Iain sighed as he petted his younger brother's hair, a rare show of affection. "If it's any consolation, I could talk to him about it?" he offered, as Arthur rubbed at his eyes. His twelve-year-old brother had come home crying again.

"No!" Arthur glared up at him. "Frog's your friend!"

"Dinnae call him a frog!" Iain smacked the back of Arthur's head and sighed again. "If he's pickin' on ya, I can sort him out. What's he doin'?"

"He hides my books, and pulls my hair, and he's so, so mean! And Gil…And Gil never stops him!" Arthur looked away suddenly and Iain blinked at him in surprise as he watched Arthur's cheeks turn red.

"Gil?" he asked slowly. He knew the boy – he was his friend, after all – but this was new.

"Yeah….I thought Gil was nice an' all…" Arthur sniffled. "He's my….my friend…."

Iain sighed. "I see, then." He only wished he didn't see the sheer idiocy in front of him.

He walked out, and picked up his phone, dialling Francis' number.

"Bonjour-"

"You could stand ta be a little less obvious wi' your jealousy, Fran."

Spluttering could be heard at the end of the line. "I-I do not know what you might be talking about, mon ami!"

"Shut it. Don't tease Artie 'cause he likes Gil an' you like him. Any consolation? He'll get o'er it, but honestly. This is ridiculous…."

"It's not my fault that Gilbert is the one he likes with his bad taste…" a sulky voice replied.

"Ye would nae be sayin' that if you were the one he was all goo-eyed for, an' you ken it, Fran. Dinnae make me defend my brother's honour by punchin' sense into ya."