Resting his head in his hands, Matthew reflected as much as he could:
'Was it just a dream? For over four days? That's not possible, isn't it? It felt so real back then. The cold, the exertion and the pain.' Incidentally he noticed, that he hasn't had one of the suffocating seizures the last days. 'It could have been hallucinations. How otherwise I was able to wake up in a winter-landscape with my bed. Therefore, I really must have been teleported in the wilderness to rescue Matt out of his coffin, in which he would have died over and over again without anything he could do about it. Or I was kidnapped by unknown men, for unknown reasons, who gave me strong drugs in those four days. Only to bring me back to my room with the sloppiest cover-up-work I can imagine. What is more believable? Drugs or a superhuman power, which showed me other nations, we have never met since our first existence?'
He was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts, as the door was opened carefully. Alfred entered with a tray in his hand. Next to the tea there was a plate full of pancakes and maple syrup. Perfect ones. You could tell who made them just by looking at them. The cooking-skill of Francis was more unequivocal than his signature.
Thankfully, Matthew smiled at his brother.
"Thank you, Alfred!"
"No problem.", he replied. His face was still like the one of a begging, likeable puppy.
"If I only can help you…?" he asked shy.
"No. No, Alfred. Everything's okay. I'm fine. Just a little bit… confused."
Alfred hesitated first, but as Matthew smiled calmingly at him, he trotted with a telling but meaningless "Hmm" out of the room.
Matthew already started drinking his tea and devouring Francis' perfect pancakes, as the three men left the flat. While he ate and drank he forbid himself to think of anything else and solely concentrated on every flavour of the tea and pancakes.