A/N: hey people!
I don't really have that much to say here.
Enjoy this chapter!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
The entire street was accustomed to hearing screams and yells from one home. It was one of the things someone got used to over the years and even connected it to their neighborhood charm.
Needless to say when they heard the scream they didn't pay it that much mind.
"ARE YOU IN-FUCKING-SANE?"
Arthur took a deep breath after that yell for a few moments before once again screaming.
""HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?"
Francis walked over to his husband and placed a hand on his shoulder comfortably.
"Mon cher please. Remember the doctor told you to not do anything that might raise your blood pressure."
Arthur looked at Francis incredulously. "I think this is an event that it is okay to freak out."
The two of them, and Matthew who was sitting in the back watching everything, looked at Alfred who sat there with a bored expression on his face.
Alfred had been looking to the side when his parents had started to talk and when they finished he looked at them.
"To answer your questions, no I am not insane and no I have not lost my mind." he said.
"I think you bloody well have!" Arthur screamed.
Alfred thumped his fingers on the side of his chair and bit back a scowl.
"I will not have my son travel all the way across the ocean to that country." Arthur spat out the word 'that' as if he had ingested poison.
"Well its not your choice anymore father." Alfred said.
"Excuse me?"
"I am eighteen years old. I am of legal age to do what I wish with my life." Alfred said. "It is my choice to go where I wish."
"I am not paying for that trip."
"You don't have to." Alfred pulled out his ticket from his bag. He straightened his vest and pants nervously. "Remember my part time job? I paid for everything. Tickets. Board. Everything."
Arthur gave him a scalding look. "I forbid it."
"You don't have that right anymore." Alfred shot back.
"I am your father!" Arthur yelled. "You will listen to me."
"And I won't listen!" Alfred yelled back.
Matthew stood up and left the room. When someone fought and he wasn't involved in it he chooses to leave the room.
"You are not leaving your school and everything that you have worked for to get into a good college just for this!" Arthur nearly screamed.
"I'm going to school there! I was accepted into a university and that's where I am going to live." Alfred screamed back.
"This has to do with that woman doesn't it?" Arthur asked. "Why can't you get it our of your head?"
"Because I need to know!" Alfred screamed.
Alfred took a deep breath and looked at Arthur. "Father. You can, and have, tell your entire family history all the way back to the days Britain was first an empire."
He looked at Francis. "Papa. You can recite your family history all the way back to days France still belonged to the Roman Empire."
He sighed again. "I don't have that. I don't know my biological families history. I don't know who they were. I don't even know my real parents names."
"I don't know about Matt but he doesn't seem to want to know." Alfred said looking at his hands. "I…need to know."
"Alfred. I understand that but I cannot let you go there." Arthur said.
"Arthur." Francis said suddenly. "Let him go."
Both Arthur and Alfred fell silent and stared at Francis in shock. In unison they said "What?"
"Let him go." Francis repeated.
Arthur suddenly clutched his head in one of his hands. "The entire world has gone insane."
"No it hasn't." Francis said walking towards Alfred. He placed his hands on Alfred's shoulders.
"Listen Alfred. I do understand." he said. "Blood while not everything is still a very powerful thing. Would you like me to drive you to the airport?"
Alfred tried to blink away the sudden tears in his eyes. "Oui. Merci, papa." he said in French.
Francis smiled at him and hugged him. "Ne pas en parler par enfant [do not mention it my child]." he murmured.
"You will be staying at the dorm?" Francis asked as they drove to the airport.
Alfred nodded. "Classes start in a week and they are allowing the students to settle in their rooms and make friends."
"I do hope you will be okay."
"Don't worry papa, I'll be fine."
"I'm your father. It is one of my jobs to worry about you."
The two lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive. Finally, and too soon according to Francis, they had arrived at the airport. Francis parked the car and helped Alfred with his luggages.
"I'll walk you as far as I can." he said.
The two waited in line for the authorization. "About father…" Alfred started hesitantly.
"He will come around." Francis said soothingly. "You know he loves you and wants nothing but the best for you."
Alfred nodded. He handed the teller his passport, visa, and ticket information.
Francis watched at the boy he had helped raise. When had he gotten so big exactly that he was capable of living in a completely new country all by himself?
He walked Alfred to the security check. This was where they parted ways.
"Alfred…" Francis started hesitantly.
Alfred looked at him.
Francis placed his hands on Alfred's shoulders once more. "Listen to me. No matter what happens there. No matter what you learn. Remember this. You have and will always have a family here who loves you."
Alfred nodded. "I know papa."
Francis embraced his son once more. "Please Alfred. Take care."
"I will papa. I will."
Alfred took a deep breath and flinched slightly under the sun. Summer was still going strong in the states and this heat was not something he was used to from rainy cloudy England.
America was completely backwards. The people drove on the wrong side, their slang was completely wrong, their spellings, everything.
People gave him weird looks when he talked to them or some of them would laugh and nearly beg him to say something else in what they dubbed his 'sexy British accent.'
"Well if you and your people love British accents so much." he sometimes wanted to sneer. "Why did you break away from the empire?"
He sighed and took a sip of the store bought tea. He held in another flinch. Another thing America couldn't get right. The perfect cup of tea. He missed the ones from back home, even the ones that claimed they were authentic British tea was nothing like back home.
Classes were starting in a three days. That meant Alfred had three days to find the address and talk to the person who very well might be his mother.
He took another sip of his rapidly cooling tea and this time didn't bother to hold in the shudder.
Alfred checked the piece of paper once more hesitantly. He swallowed the lump in his throat and gathered his courage to walk up the road in front of the house.
He raised his arm; it was shaking, and knocked on the door.
He counted the seconds off in his head. One two three four five si-
The door opened.
A woman stood there merely staring at him.
Alfred cleared his throat. "Hello. My name is-"
"I know what your name is…Alfred." the woman said.
Alfred's heart jumped into his throat. "Since you know my name you must know why I'm here."
The woman nodded. "Yes I do."
Breathing heavily he then said "Forgive me if I seem rude but…are you my mother?"
His heart froze when she said "No, I'm not."
But it started once more when she said "I'm your aunt."
The woman stepped to the side and held the door open.
"Please come in, we have a lot to talk about."
Staring at the woman Alfred realized that he did see some resemblances. The shape of the nose and forehead seemed to be the same.
The woman walked to the stove. "Coffee?"
"Tea if you have it." Alfred replied.
The woman shook her head. "Sorry. Only coffee."
"I never drank coffee." he said almost apologetically.
The woman smiled at him then and poured two cups. "First time for everything I suppose."
Alfred waited for her to sit down to begin asking his questions however before he opened his mouth she asked "Where is the other one? Matthew?"
Alfred closed his mouth and stared at the cup of coffee in front of him. "He…he didn't want to come."
The woman sighed. "I'm actually surprised you're here really."
"Well I want to know." he said. He took a sip of the coffee to be polite and almost gagged on the bitter taste. Why was America filled with people who didn't have a single taste bud? A normal taste bud?
"Ma'm I want to know about my parents?" he said. "Do you have a way I could contact them?"
The woman didn't answer as she simply took a sip of her own coffee, her eyes scanning Alfred.
"You look a lot like her." she finally said. "Exactly like her actually. I suppose Matthew looks like your father."
"We're twins, practically."
The woman nodded. "Like I said. Your father."
"They weren't twins." she said seeing Alfreds look. "They just looked alike."
She took another sip of the coffee. "Sugar?"
"Pardon?"
She nodded towards his mostly untouched coffee. "Need sugar?"
"Yes, please."
She pushed the bowl towards him and watched as he put three spoonfuls into the coffee.
"Your mother had three as well." she said.
Alfred nodded as he swirled the concoction in an attempt to make it somewhat passable to his pleading stomach.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Marsha. Marsha Jones."
"Ms Jones." Alfred said. "If you don't mind I want to talk to my mother."
"In time." she said. "British, huh?"
"What do you mean?"
"That accent of yours. It's British right?"
Alfred nodded causing Marsha to snort.
"Oh your mother would've gotten a kick out of that."
"What do you mean?"
Marsha took another sip of the coffee. "Your mother, how to say this, was a true and pureblooded American. She had nearly every right to be really, our family goes back to the revolution."
Alfred sat up straighter in his chair. "The American Revolution?" he asked. The same revolution that was the domino effect that helped crumble the mighty British empire? The one he and everyone he has ever known had hissed in hatred towards? His ancestors had fought in it?
Marsha nodded, stood up, and left the room. When she returned she was carrying a thick scrapbook. She opened the cover and there an old and faded picture of a man standing proudly in an American Revolutionary uniform.
"That's David K. Jones." Marsha said. "He was the first Jones to live in America. He had a twin brother back in England who fought on the side of the British. They met on the battlefield once and they ignored the other."
Alfred got a sudden mental image of meeting Matt on the battlefield when they were both on others sides. He gave a shudder down his back.
Marsha either ignored it or chose not to comment as she turned the page.
"During all the times of American history." she continued. "There was a Jones somewhere there helping make it."
"A Jones fought in every single war America had been in." she said. "We are a proud and American heritage, remember that Alfred."
Alfred nodded at a loss to do anything else. He turned the page in the book absorbing each picture as the backgrounds and technology started to advance.
The war of 1812. The American Civil War. Segregation. WWI. The Great Depression. WWII. The Cold War. The Korean War. The Vietnam War. Woodstock. Finally it stopped on a picture of two girls.
One of which was a younger looking Marsha.
Alfred took in a sharp breathe and stroked the picture through the cellophane. Marsha was right. He did look like his mother. They had the same shade of eyes and hair and skin tone and…everything.
"Sarah." Marsha said. "Sara Jones. Your mother."
"Sarah." he murmured.
Marsha left the room again and this time she gave back holding a single photograph frame. She held it out to him. "This is your mother and father."
Alfred took the photo. Looking at his mother was like looking at a girl version of him and looking at his father was like looking at Matthew.
"Your fathers name is Frederick." Marsha said.
Alfred gripped the frame in his hands until the wood was threatening to break. He ignored the tears gathering in his eyes.
"Please tell me." he whispered. "Did…did our mother love us?"
"Yes. Very much."
"Then why the hell did she give us away?" he whispered. "If she loved us why give us away?"
Marsha looked at him solemnly. "I think its time you see her."
Alfred froze.
No. He shook his head. No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Marsha was leading him towards a cemetery.
She looked back at him. "Come or not?"
Gathering all that remained of his courage Alfred followed her. She led him to a set of two graves.
One read Frederick Williams.
The other read Sarah Jones.
Alfred fell to his knees and looked at Marsha with tears in his eyes. "How does this answer my question?" he asked hoarsely.
Marsha placed her hands on Alfred's shoulders. "Your mother was sick. Very sick. Thankfully it didn't affect you or your brother, she made sure of that. There was a medicine she was able to take to help her. However she couldn't take it when she was pregnant."
Marsha closed her eyes and tilted her head to the sky. "The doctor was ready to schedule an abortion for her when she nearly tackled him. She said that there was no way she would trade the lives of her children for her own."
"I was out of the country at the time she went into labor. By the time I had gotten home she had died and you and Matthew had been sent away, already adopted by some couple."
"And…and my father?" Alfred asked.
"He was a doctor. He volunteered to help wounded soldiers. The day before he was scheduled to come back his area was bombed. No one made it out alive."
Alfred found himself walking back towards the college dorms once more.
"Come back tomorrow, you need time to process everything." Marsha had said. "I'll understand though if you don't come back."
According to her his mother was a true and through blooded American. Everything America stood for she loved and was.
Alfred stopped and looked around. There were people everywhere talking and laughing. What does America stand for?
Freedom. Choice.
It was in his blood. And he would accept it.
Sarah Jones. Frederick Williams. His parents.
All of a sudden Alfred Bonnefoy Kirkland no longer seemed right. No longer felt right.
What felt right?
The answer came to him as if it had always been there.
Jones from his mother. F from his father.
Alfred F. Jones.
It wasn't British. It wasn't French. It wasn't anything he had learned or believed his entire life.
It was…
American.
Okay there will be one more chapter and I think that's it.
I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter.
Questions? Comments? Leave them in a review.
Until next time.
This is Phoenix-Fire Power over and out.