Arthur Kirkland was standing again beside the bed of his dying son, Alfred. A beam of sunlight crept through the crack between the closed curtains, and the strip of light illuminated the pale face of the child. The beautiful blue eyes were still closed, the soft pink lips hadn't uttered a single word in days. Matthew yawned and stretched, waking from his long nights sleep on Francis' lap. Francis smiled sadly down at the boy, doing his best to hide the despair in his eyes. Matthew looked over at Alfred again, and frowned.
"Papa." Matthew began in his quiet, little-boy voice, "Papa, ce qui es faux avec Alfred? Porquoi n'est il pas jouer avec moi? Papa, porquoi?"
Arthur did not know enough French to understand what Matthew said, but he had been asking the same question for weeks. Francis had told him what the boy said.
Papa, what is wrong with Alfred?Why will he not play with me? Papa, why?
It broke the hearts of both men to hear his small voice ask this. France replied as he always did.
"Matthieu, ton frere est tres malade. Il a besoin de se reposer et aller meuix." Matthew, your brother is very sick. He needs to rest and get better.
"Malade." Sighed Matthew. The word meant 'sick'.
"Oui, fils. Tres malade." Francis kissed Matthew's blond hair and looked as though he was trying very hard not to cry. Matthew hopped down from his papa's lap and picked up his stuffed polar bear. He carefully placed the bear beside his comatose brother, and smiled over his shoulder at Arthur and Francis.
"Mon ours lui fera se sentir mieux, oui? Et Alfred va jouer avec moi! A droite, Papa? » The boy said cheerily.
« Bloody hell, can't he just speak bloody English? » Arthur groaned. « Francis, what's he saying? »
A flash of indignation crossed Francis' face, « He is speaking his native tongue! It is the best language, why should he not speak it? »
« Because I haven't the slightest idea what he's saying! » Arthur retorted.
« He is saying, monseuir sourcils, that his bear will make Alfred better. And then they can play together again. » Francis looked defeated. Arthur sighed.
« Non. » The Brit said in his best French accent, which wasn't very good. « Non, Mattheiu. »
« Can't you even let him hope? » France asked bitingly. He picked up Matthew and settled the boy on his hip as though Matt was still a baby, though the child was now close to five, and tall for his age. His violet eyes were filled with tears.
« But father, » Matthew said, switching to English. When he spoke in French his accent was perfect, when he spoke in English it was with a clipped British accent like Arthur. « "Why won't my bear help Al? Porquois?"
Francis snuggled the boy to his chest. "Don't worry, cher. Everything will be fine."
Matthew pouted, looking at Arthur with teary, reproachful eyes. The British man sighed and leaned against the wall, letting his head hit it with a thud. Now Matthew was unhappy with him, Francis was unhappy with him... I don't know how much more of this I can take. he thought. He wanted to cry, knowing that all of this was happening because he wasn't being strong enough for Al and Matt. He was letting his emotions get the better of him, make him irritable and mean. "I'll be right back."
He was walking the same steps he had days before, only now it was dawn instead of midnight, and he knew where he was going. The dark wood double doors were tall and strong. He pushed them open, stepped into the quiet dim of the chapel. The cross stood there as it always did, with those same dark, sad, understanding eyes looking down at him. He dropped to his knees again, this time too tired to even cry.
He thought about what he had prayed nights ago, begging for God to save his son, to not punish a little boy for his father's mistakes. But Alfred was still getting worse. He was still dying. Arthur knew what he had to do. He had to change, become a better person to save Al. But he couldn't do it alone.
God, I'm down here on my knees,
cause it's the last place left to fall.
Begging for another chance
if there's any chance at all.
That you might still be listening
Loving and forgiving guys like me.
He thought about the mistakes he made in his life. The rum, the controlling way he'd always held over Alfred, controlling everything that happened to the young nation. Never letting him be independent. And all the time he'd spent letting his monarchs do whatever they pleased, enforcing laws that made no sense, that hurt people and killed anyone that didn't agree with the king or queen. He hadn't done anything to stop them. He saw the error in that now. Maybe he always had, but had just been to proud to admit it.
I've spent my whole life getting it all wrong
And I sure could use your help just from now on
I wanna be a good man
A do like I should man
I wanna be the kind of man the mirror likes to see
I wanna be a strong man
And admit that I was wrong man
God I'm asking you to come change me
Into the man I wanna be
If only he could go back in time, if only he could change what he had done! Maybe Alfred wouldn't be sick, dying, laying comatose in a hospital bed. Maybe the doctors wouldn't shake their heads, saying regretful words with uncaring eyes. Arthur buried his head in his hands, tears squeezing out from between his tight-shut eyelids. Had Alfred seen what Arthur had done, did he blame his father for the disease that was slowly breaking his body?
If there's any way for Al and me to make another start That I wanna be a stay man
Could you see what you could do
To put some strength back in his heart
Cause it gonna to take a miracle
After all I've done to really make him see
I wanna be a brave man
I wanna be the kind of man he sees in his dreams
God I wanna be your man
And I wanna be his man
God I only hope he still believes
In the man I wanna be
He meant it, he really did. He knew that the way he'd been living was all wrong. He needed to change. Didn't want to be that way anymore. He promised that if God would give him his son back, he would try to do everything the way he should. He'd take his kids to the park more often, he'd spend more time taking care of them and loving them, and less time controlling them. He'd do whatever it takes.
I wanna be a giving man
I wanna really start living, man
God I'm asking you to come change me
Into the man I wanna be
Arthur slowly got to his feet, giving that cross one more long look before turning and heading back to Al's room. An old woman watched as he left the chapel, got into the same elevator as him. She smiled, and he smiled back.
"You look like you've been having a good conversation, young man." She said in a high, creaking voice, noting the tears on his face, and the blazing determination in his green eyes.
"I have, actually." Arthur replied.
"That's good. Everyone needs someone to talk to in a place like this." The woman nodded decisively.
"That's true. That's absolutely true." Arthur left the elevator and went back to the room, where the heart monitor beeped, the only sound in the sad room. Matthew was still in France's arms. He'd removed the stuffed bear from the bed. Arthur crouched in front of Matthew so they could talk eye-to-eye.
"Hey, Matthew. I'm sorry for being such a grump earlier." Arthur said quietly. Matthew blinked at him. Francis looked interested.
Arthur continued, "I was thinking, and you know what?"
"What?" Matt asked.
"I bet that your bear will help Alfred to feel better. Should we try it?"
Francis was fighting a smile. Matthew's bright violet eyes widened. "Really? Do you really think so?"
"Of course! Come on, let's go see." Arthur lifted the little boy from Francis' lap and led him by the hand to the side of his brother's bed. Matt placed the stuffed bear beside the sleeping child, tucking the thin blanket around it's thick, fuzzy white neck.
"See? Doesn't he look cozier?" Arthur knelt beside the boy and put his arm around him. Matt smiled and nodded, throwing his arms around his father's neck.
"Oui! Much better!"
Arthur smiled.