Author's Note: Here's the last part for this request! Thanks again to the anon who suggested it! Enjoy!

"We'll have the perimeter surrounded, so all you have to do is get the boy out of there. We'll handle the rest," Francis instructs calmly over the phone.

"A tall order," Arthur mutters back, checking his mirrors as he drives to the location on the GPS. "How is Matthew doing?"

"He's upset, but he's in one piece."

Arthur allows himself a weary sigh and tries to still his pounding heart as he gets closer to the destination. He'll never be able to forgive himself if the boy is injured due to his shortcomings. He helped drag the child into this chaos, and now he's going to drag him out, no matter the cost.

He abandons the car on a side street a block away and ignores the buzzing in his earpiece of Francis talking to someone.

He's all alone now. The burden is solely his to bear.

He closes his eyes, remembers the sight of Alfred sleeping in his lap just this morning, and forces himself to be completely alert and on guard. When he opens his eyes again, he's already walking inside of the chillingly empty building, adrenaline soaring through his body.

He waits for something to happen, and a person steps out of the shadows. The dark head of hair is all Arthur needs to see to know he's dealing with Lovino Vargas. Standing next to him is a figure half his height with bloodshot, blue eyes.

"Alfred," Arthur croaks, fighting the urge to run up to him. He seems to be relatively unharmed for now, but his hands are tied behind his back, and there's a red mark on his cheek as though someone struck him.

"Arthur," Alfred sobs, wincing at the painful hold Lovino has on his upper arm. "Arthur, help!"

And that's when the gun dangling from Lovino's other arm catches Arthur's attention, and he knows he has to choose his words with extreme care.

"I've already contacted the American military base in Poland, and my associates are willing to negotiate if you let the boy go."

His earpiece has gone silent. Everyone must be listening anxiously on the other line.

"We're not negotiating. You have to do exactly what we tell you, or the kid dies!" Lovino screams back, and Arthur flinches.

"Arthur!" Alfred begs again.

"It's okay, lad. I'm right here," Arthur tries to console him from afar, not daring to move.

"How many times do I have to tell you to shut up?" Lovino screeches as he raises his gun and points it at Alfred's head.

Carefully, Arthur reaches for his own gun in the holster resting on his hip, but Lovino turns his attention back to him at once and catches him.

"Drop your weapon, or I'll shoot. Dio, I swear I'll shoot."

Arthur takes the gun out and sets it on the ground directly in front of him, arms above his head. "I only wish to talk."

"Yeah, well, we don't have time to talk. Just shut up and get the right guys on the phone before—"

"Arthur!"

"SHUT UP!" Lovino screams again, and Alfred lets out a yelp when a hand connects with his cheek again. "Stop crying, or I'll kill you. Do you understand, idiot? I'll kill you."

Alfred cries even harder, and the gun in Lovino's hand begins to shake violently as he presses the barrel firmly against the boy's temple.

"Please, he's just a child. You'll get everything you've requested," Arthur says steadily, even though he's sure something has irreparably erupted in his chest. "Release him. I have orders for the withdrawal of NATO forces with me, signed and approved."

"Hand it over, then," Lovino demands, jerking Alfred closer to him.

Arthur reaches for the folded piece of paper in his pocket and holds it out.

Lovino takes the paper and releases Alfred. The child immediately runs over to Arthur and buries his head in the man's chest, terrified.

Arthur quickly unties the rope binding Alfred's wrists together with practiced expertise and gathers him into his arms, flooded with relief. "Are you all right?" he asks, carding a hand through his hair.

Alfred's too shocked to speak, but Arthur supposes there will be time for such questions later.

"Go outside," Arthur whispers sharply into the boy's ear. "Now. Don't argue."

Alfred looks at him with watery eyes and says, "I won't leave you."

"Do as I say this second," Arthur hisses at him, heart beginning to race again. They don't have much time before—

"Who is Francis Williams?" Lovino interrupts, holding the paper up accusingly.

"Alfred, this is your final warning. Go," Arthur pleads with him in the sternest whisper he can muster. When the boy doesn't lift a foot, he turns back to Lovino and says, "He's the general overseeing—"

A new voice cuts in this time, the one from the phone call. "Enough with these games."

Arthur pulls Alfred behind him protectively.

A tall, formidable Russian man smiles darkly at them. "Ahh, we finally meet. I've heard wonderful stories about you, Arthur, if that's the name you now use. Wonderful stories."

Arthur remains silent, one hand clutching Alfred's.

"You can call me Ivan. It's a nice name, isn't it? Very dependable and solid."

Ivan reveals a gun, but this time, it's pointed at Arthur. "I know many things about you. You'd be surprised, and you're not the type of person to be easily rattled, are you? Oh, I forgot you don't like small talk. I'm sorry. Let's get straight to the point, then. There isn't a general by the name of Francis Williams, is there?"

Arthur stands his ground but still doesn't comment.

"I don't like being lied to, my friend."

"He's not your friend!" Alfred suddenly shouts, and Arthur internally roars for the boy to keep quiet. The child's loud mouth has done nothing but get him in trouble throughout this entire trip.

Ivan's grin becomes wider. "What a nice, little boy you are. You're brave, that's for sure. Alfred, da? I think we'll get along well. I admire courage."

Alfred bites his lip and peeks his head out from behind Arthur, not sure what to think.

"Do you like Arthur, Alfred?"

Arthur's earpiece buzzes softly, and a voice that isn't Francis's whispers, "Hold still. Backup is on site and getting into position."

Ivan blinks expectantly at Alfred. "Well?"

"Yes, Arthur's my friend," Alfred finally replies, a tad squeakily.

"Hmm… It's good to have friends. Tell me something, Alfred. Would you like to learn how to fire a gun?"

Alfred shrinks back and shakes his head.

"Don't be shy. Come, and I'll show you."

Alfred shakes his head again.

"You're hurting my feelings, you know, and since you hurt my feelings, I just might have to hurt Arthur. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

More tears roll down Alfred's face as he shakes his head yet again.

"If you don't want him to be hurt, come and let me show you something."

Arthur tightens his grip on Alfred, and Ivan notices.

"Let him go, Arthur. We're all just trying to get to know one another."

To reinforce the threat, Lovino Vargas points his gun at Alfred again.

What the hell is taking everyone outside so long? And where is the other Vargas brother?

Hating himself, Arthur lets his hand fall away from Alfred. "Do as he says, lad."

Trembling, Alfred reluctantly crosses over to where Ivan is and stands beside him, comically tiny in comparison to the large man.

Ivan smiles once more, bends down to take hold of both of Alfred's hands, and wraps them around the gun. He clamps his own hands on top of the boy's, gun still aimed at Arthur. Alfred starts wailing as he realizes what's happening, and Ivan roughly forces the child's thumb onto the trigger.

Arthur wants to vomit. Ivan's going to make the boy shoot him. So, after all these years of training in stealth, handling torture, and self-defense, a seven-year-old boy is going to finish him off. How fitting.

His earpiece drones, "Don't move."

"No!" Alfred shrieks, and Arthur closes his eyes, bracing for impact as the sound of gunfire makes him jump.

…

He's alive. Why is he still alive?

A sniper gets Ivan in the shoulder, and Alfred is freed for the second time. Hell breaks loose as the doors come crashing down and dozens of men run in like a stampede. Arthur locates his gun on the ground and dives for it, but a bullet finds a home in his left thigh, and he bites out a groan, collapsing. The firing continues for another minute, and then, it's finally over.

"Mon cher. Merde… Arthur, say something," Francis murmurs rapidly, crouched in front of him.

Arthur clenches his hands into fists against the pain and asks, "Where's Alfred?"

"He's okay," Francis insists, and he flourishes a hand toward someone in the distance before speaking again. "You'll get to see him in a little while. First, we need to get you to the hospital."

"D-Did we get them?"

"Oui, everyone is in custody. We caught Feliciano Vargas lurking outside. He was running away. Apparently, he had a last minute change of heart and didn't want to be associated with his brother and Ivan anymore. He caused some commotion outside. Sorry for making you wait."

"I want to see Alfred now."

Francis makes an aggravated noise but manages to retrieve the still weeping boy. "I didn't want him to see you like this. You're only upsetting him more."

Alfred kneels down by Arthur's side and touches his jaw, and Arthur is made aware of the fact that he didn't shave this morning. "Are you okay? Please, be okay."

Arthur manages a faint smile. "It'll be fine. I've had worse."

The paramedics arrive, and they immobilize and loosely wrap Arthur's leg. Then, he's lifted up and onto a stretcher.

"Doesn't look bad," one of the paramedics promises, and Arthur vaguely feels the sting of a needle driving into his arm, followed by the warm rush of lovely painkillers.

"This'll probably knock him out," someone says, and Arthur can already feel his eyes drooping.

Alarmed by the sudden drowsiness, he groans, "Francis…"

"I'm here, mon amie."

"Don't go…"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Sleep tugs on his consciousness, and he swears someone kisses his forehead, but he's too dazed to know for sure.

The hospital—it's not the first time he's landed himself in this position

"Can I see it?" Alfred asks from somewhere ahead of him.

"No. Why would you want to see it anyway?" he hears Francis respond.

"Because it's cool!"

"I worry about you sometimes. This fascination of yours isn't normal."

"Is the bullet still in there?"

"No."

"Do they have it in a jar somewhere like in the movies?"

"Don't trust everything you learn from films… Arthur? I think the medication is finally wearing off."

Arthur groans as he pries his heavy eyelids apart. His head hurts, which is strange because he doesn't remember hitting it.

Francis swims into his field of view and gives him a concerned frown. "How are you feeling?"

He rolls his tongue around his parched mouth a few times and says through chapped lips, "Remarkably awful."

"The doctor said you might feel uncomfortable for a few hours as the painkillers stop working. You'll get a weaker dose later today," Francis explains, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "It could have been much worse. The bullet didn't reach the bone—you were lucky. Your leg's going to be sore for a number of weeks, and the bandages need to be changed three times a day, but otherwise, everything should be fine."

Arthur rubs his head and mumbles a few words under his breath to show he understands. To his left, Matthew is sitting in a chair, attention away from the cartoons on television as he peers at him. Hesitantly, the boy smiles at Arthur and places something on his lap.

Curious, Arthur picks it up, and damn it all, he can't handle this drama and cluster of emotions. He's becoming soft.

The item in his lap is a "get-well-soon" card. Bless Matthew's heart.

"Thank you. That's very kind of you, poppet."

Matthew blushes and looks away, hugging his stuffed polar bear. "You're welcome."

The touching moment is ruined when Alfred brings attention to himself. "So, can I see it, Arthur?" the other twin asks excitedly, leaning over the end of the hospital bed.

Arthur scrunches his face as a strong wave of pain runs through his head. "See what?"

"How your leg looks," Alfred clarifies. "It's probably pretty gross, huh?"

Francis rolls his eyes and wags a finger at the child. "I told you 'no,' Alfred. Stop pestering Arthur. He has enough to think about."

"It's all right," Arthur assures with a chuckle before beckoning for Alfred to come closer. He lifts an arm to smooth the bangs away from boy's eyes and says, "It's good to see you're safe. You had everyone worried."

"Even you?" Alfred asks cheekily. "I thought you weren't scared of anything."

"Yes, even me. We all have our fears," Arthur admits. "And don't think I've forgotten about how foolish you were for wandering away from Francis. You put yourself in great danger."

"I'm sorry."

"What would've happened had Francis and I not come looking for you? This could have ended in tragedy."

Alfred slumps his shoulders, ashamed.

"Francis and I are responsible for you and your brother, and we expect you to listen to us when we tell you to do something. You know you're not allowed to go off on your own. What if we hadn't reached you in time?"

The severity of his actions seems to resonate with Alfred, and guilty tears pour over his cheeks. "You got hurt because of me."

Arthur clicks his tongue and relents with the lecturing, deciding to hug the boy instead. "It's all right now. I can handle a wounded leg."

"Francis said you were going to be okay, but I wasn't sure because that's what everyone says when things go wrong and I—"

"Shh."

"—don't wanna go back to how things were because I want to stay with you and Francis, and Mattie says he doesn't want to leave either—"

"Take a deep breath, lad."

"—and no one's ever been nice to us like you and Francis. We love you guys."

Arthur stiffens, and Francis laughs.

This is not how this mission was supposed to go.

"I'm sure this is all a little overwhelming for Arthur, boys. Let's get a snack and let him rest for a moment, hmm?" Francis recommends, rubbing Alfred's back to calm him. "He's only just woken up."

Alfred breaks the hug, leaving a stunned Arthur to gawk at him.

"Boys, I'll meet you in the hallway in a minute," Francis says, urging the boys out of the room. When they're out the door, he turns back to Arthur and smiles gently. "How are we going to let them go?"

Arthur sighs. "I've no idea."

"How's the pain?"

"Manageable."

"I'm glad you're all right."

"Well, I couldn't just die. Who would be there to keep your ego in check?" Arthur jokes darkly.

And before he can second guess himself, Francis bends down and kisses him. He's nervous, and so, he pulls away quickly, but as he rises to leave, Arthur throws a hand forward and snatches him by the cuff of his shirt, yanking him back.

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" Arthur asks once they're face-to-face again.

"Yes."

And Arthur kisses him back.

Standing there in a lively airport with children running back and forth as they take advantage of the final days of summer, Arthur does something he rarely gives himself permission to do—he thinks about his future.

With a career like his, it isn't wise to keep pondering about the next step. His existence is rooted in uncertainty. For all he knows, he could be dead tomorrow. It's best to take everything one day at a time. He must live in the present lest he loses his mind to the future.

But while Francis plays a guessing game with the twins as they all walk (well, actually, Arthur hobbles behind them on a pair of crutches) to their gate, Arthur worries he'll never be able to settle down. He might never find security and stability.

He looks at the boys joyfully skip ahead of him and frowns. This is it. Tomorrow, they'll all be back home, and he'll be out of commission for a few weeks until his leg is at full strength again. Then, another mission will find its way to his desk, and he'll be shipped somewhere else, with or without a partner.

"Hold on a second," Francis suddenly says to the boys. "Let's give Arthur a chance to catch up."

"I can keep up just fine, frog," Arthur growls. He quickens his pace, and as he does, someone's wild child knocks into one of his crutches, and he loses his balance.

He expects to fall to the ground and injure himself even further, but thankfully, Francis steadies him with an "I-told-you-so" smirk.

The mother of the child apologizes profusely, and Arthur gruffly assures her that no harm has been done.

"We're not in a rush," Francis tells Arthur chidingly, and he's using the same tone he uses to discipline the boys. "Take as much time as you need, mon cher."

"Must you call me that?"

"Don't you like it?" Francis teases, sneaking a peck to Arthur's cheek. "Come on. Have some fun."

"This isn't going to work, Francis."

"Can't we at least give it a try?"

Arthur adjusts his crutches and stands without Francis's help. "I'm not ready…"

"And when will you ever be ready? You're always waiting for the perfect time, but it's not going to come."

The boys are staring at them, and Arthur sighs.

"Give it a chance. Two weeks. If after two weeks you still hate me, we won't push it, okay?" Francis compromises.

They're both horrible at relationships. Arthur's long forgotten how to function like a normal human being, and Francis is overly optimistic about everything without understanding the implications.

"Okay," Arthur agrees. "Two weeks."

Saying goodbye is harder than any of them expect it to be.

"No!" Alfred howls, making the most heart-shattering sound Arthur's ever heard as he tries to get the boy to walk up to the door of his foster house. "Don't go!"

Matthew's not faring much better. Francis is holding him in his arms, whispering sweetly to him about how he has to be a good boy and be strong. It's no use though, both of the boys are absolutely hysterical, and no matter how hard they try to pull the children off of them and lead them to where they belong, they scream and continue throwing fits that leave both men feeling terrible.

"We'll come and visit," Arthur promises, but Alfred isn't listening. He's juggling both his crutches and the boy in his grasp, wishing it didn't have to come to this. "It won't be so bad. Look, Alfred, you have all of your friends here. They'll miss you if you don't go and join them."

"I don't have any friends here. All they do is push me around," Alfred sobs, drooling into Arthur's shirt. "Why can't I stay with you?"

"Because this is your home."

"But I don't like my home."

"Lad, you need to stay here."

Alfred becomes more of an inconsolable ball of tears and whimpers, unable to be persuaded.

"Alfred, do you know what a nomad is?"

"No."

"A nomad is a person who moves from place to place and never stays in one location for too long. Francis and I are like nomads. We can't stay, which is why you need to go back home," Arthur tries to help him understand.

"Can't I come with you?"

"I'm afraid not. I can't give you what you need, lad. This," Arthur stops to gesture to the foster home, "is where you need to be. You have people who can take care of you here."

"But you can take care of me."

"No, I can't."

Arthur tries to get Alfred to let go of him for the hundredth time. Again, he fails. "Stop this nonsense. Go inside, Alfred. I'm not going to debate this with you."

"Why do you want to leave me?"

Arthur frowns deeply. He doesn't want to leave, but he must.

Finally, Alfred uncurls his fingers and removes them from his shirt, crestfallen. "Fine. Go, then!"

"Can't we have a proper and civil goodbye?" Arthur asks, but Alfred has already turned away and is marching up to the door, not even bothering to look back.

Something constricts in Arthur's chest, but he decides this is the way it has to be. It doesn't matter if Alfred's upset—this is what's best for him.

Seeing his brother surrender, Matthew begins to give up the fight as well. He holds onto Francis as he says, "Adieu, Papa," and then, he lets his arms fall away. He walks over and exchanges a brief hug with Arthur. This time, he simply says, "Bye."

Arthur pats the little one's shoulder and forces a smile. "Goodbye, poppet. Take good care of your brother for me, all right? Keep him out of trouble."

And then, Matthew, too, walks away.

Arthur exchanges a solemn look with Francis as they make their way back to their car in silence.

Their job is done.

They fall into a routine, and to Arthur's grand surprise, being in a relationship with Francis comes easily. It's as though they've been dating for an eternity.

Needless to say, they last longer than two weeks.

Within the month, they make arrangements to move in together, which is more convenient for both of them. It's convenient for Francis because he doesn't have to keep driving back and forth to see Arthur, and it's convenient for Arthur because his leg is still giving him trouble, and, with Francis nearby, daily tasks become less arduous.

Things quiet down. Arthur's on sick leave until further notice, and Francis gets called in sporadically for small assignments, but he's mostly home as well. It seems like everything will remain stagnant, until Francis throws them a curveball one night.

"I'm retiring from the agency."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I can't do it anymore. I'd rather do some police work. I can't keep living this unpredictable life," Francis declares, adamant. "I'm done."

"And you made this decision just now?" Arthur asks, bewildered.

"No, I've been considering it for a while. Ever since we left the boys last month… They deserve a better life than what they have now, Arthur."

"I hope you're not suggesting what I think you are."

"Let's take them in."

"Francis—"

"You know you can't stand to think of them at that horrible home."

"I don't think you realize what a responsibility this would be."

"Maybe I don't, but what do we have to lose?"

Arthur doesn't say anything for a few minutes, but then, out of nowhere, he grumbles, "You lazy sod. You think you can retire and leave me with the duty of doing all of the hard work? If you're retiring, so am I."

"Really?"

"Do I have to explain it to you in French?"

"I'd love to see you try."

"Well, I'm not giving you that luxury."

Francis grins and wraps his arms around Arthur's waist. "Thank you."

"Boys, you have some visitors."

Arthur and Francis come strolling into the living room, and the twins look at them warily, unsure of what to expect.

"What are you doing here?" Alfred asks, sounding sour and hurt.

"We're here to take you both home, obviously," Arthur replies mildly.

The boys stare at them, perplexed. Alfred breaks out of the stupor first and goes rocketing into Arthur's chest, enthralled. Matthew does the same to Francis seconds later.

"Are we a real family this time?" Matthew asks shyly, and both men laugh.

"Oui, cher. We are going to be a real family."

"Promise?" Alfred says into Arthur's shoulder, his beloved blue dinosaur nestled under one arm.

Arthur nods. "We promise."

"We're going home, we're going home, we're going home!" Alfred sings gleefully.

Hand-in-hand they step outside, a family like any other.

End :)