Author's Note: Hello! Apologies for the late update; school has been HECTIC for me the past few weeks and probably will continue to be crazy until spring break. I'm pretty sure this is the longest chapter so far, and I hope you don't lose interest in the middle of it. Reviews and critiques are welcome and very much appreciated!

The flight had been horrendous for Francis. He had flown on planes before, but they had only been for a few hours, if that. This flight, however, made his stomach twist and churn in all sorts. Francis tried watching movies on the tiny little screen attached to the seat in front of him, but found himself constantly standing up and clumsily walking to the disgusting bathrooms. Arthur, on the other hand, slept peacefully on the flight as his movie went on. His head often rested on Francis' shoulder, which put a smile on the Frenchman's face when the stomach pains weren't as bad. But when the plane was back on firm ground, it made Francis even happier.

Once they were through the agonizing queues through customs and waiting for their luggage, Francis and Arthur joined the heavy crowd, looking for their sons. "Papa! Dad!" Francis overheard behind him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Mathieu and Alfred waving their arms about. "Papa! Over here!"

"Mathieu!Alfred! Bonjour!" Francis exclaimed, opening his arms wide as he rushed over to them. He dropped his luggage at their feet and pulled the two close, kissing their cheeks. "Oh, it's so good to see you! I've missed you too so much!"

"We missed you too, Papa," Mathieu replied, laughing lightly. "But, you look pretty tired."

"Yeah, you look kinda crappy," Alfred agreed, patting his Papa's back. "We better get you and Dad to the hotel, pronto." Francis chuckled, waving his hand in the air.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just some jet lag, is all," he said. He turned to Mathieu and ruffled his hair, pulling him in for a hug. "Mathieu! You've kept your hair just the way I like it!" Mathieu smiled and nodded.

"I tried a few different styles when Al and I arrived here. But this one was the only one that looked decent compared to the others." he said. Arthur stopped beside Francis, dropping his baggage by his feet and sighed.

"Thanks for disappearing on me Francis. I was a bit worried that you'd run off." The Brit grumbled.

"Dad!" Mathieu cheered, pulling Arthur close. "Welcome to New York!"

"The best city ever!" Alfred added. "Speaking of which, we better get going. Rush hour is a bitch to deal with."

"Language, Alfred." Arthur corrected.

"All I said was bitch! It's a female dog!" Alfred defended.

"Not in that context!" Arthur shook his head. "Right, we should leave then. Where do we need to go?"

"In the parking garage, duh," Alfred replied, pushing past his parents. "I'll lead the way."

"Arthur," Francis murmured, pulling his husband back. "Promise me you'll tone down the arguing with Alfred while we're here. I want this to be peaceful and memorable. Bickering has no place here."

"Yes, of course," Arthur replied. "Anything for you." He picked up his luggage and hurried along behind the two eager boys, glancing over his shoulder occasionally. When they stepped outside, France and Arthur grimaced.

"Is it usually this hot?" Francis complained. "Mon Dieu!" Alfred laughed loudly, walking backwards as he began crossing the street.

"It's nice weather, dude!" he answered. "Great swimming weather! Wait 'til you see our swimming pool in our complex. Boy, it's great!" They walked through the parking garage, eventually finding Alfred's old, beaten up car. "Sorry that it looks a bit shitty—"

"Language!"

"…But at least it has air conditioning!"

"Sometimes." Mathieu mumbled, quietly. The two boys carried the bulky luggage into the back of the SUV as Francis and Arthur opened the back passenger doors. Alfred raced around to the driver's side, almost tripping over himself as he did so. The car inside was a complete mess; there were candy wrappers everywhere, broken CDs, even crumpled up McDonald's bags underneath the front seats. There was a subtle, musty smell inside that made Francis' nose curl up.

"Do you smell that?" he asked, keeping his voice low so only Arthur could hear.

"Unfortunately." Arthur replied, clearing his throat.

"Sorry it's so messy," Alfred announced. He twisted around in his seat as he quickly and smoothly backed out of the parking space. "It'll be clean by tomorrow morning when we go to breakfast."

"No it won't be," Mathieu added. "How was the flight by the way? Eight hours is pretty harsh." Francis nodded in agreement as he held onto the handle on the door as the car swerved into traffic. "When Al and I flew over here, we were pretty beat when we moved onto campus. We were exhausted, actua—" With a flick of a switch, Alfred turned on the radio at full volume, singing along immediately with the latest hit. Mathieu sighed, reaching over to turn down the dial slightly. "At least attempt a conversation, Al."

"Music helps me focus!" Alfred said. "Besides, Dad and Papa probably need some rest."

"Not with hip-hop blaring in our ears," Arthur commented. "Matthew, could you change it to something a bit quieter? Perhaps the classical station?"

"Boooriiing! How about country? That's relaxing!" Alfred suggested.

"Please, no." Francis mumbled, massaging his temples.

"It's not a big deal if we don't listen to music, Al." Mathieu offered.

"But that's so lame! How about a little R&B? That's somewhat soothing."

"Jazz! Jazz is always nice," Francis added, leaning forward a bit. "You and I used to listen to jazz all the time, Alfred. Remember?" Alfred shrugged.

"That was just a phase, dude," he replied. "R&B, that's my final offer." Without waiting for any other response, he changed the station where a soulful, female voice flowed through the car's speakers. "Ah, see? Isn't that nice?" The rest grumbled under their breath, turning their heads to look out the window as they entered the highway. Francis rested his head against the cold glass and closed his eyes. His stomach was still unsettled from the flight, he would much rather lie down and stay put on stable ground than take a ride to the hotel. It was obvious that Alfred had taken an interest in cars; his driving was great, but he was driving much too fast. He swerved in out of lanes too much, leaving the other drivers blaring their horns at them as they flew past. There was also swearing, which resulted in Arthur shouting back at Alfred every few seconds. Francis had missed having the whole family together, but he certainly did not miss the constant fighting. Francis cringed as his stomach suddenly felt all twisted and knotted; did anyone else in this car feel the same way?

"If I hear one more swear word out of your mouth, Alfred…" Arthur began. Francis reached over and brushed his hand against the Brit's arm.

"Arthur," he whispered. "Tell Alfred to slow down, please."

"What're you gonna do, dad? I'm twenty years old; too big to lie on your knee and be spanked." Alfred sneered.

"Just watch your language, please!" Arthur snapped back.

"Arthur!" Francis begged. "Alfred!" The car swerved over to another lane. Francis covered his mouth with the palm of his hand and placed his other free hand on his head. "Someone stop the car!"

"I'll do whatever I want, pops." Alfred taunted.

"Alfred! Attitude!"

"Papa?" Mathieu asked, quietly. Of the three in the car, Mathieu would be the only one to sense that something was wrong. "Papa?!" Mathieu called again. "Al, pull over!"

"I do not understand where you get your attitude from, Alfred, but your Papa and I came over for a nice visit. So be on your best behaviour, young man!" Arthur continued.

"Be on your best behaviour young man!" Alfred mimicked, in a terrible faux English accent.

"Al! Pull over!" Mathieu repeated.

"Huh? What for?" Alfred asked.

"I think I'm going to be sick!" Francis shouted.

"Shit!" Alfred floored the gas pedal and moved over to the shoulder lane as quickly as possible. As soon as the car came to a stop, Francis opened the door and raced around the SUV, leaning over the guard rail.

"Francis!" Arthur called out of the window. "Do you need anything?" When Francis didn't reply, he immediately climbed out of the car and scurried over to the back of the car. "Bollocks! Do either of you have any medicine of some sort?"

"Language!" Alfred shouted.

"Not now, Alfred!"

"I think I might have some Dramamine," Mathieu answered. "I'll go get my bag; it's in the back." He climbed out of the car as well, standing next to his father as they both looked through the luggage. Meanwhile, Francis held onto his stomach as he sat down on the guard rail, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. Travelling had never affected him this way in previous years; it was strange that his sickness even took away his happiness for travel.

In a few seconds, Arthur was standing by him, handing him a water bottle and a tiny, white pill. "Did you get sick?" he asked, sitting down next to him. Francis shook his head. "The plane ride bothered you, didn't it?"

"Very." Francis mumbled. His head felt as if it was spinning and he felt extremely weak. Arthur patted his back, sighing.

"Come on, that pill should help a little bit if you take it now. Just try to keep it down," he said. "Matthew said it's not too much longer until we arrive at the hotel."

"How much longer?" Francis asked, swallowing the pill.

"A few minutes, tops."

"Hey!" Alfred hollered. "Is everything alright?" Arthur slowly stood up, helping Francis stand up on his feet and guided him back over to the car. "Sorry about that, Papa. I'll try to drive a bit safer."

"It's alright," Francis replied, slowly stepping into the car again. He yawned. "Just wake me up when we get there…"

They arrived at the hotel safely without anymore stops on the road; Alfred and Mathieu carried their parents' luggage in as Arthur and Francis slowly followed by them. The brothers set the luggage by the window in the hotel room, giving their Papa good wishes for the night before they left. Francis sat on the bed, holding his head. "Are you feeling better, love?" Arthur asked, slipping his shoes off. "You slept for the rest of the drive here." Francis sighed, leaning back against the feather pillows.

"Next time, we rent a car." The Frenchman murmured.

"And a private jet too?" Arthur joked.

"I'd rather sail." Francis answered, closing his eyes. "Or beg Mathieu to drive; Alfred was absolutely nuts."

"At least he pulled over when you felt sick," Arthur added. "And he got us here safely." He lied down next to his husband, resting his head against Francis' shoulder. "It's a bit early, but I'm rather tired. We should get some rest, don't you think?" Francis smiled, gently, wrapping his arm around Arthur's shoulders.

"Sounds like a wonderful plan." he replied, yawning a bit. "Thank you for agreeing to this, Arthur. I know it's not the ideal trip, but it's really great to see the boys. I can't believe how much they've grown. It seems like yesterday when we brought them home for the first time."

"Yes, it is hard to believe, Arthur said. "And you know I'd do anything to make you happy." Francis chuckled.

"Remember when Alfred used to run around in the yard, pretending to be a superhero? He would wrap his blanket around his neck and put underwear on his head, zooming around the trees and fighting imaginary enemies with a stick." he said, laughing lightly. "Mathieu was the damsel in distress one time."

"Only because Alfred dared him to climb up the tree," Arthur added. "And we had to help him get down."

"Ah, and Mathieu was so good at drawing, remember? The boy could've been an artist!" Arthur smiled. "All those late nights, comforting them from nightmares…"

"Washing Alfred's bed sheets from bed wetting…"

"Oh Alfred…"

"I miss those days," Arthur finished, leaning over to turn the light off. "Back when the boys were innocent, I published novels and were a pastry chef," Francis curled up beside him, planting kisses all over him. "No worries, those were the days."

"We need to rest," Francis whispered. "We can reminisce later."

"Do you feel better?" Arthur asked, again. Francis lazily nodded, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. Arthur kissed his forehead, stroking his short hair and sighed with relief. "I'm glad."

Sleep was getting more and more obscure recently for Arthur. And trying to sneak away from a sleeping, cuddly Francis was even harder. Arthur lied on his side, staring at the digital clock on the nightstand, listening to Francis' soft snores. Arthur tried closing his eyes, silently singing a lullaby his mother sang to him and he used to sing to the boys; he even tried counting sheep. But nothing could put him to sleep.

"Oui…" Francis muttered. Arthur tried to cover up his laugh; he knew that when Francis was in a deep sleep, he would mutter nonsense in French. "Très bien…" Arthur sighed. I wish I could just forget the important things and sleep like he can. He pulled Francis' arm off of him, gently, and snuck off of the bed. Most of the time, this plan failed; Francis would wake up immediately and drowsily pull Arthur back under the covers. This time, however, the Brit was successful. He quietly opened his carry-on bag and pulled out his leather bound journal and his favourite pen, sneaking off to the bathroom.

He closed the door behind him before turning on the light, just in case Francis had already noticed he had escaped. Arthur climbed into the bathtub, clicking the pen and began scribbling what came to his mind into his journal.

I laughed in disbelief,

claiming his words

untrue. We never

spoke of it since.

Sitting a bathtub, a cold bathtub, with thin pajamas wasn't as comfortable as planned. The hard parceling was harsh against his bottom, his tailbone felt as if it were cutting his skin open. Arthur shifted around, now lying on his stomach, and continued writing.

I loved my love's

life; his golden hair

flowed with the leaves

his eyes blue like the

tidepools on the shore.

He was beautiful,

like the life I lived.

He was my life.

He heard the door opened followed by soft murmuring. "Arthur?" Francis asked. "What on earth are you doing?" Arthur quickly closed his journal and looked up. "I woke up and you were gone!"

"I couldn't sleep," Arthur replied. "You know, different bed and strange hotel…"

"So you went to sleep in the bathtub?!" Francis laughed. "You silly Englishman! Get up and join me in bed. We've got a long day ahead of us, and I know you won't sleep in there." Arthur slid up to a sitting position, cracking his back.

"Oof," he mumbled. "I'm getting too old…" Francis offered him a helping hand, grinning.

"Did you really think I wouldn't wake up?" he asked, guiding Arthur out of the bathroom. "The bed is so cold without you, and you know how much I hate the cold," They both climbed into bed, tangling themselves together. Francis pulled Arthur close as he could, tightening his cuddle. "Bonne nuit, mon amour." he added, kissing his neck. Arthur intertwined his fingers with Francis', staring back at the digital clock.

"Good night," he whispered. "My love."