Notes: Just a head's up: this chapter is kind of short and suckish because it's just a filler. I don't know why it took me so long to write, but the next chapter will be waaay better! (Er... I hope...) Especially because Monsieur Bonnefoy is going to make his debut! *smirk smirk* Anyway, thank you so, so, so much for reading!

"Please do try to keep up."

"Why can't you just slow down?" That got me a hard glare from Arthur. I picked up my pace. That guy's glares scare me a bit.

…But not overly.

"Look, I'm sorry, 'kay? It's just that I'm really un-"

"If you're so sorry, do something about it!" I always hated it when people retorted back with reasonable arguments. I grumbled, but didn't say anything. This guy was the one who was helping me while letting me stay at his place until we could figure out how and why I got into this mess, and how to fix it.

Anyway, even though we weren't downtown, and it was getting late, a good some people buzzed down the sidewalks and vehicles frequently flew down the streets. I didn't like it, though. I've never been the biggest fan of the city, much more preferring being able to bike down the center of the road for hours and not worrying about getting hit once.

…And then, if I hadn't known better, I'd say I was in London, England, judging by the repeating accent I kept hearing and the giant clock tower I saw from a distance in the taxi. But would this guy honestly fly me all the way across the Atlantic? I kind of doubted it… Even if he was a millionaire who didn't want to stay at Alfred's place. I still didn't feel like asking yet, though. I had a feeling that my brain might explode if I did on that chaotic day.

I wanted to say that we were in New York, but I knew that couldn't be true because the flight had been really long… Much longer than it would have taken to get to New York. Besides, there was the accent…

I decided that we were in Toronto. I mean, stereotypes say that Canadians talk funny, and I know Toronto's a pretty big place.

I was still a little surprised when we returned to Alfred's place again instead of a police station or asylum. I think my mind had gotten a little carried away…

I hadn't noticed before, but Alfred's mansion had one of the locks like mine, in which, for some reason, Arthur seemed to know. I was a little curious as to why, but didn't ask. I figured that they were friends. I mean, why else would one be fixing the other's car and letting him know the code to his house?

I had walked in nervously. I don't know why, but, maybe it was because he could see fairies, or maybe it was because I just wanted a reason for all this, but I ended up telling the stiff Brit my whole story before any conversation was started. The mysterious creek… the bellowing man… I told him everything.

…And in the end, my response was a skeptical huff before changing the subject.

I (or rather, we) tried phoning other relatives in which numbers I could actually remember. I got a dial tone every time. I also tried phoning my mom and dad's cells ten bazillion times more, but got the same result as the first. Then, as if to add the sickening sweet icing of irony to this situation, Ron was visiting family in Montana and I had not the slightest clue of how to contact him. I almost broke down.

Almost. Thank goodness for that "flying mint bunny" or whatever it was to freak me out and prevent me from doing so.

I was just hanging up on my last call when it flew in front of my face, nearly causing me a heart attack. Then, as it suspended itself in the air, it began talking to me, being all like, "What's your name? I haven't seen you with Arthur before! Are you a young friend of his?" Arthur cut in before I could say anything. Though, I wasn't really sure of what to say in the first place, so it didn't really matter.

Of course, I got a little weirded out when the conversation took a very casual turn after awhile, but for some reason the fact that I saw Kirkland actually smile weirded me out even more. I don't know why, but it did.

…And then he seemed pretty happy when I joined the conversation, too.

Anyway, seeing that I was literally unable to get ahold of anyone, he later offered to let me stay at his place if I wished, mentioning that it was a rather long trip. Obviously, I didn't care. I gratefully accepted. Anything was better than being left in the care of the police with a story like mine… And I think the both of us had a silent agreement on the fact that this would be the most screwed up case ever, especially if the fairies got involved in the story. They wouldn't believe me.

But then that brought up the question of why we didn't just stay at Alfred's place, but the Brit cleared that up pretty quickly when he muttered something about 'not wanting to stay at this bloody idiot's house any longer'. Of course that brought up a bazillion more questions about my 'Alfred and Arthur are friends' theory, but I decided to ask about it later.

We drove to the city –the city closest to my place-, where much to my surprise, we pulled into an airport and Arthur hurried me in. I was even more surprised when I was permitted on without a ticket… Or maybe Arthur bought one really last minute and I didn't see it, seeing as he was probably a millionaire too and all. Either way, I was still surprised.

I didn't know where we were going, but I hadn't asked, so all the blame didn't fall onto the Brit. However, blame did fall onto him for not letting have the window seat. Perhaps it was wrong of me to ask while we were in the air, but he should've known from the start that anyone under twenty will always want the window seat. Always.

…And so, we flew for what felt like forever –and the fact that Mr. Stiff Brit closed up again didn't make the trip any more exciting- apparently went through a time change, landed, and so on and so forth.

By now, we were on Arthur's doorstep, the very last natural lights of day fading into the dark and being replaced with electricity. Even in the dim light, I could tell that Arthur's house was far less impressive than the mansion, especially in size. But, if I recalled correctly, one had to be a millionaire just to live in a house this big in New York, so maybe it was the same in Toronto. That was, if we were even in Toronto.

Mr. Brit fumbled with the keys a bit before opening the door wide. As soon as the lights turned on, I gawked a bit. I mean, the place was so clean! Saying it sparkled and shone would be an understatement. It made those show homes in communities look bad. My nit-pick granny would be impressed. Honestly; as soon as I slipped off my shoes I went to the main room and when I looked down, I could see myself in the hardwood floor.

"Do you want something to eat?"

"Huh…? Oh, yeah… Sure. I would really like that… Yes." Arthur looked at me funny for the umpteenth time that day.

"A simple 'yes' would've done, just so you know." I ignored that.

Pretty much all I had eaten that day was some scones on the plane that Arthur gave me. Though I wouldn't have known they were scones if I hadn't been told. They didn't even look like a pastry. But I didn't really mind too much. I used to eat worms when I was younger and I think my sense of taste has been impaired since.

He ended up making a simple dinner of a salad which somehow looked and tasted more like green mashed potatoes rather than lettuce and dressing. But, like the scones, it was food and it was edible, so I ate it. Arthur apologized for the simplicity of it, but claimed that it was far too late to make a proper dinner. I honestly didn't care. Then Mr. Brit cleared his throat and continued on after a brief moment.

"I hate to just leave you like the American dolt," he started. Honestly; was I utterly wrong about their relationship? Did they really hate each other? But then why…? Maybe they were business partners…

"But I have another meeting that I must attend to tomorrow." Oh. Perhaps that was another reason why we had left and didn't stay close to my place.

"I think that I'll be gone before you're up…" Now that he vaguely mentioned, I was starting to feel real tired. Shoot. I figured my second wind had come and gone. "But I'll be back by mid afternoon."

For whatever reason, my second wind has a tendency to just leave me at the randomest times, and when that happens, I'm mentally dead to the world. (My mom actually noticed this, because my sleep patterns are pretty odd –I have a tendency to be really tired by eight-thirty at night, but I catch my second wind soon enough and then I'm fine for a couple of hours until it ends. I can also never sleep in past ten in the morning, no matter how late I go to bed. Apparently, according to the doctor, there's nothing we can really do about it… But it's nothing really to worry about.)

"The rules are pretty standard. Do not screw around with my stuff, and if I find out about anything…" By now I had tuned out. Stupid second wind… Leaving me now and forcing me to think of nothing but sleep.

"…And you're not even listening to any of this, are you?" I nodded. Wait... What had he said? I tried to snap into focus as best I could. Kirkland sighed, getting up.

"If you head upstairs and turn to your right, your room's right there." With that, he took his dishes and moved to the kitchen.

"Thanks," I murmured. Dang it. I kind of felt bad now, but sleep was conquering everything. I'd apologize later. I scooted out of my chair and made my way to the nearby staircase.

More notes: I've been looking at the stories and accounts of the people who have reviewed this. I am so unworthy of your guys's praise... Thank you!