Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or the British Bake-off show. Or Google.

Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for the sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, linguistically, and grammatically). Spain's funerals typically take place between 24-48 hours following a death. Child death. Discussions of worst-case scenarios and conspiracies that may or may not be in effect. Fictional Mental Health facility. Discussions about mental health. Brexit. Election Year 2016. Reconciliation. Resocialization. Spanish colonialism.

Possible Trigger Warning: Nervous breakdown fallout. Fear of continued gaslighting. Mental health. Death of a child. Isolation and conditioning and social othering. Allusions to miscarriages/infertility. Grief. Shouldering grief. Living with grief and carrying on. People not respecting losses due to ignorance or misplaced/miscommunicated sympathy. Yeah, I think this fic is gonna tromp into some heavy themes for a while because I think it would be a copout to not, ya know?

AN: Happy 4th of July! :DDD

Here's some angst and drama with your BBQ and fireworks. What? A second helping? You got it. ;)

Heads up: this is the fourth story in my Kith and Kin Series which goes like this:

The short, short, short version:

Wendigo: Magical shenanigans and a kidnapping plot result in our American hero being downsized/de-aged in October 2015.

Elferingewort: Challenges abound in Winter 2015 as everyone (especially his family) adjusts to a physically younger America who can do magic again.

Gramarye: In early 2016, tensions reach a boiling point as a multitude of conspiracies on both sides of the pond come to light—A Magical Gate gets reopened and England suffers a nervous breakdown.

BOOM! Here we are in Banyoles Monster! (Aftermath woo!)

Sidenote* (Prequel Adventure: Sirena: a winding story through the years of how America and Tejas become super close to each other…and depressingly estranged from everyone else!)

There ya go!

You do you. If you want to barrel through here without reading the previous stories…go for it. But don't be a butthurt grumpy-pants if you're totally disoriented as a result. XD (Or be one but don't whinge.)

Hope you enjoy! :D

Chapter 1: They Circled The Wagons

The air conditioner was on full blast as Rhys entered Blue Rose Blooms Clinic and Wellness Center.

It was sterile, simple, and conveniently located near the border between England and Wales, near the shore. It wasn't too far out of the way, so Rhys made a point of visiting once a week.

The Welshman was pleased with what he saw today, having measured visits by his brother's appearance and responsiveness.

Arthur had been cleared once more (for four weeks consecutively) to wait in the guest reception room for his visitor.

He was clean shaven and put together, somewhat like he was ready to go on a brisk jog. He'd been allowed to wear clothes instead of scrubs. It also meant he'd been able to have supervision with a razor, though his hair was still longer and shaggier than the norm.

He was alert and even looked almost happy to see Rhys, until he realized it was only Rhys that had come. And then, he was trying very hard not to look crestfallen.

He'd made mention last week that he was allowed to have child visitors so long as they were accompanied by an adult guardian.

It was obvious that he'd wanted Rhys to read into that and bring Alfred.

That just wasn't possible at this time.

An exchange of slightly awkward "hullo's" followed and then they sat together.

Rhys made clumsy forays into discussing weather while they sipped water from disposable paper cups until—

"As long as a guardian is present, a child—a-a minor can come see me," Arthur blurted out.

"I'll see if Wy and Sealand can pay a visit. Or, if you're adventurous, we can have Ireland stop by. I hear she no longer runs about starkers and only bites when she's in a very foul mood."

Arthur's expression lightened for a moment. "O she's…just high spirited. We know who she gets that from." Then, he sighed. "Rhys?"

"Hm?"

"My…bairn is not writing me back. Or are they disrupting our correspondence once-"

"He is receiving them and writing…he's just not…sending them." The child couldn't afford to do so at this point.

Arthur's shoulders slumped.

Rhys stood. "Would you like us to go for a walk? The garden here is quite-"

"No."

"Alright."

They returned to Arthur's room, where the door stayed open.

There was a great multitude of "get well soon" cards all over his room from former wards, current territories, friends, and other well-wishers.

There was a brightly colored one from the Cayman Islands. In fact, all of the island territories (current and former) had seemed to put in a joint effort to choose vivid colors. It reminded one of the plumage of their tropical birds.

"Are you going to tell me anything of note? Or will it be more empty pleasantries?" Arthur sat down on his bed.

There was no chance Wales was going to discuss Brexit with him right now, let alone the particulars of Beltane's Day.

Rhys was still reeling from the implications of the Fae Courts' thwarted scheme during the War of 1812.

To think, America had been in danger from their government, his own government, and both the Seelie and UnSeelie Courts.

And he'd managed to survive the converging plots with virtually no aid besides magic and the Cosmos's favor. And the Cosmos's price for their grace was a headshot, a hex, and amnesia.

No, Arthur wasn't ready for that—for Rhys to share his own horror and anger.

"We just want you well." He noticed an assortment of coloring pages all depicting different stylized versions of unicorns. "Those are nice."

Arthur raised an eyebrow and gave a bland "Thanks."

Rhys took up the room's one chair on the far side, which was bolted to the ground. "Your planned discharge is in two weeks."

"Provided it's not delayed again."

"We'll have to plan a celebratory dinner. Any ideas?"

There was a knock on the door and Arthur was offered a small paper cup of pills and an accompanying drink of water.

After they were swallowed and the orderly moved away, Arthur grumbled, "Pills for everything here. Sleep, mood stabilizers, and gastrointestinal. And I'm on the light roster."

"I envy you the last one…my stomach has been…awful. I even went in for a checkup. Anxiety."

"You're in good company. Living in a maelstrom of that."

"…You do seem…better, brawd bach."

Arthur heaved a sigh. "I know. Therapy has helped. The exercises help. The medication, the gardening, the swimming, the cooking therapy-"

Rhys's face must've made an expression because Arthur glared.

"It all helps, even though I hate being told what to do at all hours. I know I needed time to process. I just didn't expect this much time."

"…"

"Three months. It'll be three months, Rhys. If they keep their word and release me then."

"For over two millennia's worth of trauma—"

"Absurd." Arthur shook his head.

"You needed this time, Arthur. I think the progress you've made is phenomenal."

"Don't get too congratulatory. I'm not cured. I'll still be sent off with pills and check-in requirements."

"But you'll be coming home, Albion."

He nodded, eyebrows furrowed. "Is he… very…disappointed in me?"

"No."

"Are you certain? I don't know what to make of this silence. The other children call. The other children visit. They write." He waved a hand at all of the cards. "They have a room, an even nicer one, where you can receive them, if you ask for it. You can have calls. Supervised. Reilley calls every two weeks. Alistair calls and visits…sporadically. They don't…they don't talk about Alfie. I can't get them to talk about him. No one talks about him. He is alright, isn't he?" Arthur's voice weakened. "…Please. Tell me."

Rhys cringed guiltily. "Of course. He's safe. I promise you that."

"I don't understand." Arthur's mouth trembled. "Why won't he contact me? Why won't he visit?"

"…"

"Is he here? Or in the States?"

"He just…can't visit you right now."

His youngest brother looked so stricken at hearing that.

"His health?" For a moment, he looked haunted.

"No, Arthur. It's a lot of other things." Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. "We just want you to focus on you right now while we figure this out. Or until you're truly ready to…help us deal with it."

"I'm on meds that blunt my emotions. Well Mr. Empath, can you sense how my terror still spikes?"

"Yes." It reminded one of how rough seas could capsize a boat with a flat bottom hull in minutes.

The Englishman looked at him expectantly. "No letters. No calls. No conversations that-that reference him. No pictures." He took a breath. "He can be angry. Let him be angry with me. Tell me he's angry. Don't act like this. Don't act like my baby doesn't exist. That's-" He blinked hard. "Don't act like that. That…that messes with my head."

"He's in legal limbo."

"Wot?"

"He doesn't have a guardian. He can't come here without one."

Arthur made a sound of frustration before a flat, "Bugger it all," escaped him.

"It gets trickier. It turns out he doesn't have any type of birth certificate on record. His military IDs and other certifications have expired or been voided. His passport has… been suspended as a result. He can't travel to see you..."

"Legally" was the word that remained unsaid.

Arthur's jaw dropped.

Rhys made a nervous hand movement. "I can stop there if it's-"

"No. Go on." And there was something in Arthur's bearing—the set of his shoulders that said he was ready.

"His cards. His…assets are all frozen." Rhys looked around the room nervously.

Green eyes narrowed. "There are no devices in here. I've checked."

Rhys hesitated.

Arthur took a deep breath through his nose. His nostrils flared and then he made a field signal for 'hostage?'

'Don't worry,' Rhys signed back.

Arthur shook his head, not satisfied with that response. His hands moved and signaled. 'Danger?'

"…"

'Enemy?'

"…"

'Danger?' Arthur signed again.

"I've been researching child asylum paperwork in the interim, while we figure out the next step."

'I don't understand.'

"I don't think the Hague Convention Treaty can be used against us in this instance. Osha might have been considered a legal guardian in the 1580s and early 1600s, technically, but in light of her…parenting…and recent events, I don't think she'd have any grounds to demand custody or to accuse us of international kidnapping. By his government's actions, in challenging and revoking so much of his paperwork these last few weeks, in an effort to straighten out their books…"

Arthur was perfectly still as he listened.

Rhys grimaced. "Alfred is stateless."

Dude, he was so screwed.

Doors locked. Shades drawn. Lights off.

Lonely.

America wasn't exactly sure when it happened.

He was the hero. A lot of times, it was a pretty solitary lifestyle, especially when adventuring got dangerous and one had to lay low and wait for things to calm down or work themselves out.

He was missing being around people beyond the transactional interactions of cashier and customer or workplace hierarchies and "here's my report, schedule a meeting if a follow up is necessary."

Plus, personification meetings were usually a mixed bag of good, bad, energizing, or draining. The unpredictability could stir up anxiety or eagerness when he was in the right headspace. Engage and then disengage. Switch on. Switch off.

Even with Team U.S.A. there'd be "dry spells" where they had to head back to their own lands to handle matters. America was used to that and could switch over to solo-mode again.

In the hustle and bustle of Arthur and his brothers barging in and shaking things up and getting him out and about and talking, he'd been getting…resocialized.

Or maybe Texas, Alaska, Hawaii, and Molossia had laid out some plans for it across the centuries? Helped him take the baby steps back from the furthest edge of society after the War of 1812 and now…?

He wanted…more…again.

He sighed in the glow of the T.V. as his choices boiled down to boring reruns and news channels because Uncle Reilley was cheap and only had streaming for his laptop and Alfred wasn't "allowed to play with it."

No real distraction was being afforded to him, which led to hours of contemplation.

The irony wasn't wasted on America that his travel Visa had expired, his passport was currently null, and he was in the U.K. illegally—Texas would happily deport him, given similar circumstances in his homecourt.

Oh and his debit and credit cards had been frozen. His traveler's checks could probably be cashed, but that'd likely be a hassle.

And the suck-i-tude of being physically seven-years-old, reared its head once more.

He needed all of his identity paperwork updated again. The previous "rush order" changes following the Wendigo fiasco that had facilitated his trip to the U.K. last December had ended up uncovering more issues in his records rather than resolving them.

He still should've received some kind of warning before they followed up on it, but didn't.

As it stood, he needed some kind of a birth certificate and legal guardian paperwork to unfreeze his passport.

Yup, army discharge papers and a social security card were NOT enough.

Gathering early public records was semi-doable, though, it'd be sporadic.

He'd never actually enrolled in any school. And had never sat the GED even as a formality.

He'd been tutored almost exclusively either by Arthur or a human he trusted until the Revolution. And then Alfred was on his own. He attended public seminars and had been invited to various medical and scientific theaters to bear witness to new developments, and his time in the military had seen him trained up for all sorts of things because he was capable and willing and the conditions were desperate.

He was an avid reader and was largely self-taught, so there wouldn't be records.

There was a teensy possibility that his baptism might have been jotted down by the Puritans. Though, whether it took place in Virginia or Massachusetts…

Ugh, he was so little…he couldn't remember.

There was also a chance he might show up in some of the British Colonial censuses, but it'd be spotty.

Arthur would probably know more, but he didn't want to pile any more drama on his old man.

He'd done enough. More than enough for him.

It was all Arthur.

Arthur's brothers and Arthur's allies who'd manned the plan to defeat Harris and open the Magic Gate with Canada and Tex in supportive roles.

From what his uncles had told him, his father had even foiled a 200-year-old assassination attempt on Alfred by the Fae Courts.

Yup. Them becoming his fans was a "recent" development following the World Wars. Before that, the Seelie and UnSeelie Courts had wanted him rubbed out for the War of 1812.

Ouch. Super unneighborly.

Apparently, Harris's Lock-That-Gate Operation had ended up stalling their mystical hit job meant to take America out via jewelry-box-of-doom.

He shivered.

Oh! And Morgan Le Fay had had it out for him before he was even born.

That was some next-level psychic hate there.

Anyways, his dad quashed it. And he'd even ordered the Seelie and UnSeelie Courts to hold onto the box and the gramarye until the calendar opened up for a good destruction day.

Tex said he'd been great; a real hardass, take-no-prisoner's British Bake-Off Empire boss about it.

Canada said the whole thing was a real "gong show" and that England got super pissed off.

It still hurt a little that they'd gotten to be there when he couldn't, even if it really had worked out for the best. Maybe? For Alfred at least.

The guilt was hard to deal with. America had contributed nothing to the wrapup. And he'd managed to botch the reunion afterwards, though he still wasn't exactly sure what he'd done wrong; Father was supposed to love flowers.

But not long afterwards, he'd freaked out or-or…shut down instead…

His uncles and his counselor kept telling him that it wasn't his fault. That his father had been overwhelmed by a lot of bad things for a long time and it made him unwell. But now he was getting help for it. Should've had help for it earlier. But now was better than never. It was the same kind of help Alfred was getting with his counseling sessions…but more.

He theorized that it was because Arthur was older, so he'd lived longer and had more crap than Alfred did to deal with.

But he'd lasted with his baggage so much longer than Alfred did!

It was so frustrating.

He couldn't tackle the big stuff.

Hell, he couldn't tackle the little stuff either.

Not even for the simple things, which he felt he had down pat.

An adult was needed for everything now; his accounts, his vehicles, and his properties.

His cheeks puffed in frustration.

While he trusted Tex with their money and worldly goods, one million percent, Alfred was feeling uneasy about having his brother apply to be his guardian.

The fact was…2016 was an election year and rabid political fervor was whipping up between Texas and Hawaii and pitting them against each other.

Full custody would come with gloating and power dynamics.

Joint custody between Tex and Hawaii could be a separate-households-hell every four years where they'd be bad talking each other to him and putting him in the middle of everything.

While it would probably cool off by mid-November…the lead up would get super hostile and Alfred wasn't down for that.

It would be too weird at this point to have Molossia go through the motions of being his carer—America would end up walking all over him and that wouldn't be right.

Alaska…didn't like kids, not that he was mean about it. And he did, legit, care about America and wished him the best. But he'd struggled in dealing with Alfred as a teenager. The prospect of taking care of him as a seven-year-old? Hard pass.

The man had outright requested to be bumped down on Alfred's list of emergency contacts.

"Your father or one of your uncles can be in my place. I can be further down."

His father…

His uncles had told him that his dad would be released in two weeks.

Maybe.

They'd said that before and he'd gotten his hopes up and then…nope.

They assured him that England would be able to help. Would want to.

They just needed Alfred to keep quiet for a little while longer.

It was peak super conspiracy theory-ness to the max, and he'd been a little hesitant to share it, but he'd voiced his fears about trying to return to the U.S. like this. No papers. No money. No power. Underage.

Happy Scenario: he'd get royally chewed out for being a bureaucratic dumpster fire of bad record-keeping and it was straightened out. Probably with his dad's help. But he would still lose more autonomy as an individual….because of his age.

Unhappy Scenario: he'd be forced into a weird ward of the state situation where he could end up in a de facto house arrest where he wasn't allowed to travel out of his nation from now on or until reaching adulthood again. He would have very limited power over his choices and who he could contact and when since his government would be his "legal guardian."

Nightmare Scenario: another suspension of Habeas Corpus would result because he wasn't human and citizenship was no longer applicable to him. He'd just disappear from the World Stage and they could choose another personification to sub in at all of his meetings. And they could do whatever they wanted with him, since he'd have no rights to…anything.

He kinda expected to be "talked down from the ledge" of his paranoia.

Instead, his family agreed with him.

And they circled the wagons.

They had helped him phone in his Fourth of July well-wishes. His Uncle Rhys was good. He worked with Tex for them to throw Al a birthday party across the pond as a show of Anglo-American goodwill from the Brits and to prove Alfred's continued concern and commitment regarding his father's wellbeing (a.k.a. not wanting to leave until his dad was alright).

Rhys had even gotten some Commonwealthers besides Canada to show up and join them.

It was kinda staged, but it had been nice being sung to and blowing out candles while they cheered him on and took pics.

Afterwards, Rhys declared an emergency gag order to ensure his safety.

No one in the fam was allowed to call, talk, email, record, post, video chat, or text about Alfred until his citizenship status was figured out. If Al's government came asking questions, they were to refer them to Rhys.

It had been hard on Alfred and Tex to forgo their daily calls. However, knowing his situation, Tex had agreed to radio silence. He was hard at work with Stuart rounding up those early records Alfred needed.

After that was done…the real hurdle would begin.

There was no bypassing it now: Guardianship.

He had to figure something out.

España considered himself a family man. Admittedly, it had taken a few centuries to settle into the idea and he'd made a lot of mistakes along the way. He knew he'd never win any "awards" and parenting was a largely thankless thing.

And whenever he seemed to forget that, Lovi reminded him.

Mainly, he got better at taking the good with the bad—celebrating the joyful moments because there was always tragedy.

It sometimes seemed like life was a heavy downpour of terrible things one after the other.

No escape. Just short reprieves.

Life was hard that way.

No matter how much time passed, there was always horror in seeing a child-sized coffin.

It was a bright summer's day for a funeral.

Contrary to books and movies, funerals happened in all weather—not just sad rainy days.

One who lived long enough…learned this.

And to mourn for the ones who didn't…live long at all.

Gabriel Garcia Leon was in his last year of primaria. He was the son of Julio Garcia Ramos, a trusted aide.

Julio had been very supportive of España's efforts to reconnect with his long lost Tejas.

It made this feel crueler in a lot of ways. Antonio's son had been returned. Julio's had been lost.

But life was harsh.

The death had been sudden. Heart defect. No signs or symptoms before the sudden emergency during a fútbol game between rival schools that Tuesday.

Just like that. The boy was gone.

And here they were on Thursday morning.

The soft hushed refrain from the oldest attendees of the service about Gabriel being an "only child" frustrated Antonio.

One, because that was simply the reality: his nation wasn't having many children anymore.

The dropping fertility rate meant "only child families" were now quite normal, so that tone was unhelpful.

Two, loss was loss.

A child's death was tragic.

He resented the idea that losing a niño was more or less soul wrenching based on quantity.

He'd had colonial settlements fail—where children didn't manifest.

There'd be a tingling sense of potential in the land there and then it would leave: San Miguel de Gualdape, the Narváez expedition, the Ajacán Mission, and Fort San Juan.

Often there was nothing…but sometimes there were plants…left behind. Them who "almost were."

His attempts to settle elsewhere had often resulted in colonies who were relations…but not offspring. Other cultures and people had contributed too heavily to their making.

Perhaps it was denial? His empire was so large, but his potency had been waning? Or there were so many other nations exploring as the years continued, that cross-cultural influence was unavoidable?

Then, there was St. Augustine.

That was a sore spot. Very sore spot.

Even considering his losses, the 1500s had been a prosperous era for him.

There should have been a child there. 200 years! 200! Or at least a relation once it changed hands in 1763? But no one appeared.

He was still bitter. His instincts said it was unnatural.

Still, he was glad for the little ones he'd been blessed with.

They were generally hearty and boisterous and didn't sicken easily. It was easy to boast about them and their sturdiness to his rulers…until Tejas.

Then, that horrific accident happened.

His failed colonies and the oddity of St. Augustine settled more heavily on him then because Tejas had proven that the danger of loss didn't end with birth.

He'd had a servant beseech him through the door, as he'd waited in a hell of grief and guilt, that he still had other children.

He'd gotten that rationale a lot as it used to be in vogue given the importance of carrying on lineages and legacies.

That with his brood of hijos such losses were negligible.

It came from everywhere that December, 1845…following that meeting.

His son's spectacles were a macabre trophy on display.

Everyone saw it.

Everyone commented.

Wasn't he lucky that he had others?

He broke Prussia's nose.

He broke France's jaw.

And those were his friends who meant well.

He'd learn later from Mejico that she'd seen him during the Mexican-American War.

Alive! Alive?!

Sometimes dissolving took a few years…

He traveled. He hoped. He determined that he could at least make the passing as comfortable as possible, if it came to that.

America gave Mejico Tejas's rosary.

She returned it to España.

Inquiries to America's government prompted condolences.

There was a file two hands high of incidents following the official news of his son's…death…

That was how life went. It was always moving on. It just got heavier after that point.

The weight humbled him.

He'd been warned. With Tejas no less! Centuries earlier on how uncertain and fleeting time with his little ones could be. How it needed to be cherished because it was not guaranteed.

He squandered his second chance.

And he was punished: Tejas was lost. Annexed. Dissolved. He didn't come back.

Antonio worked to be better for his remaining children. So nothing like that could occur again.

He didn't care anymore how foolish or undignified he appeared while pursuing that end.

But at least he had more children, right? His change of heart and behavior could be for them. The fact that he'd never get to show that tenderness to Tejas…

He'd heard it once more, little more than a year ago, with the added notion that time had to have helped; like it would blur the memory or the pain?

Because as time progressed and travel was easier, all of his children could gather more often with him. And with all of them there, he probably barely even felt the loss.

"Of course! Of course! Lucky me?! Because I don't feel the void of my dead niño's absence more keenly with gatherings and photos where he should be, too, but he isn't! And he'll never be." Antonio grabbed a framed photo and waved it in the human's face. "You don't know that he's missing! You don't care. But I know! I know…And I will always know because I will always feel it. ALWAYS."

He never stopped carrying it—the weight of loss. He just got stronger.

Had to. Because there were a lot of nevers to deal with.

He'd never have a photo of Tejas and so he had to guard what few paintings he had no matter what political strife his nation was suffering. And he was painfully aware that they were outdated. That they didn't reflect the young man he'd been becoming.

Becoming…because…he'd never reach the milestones his siblings did.

And Antonio would never see him become a man who'd found his purpose. Or watch him fulfill his dreams.

Or come back together as father and son should.

It was done.

No, it was half-done; a half-lived life that was now over.

And that was how it would stay so there would be no closure.

He stayed with Julio until the service ended and the man's family gathered around him to head home.

He was very weary by the time he slipped into the passenger's seat of the silver Fiat.

"Ehi," Romano greeted and turned the engine.

"Ey…" he murmured back as he pulled on his seatbelt. He rested the heels of his palms against his eyes and released a shaky breath.

He needed a moment of stillness.

"Your ragazzo keeps calling."

He dropped his hands and turned. "Oh?"

Life pulled him onward.

"Rodeo bas-"

At Antonio's unimpressed stare, Romano got ruffled. "You-you know which. The one you've been agonizing about since—forever!"

He checked the phone he'd left behind in a cup holder.

He was always getting calls and had been afraid to cause an interruption earlier, though he wasn't comfortable turning it off.

Lovi had volunteered to monitor it while he waited to drive Antonio home.

It was Tejas's number alright. But it had called him three times and there was one voicemail, so it wasn't accidental.

There was dread in his stomach since Toni almost never called him. And the call he'd made last May…

He steeled his nerves and played the voicemail.

"Hola Papi, soy yo…" There was a concerning pause and then "…Toni."

He was going to hold onto this message forever. Forever! Because forever was always too short.

"Necesito un favor."

Forever!

"Because of course he does," Lovi scoffed. "Congratulazioni, your brat now feels comfortable taking advantage of you. Geez, does he even know you just had-had a-" He looked over at the cemetery.

"I don't think he reads the digital calendar I've shared with them all."

"Umm, ¿puedes llamarme…p-por favor?"

"His accent sucks."

"Hush, Lovi! He is cute!"

"Gracias….uhh…te quier…uhh, um, bye."

"Ay, qué lindo."

He was definitely keeping this message forever.

And because Dios es bueno, he dared not squander a third chance and promptly dialed his son back.

"Che cosa stai facendo?!" Lovi griped. "We could've gotten something to eat first. I know you never eat anything before one of these-"

Antonio gave the waiting "uno momento" finger Lovi had loathed when he was small.

Romano pouted.

España smiled.

He was still cute, too.

Tejas answered on the first ring and with more gusto than Antonio had been expecting.

"¡Hola!"

"Hola mi bebito, what can I help with?"

His son floated in and out of español as he tried to make his overture into a request.

He was trying so very hard for Antonio's sake. It was adorable.

He made a point to repond back in inglés, "You can talk to me in English, if it's too hard to explain this way. Or use both."

His pidgin was becoming cute. Especially, when Toni wasn't trying to annoy him. He thought in a blend of languages. Antonio realized that now.

His son haltingly told him of some of Alfred's problems, which, of course his tender hearted Tonito would be upset about.

Antonio tried not to be bitter that his son was being dragged once more into his adopted? Or maybe he was a half-brother's? problems with no concern for himself.

"It made me think about…me. Papi, do you have that stuff on record? My…my birth and early papers and stuff. I'm worried something could be pulled on me, too, if I'm not proactive."

He was being assertive! And it would allow for conversations about him being a sweet little baby! O how much he'd enjoyed being bounced on Antonio's knee during Mass. And when he'd started teething he had a taste for heraldic chains!

"Sí, I have all your things. All of them! And I even have some things, and copies of things, from Mejico when you were under her government. Do you want to come over and see?"

He prayed desperately that he wouldn't ask for them to just be digitized.

He glanced over at a statue of an angel and prayed harder.

Por favor…

"Those would all be official records?"

"Yes, yes, yes."

"…Is that okay? I mean, it has to be after my trip to Australia. But I wouldn't mind…I would like…if you're not…if you would want to…see me—"

"Of course, I like seeing you! Anytime!"

"…Yeah? Cuz I know last May was...loco. So, if you need a break from...me-"

"I want to see you. Are you going to Australia as a military representative or a governmental diplomat or as a tourist?"

"…Diplomat…I'm a little nervous. Stuart recorded those meetings I subbed in and played them back to me. I'm not real…anyways, they're divvying up more of Al's workload among the rest of us. And somehow I got this short straw."

"I'll write down tips and tricks I use and send them to you. I have some business I can take care of there at that time, also."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe we meet up? Make arrangements for you coming over?"

"You…sure?"

"Yes. We will make plans. You send me details. I will see you there."

"Oh! Okay. Neat. Knowing someone else is gonna be there that I-I mean, I met him at England's place. Seems nice. It's just, I don't know if he'll wanna play tour guide for me. Not that-that I'm expecting you-"

"Are you going alone?"

"Stuart's busy and there was kind of a-an implied 'We can't hold your hand forever with this stuff, Tex.' Um, I…I don't get out that much. Duh. Obviously, word of me would've spread real fast, faster than a—um, I mean, I've had shore leave here and there and places during military operations, but… I don't really go inland, you know? Kinda proud of myself. Having more non-combat trips. Visited you, finally, for December. Visited England. Ya know? I toured with Buffalo Bill with his show through a few places back in the day. Been to Italy a couple times. They got mosquitoes, too. And now I'm going to Australia! But I don't think Al's gonna make it there. Just me. And Al likes Jake. So I can't mess it up, I need-"

"We need lunch!" Lovino barked. "How long is this chat going to be?"

"Lovi!?" Antonio hissed.

"Aw shoot, I thought it was already past y'all's lunchtime?"

It was. Antonio smiled. His son had been trying to time his calls and be considerate.

"Damn, I just can't get a good handle on all this time zone shit. I've got two myself and I still screw them up. And you have two, also? Right? Right. Why am I asking? I actually know that cuz I...I Googled it. Sorry, I haven't gotten to talk to Al and now I'm all lonesome and chatty-damn it-there I go—I'll let you get to gettin' but holler if you need me, kay? BYE."

"Te quiero."

"Te quiero!"

Click.

It was a relief that the child hung up first, because he wouldn't have been able to.

"You…alright?" Lovi asked as he released the brake of the car and decisively merged into traffic.

Only two cars honked.

Antonio nodded and wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

Grief and guilt and joy blended.

But if life had taught him anything.

If he'd taken anything away from Rome—

Carpe diem.

He had to take joy where he could, whenever it appeared. Whatever form it presented itself in.

Not to turn it away because of pride or timing or appearances or a million other reasons why people denied themselves happiness.

He could mourn for Julio and his loss.

He could be happy for himself.

Souls were strong enough to bear those feelings simultaneously.

Gloria a Dios!

Sniffling, he rifled through the armrest's compartments and frowned. "Lovi?! The address book?"

Romano kept a backup of Antonio's niños' contact information for him. He was helpful that way.

"In the glove compartment."

It was!

"Muchos gracias." He gave a watery smile. "The fiesta is ON!"

Read & Review Pleeeease :DDD

Readers told me they wanted more, let's see who shows up in the comments for this adventure!