Time seemed to move along as slow as a snail does when the trial had begun. Alfred and Peter sat in the Kirkland's living room without speaking to one another. Cheerful theme songs and pip-squeaky voices sprung out of the television's speakers, and each tick from the grandfather clock were present in order to replace the painful silence between the two. Alfred vigorously tapped his foot against the floor-a habit he once held that dissolved over time but had resurfaced for this very moment-as he nibbled on his bottom lip with his two front teeth. And Peter kept his attention glued to the television in hopes the shows would help usher cruel tine along, so he could see his father once more.
Peter eventually glanced over at Alfred, his shoulders hunched up and partially concealing his mouth. His eyes were shining with fear and uncertainty, something Alfred would never imagine to be harboring inside a child of his age, as he parted his small pink lips to say. "I-If Papa loses… W-will you s-still be with him?"
And that was most certainly a question Alfred never expected from a child his age.
"Y-yeah!" Alfred replied, forcing his normal beaming smile onto his face, and his voice attempting to be it's normal obnoxious self. "But don't worry, your dad isn't going to lose." Alfred tried to reassure, in the end he wasn't even reassuring himself. He wasn't so confident in Arthur's case anymore. The tearful farewell featuring Peter that morning had casted away his thoughts for a hopeful outcome. The speech Arthur gave. It was as if he poured his heart out, as best he could, since he knew Peter wouldn't be in his care after that horrendous day.
Peter was simply hoping Alfred was right. He knew wholeheartedly that his father wasn't the best at his job. His father was a book nerd who built his hobby into a profession, and Peter wasn't intended to be a part of the equation. But Arthur made things work along the way, their path being a bit of a bumpy one. And Peter had hoped he wouldn't be ripped away from his father and now Alfred.
The little Briton sighed and returned his attention to the vividly colored world presented on the television. His fingers curling into his palm and nails digging into the clammy, sweaty, flesh, as he furrowed his eyebrows and sealed off his blue eyes-the tears finally leaking through and slithering down his natural blushing cheeks and plopping onto his lap. Peter produced a strangled cry, swirling with sadness and uncertainty, and brought his knees to his chest acting as if he was just yelled at by his father for throwing a fit.
After hearing that pained cry, Alfred glanced back over at Peter with widened eyes. He wasn't entirely sure as to what he was supposed to do. Comfort? Watch? Listen? Well, he was all ready listening. The high-pitched wailing-so very similar to the disgusting sounding sobs Arthur would make-erupting from the small child, Peter's heart being torn in two alongside Arthur's and Alfred's. Sighing deeply, a wave of sorrow washing over him head to toe, Alfred slowly and haphazardly encased his arms around the shivering Peter. One arm around his small waist and the other around his shoulders, and Peter accepted this comfort, his loud sobbing being muffled when he buried his face into Alfred's shoulder.
"Hey-hey, Lil Dude…" Alfred began, the right words needed to comfort Peter not coming to mind. "Hey…"
Though Peter's voice was muffled, being blocked by the leather and wool of Alfred's bomber jacket, Alfred was able to make out these words, "I don't wanna go… I don't wanna go to Mum…"
Every word that was ready to pour out of Alfred's mouth was captured by an invisible trap in his throat. He wasn't expecting Peter to say that, hell he wasn't expecting any of this to happen when he kissed Arthur for the first time. The only thing Alfred could do was to hold Peter, and listen to the little one's emotions pour out in the form of wails and shrieks.
Even if it meant holding to Peter when the trial was over, and Arthur had returned home.
When those two heard a key enter the lock and the creaky front door swing open, their gaze immediately went over to the door to see who was there. As expected, Arthur was there, his back facing them. When Alfred and Peter stood up onto their feet and hustled on over to the front door Alfred softly saying "Babe…" when he was close enough for Arthur to here, Arthur set his breifcase on the floor before his own arms went around his own waist.
"Papa…?" Peter said, moving over to be at Arthur's side. Arthur's shoulder began to shake as he silently began to cry, falling onto the floor and sitting on his knees, curling into himself as his cries became louder in volume. Peter's eyebrows furrowed as his lips were parting and forming an 'O' shape, before he tugged on Arthur's jacket sleeve-hoping the verdict would be spilled by his father. "Am I… Do I have to go?" Peter asked, his voice hoarse.
Alfred stepped closer to the pair, hands forced down at his sides, his blue eyes were scanning his sobbing lover. However, he wasn't able to decipher how Arthur here was feeling. His sobs didn't harbor any feelings. They were just…. empty. And it pained Alfred down to his core, not being able to console Peter earlier and now Arthur.
Arthur lifted his head up, glancing over at Peter with widened green eyes. In one swift movement, Arthur cradeled the back of Peter's head and brought the little one closer to his chest. "I…" He started, sniffling up snot in his nose before a smile broke out onto his lips. "I won, Peter… We won."