Author's Note: I'm back with another chapter (and now that it's finished, I have to stop procrastinating and finally finish my ten page research paper)! Also, for anyone who wasn't sure about the current place in the timeline, Alfred is thirteen. Enjoy!

"Don't make me go back," Alfred begs, digging his heels into the concrete as he's dragged across town by an exasperated Arthur (an Arthur, mind you, who is functioning without his morning serving of tea because the kettle isn't working properly and needs to be replaced). "I'll do anything you want me to as long as you don't send me back to school!"

"There are children in this world who would be unspeakably grateful to have the privilege of getting an education," Arthur says in a chiding tone, yanking Alfred along. He raises his left hand to check his watch and frowns, increasingly annoyed.

"Then send them to school instead of me!"

"I'm not playing this game with you, Alfred. I'm about to be late to work."

"Let me be a farmer. It's my dream!" Alfred shouts at the sky dramatically, wrist aching because of how much Arthur has been tugging on it.

"I'm tempted to leave you here by the roadside, so I can be done with this absurdity once and for all!"

And then, for just a second, Arthur's eyes flash with an idea, and he blinks slowly at Alfred as though he's just reached some sort of epiphany. "You say you want to be a farmer? Right then, be careful what you wish for," he murmurs cryptically, making the final strides toward the schoolhouse. "Go straight to your class, hand the note I gave you to your teacher, and don't give him any reason to reprimand you, all right? I'll be picking you up at the end of the day because I don't want you dawdling and getting into another mess with those boys until I'm certain they won't come near you again, understood?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir," Alfred grumbles, begrudgingly walking up to the entrance of the school.

Arthur stands on the sidewalk and watches him head inside, relaxing somewhat. "Have a good day!"

When the words reach Alfred's ears, he spins around and gives Arthur a baleful look as though to say, "Yeah right." His black eye has only become worse within twenty-four hours, and that makes his solemn expression far more powerful. He truly looks like an abandoned, neglected child who has been mistreated by the world at large.

Nonetheless, Arthur makes his way for the firm, content in the knowledge that Alfred will be okay if he still has the ability to be so melodramatic. After all, it's what teenagers do best.

This doesn't mean, however, that he isn't taking the boy's troubles to heart. He is, but, unlike Alfred, he i knows how to make those troubles manageable.

He has a few calls to make.

Who would've thought he and Mrs. Collins (the mother of one of the boys from Alfred's school) would've gotten along so well? Over the phone, she's a very pleasant woman, albeit a bit too chatty for Arthur's liking. When she hears about the actions of her son over the past few days, she immediately apologizes at great length and mentions previous incidents whereby the boy has ended up in similar situations.

"I just don't know what to do with him anymore. It must be a phase. Boys at this age can be a handful. When his father gets home, he's going to get the strapping of a lifetime, I guarantee it," she promises, hardly giving Arthur a chance to reply. "Oh, it's horrible! He gets it from his grandfather, I tell you! He, too, always thought he was better and mightier than everyone else. I'll knock the trait right out of him if I must. Please send your boy—what's his name again? Ah, yes, Alfred. Send him my sincerest apologies. I have no doubt he's a sweet child. Thank you for informing me about this. I have two older girls, and they're complete angels in comparison. Then again, girls are complacent by nature. It's a lovely thing. If I had another son, I'd have been driven to the brink of insanity already."

Sensing the conversation would continue if left unchallenged, Arthur interrupts as politely as he can and says, "Excuse me, Mrs. Collins. I'm terribly sorry, but some urgent business has suddenly come up, and I really should tend to it."

"Oh, of course! My, look at the time! I've kept you far too long as is. Take care of yourself and your boy, dear. If there's anything else I can do for you, don't hesitate to call."

"That's very kind of you. Thank you."

The other parents, unfortunately, are not quite as pleasant. One father, for instance, plainly tells him that his boy was in the right, and if Alfred doesn't want to get into any more fights, he should keep his distance and "shut his mouth."

Courtesy long forgotten, Arthur replies with "and if your boy doesn't want to face criminal charges, I highly suggest he restrain himself and use some God-given sense before he dares to put a hand on my child again. Good day."

The last pair of parents answer the phone but then hang up on him, and thus, Arthur decides the only way to ensure Alfred will be left alone is by switching his class. A quick call to the school office makes such an arrangement possible, and with a little maneuvering, he's able to get him placed in the same class as Toris. He hopes that this, at the very least, will get Alfred to be incrementally more enthusiastic about going to school.

Then, there's still Alfred's punishment, which he hasn't quite gotten around to scheduling. He makes a final call to an old acquaintance, and after an explanation of the circumstances followed by a humble request for a favor, a settlement is reached, and Arthur is finally able to get back to his work with lighter shoulders.

At last, Alfred is going to learn a lesson he won't soon forget.

"We're going on a trip?" Alfred asks with irrepressible excitement as Arthur takes out a luggage bag and begins packing a set of clothes for the boy during the following weekend.

"Well, I have a bit of work to do here, but a friend of mine has agreed to show you around the fields. He owns a small farm outside of town, and I thought it might be a good experience," Arthur clarifies with a perfectly neutral expression. "I've already prepared a change of clothes for you. You can finish packing any items you'd like to bring along. Keep in mind it's only for a day and a half, so you should travel light."

Pleased with any excuse to be able to get out of the house and run around outside, Alfred is completely enthralled with the idea, rushing to gather his final belongings so they can leave as soon as possible.

After breakfast on Saturday, Arthur gets them into the car and drives the boy to the location, following a road through a cluster of sprawling hills. "Now, when we get there, I expect you to be on your best behavior. Feliks has been gracious enough to show you around, and I know you'll express your gratitude for his charitable offer."

"Uh-huh," Alfred says because he knows Arthur is waiting for him to agree. He's already imagining all of the cool stuff he'll get to do, especially since autumn is harvest season.

The drive lasts under an hour and as soon as the car is brought to a full stop, Alfred jumps out of the passenger's seat and lets his eyes roam over the golden fields, eyes shining with amazement.

Feliks comes out to greet them a few seconds later, a soft smile on his face. His blond hair is quite long and curtains the sides of his face, and he's wearing a sun hat, which makes him appear rather friendly and approachable.

Alfred holds out a hand to him and the man shakes it, introducing himself. "Feliks Lukasiewicz at your service. It's totally awesome that I finally get to meet you, Alfred. Arthur got me out of a tight spot once, and—anyway, that's all in the past now. Why don't you come inside? I've got some lemonade in the kitchen. Are you coming too, Arthur?"

"I have to be on my way, I'm afraid," Arthur declines. However, before he leaves, he rests a hand on Alfred's back and asks, "Will you be all right without me?"

"Yeah, of course!" Alfred assures, exchanging a very brief hug with him before running off in the direction of Feliks's house.

Arthur nods, a little sullen as he says, "I'll see you soon."

And then, Alfred finds himself sitting at a nice, oak table, sipping icy lemonade and listening to the birds chirp from outside, not even having the time to miss Arthur's presence. Feliks helps him get settled in by bringing his stuff up to the bedroom he'll be staying in, and then explains the location of other rooms throughout the house. He speaks very quickly, and although Alfred think it's because the man is eager to get back to work, he soon realizes that Feliks is actually quite loose-lipped by nature, and if left to his muse, can talk for hours without bothering to take a breath.

Once the formalities are out of the way, Feliks decides it's time to jump into some chores, and he enlists Alfred's help in the afternoon milking of two dairy cows. As a boy who has spent more time in the city than not, Alfred finds it to be a funny ordeal, and when he sits down on the milking stool next to a cow named Old Magdalena, he expects to make quick work of the task.

Contrary to his hopes, getting the milk out of the cow and into the aluminum bucket proves to be ridiculously hard, and even though Feliks coaches him through it and tells him to keep squeezing the udders without pulling on them, his hands start cramping up from the effort. After many errors, he ends up with a fairly decent amount of milk in his bucket, and he has to take a pause to wipe the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his arm. He turns for a second to look at Feliks's own progress, and just as he does, Old Magdalena gets restless and tires of Alfred's inexperienced hands. Unforgivingly, she kicks the bucket over with her back leg, looking quite pleased with herself when all of Alfred's hard work spills into the grass.

Feliks turns around, lets out an angry sigh, and says, "I should have warned you that she likes to kick. There goes our product."

"I'm sorry," Alfred mutters, cheeks aflame with humiliation. His first assignment, and he's already managed to mess up.

"Yeah, don't worry about it. It's not that bigguva deal, anyway," Feliks insists, even though the creases in his forehead seem to disagree. "Try to get a little more outta her, and we'll give it a rest."

And so, he does. Thankfully, he's able to avoid another incident, but the sting of embarrassment is still cartwheeling in his gut. After a while, Feliks gets up, reaches down to touch his toes and stretch his muscles, and says, "I'll let them graze for a while, and then I'll bring them inside to the barn. Why don't you get started on sweeping up the floors in there until then?"

Alfred nods his head and tightens his stance, determined to do better this time. He listens intently to Feliks' instructions before speeding off toward the barn and grabbing the nearest broom by the door.

The first thing that strikes him is how dusty and dry it is inside; he can see little bits of debris and hay floating through the air in the glowing sunlight. Also, the barn is bigger than it looks from the outside and that means it's going to take far longer to clean up than he thought it would.

Nonetheless, there's no room to complain. He doesn't want to make it seem like he can't handle this type of lifestyle. He can. It just takes some getting used to. Besides, if he decides to call it quits so soon, Arthur is going to hear about it, and then he'll have to listen to the old man gloat for days upon days (and perhaps even weeks or months) about how he was right yet again, and Alfred will have no choice but to surrender to fate and become a darn lawyer.

He starts at the end of the barn and works his way up to the double-doors, sweeping in wide, linear motions, and occasionally sneezing from the dust going up his nose. By the time everything looks satisfactory enough, his arms ache, his back is screaming for him to have a rest, and there's a new crick in his neck that he didn't have before.

Feliks brings the dairy cows inside and nods in approval at Alfred's work, which makes the entire effort worthwhile. Old Magdalena gives him a sideways glance and makes a deep, rumbling moo as she trots by as though she finds genuine pleasure in mocking him.

"Well, I guess I'll head back to the house and—"

"The house?" Feliks asks him, intrigued. "But we're not even close to being done for the day. We still have to deal with the chicken coop—gather eggs, carry out the feed, clean—and then someone has to take care of Ewka—the horse out back. She hasn't been fed or bathed yet. Then, we have to prepare dinner, and that means someone has to peel the potatoes and cook the pork."

Alfred swallows carefully around the stone in his throat and plasters a strained smile onto his face. "Oh, right, of course! Yeah! That's great! I was just kidding earlier about going inside. Ha-ha! I know there's tons of stuff to do. S-So let's get going!"

It is, quite possibly, the longest day of his young life.

Five o'clock on Sunday afternoon—that's when Arthur arrives to retrieve him. As soon as his car comes gliding down the gritty road, Alfred drops the sponge he's been using to scrub the stove and dashes outside, crashing into Arthur as soon as the man is out of the driver's seat and standing upright. He wraps his arms around his caretaker's waist and drops to his knees, beyond relieved to finally see him.

"You're back! I want to go home," he begs, bright blue eyes gazing up at Arthur with urgency. "Please, please, please take me home."

Biting back an amused smirk, Arthur cautiously pats Alfred's shoulder in a conciliatory manner and clears his throat. "What's wrong? You didn't enjoy your stay?"

"Everything hurts," Alfred complains. All of the fibers in his body seem to have been set on fire. "I wanna leave."

"But I thought this is where you always wanted to be—living off the land, admiring a spacious landscape, laboring in the fields…"

He knows where this is going, and he can hear the triumph in Arthur's tone. He lowers his head and frowns at the grass, hating to have to admit to being wrong. "Yeah, well, I can change my mind, right?"

Arthur's hand moves to his head and ruffles his unruly hair affectionately. And, admittedly, it's nice to be comforted and coddled after working nearly endlessly for over twenty-four hours. "Yes, I suppose so. We've learned something today, haven't we?"

"You tricked me," Alfred huffs, rising to his feet. "That's not fair."

"I didn't trick you. I merely showed you an unpleasant reality."

"It's the same thing."

Arthur doesn't hide his wry smile this time. He wanders off for a minute to thank Feliks for his "splendid hospitality" and, eventually, gets Alfred to personally thank him as well. Then, Arthur decides he has tormented the boy enough, and they get in the car, sitting in silence for a couple of heavy seconds until the engine rumbles awake.

"I'm sure you're enthusiastic about school tomorrow," Arthur murmurs, still smiling in an unsettling way. "And then, afterwards, you'll be helping Ms. Hedervary in her garden."

Alfred glares. "What? Why?"

"It's part of your punishment, of course."

"I thought being on the farm was my punishment."

"Yes, but that was only the first phase."

"You can't just keeping adding stuff on!" Alfred shouts, striking an arm out in front of him in disbelief. He's exhausted, sore, and in a horrid mood, which isn't proving to be a good combination.

Arthur's smile finally fades, and he says, quite firmly, "Your punishment will continue for as long as I see fit. Besides, it will do you some good to help out in the community. Elizabeta hasn't been feeling all that well as of late, and she could use a young gentleman to help her get back on her feet."

"What's wrong with her?"

"There was a death in the family—her aunt, if I recall correctly. I've already sent condolences on behalf of both of us, but she's understandably upset and still grieving. I want you to be very respectful, treat her plants with the utmost care, and make sure she has anything else she might need, all right?"

"Fine."

"Unless you want to return to Feliks and—"

"No, no, no!" Alfred insists, his voice going up by two octaves. Watering some flowers and pulling weeds is nothing compared to milking Old Magdalena, surely? "I'll help Ms. Hedervary."

"Excellent. Now remember, your behavior reflects on me as well. You're old enough now to be trusted with this kind of responsibility. If you ever want to be treated like an adult and respected by those around you, you must…"

It's the same lecture he's heard at least five times, and so, Alfred lets his eyes fall shut for a moment, intending to rest his stinging pupils, but the heaviness of sleep becomes too much to bear, and the last thing he hears is Arthur prattling on about strong morals and how abiding by one's word builds decent character.

School isn't so bad now that he gets to suffer through it with Toris. Fortunately, they have both acknowledged they're in this cesspool together and that makes all the difference in the world. Most of the school day consists of them coming up with crude jokes about their teachers or groaning and moaning about their ridiculous assignments. Now and then, they even manage to get some studying done together, but it often proves to be ineffective because they're both too easily distracted to get much work done.

Alfred finds it best not to think about school too much once his classes are over lest he starts making himself unnecessarily anxious over it. Funnily enough, tending to Ms. Hedervary's garden turns out to be a good way to clear his mind, and it gets most of the jitters out of his nerves after having to sit in a desk for the majority of his day. Arthur tells him he'll be a plant-sitter for two weeks, and he whines briefly about it just to assure the man that the punishment is working and that he's miserable.

The garden is small and relatively simple to manage, but the autumn air is starting to take its toll on the vibrancy of the plants. Soon, they will wilt, and no amount of trimming and watering will do them any good.

Normally, fixing up the garden takes no more than forty-five minutes. Then, he usually asks Ms. Hedervary if she needs help with anything else like doing the dishes or polishing the silverware. She never keeps him around for more than an hour and a half, for which Alfred is grateful.

That being said, the work proves to be interesting, mostly because Alfred learns more about Ms. Hedervary than he ever thought could be possible. The first shock comes on his first day of gardening, when he shows up at the woman's door with his hands behind his back, not knowing what to say but expected to say something.

"Hi, Ms. Hedervary. I'm sorry for your loss."

She blinks at him with grayish-green eyes, dabs at her cheek with a handkerchief, and insists, "Oh, don't worry yourself over it. I wasn't close to the damned hag anyway."

He's stunned, to say the least. If she doesn't care what happened to her aunt, why is she so upset? And why does he have to help her if she clearly doesn't need it?

But then, he realizes that Ms. Hedervary is, in fact, in a fragile state of mind, just not for the reasons he'd previously thought. The real reason for her being upset, he discovers, is due to a single individual who has been courting her extensively over the past week.

He witnesses this firsthand on his third day. He's caring for some pink tulips when someone comes strolling down the road, whistling a familiar tune and carrying a newspaper.

"Hey, Gilbert," Alfred greets him, thinking the man is just passing by.

"Hallo, squirt. What're you doing here?"

"Just helping Ms. Hedervary with some—"

"OUT, OUT! GET OUT!" Ms. Hedervary suddenly screams wildly, bursting out of the house with a dishtowel in her hand, purple with rage. "GILBERT BEILSCHMIDT, YOU ARE A VILE CREATION OF GOD."

"Well, it's a good thing I don't believe in him, huh?" Gilbert jokes with an air of what seems to be regret. "Lizzie, please…"

"I'VE TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Alfred doesn't know what the man has done to make her so livid, but he's not sure he wants to know anyway. Chances are it's an offense that's childish and/or foolhardy and only something Gilbert could be guilty of committing. He's always seen Ms. Hedervary in such a docile and friendly mood that witnessing her act demented and maddened with fury is downright disturbing.

"I wanted to say—"

"No, I don't want to hear a single word from you! Leave!"

"You see, this is the problem with women! You come to them with open arms and want to clear up any misunderstandings, and what do they do? They shout at you like they would at a dog!" Gilbert snarls, a tight scowl on his face. When he sees that his remark isn't garnering any attention from Ms. Hedervary, he whirls around and looks at Alfred, lips pinched together. "Don't get involved with ladies, kid. They're completely insane—all of them!"

Alfred forces his smile into a frown and tries to look serious. The last thing he wants is to make the man even angrier by laughing at his outburst. Ms. Hedervary, meanwhile, has already retreated into the house.

Gilbert sticks a cigarette in his mouth and bites down hard on the filtered part of it as he lights it, fingers trembling. "How much longer do you have to do this for?"

"Eleven days," he replies, sprinkling some water onto the tulips, taking extra care to make sure he doesn't accidentally drown them.

"Hmph," Gilbert snorts, taking a long drag of the cigarette and releasing a puff of smoke with a relaxed, whooshing sound. "Sorry, squirt. Arthur has been tough on you lately, huh?"

He thinks the question over and sighs, "Why can't you adopt me? Then you could let me work at Beilschmidt's Sweets, and I wouldn't have to go to school or eat Arthur's food."

"Oh, don't say stuff like that," Gilbert mutters quickly, taken aback by the sheer suggestion. "I'd be a bad father, and besides, Arthur takes way better care of you than I ever could. No offense, but munchkins aren't for me, y'know? I'm not that type of person."

"But I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Sure you are," Gilbert jibes, tapping excess ash off of the end of his cigarette and onto the sidewalk. "To me, you'll always be an annoying baby."

"Hey!"

"The truth hurts sometimes," the man adds as his obnoxious grin fades. He takes another look at the humble house and the array of tulips Alfred is crouching over, draws his unbuttoned coat closer to his body, and lets out a long, painful breath. "I'm outta here. Looks like I'm not welcome anyway."

However, none of this knowledge seems to deter the man because the next day, he returns with just as much passion and vigor as the day before. When his second attempt at getting Ms. Hedervary to speak to him fails, he tries again on the following day, and then the day after, and so on.

In fact, he visits the property on each of the eleven days of Alfred's punishment, and each time, Ms. Hedervary shouts vulgarities at him and kicks him out of the front yard with unquenchable acrimony.

On the last day, right when Alfred is collecting his bag of schoolbooks and preparing to leave the garden, Gilbert stares at him intently from the other side of the small, chain-link fence and asks, "Is she doing all right? Elizabeta, I mean… That's all I want to know. Does she seem happy?"

There's a desperate, despairing look in the man's eyes, and it dawns upon Alfred that he will have to lie to him because saying anything else will be lead to catastrophic results.

He stretches a smile onto his face and nods, struggling to look Gilbert in the face as he says, "Yeah, she's great! She's sewing a lot, playing with Budapest, and I think she said she's having some old friends come over to visit her in a week."

The part about the old friends is true, and although Gilbert is momentarily placated, he immediately jumps to more questions.

"Which friends? Did she tell you? Any guy friends?"

"I don't know. She didn't say."

"Oh… Okay," Gilbert concedes, fumbling around nervously for another cigarette. He slaps Alfred on the back and grunts, "Tell Arthur I said hallo and that the mailman screwed up our packages again. If he wants his copy of Cakes and Ale, he's going to have to come over and get it."

"I'll let him know."

Gilbert runs his tongue over his teeth and nods, "Good, good. If you talk to Elizabeta again, can you tell her—tell her I'd really like it if we could… Never mind. Forget it."

The man hurries off and turns the corner, and when he's gone, Alfred is left with a sinking, cold feeling in his stomach as though he knows something isn't right. He decides to tell Arthur about it when he gets home, and it's a good thing he does.