For a while the couple sat together, Arthur laying across Francis's lap and Francis gently stroking his back. He knew to leave well enough alone aside from the occasional nod of agreement.

"I-idiot…" Arthur grumbled, to which Francis responded with a nod a bit heartier than those before it. "E-eavesdropping like that, I don't know what he was hoping to hear… I can only imagine what he did hear…" he huffed a pouty sigh and sat up a little. "I-I know he still loves me, I knew he'd n-never stopped loving me… but he just goes about it the wrong way, l-listening, watching, hell h-he kidnapped me… I-it's a little scary… I-I… I wish he could have been th-this attentive when I did need it…" he frowned, saddened at the idea of Alfred waiting for him to return like a little puppy waiting at the door of his master's home, whining and wishing that he would return eventually but never thinking to look for him, as if he would just magically appear as did everything in his spoilt life. He grabbed one of the plushier pillows and smothered his face in it, screaming out his frustrations into the embroidered silk. Francis chuckled and wrapped an arm around him.

"Shh, mon cher…" he whispered, leaning in enough so that when Arthur lifted his head to respond he could press their lips together. One hand moved to cup the back of Arthur's head, tilting it gently to one side and keeping him from retreating away, something Arthur had no intention of doing. They worked their way back into a sitting position, nearly falling backwards when they made it all the way up. Arthur was saved from tumbling over only by Francis's catching his hands, pulling him up for one last peck on the cheek before giving him a little smile.

"J-je suis desole…" he mumbled, his cheeks softly tinted with pink. Arthur just gave him a weak grin and sat up, letting them fall back to an only slightly less awkward silence. The younger prince happened to catch a glance at himself in the mirror and his grin faded; he was an absolute wreck. His lovely green dress was in tatters, a good amount of the dirt rubbed off on the sheets as well as a small amount of his own blood. A sigh escaped him and Francis looked up, following his gaze to the mirror. He reached for Arthur's hand, cupping it in his own.

"Want me to help you change into something a little more…?" he started, the last word made unnecessary. He pecked his lips to Arthur's knuckled before tucking his hand into his lap again and standing, going to a nearby wardrobe as if by routine. He didn't know why he thought there would be things for Arthur there, or why there were things for him there. Had Alfred planned on giving them separate rooms in the first place? When he thought about it, it really didn't sound so unlike him. He dug through the rack of dresses and picked the one that looked the least… indelicate. "This one looks a bit like the green one…" he returned to the bedside and set the dress down, helping Arthur stand and turning him around to get to his backside.

…

Alfred flopped onto his bed furiously, smothering his own face in a pillow not unlike Arthur had done and rolling around on top of the unmade covers, screaming muffled swears through his tears. "Why does she have to hate me so much? What have I ever done to her? God dammit I'm only trying to help!" He didn't even look up when the door creaked open. He knew who it would be. He did, however, cease his childish rolling, stealing a peek at the intruder.

"I assume she didn't take your eavesdropping well, hm?" came the voice of the eldest Kirkland boy, kneeling next to his bed. Alfred said nothing at first, pouting for all of about three seconds.

"…y-you heard that?" he asked.

"Alfred, everyone heard it. Everyone. I was in the shop downstairs and near underground, and at the bellows, and even I could hear that screaming." He frowned. Alfred rolled up, crossing his legs but still holding the pillow in his arms. "Perhaps it's time to just move on-"

"Don't you dare say that." He snapped. "I… I-I can't move on from her, y-you know it. Sh-she's my entire world. N-nobody's ever asked you to move on from Veronica…" Allistor scowled, his hand balling into a fist. If he hadn't come to make the boy see reason he would have punched him for bringing up the name of his late fiancée. He took a deep, shaky breath, then let it out as a sigh.

"Alfred, let me ask you… in all the many years that you've been in love with my sister, have you ever been able to remember the color of her eyes?" he asked. Alfred frowned.

"H…her eyes?" he repeated. "Uh… I-I don't see what that… n-no…"

"Do you know her birthday?"

"N-no…"

"Favorite constellation? I know you two have gone star gazing…"

"No…"

"You don't know any of those things, and yet you can look me in the eye and tell me you love her?"

"…" Alfred's gaze lowered. Allistor had succeeded in making him realize that he was, in fact, an idiot. "B-but… but I've t-tried so hard to make her happy… I-I've done all I could, wh-why can't she just love me back?"

"Alfred." He set a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You aren't listening. Yes, I'm sure she's been quite happy with you in the past, but it takes more than just happiness to earn a woman's love. There can be love without unconditional happiness. You only love my Alice because you think she's just the prettiest thing you've ever seen, am I right?" he asked. He waited a few moments for a denial but received nothing, to his slight surprise. When he became tired of waiting for a response he stood, starting for the door again. "And think about it, why would she love you? She's married now. She and Francis have more than just happiness, they have affection, and their cild, they talk with each other, spend time together… and I'm beginning to wonder if she's really better off with him than she would be with you. This is the first time in months I've seen her smile, with him…" he shut the door behind himself, leaving the Blue prince to his tears and his thoughts.

…

Francis had locked the door before starting to undress his husband- not wanting another little mishap like before. The green silk dress fell away easily, nearly in pieces. It was at this point that he realized that this would be the first time he would see Arthur completely bare. His only chance before had been in the dark, and the last time they had dressed together was ages ago, when he still had to wear a corset because his waist was so thin- although never thin enough, for whatever reason.

He started to feel around for the new dress but stopped, taking a look at his husband. If anything he was a little glad to see that he had indeed gained weight in something other than unborn child. His figure was softer, perhaps a little puffier. He draped the dress over one arm and stood at Arthur's side, wrapping his hands around his waist. If it hadn't been for the swelling in his stomach he was sure his hands would have touched.

"F-Francis, whatever are you doing?" The elder prince blinked, his eyes making their way back up to Arthur's. His cheeks were bright red.

"O-oh, desole… good to see you've been eating, I-I suppose…" he chuckled, removing his hands and helping him into the new dress. It was surprisingly loose, hanging off of him as if it were a gift from someone who had tried to guess how big Arthur was but had guessed a little generously. More than once he found his eyes flicking down to the prominent bump in Arthur's stomach. It only took a couple minutes- not including the minute it took to do the dress up in the back. Arthur watched him in the mirror the entire time, frowning a little at the new dress. He preferred the green one. This new dress had the chest cut a bit low for his liking.

"D-do I look alright Francis?" he asked rather loudly, just to break the oppressive silence. Francis glanced up, then down, then back up. His eyes stuck on him in the mirror. He dropped the remaining buttons, wrapping his arms around him from behind in a little hug.

"Magnifique." He replied simply. Arthur's cheeks reddened further.

"Oh, s-stop it…" he muttered, although he let a little smirk slip. Francis beamed and gave him a little peck on the neck.

"How can I stop? I've barely gotten a chance to appreciate it properly, seeing as I'm hardly ever around. He straightened long enough to do up the last button; a good few less than there were on Arthur's green dress, he noted. Rather than making him walk again he scooped his lover up, earning a squeal of surprise, and set him in bed, propping up the pillows for him. "You need anything else? Anything at all, mon amour?" he asked, going to far as to lean back into the bed and lay with his stomach just below Arthur's bare feet.

"No Francis, your company is just fine." He poked at the other's flat stomach with his toe. Francis gently fondled Arthur's feet, toying with his dainty toes as his gaze drifted up to the stained-glass window on the ceiling. It seemed that the snowstorm had lightened up quite nicely, leaving only a nice, powdery snowfall at this time in the morning. It would pile up, dimming the light, and then when it started to clump it would slide off, brightening the room again. It was fascinating, and Francis found that he could keep his eyes trained on the little window for far longer than he would have thought when he counted and realized that he had been waiting several clumps for one particular speck of snow to be pushed off. He glanced up at Arthur; the still exhausted prince was fast asleep, his hands folded over his stomach and his head lulled gently to one side. Francis chuckled, returning his eyes to the high up window and stopping only to take Arthur's opposite foot.

…

The magician still sat at his desk, flipping back and forth between the pages of Francis's and Arthur's journals. He'd taken them to his own family's little section of the tower, consisting of two large rooms on two floors directly parallel each other. To make a comparison, it wasn't so unlike having a two-story house within an apartment complex, only the apartment complex is also a library and a laboratory. Thomson was sitting in a small seat opposite his own, flipping through his own journal- only after the magician had confiscated all writing implements from him, of course. The elder man took a sip of what could have been tea or coffee and turned to his apprentice.

"Thomson…" he started, setting down his delicate china cup. "Exactly what were you hoping for when you added to Francis's journal, hm? What did you think was going to happen?" Thomson looked up, sipping some similar beverage from a larger glass correlating to the amount of caffeine he could take.

"The heck if I know, I just wanted something interesting to happen. Things were getting boring. All I wrote was that that guy, what's-his-face, he was listening-"

"I know well enough what you wrote Thom." He cut in. The apprentice stood, looking over his shoulder. On a page of one book, Arthur's, there were thin, scrawling letters written ahead in pencil, shining pale silver against the page. They were only barely visible to him. Thomson could only see them because they reflected in the soft glow on a lantern. "I've read ahead a little, you see. Whatever it is you've started, it's not going to end well. There's something here about Christmas, Christmas day, something simply horrendous is going to happen to them…" Thomson peered at the thin letters. For all that he tried he couldn't read them. He went to Francis's book, flipped some few pages ahead of where the normal ink-written letters were appearing and searching for the same invisible lettering. Surprise surprise, nothing appeared.

"I doubt anything will happen, nothing ever does. They're always so happy and lovey and dull, that's why I wanted to spice things up. All that ever shows up in Francis's journal are things about how much he loves Arthur." The magician scowled at his apprentice.

"If you think Francis's story if boring then you haven't read his past…" he muttered.

"I haven't read—There is no past! Haven't you seen that chapter around some birthday of his, sixth or seventh, it's all blank for nearly a year's worth of pages!" he shouted, crossing his arms like a barricade. "How am I supposed to read that?" The magician stared at him, shaking his head slowly and letting it come to rest in his palm.

"…I suppose I couldn't expect you to understand that part just by reading it, you weren't here yet. And even if you were, you wouldn't have been old enough to understand…" he sighed, shutting his eyes and staring at the red spots for a while before giving another heaving sigh. "Around the time Francis turned seven years old, he fell into a coma. There are words there, but… they're so strange, I can't even read them. It's all the scribbles of a child, a desperate, frantic child, trying to escape from a world he doesn't understand, or a death that's been waiting for him since the day he was born…" the man chuckled, taking the book from Thomson again and carefully turning back to the current page. "You may return to your book… oh, and the pen stays with me." He held out a hand. Thomson stared at it, acting surprised, but eventually dropping a fine little silver pen into his hands and returning to his own life's story.

…

"Arthur?" called a soft voice, someone just beyond the veil of the green-eyed prince's sleep. One eye opened, meeting cerulean blue and shutting another few moments before he sat up a little more.

"Yes Francis…?" he yawned, stretching his arms as much as he could without hurting himself. Francis sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed, both of Arthur's feet settled in his lap.

"Ah… w-well, I remembered something I wanted to tell you… I-I thought it was rather important, but I just hadn't been thinking about it lately…" he waited, taking a little nod from Arthur as a sign to continue talking. "The magician… he said at some point to me that he thinks we should expect our child around April, m-maybe the twenty-something he said…" Arthur gave another little nod, his eyes starting to close again.

"Arthur?" he started again. The Green prince's eye opened once again, slightly annoyed this time.

"Yes Francis?" he repeated.

"April twenty-third… it's your birthday." Arthur gave another nod.

"So our little one and I will be able to share the holiday." He mumbled. "What part of this news was worth waking me up from such a nice nap?"

"W-well, he says that there are lots of risks…" started Francis again. Arthur's brow lowered.

'Is that all? He's been brooding on my health or something as he sits and rubs my feet?'

"…y-you are young and all, hardly any age to be a parent, y-you… you could die." He bit is lip. He had been sitting on these worried for sometime now, trying to decide whether or not it was the proper time to tell Arthur on the few occasions they did see each other at home. Often he just didn't want to spoil their time together and kept to himself, silently worrying that he was killing the other from the inside. They really didn't know how much any of the magic being used could hurt or help him, or if they would really be alright at all. "I… I-I don't want our little one's b-birth day to be th-the day I lose you…" Tears prickled in his eyes and he quickly rubbed them away. Arthur, still half-asleep and almost not listening to what Francis was saying let alone giving a crap, leaned in and wrapped his arms around him loosely.

"Oh Francis…" he murmured. "Don't let me catch you thinking such things… I'm strong, strong enough for this child and for you. I won't let myself die…" he yawned, scooting a little closer. "As long as you promise to be by my side when I'm there, I'll tough it out for you two…" Arthur managed a little smile, resting his head against his spouse's shoulder. It just broke his heart to see Francis in such a state, worrying over Arthur more than Arthur worried over himself. He did worry of course, quite loudly at times- usually so loudly and terror-stricken-ly that it required a small team of maids or servants to calm him down once he started up- but he was so calm and content now, not a thing in the world could worry him. He didn't want to worry now. If anything he wanted to know that he could calm Francis down a little so that he would have the peace of mind to go back to his delightful sleep. "I know just as well as you that this is dangerous… but if I hadn't wanted it, I wouldn't have let this happen, okay?" he yawned, smearing a kiss across Francis's chin on his way easing back into his little pillow throne. His eyes shut again peacefully, a little smile gracing his lips as he let himself drift off again. Francis sat back and watched, idly toying with his toes and mumbling to himself.

"Y-yes… i-it will all be fine…" his eyes drifted slowly to the swelling in Arthur's belly. "Please, j-just be strong for us Arthur… j-just do it for our little one…" he sighed. As soon as this child was born, he decided, it would be some time before he and Arthur had another one together. Even if nothing went wrong, he had no intention of seeing Arthur like this again for a little while at least. He laid on his side with his head at Arthur's side, draping an arm over his belly. "Oh, Arthur…ju suis desole…" he mumbled, massaging little circles with his thumb through the dress. "Mon petit, let your mama sleep, he needs it…" he whispered, shutting his eyes wearily. "Desole… desole…"

…

"If your mission today was to make me come back to you… well, consider yourself a failure." He walked to the window, only glancing back at him to shoot him a burning glare. "And I hope no other woman had the displeasure or bad taste to be bound to you for the rest of their lives…" Francis nodded silently. The same nightmare as always, haunting him, as if it wanted him to believe that this was the truth. Something was different this time though. The usual two or three little cradles or beds were gone, replaced by a single one centered in the room. And Arthur… he still appeared to have the little lump sticking up from his belly. In fact, it looked larger than Francis remembered it. He left the room as he always did, venturing to the outer courtyards this time. He found himself moping silently below the window to their child's room- how he knew it was that room he had no idea- and kicking at the ground as if to bully the world into pitying him. A crashing sound got his attention but he didn't look up immediately. It was only when he heard a scream, Arthur's scream, and a shuffling in the bushes beside his little seat, that he looked over. There lay his beloved, laying on top of a particularly thorny bush. His eyes were rolled back, disheveled hair fallen in front of his eyes. After a few horror-struck moments of staring blood began to ooze down the corner of his mouth. His body looked a mess. While the bushes had somewhat broken his fall, they hadn't done quite enough to keep the fall from breaking him completely.

Alice

It seemed to have been just minutes later that Arthur was gone, with some doctor behind some wall in some room Francis wasn't allowed to enter. Some physician was trying to get him to choose, if it came to it, between Arthur and their baby. He didn't know what he really would have picked but he kept refusing to choose, telling them to save them both, save his Arthur, save his child. Then the doctor was gone, and there was more screaming from the other side of the door to Arthur's room. He stood outside, listening, hoping, fearing, clenching his fists until he couldn't take it anymore and he burst into the room. Upon his entrance a bundle of white cloth was shoved at him before the doctors rushed back to a bed. There was blood everywhere. An unrealistic amount of blood, as if someone had attempted a roadkill barbecue and someone had thought it would be funny to set the grill to 'combust'. It was all over the floor, oozing from the table like the table itself was bleeding. He could see Arthur's feet, twitching with every pained scream, but he couldn't do a thing to help. He glanced down at the bundle of clothes and noticed a tiny, tiny little hand, attached to the smallest baby he had ever seen. For some reason he found it grotesquely fascinating, enough so to distract him from the dream's changing of scene as he found himself staring down at a headstone reading the name of Kirkland- whether it was Arthur or Alice he couldn't tell- with a shrill crying coming from the bundle. He shushed it softly, tears leaking from his eyes.

"Th-that's your m-mama, mon petit…" he whispered, cradling the weensy thing in his arms. "Th-that's your mama, and I c-couldn't save her… d-desole… desole…"

…

Arthur had woken up by this point of his own accord; or rather, he had allowed himself to be woken up when the scent of food graced his senses. Allistor had brought him a lunch tray and a few books. Francis was still curled up at his side, occasionally mumbling something in his sleep. Allistor, being the concerned if not ever-so-slightly weirded out brother he was, offered to move him, but Arthur politely declined. He enjoyed Francis's silent company. So there he sat a while, nibbling his small lunch on a tray balanced between his knee and Francis's head, and reading one of the many fairytale books. He tore his eyes away from the book only when the tray started to shake. He removed it to find that Francis was trembling underneath, his face contorted with pain and terror. Tears glistened on his eyelashes. Arthur watched this a moment, surprised.

"Francis…?" he whispered, sitting up a little. He set the tray aside and pulled Francis's head into his lap, running his fingers through the soft, golden hair. "Francis, are you alright? Are… are you asleep?" He didn't know why he'd bothered with this final question when the answer was obvious. He set the book aside, marking his page, and giving Francis his full attention. He pulled Francis up a little, his head now cradled under his arm. It felt like ages of worrying before Francis finally jolted awake, teary-eyed and trembling. "Francis, are you alright?" he asked softly, watching wide-eyed. Before he could get an answer out Francis had his arms around Arthur's still fully intact body, gripping him desperately as if letting go meant watching his life slowly dissolve away through pained cries as he'd seen in his nightmare.

"D-desole… desole…" he whispered. Arthur placed a delicate hand on the back of his head and it jerked up, cerulean-blue eyes turned back to his own.

"F-Francis, it's okay, you're okay now…" he gave him a little smile, leaning in carefully and planting his lips on Francis's forehead. The elder prince lay silently for a moment, taking shaky breaths and trying to process that all of the horrific things he had seen had been just images, things never to be.

"D…desole…" he mumbled a final time. "I-I had the worst dream… s-someone, Alfred, p-pushed you out a window, a-and I had to pick either y-you or our child, and-" He was cut off by two smooth ivory fingers to his lips, belonging to Arthur.

"I don't want to hear a word about it." He said simple. "For now, just know that it's not true. I know you worry, and I'm really quite thankful that you do, but you're worrying me… nothing is going to happen Francis. I'm just fine, and so is the little one, alright? Honestly, you're more worried that I am and you're not even the one with it living inside of you!" he grinned jokingly, smoothing his husband's rumpled hair. Francis nodded, sitting up a little. One arm was still draped around his belly, protecting him from some unseen danger. Arthur held him for a short time, letting him calm his nerves through a constant, steady stream of blubbering sobs, all met with comforting shushes and assurances that everything was going to be just fine, or at least no worse off than the last time he'd promised him that they would be fine. He wished that they had the luxury of alcohol to calm their nerves, but sadly Allistor hadn't brought him any so the most Arthur could offer his sob-stricken husband was a bit of uneaten fruit, an offer he didn't even bother with it was so pathetic. Francis did eventually calm himself down, no thanks to Arthur.

"I wish it wouldn't sound so much like this child is a bad thing when I try to talk of it… it's the best thing that's happened to us. I suppose I'm j-just afraid that Allistor and Alfred will have my head if you don't come out of this ordeal alive…" he mumbled. Arthur sighed with a little smile.

"Oh Francis, that's just silly. I wouldn't let them do any such thing to you, I've already said so." He pressed his lips to his husband's forehead. "Come on now, let's talk about something more pleasant. Anything at all, as long as it's not about dying." He grinned, awaiting a response from Francis. It took the older prince a little while to think of anything, pulling himself up and wrapping an arm around Arthur before clearing his throat.

"Y-you know…" he started, sniffling pathetically. "W-we never did pick a name… n-not really anyway." He couldn't seem to remember them choosing one at least, having gotten caught up in Alfred's sudden appearance and dropping all things unrelated to his being generally obnoxious.

"Ah, that's right… but we don't know the gender. I still say we should wait and ask that man if he can tell us." Arthur pointed out, helping Francis sit up a little straighter. He gave his husband a smile, then watched his cough a few times, then a few more, then nearly fall over the edge of the bed in a horrible fit of coughing that he swore resulted in a little blood leaking from his throat onto his crisp sleeves. "My goodness Francis, are you alright?" he asked, frantically reaching around for something for him to cough into other than his clothing.

"O-oui…" he croaked. "A-although… I hate to admit, I may also be in need of proper medical care…" he cleared his throat, giving Arthur a little smile. "N-not quite as much as you do." Arthur frowned, nodding slowly.

"Y-yes, well… when Allistor returns, I'll have him bring you something for that cough… and something to eat, you look pale." He held his hand to Francis's cheek, a gesture that was met with a playful little swat and a peck on the lips.