Author's Note: Hello, everyone! This is a fill for a request submitted to me over Tumblr by a lovely anon. I hope you enjoy it!

There's always one case in an agent's career that either makes or breaks them. For Arthur, this is that case.

He's called into his supervisor's office, where he sits in a lumpy, padded chair, waiting to be given his new assignment. And well, if he had known then how the events of the following week would unfold, he would have gotten up, walked straight out of that office, and demanded to be given a different mission, but alas...

"We are tracking the movements of two whistleblowers by the names of Feliciano and Lovino Vargas. According to the airline we've contacted, they're scheduled to stay at a hotel in Orlando, Florida for the week, but before we arrest them, we'd like you to go in and gather as much information as possible about their source for the NATO secrets they've been divulging."

At first, it seems simple enough: go to Orlando, snoop around a bit, and call in for backup when there isn't any info left to be attained so that the Vargas brothers can be arrested.

"The only problem is the hotel they'll be staying at is a family resort, and we can't exactly send you in alone and raise suspicion. As such, you'll be working with Agent Bonnefoy—"

"No," Arthur interrupts before he can think to do otherwise. "Anyone but Bonnefoy."

His supervisor, unfazed, pointedly ignores him. "The same Agent Bonnefoy who, if I may remind you, is a capable and experienced agent such as yourself. We would not have assigned him to this mission had he not had the proper qualifications."

Fantastic. Arthur is quite familiar with Bonnefoy's work, and he's been around him long enough to know that he wants nothing to do with the irritating Frenchman. For starters, he always manages to get in the way of absolutely everything, and yet he's somehow under the impression that he's better than everyone else simply because he saved the Canadian prime minister's life once.

"You'll also be taking two young boys with you. A foster home we're helping to fund decided to lend them to us for the purpose of this case."

He doesn't like the sound of this. Doesn't like the sound of it at all.

"How young?"

"They're both aged seven, if I'm not mistaken. They're twin brothers—sweet children. I'm sure they'll be wonderful. With their help, you'll paint the impression of being a new age, modern family. Let's see if I can introduce them to you now. They should be around here somewhere. Give me one moment."

His supervisor steps out, and Arthur takes the chance to release a heavy sigh. He'd have to be mad to agree to something like this, but he wouldn't mind a promotion, and then he'd be able to show Bonnefoy who's actually the qualified one around here.

He dislikes children—there's a reason he's never had any of his own—but how hard could it be to look after a pair of brats for a week? They can't be much worse than Bonnefoy, can they?

The door to the office creaks open again, and his supervisor walks in with two golden-haired boys with matching ocean blue eyes lagging behind him. They look innocent enough, but looks can be deceiving.

"Agent Kirkland, meet Alfred and Matthew," his supervisor says, flourishing a hand at the children theatrically. "Or, should I say, meet your new sons."

The more boisterous one of the two, Alfred, flashes him a pearly grin and says, "You have bushy eyebrows! Can I touch them?"

Lord, have mercy.

His supervisor laughs and pats Alfred on the head warmly, seemingly finding pleasure in Arthur's pain. "Your flight leaves tomorrow morning."

Coping with having to cohabitate a cab with a Frenchman and two whiny younglings is the equivalent of slowly burning in the pits of hell. Three hours into this mission and Arthur already knows he's in for a heck of a ride. Matthew is currently car sick, Alfred won't stop running his mouth and talking a mile a minute, and Francis is just his usual, uncompanionable self.

"Hey, Arthur, you wanna see what I can do with my bubblegum?" Alfred asks, and Arthur is beginning to wonder if the reason Alfred is so chatty is because he'll drop dead the moment he even attempts to close his mouth. It seems to be a logical explanation at first.

"No, let's review what you need to remember again."

"But we've already gone through it five times."

"Then, we'll do it five more times until you get it right."

The boy gives him a baleful look and groans. "I'm Alfred F. Jones. I was born in Boston, Massachussetts. I'm seven years old. You're my dad, Arthur Kirkland from Essex, England. Francis Bonnefoy is my papa, and he's from Marseille, France. You guys adopted Mattie and me when we were three. We're on summer vacation now, and we're going to the waterpark resort in Orlando, Florida... Are we going to get to go to Disney World for real?"

Arthur scowls. The last thing he needs is to be exposed to even more brats at an amusement park. "No."

"Aww! Why not?"

"Because I said so."

Francis smirks at him from the backseat. "Ah, Arthur, it is so nice to be working with you again. I have missed your short-temper."

"Shut it, frog."

"U-Uhmm, excuse me? My stomach doesn't feel good," Matthew suddenly whispers, his head leaning tiredly against the window. "Are we almost there?"

"It's not far now," Francis assures the boy, tone softening. He seems to be quite a bit more tolerant of the children. "Look, I can see the airport from here."

And thank goodness for that. Once they get on the plane, Arthur plans to ignore everyone and everything until they land. He didn't sign up to be a babysitter. He's simply supposed to do his job—business as usual and nothing else.

Their driver drops them off in a nearby parking lot, and the poorly construed 'family' gets out of the car and grabs their luggage. They check-in and go through security smoothly and quickly, which is one of the perks of working for an intelligence service. Then, it's just a matter of waiting to be called to their gate for departure. They find a seating area, stretch and rest their legs, and—

Wait.

Arthur takes a good look around him and sees Francis and Matthew talking about the stuffed polar-bear in Matthew's carry-on bag that he doesn't like to travel without, but… Damn it!

"Where's Alfred?" he asks through gritted teeth. The first day of their trip and they've already lost a child. Oh, well, they can complete the mission with just one boy, can't they?

Francis frowns and glares at him accusingly. "You were supposed to be watching him! We agreed back at headquarters that I would take care of Matthew and you would take care of Alfred."

Yes, he remembers that conversation now, but he didn't expect the boy to just wander off! Why would he do such a thing anyway?

He growls under his breath, drops his own carry-on bag, and storms off in the direction from which they came, ravenously searching for a dark-blond head of hair perched atop a four foot tall figure.

The blue dinosaur is on the top shelf, but he can't reach it even when he stands on his tippy-toes. Why put the best toys so high up? It's unfair!

Alfred ponders the scene for a moment, considering his options. He could stack up the boxes containing action-figures—he'd need maybe about five or six of them, and then he could reach for sure. He checks to make sure the cashier at the front of the shop isn't watching and gets to work, carefully balancing each box with great care before climbing up as quietly as possible, arm stretching out to its full elasticity. He snags the dinosaur by the snout, but his back foot slips just as he does so, and he goes toppling backward.

He waits for the inevitable pain to come from colliding with the floor and possibly hitting his head on one of the metal shelves, but instead, he finds himself curled up in someone's strong arms. He dares to open his eyes, startled.

An angry green stare comes into his view, and Alfred turns red with shame, knowing he's in for a good scolding.

"What were you doing? I've been looking for you all over the bleeding airport! I thought you'd been abducted!" Arthur shouts down at him, hands clasped in a vice-grip around his torso. "How idiotic of you!"

He bursts into tears without his volition, and he's not sure why. Maybe it's because he can't remember the last time an adult cared enough to yell at him like this, and he hasn't been held in years so it's overwhelming. "I-I'm sorry!"

Arthur stiffens, and Alfred can feel the difference in his posture. The man sets him down on the ground so he can right himself, but Alfred wishes he didn't have to let go so soon.

"Stop crying. There's nothing to cry about," Arthur huffs, not sounding quite as upset anymore. "Come, before we miss our flight."

But Alfred can't see straight through all of his tears, and he stumbles over a stray box, only for Arthur to break his fall once again.

"My, you're clumsy, aren't you?" Arthur sighs, fumbling for something in his pockets. He pulls out a handkerchief and presses it into Alfred's hands. "Wipe your face, and let's go."

Alfred runs the soft fabric over his eyes and sniffles wetly, already making his way for the exit. He stops, however, when he notices that Arthur isn't following.

The man blinks thoughtfully at the blue dinosaur Alfred had been trying to reach for and plucks it off the shelf with ease, examining it. "Is this what you were after?"

Alfred nods and opens his mouth to speak, but Arthur is already at the register, taking out his wallet and paying for the toy.

"Ugh, why'd you choose Bulbasaur? Nobody chooses him."

"But I like Bulbasaur," Matthew insists, playing one of the video games the boys had been gifted at headquarters to keep them busy during their journey. "He's like a big cabbage."

"You hate cabbage."

"I hate eating cabbage. It's different. I'm not going to eat my Bulbasaur."

"Whatever," Alfred says, rolling his eyes as he watches Matthew play. He looks to his right to see what Francis and Arthur are doing, but they're being boring as usual. Arthur's reading a newspaper, and Francis is talking to one of the flight attendants.

He's got his blue dinosaur in his lap because Arthur said he could keep it with him on the plane so long as he promised to behave, and he's been extra good in the past few hours. He hasn't gotten into a fight with Mattie, hasn't bitten his fingernails, remembered to say 'please' and 'thank-you' when a nice lady gave him a tray of food, and even though he accidentally dropped a piece of chicken while eating and made a mess, Arthur just shook his head and cleaned it up without yelling at him.

Arthur and Francis aren't such bad guys. Mattie seems to like Francis a lot, and he supposes that if his brother is okay with him, then he should accept him, too. Arthur, on the other hand, is a completely different story. He always looks like something's bothering him, and Alfred can't figure out what it is. He can be nice every now and then, but Mattie still seems to be scared of him. Maybe he just needs a friend.

Being on an airplane isn't as much fun as he thought it would be. Most of the flight consists of staying seated when all Alfred really wants to do is run up and down the aisles and open a window so he can see what it's like to be hovering above the world with the wind rushing past his face, but Arthur says that's not how planes work. What a letdown. Whoever invented the contemporary commercial airplane didn't know what he/she was doing.

"We'll be landing soon," Francis says, eyes falling to Alfred's blue dinosaur with a knowing smile.

"Okay, but I have to pee."

Arthur scrunches his nose up at that and looks funny. "What you mean is that you need to go to the bathroom."

"Yeah," Alfred agrees, not sure why he's being corrected. What's wrong with saying you have to pee? Everybody does it.

Francis puts a hand on his shoulder and guides him to where the bathroom is, still smiling. When they are far enough away from Arthur and Matthew, Alfred decides he might as well ask the question that's been on his mind ever since he got into the cab this morning.

"Fran—I mean—Papa, why doesn't Arth—Dad like me?"

"He doesn't like anyone," Francis jokes, ruffling his hair. "I think you are the first person to ever get him to reveal that he has an actual heart," he adds, pointing to the dinosaur cuddled beneath Alfred's arm.

"But he likes you," Alfred argues.

"You think so?"

"Yeah."

"Ahh, I will have to trust your word, I suppose. Hurry now. We have to get back to our seats."

A quick bathroom break and twenty minutes later, their plane makes a safe and speedy landing, rubber greeting tarmac. However, there's still some traveling left to do because after they go through baggage claim, they have to take another cab to their hotel, by which point Alfred is fairly sure he's close to dying of ennui.

But being in the presence of his brother and his temporary 'fathers' makes everything somewhat better. Even though Alfred knows they're only pretending to be a family, it's not so hard to imagine that it's not fake. If he closes his eyes and thinks about it long enough, he can make himself believe that he's on an actual vacation with his actual parents, and there's a happiness in his gut that he can't explain.

And when they finally do arrive to the hotel, wow is it worth the wait. The place is massive. It's brightly lit against the backdrop of the setting sun, and you can hear the cheerful cries of glee coming from the gated outdoor pool and waterpark. The floor of the lobby is so shiny Alfred can see his reflection in it, and the front desk is made of a beautiful, smooth marble that makes him feel super fancy and posh. He's never been to a hotel of this type—or any hotel for that matter.

Francis checks them in, and then Arthur leads them into a silver-slick elevator. They're staying on the twelfth floor in room 124, which is a standard suite with two double beds and a little flat-screen television tucked against opposite walls. There's also a small table and an armchair by the window.

The accommodations are great for real families. Not so much for fake families. This becomes clear when sleeping arrangements come into question.

"I'm not sleeping with you," Arthur tells Francis almost immediately when he sees the two beds. "I'd rather sleep in the armchair."

"Don't be silly, mon cher. You'll strain your back, and then I'll have to listen to you complain about it for the entire week," Francis retorts, setting his suitcase down by the window.

"Don't call me that, and I'll sleep wherever I please."

"Fine, sleep with one of the boys then."

"I think not."

"You don't have any other choice."

"I'll share with Matthew then," Arthur declares, crossing his arms.

But from the expression on Matthew's face, it's clear that he's not very enthusiastic about the idea.

"I'll share with Matthew. You share with Alfred," Francis suggests.

As a word of warning, Alfred cautions, "I talk in my sleep and kick a lot."

Arthur purses his lips and turns to him, scanning his seven-year-old form critically. He glances at the armchair longingly and then back to one of the double beds, grimacing. "Wonderful. That's settled then. We'll gag the boy and tie his legs together before turning in."

Francis barks with laughter and shakes his head, but Alfred isn't quite as amused.

"Really?" Alfred asks, worried.

"No," Arthur admits with a dark smirk, already beginning to unpack his belongings. "But I can still change my mind."

It's an empty threat. Alfred is beginning to understand the man's droll sense of humor, and before he can help it, he smirks, too.

"What would they be doing here, of all places? This isn't exactly the ideal hiding spot for trading government secrets."

"Maybe that's exactly why they're doing it here," Francis remarks, concentrated on something on his computer screen.

"Can we go to the pool?"

"Not now, Alfred," Arthur murmurs, scribbling down a few notes. "The sun is almost down anyway."

"But the indoor pool is open until nine o'clock. I checked."

"Francis and I are busy at the moment, as you can see."

"But Mattie wants to go, too."

Arthur grumbles under his breath and pinches his nose. "We're not here to entertain you. We have serious work to do."

"Come on, please? Not even just for an hour?"

"If you don't stop pestering us this second—"

"This is so dumb, and—and I hate it here!"

At wit's end, Arthur tosses his pen aside, stands up, and snatches Alfred by the wrist, causing the boy to flinch. "That's enough. One more word out of you, and we'll send you back to the foster home. Is that what you want?"

Alfred's bottom lip quivers as he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. A fake family is still better than none at all.

"Then behave yourself," Arthur snarls, dragging Alfred over to the armchair near the window. "Sit here and don't move."

And then, it's silent aside from Francis typing at his keyboard. He looks like he wants to say something, but, in the end, he keeps his thoughts to himself and goes right back to work, trying not to notice the pout on Alfred's face.

Alfred's not sure how long he stays sitting in the chair, but it must be at least an hour—much longer than a normal time-out should be. Matthew looks at him dolefully every now and then and almost considers asking Arthur and Francis if Alfred can leave the chair, but he's concerned that he'll get in trouble, too, and somehow make things worse.

Eventually, Alfred falls asleep, and he doesn't wake until he feels a pair of arms snaking around him and lifting him up. He catches a few exchanged whispers.

"—too hard on him. He's just a child."

"I may have lost my temper…. I-I apologize."

"Don't apologize to me. You can take the children to the pool tomorrow."

"Why can't you do it?"

"Because someone has to keep watch, and you were the one who punished the boy so harshly."

"Poor boy? He's a menace."

"Oh, Arthur… Put him down carefully. Don't wake him. He's been through enough, don't make things harder on him."

Alfred groans as his body sinks into the bed and the arms leave him.

"See you in the morning."

"Bon nuit."