I do not own Hetalia

I've changed the rating to M, not because I'm going to write something terribly explicit (I think) but because this chapter will have a atempted rape in it. I'm not sure if it's enough for a rating change, but you can never be to careful.

Chapter 6 Harris Morrison and Feliciano.

Feliciano hummed a little tune while he prepared a nice bowl of pasta for the two men who were still fast asleep. The brown-haired twenty-something youth knew that both men would be hungry after they would get up. Because Feliciano wouldn't be there to feed them his delicious and healthy Pasta when they awoke he figured he would put some of the breakfast he ate himself (pasta~!) in the fridge. Because everybody should eat pasta for breakfast, this was an absolute and utter fact.

He did.

The petite man smiled a little super-cute smile to himself while imagining his husband and his husband's brother scarfing down his creation. Even though they would both complain about Pasta not being something you ate in the morning, even though they would scoff at the fact that Feliciano had taken the time to prepare something, even though they would both miss him in the silent kitchen, they would still devour it.

Yes, they would certainly complain about his absence, though they should know by now that the Sunday morning was important to him, so very very important. He wasn't like all the others, he couldn't let the past rest, no matter how he little he had shared his friends –because they were friends, no matter what Romano, Loderich or anyone said- suffering, he still wanted to wake up insanely early on the Sunday morning and visit the graves of the ones that had passed on. So he wouldn't be back for a few hours; he always took his time to take care of the three graves. He just hoped that the grave far away in the USA was taken care of too.

Packing the pasta away, Feliciano grabbed his jacket and keys. He quickly glanced at the time (something over five) and smiled to himself yet again; Tino would probably be waiting for him, sitting in his small living room. Silently Feliciano padded through the living room in search of his shoes, finding them behind the fridge (How did they get there?), Feliciano hastily put them on and after pulling his jacket a little tighter around him, exited the house. The streets of London were still dark and quiet and they would continue to be for several more hours, the air was cold and fresh; he really loved this time of day. He didn't really know why; it wasn't the solitude; Feliciano needed, craved company and was easily scared when by himself. Still, Walking to Tino's house at five O'Clock made him feel peaceful and relaxed. Maybe it was because he and his grandpappa used to take long walks in the dead of the night and talk, talk.

But he really didn't want to think about his grandfather right now.

Before he knew it, Feliciano was standing before a familiar house. A small one, but the kind you just knew was cosy and peaceful inside. A house that radiated happiness and love, and how could this not be? Both Tino and Berwald were one of the nest, kindest, good people he had ever met. You would never guess their background if you would look at the two, you would never guess how they had spent their childhood, which obstacles they had to overcome to get where they were now. Yes, Feliciano couldn't imagine how it must have been, he had only been an outsider watching the suffering of the people he had seen as friends, learning how very unfair the world was, rage filling him when he heard Romano's condescending tone or Roderich's quiet disdain.

Shaking away his thoughts, Feliciano moved to the front door and lightly knocked. Not even a second later the door was opened by a sweetly smiling blonde who was a little smaller than him and was wearing an overly large nightshirt (probably Berwalds).

"Feliciano!" Tino exclaimed. "There you are; I was getting worried, you're a little late!" he then laughed. "Well, come in! Everybody's still sleeping, so please do be quiet."

"Off course!" Feliciano answered, happy walking inside the house and following Tino to the living room. "Sorry I'm late; had to make breakfast for my two strong ravenous men!"

"It's all right." Tino chuckled slightly. "How are they doing anyway? And you, how's married life treating you? I can't believe it has already been nearly four months!" Tino went the table where a big vase with beautiful flowers stood.

"It's great! I'm very happy." Feliciano's eye fell onto the flowers once again and he noticed that Tino was wrapping them up in paper. "Oooooh~! Tino those are gorgeous! Are those the one I'll be taking to Elizabeth, Emil and Francis?" They really were gorgeous, shining petals, blinding colours, a bright green ribbon holding them together.

Tino blushed, he always did that when complemented. Feliciano knew Tino had a very low self-esteem. "They were delivered to our flower shop yesterday evening, and Berwald said they would be the perfect ones to give with you…I…I added the green ribbon, I saw it on sale and the green… Doesn't the green remind you of Arthur's eyes? I thought…since we can't very well go all the way to his grave, maybe you could lay it by Francis's grave?"

Feliciano fought the watering of his eyes, but in the end that was futile; the dead of their friend Arthur had reached them some time ago in the form of Ivan, who always seemed to know everything, and all had been devastated. But by the time they had been notified, the blonde had already been buried and their goodbye had been taken away. Although it had been a long time they had seen the blonde, it was still sad to think that he had died.

Far away from them; far away from his past.

Maybe that was a good thing.

With the flowers in hand and one last wave to Tino, Feliciano went on his way. The walk to the graveyard was long, nearly twenty minutes, but it was a walk he never minded taking. On an occasion as this he'd rather take his time, instead of a quick visit by car. Only when the graveyard was already in sight did he speed up his walking.

It was slightly less dark when he finally arrived and the first birds were waking up. It was strange; the graveyard never looked eerily to Feliciano, which was weird; normally Feliciano was afraid of anything and everything.

The first grave he visited was Elizabeth's. It stood at a corner, a flower bed was right in front and a photograph depicting a beautiful brown-haired girl rested on the stone's shining black surface. He grabbed a bundle of flowers and lay in in front of the stone.

"Feliciano! Feliciano!" Elizabeth shouted, while grabbing both his hands in hers. "Let's dance!" She twirled him in sync with the music, the music she loved so much; the beautiful sound of a violin. "Roderich is playing, Feli! So let us dance!" She paid no heed to his stumbles and his muted protests and gripped him a little tighter. Moving her head a little closer to his, she winked and slyly smiled. "Don't you want to impress Ludwig?"

Second was Emil's. Feliciano wasn't surprised to see another figure there. They sometimes met on the Sunday morning. Since Feliciano always felt the need to go there on that day and Nikolas worked every day of the week except for Sunday, which he liked to spent talking to his little brother who could no longer answer him. They silently nodded at each other and Feliciano put the flowers on the grave. Muttering a quiet. "You should go home, Nikolas, it's getting cold." All he got was a little wave.

"Can I really?" the wide innocent eyes of the ten year old were heart breaking, but Feliciano managed to keep smiling, an encouraging smile while he grabbed the young boy's hand and pressed the big bar of chocolate in the boys awaiting palm. "Yes, you can, I saved it especially for you." That wasn't true; Romano had rejected the chocolate, saying it wasn't the right brand. " Now run off and don't forget to share with your big brother okay?" The smile he got in return was so full of happiness Feliciano had to blink back his astonishment and he once again couldn't understand how unfair the world really was. "Nikolas! Nikolas!" the boy ran to his brother, who looked up at emil's voice. "Look what I got from Feliciano!"

The last grave he always visited was Francis's, but when he got there Feliciano was surprised to see other people there, people he didn't recognize. Fuelled by his fear for everything and anything, Feliciano quickly jumped behind a nearby tree to better observe the trio who were standing there. All three seemed blonde, big, and tall. They were quietly staring at the grave and the smallest (still tall) one brushed some dirt from the stone.

Feliciano frowned; who were they?

Just like always, the answer came in the threatening form of Ivan.

Who was standing right behind him.

And when Feliciano walked home almost an hour later, he really hoped Ivan hadn't returned to his old ways. His hand clenched around the letter he had gotten from Ivan, just after he had told Feliciano that those three were currently trying to uncover Arthur's past. Ivan hadn't answered Feliciano's desperate question's why? Why would there be anything worth uncovering in Arthur's past?

"Did you hurt your ankle again?" Arthur huffed when Feliciano nodded, tears streaming down his face. "Come on, I'll bandage it up and next time you encounter those bullies again, tell me or Gilbert or something, we know exactly where to kick to make it really hurt a whole bloody lot." Arthur grabbed his arm and coaxed him onto a chair. Francis was standing next to him, a teasing smile on his face. "Ohonhonhon, Arthur dear, getting a little maternal there aren't we? So very, very" –PATS, French hand connecting to English ass-"cute!" Arthur's maternal mode vanished instantly and it was only a matter of time before he had two people to bandage up. "FRANCIS!"

Ivan had simply smiled and given him the letter, telling Feliciano exactly who he wanted it delivered to. Telling Feliciano he shouldn't be questioning Ivan, telling him it wasn't his concern, not really, how well had Feliciano really knew them?

The ones that had been out casted, ignored, looked upon with disgust.

Toris, Ivan, Berwald, Tino, Nikolas, Emil, Arthur, Francis, Gilbert and Elizabeth.

he had seen them as his friends.

Even though they mightn't have felt the same way.

It was rather anti-climactic, having visited Elizabeth's old house numerous times with no effect and with the stories circulating about her husband, to really stand face to face with the man. Alfred had rather expected a huge bulking evil guy, which intimidating presence would scare them all. That was the face he'd expect from a villain, because after all the guy had done to his older brother this Harris Johnson sure fit the criteria of a villain. Of course, it was the hero's job to kick the villain's ass and he would gladly do so. But still, the man that opened the door was not the one Alfred was expecting. He did not expect such a failure of a man; a sunken face adorned with a filthy yellow beard, dead and cold looking eyes, a huge budging stomach clad in a too-small wife beater littered with greasy spots. The man was obviously hung-over, huge bags under his reddish eyes, which blinked in pain when assaulted by the bright sunlight.

The man opened his mouth, which gave them all a nice few of the few yellowy teeth he had left, and acknowledged them.

"Whatcha want?" He barked, and only now did Alfred notice the smell.

Matthias took the lead, his voice tight and cold, unlike Alfred had ever heard before; not even when they had been talking to that awful witch next door. "We want to talk to you, Harris Johnson, regarding some personal matters."

Harris Johnson's hairy eyebrows shot up, right before they frowned in irritation. "Look, guy, I've got nothing to say to you, so why don't you fuck off?" Then the big, ugly, hairy man moved to close the door on them. Before Alfred could make a move to prevent the other man from closing the door Matthew had already moved; with a loud bang his heavy fist collided with the door, making it impossible to close.

"It wasn't a request." Matthias said stonily. "Now let us in, or else I'm going to knock this fist" The fist that was keeping the door open shook a little. "And give you exactly what you deserve."

The other man seemed to shrink away in surprise, obviously not very used to having to fight someone his own size, before the man looked Matthias over. Which, Alfred had to agree, was a pretty intimidating sight; Matthias had served a good amount of years with the police and had a background in the military, he was big, muscled and pissed-off. Alfred saw the fear creeping in the other guys face, before those same eyes shot to Alfred's own body; he was delighted to see that the same reaction was gained as Harris Johnson assessed him.

"Is that a threat?" The man's voice shook.

"Yes, it is." Matthias replied, locking his fierce eyes with other's.

No matter how unbelievable it sounded, the inside of the house was dirtier than the outside, which was quite a feat in and of itself. Every square inch was either covered in filthy clothes, pizza cartons or empty beer bottles. The big man went to sit in a big grey chair and motioned with his hand to the couch. Alfred was quite afraid he would get some creepy illness from sitting on the thing that maybe possibly had once been a couch, but after Matthew and Matthias went to sit down on it without any complaint, he –remembering he was the hero- dutifully followed.

"So what's this all about?" The man barked, obviously rather pissed he had unwelcome visitors on his couch. "Make it quick."

"We'll make it as quick or long as we'll damn well please." Matthias replied viciously and Alfred saw Matthew scoot away a little from their guardian, which was kinda understandable. "We're here to talk about Arthur, your step son."

"Arthur? Why would you want to talk about that kid?" The man coughed into his hand and all three blondes simultaneously backed away a little.

Matthias frowned. "We'll be asking the questions here, Harris Morison, not you."

Harris held out his hand in a defensive manner. "Okay, okay, ask away. He was 'Beth's son however, maybe you should ask her."

"We already did, she's not that coherent." Alfred said disdainfully. "Although seeing she's you wife, you should've known that."

The husband's eyes flickered to Alfred before he began to talk again. "Look kid, don't blame me, she was the one that left."

"To go to a mental hospital!" Alfred roared; he could still see the woman, who Arthur had probably loved, sitting there all alone, in that lonely hospital bed. "You're her husband, you should be there with her!"

"Our relationship was never good." The man argued, seemingly a little freaked about Alfred's angry expression and the two matching ones beside the blonde haired boy. "Sure, we were once in love, but eventually that withered. She was a dirty whore, could not stop herself in seeking attention from other men."

"Maybe because you were fucking ABUSING her!" Alfred shot up, hovering over the frightened man. "You sick bastard! Did she ever even stand a chance?"

"H-hold on, who t-told you this?" The man stammered and if Alfred wasn't so angry, he would've been proud at how scary he looked.

"It doesn't matter, YOU FUCKING ASS-" Matthias had grabbed him by the sleeve just as Alfred was about to slug the dirty bastard in his face. Furiously Alfred turned towards Matthias who was silently shaking his head.

Dang it, he had lost control again, why was it so hard for him to manage his anger?

"Care to explain the point Alfred just made, Harris?" Matthias said coldly, in a tone that was more threatening that Alfred's shouting had been.

"Y-yes, just keep that kid away from me." Harris regained his composure. "I was, and am, a drunk. She was more into drugs. Drugs and alcohol is a dangerous combination kid. I did things I couldn't control."

Matthias was unforgiving. "You're blaming this on alcohol? It was worse enough you hurt your own lover even after she started cheating, but how do you explain harming her innocent son?"

Harris Morison's eyes widened a little, sensing the absolute venom in the other's voice. "Arthur…Yes the boy, her son. I never meant to harm him, but he had too much of a heart."

"W-what?" Matthew spoke up, softly.

"He would always try to protect his mother, however little of a chance he had. That foolish lad, always trying to be a hero."

You hear that sound? That was the sound of three hearts breaking right there.

"H-he w-w-was trying t-to p-protect his m-mother?" Matthew whispered.

Harris nodded. "Always."

"But…he disappeared…" Alfred began, trying to make sense of the situation. "Did he run away? If so… how could he have left his mother behind…I mean," Alfred quickly explained when both Matthew and Matthias shot him a nasty glare. "I understand he was justified in leaving and I would not blame him for that, not when he was living with you." Que glare to asshole. "But what changed so that he didn't feel the need to protect her any longer?"

To all their surprise, the man began to chuckle. "That, dear guys, you can all blame on Elizabeth. Because even though Arthur did everything in his power to protect her, he would not receive the same courteously from her. Arthur didn't run away because of me, no, he ran away because his own mother betrayed him in the sickest of ways."

He was bloody infuriated, he was the laughingstock of the community! Yes again his girlfriend had been spotted by one of his buddies with another man. It was simply disgusting, the woman was lucky she was such a good lay because he would've left her long ago if she wasn't and he would take all his drug connections with him. Full of rage he knocked open the front door with his clenched fist and charged into the living room, where 'Beth and her thirteen year old son were sitting at the living table, the boy seemed to be in the process of trying to get the woman drink the cup of water he was gripping. His girlfriend was obviously extremely high, just as much as he was drunk at the moment. He stood a moment in the opening of the living room, Arthur looking warily at him and 'Beth sporting a dazed expression before his anger caught up with him again and he exploded.

"You filthy whore!" in two long strides he had her hair in a tight grip, wrenching her head back, so she was looking directly into his eyes. "How dare you make a fool of me!"

He pulled his fist back and collided it with her face, ignoring the loud "Mum!" from Arthur's direction. "Sleeping with someone else! You should only be with me, stupid slut!" He cried out, giving the woman who had snapped out of her daze and was screaming her long's out another good slap. She started crying then, crying and pleading telling him she hadn't cheated on him, telling him she was faithful. But he knew better, 'Beth was a lying snake.

He held her up by her hair and swing his fist back again, preparing for another hit. But before it could connect something held his fist back. Snarling he looked behind him, where Arthur was gripping his fist, screaming for him to stop hurting his mother.

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop hurting mummy!" The boy cried, like he had done so many times before, if Harris had been sober he might've actually listened to the boy, sometimes he did. Sure the boy was a nuisance and a brat but he sure was courageous. But not today, he was too blinded by his anger and the alcohol to listen to the pathetic thirteen year old gripping his fist. So he released 'Beth's hair to land a quick blow to the boy's cheek, which effectively made him release Harris's arm and tumble into the cabinet. Next he grabbed 'Beth's neck and forcefully guided her to the bedroom, she stumbled but he made sure she stayed upright. With a cry she fell face down on the bed and Harris was quick to pin both wrists with one hand, riding her skirt up with the other.

"I'll teach you who you belong to, dirty woman." He breathed into her ear. "I'll make you fucking never forget!" The body below him stiffened before starting to writhe under his touch.

"No, let me go! Harris, let me go!" She screamed, her fear overriding her high. He paid no heed to her words and was about to unbuckle his belt buckle when thin arms wrapped around his neck and a small body jumped on his back. "No! Let her go!" Arthur screamed, anger loudly in is voice. "Get off my mum!"

Stumbling, because the arms were constriction his air supply, he raised himself up and ran backwards, colliding his back and Arthur with the wall, one, two, three times before he felt the boy's hold falter. Harris felt Arthur slide from his back and when he turned the boy was laying on the floor clutching his ribs. "You stupid kid," Harris wheezed, rubbing his aching neck. "Ungrateful little BRAT!" His foot collided with the other stomach to underline his words. Arthur coughed and spluttered, but still tried to stand up, slowly very slowly, he managed to move on his knees. "Please," he begged. "Don't hurt her."

He merely scoffed and turned back to 'Beth who had turned herself around and was clutching the headboard on either side of her. "Stay back!" She screamed, hysterical. "Stay back, don't you touch me!"

He slowly crawled up to her and put both hands on her shoulders. "It's just sex, 'Beth, nothing we haven't done before, isn't it?" he tried to sound gentle, but it came out in a growl. "Just a little reassurance of my dominance."

"I don't want to." She sounded frightened and started trashing.

"It's just sex, nothing you haven't done before." He bend to kiss her neck, she stiffened, gripped in terror, yet he couldn't make himself care.

"If it's just sex you want…" She began, her voice panicky and strangled . "Then take Arthur and leave me alone!"

His head shot up just as a gasp was heard behind him. "What?" He asked dumbfounded.

"You can have him, all of him! Just leave me alone! Just release me, please!" She sounded hysterical now, the voice of a madwoman and for a moment he couldn't recognize the woman who he had met many years ago, who had introduced her young son with a proud smile upon her face. He just saw a crazy woman, mind destroyed long ago by alcohol, drugs and the misery of life. A woman who would sacrifice her own son, just so that she could stay with the man who provided her drugs. A woman who would offer her son to a rapist.

"Mum…?" A small voice spoke behind him and he turned wide-eyed around. Arthur was still on the floor, on his knees and he was looking at his mother as if he was seeing her for the first time. "W-what are y-you saying?"

"Take him!" The woman in his hands spat. "He's just a bastard with a father who abandoned us! Leave me alone! Take him!"

Angrily, his arousal completely vanished, he turned back toward the woman and clogged her in the face, her head snapped to the other side and she let out a small whimper. For once, Arthur didn't protest. "What do you think I am? Some paedophile? Dear god, woman, I don't want your son!"

"He's young! Just try…!" He slapped her again and she sagged lifelessly into the bed, unconscious. After that, he turned around a second time, looking towards the broken boy who was still staring at his mother like he couldn't believe it. And how could he? After all those years that boy had protected, cared, for his mother. How could've she betrayed him like that?

"Kid…" Harris began, anger had long ago flooded out of him, making place for astonishment. " Kid, you okay?"

Arthur shot to his feet, almost immediately whimpering and doubling over, clutching his ribs. "It's your fault!" He yelled. "You made her say that! Didn't you, you doesn't, she doesn't mean that!" tears were flowing freely now, his breath was hitching and his words chocked gaining a hysterical edge.

"Kid, I didn't." Harris spoke softly, stepping from the bed and reaching for the boy. Arthur's face seemed to crumble into aguish, before he realized how near Harris truly was, fear exploded into his eyes and he quickly backed away. "D-don't come near m-me!" He screamed, suddenly terrified. Harris scoffed and continued to move forward. "Kid, I'm not going to hurt-"

A hand slapped his, which was about to land on Arthur's shoulder, away. "Don't come near me!" Harris frowned his eyebrows, slightly annoyed; he wasn't going to do anything, the boy should calm down. He let both his hands fall heavily on the boy's shoulders and looked down, in those confused and terrified green eyes. It seemed like the boy truly believed he would do something so incredibly despicable, something even he wasn't capable off. He knew he wasn't the best person in the world, knew that he was abusive, he knew he was a drunk, he knew he sometimes forced 'Beth to do things she didn't want to. But even so, even if he was rotten and bad, he still had some compassion in him. And even though he yelled at the boy, even though he sometimes hurt him, Harris would never, ever touch him like that.

Even he, with all his faults and shortcomings, wasn't that evil.

He tightened the fierce grip on the boy's shoulders, not paying attention on the boy in front of him who stiffened. Memories of his own childhood flashed before his eyes. Because every drunken, rotten, despicable person had their own sad story to tell and Harris Morrison was no exception.

But why should the boy believe him? Why should Arthur believe he wouldn't do that? He had seen it be done to his mother, he had witnessed incredible cruelties by just watching some of their neighbours. Arthur didn't trust him and Harris could hardly fault him for that. Who could the boy really trust now, when his own mother had uttered such words of betrayal. Harris knew, he knew how much the boy had loved his mother. He had seen it every damn time the woman was too drunk or high to take care of herself. And now, Arthur couldn't possibly trust the one person he was supposed to depend on.

The boy was just like Harris once was; alone, defeated, afraid.

With a strong tug Harris pulled the boy toward him, making Arthur collide with his chest and he wrapped his strong arms around the boy, hunching over him and laying his head on top of the boy's. Although Arthur was frantically trying to get out of the embrace he still managed to lightly stroke Arthur's hair. Harris embraced the boy who he had never truly loved, feeling a connection, feeling a sense of camaderie. Feeling that the boy was someone he could understand, someone that could understand him. Feeling a sudden longing, a longing to be understood.

Feeling a strange sensation in his lower abandon.

They both stiffened at the same time. Both in mortification; Harris Morrison because he was betrayed by his own body, because it wasn't right his body reacted like that. Arthur, because he could feel it, he could feel his greatest nightmare, the destruction of his pride and dignity drawing near. After that single moment, where they were both frozen in absolute horror, the world unfroze again and Arthur doubled his attempts to get out of the other man's embrace.

"No, no! Let me go! Let me go!" The boy started to yell. "Please!"

Harris struggled to keep the boy close to him, he had to explain to Arthur, he had to explain that he wasn't like that. That he would never…! "No, Arthur, it's not what you th-AH!"

It hurt.

The little brat had kicked him in the balls.

The pain was blinding all-consuming and excruciating; the boy had a good kick and he had chosen a painful place; his feelings for remorse and the new connection he had felt didn't disappear within his resulting rage, but they did wither, as his inability to control his temper once again took over his entire being. His rage that was fuelled with the disdain for his own life, filled with the disgust he felt for his wife for betraying her son, just like his parents had betrayed him so long ago, rage against himself, because after all he had been through, after all that he had promised himself not to become; that one kick, so well placed and vicious, reminded him of the fact that he had become the very person he had hated all his life, the one person he had never wanted to become.

Because he had been like Arthur, he once had been the one to escape his tormentors with such a same kick; and now he had become what he feared the most.

And he could not stand it, he had to deny it.

Fuelled with bitterness, betrayal and fear, he could not control himself.

Red painted his vision, he remembered grabbing an arm, he remembered a voice crying out as a body his the wall. He remembered his hands, curling around a delicate neck. He remembered a chocked sob, a gasp of breath and liquid green eyes. He remembered Arthur, with his last breath, screaming for help, screaming for the one person he believed would help him.

"Francis!"

That frightened voice snapped him out of his rage, that pitiful little wheeze, uttered so hopefully made Harris realize he was doing something very, very wrong. That voice screaming the name of the spoiled Bonnefoy's child, that naïve, spoiled, egoistic little brat. Harris eyes took in what he was doing; he had Arthur pinned to the wall, his hands around the neck and the boy feet were in the air, his eyes misty and expression full of fear. With a startled shock he released the boy and took a shocked step away from the boy who had fallen and was wheezing on the ground, trying to distance himself from the monster he had so surely become.

"No…" He whispered, but his voice was barely audible over Arthur's violent coughing, the red streams on his neck painfully obvious. "No… I-I didn't…"

I didn't mean too.

How ironic, it were the same words his own father used to utter.

He took another step back, his eyes wide, he had been on the verge of killing the boy, he knew it. He had gone too far. The boy in front of him slowly regained his breath, but he still looked woozy and disorientated. Harris was just about to help the boy when Arthur shot on to his feet and dashed, while almost tripping a few times, to the door. Harris had not been expecting this and was just a little too late to grab the boy's arm and make him stay, make him lie down, make it better. No he was too late and the frightened boy sprinted past him, past the bedroom door, into the living room. Harris went into pursuit, he didn't think, he just knew that he had to catch the boy, he knew something fundamental within their family, because they were a family no matter how sick, had changed.

So he dashed after him, followed him into the living room and into the hall. He was quicker; he had longer legs and Arthur was still disorientated from his recent lack of oxygen. The head start Arthur had was beginning to lose momentum and by the time Arthur reached the front door and pulled it open, Harris had already grabbed the kid's other arm.

"Francis!"

Harris was momentary stunned by the volume the name was called and violently Arthur managed to pull his arm free, just barely, and knock Harris back a few steps. Arthur then ran through the door, slapping it closed right into Harris's face who had immediately tried to follow again. Angrily he opened the door and ran outside too, he just saw a little glimpse of a staggering Arthur a few steps away before something hard connected with his stomach, a flash of the brightest blue the only warning.

Harris fell to his knees and grasped his stomach, before he could do so much as look up the same hard thing connected to his back, making him fall face first onto the ground. He coughed, and blood came from his mouth. His vision began to blur and the last thing he saw before he passed out was wooden baseball bat lying innocently on the ground- the words 'pour mon beau fils' barely visible on it's dirty surface- and two figures running away, one slightly smaller than the other, hand clasped tightly together.

After that Harris never saw his step son again. 'Beth didn't remember the ordeal, she had been under the heavy influence of drugs, and when he told her what she had done… She was absolutely heartbroken. She screamed and cried and fought with him. They waited but both knew the boy wasn't coming back and maybe that was for the best; with him as a father and 'Beth as a mother, he reckoned he was saver on the street than he was with them… So they lived their life, 'Beth's drug abuse worsened, they were unhappy, were disgusted with each other, sometimes even hated each other. But if they were together, it meant that they weren't alone, their relationship was the only thing they had accomplished. So Harris and 'Beth stayed together and eventually married. Not for love, but simply because it was convenient. After the ordeal the day after Arthur had run away, they didn't talk about Arthur anymore. It wasn't that surprising that nobody questioned the boy's disappearance; the whole neighbourhood didn't care about anyone but themselves and the police in charge of the area couldn't be bothered by it, as corrupt as they were.

Nobody asked, nobody. Not even the neighbour's boy, who had been a sort-of friend of Arthur's and who Harris suspected had knocked him down with the baseball bat. Harris had the sneaking suspicion the French boy knew exactly were Arthur had disappeared to, but he didn't ask. The conditions which they had met the last time hadn't been very favourable for him and he didn't want to stress out 'Beth any more than she already was. Harris knew something was wrong with her; it seemed like her mind was stuck in a downward spiral, first she experienced massive mood swings, next she started to forget stuff, she became really dependent on him, and finally after a few times she overdosed, nearly killing her in the process. She stopped speaking at all.

And then, eight months after Arthur disappeared, Kirkland came.

Harris had seen pictures of him, of course, as well in Arthur's bedroom as in the photo book stashed away behind the refrigerator. It were happy pictures, a happy family. Arthur was in those pictures, still very, very young but with a smile on his face that could light up the world. He was clutching the hand of a man, a man with a slender physique and deep brown eyes, his hair either a deep red or a dark brown. Yes he had seen the pictures Arthur would so adoringly look at, the pictures the boy had been able to save when his mother had gone to a rampage after the man had left her, burning all the other reminders of the man whose last name Arthur still wore. From the little information he had picked up from the neighbourhood as well as 'Beth in the beginning of their relationship (when everything was far less violent) Kirkland had come into 'Beth's life when Arthur had only been about two years old. The man was at least ten years older than her, but his once picture perfect life had gone to ruin after his business went bankrupt and his wife crushed him in a devastating divorce, taking everything from him; his house, his money, his life and his sons. It had been under these circumstances that the two met and fell in love. From what Harris had heard, the marriage had been happy, they had all been happy with each other, until Kirkland suddenly left. That was what 'Beth told him anyway, that the man just left out of the blue, leaving his loving wife and step son behind. Harris doubted that 'Beth didn't have anything to do with his disappearance; he had heard enough rumours and had enough experience with 'Beth's adultery to believe other ways. It didn't really matter, anyway, what did matter was that from Arthur's second year till his seventh, he had been loved by this Kirkland fellow. What mattered was that the man had obviously thought Arthur was still safe and sound with his mother, who had been a terrible wife, but never a terrible mother. Because Harris knew, before 'Beth became so terribly addicted, she had been a sweet and devoted mother. This was probably the reason why Arthur had loved her so much.

Kirkland came to visit, his reasons were unknown to Harris, but he came nonetheless and Harris was not ready.

Not ready at all, because at the end of the day, he didn't want his 'Beth to leave him.

Letters to you.

Francis,

Please come get me.

Arthur.

I hope you enjoyed; please review!

BTW, I'm sorry for the long wait.