Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or the King and I's song: Shall We Dance. Or Spiderman. Or Facebook. Or Hostess Snacks. Or Toys R Us. Or The Golden Chippy. Or McDonald's. Or the Disco Duck. Or Harry Potter's Quidditch levels in video games. Shameless Zelda reference in Author's Note. Or Polaroid.

Warning: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Alfred's infuriating tendencies towards stupid ideas. King Pyrrhus. Reilley's that one sibling. Colonial beverages. The British brought over apple trees, realized the colonies didn't have honeybees to pollinate them, and brought over the bees. Bees on a ship in the 1600s. That's gotta be fun, right? XD American Tourist Stereotype: always happy even with somber backgrounds. American: ;D Everyone else: -_-

AN: Thank you for your reviews! I've officially survived the semester! Whoo! XD Yeah! Alive! It's disturbing how finals' stress can just leech the creativity out of your bones...and soul. I had half the chap written out before finals and the other half plotted out…(I finished up Finals on Friday)...I still needed four days to just replenish. We'll see how quick the next chap comes to me; I still kinda feel like Link with one heart container left...and it's blinking. In the meanwhile, hey look! I finally made a cover for this! Ta Da! Because who would take a Polaroid selfie despite dangerous surroundings? Tex and Al. It's so them. XD

Chapter 9: Like A Pinned Butterfly

Alfred trailed after his dad with a plate bearing two slices of toast—one with marmalade (because Arthur loved the stuff) and the other with good ol' fashioned grape jelly for himself. The Briton was rushing around in search of his preferred shoes from yesterday. He'd kicked them off after work yesterday and couldn't remember where.

It reminded America of his own mad dashes through his house before driving like a maniac over to the Pentagon for a briefing. He tried not to slip into melancholy over the likelihood that his discharge from the military was the beginning of new frightening changes. That he'd find his influence, power, and prestige systematically reduced across the board.

His Driver's License had been confiscated after his initial downsizing for obvious reasons. His passport had been updated to ease travelling. But his recent discharge...and the fact that it was based on this form and not on a loss of ability…

Would it prompt new scrutiny? His regular I.D. was still his older self and he was listed as 19 on all of his legal documents. What would happen if all that stuff was changed over to reflect his new "age?"

Thank God his government always moved slow. They were still trying to ferret out details on how Calm Waters Clinic bypassed their background checks. He probably had a whole year (maybe two) before they wondered over whether or not Alfred should be able to write checks.

It would give him time to piece together an argument. He was inhuman. He'd use that for all it was worth.

He'd prove that his hyper competency was cause for not being considered a man let alone a child. Hence, why he couldn't be governed by those standards.

It'd be a fine line to walk cuz he didn't want them starting a witch hunt—convinced he was a dangerous abomination in need of extermination.

He was just...not...ugh...

It'd be nice if he could get England onboard; his dad and uncles had pretty much raised themselves in far rougher times with less resources.

But...

He didn't want to add to Arthur's laundry list of troubles.

He'd woken up to a tirade downstairs as Arthur chewed his brothers out for pressuring Alfred to be alone last night when they knew he still suffered terrors. It was kinda embarrassing because while his uncles had suggested that he give Arthur a little space because the Briton wasn't sleeping well and a squirmy kid wasn't gonna help with that...he totally didn't have a terror last night.

Alfred pursed his lips; he needed to not have or make more problems. He needed to help his dad fix his own issues. That was the plan. Considering everything his old man had done and been through on his account, it only seemed fair that he be "the rock" for a while.

Yeah, Arthur probably wouldn't like being left out of the loop but...until he was...really okay again...Alfred just needed to deal.

He could wait until Texas arrived to discuss Osha's letters; the other unsettling issue that was cropping up like a thorny weed.

He'd been going through them again yesterday while he sorted out his newest mail finds. It was after turning them over in his hands several times and having two of them sit side by side...he realized that all the lines he'd dismissed as careless pen scribbles or recycled paper markings were deliberate. It was some kind of map puzzle, but he hadn't figured it out yet. Osha was so damn lucky he was a pack rat, otherwise he could've thrown some away and missed out on a clue. He had crumpled several in anger, but he always wound up smoothing them back out.

Dad would probably do something drastic if it was revealed that something was in the works...and it was by Osha's hand...no matter how distant...

He'd freak.

Alfred eyed the deep bags under the man's eyes and how his shoulders slumped.

He'd totally freak.

Arthur paused to look into the hallway mirror; he straightened his tie and then double checked his cufflinks.

"Hey Dad?"

"Yes?" Arthur replied distractedly—smoothing his eyebrows with a hand.

"Breakfast?" He proffered the plate.

"Hm? Oh, thanks! Cheers!" They toasted their...toast and laughed.

They sat down on the bottom step of the staircase and chattered about their plans for the day. Arthur had quite a few tasks at work to tackle. Alfred was hoping for another tarot lesson.

The mood was so light, it was almost a shame he needed to bring up business, but maybe even that could help. Could show that Alfred wasn't wallowing over his...issues and was taking care of what he could? "Dad, I...I don't wanna sound pushy but...w-when can I-I use your office? I mean, will we have a system? Like certain days of the week?"

He wanted to keep up on what few duties he still had. He had that...itch...that inkling that infrastructure was compromised in quite a few areas; like a fractured rib. If you breathed in too hard, too fast, you felt the sting.

It'd be a pain in the butt bringing it up, though. Everyone was up in arms on defending funds to inner city music programs for lower income neighborhoods and the like, that nobody except him wanted to be the champion of structures that demanded maintenance. He got why; in emotional arguments, it was easy to see how people should take precedence over bridges and levees. The pathos and ethos angles always tugged at heartstrings.

But the fact was...bridges and levees kill people when they're not kept up to code. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

He needed to start some kind of 'Be a hero for the inanimate' campaign; even plants had some kind of defense. But buildings and tunnels and stuff? They just had to stand there and take it. Having glass bottles thrown at them, being shot up, being tagged without their consent, folks spitting or peeing or leaving gum and trash...

It was the ultimate abuse-to-the-doormat relationship.

Arthur dug around in his pocket. Alfred watched as Arthur pulled out his set of keys. He worked a small one off the ring.

"Here. Have one of your uncles take you to a hardware store and make a duplicate."

It was given so easily...Alfred's jaw went slack and he wasn't sure how he felt. He wouldn't have enjoyed a monologue about responsibility and wouldn't have endured it with Peter Parker's easygoing composure, but he kinda liked to think it was a big deal. Arthur was the ultimate Keeper of the Keys. Dude had a vault for all of his important ones.

"T-thanks."

He cradled it carefully in his palm while they went to the kitchen and found Rhys there with a teapot.

"Wyt ti isio paned o de?"

"Yes, I would, please," Arthur replied as he got out milk for Alfred.

Alistair turned a page of the newspaper and nibbled toast with raspberry jam. He read aloud the weather forecast.

Alfred's elder relatives discussed weather like grumpy old men—grousing about snow and then reminiscing about winters passed and then trying to one up each other by comparing various seasonal disasters in their lands.

Alfred turned the key over in his hands and laughed at the crotchety sibling rivalry. Three pairs of thick eyebrows raised in befuddlement and he laughed harder.

"It's…" Alfred giggled as he looked around the table. "It's...just, you guys...you...we…" He gestured around himself. "Weather...talking...Like we're a family."

"Numpty," Alistair scoffed as he stirred more sugar into his cup. "We are a family."

Alfred shrugged a shoulder, "Yeah, but...ya know, a real one."

Alistair frowned, "What koolaid are you drinking laddie? We-"

"Alas, they are related to us, Sweet...by blood. Unfortunately."

Frowns were sent Arthur's way, but he smirked and ruffled Alfred's wheat hair.

It was after Arthur departed for work that Alistair turned to him. He reached over to flick Alfred's ear. "The hell were you doing last night?"

"H-huh?" Alfred rubbed his smarting ear.

"You were like a pinball banging around the walls. Yeh smuggled Hostess sweets in, didn't you?"

"Errr." It was...actually a pretty apt description for his activities. And...yeah...he did have one emergency Hostess Cherry Pie.

"Were you dancing?" Rhys asked. "Eire dances sometimes. Sounds like he's being chased by a mob."

Alfred released a slow breath as he concentrated. He raised several inches off his chair.

Alistair turned to Rhys and shook his head. "I don't want to even hear you complain about Eire. I'm the one who always ends up having to bunk with him-"

Alfred frowned. They weren't even paying attention!

"Hey guys-"

"Then spend for separate accommodations-"

Alistair hissed through his teeth, "Do you know what they charge-"

Alfred crossed his legs under him to avoid bumping the table and rose several more inches.

Rhys sighed, "Alfred, sit down nice...ly?"

"Losh!"

Alfred grinned while his uncles gawked.

He then settled back in his seat. "I can levitate up and down but it's hard steering. I can kick off stuff but...overcoming the initial inertia is just...hard and I can't really go outside to practice."

Wide eyed, Rhys nodded, "Yes, that would be unwise-"

Alistair brushed his hands together—freeing them of crumbs and then stood up. "Alright; We're goin' to Toys R Us and gettin' some hula hoops. We'll fashion a little gauntlet fer ya to practice in."

"Like the Quidditch Rings in Harry Potter video games!?"

"Yeh, whatever."

"I don't think Arthur's going to approve of you making an obstacle course inside his house," Rhys replied.

"You can't tell Arthur!" Alfred argued.

Both men frowned.

Alfred kicked his feet, "I...I wanna...surprise him. I wanna get good at this and then I want to surprise him. This part's gonna have all the bumps and bruises and messups. It'll make him worry. I want him to see me after. Ya know? When I'm an ace flyer."

Alistair's head tilted as he processed the request.

"No," Rhys replied abruptly and pulled out his cellphone.

"Uncle Rhys!" Alfred choked in dismay.

"No," The man repeated as his fingers tapped the screen.

"But-"

"No."

"What if I-"

"It's done."

Alfred stared; at first stunned and then his cheeks puffed, "That was really low! The hero was just trying to-"

Rhys's phone rang and the man answered it, "Yes. Yes. Indeed. I witnessed it with my own eyes. As did Alistair."

"Ugh, s'not like I was goin' to deny it. Yeh, clipe."

Rhys handed the phone to Alfred.

"Is it true? Was it deliberate? Or did it happen suddenly? Are you alright? Was it exhausting? How high did you go? Did you land safely? Did it just happen?"

Alfred blinked at his dad's rapid fire questions.

"Alfred? Alfred, are you there?"

"Y-yeah. I mean, it's not completely back. I mean I can't just zoom around like I used to. I can…" Alfred sighed, "...float up and down." Man, that just didn't sound real impressive.

"That's wonderful! Topping! I knew you'd recover the skill. Here's what we're going to do, popkin, we'll devise a safe way for you to practice. We'll think of something. We will."

He sounded...excited. Alfred hadn't been expecting that.

"Uncle Al wants to take me to Toys R Us so we can get stuff for me to practice with-"

"Put me on speaker, dear."

Alfred sighed and complied.

Arthur made it clear that he wanted to be a part of the Toys R Us trip and to delay it to the weekend. Alistair surprised Alfred by begrudgingly acquiescing.

After a few more questions, a promise to not do it in public if he could help it, and agreement to a dinner out, the call ended with a mushy goodbye and Alfred handed the phone back to his uncle.

When Rhys pocketed the device and focused his attention back on Alfred, the American put his all into delivering a powerful glare.

Rhys didn't flinch. "He needed to know."

"I'm allowed to have secrets!" Alfred insisted—scooching away from the table and making his chair screech. "And to choose who I want to know them!" He jumped down and stalked off.

"Yeh could've at least pretended to contemplate it for half a second. Like me," Alistair muttered on Alfred's behalf once he thought their nephew was out of earshot.

Alfred sighed from where he was eavesdropping just outside the room. So even his favorite uncle didn't think he merited a right to privacy. Shoot. Uncle Al would've been his second choice to discuss Osha's letters with if he couldn't hold it in until Tex arrived. Reilley was never on the list because he'd blab at the first lull in conversation. Rhys was way too by the book not to snitch to Arthur. And now Alistair was turning out to be a tattletale as well.

It was weird. Yeah, he knew they were brothers and brothers were supposed to...watch out for brothers…

But he'd never really witnessed it before.

The United Kingdom had always been kinda lacking in the "united" part. Plus, Alistair had covered for him for in all sorts of misadventures prior to this. It was like his uncle was changing alliances.

He blinked as he remembered Alistair grumbling "Go easy on him" and "Nobody drags me anywhere."

Alfred's jaw dropped. His Uncle Al had a soft spot for Arthur. In that, he's my irritating-younger-brother-but-he's-mine way.

He'd have to start planning around it.

England pinched the bridge of his nose—having received a rather passive-aggressive email from his Prime Minister. It was over his frank admission that the people were dissatisfied with the EU and that change was vital otherwise something was going to happen. What it would be, England couldn't say...but whatever it was...it was likely to be a pain in the arse.

It likely didn't help matters that Arthur was launching an official investigation (with the support of the Royal Family and his military) into the handling of his post from 1770 until now. That rocked the boat. Most of Parliament (in his one-on-one encounters) were compassionate to his face after being informed and claimed that they understood his deep concern. Which was why it came as a rude shock when he was told in rather blunt terms during the session that his worrying over issues rooted deep in the past were distracting him from the present and could have disastrous consequences for them all.

The next meeting point was brought up, there was a shuffling of papers and...apathy...and...

It was in that moment that England understood why his son had thrown a desk through a window last year. It was...very tempting.

He chose to eat lunch in his office, so he could guard against acting out badly and jeopardizing his future plans. (He wouldn't be viewed as a suitable custodian for Alfred if he couldn't reign in his temper.)

Now, he wasn't sure when Alfred had managed to slip it in, but there at the bottom of his brown bagged lunch was another dear Post-It: "U R a hard worker." Signed with a heart and Alfred.

He immediately tried to call home. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten to charge his cell and he had to use his office's new phone. Prickly the Plant had made short work of the previous one months earlier in his violent takeover of the office.

Since the number was "unknown," he half-expected his family to let the machine catch it and then call him back.

Instead, Alfred answered formally and Arthur felt his heart warm at the words, "Hello! Kirkland Residence, may I take down your message?"

"It's me, darling."

"Dad! Hey Dad! Daddy! Guess what?"

"What?" He really hoped the child wasn't experimenting with his flying skills. While Arthur was deeply relieved that the talent had reawakened (its absence had caused his child such pain), he definitely wanted to be present to outline safe and unsafe behaviors.

"Uncle Al, and Uncle Rhys, and me-I mean 'I' are—wait, you can't have 'I' next to the-or can you? Because...plural? Er, list? I give up. Curse you, grammar! Stop it, Uncle Al. Rhys! Tch... laughing at me. Tch. You trolls. We are having a magic lesson and-"

Considering his comments that morning about family, it was further proof that Alfred was slowly recognizing that not only was there a familial unit springing up around him...but that he had a place in it.

He was also subconsciously commenting on his own disconnection from himself and them with phrases such as: "Like we're a family."

Arthur had sensed then that it was an unintentionally loaded statement, especially when Alfred struggled to explain what he meant.

Arthur knew what he was getting at though; People could be biologically related and not be family.

Alfred had been picking up on the atmosphere right then; that alone made Arthur proud. That Alfred enjoyed it and wanted to perpetuate it. THAT. Made Arthur relieved.

The hex was lifted; his world was opening up. And Alfred was quite right. They were beginning to "act" more like family. Arthur's brothers were being unusually amiable. It made him a little nervous for the child; if he got too used to their support and they drew back, it could harm him. Still, it was good he was reaching out...if tentatively. It meant that this year's array of events should go off more smoothly.

Several of the children had emailed him and CCed each other for a group discussion to ensue. Jet and Jake had been particularly bothered that they'd hardly spent any time with Alfred during the winter holiday. Seychelles and Jamaica seconded it. The former complaining she'd interacted with Alfred during a handful of meals and the latter saying she clocked in more time than any of the other women at about 12 hours and none of it was one on one time.

Hong Kong didn't see why this was an issue. Wy thought she saw plenty of him—enough to have a couple of sketches and she scanned and uploaded them as attachments. Sealand bragged that he was probably in the lead because they'd watched the telly together and played games and had a hug and he should now be referred to as "Uncle Sealand."

Arthur group replied that Alfred was acclimating to the situation and they couldn't rush him. The rest of them had enjoyed each other's company for years. Alfred had been a rather solitary figure who was suddenly in the thick of it. They needed to make their expectations more realistic. Arthur thought he did VERY well (especially in the light of being stalked by murderous fae, adapting to a new physical form, dealing with an unsupportive government, a crippling hex, complicated family dynamics, and the trauma of being kidnapped just two months earlier). For God's sake, Alfred was the patron saint of resilience at this point. He had half a mind to recruit Reilley and Antonio to promote his canonization.

He was pleasantly surprised when Barbados supported him. Though...she was a bit...harsh.

She called out the others for "not making an effort" AFTER the holiday. Apparently, she and Alfred were corresponding regularly now and that the American made an excellent pen pal. Now if only the boy would write or call him regularly when they were apart. Perhaps, he'd persuade Olivia to delicately broach the subject.

"And then-then we made this horseshoe thing. I think Tex'll like that one." Alfred merrily informed him on how Uncle Al was teaching him tarots and they were making shapes on the carpet and Camelot kept swiping at the pieces.

"I like the three one. That one's quick."

"Which one?"

"You know."

"I..I'm not certain I do know."

"Past, present, and future spread." Alfred recited. "But you knew that, you were just testing."

Arthur smiled a little guiltily. The boy was right; he was gauging how well Alfred was taking to the art. "And Alistair's treating you well?"

"Yeah, he likes that I've got 'talent' for it. But…" Alfred lowered his voice to a whisper. "I don't think it's cuz I'm good at Divination. I think it's cuz they're made of paper and I'm a plant power."

Arthur blinked because that was very good intuition at work, if slightly misguided. "Yes; your magic in that area is likely helping you. That doesn't mean you're not doing Divination or that you're cheating, Sweet. It simply means you've found a new way to express your powers. For example, fire reading is another divination practice that-"

"Ugh, that makes my tummy turn."

"Hm? Why?" Arthur asked in concern.

"I dunno. It's fuzzy. I think Osha...and I know lots of tribes used it. And their settlements always smelled of smoke and the sizzling, snapping sounds just—and they don't even cook with it! Or use it to stay warm. "

And Alfred was a plant power...burning had serious connotations to him. Burning things to burn them just…

England felt a twinge as he remembered a burning White House. Still, America had toted a scorched earth policy many a time...it made him wonder what sort of mind frame the boy was in for him to overcome his innate squeamishness to it.

Arthur jotted it down on his notepad, to save fire divination as a much later lesson. Especially as there were plenty of alternatives; Arthur could show him dowsing divination instead. Alfred would probably like that you could use it to find metals. He knew the boy sometimes went on metal detector quests for loose change at beaches.

Alfred admired how lamplight glinted off his newly minted key one more time before pocketing it.

He ignored Rhys's hand as it reached for him and tried to skedaddle out of reach...only Alistair plopped a heavy hand solidly on his head. Alfred chewed at his bottom lip. He could cross in a crosswalk by himself people!

Once they were on the curb, he was released.

It was while they were heading over to the restaurant that Alistair lamented his lost chance, "I should have made a double of it. He never lets me use his office. I always got to run out to Fedex or something; usually for some bloody fax machine."

Rhys frowned as he guided Alfred around an icy patch on the sidewalk. "Arthur would not have approved and I doubt Alfred would've permitted it."

"Oh really?" Alistair scoffed.

Alfred blinked as both of his uncles turned to him expectantly to settle the matter.

Alfred gulped.

Stern, hazel eyes looked down."He knows better than to abuse Albion's trust."

Gray eyes glimmered amusedly. "He knows he owes me favors. Paris. Carnival. 1824. Just to name one."

Alfred flushed.

"He knows that secrets have been the life root of all his miseries as of late."

"He knows that if he does this for me; I'll give him the adult password to the telly."

"He knows I will report you and change that password to something even you won't-"

"He knows how bloody irritating it is to be discussed like a pinned butterfly on display," Arthur growled—elbowing both of his brothers and pushing between them to greet Alfred and pick him up.

Arthur opened the door to The Golden Chippy and walked over to the queue, "How are you faring with that lot, love?"

Alfred plucked at the fastenings of his father's coat. "S'okay…"

"What's wrong?" Arthur demanded. "What have they done?"

Damn. Nothing got past the old man and did he have to squeeze him so hard? Like the answer would just pop out like a blister?

"I...I…"

"Yes?"

"...I just wanted to surprise you with it after I got good again!" Alfred blurted and then crossed his arms sullenly. Geez, some Fort Knox.

Arthur's hold on him relaxed and he chuckled. "Oh. Ha, well...I'm surprised. I'm very surprised. It's a good surprise. And heaven knows we needed one."

As they waited, the American read the menu and before he realized he was doing it—he found himself scolding his dad for having never taken him here. It had tons of tasty stuff!

England just laughed and removed America's hat and earmuffs—tucking them into pockets, so Alfred wouldn't overheat in the toasty restaurant. "Well, you should've reconciled with me sooner. All the tasty meals I could've treated you to."

Alfred studied him. The words were light and the man was smiling, but something sad and heavy was lodged in his eyes. It made them a darker green and the shadowy bags under them made him seem quietly haunted.

"Guess, you'll have to make it up to me then,." Alfred declared.

But if Arthur's eyes gave him away, Alfred's voice did the same; he couldn't quite get the note right and instead of sounding sassily obnoxious...something like regret hollowed it out.

He was held that little bit closer and Arthur's hand rubbed his back soothingly as they made their order.

Later when their food was ready and they found a table with enough room for them all to sit down at, Alfred whipped out his phone—determined to use this night as an opportunity for fun.

"Everybody lean in. I know you're UK-ers, so you don't have to smile, but look pleasant; otherwise we'll give that American at the Tower of London vibe. Cuz Yankees can grin anywhere," Alfred instructed as he did a group selfie. It would've been easier if he'd had a better phone than this generic backup and its limited array of features. Maybe he'd find a replacement while he was here.

Still, the pic was good. Though…

"I forgot to wear shades today," Alfred mumbled in shock. His relatives had treated him so...so normal that day, he'd forgotten his eyes were mismatched.

"You look smashing," Arthur complimented fiercely. Alfred blinked, startled that he'd been overheard so easily and that Arthur had that look. That look he got at meetings when he just wanted to argue something, usually with France, but sometimes with him; with him, it tended to be about the environment or childhood obesity rates or McDonald's.

Alfred didn't argue because he didn't feel like having a lecture about beauty being on the inside and all that crap. And...well...he looked at the photo again. He didn't look...that bad. And if it bothered him later, he could photoshop it.

He posted it to Facebook commenting that you knew they were family because he inherited their love of all things deep fried.

After a quick grace and a surprisingly amiable "Cheers" complete with clinking glasses— though Alfred's beverage was nonalcoholic, they dug in.

After two tall glasses of beer, Arthur started mellowing out...though not enough for Alistair to slip Alfred a sip from his glass.

"He can't have that, Alba. You'll make him sick."

Alfred's cheeks puffed. "I drank just last year! I used to drink all the time in my Wild West days. Heck, even in my colonial days...as a kid! You were there!"

"No, no, that was different then," Arthur waved a hand. "Water was stagnant and dangerous and the proof was much, much lower than today's standard. And I gave you cider."

"Hard cider."

"Diluted cider. Moved apple trees and honeybees and everything you needed. And even then we almost always had a cow. And I brought you chocolate. And I brought you tea. You liked it then."

Alfred received an irritated frown from his elder.

The American rolled his eyes. "You're never gonna let that go, are you?"

"Your little tantrum stunt in Boston cost me a fortune. And I was the butt of many a joke on your shores AND mine."

"Yeah, well, think of me."

"Yes, and?"

"That was my harbor! Stunk it all up. I threw up for a week! Just the smell of tea for a while made my stomach gurgle all unhappily."

"Now you see? You see? That's the brashness that makes me worry." Arthur pointed a waggling finger. "Didn't think that through. Pyrrhic victory. Do you know what means?"

"I know what that means." Alfred pouted.

"From the Latin, Pyrrhichius, referring to-"

"I know what it means." Alfred's eyebrows drew together as a distant memory stirred.

"A certain historical and semi-legendary figure named-"

Alfred threw his hand up. "Wait! Wait...P...P-pyrrhus the king...the…king of the realm of Ep-pipor-"

"Epirus. Good. He-"

"-fought against the Romans but at such cost…" Memory struck. "That's he's rumored to have said that they couldn't afford another victory!"

"Well done! Very well done."

His back was patted and his shoulder was squeezed affectionately.

It was in the aftermath of being pleased that he remembered something from his early colonial history lessons, that Alfred realized his dad had seemed...more annoyed than hurt when they brought up his Revolution.

And the fact that there'd been no awkward silence or huffy stiffness following it…

He looked up and received a gentle smile and a hair ruffling...and something in his heart...softened. He couldn't tell yet if it was inconvenient or not.

It was while Alfred was stealing the last few fries from Arthur's plate and their group was starting to look over the dessert menu, that Alistair's phone went off.

"What yeh want, bogtrotter?" Alistair greeted. He started to pick up his glass of ale, paused, and put it back down. He pushed it away. "No. No." He looked at the table and rolled his eyes and a pointed the finger of his free hand to the phone, "The Irish nutter thinks we all got together without him on purpose." In a louder voice he continued. "Pft. Yeah well, we didn't think we had to clear it with yeh."

Alistair tapped a finger on the tabletop and Alfred observed his hairy knuckles. Even when he'd been in an adult form, he'd had no manly body hair. Some guys had all the macho luck.

"Dammit man, stop whingeing. You're not bein' discriminated against cuz you're Irish right now-it's cuz you're annoying and we thought you were busy and-No-wha? No. Nooo. Do what yeh will then." He shoved his phone back in his pocket. "Reilley's coming. Apparently, we're not allowed to have fun without him. And he sounds like he's oot-of-his-tree."

"I'll get the socket covers out," Rhys sighed.

"Aye, yeh do that and I'll set up the baby gate on the stairs. He won't be able to vault it, blitzed as he is."

Alfred started to laugh at the butthurt absurdity until his phone pinged and he received an all-caps Facebook message from Tex: U GOT IT FROM ME!

Arthur stood at the ready—arms up over his head.

"You're making me nervous," Alfred muttered.

"How?"

"Put your arms down. I'm not just gonna fall like a rock."

Arthur forced them back down to his sides.

The floor was covered with blankets and cushions and they'd cleared the tables and surrounding area of anything sharp or breakable...but there was something awfully unsettling about seeing your child hovering near the ceiling.

"Try to go to the left," Rhys suggested.

"I can't-"

"Kick your legs."

"It's not like swimming, Uncle Al!"

Arthur reached a hand up, "Take my hand."

Alfred sighed and lowered down until their hands could meet.

Arthur gently began moving in a large ellipse around the room.

"This makes me feel like a parade balloon."

Arthur chuckled and took that moment to pivot and swing him in a circle. "Magic is like a muscle. It has to be strengthened."

"But how?" Alfred whined.

Playing was the obvious answer, but he didn't want Alfred to think he was being patronizing.

Arthur motioned for his other hand and they whirled about lazily.

When Alfred asked what they were doing, Arthur answered, "Stamina Training." He then began to hum "Shall we Dance?"

Rhys sensed his plan and lined up albums of dance music. The three adults then took turns being Alfred's "dance partners." The Disco Duck delighted Alfred and he was soon giggling hard and moving with more zest. Sometimes they led, and other times they were led— confirming Arthur's suspicion that part of the problem was the child overthinking it.

He'd mused on that with Rhys before. Not on Alfred of course but...they'd been half-sloshed and fixated on the orchestra pit. Rambled on about musicians who got so caught up in the numbers of music—the half beats, and whole beats, and music sheet symbols...that they forgot how to feel it. Rhys had been getting rather passionate about it until someone in the third row yelled at them to belt up.

Gradually, Alfred began to tire. He started floating more haphazardly and began yawning.

Arthur cut into one of Rhys's turns when it became clear Alfred was hovering closer and closer to his partner like a ship coming in to dock.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

Arthur encircled his arms around the little one and then fastened him near.

Moored.

What was interesting was...at first Alfred's weight was like a butterfly perching, but he grew heavier as he inferred that Arthur wasn't going to drop him.

When Arthur was fully supporting him, the child nuzzled into his embrace and went slack.

"51 minutes 14 seconds. Nearly an hour." Rhys noted and then documented it in his handheld notebook.

Arthur nodded distractedly and kissed the side of the child's face before he took him upstairs to tuck in.

Read & Review Please : DDD