Disclaimer: We've established I don't own APH.

Author's Note: I just jammed on my keyboard randomly for the French, it's not supposed to make sense, the point is that it doesn't. If I actually managed to get a real French word in there, I think I deserve a pat on the back..

Anyway, enjoy.

"You git! I would never! With a mere child! He is but a boy!" Arthur huffed, steaming in anger. The man muttered something in a foreign language that I couldn't understand, and kissed his cheek. "I'm going to go blow a fag." He pushed his way past the Frenchman and sat on the porch; the smell of a burning cigarette potent in the air.

The attention was turned to me then, a casual grin flashing my way. I cringed inwardly, but I regarded him coldly, not really wanting to see him.

He spoke in a different language, one that always sounded persuasive, no matter what you were saying. It was annoying, like he was trying to get you to do something all the time; and you never knew what. His voice was almost like a physical caress, one that made you shudder and flinch away. I only ever registered half of what he said, ignoring everything in the foreign language.

He left for much longer periods of time, and the over the top amount of love he showed me, made me sick. I was never sure why I resented him so much. No, I was. His love made me sick, made me ill with hate, annoyance, jealousy. Yes...No...It had to be that. That had to be the reason for it. The love, the affection, everything he was to Arthur, everything he was to Mattie. Everything. I couldn't stand it, the way he showed me affection. It was affection I never got from Arthur, and every little exposure made me greedy...made me angry. Made me want such love from Arthur, made me long for it more.

I kept a cold distance to Francis, apparently too caught up in this mantra to even notice he had already made his way over to me.

His hand on my shoulder made me flinch, and I shot him a glare. A false hurt flashed across his face, and soon enough he was putting hair from my face, that grin continuously plastered on his.

"Sit and talk, non?~" And then there was something in French, which I missed, like so many times before.

I let him pull me to the porch with no protests. Arthur was no where to be found, I guess I had assumed he had gone to buy more cigarettes. I found myself being seated on the step, and more slurs of French spoken to me. I kept myself quiet as I felt his hands through my hair, not used to the feeling from hands other than Arthur's. He began humming softly, and I momentarily wondered what the tune was, but ignored as when he started singing, it was in French...something about a salamander? I'm not entirely sure. For some reason, I had started to daze off again.

I quickly snapped back into reality as his words slowly morphed back to English, but I couldn't quite focus, my brain still muddled with confusion as I realized the effect his hand was having on me. His hand shifted to my neck and my breath hitched; my whole body rigid in a pure feeling of nervous. His finger traced a small scar on the back of my neck and my eyes widened, pain flooding my brain as my body remained still.

His hand stayed there and I heard him say more, ignoring it because I believed it to be in French. Another repeat and I realized it was English, it had been English the whole time. He repeated himself, more slowly, as the finger continued to trail the small scar.

"Where did you get this-rtybku?" More French that didn't register. Just random muddled sounds that didn't seem to make sense.

I smiled lifelessly, no real meaning behind it. How could there be, how, when speaking to this man?

"Where? When I was playing in the leaves. There are sharp sticks in the piles. Arthur tried to warn me, but I didn't listen."

Yes, Arthur had warned me of something that day, only, I wish I could remember what he had warned me about. I had screwed up, again. I wasn't sure how, but I just know I had to have, otherwise Arthur wouldn't have hit me hard enough to let it scar like that. He was always so forgiving, I vaguely still wondered how bad I had been that day to deserve the scar.

He smile quickly turned to a small frown, and his hand ran through my hair again. I froze, eyes closing as I drew in a sharp breath.

"Are you sure that is how you got this scar, peopit?" More French words that didn't register. His finger ran across it again and I bit my lip, desperate to keep my sanity in it's place, and him out of my business. "You are left here with Arthur alone for days...weeks...and I noticed you are not walking very straight, monpoet..."

More words I didn't understand.

"...could it be perhaps your eyesight is failing you?"

I turned and smacked his hand away from me. He had been here for mere hours, and he was already in my business?

"Are you saying Arthur has been hurting me?" I yelled. I finally understood why Arthur never wanted me alone with him. He was terrible, trying to suggest that Arthur would just...hurt me.

"Calm down, rtiyu." More of that damned French. "I was only asking, I do not mean to imply anything about our dear Arthur. I only wanted to be sure of your saftey."

He tugged on my arm, trying to get me to sit back down, but I refused, wrenching my arm away. "I am perfectly safe." I gritted the words out through clenched teeth, furious that he could believe Arthur was hurting me. Any time Arthur had touched me, it was for my own good.

Reward and punishment. Arthur followed these rules, and it was my fault which I got, every time. He had no right to accuse Arthur of anything, and the fact that he would made me boil over with such anger, I couldn't even fathom it.

He had been right about one thing though. My eyesight. It wasn't any good, and I was struggling to see straight, to walk, to do my basic tasks.

Like storming away in anger.

I tasted blood, and felt would against my cheek, then my arm, my chest, my stomach, my leg, every part of me hit the stairs as I crumbled downward; cursing myself for not being able to make out the distance the stairs had been from me.

I vaguely heard screaming, though I wasn't sure from whom. My own thoughts became muddled with a thick French accent, only to be overthrown by that of a very angry Englishman...when had Arthur even arrived?

A red spot flashed before my eyes before the opened quickly in fear, only to discover it was merely the spot of blood on my wall. The one I was too small to reach. I sighed, leaning back against my pillow, the same one that never seemed to lose it's fluff.

It took several seconds for me to register that I was in my bed, instead of out on the porch with Francis.

I stayed still, realizing that was my best option, only turning my head when I heard the door creak open, Arthur's frame slowly coming into focus.

"Alfred?" The sound of his voice made me smile, and it didn't go unnoticed, the man quickly coming to my bedside and kissing my forehead. "Alfred, I have news."

My head tilted in confusion, what knews could there have possibly been for me?

"We're going to war Alfie." My heart melted at my nickname, the thought of war lost in the warm feeling. He followed with something about France rallying indians. Something about why we needed to go to war.

I didn't care, I'd support Arthur any way I could of course, and I would fight for him if he needed me to. "...I can't let him hurt you again...so I'm making him leave here forever."

That was all I caught before I drifted back to sleep, my whole body hurt, and my body just lulled into sleep without my knowledge to rest it. I knew I was going to war with France, and that's all the orders I needed if they were coming from Arthur.