A/T: Scarlett's back! Me totally happy!

Sorry, Adei :P ^^'…it's gonna get a little better, I promise. I hope.

I got my own room yesterday—my bro FINALLY shifted out—and I spent half the day dusting all my books…I swear, the books are loaded with at least twenty years' worth of dust, and I haven't even been alive that long…and I have a super-super-super-bad cold right now and I can't breathe and it sucks…I'm dust allergic.

And I woke up at 4 to study Math…printing those question banks in the dead of the night and studying them today morning was totally worth it…By intense calculation, I'll probably get somewhere between 79 to 83 out of 90 in my Math test. Nerd, and proud of it. ;D

I missed writing these A/Ts…and now I need to sleep. I got some headway during math and physics lectures, and I like where it's going.

Disclaimer: Don't own Hetalia.

My Friend Natalia

Chapter 25

"Oi, what's your mobile number?"

Nat looked up from the writing pad. "I'll have your mudak for hitting on me."

Al winced. "Ouch. But I do need your number. That is, if you want to go for those matches."

Nat slid the plates before him, and pulled out her new phone. "Give me your phone." Nat exchanged numbers, and talked to him. "It must be quite distasteful to eat in your father's restaurant instead of having breakfast at home."

"You employees have it better off, having food every day here."

"Oh, shut up. Or you could join us."

"Love to, darling, but I'm getting restaurant-rate food at home. Even otherwise, tough," he said, "I'm quite busy."

"Sleeping and lazing around? You must be," she deadpanned.

He took his phone from her hand, and Nat's eye twitched at the heat that zoomed through her. Still, she managed to keep her expressions to herself, and listened to him. "There's a new project, and it's a pretty big one, too. And they're using our hangars for their storage purpose, so we just have all our work doubled. But it's really cool—we get to see their equipment first hand, and there's some really good equipment there. I'm really excited. Say…do you even know what a hangar looks like?"

"And I need to go," she said curtly, and turned around.

"Coward," he called out after her. She batted the insult away with a wave of her hand, and skated over to the counter.

"Flirting with the customer, Nat?" Sophia Santos, the Brazilian employee, asked.

Nat just raised an eyebrow, but decided to give Sophia a moment of her time. She spun around, leaned on the space of counter next to her. "Which part of that…that durak makes you want to flirt with him?"

"Are you blind, menina?" Sophia asked. "That has to be one of the grandest pieces of male flesh I've ever seen. I'd go to take his order, but I'd probably start melting all over him." Sophia countered Nat's dubious expression with her own. "Are you kidding, Nat? He isn't hot. I don't think any language has the words to describe exactly how positively droolsome he is."

Nat rolled her eyes, slid out a plate loaded with a slice of strawberry cheesecake. "Now go drool over him." Before Sophia could say anything, Nat rolled away with another table's order, thinking that if Sophia had mentioned Al's ass…

Now that she would totally agree with.

"What do you want to order?"

Nat frowned. "Does this mean we aren't going to the opera?"

"Aah, no. We're still going. Aw, come on, Nat, cheer up. It's not that bad"—

"People wearing costumes and warbling. Honestly, everyone just dies in the end"—

"That's not true"—

"I'm hungry. Order."

"Yes, princess. What do you want?"

"Healthy and filling. Whatever you're not having."

"Hey! I can eat healthy," he protested, in reply to which Nat rolled her eyes to show her agreement. He huffed, and scanned the menu. He called the waitress, ordered while Nat looked around.

They'd always used the shortest road in their motor races or in reaching the godown for the matches, which happened to be one of the back roads, while the diner came on the main road. Nat had never used the main road—had never needed to—while Al used it frequently, on his trips to and from Scottsdale, and had become a regular of the diner. Either that, or waitresses all over liked checking him out, and he was ordering like he knew the place—or the menu—quite well.

It was painted a sunny blew, peeling at the edges, with faded black tiles and a polished dark brown counter that was currently occupied sparsely. She moved her gaze everywhere, only to return and find Al looking at her. Disconcerted, she asked, "What?"

"Nothing. I like watching you when you don't talk."

Nat's cheeks turned a pale pink. "Is that an incentive for me to start blabbering?"

"I said I liked you quiet. So shush."

"I hate anything you happen to like."

"You love silence, you love air, you love food—don't make such strong statements, Nat. Oh, here it is."

Nat thanked the waitress, who looked slightly surprised, since she'd spent a great deal of the past five minutes biting Al's head off. Al himself was a bit surprised, and when he asked her later, it was because it made her a bit happy when customers thanked her. Of course, Bonnefoy's always had a very good clientele, but Nat didn't think the diner had the same good fortune. They sat, eating their food in silence, when Al suddenly started, "What's your dream?"

Nat looked up from her spaghetti. "What?"

"You know. What's your dream?"

She blinked. "I…I've never thought about it."

"Come on, Nat. If we were kids, what would you say you'd want to become once we grew up?"

She had to think really hard for that one. She'd never actually had to answer that one, 'cause there weren't many people who would've asked that to her. And those who'd have probably asked were the ones she'd become friends with recently, and they wouldn't ask her something like that.

Alfred, it seemed, had to be a contradiction even to that.

"I've always wanted to open my own business, I guess," Nat answered thoughtfully. "I'd wanted to be a vet, once, too"—

"Uncle Williams is a vet, you know."

Nat blinked. "He is?"

"Yeah, he keeps going from his clinics in Australia to mom's family farms in the UK. He's probably one of the only brothers mom's in touch with. She hates the rest of them." At Nat's confused look, Alfred said, "They're actually her cousins, except Uncle Ian, Uncle John, Uncle Collin and Peter."

Nat nodded, having momentarily forgotten that Peter was actually his uncle and a few years elder to him.

"Mom has a whole bunch of cousins, and—I should just shut up now. What kind of a business did you want to start?"

She shrugged. "Anything, actually. A gallery. Or maybe a publishing house. I wanted to help your mom with her business for a while. After your dad gave us jobs, I'm alright where I am. What about you?"

"I wanted to be an astronaut for a while," he said. "Then I decided to be a superhero." She choked on her spaghetti, but he ignored her. "I wanted to become a professional sportsperson, but I.."

"You what?"

"I—Look at the time. You better eat fast, Nat, or we'll be late for my own match." He began shovelling spaghetti into his mouth, and that was the end of that.

Muttering about time and timing, Nat began eating her dinner as well.

No point in watching a match on an empty stomach, after all.

"What are you thinking about?"

Before she could help herself, she blurted out, "The opera."

"What about it?"

She shook her head. "Never mind."

"If you're worried about people killing each other, don't worry. It happens"—

"I'd kill them if they won't die," she said drily, and then sighed. "Thanks, but forget about it."

"Nat, if there's anything you need to know about me, it is that I don't forget about it. I have a photographic memory and an amazing memory recall ability, so even if I want to, I can't forget about it. Plus, I"—

"If you're going to praise yourself, durak, I will skin you alive."

"Nat, my jaw hurts, so you better start talking."

Fine. If he wanted to know so badly, she'd tell him. "Where and when are you going to pick me up?"

"After work. Why?"

She didn't want him to pick her up from her home because firstly, it would raise too many questions, and secondly, Katyusha would invite him in, and she didn't think Big Brother would want that.

"Where from?"

"Well, after you close shop, you can change in the restaurant. We're going in our vehicle, so you can sit in the front while I drive, while dad and mom do hanky-panky things at the back." He shuddered. "Unless, of course, you want to sit in the back amidst all that freaky tension"—

"Fine, fine, I get it. Where should I buy the dress from?"

"You don't worry about that. I'm buying it."

"Stop the bike."

"Nat"—

"Stop the bike, Alfred, or I'll jump."

"Nat, we're on the bloody highw"—

"I'm jumping"—

"Fine, fine. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"Don't talk about my panties."

"Geez, woman, give me a bloody minute, will you?" he demanded as he moved over to the side, and parked. She got down, and he removed his helmet. "What's your problem?"

"You're not buying me anything."

"Listen, as much as Eliza aunty's my mom's best friend and all, and I mean her no disrespect, but there are better, high end shops in Scottsdale, and I can get stuff for a discount there"—

"So go get it for yourself. Don't buy stuff for me."

"Dude, why are you acting so high? It's just a dress"—

"Which I can buy myself at Eli"—

"When there's a better deal at Scottsdale? I'll buy it—you can pay me and stuff. Or I'll ask dad to deduct it from your salary or something. Plus, won't your sister make a big deal of it if you go and buy it yourself? You know what the place is like—gossip moves faster than light here, and that's no joke—it's something even Einstein couldn't figure out. I'll buy—you know what? I'll rent it, and you can just wear it for that one night, and we'll give it away"—

"I'll pay for it."

"We've already established that. Besides, if we rent it, my mom will kill me."

Nat frowned in bewilderment at that one. "Why?"

"I don't know. It's my mom—she's weird. I'll buy, you pay. Fine?"

"Fine."

"Now will you get on and not threaten to jump?"

She muttered something under her breath, clearly embarrassed at that little fit she threw. She got back on the bike; he put on his helmet, and began driving.

It had been a five round match of bare-knuckled boxing, and Al had reduced it to three. He'd sustained some pretty heavy damage to his stomach and chest, but turned down Nat's offer to drive instead of him. His face was bruised as well, but some cream and an ice-pack would take care of it. Since he was leaving for Scottsdale early the next morning, either parent would probably not get a good look at his face, which he was counting on. Either way, he was pretty well prepared, and Nat didn't have to worry about him.

Which, according to him, she was doing a lot nowadays.

If you only knew why, Alfred. If you only knew why.

"Okay, stop here."

Al, not wanting to see another ultimatum being issued, stopped right there. As she got down, he said, "Dude, this isn't near"—

"It'll do. Thank you."

"I'm going to wait right here until you get home. Send me a message once you reach."

"It's not"—

Nat looked into his eyes, and knew he would do it. The idea that he'd stand there, ready to protect her…

It gave her a strange feeling in her stomach.

She just nodded curtly. "Good night. And take care."

"You tell me that, darlin', once you reach home."

She reached out, but clenched her fist before she could touch him. Confused and frustrated with herself, she turned around and walked away, a pair of electric blue eyes boring into her back.

She hurried home, releasing two knives from the holder beneath her jacket as she walked. As far as she knew, for as long as she'd lived, no one had offered to protect her—not her brothers, not Francis, not Matt…nobody had offered to protect her, just because they deemed her strong enough to just not only protect herself, but all of them at the same time. And now, when Al was doing this…it was so strange she didn't know whether to thank him or turn him away.

He wouldn't be turned away, and she…

She reached home, fished out her keys with one hand. She turned the key in the lock, her ears open for any attack from anywhere—W City had a low crime level, but there were some people like Cross' people who still hated Ivan Braginsky and all that he held dear.

She got into the house, locked the door behind her, and fished out her phone.

I'm in. Now go away.

The reply came before she could put her phone into her pocket.

Going, going. Good night.

And before she knew it, she was texting back:

Good night. And thank you.

She kicked off her shoes, put them in the rack. She walked upstairs to the room, when his reply arrived.

Anytime, darlin'. Take care.

She removed her coat with one hand, texted with the other.

Take care.

"Good evening, Natalia."

She froze, hating herself for having taken off her coat. She felt vulnerable, unarmoured, without her coat. But she knew this feeling, was used to this feeling. She quickly shut her phone, slipped it into her pocket, and turned around. "Good evening, Big Brother."

"How was your evening with the elder Bonnefoy?"

"Fine. But I'd think you'd know more about that than I would."

Ivan's smile didn't deviate in the least. "Oh. How so?"

Nat looked at him with the coldest expression she could muster. "I've been with you long enough, Big Brother. I know when I'm being observed."

"You do realize that while you make idle chitchat, the boy could probably lose his life?"

Nat was feeling angry, mutinous. But she had nothing to say to her brother. "Good night, Big Brother."

Ivan was taken aback—he didn't expect Natalia to respond in such a fashion. "Good night, Natalia. Or would you prefer to text me"—

"Don't push me."

Ivan just shrugged at her tone. "Alright. But I hope you will be able to prove his lack of participation in all of this. Good night, Natalia."

His tone suggested that she had to be reminded that until he dismissed her, nobody would leave the room. "Good night, Big Brother."

He closed the door as he left, leaving Nat alone to battle the darkness, both inside and outside herself.

"There's a woman"—

"I can introduce myself, aru," Chun-Yan said, walking in. She gave the man a look, sending him hurrying on his way. She closed the door behind her, and looked long and hard at Ivan, realizing she didn't like what she was seeing.

"Good morning, Miss"—

"What is wrong with you, aru?"

She whispered it so softly he didn't even pick it up. "Excuse me?"

"What happened to you, Ivan?" she asked, standing right there.

He blinked. "What happened to me? I don't know, what happened?"

"One minute, everyone's telling me how wrong they were about you, aru. And now…"

"Now what?"

When she kept quiet at that, he said, "Just because I'm not feeling lost anymore doesn't mean something is wrong with me."

"You look more lost than ever, aru."

And Chun-Yan saw what she'd never wanted to see—the smile that made Ivan the true terror he was. "Eto tak?" He got up from behind the desk, and walked to her. "Do tell me. Or are you saying that just because you happen to be more useful when I'm lost?"

She saw it on his face the minute he said it, that he regretted his words. But she wasn't going to let him take them back, simply because he needed to know she couldn't be pushed around, not even by him. "Was that supposed to be an insult, aru? You know better than to insult me." She stormed up to him, and grabbed him by the lapels. "I'll tell you something interesting, aru. No matter how hard you push me away, with your juvenile insults and threats, you will never be able to do it, aru. I will never let go of you, aru. Do you understand?" She released him, taking a little bit of pleasure in seeing him stagger back, off balanced and surprised, and said, "Call me when you've got your head back on your shoulders, aru." She turned around, storming off, but she didn't make it as far as the door.

He caught hold of her from behind, wrapped his arms around her tightly, grabbing onto her like a drowning man. "Izvinite," he whispered, burying his head in her neck, killing himself from the inside for forgetting exactly what she meant to him, what she was to him.

She sighed. "Ivan…I know you're hurting inside, aru. But you're not alone. Realize that, Ivan. Relish that. You have us, aru. All of us. You're not alone."

But it would be much, much later before he realized what exactly her words meant.

"What's your favourite colour?"

"What's my favourite what?"

"Colour," he said, looking at her as if she was daft. "The thing that makes the world a brighter place"—

"Alfred, you need to stop asking me such random questions."

"But the whole point of the game is to ask each other random questions. Now, 'fess up."

"Black."

"Mine's red, blue and white. What did you get on your sixteenth birthday?"

"I'll tell you what I wished I'd gotten—something that you shut you up."

"Aw, come on, Nat. Open up."

He was paying for her dinner, and he was transporting her up and down. She sighed. "A teddy bear, paint brushes, a sketchpad, and lingerie. From your dad."

"Yuck."

Nat laughed. "Tell me about it. Something to do with l'amour. I told him I'd take his l'amour and stuff it right down his throat. And he said it happened to him every day."

Al facepalmed himself while Nat made gagging gestures. "Why do I have the most insane parents on the planet?" he asked himself out loud.

"You don't have to listen to him tell supposedly 'romantic' stuff to us all…I told him I'd shoot him in the head if he told me what he did in his sleeping hours ever again, and that Ravis had even brought me a real gun with real bullets for Christmas."

"Did he stop?"

"He stopped," she said disgustedly. "But he hints things now, which is even worse. I swear, the Bonnefoy's made us all a bunch of perverts. Speaking of which," she said, looking at him, "why are you such a prude?"

"Nat, darlin', I'm anything but a prude. And that's not random at all."

Nat gave him a look telling him just how much she cared about that. "You always get—what is it?—grossed out whenever we end up"—

"Dude, the Bonnefoy's my dad. I don't want to hear stuff about my dad and my mom doing weird stuff to each other."

"You sound like you're talking about shchupal'tsa porno."

"Shut up. Shut up. Yuck. You're sick, Nat."

She just smiled smugly. "Prude."

"I am not a prude! How would you feel if I talked about your parents doing stuff like that?"

Nat looked at him, and he realized just what he'd said. Even as he beat himself up on the inside, Nat actually considered his question.

"You know," she said, startling him, "I'd probably be lucky if I could react the way you do." At his silence, she continued, "I know nothing of them. The first thing I remember from back then is sestra cleaning my wounds and telling me 'vse budet v poryadke'. 'It's going to be okay.' I don't remember anything from before then."

"How…how old were you?"

"Five. Or maybe six. Sestra knew how old I was, although I just assumed…" She stared into her plate of chicken curry and rice for a long time, old memories flashing into her head. Katyusha had made her study extra hard, making her master the Russian alphabet within weeks, and then words and sentences in the next two months. By the time she was enrolled into first grade…She wondered whether to tell him or not.

"Sestra was a real headcase. By the time they found me, they already had Eduard. And sestra wanted all of us to be educated, literate. Only the educated could break out of poverty, she said. She made the two of us study the alphabet day and night—Eduard had some time, but I was old enough to be enrolled in first grade. And sestra took it as a personal test to see that I would get into first grade."

She smiled fondly, nostalgically, at that memory, and Al, watching her, felt something tighten in the pit of his stomach. "There were only a few months left. She made the two of us study day and night, and when I cleared the entrance exam and got full marks…you should've seen her," she said. "She was jumping and crying and blubbering and she didn't know what to do…we had shchi, kotlety and pirozhki that night, I remember. And do you know the funniest thing about my sister, Alfred?"

She looked up, and Al's jaw slackened at her tear-filled eyes, and when she smiled, it broke his heart. "My sister was illiterate, until Eduard and I came along. And she taught herself everything, so that we could be in school."

"She's very strong."

Nat laughed. "Oh, she cries for everything—she's the first person to cry during romantic movies, when the hero gets the girl, and she cries when the food she eats tastes delicious, and she'll cry if she stubs her toe against the table. But she's the strongest person in the world."

Al leaned over and took the menu from her, and sat back down, holding the menu up as she stared at the handkerchief he'd dropped into her lap.

Spasibo, Alfred.

She wiped her eyes, not knowing why she'd told something so personal to Alfred, or how he could've made her tell him something like that.

But she was glad to have told him.

It had been a really busy day—Nat's feet hurt from not having taken a single break. She and Sophia had made a pact to cover for each other during their breaks. She'd stuffed an éclair into her mouth, and eaten it discreetly, serving tables while Sophia took orders. And while Sophia ate, she took orders. But even though she was busy swinging from one end of the restaurant to the other, taking orders and serving people, she was glad she wasn't in there with her brothers—the kitchen was positively sweltering.

Francis had turned on the heat—literally and figuratively—and the Braginsky boys, Sophia's brother Ricardo and the Bonnefoy were producing dish after dish like tireless machines. Sundays were their busiest, and this Sunday happened to be busier than usual.

So busy they were that they hadn't even noticed the sun setting in the sky. Only after the few odd customers left, Nat looked up and saw the sun setting.

"Hey, wasn't it just afternoon?" Sophia asked.

"Mon ami, I love my customers, but declare us closed before another person comes. Nat, go draw all the blinds," Francis said, and crunched into what was probably the first morsel of food he'd had after his early breakfast.

"You better make us lunch, old man," Nat said as she whizzed off towards the windows. "Sophia, draw the blinds."

Francis plopped on leftovers on plates, and the boys staggered out of the kitchen, pushing their meals on a cart. Francis, a stickler for presentation, didn't let anyone start eating before all the food was arranged onto the four tables they'd pushed in together. And once they started eating, the only one who ate with relative decency was Francis.

They stuffed themselves, removing their shoes and rubbing their tired soles in the process. Nat dragged out another chair just to rest her feet in, and the others quickly followed suit. As soon as the water bottles were finished, someone ran in for the wine, and it wasn't long before people started swinging the wine right from the bottle, much to Francis's chagrin and incredulity. And, within ten minutes, they'd finished all of the leftovers along with two bottles of wine.

"I've…hired a bunch…of gluttons," Francis said, looking at his full—and some drunk—employees.

"That…was fun…" Ricardo said, and turned to Nat. "Your brothers are high."

"Da," she said. "I know." She turned to Toris, the only one of the three who wasn't drunk. "I trust you to take these deti home."

Ravis nodded, and sighed. "Da, da. YA voz'mu ikh domoy."

"For being such good employees, I'll let you off early. Nat, you're helping me, oui?"

They all looked at Nat, waiting for her to throw some threat against his head or his balls or both, but she just said, "Yeah, whatever. I need to use the bathroom." And then they just watched her get up and rush off to the bathroom.

They watched the door of the ladies' bathroom in shock and surprise, until Francis said, "Okay! How about we clean up now?"

*x*

Nat turned at the knock on the door, and watched as Francis's head peeked in. "What?"

"You need some help, mon ami?"

She promised to soap her back a thousand times after this…She turned around, and pointed at her zip. "Zip it up."

"Ohonhonhonhon," Francis said, for which Nat replied, "You so much as touch my skin, and I'll have your mudak."

"Bien sûr, bein sûr," he said as he zipped her gown up. "You know, I can't wait to see what Alice is wearing. And turn around—let me be the first to tell you how gorgeous you look."

He turned her around, and gasped softly. "Magnifique," he whispered as he took in the vision of her in her emerald green gown, with its layered, off-shoulder neckline. The layers covered the top of her chest, and the green cloth emerged underneath, wrapping her lean, curved form. The skirts emerged from the mid-waist, and flared out modestly, the edge of the bodice and the beginning of the skirts marked by the presence of a braided golden cord lopped around her waist.

"Let's do something about your hair," he said, looking at her critically. "And just a touch of makeup should do." And before she could protest, he had her sitting down, his skilful fingers working her hair into a French braid. His fingers soothed, and she decided it better to just sit and enjoy him work on her.

"Alice would envy your hair, ma petite fille," Francis commented as he looped her hair. "Her hair isn't as straight as yours—it loops and curls, and snarls an awful lot. And it's usually tug-of-war between me and her hair, so she refuses to French braid her hair. And the colour just shimmers. You have beautiful hair, mon fille." He tied the end up, then turned her slightly around. "Now hold still," he said, placing a pocket makeup kit on the table. "It isn't mine—it's Alice's," he said in answer to the look Nat gave him. "Now close your eyes, and hold still."

He began applying makeup. "You know, Alice was désastre absolu—an absolute disaster when it came to makeup. And Elizabeta wasn't much help either, although she knew what looked good and what didn't. But neither of you need much makeup. Open your eyes a bit, mon fille—now don't close them, or blink."

With expert swipes, he applied eyeliner. "Now close your eyes. You don't need mascara," he whispered as he swapped on eye shadow. "You've got beautiful lashes."

"If you weren't so good at it, I'd kill you."

Francis laughed delightedly. "That's exactly what Alice said. And we're done."

Nat opened her eyes, and stared into the mirror.

"Yes, mon fille, it is you. I'll call you out when they—oh, they're here."

"Papa Francis?"

"Oui?"

"M-Merci."

Which was exactly why he adored the girl to bits. "De rien. Now let's go."

Al's heart stopped beating for long moments as he saw Nat coming out, holding his dad's hand while bickering nonstop with him. He just stood there, frozen, while his mom went out and hugged Nat. He watched her, watched her surprise as Alice hugged her, watched her eyes find him, watched them light up.

And he couldn't…he just couldn't bring himself to move, to go over and take her arm, to do something, anything. He was just stuck there, a gaping idiot, looking at her like he'd never seen her before in his life.

And then Nat slipped out from his mom's grasp and made her way to him, and his parents starting doing what they did best, which prompted him to do what he did best when they did what they did best—turn away from the scene. When Nat reached him, he took her arm, and said, "Let's go to the car, shall we?" and the two of them walked away, trying to block out the noisy kissing in the back.

Francis looked down at his wife's face—flushed, lusty, delicious. He could probably eat her right there—in fact, he wanted to eat her right there.

He lowered his mouth back on hers, holding her closer to his chest when she struggled. He ran his fingers in slow, lazy circles over her nape, reducing her to moans and shudders. He couldn't believe the rush of lust he still felt every time they kissed, the absolute joy every time he saw her, as if he hadn't seen her for too long. He'd expected it to mellow down with time, but…

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, and looked at her. "Bonjour."

She just smiled. "You bloody arse. We're going to be late."

He looked up. "That, or they're going to leave without us. We'd better get going."

And even though Alice thought it was absurdly teenage-ish, she interlaced her fingers with his, and the two of them walked to the car, hand in hand.

They entered, and Alfred started the car. "Did you tell Nat your tendency to drive insanely?"

"It isn't as bad as dad's, mum"—

"Hey!"

"Also, I propose a ban on the two of you doing things while I'm driving. I'll dump you both outside at the first signs of smooching."

"I second that," Nat said, pulling on her seat belt, stifling a laugh when Alice hit him hard on the head. "Just drive, you idiot!"

Grumbling and muttering about his crazy family, Al started the car, and they were off.

Al loved orchestras.

It was rather odd, and people wouldn't so much as believe it if anybody else told them that, but Al loved orchestras. He had been raised on them, given his mother's love for orchestral music and his father's love for playing the piano. Francis had raised both his sons on a diet of classics and had taught them both how to play the piano, and even if they never learnt how to play the classics properly, they loved the sound and the music of instruments.

Alice and Francis, after judging their children's interests and deeming them of the correct age, began taking both of them along for recitals and orchestras. Of course, once they both entered their teens, only Alice and Francis went once in a while, but for all the Bonnefoys, the harmonious and powerful sound of the orchestra was something nothing could match.

But, of course, operas were a totally different thing for Al.

His parents were crazy about operas, but he just didn't find it in him to like them the way he loved orchestral music. He even knew that the vocal range possessed by opera singers was spectacular, and that only a few people could do it. He appreciated them and their abilities and talents, but it didn't come under his taste. So he watched the elaborate costumes, and tuned out the singing where it hurt his ears, listening to the music when it suited his harmony.

Of course, The Marriage of Figaro by Mozart was something he could enjoy, and after a while, he closed his eyes and listened to the music. Captured, he was taken away to another time and place, where voices flowed over one another and instruments played in soothing harmony, the music produced being ethereal and powerfully gripping.

A sudden weight on his shoulder startled him from his meditation, and he opened his eyes. He looked down, and found a golden head resting on his shoulder.

"Nat?"

She mumbled something that sounded very close to, "Tired," and snuggled closer.

He just looked at her, then glanced briefly at his watch. He picked up the coat he'd removed somewhere in the beginning, and covered her with it. He looked at his watch again—there was quite a bit of time before the interval…Until the lights came on, he'd sit there, her sleeping form by his side.

Until the lights came on, he'd watch her sleep.

A/T: I finished reading 'The Princess Diaries' series—except the ninth book, because it's supposedly bakwaas—and I'm reading Gamaran now. And my dad's reading 'The Hunger Games'. Radium (my Princess Diaries supplier) said she was ashamed to be holding such books. I loved all of them!

The chapter's early in it's coming, since all I've had the entire week are holidays—Tuesday was a half day, because of some workshop, then Thursday was Independence Day, and yesterday was Varmahalakshmi, and today was supposed to be a working day, but all the male teachers went to Hyderabad to see their families…I love the months from August to December, 'cause it's holiday time!

There were two bats in my house…it was scary. For once, my dog and I exchanged roles—I was the scared one while he was the brave one. I love my dog.

Welcome back, Scarlett!

If you liked this even a little, I'll be happy.

Love,

R. K. Iris.