Arthur sat in the passenger's seat of Francis' Fiat, watching the towering skyscrapers crawl by at snail's pace. The two of them were on their way to the airport, Amelia and Maddies' flight scheduled to arrive in just a few short hours. Unfortunately for the two of them, so close after the holidays and the restarting of school meant that traffic was horrific, although, Arthur mused, it wasn't that different than the regular hustle and bustle of this vibrant city. Francis, much to Arthur's relief, had offered to drive them both to pick her up. Now they were stuck in noon traffic on a Sunday counting the number of tire rotations per minute on one hand. The Brit couldn't decide which was worse: the inconsistent drumming of Francis' fingers on the steering wheel, or the constant drone of the radio as it played song after song of top 40s hits that, to him, were all the same song with different lyrics.

"Do we have to listen to this station?"

he muttered, eyes focused on the long line of cars that stretched out to the horizon before them.

"Well, mon ami, there is a rule in my car that all unlikely passengers must follow: the driver controls the music. So as long as you sit in that seat, the radio belongs to me." Francis sounded just as bored as Arthur felt, face lighting up as he bridged a gap that was nearly ten feet in between his vehicle and the next. "Next time, when you offer to drive and get over your fear of driving on the wrong side, you can control it."

"It's not a fear, I just feel more…"

"Comfortable with me at the wheel? Oh monsieur, you flatter me."

Arthur's frown deepened.

"I was going to say that I feel it's more appropriate for you to drive your own car. You seem to have forgotten the fact that I don't have a vehicle here."

Arthur reveled in the face Francis' was pulling, as it was obvious that he had missed this major detail. At least that had stopped his finger tapping.

"I'm not saying you have to turn the radio off, I would just appreciate a little more variety than this dribble American's call 'variety'."

"You just have to learn to see past the surface to what they're really saying."

Arthur raised a brow, turning to face Francis fully.

"That they're all sexually deprived, attention-hogging, broken-hearted dreamers?"

Francis seemed to toy with that statement in his mind, deliberating so intensely that he had to be rudely reminded it was time to move forward again by the blaring of a horn behind him. He hissed out a string of French curses and clutched the wheel tighter.

"Oui. You could say that."

Arthur laughed and slouched back in his seat, thoughts wandering elsewhere.

Francis, spotting Arthur's subconscious change in expression out of the corner of his eye, smirked knowingly and turned down the dial on the radio.

"Since you do not wish to speak, why don't we have a little chat?"

Arthur's eyes rolled back over to his roommate, suspicious.

"A chat? I believe I'm all 'chatted' out from this weekend." He crossed his arms. "I don't think I've spoken with you in such lengths since I moved here to America."

"Ah yes," Francis retorted, "and a certain someone has helped keep you distracted from that, haven't they?"

Now Arthur sat up in his seat, staring at the Frenchman head-on.

"Are you referring to Amelia?"

"Of course I'm referring to her, mon cher. Honestly, what else would you say has kept your attention for so long besides your work?"

"Well there was that-"

"en tout cas, " he interrupted, annoyance ringing in his hasty words, "I was curious what you intend to do with her."

Arthur mulled over the statement, attempting to attack it from different angles (some more acceptable to discuss than others), and eventually settled on an interpretation he liked.

"As in the future? How I see myself in the future with her?"

"Oui."

"Well, I suppose that I could see our relationship lasting...I mean, longer than most of my previous relationships. Not that any of them were very long to begin with, but I feel like she's the kind of person I could see myself in a long-lasting arrangement….If she'd have me, of course."

Francis' eyes seemed to glisten at Arthur's response, eyebrows raised in intrigue.

"Would you say that it could lead to…"

"Don't say it." Arthur stopped him before he could finish, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. It didn't help that the barely audible radio whispered Francis' intentions for him.

Will you marry me.

"That's a topic far too deep for a jaunt to the airport, don't you think?"

he protested, shooting he man a warning glance.

"No better time than the present."

"Just keep your eyes on the road-Look see? There's the motorway we're looking for."

Francis merely continued wearing that proud smirk on his face, temporarily distracted from badgering his friend as traffic finally began to thin when they took the exit for the airport.

About half an hour (and roughly 12 arguments) later, the pair stood in the terminal awaiting the arrival of the missing member of their trio. Arthur had gotten to pacing, something he did when he was nervous or occasionally when he had run across a gold-mine in his creative thinking process. The plane was going to be late, they'd learned, due to the insurmountable cold that had swept over the entire nation. Arthur wondered how the hot-natured Amelia would fare when she returned from sand-and-sun to a polar vortex. Still, the important part was that she would be home. She would be with him.

Francis sat down on a nearby bench, watching the Englishman's circles with faint amusement until his ears perked up to the sound of heels clicking on the linoleum floor.

"ARTIE!"

Arthur's head turned so fast he nearly spun as a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves firmly about his neck. He stumbled back a few paces before catching himself and staring with some shock at the form of his beloved. How he'd missed her voice, her warmth, her smell-How he'd missed HER. It was in that moment he realized that this was the longest he'd gone without seeing her since they'd met at the tea shop, and particularly since she'd come to live with them over Christmas. He soon returned the embrace, lacing his fingers through her soft, golden hair as she buried her head beneath his neck.

"I missed you, SO much."

she cooed, hugging him tighter.

"I missed you too, Love." He pulled away slightly and took her face in his hands. "You won't believe what Francis put me through while you were gone."

Her bright laughter was like a long-forgotten melody, finding its way into the recesses of his brain and recalling only thoughts of comfort and love.

Francis stood back with Amelia's cousin, waiting as the two nuzzled noses and carried on like young lovers did. Madeline was a few years older than Amelia, but looked considerably younger with her wide-rimmed glasses and faded blonde locks. She had been born and raised in Canada, moving to New York to work for a firm there when she graduated from University. She easily could have passed as Amelia's sister, had it not been for the thick Canadian accent when she spoke-one quality among many that Francis found endearing about her.

"You know, " he started, putting a hand beneath his chin, "I could hug you as well if you're feeling left out."

The woman turned her almost violet eyes up to him in surprise, unable to hide the blush that came to her cheeks. She looked him over, scrutinizing him as her fists clenched bout her bag.

"I'd really rather if you didn't."

she replied pointedly, Francis's shoulders drooping a bit in response.

"Not even a kiss for good luck, belle?"

"Non."

Just then, Amelia burst back into the scene, dragging Arthur at her heels.

"Maddie, thank you for the wonderful time. I really needed something to get my mind off….things."

Thankful for her cousin's arrival, Madeline nodded cheerfully.

"Of course, Ami. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and it's the least I could do for what you've done for me…" she paused to shift her gaze between the two men at either side of Amelia, "Living with these characters."

Arthur ignored the jest as Amelia giggled and took Madeline in her arms. The women shared a few parting words, and soon his love was pacing beside him, holding hands and making their way to the parking garage. Francis turned out of the complex and began what was sure to be an arduous journey home. While they were stalled in a sea of cars, Amelia regaled her tales of white beaches and crystal-clear waters.

"And you should have SEEN the size of those fish! Some of them were even bigger than me!"

"Bigger than you, dear? Are you sure?"

"Okay, maybe not that big, but they were still big...and all colors of the rainbow. Oh Artie, we have to go back some day together-okay?"

Francis and Arthur shared a secret exchange of glances before Arthur cleared his throat.

"Y-Yes. Yes of course, Love. It sounds like a wonderful idea."

Arthur did his best to draw his mind away from his active imagination and sought to ask Amelia more questions about her trip.

"So were you able to finally relax while you were there? Knowing you, you probably worried about the people at the cafe." Arthur offered, turning in his seat to see the previous delight on her face fade swiftly into worry. "Amelia, did something happen?"

The car grew dead silent, Arthur watching Amelia's hands as the wrung the hem of her sweater, vision focused on the frozen world outside their window.

"It was great….Until about the middle of the week when I received an email." The pause was all the evidence he needed to conclude who it had been from.

"It was an invitation to the funeral. He says he and Grandpa got it all figured out and he didn't want to see the likes of a 'deserter' anyway." Her eyes closed, fighting back whatever range of emotions threatened to come through. "He still wants me to come back, Arthur. I don't know what's right to do anymore…"

Arthur was two sensibilities away from tearing off his seatbelt and jumping over the seats to join her in the back. He wanted to hold her, reassure her that everything would be alright, when in reality he had no idea if it truly was. The restraining order Francis had issued on "Nedanderthal Jones"-as he was so affectionately called- had recently been approved and by all legal standards he couldn't touch her. But that hadn't stopped him from sending threatening text messages, emails, or influencing what was left of Amelia's family that she was the definition of a traitor.

Despite this, Arthur did all he could, placing his hand gently on her knee to comfort her.

"It's alright, Love. You're home with us now and safe...Don't let it bother you. Come now, tell us more about the trip, eh?"

Later that night, the two lay side-by-side in bed, Amelia having fallen asleep long before Arthur from the exhaustion of travel. Arthur had turned to face her, watching her rhythmic breathing during the only time she could experience real peace. His mind had set him to wandering again. Finances had been tight for them all over the holidays, and with the spring season, it meant a lull in profits for them all. It was also clear that Ned was not going to give up on his quest to have Amelia guilt-tripped into returning, and would go to great lengths to do it. On top of all of it was the looming end-date for the proposition he'd made with his parents nearly a year ago. If he didn't have a publication, if he didn't have proof that it was worthwhile to stay in America an pursue his dream as a writer, he'd be cut off from his funding and be forced to return to England.

How could he leave the city he'd come to call his home, the wonderful friends he'd made, and above all the person he loved the most. Wasn't she reason enough that he should stay? But what was he really to her? If he couldn't even protect the things he cared for from being hurt, was he doing any good by staying? He sighed, reaching out to run his hand gingerly across Amelia's forehead. Her featured relaxed, curling herself closer to him until he conceded and wrapped his arms about her. It was in this small serenity Francis' words came back to him.

What did he intend to do with her?