It was eerily quiet between the adults the next morning as Arthur prepared the children. Matthew and Alfred spent the entire morning filling the hotel room with endless chatter, but the silence between the two adults stood like a wall between them. Neither made an effort to even grunt at each other. Thankfully, their attitudes were completely ignored by the excited children.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy, daddy," Alfred chanted mercilessly as he pranced around in his socks and freshly pressed oxford shirt. Arthur didn't trust his child around anything white, but the creamy color of the shirt looked so cute underneath the charcoal fabric of his little suit. His handsome boy was going to break all the hearts when he was older. "Daddy!"

When he finally could not take the chatter anymore, Arthur scooped his rambunctious child into his arms to trap him there. "You're going to wrinkle your shirt."

His blessedly helpful child attempted to soothe the nonexistence wrinkles with his hands. "I've got them!"

"You certainly did," Arthur responded with a slight roll of his eyes. He was glad his child didn't understand sarcasm yet, because his feelings would be hurt on a daily basis. Arthur's second language was sarcasm and Alfred often found himself the unknowing victim of his father's sharp tongue. He pressed a kiss to the top of that wild hair, nudging him towards Francis so the man could 'fix' it. "Be good for Francis."

"I will," Alfred chirped as he skipped over to tug on the Frenchman's leg, babbling to him in the few French words the boy knew. Matthew was going through the process of teaching Alfred some French, so he wouldn't get left out of their conversations. Arthur steeled himself against the overwhelming desire to scold Alfred for speaking the Frog's language. He'd always promised himself that he wouldn't stand in the way of Alfred wanting to learn, even if it included hearing the croaking coming from his baby's own tongue.

"Matthew, poppet, come here," he called out as he grabbed his pins to adjust the fit of the boy's dress. His wig had already been secured onto his head, which had been an experience in itself. Turns out, Matthew couldn't stand having his hair brushed. The tugging to his sensitive little scalp had the child kicking and screaming in a way that rivaled Alfred's worse fit. Even now, he still felt like they were walking on eggshells around the boy because his face would scrunch up and his eyes water every so often. "We just need to adjust your hem."

The boy walked over with a pout on his face and stood on the little footstool Arthur used to hem Alfred's clothes. It gave him the perfect height to fix the little imperfections, not that there were many, after all. Matthew's dress was nearly perfect. (Arthur had made it, after all.)

He'd chosen a lavender cupcake dress to make Matthew's eyes 'pop' during the competition. His naturally pale skin, chubby-pink cheeks, and violet eyes would stand out against the bundles of lavender tulle wrapped around his body. Since Arthur had a flair for the dramatic, he even included a little train that swooped down the back and barely caressed the floor while the boy walked. It would make a lovely visual effect as Alfred 'escorted' Matthew – err- Matilda across the stage.

To complement the lavender of Matthew's dress, Alfred's tie would match the soft lavender and his pocket would include a sprig of lavender tulle from the train of the dress. Arthur was rather proud of the little grey and white accents he sewed into Matthew's dress. With such an unusual color swatch, he knew they would be a unique sight on the stage.

With the last hem finished on Matthew's dress (and any imperfections nixed from Alfred's suit), the four were ready to travel to the competition. The pageant was being held in the hotel across the street, but instead of renting a room there both parents agreed it would be safer if they stayed elsewhere. No one needed a guest to point out they had two little boys on check-in day.

"Okay," he clapped his hands together as Francis spritzed Matthew with a bit of perfume and fluffed up his wig as gently as possible. The noise captured all of their attention, but most specifically the attention of the children. He knelt down to Alfred's level, trying to keep a stern face as his baby boy wrapped his arms around his neck.

"How do I look, Daddy?" He gave a little wiggle that dared to melt Arthur's cold heart.

"Lovely, duck, but I need you to listen very carefully." As much as he wanted to cuddle with Alfred, he knew they needed to be serious. He looked into those blue eyes with a firm line on his face. "You have to use the name 'Matilda' today. Matilda is your sister and you're going to be a great big brother. Do you understand?"

"I'm going to be a great big brother," Alfred parroted back with a lovely, mischievous grin. "Can Matthew be my brother, too? I would be the best big brother ever, then."

Arthur sputtered at the question, but decided he was too drained to answer. Instead, he popped a kiss on Alfred's cheek and nudged him to take Matthew's hand. "They're ready, Frog." He rubbed his hands over his face as he stood up from the floor with an exaggerated groan. (His knees popped too many times to be healthy.) They had about forty minutes before the start of the competition, so Arthur grabbed his bag of extra supplies and had them all out of the room with plenty of time to spare.

That time came in handy, too, because when they got to the check-in booth they forgot one very important detail about registration.

"Okay," Mrs. My-Hair-Is-Big-Enough-To-House-A-Small-Family chirped at the men with an overly sweet Southern drawl, "looks like your fee and paperwork is in order. We just need to verify Matilda's birth certificate. Then the little darlings can step into line."

The Englishman knew he looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, because neither of them remembered the birth certificate. In fact, one glance at Francis told the man that he looked just as scolded and stressed. "Birth certificate?" The Frenchman questioned, coughing and clearing his throat as he tossed a desperate glare Arthur's way. "Do..do we have it?"

It was this moment that would start a chain of events that would lead to Arthur nearly getting arrested. He should have given up at this point. He should have told the Frog 'no', bundled up Alfred, and returned home. Instead of doing the right thing, his big-fat-stupid mouth opened and a jumble of word vomit spewed into the space between them. "Of course, love!" He heard himself insisting, "I probably have it in my bag still. We'll be right back," he nudged the children towards the hallway farthest away from the check-in table.

He didn't look back until he couldn't see the woman's big hair and nearly sank to his knees as he pressed his back against the wall. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he cursed.

"Daddy! That's a bad word!"

"Daddy is sorry, poppet." Arthur soothed over for that disappointed face, making another apology to the equally disappointed boy in a tulle dress. (Fucking kids and their guilt trips, man.) "Daddy is just stressed."

"What are we going to do?" Francis hissed as he peered around the wall to see the check-in table crowding up with more contestants. "I'm not forging a birth certificate, Arthur. We could go to federal prison. I'm too pretty for prison."

"I'm aware, idiot." Arthur exploded on the man, teeth grinding as he shoved Francis' shoulder. "I'm not stupid. Just..just..let me think a minute. Let me think." He paced the length of the hallway for a few seconds and ignored the watch ticking on his wrist. They were running out of time. If they didn't find out a solution quick enough, there wasn't going to be a pageant. He growled in frustration. After coming all the way here, listening to both children screech for hours, and kissing the fucking Frog, they were going to come up empty. He groaned as he shoved his hands against the wall in frustration and nearly found himself face planting into the floor.

"You okay, Daddy?" Alfred's loud voice carried down the hall, followed by the sound of three sets of feet hurrying to him.

Arthur was okay, but he felt defeated. He wanted to just lie there on the floor, but a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders and brought him to his feet. He was thankful to those hands, even if he hated the man attached to them. "I'm fine," he grumbled as he jerked away from Francis and wiped the dirt off his chest. "I'm just…" he trailed off as he glanced at the opened door in front of him and realized it was an entrance to the service hallway. "Francis, I think I just found our way in."

XXX

It only took a quick glance at the service map to navigate their way through the hallways. Luckily for the little group, they were able to make it into the main ballroom without being caught. Arthur practically sank into the first chair he found as they enter the ballroom. "I can't believe we made it."

"I didn't have many doubts," Francis responded as he accepted the chair closest to Arthur. "You've always been remarkable when you need to think on your feet. I admire that in you."

Arthur scrunched his nose up, shoving Francis with his hand. "Don't get sappy on me now. We can handle a few more hours of being together, then it's back to the status quo."

Francis was quiet, but Arthur could tell that he was looking in his direction. It made him want to hit him again. "What if," the frog interrupted the quiet, "I don't want to go back to status quo. What if I want something more? We make a good team, Arthur."

As much as his heart thundered loudly in his chest, Arthur wasn't going to let himself fall for those sugary-sweet words. He set his chin with a firm shake of his head. "Leave it be. It'll never work." If Francis wanted to continue the conversation after that, Arthur wouldn't know because he suddenly realized that their children didn't have a set of bright, blue numbers designating their order of appearance. He felt like cursing again, but he was positive Alfred would demand he wash his mouth out if he said 'fuck' one more time. "We've got a problem, frog. Numbers. We don't have any numbers."

"Shit," Francis cursed as he sat up straighter in his chair and searched the room. "Do you think you could make them? Your bag had a bit of construction paper in there."

No, it wouldn't work. No matter how much construction paper he used, they wouldn't look like those numbers. "We'll have to swipe them from behind the desk. Our forms are up there, too." Arthur grabbed Francis's shoulder and tugged him in close. "You distract her and I'll grab what we need to grab, okay? I am not leaving here a failure. I have fought too damn hard to get them here and we're not backing down."

Arthur noticed a strange look in the Frenchman's eyes, but refused to comment on it. (He'd seen it a few times while they were dating. It usually appeared right before Francis gave him the fucking of a lifetime.) Operation-distract-pageant-director-with-the-crazy-wig was a go and he needed to keep his wits about him.

They told the boys to remain where they were before slipping towards the big double-doors leading into the main lobby. With a quick nod, Arthur separated from the man and crawled along the wall to inconspicuously watch as Francis poured on the charm. It was strange to see him work. He gushed over her wig, complimented her make-up, and even bent down to admire her shoes. (It was actually quite humorous to see him compliment those ugly shoes. Francis would probably need to repent to the fashion gods later.) All the while, the handsome, smooth-talking foreigner stole her attention, Arthur slipped to the large boxes beside her table to dig for their packet.

There had to be over one hundred candidates at the hotel, which made looking for his scrawling handwriting a little more difficult. Not to mention, he was racing against the attention span of a middle age woman. Eventually she would get suspicious if Francis kept returning to the same topics and complimented her ugly shoes too many times. He peeked up a few times from his hiding spot to see the Frenchman lean against the table with a lovely smirk on his face. Idiot, Arthur thought fondly as he tossed another useless packet. It was blissful celebration when he finally managed to find his handwriting scrawled across the top.

He hissed out a soft 'yes' before grabbing the appropriate paperwork and their numbers. With his prize in hand, Arthur backtracked as quickly as possible. He thought about leaving Francis to wallow in his misery, but even he wasn't that coldhearted. He whistled sharply to draw the man's attention and watched with hidden glee as he stumbled over himself to disappear from the woman's side.

Arthur snickered as he returned to the boys to pin their numbers to their outfits and pressed the information sheet for Francis to 'give' to the judges. (In actuality, Francis was going to drop the sheet onto the table and the judges would file it in the proper area. Sure enough, he watched with unabashed joy as the sheet ended up exactly where it was supposed to be.)

With all of his catastrophes averted, the Englishman leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, closed his eyes, and planned to wait patiently as possible for the start of the pageant. He didn't even mind as Francis leaned closer to him and subtly slipped his hand against Arthur's own. Why fight it at this point? He was far too exhausted to do anything other than let it be. He simply returned to gesture with a subtle squeeze of his hand. Blatantly staring forward as if to not even acknowledge the man's presence.

"Alfred and Matilda are number 21 and 22," Francis interrupted his peace. Really, Arthur wanted to murder him at this point, but the hand against his own softened those desires. "They're starting to line up their age group."

Even though he didn't have the energy, Arthur stood up with a soft grunt and knelt down in front of the children to give them a pep talk. "You're both going to do great up there! Remember, this is just your glitz introduction. We'll change into your costumes afterwards."

"I can be James Bond again?"

"You can be James Bond again," Arthur responded with a grin as he kissed Alfred's cheek and pressed a kiss to Matthew's forehead. "Both of you are lovely. Go on now," he nudged them across the room and let out the gigantic breath he'd been holding. "This might be our last pageant. I can't handle this stress."

"Me too, mon ami, me too." Francis' agreement was unusual. He sounded just as tired and defeated as Arthur. "All they have to do is walk across that stage and we're almost home free."

As much as Arthur wanted to hold onto those positive words, he knew the biggest battle was just coming. If they wanted that $50,000, then the boys would have to charm everyone on the judging panel, which included the big-wig-lady from the front desk. It was stiff competition, too. Many of the siblings were in perfect sync or looked like little porcelain dolls.

Arthur had bitten through all of his nails as he watched Alfred and Matthew step closer to the stage. He didn't feel like his heart could handle it by the time the announcer called out 'Alfred and Matilda Bonnefoy-Kirkland.' (He was still a little sore over losing the quarter toss for his name to go first on their forms.)

All of that nervousness seeped from his body as he grabbed Francis' hand and leaned forward to watch their babies. Alfred was such a perfect little gentleman as he held out his arm for Matthew and carefully adjusting her train as he walked for the judges. He kept up that bright smile as he stood there dutifully and waited for his 'sister' to complete her circuit. It was all going so perfect.

No hiccup. No distraction. Fuck, not even a disgruntled pout on Matthew's face as his train got caught on the edge of the stage. Arthur's heart was full to bursting with pride. So much so, that he stood up to clap as the two children returned to center stage for their final walk-through.

It was around the second turn that the judge's table became abuzz with activity. The pageant director stood up from the table to pass a note to the announcer. Arthur's hands stilled as all eyes whipped over to the nervous-looking man and his white note. "Umm, never had this happen before folks, but…umm.. Alfred and Matilda Bonnefoy-Kirkland are disqualified for failing to provide proper paperwork."

Arthur doubted the children knew what 'disqualified' meant, which explained why they were still on the stage with large smiles. They were waiting for their cues to leave, but it never came as the announcer slipped between whispering to the judges and reassuring the attendants. When the children hadn't moved off the stage in time, the pageant director stomped onto the stage and attempted to shoo them off by grabbing Alfred's shoulder.

Like a Mama-bear running to protect her cubs, Arthur jumped up to protect his children. Except, his legs were not match for Francis. The Frenchman was on the stage before anyone could make a sound, physically putting himself between the woman and the children. "I don't know who you think you are, but no one lays a hand on my children."

Honest to god, it was the hottest thing Arthur had ever seen. If he had been a woman, his ovaries would have burst at the impressive sight of the Frenchman protecting the children with his long, lithe body. English escaped him, but his legs moved forward to usher the nearly-hysterical children off the stage. "Gah," he grunted as he tried to retain the use of his tongue, "Al, Matt, poppets, come here."

Matthew's make-up was a mess. Alfred's tie was unraveling. Francis was red-faced and furious. He and the woman were practically screaming at each other over pageant regulations and rules. They were being accused of everything underneath the sun, which the Frenchman enthusiastically denied at every turn. While Arthur stood there trying to calm everyone down with gentle words and soft pats on the back. "Francis, let's go. It's a lost cause." If he could just get everyone off the stage, they could go home. "Francis!" He shouted out one more time, throwing his hands into the air and subsequently knocking Matthew's wig to the floor.

The fighting amongst the adults went silent. Arthur watched in slow motion as the wig dropped to the floor and spit bobby pins across the stage. He glanced up at Francis' fearful face and turned over to glance at the victorious face of the pageant director. There was nothing else they could do at this point. He furiously waved the Frenchman to his side. "We have to go, now!" That's all it took for the Frenchman's brain to start working again as the woman screeched that they would be blacklisted from all future competitions. Arthur didn't give a fuck.

He growled at the woman with the ferocity of a jungle cat before grabbing Francis by the lapels of his jacket and tugging him down into a deep, furious kiss. Fuck her. Fuck this entire pageant. Without even caring about the roomful of children, Arthur flipped her off around the same time he shoved his tongue down Francis' throat.

It would have been sweet, sweet revenge if his giggling son hadn't tugged on the leg of his trousers. "Daddy, does this mean Mattie is my brother now?"

Fuck it all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

(Ten years later)

Alfred and Matthew were acting strange today. Not only had the two teenagers gotten up with the sun, they'd both done their chores without a single complaint. Normally, it was miserable trying to get both of them into their morning routines on a Saturday. Neither seemed to enjoy taking out the trash or cleaning up their rooms.

Maybe it had something to do with the set at Tonio's tonight? Though it had been nearly ten years since he began playing at the club, Arthur still took a slot between ten and eleven on the weekends. It kept him young and gave the family something to do together.

Though, Arthur suspected that Alfred's reasons for going weren't as wholesome as he wished them to be. Francis suspected their son had a crush on one of the bartenders, Ivan. Ivan was a sweet, intelligent young man, but nearly nineteen. Arthur wasn't letting his baby anywhere near a grown man. Why couldn't he have a sensible love interest, like Matthew's friend from the gardening club, Able? Arthur was beginning to enjoy the never-ending supply of tulips at their house.

That could be it, but it didn't explain Francis' strange behavior, either. Instead of taking the boys to school yesterday, they'd all skipped school and work for a 'mental health' day. Arthur thought it was ridiculous. (Not to mention, he was a little hurt that no one informed him of the day. He would have loved to have been invited, or at least told about it. He didn't find out until Matthew's hockey coach and Alfred's football coach – turns out, Alfred made a great goalkeeper- told him they hadn't shown up to practice.)

Not to forget, they weren't even riding with him to Tonio's! He was alone once more. He grumbled to himself like an old man as he picked up his guitar case and loaded up the car. The drive to Tonio's hadn't changed over the last few years. At least he had his own car now. Since getting together with Francis, they both had a bit more extra money. (Turns out, sharing rent and utilities means you have more money to afford luxury items like cars.)

The drive to Tonio's did make him a little nostalgic. He almost wanted to look into the backseat to see a five-year-old Alfred grinning at him with an action figure in one hand. Arthur chuckled at himself, pulling into the familiar parking lot for the thousandth time. With his guitar case in hand, Arthur used his key to get into the back door and maneuvered his way through the tiny hallway until he was nearing the stage. It was pitch black, which wasn't unusual. Antonio and Lovino didn't get here until much later.

He flipped the lights in the main room and was momentarily blinded by the lights kicking on. When he finally blinked the spots from his eyes, Arthur found himself staring at a single rose sitting atop his favorite stool. Snorting at the silly thing, he placed his guitar on the stage and walked over to pick it up. He blinked as he found a ring nestled in the petals of the flower. "What?"

Suddenly, he head movement all around him. From the corner of his eye he could see the eager face of his son peering up at him from the barroom floor with Matthew right beside him. Antonio and Lovino were sitting near the edge of the barroom with the rest of the workers not far from them. He couldn't see anything behind that because the longhaired Frenchman kneeling in front of him stole his attention.

"Marry me," was all Francis asked of him, but boy, that was a dozy of a question.

He peered around the place that supported him, helped him grow, raised his child, and guided him towards the only man he'd ever loved. Was he ready to take this new step in his life? Was he ready to welcome Francis as his husband?

"Get up and kiss me, Frog."

It was like his words were the moment everyone was waiting for as hoops and hollers echoed around the building as Francis stood up to pull Arthur into a kiss. Their children scrambled onto the stage for a big hug. Matthew and Alfred were beside themselves with happiness as they wrapped their parents into a hug.

All of this happiness was too much for Arthur's cold little heart. If they didn't watch it, he would lose his 'grumpy old man' status. In the end, it was Matthew that broke up the love fest with a mischievous grin. "Does this mean Alfred gets to wear the dress this time?"

"Mattie!"

With the scuffle breaking out between his boys, Arthur just shook his head and proceeded to snog his fiancé.