A/N: Hi, guys. So, it seems the world is going to hell in a handbasket these days, yeah? We'll get through it, though. Isn't that the strength of the human spirit? Well, since we're all holed up inside, I'm going live on Instagram sometime today. My IG is lumiolivier. I'll tweet out when I go live ( MsLOlivier). I have no idea what I'm going to be doing, but it'll be nice for us to just hang out, you know? Now, I'm going to let you get into this week's chapter, yeah? Cool? Neat.

Pain…So much pain. I would take the hell of being sick again over and over if it meant not being hungover. At least when I'm sick, I don't have to blame myself for my stupidity from the night before. Looks like I don't have it in me like I used to. When Reid and I used to go out when we first started dating, we could go out at night, get completely obliterated, and go to work the next morning like nothing happened. But now…I feel icky.

I wanted to stay in bed. The thought of going back to sleep sounded downright pleasant. With the exception of this throbbing fucking headache. However, my stomach had other plans for me. Oliver spent all that time working on this room, but he didn't think to put a trash can in here? I got up from my bed and sprinted into the bathroom, so I could throw up profusely. This fucking sucks. I should've stopped after my first three. Normally, I could control myself. But I just got carried away.

I got up from the floor, steadying myself while the room spun around me. No. I am not throwing up again. Once was plenty. I drudged back to my bed and buried myself in the blankets. The curtains were closed. The lights were off. My blankets were the warm hug I needed. All I needed now was to shut my eyes. Just a little sleep and I'll feel better when I wake up…

"Good morning, Amelia…" Fuck.

"Mmm…" I let out a little groan, "Could you please keep it down?"

"I'm not happy, Amelia." If I didn't know any better, I'd think Oliver spoke louder out of spite.

"Oliver," I sunk deeper into the blankets, doing my best to suppress the sound, "I'm already hungover. Can we not do this right now?"

"We are." Shit, "You've brought this misery on yourself, darling. One would think you would stay away from alcohol, given your history. Do you know how many new phone numbers are in your contacts?"

"No," I poked my head out of the nest, "How do you?"

"It hasn't stopped ringing since noon." What time was it now?

"I found my phone in the strangest place," I sat up, "What would it be doing in your nightstand, Oliver?"

"What were you doing in my nightstand?" Oliver wondered, sitting at the edge of my bed.

"Looking for my phone."

"And you can have it back the next time we leave the house," he ordered, "After the display from last night, we won't be going anywhere for a while. I'm very disappointed in you, Amelia. I expected better from you."

Why were his words so biting? Not five minutes ago, I was ready to tear Oliver a new asshole for taking my phone. But…The fact that he said it out loud I disappointed him…It hit me weird. And it broke my heart. I needed to not have Oliver pissed off at me. I cuddled my head into his lap, "I'm sorry, Oliver. I just…I needed to blow off some steam."

"You could always come talk to me, poppet," Oliver pointed out, "Goodness, I have training for that sort of thing. I couldn't lose another one. My heart couldn't take it."

"What do you mean?" Just when I think Oliver isn't going to tell me anything, it sounds like I'm going to get the other side of the coin.

"Amelia…" he put his arms around me, "How would you like it if I were to tell you a story?"

"Sure," I insisted, "I'd love to hear it."

"After you've had a bath first," Oliver's face scrunched up in disgust, "You still smell like whiskey and cigarettes. How does that sound?"

"Fine." It's not like I'd have a say in it anyway. I was on Oliver's shit list enough. However, with a little more ass kissing, I should be back in his good graces in no time. Besides, he was a sucker for this cute little face. No matter how bad she fucks up.

And…Well…I don't care how miserable I was feeling. I'd have to but a fucking idiot to say no to Oliver Kirkland's bathtub. Or his cooking, but my stomach says no. For now anyway. I sat at the edge of the bathtub, waiting for it to fill up, watching Oliver drop a mixture of salts and oils into the water. It was almost just like when I was sick and he was trying to get my fever to break. He did everything for me from washing my hair to my body with the most delicate touch. If I wasn't careful, I was going to fall back asleep in this bathtub. Then again, it did have magical powers. Maybe what he was putting in the water was his way of practicing modern day alchemy. Whatever it was, it put me in a good place, so I'm not complaining.

When I got out of the bathtub, Oliver dried me off and put me in a soft pair of pajamas. These were different from the other ones he got for me. These were yellow, but not an obnoxious yellow. A gentle yellow. They had little ducks on the pocket. If I were five, I'd be all over that, but as a hungover adult with nearly an additional two decades on that, I didn't care. As long as I wasn't completely naked, I was good. Oliver brought me back into my bedroom and sat the two of us in the big rocking chair in the corner.

I cuddled into his shoulder, ready to fall back asleep. Bedtime? Maybe bedtime. Whatever it was, it got Oliver to smile, "Comfortable, love?"

"Yeah," I laid my head on his chest, "I'm good."

"Are you sure you want this particular story, Amelia?" Oliver worried, "It's not exactly an easy one to hear…or to tell."

"It's ok," I nuzzled my face in his chest and laced my fingers through his.

"Alright then," he cradled me gently, "I might as well start at this beginning. Long before you and I ever met…Do you remember earlier when I told you I had special training to handle your venting?"

"Uh-huh…"

"And how when we first met," he added, "I told you how I had taken a first-aid class once or twice?"

"Yeah," I nodded, my eyelids getting heavier. No. Amy…Stay awake. I know the thought is tempting, but you need to stay awake for this.

"Long before we met that night," Oliver went on, "I used to work at a crisis center. It was my job to help anyone who walked through our doors. Whenever we'd have a particularly difficult case, mostly the ones who were court ordered to be here, they'd usually get sent to me. And that was fine. I didn't have a problem with it. And I always liked a challenge. However, there was one day where we had the most difficult case to date. A man walked in, still half drunk, possibly a bit high on whatever chemicals he had put into his body. I figured he'd be another one court ordered. But I found out he was there on his own volition. Normally, people were forced to come to us. It wasn't often they were ever here willingly."

"What happened with him?" This smells like Francois. This definitely smells like Francois.

"He had gone through three other counselors before he was sent to me," he continued, "If you ask me, he should've been sent straight to me before anyone else. He made one of them cry. One of them ended up quitting after him. But then, he came to me."

"And was he the difficult one?" I knew damn well it was fucking Francois, "Did you do it? Did you make him feel better?"

"I did worse," Oliver hid a little smile, "He didn't make me cry in the way that he made one of my coworkers cry. Which, he did apologize for later at my insistence. He was tragic. He was broken…But he was beautiful. And all I wanted to do was take him home with me. But we had an unspoken rule to not get personally attached to a case. I couldn't help it, though."

"You?" I gasped, "You, of all people, broke a rule?"

"I know," he chuckled to himself, "My one act of rebellion and I'm still paying for it. But I did, in fact, take him home with me. I listened to his plight while he was still in my office. It's not like he had anywhere else to go that wasn't a park bench or an abandoned building. I wanted nothing more in my life than to help him. Him in particular. He had something special about him. I didn't know what it was, but there was something there. I had gut instincts sharper than a tack. But later that evening, I brought him back here, made him dinner, gave him a place to sleep for the night."

"What was his name?" Like I didn't already know.

"Francois…" Oliver let out a heavy sigh, "His name was Francois. I didn't know it at the time, but after dinner, I finally got him to open up a little more. When he walked into the crisis center, he was on the verge of suicide. Things were only getting worse for him. He drank himself into a dark, downward spiral and he was just…constantly sad. And it broke my heart. I had to do something about it. I couldn't let this continue. Much like it was when I first met you. Only maybe you weren't as severe. But also much like you, I let him move in here. I showed him more and more that life was definitely worth living. Little by little, as the months went on, I'd catch him smiling. Things were getting better for him. And for me. However, I didn't expect to fall in love with him like I did. But even stranger yet…He fell in love with me."

"That's so sweet," I awed, "What happened after that?"

"I could tell you the exact words he said when he proposed," Oliver giggled, "He said, 'do you want to get married or whatever?'. And that was as close to romance he ever got."

"So?" I wondered, "Did you get married or whatever?"

"We did," he melted inside, his embrace tightening around me, "That was…Not nearly as magical a day as I thought it'd be. I knew that Francois wasn't one for pomp and circumstance and I made sure to accommodate that. Although, the joke that he told me before we actually got married was a bit disturbing. He said that it was the first time he willingly had gone into a courthouse and it wasn't for a hearing. Then again, the same could've been said for when we met, so I guess in hindsight, it was appropriate that our marriage would begin the same way our relationship would."

"So…" I never thought Francois would be the romantic type. Although, I had a feeling his brother would be. That seems to be the way it goes with them. Francis and Francois. Oliver and Arthur. Alfred and Allen. Flavio and his brother Lovino. I hadn't even met Matt's twin, but I had a feeling they were the opposite of each other, too, "Then, you two got married. What happened after that?"

"We were married for a year before we adopted our boys," Oliver went on, "In fact, considering the leather jacket you came home in last night, I think you may know one of them. If not both of them."

"Where is that jacket?" I asked, "I'm sure he wants it back."

"If he wants it back," he stood his ground, "He knows where it is and he can come get it."

But Allen gets twitchy when you're even mentioned. I'm sure it used to be worse, "If you and Francois were so happy, what happened?"

"Well," Oliver idly ran his fingers down the back of my arm, "Things started to take a turn. Almost as if Francois was waking up from a dream. But I knew what was going on. Francois was spiraling into an episode. And a bad one. He started refusing my help out of nowhere. Even if I'd get close to him, he'd back off. I didn't do anything else different than what I normally did. I've seen this a million times. And I knew what Francois was like. If he wasn't careful, he'd end up hurting himself. Or worse, Allen and Matthieu. But it got even worse than that. Francois, in his self-destruction, turned those little boys, who I watched grow up for years and loved so much, against me…Because what would be worse than hurting himself? Hurting me. He pushed me away and took off with our boys. Honestly, I would've thought that if we would've gotten divorced, at least one would still be with me. But he had to have them both."

"But think of it this way," I pointed out, "If he was so bad, maybe he needed both of them in case he got bad again."

"That shouldn't be their responsibility," Oliver snapped, "They're just children! They shouldn't be his crutch!"

"Ok," I freaked a little, "I see I licked a nine-volt battery here."

"No…" he settled himself, "It was a perfectly valid thought, love, but…They were only about sixteen when he took them. They shouldn't have to be the one to take care of him. But ever since that night…Francois took them away from me. And I haven't heard from them since. That's why I'm so afraid of losing you. I'm afraid that one day, you'll walk out my front door and never come back. Just like they did. I don't want that to ever happen with you, Amelia. That's why I do everything in my power to keep you happy here. I don't want you to go."

A soft sob escaped Oliver's throat. And furthered the crack in my heart. I nuzzled my face in his neck, "I haven't left yet, have I?"

"And…" Oliver wiped the tears from his cheeks, "You won't leave…Right?"

"I usually come back here, don't I?"

"That's good to hear," he hugged me tight, "I love you, Amelia, and I'd hate for you to be hurt. You've been through enough pain in your life. Promise me you'll never pull a stunt like last night again."

"I promise…" I was nearly ready to pass out in his arms. But I wasn't really expecting the I love you out of him. The soul baring must really be getting to him.

"Good," Oliver got up from the chair and brought me over to my bed, "But see…As much as I'd like to, I don't know if I can trust that…Go on, darling. Lie down."

"What do you mean?" I got in bed, "Of course you can. Trust me, Oliver. One police escort home is plenty to scare me straight."

"That police escort home shouldn't have happened in the first place," he pointed out, "But I want you to smell your pillowcase. I know it's a strange request, but I used a new detergent on your bedding and I want to know what you think of it."

"Ok…" I stuck my nose on the pillowcase and took a good inhale.

"That's right…" Oliver praised, "Take it in. What do you smell, Amelia?"

"It's…" I smelled it a little closer, "Kind of sweet. But a little bit like bleach. Clean laundry maybe?"

"Keep going," he insisted, "What else is there?"

"I don't…" Out of complete nowhere, I got really dizzy. And my headache only got worse, "Know…Oliver…What is this…?"

"Shh…" Oliver sat at my bedside, his hand on my back. The dizziness kept coming in waves, almost making me nauseous, "Shh…You're alright, love. Just go to sleep. It'll be all better when you wake up."