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Al and Artie

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Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair as he glared down at the reports. Nothing was making any sense, and he couldn't figure out what was wrong— his boss had been on him to fix it because the sales were not lining up with the finances. It looked as if the company was losing money, and Arthur could not for the life of him see how.

A knock came to his door, and he glanced up to see Francis standing there, arms crossed. "What?"

"It's nearly a quarter to five, chère," he replied, walking into the office. "Isn't Peter's conference time five-fifteen?"

Arthur glanced at his desk clock, eyes widening. "Shit, frog, why didn't you say anything sooner?!" He scrambled up, hastily packing the papers into his bag and grabbing his coat, shrugging into it. "Is Jeanne-Marie's today or tomorrow?"

"Today, but at six-thirty," Francis answered, following Arthur out of the office. "Peter's in the lounge. We'll see you tonight at eight."

Arthur waved over his shoulder, heading to the lounge area and searching out his son. The boy was hunched over the coffee table, doodling on a pad he'd been provided with crayons. "Peter, come on, poppet." Arthur held out his hand as Peter looked up and began gathering his things. "We may have to rush a bit— I completely lost track of the time."

"That's okay, dad," Peter assured him, pulling his backpack on and skipping over to Arthur, taking his hand and following him out. "Mr. Jones won't mind."

Arthur hummed. "Yes, but I will." He smiled down at his son. "It's the principle of the matter."

Peter just nodded, and they made their ways out to the parking lot and to their car. It was a twenty minute drive from Arthur's office to the school, and if he pushed the speed limit to pull it down to a fifteen minute one— well, no one else had to know.

They made their way into the school hand in hand, the sun starting its decent towards the horizon as evening began. Arthur let Peter run ahead, following the boy to his class and straightening his shirt, attempting to smooth his wild hair. Looking into the classroom, Arthur could see Alfred smiling and talking to another couple, their kid looking around the room inquisitively. Arthur's own smile pulled up his lips as he watched the teacher from the door, keeping an eye on his own kid as Peter ran up and down the hall.

It was another five minutes before the couple stood, Alfred standing with them and shaking the father's hand before walking them to the door. They parted with small polite waves before Alfred turned to Arthur, his grin widening exponentially. "Artie! Just who I wanted to see!"

Arthur chuckled, looking away to hide the damned blush that seemed to be perpetually present whenever he was around the young teacher, calling out to Peter. "Come on, poppet!"

Peter stopped his trek down the hall, turning on his heel and running back. "Hey, Mr. Jones!" he called, smiling up at Alfred. "Can I pull out the Legos while you and dad talk?"

"Sure thing, little man," Alfred laughed, ruffling Peter's hair before turning and leading Arthur and Peter into the room. "Just put 'em back when you're done."

"Yup!" Arthur watched as Peter hurried to the other side of the room, pulling out tubs as he followed Alfred to his desk, seating himself in one of the chairs next to it. Alfred flopped into his own seat, scooting close and propping his chin on his palms.

Alfred grinned in Peter's direction. "I don't know how you manage it Artie," he said softly, blue eyes focused on the blond head bent over the building bricks. "He's a little ball of energy."

Arthur chuckled lightly. "That makes two of us," he commented, watching Peter as well. "He's definitely a handful sometimes, but he has never been a burden." He paused, looking back at Alfred and biting his lip in thought. "Has he… He's not struggling, is he?"

Alfred looked back at him, his smile soft. "No, he's probably the coolest kid in the class," he admitted, leaning back. "Everyone loves him, and he's got great leadership potential— I haven't seen that in any of the other kids yet." His eyes were soft. "He's very smart, his grades are some of the highest, and while he can be a bit distracting on occasion, he's got a lot of curiosity and fascination about a lot of things. The others love him."

Arthur felt his shoulders relax, his smile easy. "I'm very glad," he said. "I was afraid he may be a loner, like I was." He scoffed. "I was a quiet child, you see, and I never made friends easily— still don't really, but it's better."

Alfred eyed him with a teasing smirk. "Old man from the day you were born, huh?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "And I see you've not grown up at all." But he was grinning anyway.

The teacher just shrugged, leaning forward again. "What can I say? I'm a kid at heart."

He snorted, crossing his legs, leaning back against his own chair, turning to watch Peter for a moment before looking back at Alfred with a smile. "I can see that."

Alfred winked. "You like it."

Arthur didn't dignify that with a response, instead ducking his head to once again hide the flush of his face. It wasn't helping anything that his heart was beating much faster than he thought it should, nor that the butterflies in his stomach had stirred up into a frenzy.

It was quiet for a moment between them, the only sounds in the room Peter's sound effects and the click of plastic Legos coming together. Arthur watched his son, trying to not enjoy the warm feeling settling inside him as much as he knew he was.

Glancing at his watch, Arthur was sad to realize their time was up, and he stood. "Well, I'm glad to know Peter's doing well." He smiled at Alfred, who stood behind him as he turned to Peter. "Come along, poppet. We need to let Mr. Jones get to his other appointments."

Peter pouted with a whine before beginning the deconstructing of his tower, putting the toys away as Arthur headed to the door slowly, Alfred walking beside him. "He's brilliant, Artie." He smiled wide. "I think he gets it from his dad."

Arthur just scoffed and rolled his eyes, feeling his chest swell with the praise as he ushered Peter out the door, the boy heading down the hall ahead of him to talk to one of his classmates. "Of course he does. It certainly didn't come from his dimwitted uncles."

Alfred laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, uh, Artie. I was wondering."

"Yes, Alfred?"

Alfred pursed his lips, looking shyly at Arthur, and his thoughts seemed to spill in a rushing torrent of words. "Well, okay, I kind of really like you— like, Mattie won't stop frickin' teasing me about it, the jerk— and I really wanna say you like me too, because you blush a lot around me and it's the absolute most adorable thing ever, and c'mon, even Peter likes to hint at it— he's way too smart for a six-year-old about these things, but he's right— and I don't know how much longer I'll be able to stand it, so would you like to, um, go out to dinner this weekend? If you're not busy?"

Arthur blinked, completely caught off guard. Dinner? With Alfred? He internally scoffed to himself— out of all of that, that's what he pulled from it?— and shook his thoughts away. Bloody hell, why hadn't he said yes already? "O-Oh, no, I'm not busy," he stuttered out, cursing his blush once again. "Yes— yes, dinner sounds lovely, Alfred."

The blinding smile Alfred gave him made him melt. He coughed to clear his throat, meeting Alfred's eyes with a smile of his own. "And, yes, I really kind of do like you, too."

He hadn't been expecting the sudden hug, Alfred's arms holding him tight as he spun them around, but Arthur couldn't say he didn't like it; in fact, he enjoyed it quite a lot.

"Great, Artie! Oh, man, I'm so glad you said yes 'cause I felt like an idiot for a minute there, but this has to be the best day ever!" Alfred was practically bouncing. "Okay, how 'bout Saturday? I'll pick you up at seven?"

Arthur nodded, trying not to laugh at Alfred's enthusiasm. "That sounds fine. I look forward to it." He straightened his shirt again, walking out of the classroom. "See you Saturday, Al."

Alfred waved, his smile big. "See ya, Artie!"

Arthur smiled all the way to the car, holding himself back from sighing in contentment at the turn of events. Peter was watching him with narrowed eyes, but Arthur ignored the questioning look from his son in favor of controlling his very unbecoming and childish urge to giggle.

"Uncle Francis owes me ten dollars," Peter suddenly informed him, crossing his arms over his chest and looking out the window with a grin that was way too satisfied for Arthur's liking.

He narrowed his eyes at his son before concentrating back on the road. "And why does he owe you money?"

"Because he lost the bet."

What was the frog teaching his son? Arthur knew he was a bad influence. "What bet?"

"I bet him ten dollars that Mr. Jones would ask you out tonight, because he's been saying he really wanted to," Peter explained nonchalantly— not that he knew that he was in trouble. Yet— shrugging. "He didn't think he'd do it for another week at least."

Arthur was too confused to even be mad, really. "And just where were you going to get the money if you'd been wrong?" Because really, how did Peter even know these things? Alfred was right: Peter was way too smart for a mere six-year-old.

Arthur could only blame himself. Well, he could blame his brothers, but they didn't have the intelligence, so yes, it was all on him.

Peter snorted, as if offended. "You." Like it was obvious.

Arthur drove in silence a moment before shaking his head, pulling into their driveway and parking. Peter hopped out and he followed his son up to their home. "Al was right— you are a mischievous little brat, poppet." His tone was warm, however, and proud.

Peter just smiled innocently up at him. "'Al'? Is that your nickname for him like he calls you 'Artie'?"

Arthur shot him a look, feeling the embarrassment creep back up. "Go wash up for dinner," he grouched petulantly. Honestly, who was the child here? Because he wasn't certain it was Peter. "We're meeting them for dinner at eight."

Peter turned around to walk off, giggling as he headed for the bathroom. "Al and Artie, sitting in a tree~" he taunted, "K-I-S-S-I-N-G~"

Arthur slumped onto the sofa, putting his head in his hands with a groan.

Francis was so dead.