The second chapter has arrived! I know, I know. You're all incredibly thrilled. Just try to contain your excitement.

This chapter is dedicated to my lovely reviewers who made me oh so happy with my first fic ever: MJFastlane, Demolition-GIRL-33236, blitzkreig50889, and AzikaRue394! Thanks a bunch!

Oh, and also to Darkened-Storm who put this story on her alert list!

It was a long ride from the court house and when they finally got home, the raining hadn't stopped.

Oliver had woken up when they pulled into the long driveway of his family's enormous mansion, and ran inside and upstairs and as fast as possible. The running was partially due to the rain, but mainly it was to avoid any questioning from his overly-concerned mother. He then changed out of the annoying 'fancy clothes' and into something more comfortable. Then it was back downstairs in search of Enrique, who Oliver knew would listen and understand his side of things.

His search (and his hunger, for he hadn't eaten anything since that morning) led him to the kitchen. The kitchen was his favorite place in the entire house, he enjoyed helping the cooks and learning what he could.

He found the blond in here—talking to one of the maids. One of the young, pretty maids.

Oliver smiled slightly at his friend's antics and hurried over.

"Hi Enri! I'm back."

Enrique turned to acknowledge the Frenchman's presence. "Hey Oliver! What took you so long?"

Oliver shrugged. "Adults talk a lot. I'm hungry..."

The maid smiled and told them she had to get back to work. She just couldn't get over how cute those two were!

The boys then ran off, after a snack of course, and climbed the stairs. They went straight to Enrique's room, talking the whole way. The two then sat themselves on his bed, facing each other.

"So then even though I wasn't supposed to go, they took me into the room alone to talk to my mom's attorney and two other people." The French boy stated, explaining the events from the court house.

"Were they nice?" His companion questioned.

"Well they were trying to be...they were all smiling at me when I came in. But that really only made it worse."

"Ew. Grown-ups can be such creepers..." Enrique said, echoing Oliver's earlier thoughts completely.

Oliver smiled again. He had known his best friend would understand, Enrique never failed to cheer him up.

"Yeah," the smaller of the two went on, "Then they were asking me all these questions...I had to tell them about you, they also wanted to know about what we did with mum and dad and what we normally did in a day..."

The Italian pulled a face, "Like I said, adults can be such freaks. No wonder they complain about being old." He paused, then continued, "Although, I can see why they would want to know about me." This was accompanied by a charming smile.

Oliver had a small smile of his own at this, but it faltered when he remembered the other questions that had been asked at the meeting.

Enrique noticed this, although the green haired boy tried to hide it by looking down at Enrique's comforter.

"What is it Oli?"

"Well...then they asked if mum and dad used to fight a lot, I said yes. Then they wanted to know what the fights had been about...and I—well I—" Oliver broke off suddenly. He concentrated on the comforter, tracing the pattern with his finger. His gray-lavender eyes had begun to water again.

"Hey," Enrique spoke gently, "It's alright, what's wrong?" He didn't like seeing his best friend sad, and he'd been seeing that a little too often lately.

Oliver was silent for a while, then he said, "I don't think I told them anything...but I do actually know what the fights were about."

Enrique frowned. He too knew what the fights had been about, and he'd always wondered if Oliver was taking these fights to heart. It seemed he was.

"They've always been about me. What's best for me, what I should do, what I shouldn't, if I should eat this or that, whether I'm old enough to give myself insulin or check my own blood sugar....You know I can already do all that and make those decisions on my own."

The blue-eyed Italian nodded. "I think your parents know that, too. They just worry about you and want what's best for you."

Oliver just sighed. "Yes, but the point is these fights are my fault." His voice was incredibly sad.

"How?"

The Frenchman sniffed, "I'm the one with diabetes! And that's all they ever fight about—" He broke off again, the tears were threatening to fall again and he feared that if he kept talking they would fall.

Oliver tried to calm himself some. "I just...really wish things could be the way they used to. I wish that day had never happened—that I never got diabetes."

Enrique hated the fact that Oliver blamed himself for all this. He wanted those things too, but everything happened for a reason. Oliver's parents had explained that to him after he had met his parents. Yes, met.

Soon after he'd been born, Enrique's parents had dropped him off in France with a close friend on their way to a conference. They were completely 'dedicated' to their work and the only reason they'd had a kid was probably so they'd have someone to inherit all that money they worked so hard to inherit themselves.

Oliver's parents had raised him and he'd always loved them—much more than his own parents. When he'd turned four, that's when his parents finally got time to see their son again. This was also about six months after Oliver had been diagnosed with diabetes.

He'd flown to Italy and gone home for the first time since his birth. He would only get to spend a few hours with them and had been really looking forward to it.

It was a major disappointment, to say the least. His parents hadn't gotten there on time, in fact they were a good three hours late. Enrique had spent the time sitting in alone in the living room. When they arrived, they weren't exactly overjoyed to see him as one would expect.

They had barely spoken to him and what they had said hadn't been what they really should've. They'd asked him how he was and all that, then they had to go and unpack—only to get ready for another trip they were leaving for the next morning.

Enrique had only received a fleeting hug from each of them before they were gone again, and he escorted back to Paris.

Needless to say, the boy was in tears the whole way back. He'd run into the Boulanger's mansion where he was consoled to the point of talking and comforted by the people he now considered his real family.

Oliver's parents had then taken him aside and spoken to him. They'd promised everything would get better and had told him that everything happened for a reason. They said that they would always be there for him, when his own parents weren't.

The Italian remembered darkly, though, that that night, Oliver's parents had gotten into another fight.

Sitting here now, Enrique realized that if events hadn't played that way he wouldn't be here to help his best friend through this.

As he thought these things over, he watched Oliver carefully. When he saw a tear make its way down the French boy's face, he decided he should speak up.

"Oliver, listen to me."

Oliver looked up for a second, then went back to looking down.

"I can't say I really understand all of this, but I know it's not your fault. You didn't choose to get diabetes. You didn't ask your parents to fight. And I know you did not want this to happen. But if you ignore everything else I say, I at least want you to remember this: Everything happens for a reason."

His best friend said nothing, but Enrique sensed he was about to object somehow. He decided to drop it for now. "It'll be okay....Now, how about we go do something a little more fun?"

Oliver was clearly grateful for the change in subject and visibly brightened some. He nodded, drying his eyes. "Alright, what do you wanna do?"

"How about we go 'create an annoyance' as I think your mom called it last time."

This earned Enrique yet another small smile, and it saddened him some to think that small smiles were all his friend could manage for now.

The two hopped off the bed and ran into the hall, then bounded down the stairs in search of a way to 'create an annoyance.'

"I'm just a little worried about how all this is affecting Oliver, he hasn't been himself at all lately."

A few floors up, Mrs. Boulanger was in her room, pacing while talking on the phone to a friend of hers who just happened to be Scottish.

"Well I do expect it's come as a bit of a shock to him." Said a surprisingly unaccented voice. "Actually, I've just been thinking about that...I think I might have some ideas about why this is affecting him so much."

The French woman paused her pacing, "And?" she invited the other woman to go on.

"There are several possible reasons. First it could just be the awkwardness of the situation, or it could be that he misses his father. But the latter seems unlikely because they see each other a lot. Another, very common thing it could be is that he might think this whole thing is his fault. It's common for children of divorced parents to feel that way, and the fact that what you two fought about always had something to do with him."

Antionette Boulanger ceased her restless pacing and sat on her bed. "That never occurred to me...I hope that's all it is, it'll be an easy fix...I hope." she was relieved to finally have some idea about what was bothering her son. Now she could talk to him and clear things up.

"Oh, this whole thing is such a mess!" She exclaimed, "How do you know so much about these things?"

"Well An, when you're a psychiatrist they train you to know these things. Although I can't say it's helped with Johnny much." Kristen McGregor replied.

"I suppose it would help to be a trained professional. How are things with Johnny these days?" The French woman, like her son, was eager to forget the day's events.

There was a sigh from the other woman. "I'm afraid we've run into some trouble of our own...."

Her French correspondent was instantly concerned. "What's happened?"

"You remember that terrible accident about a year back Antionette?"

Mrs. Boulanger nodded, then remembering her friend couldn't see her said, "Oh yes! I'd have to say that's the absolute worst thing that can happen to a person! Let alone one so young..."

"Well I'd have to agree with you there, but you see the thing is—I told you about how Johnny isn't taking this well at all, so I had some people try and help me get him to talk about it, didn't I?" The Scottish woman wanted to be sure her friend had all the facts.

"Yes of course you did...how's that going?"

"That's just it! It seems everyone's given up on my boy! I mean we're still trying, Don and I, but he doesn't trust us enough! We've tried everything, but his behavior is simply too much for them to handle, and like I said, he won't let us try and help him! It gets worse every time one of them leaves...some have taken extreme measures to get away from him." Kristen ranted slightly, obviously worried.

"Well that's just horrid! How are you going to work this one out?" She couldn't believe no one wanted to help the boy. Sure he'd had some really bad nightmares along with a horrible attitude since the accident, but surely someone could get past that and help?

"Actually, I may have thought of a solution."

Antionette wasn't surprised. Her friend had a knack for finding a solution in a seemingly impossible situation. "That is...?"

"Well I figured someone his age might be able to understand more and help him better. He also might trust them more." The Scotswoman answered almost immediately.

The other woman was a little skeptical though, "Are you sure you want a young person around Johnny? It might do them harm themselves. And besides, who are you going to find who's willing to send their child into that mess?"

The Scot had an answer to this as well, "Well, I'm counting on the fact that he might not be so harsh with them. I called the Jurgens, they're going away on business and don't like the idea of leaving their son home alone."

Now this surprised the Frenchwoman. "I didn't know they had a son! What's his name?"

"You didn't know? His name's Robert and he just turned eight last month as a matter of fact!" Kristen sounded equally surprised.

"Wow, I suppose I've been out of touch with them for longer than I thought...in fact, I probably wouldn't have started calling you again if it weren't for the combination of Johnny's accident and this divorce!"

There was a sigh on the other line. "Yes, it's strange how these less-than-happy events keep us together. Anyway, Robert will be coming up here soon to stay with us and help Johnny anyway he can."

"Are you still positive that's a good idea? I mean, he's just a kid himself, how is he going to know how to help where others couldn't?" Antionette was obviously still questioning the decision made by her friend.

"I'm sure it'll be fine An, you worry too much sometimes." The Scot reassured her, "Besides, I fear it may be our only choice left."

The other woman raised her eyebrows, "Things have gotten that bad?"

The psychiatrist nodded and answered, "Oh yes. You'd be surprised." She sounded suddenly tired.

"Is there anything I can do?"

A sigh, and then Kristen responded, "You should concentrate on your own problems for now...but I'll call you if Johnny makes any progress. Then maybe you can bring the boys up for a bit, you sound like you could use a break."

Antionette smiled slightly, "Thanks, I'm sure you could use one, too."

"Yes, but who has time for rest these days?" The Scotswoman said.

The other just laughed, then she heard a crash somewhere downstairs. This was followed by the shouting of angry workers, which brought out a groan.

"What is it?" the voice sounded like it was on the verge of laughter, for the Scot had heard the crash as well.

"The boys are up to trouble again." Came the matter-of-fact reply.

Her friend chuckled, "What have they done now?"

"I have no clue. I better go and see. I'll call and keep you posted on what's happening here."

"Alright, bye."

"G'bye" Antionette hung up and hurried down the stairs shouting, "Boys! What did you get into now?"

She arrived at the base of the stairs and followed the sounds of commotion to the dining room. When she got to the doorway, she found it blocked by two innocent looking children. She gave the boys an inquisitive look before squeezing past them into the room.

Unintentionally, the French boy and the Italian had caused a little more than just 'an annoyance.' The maids and kitchen workers had been in the middle of setting up for dinner when the boys had come in. They had been putting out the food and setting the table, but all activity had ceased to clean the mess the boys had created.

There was food everywhere and Antionette noticed everyone and everything was covered in it—including Enrique and Oliver. Fallen plates, silverware, and trays lay everywhere.

"Oh my..." She was almost too stunned to speak. "How did you manage this?" she asked, turning to face her son and his friend.

"Well we only wanted to have some fun..." Enrique tried to explain.

"So you destroyed the dining room?!" Oliver's mother exclaimed, determined to know what happened.

"Not intentionally!" Oliver hurried to defend himself.

"Yeah, we were just talking to them and we might've accidentally tripped someone....But it wasn't our plan I swear!" Enrique provided.

The woman shook her head. The workers were already made some headway in the cleaning, and Antionette decided the boys needed cleaning up as well.

"What am I going to do with you?" she wondered aloud, picking up Oliver and taking Enrique by the hand. She led the two upstairs and escorted Enrique to his room, telling him to get himself cleaned up immediately.

"But I'm hardly dirty!" the blond complained, although he had what was meant to be dinner all over him.

The Frenchwoman set her son down, then crouched down to look at the young Italian. "I'll have a maid start your bath, then I want you to scrub yourself clean and come down for dinner. If you aren't squeaky clean by then, I'm afraid you'll have to take another bath before going straight to bed—without dinner."

Oliver watched in amusement as his friend ran hurriedly into his room to await the maid. He obviously didn't want to miss dinner.

A short while later, Mrs. Boulanger was sitting on her son's bed, holding him in her lap. He had just taken his bath and was finishing checking his blood sugar before they went down to dinner.

"You've become quite good at that." She stated.

"Yes." Oliver answered plainly, putting his things away and then climbing back into his mother's lap.

"I want to talk to you about something, honey." She told him.

"What is it?" the small boy asked, shifting around to face his mother.

"You know what's going on between your dad and I?" She asked, looking into his gray-lavender eyes.

Oliver nodded, turning away slightly.

"I just want you to know that it's not your fault?" She said, running her fingers through his damp hair.

He turned back to face her quickly. "But it is!" the green haired boy exclaimed suddenly. "I'm what you always fight about and I'm the reason they started in the first place."

Antionette noticed the tears in her son's eyes and wondered why she'd never noticed he was taking this as his fault before. "No!" She said quickly, "This whole thing is not your fault!" She then hugged him tightly as he started to cry for the second time that day, too exhausted to try and stop the tears.

"You didn't choose to get sick, and I'm sure you didn't want us to fight! This is between me and your father and I do not want you thinking it's your fault!" She assured him further, rubbing his back to calm him down some.

Oliver nodded and his tears slowed to a slightly more controllable rate. A few minutes later he sat back and rubbed his eyes.

"Are you okay?" His mother was concerned.

"Yeah..."

"This isn't your fault. And don't worry, things will get better." The Frenchwoman promised her son.

Oliver nodded once more, finally accepting her words.

Antionette kissed her son's forehead then held her small shoulders, examining him.

Suddenly, an excited blond burst through the door. "Can I have dinner now? I promise I'm perfectly clean!"

Oliver giggled weakly then climbed off his mother's lap. The woman smiled and then took both boys by their hands and took them downstairs to dinner.

Things just might be okay here after all...

I know, kinda cheesy ending. But what are you gonna do? It fit...

The second chapter is finally typed...after my sisters asking me a hundred million times to go on here and many distractions. I hate sharing a computer...

It's probably ridden with errors...if you have any questions you can ask me.

Ah well, review and I may be persuaded to type some more...