Author's Note: I survived finals week, now let's see if I can survive the mental exhaustion of finishing a story. x'D. At this point, I'm seeing two chapters left—or possibly just one, depending on the word count.

"You need to apologize," Emma announced the following morning, stirring some sugar into her cup of coffee. "I can't stand to see you like this. You both need each other now more than ever, and I won't let you shred the relationship that you two have."

Matthew sat wordlessly at the kitchen table, chin propped up by a hand as he rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. He hadn't procured a single minute of sleep from the night before, and his exhaustion only seemed to widen the scope of his depression.

Unable to find the strength to reply to Emma's persuasive lecture, he drew in an uneasy breath, pale and shaken as he combed his fingers through his hair.

"Talk to him," Emma continued to implore, gently wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "It'll do you both some good. Better yet, make it up to him somehow."

Poking at his swollen eyes, Matthew shook his head slowly. "It's just too much… I can't deal with Alfred's drama right now along with everything else. Besides, the wedding—"

"Has been postponed," Emma finished for him, unyielding. "As such, I'm making it a personal responsibility of mine to help you and Alfred. I'll handle the funeral arrangements and anything else that you shouldn't have to be thinking about right now."

Matthew felt his breath hitch against his will. "Oh, God… A funeral… I can't even—"

"Shh," Emma urged, pressing a kiss on top of Matthew's head as he stilled in his chair. "It's all right. Let's just take everything one step at a time."

Matthew nodded, swearing softly under his breath as he scraped a hand across his stubbly chin. "I made a big mistake, didn't I? I shouldn't have blamed him. He did more for Arthur than I ever could've. Damn it, I was just so frustrated and felt betrayed! I mean, how could they have made such a decision without me?"

"I'm sure they never intended to cause you harm."

"I know what I have to do," Matthew murmured after a long pause, standing up from his chair.

Emma furrowed her brows, regarding the young man with a cautious air. "Do you need me to get you anything?"

"A calling card to Britain," he replied, exiting the kitchen briskly. "There are a few people that I need to contact."

It wasn't much, but it was a good place to start.

Getting out of bed was a challenge unlike any other. Alfred groaned as he wished that the mattress would just consume him already, allowing him to fall into a perpetual abyss of darkness. Unfortunately, his prayers were not answered as promptly as he would've liked, so he rolled over once for good measure and kicked away the bedcovers.

"I have to get up for work," he told himself determinedly. There was no point in lying around miserably, seeing as that would only lead him to a greater amount of mourning. So, with a deep breath, he tossed his shoulders forward and off the pillows, effectively sitting up and making his way to the door before being stopped by a large and looming figure that was all too familiar. The only difference now was that the man wasn't as imposing and frightening as he used to seem.

"Where are you going?" his father asked sharply, blocking his passage down the hallway.

Finding no way to bypass the man, he settled on confronting him. "Work… I have clinic duty."

"You should take the rest of the week off. I can call—"

"No, thanks," Alfred quickly rejected the idea. "I have to go to work. I can't stay here."

Just the mere thought of remaining in the house all day made him shudder with repulsion. Being in a working environment would dull some of his grieving thoughts, and it would allow him some emotional stability for at least a little while.

His father grunted, looking highly displeased as he struggled with deciding whether or not to grant Alfred the freedom to go about his day.

"It hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet," he reasoned with the younger man. "You don't have to stay inside if you don't want to, but you really shouldn't be heading to work."

"Why do you even care? Do I have to remind you that it also hasn't been twenty-four hours since you've gotten here? You can't just suddenly come into my life and interfere with my routine. I have stuff to do," Alfred muttered impatiently, plowing his way through the barricade that his father had formed before reaching the stairs.

"Don't be an idiot. Stay home," his father insisted, attempting to strike at Alfred's pride this time. "You don't have to be so stubborn about it."

Alfred scowled, gripping the banister roughly. "What, you expect me to turn into you? Forget about my job and just get drunk?"

His father frowned, trying to remind himself not to get insulted or offended by Alfred's remarks in any way, considering that the young man was just under a lot of stress. "Listen, do what you want. I'm just trying to help."

"Yeah, because you have plenty of experience with dealing with people dying, right? After all, you handled Mom's death so well," Alfred remarked scathingly, reaching the kitchen to get himself a bowl of cereal.

"What happened to not 'holding it against me'? All I'm saying is that you should give yourself some time to deal with—"

"I don't have to deal with anything. Arthur's dead. What more is there to say or do?"

His father sighed exasperatedly, shaking his head before turning away. "Fine. If you don't need any help, then I guess I'll just get back to my life of denying your existence."

"Stop being so patronizing," Alfred muttered as he poured some milk into a bowl, sulking the entire time. He watched as his father stepped away and left his field of vision, chewing his breakfast with difficulty as his lack of appetite made itself known. He was too anxious to eat at the moment, so he abandoned the majority of the meal, pouring out the leftovers before returning to his bedroom to get dressed.

Contrary to usual uniform attire, Alfred was not required to wear a white coat, which was a relief for him and countless patients who suffered from white-coat hypertension. He dressed in a button down shirt and a tie, professional yet casual in a way that didn't seem intimidating in the least. Besides, those silly coats would only aid in spreading bacteria, and Alfred was all for banning them entirely.

After all, there was only one person whom he could stand to see in a white-coat, and he knew that would never change.

By the time he was finally prepared to leave the house, he could feel his father's presence still hovering around him, watching him from a distance as he checked to make sure that his wallet was tucked away in his pocket.

"Are you driving?"

The question echoed from the top of the stairs, and Alfred was defensive once more, tone firm as he responded with "No, I'm taking the train."

"What's the point of the car in the driveway then?"

Thoroughly annoyed and on edge, Alfred clenched his hands into fists. "It's not mine."

"Excuse me?"

"That's not my car in the driveway," he clarified, hoping that his answer would be obvious enough. "So, I'm not touching it."

His father sucked in another chiding breath as though Alfred had personally faulted him. "Then I can safely predict that it's just going to rot away there until it loses its sentimentality?"

Alfred was at a loss of words for a moment, ultimately deciding to ignore the man altogether. He retreated out the front door and slammed it shut, watching as it shook on its hinges at the harsh treatment. He was really starting to question why he had allowed his father to stick around for such a long span of time.

He arrived to work without any further incident and made sure to keep his face perfectly neutral as he entered the hospital's clinic, waving occasionally to fellow coworkers as he passed. Thankfully, no one was aware of any possible issues regarding his personal life, meaning that he wouldn't have to worry about being interrogated.

As he approached the medical receptionist, he suddenly realized how difficult it would be to focus throughout the day, seemingly forgetting the emotional trauma that his mind had been forced to undergo just a short number of hours ago. He was in denial, and he knew it. Nevertheless, he was adamant about persevering, blinking owlishly for only a moment before finding his nerve again.

"Good morning, Dr. Jones. There's a patient already waiting for you in the second exam room."

Great. Fantastic. Finally something that would resemble some normalcy.

He stored his belongings and finished getting settled before immediately heading toward the aforementioned room, trying to remain as cool-minded as possible. Fortunately, the task was not very difficult to accomplish, seeing as his first patient was a little girl who was no more than five-years-old, which would make it very difficult for him to get lost in his thoughts or lose his temper.

"Good morning," he greeted the little girl and her mother kindly, surprising himself with his pleasant tone. He didn't think that he was capable of pulling off such a rehearsed demeanor. "How are you ladies doing today?"

The mother gave him a smile littered with concern, something that Alfred had witnessed many times with parents and their sick children. "My daughter woke up with a cold yesterday morning, and it only seems to be getting worse."

"Did she have a fever?" he asked, the question easily rolling off his tongue. He'd gotten to the point where he could practically make assessments in his sleep.

"Yes, a hundred degree fever last night."

He met the little girl's eyes, stilling as he felt a sense of sudden warmth come over him. There was something so…consoling about the girl's gaze. Her childish innocence struck him in the gut, and for a moment, he was the timid child sitting on the exam room table, searching for a familiar face of encouragement.

"I'm Abigail," she said importantly, voice slightly hoarse and raspy.

Alfred managed the faintest smile out of politeness, stunned by the expression of admiration that the child shared with him. For a moment, he felt as though the purity of the girl could see right through him, scrutinizing the pain and sorrow that was inscribed in his own irises. Like magic, this child had successfully stripped away the rugged exterior that he tried to wear unrelentingly.

He should've stayed home after all.

Finding it difficult to focus at first, he eventually shook off his distracting thoughts, concentrating on the matter at hand. "That's a pretty name," he told her softly, reaching for the temporal artery thermometer and pressing it against her forehead carefully. "I'm just gonna check your temperature, all right?"

The reading registered a couple of seconds later and he retracted the device, frowning at the result. Colds weren't usually accompanied by a fever of a hundred and one. He recorded the result in the medical file on the counter, already suspecting a strep throat. After checking that the child's heart rate and breathing were in order as well as examining her ears and throat thoroughly, he retrieved a rapid strep test from a nearby drawer, ripping open the sterile packaging.

Meeting the girl's inquiring gaze again, he felt an ache in his chest. Why was he suddenly so affected by making eye contact with her? Then, the answer seemed to resonate in his conscience as he retrieved a cotton swab and tongue depressor. This girl was so bright and optimistic. So young and naïve. She had not yet seen violence or experienced true pain. She was untouched by life itself. Would she grow up to become a cynic? Would she be stuck in the seemingly haunted house of her disintegrating family someday?

'Focus,' he told himself, approaching the girl slowly as her mother looked on worriedly. "I'm going to test her for a strep throat. It's just a quick swab," he announced to the woman offhandedly before returning his attention to the little girl once more. "I know this isn't fun, but I need you to open wide, okay?"

"I don't wanna!" the girl immediately whined, turning her head away as she crossed her arms.

Alfred sighed, keeping his patience intact as he sympathized with the child. He'd never enjoyed having his throat swabbed either, and he distinctly remembered giving Arthur a migraine with all of his protests whenever the man had tried to diagnose him. Smiling at the nostalgic thought, he tried a different tactic—an old trick of Arthur's.

"Y'know, I used to be really scared of being around doctors too, but I think I've got just the thing to make you feel better," he soothed, putting on a more relaxed smile. Honestly, the child was turning his heart into a glob of mush despite the circumstances. "I'll be right back, okay?"

The child nodded while her mother glanced at him confusedly. He left the room hastily and made his way to the receptionist again, giving her a tired smirk. "I'm gonna need the goods. Could you hook me up with some lollipops and stickers?"

Chuckling lightly, the receptionist shuffled through a few cabinets before handing him the treats. Thanking her briefly, he returned to the exam room, stowing the lollipop in his pocket while flashing the stickers out in the open.

"You can have whichever one you like," he assured the child, holding them out for her. "Hmm… I'm thinkin' you should go for either Dora the Explorer or Cinderella, but that's just me."

The little girl giggled quietly, biting her lip as she pointed at Dora and took the sticker from him. After a brief reminder from her mother, she thanked Alfred bashfully, running her thumb over the gift.

"Good choice," Alfred applauded with a very serious tone. "I love Dora! She's the best. Now, if you're really brave and don't cry, you can have a lollipop too. Can you do it?"

"Yes!" the girl replied enthusiastically, extrinsically motivated.

Alfred shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "I don't know—are you tough enough?"

"I'm strong!"

"Well, then we have nothing to worry about, huh?" he retorted cordially, praising good ol' bribery as the girl complied and allowed her throat to be swabbed, only coughing and gagging reflexively after he'd finished.

"Did I do good?"

Alfred nodded brightly and handed over the lollipop as promised before bringing the swab over to the counter to test the bacteria on it. "You were amazing. I could never be that brave."

The girl grinned proudly, feverish cheeks standing out even more as they became further flushed.

After waiting a few minutes for a reliable result from the swab, he held up the testing strip to the light, nodding to himself as he took note of the little lines indicating the reading.

"It's positive," he informed the girl's mother. "I'll prescribe her some antibiotics to take. You should keep her at home and make sure she stays well hydrated."

The woman sighed sadly but nodded nonetheless, helping her child off of the exam table as Alfred wrote out the prescription and scribbled his signature at the bottom. "Thank you very much," she said.

"Not a problem. Feel better, Abigail."

"Bye!"

He felt a smile tug at his lips as the pair walked away, heart constricting as they vanished beyond the hallway.

Who knew children could be so therapeutic?

A voice speaking to him roused him from his musings. "Jones? What the hell are you doing here? I've just heard the news," the attending physician murmured disbelievingly, steering Alfred further away from the door. "You shouldn't be here."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Alfred quickly denied, inwardly seething at the fact that his father had most likely informed the entire world of his situation.

"Your brother called—he figured you'd probably drag yourself to work. Take some time off and go home, Jones. Things are under control here. You have my condolences."

Matthew…

Alfred frowned, this was exactly what he didn't want to happen. How on earth had Matthew predicted his actions? Furthermore, why would he have gone through the trouble of checking up on him in the first place?

"You should call someone to give you a ride home."

"That's all right; it won't be necessary," he murmured, wanting nothing more than to stay glued to the exact spot that he was standing in. Maybe if he knotted his stethoscope around his neck tightly enough—

"If you need anything else, don't hesitate to ask."

The man's voice stunk of revolting pity, and Alfred was almost insulted by the recommendation. He didn't appreciate everyone's sudden need to hold his hand and pat his back. Nonetheless, he knew that this was a battle that he simply could not win. Thus, he grasped the rest of his dignity and left the room, ignoring the prying looks of the medical personnel as he retrieved his belongings and made his way out of the hospital.

Matthew was going to get earful as soon as he got the chance to call him back. Quite frankly, he wasn't even sure if he should call his brother back, considering the last discussion that they'd shared. They hadn't exactly left off on the right foot yesterday.

He made his way home dreadfully, gradually pushing open the front door to the house as he stepped inside, hanging up his coat.

"So, you came back after all."

Alfred lowered his head, gritting his teeth as he collected his thoughts. "Mattie called the hospital… Weren't you supposed to be leaving?"

His father pursed his lips. "That's what I thought, but you never actually told me whether or not you wanted me to leave. Should I go?"

Alfred turned over the question in his mind, weighing the pros and cons of the man's presence before settling on an answer. "No… Unless you want to. I can't trust myself alone."

If his father was caught off guard by his response, he didn't openly express it. Instead, he merely took Alfred's messenger bag from him, hanging it up on a nearby hook on the wall. "Everything okay?" the man tentatively queried, giving his Alfred some space as he kept his distance.

As if anticipating an outburst, his father waited by the stairs, calmly observing Alfred as the young man grabbed the most fragile item in the vicinity, which happened to be a ceramic vase, and threw it to the ground. He drew an odd sense of pleasure from the destruction, feeling the tension in his muscles weaken at the sound of the shattering ceramic.

They both stood with a bated breath, until Alfred finally responded to his father's prior question.

"Everything's fine."

There was a faltering knock on the door of his home office that finally led to Matthew tearing his eyes away from the computer, followed by a meek, "Are you okay in there, honey? You've been hiding all morning."

Matthew fled his desk, opening the door and inviting Emma inside, nonplussed to see her carrying another cup of coffee and a plate with a small pastry on it. "I brought you a snack," she whispered, bringing the items over to his desk and setting them down.

"Thanks."

"So, what have you been up to?"

He returned to his computer, bringing up a tab on the screen before calling Emma over to have a look. She read the e-mail that Matthew had presented her with, exchanging a fleeting glance with him once she'd gotten the gist of the message.

"I think it's a great idea. A little family reunion would certainly put some things into perspective. Are you going to tell Alfred?"

"No, I think I'll let it be a surprise. We talked about the subject for a little bit before, and I guess he expected me to cancel our plans… I want to have every arranged and set before he finds out. I think that it would be a good way to apologize and to show that I really do understand what he's feeling right now," Matthew explained clearly, bringing a hand to his sunken eyes. "The last thing Arthur would've wanted is for us to hold grudges against each other."

Emma smiled and kissed him affectionately in response, pride evident in her features. "You're doing the right thing. I'll help you finish with the planning, and I'll also get the funeral arrangements in order too, so that by the time your 'surprise' arrives, everything's settled."

Matthew nodded, encasing his fiancé in his hold and pulling her toward his chest. "It should be small and simple… Arthur never was a fan of grandiose events."

"Don't worry," Emma reassured confidently. "It'll be just the way you think it should be."

"Do you think Alfred and I will be able to rekindle our relationship?"

"No," Emma replied unflinchingly. "I don't think you will be able to. I know you will. You'll both be closer than ever before."

"Good, because I don't think I could stand to lose my brother too."

It had been nearly a week, and Alfred could feel the minutes sawing through his bones as they ticked on. It was strange that considering all the turmoil, the sun still shined and the birds sang their tranquil tunes during the days, reminding him that all of the joy in the world had not been irrevocably depleted.

After the little incident at work, he'd confined himself to his bed, lying still for hours upon hours until his father would come in with proffered food and the occasional suggestion of getting out for some fresh air that would be dismissed with a noncommittal grumble on Alfred's part.

He slept for most of the day, leaving his room only for bathroom breaks and nightly showers. Time seemed to be an abstract blur and mesh of scrambled memories as he marked down the days until he could show up to work again without being pitied.

However, one morning was unlike the others.

His father stepped into the cluttered room, seeming a little optimistic at the fact that he had finally found a plausible reason for Alfred to leave his bed. He knocked on the bedroom door loudly as he stood in the open doorway, waiting for some sort of movement from the lump under the bedcovers.

"Your brother's here."

Perturbed by the news, a bedraggled head peeked out from its hiding place. "What does he want? Tell him that I'm not home."

"It's too late for that. I already told him that you would be downstairs in a few minutes."

"What'd you do that for?" he growled, clambering to his feet reluctantly. He wrapped the bathrobe that he had tossed on over his t-shirt and flannel pants more tightly around him. Then, he descended the stairs, sock-covered feet protesting movement after remaining underutilized over the past few days.

He wrenched the door open, fully planning on getting into an argument with Matthew for interfering in his personal matters at work, only to fall short of meeting his desired outcome.

"Hey," his twin murmured, meeting his eyes for a brief second before dropping his gaze to his shoes. "I know that you probably don't want to talk to me, but it's kind of important that you do."

Alfred stood soundlessly, knitting his brows at his brother as he was handed a modest looking card. Upon further inspection, he realized that it was an invitation.

"You've already organized the funeral without telling me?"

"Don't be offended," Matthew quickly tried to appease, holding his hands up in surrender. "Emma and I just thought that it would be easier if we took care of things, considering how much you've already done and sacrificed. It was the least we could do to help out."

Unable to read Alfred's expression, Matthew waited expectantly for him to say something. When he was met with only more silence, he tried to nervously undo what had already been decided. "We can always cancel it and work on it again with you, but it's already been a week and…Well, you've been a little avoidant."

"It's fine," Alfred finally murmured, folding the invitation to a close again.

"Francis will be there as well as a few other people from Arthur's hospital."

Alfred only nodded agreeably, oddly subdued.

"And there's one other thing…" Matthew forewarned, heading over to his car in the driveway, which had been blocked from Alfred's view until he crossed the threshold. Curiously, he looked as Matthew shared a short conversation with some individuals in his car before they exited the vehicle and followed Matthew back to the front door.

After working through the initial confusion, Alfred took note of the features of the three men lagging behind Matthew, paying particular attention to their graying hair and the familiar shape of their eyes.

And then, no explanation was needed because he already knew who these people were.

"Alfred Jones?" The red-headed man of the group asked with a thick Scottish accent. He held out a large hand, and Alfred quickly noted that he was the tallest figure among them, rivalling the height of his father. "The name's Allistor Kirkland. Matthew here has told me all about you."

Feeling awfully uncomfortable and self-conscious now, Alfred blushed as he realized how terrible he looked, dressed in wrinkled clothes that were two sizes too big. He shook the man's hand hesitantly, feeling the sudden need to sprint back to his bedroom.

"It's nice to meet you," he said lamely before going down the line and shaking the hands of the other two figures as well. He tried to recall their names. "Dylan and Patrick, right? Please, come inside."

Inviting the trio in, he waited until they had entered the living room before turning to Matthew with a disgruntled expression. "Thanks for not warning me! I'm a mess, and I didn't expect visitors. What am I supposed to do now?"

Matthew smiled softly, squeezing Alfred's shoulder. "Relax, they won't be here long. They just want to talk and get to know you. If you think about it, they're technically our uncles. I had to invite them. How would you feel if my future kids never contacted you about my death?"

Alfred sighed and nodded affirmatively once more. "At least occupy them for five minutes while I change into something less embarrassing."

"Go ahead. Don't worry, they're all really approachable and understanding."

After racing against time to make himself look more presentable, Alfred jogged back to the living room, swiftly apologizing for his disappearance before taking a seat on the couch next to Allistor and Matthew while Arthur's remaining two brothers occupied the armchairs opposite them.

The beginning of their conversation began with a brief exchange of condolences, causing Alfred to feel more solemn and miserable as each word was spoken. Thankfully, everything changed after nearly ten minutes of formalities. The Kirkland brothers began recalling memories of Arthur from their childhood, during which they began arguing over who was remembering each scenario correctly.

Alfred couldn't help but grin after being told about the time that Arthur had been upset because his brothers had all taken up scouting together while he was left out due to the fact that he'd been too young to join. They began 'training' sessions in their yard, which consisted of physical activities such as climbing trees and hopping fences. Unfortunately, the fun had been stopped after they'd tried to 'light' a fire, resulting in a good scolding from their mother.

"Those were some good times," Patrick recalled, leaning back in his seat as Alfred felt a bit overwhelmed by how similar they all were to Arthur. They each had contrasting shades of green eyes and carried themselves in the same proud way, backs straight and shoulders pulled back.

"We couldn't believe the news when we heard that Arthur was moving to America," Dylan reminisced, happily accepting the tea that Matthew had prepared and offered to the entire party. "But not as shocked as when we heard that ol' Artie had children! He was always by himself, and I only remember him fancying less than a handful of girls by the time he moved. We suspected he'd never marry, but who would've thought that he'd take in two children off the streets?"

Alfred frowned, a harrowing sadness coming over him as he felt himself suddenly aching for the aura of strength and protection that Arthur always seemed to carry with him.

"Aye, he should've told us right away. Your Uncle Allistor would've helped you grow into sturdy boys, eh?" Allistor said with a sly grin, teasingly mussing up Alfred and Matthew's hair as he sat in between the twins, outstretching a hand at each of them. "For a numpty, Arthur did an all right job on his own."

Alfred smirked in response, feeling more lighthearted after finally getting to meet Arthur's family. Perhaps, Matthew had been right in inviting them after all. There was something reassuring and friendly that seemed to find its way into Alfred's stomach, and he felt like a little part of Arthur still lived on as he witnessed the family banter taking place between the trio.

He hated to admit that his brother had actually accomplished a good thing, but as the men left to return to the hotel rooms that Matthew had procured for them, Alfred felt a need to have them stay longer. Nonetheless, he watched them exit and knew that they would be remaining within a short driving distance until after the funeral, taking pleasure in the fact that they weren't too far away to visit if he felt the need to talk to them again within the coming days.

Planning on driving them to their hotel, Matthew said his goodbyes for the day as well, pausing momentarily as Alfred pulled him back by the arm, dragging him back.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Matthew bit the inside of his cheek. "Sure… Don't worry about it."

Knowing that time was running out, Alfred battled with his impulses for a moment before pulling Matthew in for a hug, sighing as he felt a little part of his shattered mental state bind together again. "Thank you so much."

Matthew chuckled against him, tears already running down his face again. "Don't mention it, and I'm really sorry for what I said to you that day… You know that I didn't mean it."

"It's already forgotten," Alfred informed, squeezing his brother to the point where the other twin feared that he might crack a rib. "Love ya to bits, Mattie."

Matthew felt his face heat up as he patted Alfred's back and pulled away from him, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, we'll keep in touch, right?"

"Yeah, see you soon."

"See you. Take care of yourself. Emma strictly ordered me to invite you over for dinner sometime."

"I just might have to accept the offer."

Matthew nodded with a timid little chuckle again and made his way out the door, stopping for just another second as he recalled something. "And Alfred?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell Dad that I'd like to talk to him sometime."

Alfred could feel the muscles working in his face as he managed the most genuine smile that he'd been able to create in days. "Sure thing, bro."