in God was as ridiculous as believing in true love." Another kiss now, against the neck... "But you finally caught me; I'm buying into it."

"Don't be -daft." It was so hard for him to concentrate with Francis paying him attention in this way... "We're just -having spontaneous, out of -place feelings for each other." He had to convince himself of this, somehow, before he melted away and it would all be too late.

"No, this is it," Francis assured him, continuing his work, moving a hand to the small of Arthur's back. "You're the one-" A few more against the collarbone... "-and there's nothing you can do to convince me otherwise."

The one. That phrase right there was enough to break Arthur's trance. "Hold on, Francis," he stammered, trying to maneuver the Frenchman until he could see his face properly. "What do you mean 'the one' -you can't be serious."

"The poetic romanticism of it is no coincidence," he said, wholly assured in himself. "This is supposed to happen -don't you believe that your God can arrange such things?"

Of course he did; Arthur couldn't lie about that. He could always tell when two people were really in love, when they were just meant to be together but...was that him and Francis? He wanted to say no, especially since this was all so new and he didn't want to hurt himself too quickly -or at all if he could help it. But...he didn't know for sure. A week ago he was still convinced that if he ever saw Francis again he would hang him by his foppish pink necktie, but alas, that obviously hadn't happened. Instead here he was, twenty six years old and finally having the first real romantic encounter of his life, and it was with the very man he swore to hate...an annoyance...an enemy...

Maybe it was true but...Jesus, it just all seemed too damn exquisite, he couldn't help but question. It was his job to question everything.

Then, in that moment, the words came into his head without even asking them to, the very ones he had said earlier: "Then maybe I've been doing something wrong for an awful long time."

...This job.

Before he knew it, he was kissing Francis again, even harder than before, because God damn it, he didn't care. He didn't want to let this feeling go -not when it had just come so wonderfully unexpected. "I still don't believe you," he couldn't stop himself from saying, "but I don't care."

"Oh, you don't have to believe me right now," Francis said, letting their lips meet one more time before stopping to catch his breath, "but you will. Just like how I didn't believe in God at first. But you'll get there."

"I still don't believe you."

"You think I'm joking?" Francis playfully slapped Arthur on the chest. "No -I'll show you right now." With that, he turned away from Arthur, laying flat on his back, closing his eyes while holding his hands together against his chest, somewhat resembling a carving of some dead, beautiful saint laying there, covered gaze and pointed hands in unison towards the heavens. "Dear God," he began, "I know that I have doubted you in the past, and you may be confused since I really don't talk to you at all, but I have been very wrong. And I invite you into my heart right now not only to save me, but so that one day, when Arthur and I look back on this very evening years in the future, he can realize just how much of a pompous ass he was-"

That's about all there was to that prayer before Arthur sat up and begin trying to bludgeon the man in order to scare him out of going any further in whatever direction this crazy cry to God was headed. Francis could only laugh and fend him off, keeping up their strange but comforting cycle of love and hate. Being hit in the head a few times was well worth whatever would come after, as long as Arthur was still by his side.

Because as playfully as it may have sounded, to Francis, the bet had been made. His silent wager with God was set in stone, and he was convinced, that if there was a higher power, they would be working together now, so that Arthur could maybe see, one day, that this all wasn't just another occupational hazard...

Le Moulin -Yann Tiersen

Light and Shadow -Philip Wesley

Thank you all so much for being extra EXTRA patient on this next update...I was gone for far longer than I realized. However I was very excited to start on this project again, and I don't intend to give up on it! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me...I appreciate your presence and support.