Arthur was holding Alfred as he cried. The American had finally had enough of his boss's abuse and the only one he felt comfortable telling what happened to him was his big brother.

Arthur stroked Al's hair and gently encouraged him to open up about what his boss did to him. The American was whimpering and had tears running down his face as he began his story. "Well he seemed fine when he called me into the office, but the milkshake he gave me was drugged. I wouldn't fight back. He stripped me and tied me up. And then he hung me by my ankles from the ceiling." He sopped to hiccup back a sob.

The memory came flooding vividly back. He could feel the rough callused hands of his boss tearing at his clothes and tying the nylon around him. The ropes cut painfully into his skin. They were tied very tight. And he could remember how he scraped along the ground as he was hoisted up. The blood gradually rushing into his head and the ropes biting deeply into his skin.

Alfred was silent for a while as the memory continued to play. His boss came out with a cat-o-nine-tails and had started hitting him around the face with it. Al had closed his eyes tight to avoid being blinded. As he remembered this, he subconsciously reached up and rubbed his cheeks. Then the whip was brought to his chest and shoulders, swung harder than it had been at his face, leaving large welts and quite a few gashes.

"Alfred? Lad, are you alright?" Arthur asked gently. Al snapped out of his trance and clung to him. "No, I'm not. He used a whip thing. He kept hitting me. He hit me everywhere," Al sobbed into Arthur's shoulder.

"Shh, it's alright now. I'm here. I have you. I won't let him touch you ever again." Arthur said to reassure him. Arthur sounded calm on the outside. Calm and gentle, but on the inside he was seething. He wanted to see this man pay for his actions with blood.

Alfred cried himself out, all the while remembering the sting of the cat and then the trauma of what came after. He hadn't told Arthur everything because he couldn't yet handle it himself.

Al had moved in with Arthur. Several weeks had passed. Al seldom talked about what happened and Arthur didn't pressure him to. When Al was ready to talk he would be there. No sense in making the boy relive that hell. Al had developed an illness, though. He was exhausted and prone to vomiting. It wouldn't go away either, it persisted over several weeks. Arthur decided that Al needed to go to a doctor. Al agreed to it. And so here they are, waiting in the small office for the doctor to return with the second round of tests. The first had revealed nothing. The two were making small talk about the current events in London when the doctor came back in looking perplexed.

"Well we ran your blood through all the tests I could find and it appears as though you are pregnant."