I'm kind of sad. I only got one review last chapter and it wasn't from any of the four of you who usually review. Where were you? -cries-

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Ice cream.

It was Michel's favorite thing in the world. The flavor didn't really matter, so long as it was cold and creamy and sweet. And no bananas; that was his one rule. Bananas were gross and he neither wanted banana flavored ice cream nor any sort of banana in his ice cream. No, flavors didn't matter. But chocolate…was God. He felt a tad blasphemous thinking this -he was Catholic, after all, and "thou shall not worship false idols"- but he couldn't help it. He loved chocolate in all forms, especially in the form of Haagen Dazs white chocolate raspberry truffle.

This fact was, of course, something every one was aware of. Chloé had made sure of that. He had discovered the boy's fondness for the frozen treat shortly after they met and they had all been amazed by the sheer amounts of it the little blond could consume.

Especially with the way Michel had been eating lately.

Yuki was right. Michel hadn't been eating enough and it showed. His baby-face was thinner and his clothes hung on his slight frame. He had always been small and thin, but lately, he looked as if he was wasting away.

He had picked at dinner that night, pushing the food around his plate until what had originally been meatloaf, mashed potatoes and peas resembled a sort of greenish-brown slop on his plate. Why Ken had decided to make meatloaf in the first place was a mystery still -even Aya had raised a brow at it. Yuki, in typical teenage fashion, had scarfed it down, hardly paying mind to what was on his plate, but every one else had given Ken questioning looks, to which the brunet had shrugged.

Michel did not like meatloaf. Not anywhere near as much as he liked ice cream, at least. He had played with his food until every one else was done eating. He'd done a superb job of making it look like he'd eaten something, but the one bite he'd actually taken had not been enough to keep him satisfied until breakfast time.

Thus, the ice cream.

Around nine-thirty, he padded down the steps and into the kitchen. Without even bothering to turn on the light, he opened the freezer and began rummaging, the light from the hall just enough for him to see what he was doing. He had to stand on his tiptoes to reach the very back of the freezer, but he found what he was looking for in the end.

One pint -half-eaten- of white chocolate raspberry truffle. It had been hidden behind what looked like a half-package of German sausages, which would account for its continued existence in a house containing the bottomless pits that were Ken and Yuki.

Humming to himself, Michel rooted for a spoon and wandered into the living room with it and the pint. Ken was in there, playing some hideously gory video game, as well as Chloé and Free, who were both somehow ignoring the explosions and agonizing cries emitting from the television.

The blond climbed up on the couch between Chloé and Free, glancing at the book in Free's hands. It was leather-bound and the cover bore a long title, gilt and in German. Chloé was occupied with a copy of the London Times metro section, no doubt keeping up on all the fashionable places to be seen in his time off. Ken's gaze was glued to the television, eyes glazed over, and he hadn't even glanced up as the Irish teen had entered the room.

Free smiled at him over the top of the book. Michel grinned back, pulling the lid off the pint of ice cream and settling back against the sofa cushions. The paper rustled slightly and Chloé's disembodied voice issued a "hello" from behind the newsprint.

Michel dug into the ice cream, eating around the freezer burned bits, and the four of them remained in companionable silence for a while, save for the noises of Ken's video game and the occasional rustle of paper. The little blond was happy to note that Ken was channeling his destructive energy into something that wouldn't cause any one physical harm, though it may kill a few brain cells here and there. Playstation-Addict-Ken was so much better than Angry-Ken and Michel didn't mind at all. He'd seen the results of some of his physical fights with Aya and Chloé. Ken had even once picked a fight with Free, who'd looked at him like he'd lost his head and simply walked away from him. Yes, Michel much preferred this version of Ken.

Chloé got to the end of his paper and lowered it, watching Michel for a moment. The boy was happily absorbed in his treat, small tongue darting out to lick the spoon, a look of sheer pleasure on his face. Chloé smirked. He'd never seen some one so innocent make eating look so positively sexual. But then…Michel was nearly fifteen. It was about time he grew up a little. He certainly wasn't the shy, very Catholic little thing he'd been when they had first met.

He hadn't grown much -he was maybe only an inch or two taller than he'd been at eleven- but he had thinned out as his body matured, even though he never really seemed to grow out of that gangly stage. Chloé knew he wasn't as scrawny as he looked; there was muscle in there. He and Michel had been training together for a long time, after all. But he was lean and agile, all long limbs like a baby deer, and probably had no idea just how much he had grown up in the four years Chloé had known him.

Michel had been very timid back then as well. Six years of an Irish Catholic upbringing could do that to a person, Chloé supposed. He could understand that; most of his family had been strict Romanian Orthodox and they were almost as fanatical as the Catholics. Granted, Michel had been in KR's care for five years when he and Chloé met, but the Conrads had done an exemplary job of beating the Catholic faith into their son before they died. Eleven year old Michel had thought nearly everything was a sin; he'd even believed that KR was doomed to hell for being a Protestant.

He had been shy when they first met, attempting to hide first behind his dog, then behind Krypton himself, as the older man introduced them. Michel had been small then; Chloé had been twice his age. He'd peeked out from behind KR, green eyes wide and curious, then ducked shyly back behind. Chloé had smiled, easily sliding into this game of "let's see how long I can pretend I'm invisible," and spoke with KR as if the curious little boy weren't even there.

Michel had eventually come out his final hiding place -this being the underside of the table- when the maid had brought in tea. She set the tea tray, complete with a plate of biscuits, on the polished tabletop, bowing politely to Krypton, who dismissed her with a cheery "thank you." One small hand shot out from under the table, scrabbling for the cookies, and KR grabbed Michel by the wrist. "Enough, Michel. It's time to stop being rude."

A soft apology had come from beneath the table, barely audible, and a blond head had peeked out, glancing over the top of the table at Chloé. "Forgive me." The kid repeated, looking Chloé square in the eye this time, a pleading look on his face.

"It is all right." Chloé had smiled in reply. His accent was thicker then, his English not quite so refined. Something about Michel -maybe it was that terribly lonely, ashamed look on that very young face- had tugged at his heart. The kid looked as if he desperately needed a friend. He'd pushed the silver serving plate towards Michel. "I certainly cannot eat all these myself. Perhaps you'll help me?"

That had earned him a smile and Michel clambered into a nearby chair, reaching eagerly for the plate and thanking him enthusiastically. Chloé had wondered after who the boy was; they'd been introduced, but none of his background had been divulged at that point. Krypton's illegitimate child, perhaps, being raised in secret. They had the same light-blond hair, after all, and Krypton was certainly old enough to have an eleven year old son.

Thus he had been shocked a couple days later, when Michel told him bluntly over breakfast, "Mum and Dad were killed. Free killed them." He had turned to look at the child and was startled to find his face completely blank; those wide green eyes devoid of any emotion. "Mr. Krypton told me. That's why I'm here. Free killed them and brought me here." Chloé had felt terrible for the boy and even worse when he learned the full story behind the situation. Michel himself, he was told, had only learned all the details shortly before Chloé had arrived, and hadn't properly figured out how to grieve over it yet.

Chloé had felt overwhelming compassion for that child who didn't even know how to properly grieve the loss of his family. He had loved and cared for Michel like a brother for four years, watching him to make sure he was okay and encouraging him out of his shell. They were fond of one another and Chloé was proud to have had a hand in raising the boy who now seemed to be making love to his ice cream.

Feeling eyes upon him, Michel looked up, smiling at Chloé. "Do you want some?" He asked, offering the carton to his friend. He didn't really want to share, but it was the polite thing to do.

"No; thank you." Chloé stretched, "Don't you know how bad that is for you?"

The smaller blond shrugged. He didn't really care. It's not like he was in any danger of becoming overweight.

The older man folded the paper, setting it on the coffee table. "Are you ready for tomorrow night?"

Michel sighed. He was very much not looking forward to the following night's mission. It was so humiliating to be forced into girl's clothes. "As ready as I'll ever be, I suppose."

"You've got the story straight?"

"My name is Nora. I'm at the café with my friend from school. Yuki is that friend. We go to St Luke's and we're on a holiday with our families. Yuki's name is Katsu and we're sort of dating." Here he blushed lightly, the blush spreading at a soft noise of discontent from Free's direction.

Chloé smirked at Free. "Don't like that idea much, ja?"

Free glared at him, scowling slightly. "I do not like the idea of this mission at all. It seems unnecessarily dangerous." He didn't like the thought of Michel, whom Chloé had insisted made a quite pretty girl, sent into the place from where most of the missing young girls had vanished from. Yuki would be with him, but that thought didn't put him at ease. The boys would not be in mission gear; their only method of contact would be cell phones. He didn't like it, it made him uncomfortable, and his last reading had been predicting certain doom.

"I'll be fine, Free." Michel said softly, the ice cream momentarily forgotten and melting in its tub, "I can handle it. I know what I need to do, I know Yuki will have my back and I know all of you will be waiting for the signal."

"Don't worry so much, Free. We won't let the chibi down." It was the first thing Ken had said since Michel had entered the room and he didn't even bother to look up when he said it.

"Just because you've been doing this longer than the rest of us doesn't mean we don't know what we're doing." Chloé commented as he rose from the sofa, "Have we ever let a teammate down before?"

"Nein." Free responded quietly, "But I still do not like it."

Chloé smiled at him, "It'll be fine," and strode out of the room, newspaper tucked under his arm.

"Free?" Michel set the melting ice cream on the coffee table and turned fully to face the man, "You really needent worry so much. I can handle any mission we're given."

Free looked at him for a moment, as if he wanted to memorize his face. He stared hard, searching those grey-green eyes, taking in soft features framed by unruly curls. He peered into those eyes, memorizing the face that was already firmly etched into his mind, studying the boy that he'd known even before he knew himself. One hand rose slowly -he wasn't even conscious of what he was doing- and caressed soft skin. As he cradled the little blond's cheek, he was seized with a sudden fear. Something bad was going to happen.

Michel started, not expecting such an intimate touch. Free's hand jerked back and Michel ducked his head, blushing brightly. What was that? He could still feel that gentle touch on his face, the older man's skin against his. He thought wildly for a moment that he shouldn't have reacted as he did; that Free might have kissed him if he'd just stayed still. Then he remembered that Ken was in the room and blushed all over again.

"I'm not only worried about the mission." Free said quietly, "You've not been yourself lately." He was worried. Very worried. Michel's lack of appetite and the constant sleepy look on his face were more than enough to concern him. The dark circles beneath his eyes and the paleness of his skin only increased the concern.

"School is tough this year." Michel felt a burning shame at lying so blatantly to his best friend, but then…It wasn't really a lie. Not totally, any way. School was difficult, but not for the reasons he meant. He wanted to tell Free everything, but he couldn't make his mouth work. It just wouldn't come out.

"You don't talk to me anymore." The man tried not to make it sound like an accusation, but he couldn't help the way it came out.

Michel looked at him for a moment, expression carefully neutral. "I'm sorry." He said softly, and he was. He certainly was sorry for many things, the least of which was his inability to talk about his problems.

Free's gaze flickered towards Ken, who was still absorbed in his game, then back to Michel. "We probably should not talk here anyway." He stated plainly, knowing the Japanese man most likely wasn't as distracted as he appeared. After so many years in their line of business, there was no way Ken could zone out so completely.

"I don't want to talk." The little blond snapped and instantly regretted it. No matter how upset he was, there was no reason to be rude, especially to Free.

"Michel…" Free reached a hand towards him again, brows knit with worry.

This time, the teen jerked back, expecting it. His eyes widened and he hugged himself, hunching up as small as possible. "Don't make me talk…Please, Free; don't make me." He whispered, eyes squeezing shut.

"Michel," Free was at a loss, "It is not my intention to make you do anything." He hesitated for a moment, then reached out, pulling the boy into a protective embrace. He felt that tiny body tense against his and bit his lip, wondering if he should let go. In one split second, however, the tension was gone and Michel burrowed close, face buried in Free's chest.

"I'm sorry." His soft voice was muffled, "I'm so sorry. But I can't talk about it right now." His shoulders were shaking; Free could feel his small body trembling. This was what he'd been fearing for weeks. He'd known that the second something like this happened, he would be a mess. Free had that kind of effect on him. He could talk to Yuki -and it almost always lead to crying- but he knew that no words would come out when Free asked the same questions.

"You do not have to talk now." Free's fingers stroked the blond curls beneath his hand, "It's all right. If you need to cry, by all means, cry." No matter how much this made his heart ache; no matter how much he wanted to help, this had to end on Michel's terms. Free wouldn't force a discussion; he would not push the boy into talking before he was ready.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry!" Michel was crying now as he repeated the apology over and over again. He was clinging to Free; face still pressed up against his shirt. He wanted to explain what he was apologizing for, but he couldn't seem to get any other words out. He just continued sobbing into Free's shirt.

Free didn't say anything. There was nothing he could say. He wasn't going to tell Michel it was okay, because it obviously wasn't. If it were okay, the little blond wouldn't be sobbing hysterically into his chest. He wouldn't say he understood either. He had no clue what the hell was going on; all he knew was that Michel was in pain and there wasn't much he could do about it.

So he held the boy silently, letting him cry and apologize, and feeling terribly out of his league.

It was when he started hiccupping, when Free's shirt felt particularly damp against his face, that Michel pulled back. He looked up at Free, eyes wide and brimming with tears, face damp and pink. They looked at one another for a moment, then Michel hugged him fiercely, thin arms wrapped around Free in a vice-like grip. He rested his cheek against Free's chest, tears drying on his face; the hiccups coming uncontrollably as he calmed down.

The room was suddenly silent, save for the sound of the hiccups, which seemed to resound, echoing off the walls. It took Michel a moment to realize Ken had paused the game and was studying him intently. Michel peered back at him, sniffling pathetically, his cute-sad expression only being heightened by the gasping hiccups.

"I'll get you a glass of water." The brunet offered, unfurling from his hunched up position in front of the still-glowing television. He rose, stretching, and glancing at Free. Michel watched as they had a quick discussion with their eyes, wondering what it was all about. Then Free nodded and Ken ambled out of the room.

"Thank-" a hiccup- "you, Ken." The words sounded faint and faraway, even though they were coming from his mouth. Michel watched the broad back retreating, feeling rather detached from the whole scene.

"Michel."

His head jerked up at the sound of Free's voice. He stared up at the man, staring into those dark eyes. His mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out and he was sure he had the vacant, wide-eyed expression of a bass. Free reached forward, touching his hair and brushing it back from his face. Michel hiccupped. Again.

"Are you all right?"

He nodded, still uncertain as to whether or not his voice would wobble were he to try and speak. Where that had come from, he was uncertain. He had been happy one moment, enjoying his ice cream; the next moment, he'd been sobbing uncontrollably. "I don't…know." He finally found his voice, it coming no louder than a whisper.

"You do not know if you are okay?" Free pulled him close again, and Michel burrowed into his warmth.

"I don't know why I was crying…" Michel sighed softly, relaxing into the embrace and hiccupping again. He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, as another little hiccup-spasm shook through his body.

"You don't need a reason to cry." Ken had appeared back in the room, the promised glass of water and a box of tissues in his hands. Michel looked at him, surprised, and he offered a winning smile in return. "We've all had shitty lives. If that's not enough of a reason to bawl your eyes out, I dunno what is." Here he thrust the glass at Michel, who took it silently, and tossed the box of tissues on the couch. "You'd better blow your nose. You must be all snuffley now and I don't you to keep me awake snoring tonight." He teased.

The little blond managed a smile at Ken's attempt, his face half-hidden behind the opaque glass as he drank. He really was well cared for here, so why did he feel as if he were alone all the time? It certainly didn't make any sense and his emotions were too frayed to think on it at the moment.

Ken took the time to pat his head in a sign of brotherly affection, then plopped unceremoniously down on the floor and unpaused his game. Life began again, ironically, with the computerized sounds of Ken destroying things. The surreal feeling of the past half hour lifted and time regained it's normal pace. Michel pulled out of Free's embrace, dutifully blowing his nose and tossing the used tissues in the trash bin beneath the end table. He felt better; all the tears had helped.

He was also extremely tired.

"You aren't planning on going anywhere, are you?" He asked Free, voice soft and unsure. The man blinked at him and shook his head, which Michel took as an open invitation. He curled on his side, Free's lap making a suitable pillow, and yawned. One of Free's hands resumed petting his hair and he felt his eyelids drooping. "Never leave me…"

He never was quite sure if he'd actually said that or not. Years later, when he was much older and wiser, he still pondered over whether or not he'd actually made the request. Neither Free nor Ken ever mentioned it, but Michel was certain the childish plea of a fourteen year old boy wouldn't have been taken lightly by two men who had lost so much themselves. Or perhaps he'd merely thought it to himself and had never spoken the words.

Free had continued stroking blond curls, long after Michel fell asleep. He had no intention of ever leaving, not so long as his young friend still needed him. Not while he still owed Michel so much; still had to make up for destroying his happy life with a real family. Not until they didn't need each other any more.

He didn't want to think about that inevitability.