Author's note: So this chapter is basically how they met. Kind of fluffy, though it kind of has an air of mystery. I also found out that Grey and Phipps are both 24 years old. Those who got the Book of Circus dvd set got a little booklet that said so. All I can say is, "The more you know."

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I own nothing but original characters.

This had gotten out of hand.

Phipps watched from the corner of his eye as Grey eyed the pastry he was making, gray eyes sharp and observant as he looked for an opening to sneak some of the dough and not get caught. He let out a sigh, but continued to stir the cream in the bowl. Somethings never changed.

"Is it done yet?" Grey slumped in his seat, his teacup now empty. "I'm hungry."

From the windowsill, Cecily cooed as the late afternoon sun hit her feathers. "Does it look done?" he asked in a monotonous tone. "Besides, didn't you just eat six petit fours the other cook left out?"

"Maybe?" he licked his lips at the thought of them. "What's your point?"

"And you're still hungry?"

"Well of course!"

He half raised his eyes to the ceiling, adding cream into the pastry dough. Cream puffs weren't especially hard to make. At least, not to him. Baking, and cooking in general, came naturally to him. However, he didn't particularly want to think of the reasons why. He was surprised; waking up this morning to find Cecily had laid eggs right on the pillow next to him. He was afraid at first that they might be fertile, but then realized Cecily never left his sight. So, they now had fresh eggs.

"Oh look!" Grey shot up from his seat, heading towards the window near one of the counters. "It's snowing!"

He glanced over at his partner, realizing that there were indeed little snowflakes falling from the sky. "It's only late February," he sighed. "Of course there might be a little bit more snow."

"Enough to build a snowman?"

He joined him at the window, looking at the falling snow long enough before shaking his head. "No," he answered slowly, not even batting an eyelash. "And why would you want to build a snowman? The last time you built one was when you were eight."

Grey just made a face. "Spoil sport."

He stepped away from the shorter man, setting the pastries in the oven and watched as they slowly began to rise. Grey continued to yammer on about the snow that was now falling even harder. For a moment, he slightly doubted that it might be enough. He was a man after all, not a weather God that those Paganism people believed in.

John arrived into the kitchen, taking a seat in one of the white velvet chairs. Phipps immediately moved forward, pouring tea into the fancy blue and white china cup. The other man just nodded thanks, sipping the warm tea carefully. To his amusement, Grey was still staring at the snow, though a rare look of serene nostalgia graced his features.

"Hey Phipps," he began casually, leaning against the counter. "Do you remember the weather when we first met?"

"Of course not," he replied impassively. What a ridiculous question. Why would he remember something more trivial? Though the more he thought about it, he always had been able to push unnecessary facts out of his mind. Not that meeting Grey was forgettable, but why on earth would he remember the weather? "Why would I remember something like that?" he asked, though he was now more focused on checking on the cream puffs.

"It was snowing!" Grey pouted. He actually pouted, although he wasn't entirely shocked by it. "Don't tell me you're going senile already." He scoffed, eyes drifting over to the leftover cream in the bowl.

Phipps sighed, instinctively moving the bowl away and Grey dashed forward to get it. "You can have the cream when the cream puffs are done," he stated simply, placing the bowl in the sink to wash it. "You'll start getting chubby if you keep eating like you do now.

Even as Grey began sputtering in denial about becoming chubby, Phipps took that moment to allow himself a brief moment to flash back on the day he first met Charles Grey, about sixteen years ago…

"Charles, don't fidget in your seat. Sit still and behave yourself."

A young Charles Phipps, only five months away from turning nine years old, immediately stopped twitching in his seat. Under the scrutinizing gaze of his grandfather, he gulped silently and bowed his head in respect. "Yes, Grandfather," he said in a soft, respectful tone. "I'm sorry."

The old man's gaze softened, and he adjusted his top hat a little so that it wouldn't fall off. Outside, the wind blew soft flakes of snow to the ground, dusting the street like powdered sugar on gingerbread cookies. Inside the carriage, it was warm compared to the bitter cold of the outside world. He didn't know how his grandfather had gotten time off protecting the queen, but he said it was very important that they visit a friend of his.

"Where are we going?" he asked, his child-like voice still soft and quiet. "Mother didn't want me to come out today."

He normally didn't ask questions; for he knew most of the time he would never get answers. His grandfather let out a sigh, rolling his sea foam blue eyes. "Of course she wouldn't; being the paranoid woman she is," he didn't know what paranoid meant, so he made a mental note to look it up later. "Anyway, we're going to my partner's home. You remember Earl Charles Grey at the Christmas party?"

He nodded dutifully, his face set in an apathetic tone. "He has white hair, like father did."

For a moment, his grandfather's eyes betrayed him. A flicker of sadness at the mention of his late son always appeared when his name was mentioned. Charles didn't really understand it, but how could he? His father died when he wasn't even a year old. How did one feel sad over someone they never met?

"He has a son," his grandfather cleared his throat, eyes retreating back to being cold and calculating. "A little boy your age. You will get along with him, understand?"

"Yes, Grandfather," he replied with hesitation, without room for argument. "Can I ask what his name is?"

"Charles Grey, after his father. Actually, all the oldest men in their families are named Charles. Just like ours," his grandfather cracked a tiny smile at that, firm calloused hands tracing the sword he wore on his belt. "And as I just said before, you will get along with him. It is essential that you do."

"Yes, Grandfather."

"And it wouldn't hurt you to smile a little," the older man continued, softening his tone for the briefest moment. "People will find you unapproachable if you don't."

He blinked. "What's there to smile about?" he asked very seriously. "Mother never smiles."

"Well your mother is complicated and another story altogether. You won't understand till you're older," his grandfather glanced out the window. "Now, my partner and I will be attending business in the library. Lady Grey will look after you, understood?"

"Yes."

The carriage stopped, the coachman getting off to open the door and help them out. He shivered, breath coming out in tiny puffs that he could see very clearly. A butler stood waiting for them outside the grand house, a reserved; polite smile on his face. "Welcome Earl Phipps," the man bowed slightly. "Earl Grey will be receiving you in the library."

He followed his grandfather into the house, only to be stopped once inside the grand foyer. Paintings adorned the marble walls, swords hanging everywhere, much like his home. A woman, dressed in a dark green dress came to greet him; her dark hair curled and pulled into a fancy hairstyle. Her gray eyes were kind, and as she took him by the hand, he didn't feel nervous. "You must be Charles Phipps," she stated kindly. "I'm Lady Grey. Welcome to your home. My little boy is waiting for you. He is feeling a bit under the weather, I'm afraid, so play gently."

"Yes ma'am."

"Well, aren't you a gentlemen? Maybe my precious boy could take a few pointers from you."

He followed her into a tearoom, where a boy with shaggy chin length silver hair sat in a chair, munching on a biscuit. When his eyes met his, a sort of smile grew on his lips, making him look like a little imp. "You're a lot taller than they said you would be," he said rather bluntly. "That's not fair!"

The boy's mother sighed, running a hand through her son's hair. "Charles, that is no way to greet our guest. Introduce yourself properly," her smile turned a little harder. "Now."

The boy huffed, sticking out his right hand. "I'm Charles Grey. It's nice to meet you."

He took his hand, shaking it firmly. "Charles Phipps. It's nice to meet you too."

Lady Grey clapped her hands, placing her hands on the other boy's shoulders. "Well, I need to go entertain the ladies of my sewing party. You boys play nice, alright? And Charlie, if you go outside there will be punishment."

He watched in shock as the shorter boy stuck his tongue out at his mother's retreating form. He almost gasped at how disrespectful it was, but the younger boy soon tugged on his hand. "Come on," he whispered. "We can sneak out through the kitchens."

"Your mother said you can't go out!"

"What, are you a chicken?" Charles Grey sneered, and for a moment, he actually felt intimidated by him. "Are you going to tattle on me? Where's your sense of adventure!"

Speechless, he let the shorter boy drag him quietly down the hall, past the stairs and into the kitchens. The cook was busy issuing orders to the other servants, so he didn't notice the two boys sneak out into the cold winter air. Charles Grey laughed, the snowflakes catching on his eye lashes. "I love winter!" he gathered some snow in his bare hands, tossing it in the air. "There's so much to do!"

"Yeah," he agreed softly, kicking some snow with his foot. "I suppose."

"Do you want to build a snowman?"

He blinked, sneezing a little as some snow caught in his nose. "How do you make one?" he asked curiously. "Mother never lets me go outside in the winter."

Grey's jaw dropped, and he dramatically placed his hands on his hips. "How have you never made one? Every kid has to make one at some point their life! Come on, I'll show you how!"

For the next fifteen minutes, despite the freezing cold, they gathered the sticky, cold snow in their hands and molded into three different balls. Grey was rather cheerful about t, though five minutes into it, he started coughing. Phipps began to feel a little guilty, now remembering he didn't have a coat on or any sort of material to keep him warm. Removing the scarf from around his neck, he placed it over the other boy.

"You'll get sicker," he stated. "I don't want you to get sick."

Grey just stared at him for a few seconds, eyes widening at the simple act. Then he grinned, placing a hand on his arm. "You're not so bad of a guy; I think I can work with you," he obviously noticed his blush and the tiny smile that was growing, and gave a little smirk. "And you have a cute smile."

He froze up, blush darkening even further. No one had ever complimented him like that before; not even his mother. She would just tell him he looked like his father and that was it. Yet this boy, this short, mischievous boy had paid him a compliment; had taken an interest in him. To be honest, and he would never admit this out loud, but it made him feel special. Like a little fire had been lit in his chest and spread throughout his whole body.

"CHARLES JAMES RICHARD WARREN GREY!"

A look of absolute fear replaced the happy look on Grey's face. Lady Grey stormed towards them, upset and angry at her son for disobeying her. She instantly placed a hand on his forehead, smoothing back his bangs. "Your fever has gone up!" she fretted, wrapping her arms around him in a hug, scooping him up into her arms carefully. "You're going to bed, young man. And don't even think of disobeying me again!"

"Yes Momma," he said in the sweetest voice possible.

Phipps followed them inside, guilt tearing him apart on the inside. He sat in Grey's room quietly, watching as the young boy changed into his sleeping gown. His mother tucked him under the covers, scolding him gently about making himself sicker before kissing his forehead. He averted his eyes, watching the strange scene before him. His own mother never treated him with affection. Never before in his life had he received a hug from her. Watching Grey and his mother, he felt so odd; like he was in a foreign country.

"Charles."

He instantly returned to attention, standing up to face the Lady Grey. She gazed at him gently, glancing over at her son. "He doesn't get to play with other children much," she sighed sadly. "His father insists are making him stronger since he is afraid that because he is so small, he'll be weak. I just want to say thank you for spending time with him."

He nodded. "Can I stay and watch over him? I didn't stop him from going outside when I should have. Then he wouldn't have become so sick."

She placed a delicate hand on his head. "He would have snuck out either way. I have been raising him for eight years, you know," she smiled softly, fondly almost. "I would like you two to remain friends. He doesn't have very many. Not very many real friends, anyway."

"I'd like to stay friends."

"Will you look after him?" she turned serious, gray eyes boring him down. "He gets into trouble so much. Someone like you would be good for him. It would even him out; let him know when he goes too far. Could you look after him when I can't?"

"I will," he nodded. "I'll look after him. I promise."

He stayed with the younger Grey, eventually falling asleep while looking after him. Apparently his grandfather and the Earl Grey had to leave for some business, so Lady Grey allowed him to stay. He never even left the boy's side, even when the boy woke up complaining about being itchy.

Unfortunately, Phipps too began to feel ill and the next day, he too had the same spots as Grey. Even while they were itchy and sick, it gave them all the more time to be kids.

DING!

He jumped out of his thoughts, the sound of the small timer he had set going off. He took out the cream puffs, eyeing Grey the whole time while doing so. Grey leaned over, smelling them with great pride. "These smell better than that Phantomhive butler's," he sneered, grabbing one before Phipps could stop him. "You make the best food in the world, Phipps!"

"I agree," John nodded, taking one too. "The queen would probably like these with her tea."

He let John take off with them, the other butler taking off down the hall. Grey had stashed several cream puffs, popping them into his mouth with ease. Phipps turned back to the snow falling outside, opening his mouth gently. "You never gave me my scarf back," he caught the smaller man by surprise, a tiny smile forming. "Whatever happened to it?"

Grey averted his eyes carefully. "I don't know."

"So you still have it."

"Of course not!" Grey scoffed, obviously lying as his cheeks had a light pink hue on them. "Why would I keep it when I have plenty of scarves?"

He shook his head, knowing deep inside that the man still had his scarf. Looking out towards the snow again, he nodded. "I think we could build a snowman."

"What? Phipps, you just said we're too old for that!"

"If you really want to, then I'm not going to stop you.

Grey smirked, tossing him a pastry. "Well then let's get going! Maybe even our queen would like to go outside."

"If she does and she decided to make a snow man, you better not even think about destroying it."

Aw, those who play together get chicken pox together. Well, review!