Alfred tells them that he has to remain at school until the following Tuesday to finish up his work for finals and then the three can be off to Canada, Reagan to Trudeau at 12:00, on the 21st of December.

Therefore they have a week left in Washington and, because maybe god has grown bored of their suffering, and actual chance to relax. Alfred is busy with school for the following week and, if they're being honest, he's still a bit awkward around them.

As they tell him repeatedly, Arthur and Francis absolutely understand. They hadn't thought about it totally while on their wild goose chase for him around the D.C. Metro, but now that Alfred has returned to their little family both of them are reminded of their first few days in June with a feeling they had absolutely no idea what to do with, a deep love in their souls for an absolute stranger. And now they've completely remodeled the entire life of a twenty-three year old boy, told him that his life is grander than a knack for computers, that he does have a family after all, and that you're flying to Quebec with us to complete it just in time for Christmas. Surprise!

"Alfred," Arthur tells him once. "It took Francis and I seven months to figure any of this clusterfuck out and, regarding most of it, we're still not sure. For you, it's been less than a week. We're strangers, we know, and this is scary, we know. You need to give yourself time and it'll get better, we'll get better, I swear it."

For the week after they meet and before their flight to Canada the three keep in contact and dine together often but, for the most part, Arthur and Francis give Alfred the space he needs. Instead, they take the time to actually enjoy the city that, in their almost month of being here, they haven't really looked up at once. Francis drags Arthur to one art museum, two art museums, three until enough is enough and Arthur rips the tourism guide straight from out of his hands and into the trash. In retribution, Arthur takes him on a tour of the Library of Congress and after that Francis apologizes for his art museums, "if they were anything like that dreadful hellscape." They both come to the agreement for the mutual benefit of both parties- no more museums.

On Sunday, Alfred takes them to his favorite restaurant in Washington; it's a small diner where the hostess knows Alfred by name and tells him simply that, "it's open", before Alfred directs Arthur and Francis to a small booth near the kitchen. A lamp hangs low between them and on the wall is a small picture of a firework, just to Arthur's right.

"I like this table, it's near the kitchen. You can smell everything," Alfred tells them, shrugging to their curious gazes. Not entirely answering their questions, but it's something interesting for now.

The server, who also knows Alfred by name and congratulates him on the article that led Arthur and Francis to the boy himself, asks Alfred if he wants his usual. He does, and he introduces his companions to the server by only first name, then hesitates briefly before calling them his family from out of town.

The two don't dare to say anything about it, but it kind of feels like the greatest compliment they're ever received. Merry Christmas indeed.

After Arthur and Francis place their own orders and silence fills the space, Francis shifts and looks at Alfred curiously.

"Alfred, how often do you come here?" Humor laces his tone but he's very careful to not sound like he's making fun of him.

"Uh," Alfred smiles and also shifts, like he's embarrassed. "I've been coming here since I was an undergrad. I practically wrote my entire thesis where you're sitting now," then, in not quite a mumble, "their cheeseburgers are really good."

Arthur smiles and so does Francis, then Alfred does too.

And their food is really good. Even Francis, the truest of Parisian snobs, is impressed.

It isn't until after they're finished eating, after they traverse their usual round of "This Is What I've Been Doing The Last Two to Three Decades Of My Life", that Alfred pulls out his laptop and announces with much bravado, "So! I've been snooping."

"And when you say snooping..." Arthur raises an eyebrow.

Alfred looks up and narrows his eyes, but his lips are still twisted into a smirk.

"Two academic degrees and this is the kind of discrimination I face? You should be ashamed, Arthur, you know what they say about assumptions."

Arthur and Francis just stare at him, identical looks of skepticism and suspicion on their faces.

Alfred raises his brows and supplies slowly, "they make an ass out of you and me?"

God, he liked it better when he didn't have parents.

"Fine! Like a common Kremlin agent I hacked the information using my expensive American education. I'm sorry I made our search, like, a trillion times easier. Are you happy now, mom and dad?"

They both lean back and smile, Arthur grabbing his glass of water and taking a sip. "Marginally."

"Anyways, Debbie and Nancy-"

"Who are Debbie and Nancy?"

"Debbie Downer and Negative Nancy, learn your Americanisms, Francis."

"Je ne comprendrai jamais."

"Anyways, kids! Courtesy of my elite training with the CIA," he continues sarcastically. "I found fifteen Matthew Williams' in the Montreal Metropolitan Area. Four of them attend various elementary schools, two of them are in nursing homes, and the remaining nine range from high school age to retirement. It took quite a bit of maneuvering- I may have accidentally started a war between the US and Canada, I'm not sure we'll see. But! I got access to the Quebec DMV, more or less. Conveniently enough, if Google Translate has served me well, only one of these Matthew Williams living in Montreal was born on July 2nd twenty three years ago." He stops when he pulls up a final window that reflects on his glasses. As Alfred spins the laptop around for Arthur and Francis to see he gives a little sigh, quirks his face into a smile, and lowers his voice- like he's about to share a secret he was told days ago but he's still in disbelief about it.

"I think the face helps."

Sure enough, a small window with the driver's license of Matthew Williams sits on the screen. His hair is a little bit longer but still a wheat blond, complexion a little bit paler but still even and soft, and his smile a little bit more reserved, but still cheerful and happy. His face, though, is absolutely identical to the one that hovers above him in real life. The dark brows, the flare of their cheekbones, right down to the glasses on the identical bridges of their noses.

They thought, chose him first because of even, that Alfred could lead them to Matthew. They weren't sure how and they weren't sure when, what they knew is that he would provide the strongest push to make them whole. But whatever they expected of Alfred, to help Matthew or to help them, it was not this. To a picture of the boy right before them, to the very street on which he lives.

Alfred must see the haze that has settled over them from surprise and disbelief because he speaks low and careful.

"He's a second year med student at the University of Montreal. He'll be on rotations at the Maisonneuve-Rosemont Hospital throughout the holidays," he murmurs.

They sit in silence for a beat, then for two, only their breaths heard above the general hum of the restaurant until Francis snaps out of it and leans forward to grasp one of Alfred's hands in both of his.

"Good work, Alfred," he gasps, finding it difficult to convey his gratitude in mere English words. "Thank you."

Alfred grins widely and gives a short nod, allowing Francis to occupy his hand a bit longer. Then, he looks to Arthur for his own approval, and only with that does Arthur snap out of his stupor.

"That's-" he speaks lowly, taking his own time to find the appropriate words. "Invaluable, brilliant Alfred." He allows the moment another weighted silence to occupy the table, then shakes his head and lets a wry smile to take his features. "If only I could have replaced Francis with you, we would've been back home before December even began."

Francis, ever loyal to the cause, pulls his brows low and takes his hands back from Alfred to give Arthur a swift stab in the ribs with his elbow.

"If I had not found you in May where would you be now? Still stalking me around the 18th Arrondissement? Eating miserable little sandwiches from the miserable little grocery down the street from the Basilica?"

And Arthur narrows his eyes fast, cheeks tightening in preparation to deliver his words dripping in the poison Francis is so accustomed to by now.

"Were you watching me? The entire time I was looking for you in Paris you were stalking me yourself?"

"No, I only know my dear cantankerous and afflicted Arthur too well."

Alfred is chuckling but takes the moment of focus away from him to pack up his stuff and start shrugging on his winter coat. Just as Arthur's fingers start twitching dangerously closer to Francis' throat, Alfred clears his throat and smiles, announcing his departure.

"I have to get back to grading my undergrad finals, so I'll see you both later. I'm probably going to a presentation my friend is doing tomorrow if you guys want to come along, I don't know if you've gone there yet but it's at the Air and Space Mu-"

Arthur and Francis collectively interrupt with a no! that startles Alfred from his offer.

Francis realizes his rudeness first, as always, and looks to Alfred imploringly with a smile of apology.

"I am sorry, Alfred, but Arthur and I have decided it is best if we do not visit any museums together. Thank you for the offer though, it is very sweet."

Alfred still looks a little terrorized but smiles, rolling his eyes in good nature.

"Okay, you freaking weirdos, see you later then."

In an unprecedented move, they actually make a plan.

Their flight from Washington to Montreal is only ninety minutes long but that doesn't stop Alfred from taking his seat, pulling a hood low over his eyes, and promptly becoming dead to the world until the very second of touchdown. They maybe feel just a little guilty about it but Arthur and Francis use the time to plot when they can be a safe distance away from Alfred's excitement and radical ideas. It's not a matter of feeling superior or even controlling the situation. Only that they know, they've felt, and they just have the experience of being on the other side of knowledge, something Alfred doesn't know yet and something they suspect Alfred may not be able to handle.

"Arthur," Francis keeps his voice low and sensitive. "You know that when we find him, when we find Matthew, Alfred will leap on him just as you wanted to do."

Arthur sighs. "Yes, I know, but so? We can hardly restrain him. Even if we keep him aware of how delicate the situation is, I don't think we'll be able to keep him from scaring Matthew away. I mean, what do you suggest we do, lie to him? Send him away while we find Matthew ourselves? Only allow him to see his brother once we've declared it safe?"

In the pause that follows Francis turns to him with an odd look in his eye. It's a gleam of turning over a thought in his head, a thought that he knows Arthur will reject.

"And why not?"

Arthur furrows his brows and almost reels back in shock.

"'Why not?' Francis? 'Why not?' Alfred is just starting to figure his life, figure us, out again and you want to betray his trust like that? To deny him his own brother? No, Francis. It may be easier, but there has to be another way."

"I am not saying send him away," he speaks rapidly but secretively. "I am only saying that maybe we could be selective. Together we can look for Matthew and together we can find Matthew but, when it is time to make contact? We could, maybe, do that without him."

Arthur takes a second to process, to digest both his resistance and his intrigue, and after a stretch he slowly begins to nod.

"Alright, that might work."

Arthur returns back to lounging as best he can in his aisle seat before a last thought occurs to him and he reaches for Francis' hand to pull him back from reading the Skymall.

"But what do we tell him when they do meet? Alfred will know that we met Matthew before him and didn't say anything."

And Francis smiles a knowing smile, giving a swift pat to Arthur's hand.

"Honestly, Arthur, I think at that time it will be the least of his concerns."

So, with an agenda going forward and an address in their pockets, they arrive in Montreal with high spirits.

Francis is simply beyond himself being back in Francophone culture. He makes unnecessary rapid conversation with the cashier at a place they stop at for an early dinner and he almost refuses entirely to have any English conversation with Arthur or Alfred.

"Tu connaît la langue française, Arthur," Francis tilts his head and smiles with false inquisitiveness.

"First of all, you French bastard, barely. Second of all, I would never want to speak it with you."

Francis pouts but it doesn't last long, caught back up in his native language bliss. Alfred follows absolutely none of it but doesn't look too put off, mumbling once something about Spanish credits in his undergrad but otherwise takes Arthur's silence as an opportunity to babble in English about nothing at all. Arthur usually ignores him, stewing in his own irritation towards the French-English barrier that continues to haunt him, but Alfred's filled silences are so true to form that occasionally Arthur can't help but crack the barest of smiles.

Their first night in Montreal is spent doing minimal reconnaissance. They drive to the hospital Matthew works at, then to the address listed on his driver's license. Both ventures are pretty pointless as they can't enter the hospital simply without aim and they have no way of getting into the locked apartment building, but at least it's a start of getting their bearings. When Francis turns away from the apartment building and back towards their hotel closer to downtown, they can tell by Alfred's shifting and sighing in the backseat that he wants to object.

"I think we all need some sleep and time to adjust. We will begin bright and early tomorrow," Arthur says aloud before Alfred can put a voice to his frustration.

He isn't happy, but seems to accept it.

Arthur wakes at 03:32, this time via a French elbow wedged in his ribs. He follows through with his usual kick of punishment despite Francis' obliviousness and rolls over to return to sleep. But, even with the usual satisfaction he gains from violence, it isn't enough to lull him back.

They departed from Alfred at 19:00, left to his own room despite the fire burning in his eyes that made Arthur just a bit uneasy. Though Arthur and Francis suspect they could not rival the sense of urgency Alfred feels in his own soul, they too want to make no delay in finding Matthew and finishing their months long journey. It's only that, they are tired. A month spent hunting down Alfred with barely a week to unwind before back to the races to find Matthew and their task is daunting and overwhelming. Alfred skips about with boundless energy and enthusiasm and Arthur and Francis are starting to miss tranquility and their homes across the ocean. It is not a hesitance to search for Matthew, never that, just an acceptance that they can enjoy time a bit more with their last familial addition. They have him, know where he is and when he will be there, after all. It's just a matter of introduction and with that, it seems, time was never really up to them at all. Alfred, though, doesn't seem to understand despite his lack of raising objection. He complies and follows, a working member of their team, but Arthur wonders if he won't settle for it much longer. He worries, especially when it comes to Francis' ideas of keeping Alfred out of the loop, that the different pages in which they reside will come to splinter the solidarity between them.

Arthur lies in bed for a while rolling these ideas over in his head before giving up sleep all together. He slips out of bed and pulls on a pair of loafers, resolving to a walk around the floor to empty his head of ideas and worries. He opens the door to the hotel room and walks out, turning to the right and down the hall before stopping at the sound of a TV blaring. It's Alfred's room, just one down from their own, and Arthur curiously presses an ear to the hotel door. Words aren't distinguishable but it doesn't sound like anything intelligent, maybe an infomercial or the hotel's closed circuit television.

Arthur pauses, unsure. The boy probably fell asleep to something and, as he witnessed on the plane, Alfred would sleep through a nuclear explosion. In that case, Arthur should leave it be and leave him alone. But Alfred could also be awake and, in that case, Arthur should also leave him alone. This hour of the morning is meant to be spent in solitude and whether awake and bored or unable to return to sleep, Arthur isn't sure his intrusion would be welcomed. Alfred has come leaps and bounds with his level of comfort around Arthur and Francis since they first met, so much you wouldn't even know they hadn't spent their whole lives together. Still, though, the boy needs his space from the two older and imposing men.

Arthur has become aware that since May both himself and Francis have grown sage and grand in their personalities, weighted with their knowledge and emotions that had come in bits in pieces over the summer. He can tell especially in contrast to Alfred who is just so young, has probably always been that young, and doesn't carry life heavy on his shoulders like Arthur does. In a way, it's a shame that the two still in their twenties became such old souls in such a short amount of time. But, it was who they were, wasn't it? No reason to be upset about something that always was.

Arthur shakes himself and draws his attention back to Alfred's hotel door before him, blank and unsuspecting beyond the noise behind it. A moment of consideration, then two, then he knocks. Alfred is probably sleeping anyways and passing without inquiring if he's alright would just leave Arthur sleepless longer. Knock, if only just to say he had, and then return to brooding.

The knock goes unanswered and Arthur begins to turn around, lifting his shoulders in a shrug and resolving to continue on his merry way until he hears a shuffle just beyond the wall. Then footsteps, a scuffle at the door, and finally Alfred himself appears looking tired but not too out of sorts, a look of surprise on his features.

"Arthur? What are you doing up?"

Arthur shifts, unprepared for what his actual execution of this plan was going to be.

"I, well, I heard your television. I couldn't sleep and I was passing by..."

"Yeah, I couldn't get back to sleep either," Alfred frowns slightly but covers it quickly and chuckles. "Sleeping on the plane must've gotten me out of sorts."

Arthur nods but doesn't respond, not quite sure how to venture forward.

True to character, Alfred tolerates the silence for a brief second then widens his door and offers, "Would you like to come in?"

"Oh, well, sure."

Arthur follows Alfred in quietly. Confirming his suspicions, the television blares an extended commercial for an odd piece of workout equipment before Alfred finds the remote and puts it on mute.

"So what keeps you up at night? Does this happen often?" Alfred asks, flinging himself back onto the disheveled mattress. Arthur himself sits gently down in the desk chair.

"Oh, it's Francis, who else? Man can't keep still even when he's bloody unconscious."

Alfred laughs but Arthur doesn't. His continuous sleep deprivation at the expense of a glamorously restless Frenchman is no laughing matter.

"What about you?" Arthur asks, interested in a change of subject. "Blasting the volume on the television is an odd mechanism of getting oneself back to sleep."

"Oh, yeah," Alfred says lightly. "My head gets cluttered sometimes and if the infomercials are just loud enough I can't think about anything else besides the crazy two-for-one deal I'd get for a Chillow."

"'Cluttered'? You're awfully young for a ravaged head, lad."

Alfred pulls his brows down. "Hey! I'm only four years younger than you!"

"And yet, I am so much more mature."

Alfred scowls even deeper and Arthur lets out a chuckle.

"So?" Arthur asks. "What are you so stressed about?"

"Well," Alfred sighs and leans back. "This adventure of ours is certainly not a peachy afternoon stroll."

"Boy, I swear, this is your first night in Montreal? I've been on this train since May and I got on in Paris, of all shitholes."

"What's wrong with Paris?"

"Everything."

Alfred laughs and shakes his head. Arthur sighs, but then takes a moment to slip into sympathy, a rarity for him.

"I'm sorry, though, you know I don't mean it. As Francis and I have told you, we understand that this is very unusual and stressful. For us, May and June were... difficult."

Alfred nods but doesn't comment. He's learned that when it comes to those two sometimes it's better not to delve into the details.

He's silent for a moment, then, "I've been thinking a lot about Matthew."

Arthur looks to him, curious.

"It's so weird, you know? Like, he's my brother, my twin brother, and I know this. But how? And I feel so much attachment and affection towards him, but why? Really, I've never met the guy and when we meet I assume it'll just be like when you and Francis found me and he won't realize what's happening at all. I feel like I have these memories and all this time of being Matthew's brother that I miss so much, that I feel like I was removed from and that I belong there. But also, that it's just a dream. Like, I'm just waking up and I'm convinced that I have this brother who I love and who's another part of me but I'm not quite sure which is reality and which is just a dream."

Silence falls and Arthur takes the moment. He wants to formulate his words accurately and properly, then he makes sure to look at Alfred intently.

"Believe me when I say this: I know exactly how you are feeling. Also, believe me on this: your previous life with Matthew will take time to feel real and, honestly, it may never feel real at all. But then, believe me on this: you will meet him, you will both come to know each other again, and whether you remember what past time was like or not it will come to not matter. To not matter at all."

Alfred peers at him curiously.

"Is that how you feel about Francis?"

"As much as it pains me to say it, yes."

"And... me?"

Arthur looks at him earnestly.

"Absolutely."

The 22nd of December is spent much like the 21st, scouting and gathering and plotting. And surprisingly, disappointingly, they don't actually learn that much.

Alfred and Francis tailgate into the apartment building they staked out yesterday and ask the reception briefly, without trying to raise suspicion, if they could get the apartment number of a certain Matthew Williams because, well, he's just a bit flaky. Despite Francis' charm and pleading, though, the apologetic receptionist tells them she can't distribute information like that and warns them, although politely, that their friend needs to come down to retrieve them next time as tailgating into the building is not allowed. Francis smiles his apologies, thanks the young lady for her time and patience, and tugs Alfred out of the building.

"So?"

"We have been flagged. We cannot go in anymore without Matthew himself to guide us."

Alfred pauses to get a handle on his frustration, then, "So we have to settle for simply spying from our shady-ass car?"

"Yes," Francis sighs. "It appears so."

The hospital is fruitless too. Francis takes Arthur this time ("Hey, I want to go!" "You got to go last time." "But I can help!" "Do you speak French, you twit?" "Well, no." "Then shut up and stay here.") and they approach the front desk much as Francis and Alfred did at the apartment building. Francis lays on the charm, appearing only flustered and confused, and asks if Matthew is working today. The volunteer asks if he knows to what unit or physician Matthew is assigned to but Francis does not and it yields no results. She tells him that without a department or personnel to direct him to the hospital doesn't keep track of the med students, the University does, and it is conveniently closed for winter break. Francis thanks the woman a little more tersely this time and then tugs Arthur out of the building.

"We know he's here, we know exactly where he lives and exactly where he works, and he's just simply... out of our grasp?" Alfred asks incredulously.

Arthur and Francis share a look.

"So it seems."

The 23rd of December and they're actually, incredibly, losing hope. Who would've thought entering a haystack with a color coded map to the needle would prove to be more difficult than anticipated?

The previous night of staking out the apartment building had proved unsuccessful. Either, he's using his powerful teleporting abilities to beam from his workplace to his home and back or, Matthew Williams is not a twenty three year old male at all but one of several gaggles of undergrad girls that trapeze to and fro throughout the night. Either way, even with all the exits covered and a violent pact to not let each other fall asleep, Matthew is not to be seen.

So, bright and early to stalk from the hospital parking lot. This proves to be a bit more difficult due to the amount of traffic that comes in and out of the front doors, but at least they take turns hunting Matthew down from the inside too which presents an opportunity for brief warmth and nourishment. Alfred comes out once after an hour inside the hospital bearing two coffees and a tea, which is reason enough to cry, but he is also carrying bad news.

"I literally did a lap around every floor that I have access to, even asked a couple times when I could get someone to talk in English, but absolutely nothing. He could be in pediatrics, cardiology, or psychology or- he's a figment of our imagination. All are equally plausible."

He slips into the backseat and silence falls upon the three of them.

"Maybe he is on vacation somewhere?" Francis asks.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Or," Arthur murmurs. "He's not here."

"But, we have an address! A Quebec license! That is not just a hunch, Arthur. We found Alfred on a hunch, this is information."

"Alfred, are you sure your data is up to date?"

"It is, but the driver's license was from two years ago. He could've moved without registering again."

"But the information about the hospital? That he is to be working through the holidays?"

"It's what his academic record said but if he transferred or studied abroad the information probably wouldn't reflect until the end of next semester."

Francis meets Alfred's gaze in the rearview mirror.

"You do not believe that Alfred, do you?"

"I don't know, Francis. I believe we'll find him, and soon, but that he's here? In Montreal, or in Quebec? I just don't know." Alfred shakes his head and looks down at his coffee, then back up to Francis. "But I'm also not saying it's time to give up, maybe just that we can expand our search beyond the apartment building and this hospital and, I don't know, find some clues somewhere else."

Francis lets his gaze drop.

"Tomorrow is Christmas Eve."

Alfred, too, feels a sort of sadness.

"I know."

It is the 24th of December.

They decide to continue their schedule of apartment then hospital then apartment watching through Christmas, just for the sake of thoroughness. None of them have actually thought much about Christmas due to their North American traversing and none of them have anyone that would actually miss them in abandoning Christmas for a Canadian excursion. So, instead, they agree to gift each other by Alfred buying breakfast, Francis buying lunch, and Arthur buying dinner. Down the chain of wealth, Arthur notes intriguingly. He has bought everything so far, hasn't he? What's a dinner in downtown Montreal on top of that?

They're sitting in their rental car in front of the hospital with the Tim Hortons that Alfred bought sitting in their laps and, in an exception to the rule Arthur placed fast and hard on the first day he got in a car with Francis, quiet Christmas melodies are playing on the radio. And despite their dwindling hopes, despite spending Christmas Eve in a rental car in front of a Montreal hospital, they're actually a little content.

This feels right, somehow, so unlike the cynicism they felt yesterday. It's not ideal, but this is their family, isn't it? Their first Christmas together in what, they suspect, is a very long time. Looking for their fourth, refusing to rest on Christmas until they find him.

It kind of feels like the beginning of how things are meant to be, as bullshit as that seems.

"Hey, Arthur."

"What?"

"I read your Wikipedia page last night."

Francis snickers and attempts to hide a grin behind his coffee but Arthur sees him, Arthur always sees him, and stares daggers.

"I wasn't aware I had a Wikipedia page."

"What?" Alfred asks, scandalized. "You have so much power and you're not even aware of it?"

"I don't believe having a Wikipedia page is an accurate measure of my success."

"Yeah, it wasn't very long. It just talked about your education and the timeline of books you've written. You were a comparative literature major? How boring."

"Oh, I am delighted that's what you took away from my entry."

"Well, there was other stuff but not anything interesting. I could've guessed you live in London."

"It has where I live?"

"Well, yeah, all-"

Arthur's just a bit disturbed and irritated so he doesn't notice at first the abrupt end to Alfred's thought.

"That's absurd, I want-" the opening of a car door stops him, catching him off guard. "Alfred?"

He doesn't register what's happening until Francis raises his voice, "Wait!" He scrambles to unbuckle his seatbelt and open his door after Alfred, leaving two now wide open.

When he thinks back, he was sort of wondering why Francis was stark silent.

So he too hops out of the car, still a few pages behind in what's actually happening. He looks after Francis rushing to catch up with the man walking in front of him. Then, his eyes follow Alfred walking across the parking lot towards the sidewalk that runs out of the front entrance of the hospital. Finally, he finds the target. A boy; he's relatively tall with a thick red coat on his shoulders and a hat with a knit pom pulling back most of his hair except a fringe of blond at his neck. His pants are medical blue scrubs and he walks briskly deeper into the parking lot, looking for anything like a medical personnel departing the hospital after a long shift leading up to Christmas Eve.

And then, he watches it all fall apart.

Alfred catches up to Matthew before Francis can catch up to him. He skids directly into Matthew's path, halting him as a bewildered Matthew takes a step back in surprise.

"Matthew, Mattie." Arthur has caught up enough that he can hear but is still far enough away that he's completely removed from the bubble that encases the twins. Francis also hovers, closer to them but just as frozen. Wanting to intrude, to fix their crumbling plans of protecting Matthew from Alfred's naivety, but unable to. This, it will probably fail. Matthew will flee and spend days breaking, confused and overwhelmed and feeling like a nightmare is coming true until he returns to them, but maybe by then it's already too late. There was a strategy when it came to this. It was supposed to be clean and gentle, not an immediate explosion of emotion and fear. Andromeda and the Milky Way are meant to join, but that doesn't mean there's not going to be a hell of a lot of destruction first.

Alfred doesn't touch him at first although Arthur can tell he wants to, wants to reach to him as if it were nothing. Matthew just stares at him from behind his glasses, creasing his eyebrows just like Alfred has done so many times before. Arthur can already tell Matthew doesn't know what to do, with Alfred or with himself, but surprisingly he doesn't turn inward and escape.

"Je suis désolé, mais je ne connais pas-"

"Matthew," and this time Alfred does reach forward, unknowingly mirroring Arthur on that day behind Sacré-Cœur. Palms in the hollows above his jaw, fingers crowning his temple, thumbs on the points of his cheeks.

Francis had flinched. Matthew does not.

"I know you know. I know it's buried deep inside that stupid head of yours that you know who you are. Matt, I've spent twenty three years living this dumb life without you by my side that that's wrong, that's so wrong that you're a motherfucker and you couldn't find me first. You are and have always been my only best friend, the only person who calls out my bullshit, the only one who makes sure I'm loved when no one else was remotely interested. Matthew, you fuck, you left me alone for twenty three years and I had to go to fucking Quebec to fix it? Now, stop this, stop looking at me like that and be my fucking brother again because I can't handle being alone anymore and I suspect neither can you."

And so, like a fuck you to every war he's started and every rift he's nurtured between their family for the past two hundred years, Alfred returns their three to a four on a cold December morning, the 24th, 09:43.

Matthew takes a breath, still rattled, but smiles.

"Took you long enough, huh?"

And Alfred presses their foreheads together, wraps his arms around Matthew, and weeps.

MY KIDS.

It continues:

I am definitely not a Canadian med student, as awesome as that sounds. If you actually do rotations during winter break that sucks and I'm sorry. :(

So the only reason Matthew's a doctor is because he's a doctor in my Sims family. I figured it was the best possible justification.

Epilogue! Epilogue!

Thanks for reading!