"Dad. Dad," Matthew called back his 72 year old father, Arthur, from where his mind had drifted once again.

"Hmm?" Arthur looked over and for a moment Matthew could see the intense longing in his fathers eyes. Age had not been Arthur's friend, his face was strongly wrinkled and his hair was grey with patches of white, but in the few months following Francis' death, it seemed that years had been added to the old mans life.

"Were you even listening?" Alfred asked, putting his hand on his fathers. He waited but Arthur did not respond. "As we were saying, Matt and I... We think you..." Alfred sighed, "We think you should be moved into assisted living."

Arthur pulled back his hand and stood quickly, slamming his hands onto the table in what seemed like anger, but was more for balance. "I am not some old loon who needs to be watched every moment of everyday! I'm fine."

"Dad," Matthew coaxed, "Please sit down." Arthur returned to his seat and folded his arms, glaring at the boys he had raised.

Alfred leaned back in his seat and ran his hand through his hair, something he had picked up from Francis as a kid. "You were fine, but since Papa died you, you haven't been the same." Arthur tsked, and looked into the living room from his seat in the kitchen. He saw Alfred's wife, Isabelle, playing with their daughter, his granddaughter, Alice. She had Alfred's blue eyes and stubbornness, but her mothers beauty and hair so blonde it seemed bleached, also from her mother.

"I don't need to be babied. I'm fine on my own." Arthur muttered, more to himself than to the boys.

Matthew leaned his head onto his hand, "Dad, please, we know you fell last week an-"

Arthur stopped him short, "Who told you?"

"Ludwig, dad listen to-"

"I knew I shouldn't have asked for a ride from them..." The fight was leaving Arthur, and weariness was taking it's place.

Alfred stood up and began to pace the room, "Dad, just listen to us for once!" He spoke harsher and louder than he had intended and now all eyes in the house were on him. Even the cats were glancing in his direction. Alfred spoke much quieter and calmer, "We just want whats best for you. Please, can you just trust us." Alfred sat back down, defeated. "We're just, worried about you. You're all we have left."

Arthur refused to look his sons in the eyes, "I... I'll think about it. Right now I just want to rest. It was nice having you boys here today."

Alfred stood up with a sigh and went over to his family. Matthew sat, watching his father carefully. Despite the fact that the boys were adopted they seemed to have taken traits directly from their fathers. Matthew was rather keen at reading other's emotions, something Francis had done with ease. Perhaps it was his quietness that gave him such skill.

Finally he spoke, "Dad, I just want you to know that we love you a lot. We just, we worry."

"I know," Arthur said, "I love you both too. I appreciate you both coming by today and talking to me about this." He looked up with a tiered smile, "I'm just old is all."

Alfred and Matthew had left around four, and so Arthur was alone, slowly walking about his house in a kind of daze. In the hall way near his bedroom there was a fist sized dent it the wall. He remembered how Alfred and Matthew had got in a horrible fist fight during their teens and the Matthew had shoved Alfred into the wall. Francis cried out in horror when he saw it, but they had never gotten it fixed. As Arthur ran his hand over the spot he felt glad they never got to it.

Arthur entered his bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed. There was a frame with a picture of him and Francis on their wedding day on the dresser. Next to it was a red ribbon, Francis'. Arthur picked it up and rubbed it softly between his fingers. He felt something wet land on his hand. Once, then again, and yet again. He sniffed as he realized he was crying. "I'm sorry," he whispered to no one, "I tried really hard love, but it's so difficult. We always thought I'd be the first to go, what with the smoking and all." He coughed and wiped his eyes, "I guess we were wrong then, huh?" No response. "I know, I know I've got to be strong, I just, I miss you. You were the strong one, I was just pretending." Arthur coughed again, violently. He lied down on the bed with the ribbon still in his hands. "I'm just so tiered..." He sighed and closed his eyes, still crying softly. "I love you."

Arthur Kirkland-Bonnefoy fell asleep, and never woke up again.