Chapter 2: Spirits at my doorstep

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing in this, except the rhyme and Flutter.

Jack took Jyll and brought her up the hill,

To cut out the heart within her.

What Jack found did lead him to drown,

But Jyll did not follow after.

The air outside was still, almost stifling. The sun was dipping below the horizon and bathed the land in a myriad of oranges and fiery reds. Shadows grew longer and stretched thin in the dimming light, leaves rustling in trees as birds returned for the night. It wasn't dark enough for the street lamps to be on just yet, but it soon would be and if you focused on the sky hard enough, you'd be able to see a solitary star, twinkling faintly against the darkening sky.

Glancing at his watch, the young man cursed under his breath as he realized how late he was. He switched the bread over to his other hand before hurriedly fishing his phone out of his pocket to call his most definitely infuriated wife. But a strange noise made his finger pause right over the call button, it was the sound that metal makes when you force it to slide over another piece of metal without oiling it properly, the sound which makes you grit your teeth in aggravation. Lifting his head up, he sought out the offender.

There in the corner of his vision, in a small private garden attached to some hotel by the looks of things was a swing. White or at least, it probably had been at some point, before the paint had started to chip off, the garden swing wasn't anything out of the ordinary. His aunt had one just like that in her garden, albeit in better condition. What was bizarre was the occupant, or in this case the lack of one. He watched, spellbound as the swing rocked back and forth steadily, in perfect rhythm although no one was seated in it.

His eyes, they had to be playing tricks on him and his legs seemed to be determined to prove that as they dragged him against his will towards the swing. As he got closer, the strong scent of cheap perfume hit him hard but try as he might, he couldn't see anyone. Was that a glove on the ground? As he bent down to take a closer look, the street lamps flickered to life casting a pale glow over the street. The light fell on the swing illuminating it perfectly, but just as it did the motion stopped.

Tilting his head up, his eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet, tearing down the street. He had dropped the bread but he didn't seem to care. The man didn't look back, he just kept on running. Had he turned around he would have seen the lamp just above the swing flicker and then go out completely, he would have seen the swing start moving again, creaking painfully as it did.

Arthur let out a sigh as he wiped the steam off the mirror, looking at his reflection critically. Iain was right; he probably did need to do something about his eyebrows. After a futile attempt at taming his hair, he dressed and stepped outside the bathroom. The blue linen sheets looked inviting and he longed to just curl up in bed with a steaming hot cup of tea, preferably Earl Grey and a book. In all honesty it was no wonder he didn't have a social life anymore, he mused as he knotted his tie and brushed imaginary lint of his shirt. He couldn't remember the last time he had dined with someone that he wasn't related to or worked with, so having tea with Francis and his boys was a welcome affair.

The thought of Francis made him frown, it wasn't the man himself (although he was perfectly infuriating on his own), it was his sons. Alfred was sure he had seen something and his conviction had reminded Arthur of his own when he was little. He vaguely recalled telling his parents that he really had seen faeries, pleading with them in fact, but they had sent him away, for 'his own good' they had sworn.

"Aren't we all dressed up then?" Arthur nearly jumped a foot in the air from shock. "Flutter, how many times have I asked you not to startle me like that?" The tiny faerie grinned, "Sorry Arthur, it must have slipped my mind. I won't let it happen again. Are you going to see that man from the train then?" She giggled as Arthur playfully swatted at her, before plopping herself down on his head. "He's quite good looking isn't he?" Arthur scowled, "I admit, he has his good points. Oh for heaven's sake, that hurts! Keep it down you damned fae!" he swore as she rolled about in his hair, clapping her hands with glee. Her Arty was growing up so fast.

Meanwhile, Francis was getting ready as well, buttoning his own shirt while telling Matthew to please run a comb through his hair and yelling at Alfred to get down from there because that was dangerous. He decided that it was a good time to talk to Alfred when Matthew excused himself to the bathroom, claiming that Kumajirou needed to use it. He sat down on the bed and patted the space next to him.

"Alfred, we talked about this, non? No more about these…ghosts of yours. You promised me." "But dad, I'm not making them up! I swear, I'm telling the truth, why won't you believe me!" Francis wanted to believe his son, his eyes shone with honesty and determination. Alfred didn't make up things usually, but specters and ghosts; things that go bump in the night? Honestly, he let his imagination run away with him sometimes and Francis was afraid that one day, the boy would no longer recognize the boundary between reality and imagination. "Alfred please, no more," he begged. Ever since the divorce, things had been so complicated. Matthew chose that moment to step into the room and he clutched his bear tightly, noting the tense atmosphere in the room. He knew that his brother and his father were arguing again.

Forcing a smile on his face, Francis chirped, "Ah…enough of this unhappiness. Arthur will be waiting and I'm sure that he won't want to eat with people who are sullen and angry. Et alors… pouvez-vous trouver un mouchoir pour moi s'il vous plait? Ensuite, nous irons rencontrer Arthur? C'est d'accord?" Matthew muttered a soft, "Oui papa" under his breath before dragging Alfred along with him. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he ran a brush through his hair wincing when it caught in a snarl. A knock on the door shook him from his thoughts and he searched for a tie to pull up his hair. Maybe it was Arthur? As he pulled his hair away from his face, the knocking grew more persistent and Francis started as whoever was banging on the door shook the hinges.

Yanking the door open, he was prepared to let out his frustration at the uncouth person, but his protests died in his throat. The hallway was completely empty.

Tea was a subdued affair, although considering the time; it was more an early dinner. The boys dug into their steaks while Francis enjoyed his own meal at a more leisure pace. Sipping his red wine, he observed the British man over the rim of his glass. He was relatively well-mannered, easily flustered and had an extremely short temper but he was so much fun to rile up. Arthur was savouring a steaming cup of Earl Grey and opted for a light meal, two sandwiches only. There wasn't much conservation but for the first time in ages, the silence that prevailed was a comfortable one, not the usual tense pause that had dominated his previous life.

Alfred and Matthew got along with him well; Alfred in particular seemed enamoured with the man relieving Francis to no end. It had been far too long since he had seen his son smile like that. Arthur was patient with the children's almost endless stream of questions and somehow managed to keep track of the flow of conversations no matter how garbled it seemed. He smiled as Matthew introduced Arthur to Kumajirou and the man awkwardly greeted the bear back, blushing and turning his head away when he noticed that Francis was watching.

"So, where are you from anyway?" Arthur asked, while Alfred and Matthew played with the stuffed bear. "We're from Paris," Francis said, taking a deep swig of wine, no longer meeting Arthur's eyes, "It's a long story, not a very interesting one either I'm afraid. But, things happened and I decided that it was a good thing for us to start a new life. I got a job here, it's a trial for a month but I'll be working as a chef. If all goes well, then perhaps it'll be permanent." Arthur wisely didn't press for more details, he knew all about unstable family life. "And you, mon lapin?"

"Don't call me that! I'm actually from London myself. Though I wasn't born there, I live there with my brother. I needed a break from work, so he decided that it would be a good idea for me to go on a holiday. I heard that an old friend of mine would be in town around now, so here I am I suppose." he ended, shrugging his shoulders slightly. "What exactly do you do for a living?" asked Francis curiously. "I do a bit of writing. Mostly stuff for the weekly magazines, opinion pieces, news and the occasional cultural piece. Nothing special." for some reason, he didn't feel like telling Francis that he also wrote, and that not only was he here in search of much needed inspiration but that the contemplated protagonist for his next novel was blond French man with two young sons. "That must be a stressful job."

"Not really. Oh I agree that there are times when it's a bit tough, but in the long run, it's worth it. Just knowing that your article, your words really could have made even the smallest difference in just one person's life, it makes all the heartache okay." "You must truly love your job then." Arthur laughed, "You have no idea, my brothers love to pick on me about it. I suppose being a chef must have its hardships as well though. I can't imagine needing to cook professionally for a living, I can barely manage a decent plate of scones myself."

"It's the same passion that you have for writing. For me, my cooking is my art." "Then you start tomorrow, or do you have some other plans for the day?" Francis was shocked, was the shy British man actually hitting on him? He wasn't the only one who surprised, Flutter had tumbled headfirst out of Arthur's hair into his tea and he was subtly trying to fish her out without looking like a complete madman. "Since you're new here, it wouldn't be a bad idea to look around a little, get your bearings a bit. You might even be able to meet Toni, sorry that's my friend, and he'd be able to tell you all you need to know about this place."

"Dad, don't forget we're going to see that church tomorrow too remember?" Alfred piped up from his seat. Arthur watched interestedly as Francis stiffened slightly, before hurriedly regaining his composure. "Alfred, we agreed that what happened this afternoon was nothing but your imagination. There's no need to visit the old, dusty church especially if they're renovating it. We'll just get in someone's way. I'm sure you would prefer seeing where the movie theatres are, or maybe they have a McDonalds here." Alfred looked like he wanted to say something, but a glare from his father kept him quiet. Matthew meanwhile looked on the verge of tears and Francis looked as though he'd soon be developing a massive headache. For Arthur, it was like someone was playing him a movie of his own life.

"Maybe," he cut in, clearing his throat politely, "We should go visit the church. I'm sure they wouldn't mind us visiting, the parish is far too beautiful for them to shut down completely. Besides," he said, looking directly at Francis, "it would put the lad's mind at ease."

"If you please Arthur, I don't want to encourage this nonsense. I've let this go on long enough." "Maybe the lad saw something," he pressed, noting the way Francis's fingers tightened around the glass. "Alfred, he has a very big imagination, which sometimes likes to fly away with him. He likes to create stories, but he often forgets that they are just that: stories. Surely you can understand how dangerous this is to a child." Arthur looked down, he knew what would come after this, "But how are you so sure that he is making it up?"

As he predicted, Francis' cheeks were now tinted red, and his blue eyes flashed angrily, but it was not for the reason that Arthur had expected at first. "I can assure you Arthur, my son is not crazy."

"What? Oh good God, I know that. I never said that he was. What I mean is how do you know that what Alfred sees doesn't exist? How can you be so sure?" He ignored Flutter's tugs on his fingers to stop, catching Alfred's eyes for a second. The boy seemed dazed, in all probability, no one had ever defended him before. Francis on the other hand was livid.

"I beg your pardon? Mon Dieu... vous êtes sérieux? You're crazy then? People like you, they're a menace to society...I let you talk to my children! Venez vitement!" he called out to his sons. They picked up on the tendrils of panic that had crept into his voice and wasted no time in grabbing his hands before he shepherded them off. Alfred waved goodbye and Arthur braved a small smile for the boy.

He buried his head in his hands after they had left, 'menace to society' that was a new one. The cafe was more or less empty and the few patrons that were there didn't seem to have noticed the argument, thank God for small mercies he supposed. "Oh Arthur I'm so sorry," said Flutter as she patted his shoulder. "That's alright love, you can't blame the man though. It's just, I feel awful for Alfred. That lad will grow up believing that he's crazy. It's the worst sense of loneliness you know, when you think your mind is tricking you." "Maybe he won't be alone, after all, you found us." Arthur smiled, "Yes I suppose I did."

What a mess this was turning out to be, they had only been here a day and already things were upside down. Francis glanced at Alfred and Matthew who had insisted on sleeping with him after all the 'excitement' before. Alfred was holding Matthew protectively and the younger boy was clutching his bear. Pulling the comforter over them, he pressed kisses to both their foreheads, silently wishing them a good night.

"How can you be so sure?" Arthur's voice rang through his head, clear as though the man was right next to him. He had sounded so sure of what he was saying, as though he had experienced it himself, but at the same time had sounded so very tired. His heart had ached at the pain that the man's voice had held, but at the same time he knew he had a responsibility to his children. He pulled out the ribbon from his hair and placed it on the coffee table before going to brush his teeth and change into his night clothes. Guilt grew in his stomach, gnawing at his insides like an ulcer and Francis wondered whether perhaps he had been too hard on the Englishman. After all, he couldn't be sure...

He shook his head; the wine must have been exceptionally strong. There's no way he could be having such bizarre thoughts, but all the same his harshness plagued him. Arthur had been good for the children and if he was honest with himself, good for him as well. And he had been so discourteous and left Arthur with the bill, an unacceptable social faux pas. That was it then; he'd call up the man tomorrow morning and apologize while explaining to him rationally why he couldn't encourage Alfred like that. Simple, that was a good way to fix things. As he was mentally patting himself on the back, he stepped out of the bathroom, switching the light off and picking up his hair tie from the top of the shelf next to the door.

He froze...hadn't he left it on the coffee table? No, all this nonsense must be getting to him. He lay down in bed and allowed himself to drift off to sleep, dreaming of green eyed rabbits with giant eyebrows.

His sleep was cut short however and he jerked upright in bed. He was unsure what exactly had woken him, but then a draft hit him and he sighed. He had left the window open. As he shut the window and drew the curtains he wondered in awe how parents could let their children run around so late. It was getting annoying actually...

Pulling open the door, he felt a sense of déjà vu sink in, as he stared at an empty hallway.

Arthur was really enjoying this book; each page brought with it a refreshing feel of familiarity. His reading time was cut short however by the beeping of his phone. He scowled, he must have forgotten to shut the damn thing off, but who on Earth would be calling this late? Arthur picked up the call, "Yes?" he snapped, he certainly wasn't obliged to be polite at this bloody time in the morning. His eyebrows shot up in shock though, when he was greeted by a nearly hysterical Frenchman. "Slow down, I can't understand what you're saying."

"Arthur...something's wrong. I think...I think either I am going crazy or Alfred may have been right all along."

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who took the time to read through this. And a huge thanks to Doneti Ichike who fixed some of the mistakes that I had made in the last chapter.

Et alors… pouvez-vous trouver un mouchoir pour moi s'il vous plait? Ensuite, nous irons rencontrer Arthur? C'est d'accord?- And so then or So then, can you find a handkerchief for me please? Afterwards, we'll go meet Arthur? Ok? (He's asking both Alfred and Matthew this.)

Mon Dieu... vous êtes sérieux- My God…you are serious.

Venez vitement- Come quickly.

Review please!