Author's Note: This is it! Thank you for sticking with me.

"Everything's looking pretty good, pal. How do you feel?"

"All better," Alfred told his doctor, fibbing a little to get a clean bill of health. He'd been due for another check-up, and though he'd insisted he didn't need to be seen, Dad made him go.

"Hmm. Well, I wouldn't say you're all better just yet. Your dad says your knee still gets a little shaky and weak sometimes."

Alfred glared at his father and said, "Only sometimes."

"Any swelling?"

"No."

"Don't lie to the doctor, Alfred. He can't help you if you don't tell him the truth," Dad reprimanded him from his chair in the corner.

Why couldn't Dad play along every now and then? What a tattle-tale.

Alfred grumbled and answered the question again. "Only after I run."

"How often do you run?"

"Every afternoon."

The doctor prodded Alfred's knee a few more times and gave his verdict. "You can keep running, but I want you to give yourself a rest every other day. So, instead of running seven days a week, we're going to cut that down to four, deal?"

"No deal."

"Why not?"

"I gotta practice so that I can win my race next week."

"You won't win your race if your knee isn't well-rested," the doctor retorted, helping the boy off of the examination table. "You'll race better if slow down every now and then. You have to know when to hit the brakes."

Alfred huffed to signify his displeasure and retreated to the safety of Dad's awaiting arms. They wrapped around his torso from behind and squeezed him warmly. He hated all of these boring appointments, but Dad made them just a little more bearable, especially since he always treated Alfred to a snack afterward. Today, he was in the mood for a candy apple, and he knew the chocolate shop on the corner sold them. If he didn't cause too much of a fuss, he was sure he could convince Dad to buy him one.

Of course, before any of that could become a reality, Dad took the opportunity to chat with the doctor as Alfred waited impatiently for them to finish, rocking back and forth on his heels. Adults sure knew how to ramble—Dad and Papa used to talk for hours sometimes. It wasn't even about important stuff most of the time, just filler that carried them until their minds were numb.

Thankfully, the conversation didn't last too long, and Alfred was set free soon enough. He bounded down the sidewalk with Dad in tow, and yes, Dad said, they could stop by the chocolate shop for a few minutes.

He speed-walked the rest of the distance, and marched up to the counter, eyes shining with barely contained excitement. Dad handed him a ten-dollar bill and told him to order whatever he liked, as long as he chose just one treat. Then, Dad took a seat at one of the tables and rubbed his face, quite haggard and unlike his usual self.

This glum disposition was nothing new, and Alfred had grown used to it over the past weeks. Dad just didn't smile as much anymore. He looked at the world with a general sense of indifference, and the only time he seemed to show any vague interest in his surroundings was when he was around the boys.

Alfred's eyes darkened and he bit his lip as the store clerk greeted him.

"Hello, darling. What can I get for you today?"

"Umm… Can—may I get two candy apples, please?"

The woman smiled and bowed her head. "What a gentleman, you are. Yes, you may."

Alfred handed her the ten dollars, took back his change, and clasped a hand around the stick of each apple, chipper once more. The coins in his pocket jingled as he made his way over to Dad and slid into the seat across from him.

Snapping out of his train of thought, Arthur took one look at the boy's hands and frowned. "I said one snack, Alfred."

"I know. This other one's for you!"

Conflicted between feeling frustrated and touched, Arthur settled on the latter. "Thank-you, lad, but I really don't—"

"Just try it!" Alfred persisted, shoving the candy apple across the table. "It's good!"

Not wanting to offend him, Arthur accepted the gift with a sigh, allowing himself a teeny-tiny smirk. He watched Alfred devour his own apple and ventured a bite of his own, pretending not to see the child's triumphant grin.

The toffee coating melted against Arthur's tongue, and he closed his eyes against the sweet taste, remembering the fluffy marshmallows by the campfire—how Francis had slammed the wretched things in his mouth.

"Honestly, mon cher. No wonder you are so bitter—it's from all of that damned tea you drink."

Arthur smiled at the memory and reached across the table to pet Alfred's head. "Thank-you, poppet."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, very much."

"Told ya!"

It was the little things that could brighten Dad's mood, and Alfred promised himself he'd remember to do more nice things for him in the future. Seeing the light return to Dad's eyes like that—Alfred knew he'd finally done something good for his father.

He would make him happy again.

Matthew asked Time to stop. It didn't listen.

"Matthew, young man? If you're late to class, you're going to have to explain yourself to your teacher, and we wouldn't want that, would we?" Dad said from the foyer, waiting with Alfred. "Is everything all right?"

Matthew appeared at the top of the stairs and fought against the tears in his eyes. He was being silly. Silly, silly, silly. The world didn't care what he wanted. It had its own agenda.

Dad climbed up the steps and put a hand under Matthew's chin, lifting his head with gentle fingers. "What happened, love?"

"I can't go to school anymore."

"Well, we can't have that. Think about all of the wonderful things you won't be able to learn if you don't go to school."

"I can learn everything off the Internet anyway," Matthew argued, spinning around in the hopes of making a safe return to his room.

"Hold on. We need to talk about this."

"I don't want to talk about it."

Dad put a hand on his hip and drew his brows together. "Don't be unreasonable."

"Doesn't matter," Matthew mumbled, wincing when Dad pulled him back. "Nothing's the same anymore."

Dad seemed to realize where their conversation was going, and he shook his head. "I've told you before, Matthew… We need to be strong. Papa would be very unhappy if you stopped your studies. You know how important your education is."

"But he's not here to be unhappy, so who cares?" Matthew hissed, giving into the urge to cry when Dad tightened his grip around his arm and yanked him closer.

The man was firm, revealing only a flicker of hurt. "Don't say things like that. It's disrespectful. And he is here. He never left."

"I don't see him."

"That's because he can't be seen. He has to be felt," Dad whispered, putting a hand over Matthew's heart. "You're like him in so many ways, you just haven't noticed it."

Matthew wriggled out of Dad's hold and slunk back into the bedroom, slamming the door with a cracking sound that shook the ground. "You're wrong! He's just a body in the ground, and he's never coming back!"

Dad closed his eyes, took a breath, and swiveled around to look at Alfred apologetically. "You wouldn't mind taking the bus to school today, would you?"

Doing his part to quell the situation, Alfred gave a little smile. "It's okay, Dad. Mattie needs you."

"Thank-you for understanding. It's very mature of you. I'll pick you up later today."

"M'kay. Oh, and Dad?"

"Yes?"

"If Mrs. Crenshaw calls you, don't panic, okay?"

Dad immediately narrowed his eyes in disapproval. "Did you get in trouble with her again?"

"It's not my fault she didn't like my paper on the menstrual cycle."

Dad brought his hand to his forehead and tried to calm his rampage of emotions. Why did the boy have to add on to his list of problems? Nonetheless, he did find an inkling of humor in Alfred's mischief, and he wondered if that was precisely why the child had brought up the matter. "Please, spare me the details."

Not mature enough, it seemed. And yet, Dad hoped that wouldn't change anytime soon.

"You must know by now that your dad asked me to talk to you."

Matthew tossed his head back, sitting in the very passenger's seat that Papa used to occupy. The patrol car hadn't changed much since he'd last been in it. Maybe it was a tad worn and scuffed in places, but the radio still crackled the way it always did, and the scent of dank leather was inescapable.

"I know."

Dad and Raivis spoke often nowadays, and when the young Latvian wasn't stopping by for tea, he would babysit the boys or volunteer to take them out for the day. He was a welcome guest, but that didn't mean Matthew was willing to let the man become his personal therapist or counselor. Some things were personal, and he didn't see why Dad wanted him to talk about Papa with someone he'd known for barely a year.

"It's been hard on all of us at the station," Raivis murmured, reaching into his pocket to offer Matthew a piece of gum. He'd bent a few rules during his shift to talk to the child, and although he wasn't exactly allowed to have twelve year old boys in the patrol car, there wasn't a rule expressly stating that he couldn't. If anyone asked, he'd say the boy committed a misdemeanor. It was believable enough. "Your dad… He was really experienced, and maybe that's why he had a love/hate relationship with the job. He taught me a lot, especially how to treat people with respect, regardless of who they are. I think that's something that a lot of us officers forget to do sometimes when we get so caught up in the moment. It's easy to lose sight of yourself when people are dickwads. Whoops, I mean—"

Matthew smirked. "It's okay."

"You didn't hear that word from me. You picked it up at school, remember that. I can't have Arthur on my case again about—"

"I won't tell."

"Good, because Alfred just loves putting me in hot water."

"Alfred is bad at keeping secrets."

"Yeah, and I learned that a little too late," Raivis said with a laugh. "Look, I'm not gonna sit here and lecture you about how life is great and things always get better because it's not true. Life sucks, a lot. Bad things happen to people all of the time—people who've never done anything wrong. I don't know why these horrible things happen, but they do. We don't have any control over it. What I do know is that you have an amazing brother and father who will always be there for you, and you should be there for them too. They're going through the same thing you are, and they want to help."

Matthew snuggled further into the warmth of his jacket and said, "It's hard to talk to them. Papa understood me."

"And now they want to understand you too, so let them."

"It's not that easy."

Raivis brought the patrol car to a full circle around the neighborhood and stopped by the Kirkland-Bonnefoy house with a devious grin on his face. "Sure it is. I'll tell you what to do. You walk through that front door, grab them both in a bear hug, and tell them you love them. You'll feel a lot better."

"I-I don't know…"

"Trust me on this, scout's honor."

There was a heavy moment of deliberation, and then Matthew ambled out of the car, one arm tucked under the security of the other. The journey to the door was treacherous with fluctuating emotions, and Matthew felt much like the dried-up leaves littering the lawn—papery and useless.

He knocked.

Surprisingly, Alfred opened the door before Dad could get the chance. He was assaulting a bag of potato chips, and without thinking twice, he swung the plastic bag in Matthew's direction. "Mrgh? Want some?"

Matthew stepped forward and trapped his brother in a hug, just as Raivis had suggested. Stunned, Alfred dropped his arms to his sides and gave an awkward cough.

"Err… Are you feeling okay?"

"I love you, dummy."

Deciding not to question Matthew's motives, Alfred pulled his twin closer and mussed up his hair. An affectionate Matthew was a fun Matthew. "Aww! Love ya too, Mattie! What did Dad put in your cereal?"

"Shh! Don't ruin it."

When Matthew deemed Alfred sufficiently hugged, he released him and moved on to his father, who was looking at some letters from the mail.

"Dad?"

The man snapped his head up and pulled off his reading glasses. "Oh, Matthew. You're back so soon? Is everything all right?"

"I'm okay… I just wanted to say that I love you."

Dad took more time to recover than Alfred had, but when he'd reached his senses, he hugged him back with three times as much strength, even going as far to lift the boy a few inches off the ground.

"I love you too, sweet boy… I love you too."

When Matthew glanced at the living room window, he could see Raivis smiling a victorious smile.

Perhaps he could be trusted.

"Mr. K! Oh, my God. Like, you have no idea how much we've missed you."

Arthur furrowed his brows at the scattering of seniors that were crowding around his desk. They were all part of his junior class last term, and he couldn't believe how much they'd grown over the summer. Last time he'd seen Feliks, the boy was nothing more than skin-and-bones. Now, his cheeks were plump and he'd gained some muscle on his stalky limbs.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Arthur smiled at them, a little saddened by the fact that his lazy miscreants were becoming adults. They were wonderful kids at heart, and he had a soft spot for them. He always remembered the classes that wreaked hellfire better than the others.

Mathias perched himself on the edge of Arthur's desk and beamed at him, practically glowing. "We wanted to see how you were doing! How's the class this year? Not as cool as us, huh? We were your favorites."

"Hardly. You were remarkably average."

Feliks put a hand over his heart and pouted. "Ouch, that hurts, Mr. K. Our new English teacher is a total killjoy. She doesn't do free-writes with us, and we barely read anything anymore. She gets off-topic for an hour, and then the bell rings, which is okay, I guess, but we aren't learning anything."

"Well, that's simply unforgivable. There's only room for one killjoy in the English department, and that's me," Arthur joked as he finished making corrections on someone's essay.

"Right? That's what I was telling Natalya earlier!" Mathias agreed, taking a good look at his old classroom. "Man, I've gotta start working on my personal narrative for college apps, and I have no clue what I'm doing."

Arthur hummed to himself in thought, never raising his eyes from the pile of essays. "I assume this teacher of yours is Ms. Burke, and rumor has it that she'll be out for part of next week due to jury duty."

His former class broke out into excited cheers.

"Really?"

"Really," Arthur affirmed quite casually. "And it looks like someone will have to substitute for her fifth period class. I happen to be free during that time and was offered—"

"YES!"

Mathias and Feliks hugged each other and seemed ready to cry tears of joy.

Arthur bit back a chuckle and pursed his lips. He hadn't known they'd missed him that much. "On Monday, we'll get straight to work on those college essays."

"There's still hope," Mathias cried out, still clutching Feliks. "We're going to college. You hear that, Mom? I'm not a failure!"

Arthur cleared his throat, breaking up the love-circle. "I want your first draft on my desk by Tuesday, Mr. Køhler."

"Aww, can we push that to Wednesday? There's a football game on—"

"No."

"Okay, okay… Yeah, my future's more important, huh? I know."

Despite being happy to see his previous lectures had some effect on the boy, Arthur decided that it was time to kick-out the crew. "We all have plenty of things to get done, and as much as I'm enjoying this reunion, there isn't any more time to waste. Hit the books, my ruffians, and behave yourselves. You don't want to make me look bad, do you?"

It was cruel. He'd spent so much time getting to know his disobedient group of teens, and now they were moving on without him.

Of course, such was the life of a teacher—students would come and go, and he had to stand back and watch them leave.

But it'd be okay. He was sure of it.

Ready, Set, GO!

Alfred swore the track was set ablaze behind him as he ran. He catapulted himself forward, getting off to a fantastic start. Only one boy remained ahead of him, and Alfred was already on his heels, desperate to overtake him. The other boy was older, taller, and obviously stronger, but Alfred didn't let that discourage him. He'd challenged competitors that were far out of his league before, and now wasn't the time to feel insecure.

He tried to focus on everything he'd been teaching himself.

Steady breaths, save your energy for the end…

They were about to reach the turn, and Alfred could see a dip in the track. If he kept up his speed, he could twist an ankle or lose traction with the ground, but if he slowed down too much, the boy ahead of him would be able to shake him off his tail.

He had to make a choice quickly. His father's voice echoed in his mind, and then, he had his answer.

Slow and steady wins the race, lad.

He didn't suffer through a grueling year of physical therapy just to end up getting injured again. He carefully made the turn, wondering if his decision had cost him the race.

Without paying attention to those behind him, he picked up the pace and sprinted toward the finish line. Maybe he'd still get a decent result.

The bleachers rose up and roared at him as his momentum carried him the rest of the way. His hands swung to a halt at his sides, and he walked over to the water station by the bleachers to cool down, proud to have finished without embarrassing himself.

But before he could take a sip of his water, two pairs of arms were throwing him into the air with glee.

Terrified, Alfred shrieked as Raivis and Dad tossed him around like a beach ball.

"Hey! Stop!"

"Congrats, Al!" Matthew shouted from below, taking photos with his phone.

Raivis rubbed his head roughly and planted him between his shoulder and Dad's. "You won!"

"I w-what?"

"We're going out to celebrate," Dad told him with a kiss to his cheek. "I'm so proud of you."

Alfred pivoted his head toward the bleachers, where everyone was still staring at him and clapping. Dad had draped a medal around his neck. Was he dreaming? "I won? I WON!"

He looked past the sea of faces and toward the setting sun, smiling from ear-to-ear as sweat rolled down his temple. "I won…"

As Dad and Raivis struck up a conversation, he let his attention wander back to Matthew, who was transfixed by something beyond the wire fence encompassing the track.

"Matt?"

He followed his brother's eyes and saw the faint figure of a man in the distance. His hair was strikingly blond, but it was hard to make out the details of his face. He stood there for a few seconds, and Alfred squinted, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Matt. Did you just see—?"

Matthew turned to him and shook his head. "It was probably nothing."

"Yeah… You're right. We've been out in the sun too long."

And sure enough, when Alfred brought his eyes back to the spot outside the fence, the man was gone.

"What would our gold medalist like for dinner?" Dad asked him a moment later, nose buried fondly in his hair.

Just a trick of the light, then…

"A cheeseburger!"

Dad laughed and nodded in approval. "Okay, a cheeseburger it is. Remember to leave room for dessert."

"I will!"

"You'd better share your fries with me this time," Matthew griped, trailing behind.

Alfred stuck out his tongue at his twin, still being carried by Raivis and Dad. Sharing was for plebs, not champions. "Hands off, buck-o!"

"Be nice," Dad warned.

"He's my brother. I can't be nice to him."

"Well then, I guess you won't be having any dessert after all."

Matthew sniggered and this time he was the one to stick out his tongue, but Dad couldn't see him because his back was turned.

"What I meant to say," Alfred clarified, pasting an angelic smile on his face, "was 'my dearest brother, I would be honored to share my fries with you.'"

"Why, thank you! Je t'aime, Alfred."

Dad switched his gaze between them both, crinkled his face, and said with a toothy grin, "Je t'aime, mon fils."

With the sun fading fast, they walked to the car.

And so, it was goodbye.