AN: here's the last chapter! I'm sorry it took me a while to post it; but hey, I did warn you. Well, I hope you like it :)


Now (3)

Antonio is sat on the floor, hugging his knees and crying, and has been like that for over half an hour already. It makes Arthur uncomfortable— he doesn't know how to act, what to do, what to say. So he just watches in silence as Antonio breaks down and becomes a sobbing mess. For a moment he wonders if it would have been better to tell him a white lie, but he quickly discards the thought. It wouldn't have been fair. Maybe he shouldn't have shown him the truth so abruptly, though; he could have prepared him a little. Arthur realizes it's too late to think of that.

Finally, Antonio seems to calm down. He's still curled up, his face hidden, buried in his arms, but at least he doesn't cry anymore, and he fights to calm down his breath. It still takes him a while to be able to speak; and he does so weakly:

"You said he was your son," he mutters, and Arthur doesn't know if that's a reproach or merely a remark.

"I raised him," he replies, shrugging. "He's my kid as much as he's yours."

There's nothing that can be argued against that. Antonio lets out a muffled sob and covers his face with his hands. He wonders how could he possibly forget something like that. Maybe Arthur's right and it's because of a trauma (although he'd rather use the term "intense shock"), and maybe the blow he took to the head had something to do, too.

His chest is in pain. He feels as though he's bleeding out, even though there's no physical wound, and he can't help but remember the time he spent playing with Alex the day before. At the moment, it had merely been a distraction; now, however, it's become a bittersweet taste of what could have been.

It's funny, how he can miss something he never had.

"I was there, you know," Arthur says then, pulling him out of his thoughts. He's by his side, resting against the wall, his gaze lost somewhere on the floor. "The day you two met."

"Really?"

"Yeah. We heard you cry, and she insisted on talking to you. I tried to tell her not to— but she never liked being told what to do."

A dry laugh escapes Antonio. That small reaction encourages Arthur to keep talking in an attempt to lift his spirit, as little as it may be. He can't help but feel responsible for Antonio's well-being; and even though they've only known each other for barely two days, he feels as if he's known him since much longer. After all, he had always been Alice's trustworthy confident, the one to whom she told everything, the one she trusted with her life. And while Antonio had slowly replaced him in that aspect, he still was the one who knew all of Alice's insecurities, the one who lied straight to their elder brother's face to cover her escapades, the one who had stood firmly by his sister as she faced a very angry Alistair, defending with a determined scowl a relationship none of their siblings approved.

"She wouldn't stop talking about you after that. It was annoying, to be honest, but I'd never complain— she looked so happy."

It was true: he couldn't forget the way her eyes shone full of life and her face brightened as she spoke nonstop, telling him what Antonio had done or said, laughing as she remembered a funny anecdote that she then tried to tell him but couldn't because her own laughter kept interrupting her. Arthur smiles fondly at the memory, but only briefly— soon, his face is sad again.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it on time," he almost whispers. "If I had hurried a little more, if I had arrived just one minute before…"

"It wasn't your fault."

"It was nobody's fault, yet everyone could have prevented it one way or another." Arthur stops for a moment to rub his face, as if trying to get rid of the tiredness. "When she got pregnant, I tried to warn her. It was something unheard of, and we couldn't ensure that everything would go fine. But she was very confident on her abilities, and she told me that she'd manage it. And she could have, I'm sure of it," he sighs. "She was very powerful.

"There were two things she didn't think of, though: first, that a wizard's survival instinct is very powerful, even as a new-born; and second, that giving birth would leave her exhausted."

He wants to keep talking, but Antonio speaks before he has the chance:

"Why didn't she tell me?"

He doesn't need to be more precise: he knows Arthur understands what he means. He hears the other man —his brother-in-law, he suddenly realizes— sigh quietly before replying.

"She was afraid she'd lose you if she did. After all, you were always scared of every magical creature."

"But I was never scared of her," he retorts, weakly. "If she had told me—"

"You would have stopped meeting her; out of fear at first, out of betrayal after you got closer." Arthur sighs once again and slides down the wall until he's sat by his side. "There's a reason why we try to stay away from humans. The chances of someone being hurt, be it physically or emotionally, are too high."

There's a faint hint of sorrow in his voice, and Antonio can't help but wonder if he speaks from experience. His mind flies to Francis, briefly, only to be distracted right afterwards by a bright flame that dance's on Arthur's palm.

"Fairy-tales have sure damaged our reputation," he snorts. His gaze is fixed on the fire, which gives his eyes a special glint. He starts to move his hand, giving a silent order, and the fire obeys: it swirls around his palm, slides between his fingers, warms but doesn't burn. Two pairs of green eyes follow its every move, ones tired and the others sad yet fascinated. Arthur goes on, knowing that Antonio won't miss a single word he says: "We don't kidnap and eat children; we don't go around cursing people; we don't demand to be given someone's first-born. We're just people with a high sensitivity towards Nature— with special abilities, if you like. We don't use them to hurt people, yet everyone believes those stories. So we just stay away and everyone's happy."

Arthur clenches his fist and the flame dies, leaving only a thin trail of smoke, and silence surrounds them once again. They faintly hear Alex as he plays outside; Antonio's face falls.

"He doesn't know, does he?"

Arthur shakes his head. "No, of course not."

"Do you plan to tell him."

He nods. "Yes. When he's older."

Antonio stands up and walks to the window so he can see his child. He stays there for a few minutes, trying to come to terms with everything he's been told. When he finally speaks again, his voice is shaky, uncertain, his gaze still out the window.

"We could tell him now," he almost whispers. "We could tell him now and then he could come with me."

"No."

Arthur's reply is dry, cutting, and Antonio rebels against it. He turns to face the other man, who has stood up as well and is scowling at him.

"Why not?" he yells. "Why can't he come with me? He's my son, he's—!"

"A hazard."

"What?"

They look at each other, determined Arthur and almost hysterical Antonio. The latter expects an explanation— he wants to know why he's not allowed to be with his son.

"The boy's a hazard, Antonio," he repeats, sending an almost patronizing look. "Because of his mother, he has a great power; but because of you, he can barely control it. I have to look after him 24/7 to make sure he doesn't accidentally hurt others or himself. Not to mention he's seven. How can you even consider telling him that everything he thinks he knows is not true?"

"He deserves to know," Antonio replies, with more resignation than fight in his voice.

"And he will," Arthur reassures him. "When he's older and has more self-control."

Antonio doesn't protest. He looks out the window once again; then, at the place in which he slept last night. His mouth opens to ask a question, but he gets an answer before any sound makes it out of his lips:

"No. You can't stay."

Arthur shudders at the look he gets from Antonio— his eyes are so sad that he's tempted to give in. He quickly recovers, however, and crosses his arms before his chest. It's the best for everyone, even if Antonio finds it unfair. Just as he expected, he gets a quiet question:

"Why not?"

"It's dangerous, for both him and you. He may accidentally hurt you— he may kill you. Just imagine what that'd do to him."

"I thought you can control him."

"I can," he admits, "but it's not as easy as it seems. You've no idea how many times he's accidentally set something on fire. Besides…" He stops for a moment. "You're his father," he finally says, "and while he doesn't know it, he's subconsciously drawn to you. He's not as friendly with any stranger as he's been with you, I grant it. And he's not stupid— he may discover the truth on his own if you stay around for too long." Realizing that Antonio is devastated, despite himself, he offers an alternative: "You can come visit. Not too often: once every couple of years, to be safe. But at least you'll get to see him."

Antonio has stopped looking —glaring— at him and is once again looking through the window. He seems to be in deep thought; Arthur decides not to bother him for a while.

"Think about it, okay?"

He barely notices when Arthur leaves. All his attention is focused on the kid that plays outside, unaware of who the nice stranger from yesterday is. Antonio wishes he could be that innocent again.

Alex is full of joy and energy— he runs and jumps nonstop, not getting tired of having fun. Antonio can't help but think he reminds him of himself when he was little. A small, soft smile grows on his lips. And he reconsiders Arthur's offer.

~{§}~

It's around noon when Alex hears the door open and sees Antonio leave the house, carrying his bag pack. He looks tired. The kid pauses his game and watches the man as he comes closer and closer.

"Are you leaving?" he asks, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.

"Yes. Briefly."

"Okay. Goodbye, then."

To his surprise, Antonio doesn't keep walking— he just stays there, looking at him with a weird expression on his face. Confused, Alex is about to ask what's wrong when Antonio speaks:

"Can I ask you for a favour?"

"Yeah, sure!" he answers, his face brightening at the thought of having a grown-up require his help.

"It's a bit weird."

Alex shrugs. Antonio looks around, making sure that Arthur is nowhere to be seen, and takes a deep breath before making his request:

"Can I hold you?"

The boy makes a face and throws a questioning look at him. Antonio shivers, remembering the first time he looked into those eyes, but somehow manages not to show any hint of discomfort. After what seems an eternity, Alex shrugs again and walks to him. Antonio doesn't hesitate for a second— he picks him up and holds him tightly against himself. He's completely overwhelmed, and loses any self-control he had left when he feels a pair of slim arms wrap around his neck.

He feels a warm breath against his neck when an understandably confused boy asks him why he's crying.

"I remembered something," he answers, his voice muffled against Alex's shoulder.

"Something bad?"

"Yes."

Alex decides not to pry. He rests his head on Antonio's shoulder, awkwardly pats his back, impulsively kisses his cheek, until the man finally calms down.

"Do you feel better?"

He feels him nod and hears a faint "thank you" before he's back on the ground. His shirt is drenched on the spot where Antonio's face was; he rubs it in an attempt to dry it, and Antonio sends him an apologetic smile.

"I'll be going now. Take care."

"You too."

Antonio turns and leaves, feeling Alex's gaze following him until he's out of sight.

~{§}~

Arthur's mad at Antonio for leaving without saying a word to him. He had gone to clean and tidy his potions room, which was a bit of a mess after he had prepared the one for Antonio, and had accidentally fallen asleep. When he woke up in the afternoon, he was nowhere to be found, and Alex told him he had left hours ago.

"You couldn't have looked for me and let me know," he grunts while he angrily cooks —burns— dinner. "Hey, Arthur, thanks for everything, it was so kind of you, I'm leaving— it's not too hard! And how about telling whether you're going to come back or not? Dammit, the next time I see you, I'm going to—"

He abruptly interrupts his rant when he hears Alex cry out. What…? He quickly leaves everything he's doing and rushes outside, stopping on the door when he sees what the commotion is about: Antonio's walking towards the house, much calmer than Arthur would have expected him to be.

Alex runs happily to the brunet's side, resembling a puppy who sees his owner come back home. Antonio laughs and ruffles his hair, but doesn't stop— he keeps walking until he's standing in front of Arthur. Alex, who has guessed he won't be welcome there, has gone back to his game.

Arthur opens his mouth, to say hi or curse him, he doesn't know; however, Antonio speaks before he can:

"I'd like to ask you to do something for me."

Taken aback, Arthur needs a few seconds to react. That's not what he was expecting. He nods after a while, and Antonio smiles at him, grateful, twisting his bag pack around his arm so he can easily access it.

The first thing he pulls out is an envelope that, by the looks of it, has more than one sheet inside. The letter is addressed to Alejandro.

"Can you give this to him when you tell him?"

"Sure." Arthur answers after a brief moment, taking the envelope and hiding it between his clothes. To his surprise, Antonio pulls out more letters and hands them to him. "There's more?"

"I'd really appreciate it if you could make sure these letters reach their addressees."

"Okay…" he agrees, taking them from Antonio's steady hands.

"Thank you, Arthur," he smiles, sadder this time. "And goodbye. It was nice knowing you."

"You too," Arthur mumbles, not sure he fully understands what's going on. Lost in thought, he watches as Antonio turns and leaves. When he walks by Alex, he stops and kneels; then, smiling much brighter than he's done in years, he takes an apple out of his bag and hands it to him. Alex happily accepts it and hugs Antonio, who returns the hug, chuckling, and kisses his hair. He then stands up, fondly pats his head, and leaves. Alex waves at him, and then runs to Arthur's side.

"Papa! Look what Antonio gave me!"

Arthur barely acknowledges his presence; his mind is somewhere else. He does give him a one-armed hug, absently, his eyes not leaving the path Antonio has walked away.

As if he has read his thoughts, Alex asks: "Is he going to come back again?"

Arthur tightens the hug.

I doubt it, he thinks.

"Yes, maybe," he says.

~{§}~

The moon is full, and Antonio is grateful for that— otherwise, it'd be so difficult to walk through the forest. Although he still trips and falls from time to time, he doesn't stop his walking not even once.

He bites another apple and a melancholic taste floods his mouth. Alice loved them, and she ate them so often that the taste would linger to her lips. Antonio remembers how excited Alex has been after receiving an apple, how his face has brightened up, and for a moment he lets himself dream: of his house, his home, his beautiful wife and their beautiful kid; of how happy they could have been. He's not even sad anymore— he doesn't feel anything.

Inevitably, since his thoughts are his only company, his mind begins to drift through the events of the last two days. Inevitably, he ends up thinking about the letters he's written.

The first one was for Alex. He doesn't know how old his son will be when he receives the letter, but he trusts he'll be old and mature enough to go fully honest with him. The first thing he tells him is that he mustn't feel guilty— Antonio can't say that he understands everything that happened that day, but he knows it wasn't Alex's fault. However, he wishes Alice and him had had the chance to raise him. I would have spoiled you rotten, he confesses in his letter. (The ink had smudged in some parts because of some treacherous tears that escaped his eyes while he wrote. He hopes Alex won't mind.) And he also tells him a story— the story of a kid who found the love of his life by getting lost in a forest. He wishes Alex gets to live something equally amazing.

The second letter was for João and his parents. This one is much shorter: just a brief explanation and an apology. He hopes they'll understand.

The third one was for Gilbert— and Francis, although his name isn't written on the envelope. He thought that Arthur wouldn't be willing to deliver a letter to Francis. At first, he wasn't sure why he was writing to them— after all, they have only known each other for a couple days. He did it nonetheless, because he knows that, had they met under other circumstances, the would have become the greatest of friends. He has told them this, and he's sure they'll agree. Besides that, he says a couple of things to them in particular.

To Gilbert, he advices to go for it and ask Mathieu out, because he may miss his chance and he'll regret it forever. To Francis, he suggests that he visits Arthur and talks to him. He doesn't know what happened between the two of them, but he believes they can talk things out. It won't be easy— they seem to be very different, yet Antonio believes they complement each other. More or less like he and Alice used to.

~{§}~

The sun has barely risen when Antonio reaches his destination. He has walked nonstop since leaving Arthur's house, all night, eating only apples and thinking about way too many things. Exhausted, both physically and psychologically, he sits heavily on the ground, resting his back against a tree. His tired gaze travels around the clearing, around that small part of the forest that has some of his fondest memories linked to it. He wonders for a moment how would his life be like if Alice had never talked to him, if she had followed her brother's advice and they had never met. One thing's for sure: his heart wouldn't be aching as much as it does now.

He still decides that he wouldn't have had it any other way.

The early sunrays caress his face and he closes his eyes, enjoying the warm feeling, while blindly reaching for his bag and opening it. There's one apple left.

He eats it calmly, somehow managing not to think about anything else, letting himself be distracted by the birds tweeting and the breeze blowing and the leaves rustling. He hasn't felt this peaceful in years.

When he finishes the apple, he keeps the seeds on the palm of his hand. Carefully, he fishes a small leather pocket out of his bag and empties it on his palm. There are too many, so a few of them fall to the ground, but he doesn't mind: Francis said it'd take around fifty, and he has over sixty. Just to be sure.

He begins to eat them, absently, one at a time, while he lets his thoughts fly free.

One, two, three.

João.

Eleven, twelve, thirteen.

Mum and Dad.

Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three.

Francis and Gilbert.

Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three.

Arthur.

Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three.

Alex.

Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three.

Alice.

Sixty-one, sixty-two.

Antonio closes his eyes once again, and welcomes darkness with open arms.

FIN


AN: don't hate me :D
Thanks a lot to everyone who has read and reviewed! You're the best! I hoped you all enjoyed the story, even if it broke your heart a little :3 I'm considering writing another fanfic involving Gibraltar, but that one would be a comedy— definitely not homicidal infants and dead wives and depressed husbands :P Anyway, one last review will be very appreciated~
Have a nice day! :)