[Fanfic] Strangers Like Us

[inner_wings]

Title: Strangers Like Us
Author/Artist: inner_wings
Character(s) or Pairing(s): America, England, Russia, France, Russia/America friendship that may turn into more than friendship.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Human AU
Summary: Alfred is a single dad who is struggling to raise his son, Arthur. His life gets turned around when he befriends Ivan, fellow single dad and father of Francis, the kid Arthur hates with the intensity of the sun. Chaos ensues.

Sorry this is so late, mcmitters!

Alfred sighed, ran a hand through his hair, paced back and forth a bit and finally settled for folding his arms and fixing the sulky lump of blankets on the couch with firm stare.

“You wanna tell me what happened at school, Art?”

“No!” said the lump.

“Are you sure? 'Cause the letter your teacher sent home made it sound like you've been getting in trouble-”

“It wasn't my fault! Francis started it!”

Of course. That new kid was always a source of drama for Arthur these days. “Oh yeah? So what did Francis do?”

There was no answer for a long time. Then the lump sniffled and Alfred felt all his firm, fatherly authority drain out his toes.

“Aw, Artie! Don't cry, it's okay-”

“I'm not crying! And don't call me Artie! That's a baby name!” The lump lapsed into sniffles again, and Alfred took that as an invitation to squeeze in on the part of the couch that wasn't occupied by the blanket lump and give it a pat, hoping he managed to land on the little boy inside instead of just fluffing the quilts.

“I know you're not a baby, Art. Can't you tell me what happened? I ain't a mind reader, and I'm gonna feel stupid if I have to go to your parent-teacher conference without knowing what happened in the first place.”

The lump stirred and Arthur's face finally poked out, all watery green eyes and pouting lower lip. “Francis made fun of my eyebrows.”

Alfred winced. Of course, the kid had to go straight for Arthur's biggest insecurity. “I'm sorry, sport. First grade can be a real battlefield, I know. So what happened next?”

“I called him Fanny Franny.”

Alfred sniggered into his hand. “Okay, that one's pretty good. Not nice, but I gotta salute that kind of insult from a six year old. Then what?”

“And then he pinched me really hard, and I pulled on his hair (and his hair is all long and girly looking too, so it was easy to grab,) and he shoved me, and I kicked him, and he-”

“Okay, I get it, so on and so forth until your teacher ripped you guys apart and dragged you down to the principal's office, huh?”

Arthur nodded. “Mr. Toris is a lot stronger than he looks.”

“Ooooh? Not stronger than me, is he?”

“No.” Arthur managed a teeny tiny smile before retreating to his blanket cave. “You're still the strongest.”

“In the whole wide world?” Alfred prompted, reaching into the cave to give Arthur a little tickle.

There was a giggle from under the blankets. “I-in the whole w-wide world...quit it, Dad!”

“Alright, as long as we're clear on who the strongest is.”

“But everybody says Francis' dad is really strong too. He's really, really tall.”

Oh. That took the wind right of Alfred's sails. “And he's the guy I gotta meet tomorrow at the parent-teacher conference? Uh, what do the kids on the playground say about his temper? Like, is he the kind of guy who gets in fistfights over t-ball games and stuff?”

“I don't know. Why?”

“O-oh, no reason! Don't worry about that, sport.”

Oh, for Pete's sake. Of course Arthur had to get in a fight with a kid who had a super tall, scary daddy. He'd just have to hope this wasn't going to end up like the time Arthur got in a food fight with that Cuban kid. That guy's dad hated Alfred. It probably didn't help that Alfred called his son a snot-nosed brat to his face, but that didn't justify the uppercut! Thank God that family moved away...only to be replaced with a new problem family. From France this time, Alfred guessed, going by the way Arthur imitated that Francis kid's accent. That last name Braginski didn't sound too French, but Alfred was never any good with foreign names.

“We're gonna have a busy day tomorrow, champ,” he said at last with forced cheer. “That means bedtime for us.”

“Not sleepy,” Arthur said sourly, emerging from the blankets yet again to give Alfred a glare. Alfred sighed heavily. Getting Arthur to go to bed was always a challenge. His late wife, Emily, had been the queen of bedtime, but for Alfred it was always a struggle.

“Come on, kiddo. You already took your bath. Now all you gotta do is get your jammies on and brush your teeth. Those are the easy parts!” Arthur was still curled up on the couch, unmoved by his father's pleas. Alfred moved on to the tried and true tactic of bribery. “I'll buy your favorite tea on grocery day if you're a good boy and go to bed now.”

Ah ha, bingo. Arthur's scowl melted as his resolve withered in the face of his favorite drink, and finally he clambered off the couch, scowl back in place just in case Alfred forgot that he was still not happy about this arrangement.

“Good boy! Need some help getting dressed?”

Arthur scoffed. “I'm not a little kid anymore. I can do it all by myself.”

Alfred sighed. Kids grew up so fast. Of course Arthur would probably end up with a lot of crooked buttons, and maybe his pajama pants inside out, but it was the principle of the thing. He wanted to do it himself now, no help from Daddy needed. Arthur always hated admitting when he needed help...

He headed upstairs to his own bedroom, pausing briefly by the bathroom to make such Arthur was indeed brushing all his teeth before continuing on to the room, with its comic book posters and king-size bed. He couldn't bring himself to get rid of the bed for something smaller, even after Emily passed away. After a little excavation he managed to turn up a pair of mostly clean pajamas for himself, and pulled them on before popping in to check on Arthur in his bedroom. The boy was busy tucking his little army of stuffed unicorns into bed when Alfred peeked inside.

“All set for sleepy time?” he called in.

“Shhh! You'll wake up Peaseblossom!” Arthur scolded in a hushed voice. His pajama shirt was indeed buttoned crooked, and Alfred automatically stepped in to fix it, ignoring Arthur's flailing and protests.

“Peaseblossom sleeps like a log. He's not gonna wake up just because I came in. Good night, Peaseblossom. And good night Cobweb, Mote and Mustardseed.” Alfred knew the drill, and gave each toy unicorn a little pat. “And now I think it's time for Arthur to say good night too.”

Arthur hesitated, looking at his toes the way he always did when he wanted to say something. Instead he just clambered into bed and rolled away to face the wall.

“You okay there, Art?”

“'M fine. Good night, Dad,” Arthur whispered, still facing the wall. Alfred gave up, kissed the top of Arthur's head and headed back out, flicking the light off along the way.

“'Night, Art. And you know you can come get me if you need anything, okay?”

There was another funny little pause before Arthur grunted in agreement. Something wasn't right with the kid, and Alfred had a guess. Arthur was still upset from school, and an upset Arthur needed a little coddling. For all his apparent independence, Arthur didn't like being alone. Well, if he wasn't going to admit it, Alfred would have to resort to a different trick. He tiptoed back to his bedroom, counted down from thirty, and finally screamed as loud as he could. “Art, come quick! The ghost in my closet is back!”

Two seconds later the sound of small bare feet against wood floors echoed down the hall. Arthur ran in, plastic magic wand in hand. “Which closet?!”

“The big one!” Alfred cried, pretending to hide behind a pillow as Arthur bravely marched into the closet, shouting magic spells all along the way. At last he emerged, victorious.

“It's fine now, Dad. I made the ghost go away.”

“You're a hero, Art! But you better stay here tonight, in case the ghost comes back.”

Arthur rolled his eyes dramatically. “Scaredy cat. I told you I got rid of the ghost.”

“Yeah, but I'm still scared! Please stay, Art! I'll never get to sleep if you aren't here!”

“Okay, okay!” Arthur finally allowed, climbing into bed with Alfred. “But only because you're being a baby.”

“Am not! Ghosts are scary. You're just really brave to take care of them for me.”

That finally got a smile and a shy little blush out of Arthur. “Good night again, Dad.”

Alfred inched closer and pulled Arthur into a hug, and for once the little boy didn't fight it. “Good night again, Art.”

____________________________________________________________

The parent-teacher conference came all too soon, and after a surprisingly good day. Arthur had gotten up for school and caught the bus without any fuss or drama, Alfred's work at the local post office was unusually quiet and smooth, and even the weather was clear and easy. Only the looming conference and potentially scary daddy to face soured Alfred's day.

He had hoped to swing by the after-school day care to see Arthur first (just in case he didn't survive the meeting) but there was traffic between the post office and the school, and Alfred ran to the classroom with barely minutes to spare.

To his horror, Francis' dad was already there, waiting. At least Alfred assumed that big guy was Francis' dad. He was certainly tall enough to fit the rumors. And he did look pretty intimidating as he pulled out one of the tiny wooden chairs at the sandbox table. He started to sit down. He stopped. He glared at the chair and finally pushed it back in place. At this point, he finally realize that he wasn't alone and gave Alfred an awkward smile.

“Are we supposed to sit on these little chairs? There is nothing else, but I was afraid I would break it.”

“Uh,” said Alfred, the king of eloquence. The guy had a thick Russian accent, and for a moment Alfred could think of nothing but James Bond villains and Russian mafia bosses. He quickly shook the thought out of his mind and pulled out a chair for himself, cautiously easing down onto it and pulling his knees up to fit. “I think you'll be okay. If you don't mind being really low to the ground.”

“I will manage.” The man carefully sat down, bracing himself for the sound of splintering wood under his backside. When it didn't come, he relaxed. “Ah, you were right. They are more sturdy than they look.”

The conversation began to die a slow, painful death.

“Uh, are you Francis Braginski's dad?”

“Da, Ivan Braginski. And you are Arthur Jones' father?”

“That's me, Alfred F. Jones.”

The conversation was nearing the pearly gates yet again. It was time to for Alfred be a man and face the problem head on, by groveling. He took a deep breath and started his speech, just as Mr. Braginski began to do the same.

“Look, I'm really sorry about Arthur-”

“I want to apologize for Francis-”

“He means well, he's just kinda prickly-”

“He really is a good child most of the time-”

“And he's real sensitive about his eyebrows-”

“He hasn't been himself since he switched schools, but that is no excuse-”

They both trailed off lamely, mirroring raised eyebrows.

“You're not all pissed-...uh, ticked off about Arthur?” Alfred tried again, anxious to break the new silence.

“Why would I be? I was under the impression that Francis provoked this fight.”

“Oh, I thought Art kinda started it...”

“Regardless, Francis continued it. That makes him just as guilty.”

“Oh, thank God,” Alfred sighed happily. “I was totally expecting you to be out for my blood.”

Mr. Braginski actually looked wounded at that. “Why would I? I am not a violent man, Mr. Jones.”

“No, I didn't mean...I just...gosh, that came out all wrong. Sorry, I've just had some bad experiences with the dads of kids Arthur gets into trouble with. Y'know, the kind of parents that see red if you say one word against their perfect little angels.”

“I believe there is an English expression...'it takes two to tango?' Is that it? I doubt the other children your son has had trouble with have been completely innocent. In my experience, such things are rarely one sided.”

The conversation was interrupted as the door swung open and Arthur's young teacher hurried in.

“Good evening, Mr. Laurinaitis,” Mr. Braginski said.

“Hey, Mr. Toris.” Alfred had long ago given up trying to pronounce that last name.

“Sorry I'm running late,” Toris said sheepishly, adjusting a stack of papers in his arms. “An old friend called from abroad, and I couldn't just hang up on him, but he...um, never mind. I believe you both already know why I've called you in today?”

“Da.”

“Yep.”

Toris steeped his fingers together, frowning as he picked his next words. “I want to be sure that we are all taking this incident seriously. Francis is still a new student and Arthur hasn't had any serious incidents at school for a few months, but we can't tolerate fighting like this in a classroom. Aside from what happened yesterday, I've observed them both being...unpleasant with each other. I don't want to sound cruel, but if they continue getting in fights, we may have to move them to separate classes or take even more drastic measures. I'm sure neither of you want that for your children, so I would like us to discuss how to work with this problem.”

Alfred scratched his cheek. Braginski fiddled with his scarf. Toris readjusted his papers. No one said a word for a very long time.

At last, Braginski spoke up. “Perhaps we could encourage the boys to become friends? Maybe a little time together outside the classroom could help them get to know each other better.”

“Or just give 'em more chances to fight and bicker,” Alfred pointed out.

Braginski's eyes narrowed. “Good children can learn how to be friends and play nice.”

“Yeah, but it doesn't always work that way-”

“But should we not at least try? We are sensible men. Surely we can work something out together.”

“I would be fine with the two of you working together on this and reporting back regularly with your progress,” Toris put in with a helpful smile. “Parental involvement can often be helpful.”

“Well,” Alfred drawled. “I guess I can give it the old college try.”

“It is settled, then!” Braginski beamed. “Your Arthur goes to the school-run daycare after classes are over, da? Francis is there too. Shall we pick them up together?”

Alfred blinked. Braginski was out of his chair and out the door in record time, forcing Alfred to jog to catch up and shout his goodbyes to Toris along the way. That big guy looked entirely too cheerful about all this. And how had he known Arthur was at the daycare? Maybe his son had mentioned it...or maybe Braginski was a spy. That wasn't out of the question, from where Alfred stood. “When you say together...?” he asked, once he had caught up.

“I thought we could tell the boys about our plans. Oh, but maybe you should call your wife to tell her about this first?”

Alfred looked down and forced a laugh. “Nah, no wife. I, um...” There really wasn't an easy way to say it. “I'm a widower.”

“Oh!” The cheer on Braginski's round face was replaced with sympathy. It make Alfred squirm. “I am sorry, I did not know-”

“Hey, it's fine! There's no way you could have known about that. And it's not like it just happened yesterday. A-and what about you? Got a wife? Or girlfriend or...whatever.”

“Nyet, I am divorced. And no new women in my life since Marianne.”

Alfred let out a slow whistle. “What are the chances, huh? Two single dads.”

“Do you think we are a rarity?”

“I know we are, at least at a small school like this. PTA meetings are awkward as hell. All these parents with conventional families always look at me like I'm a different species. Yeah, like I don't know how to take care of my kid just 'cause I'm on my own now. I guess you haven't been to one of those yet, huh? When did you and Francis move here?”

“Just two months ago. No PTA yet. Should I avoid it?”

“No way! You gotta come now, so I'll have a buddy on my side.”

“Are we 'buddies' already?” Braginski's face broke into a smile again. “In that case, you must call me Ivan. And I can call you Alfred, da?”

“Sure, why not?” The smile was contagious, and Alfred found himself grinning right back. “You seem okay to me! Your accent kinda threw me off at first, though. Russian, right?”

“Da, right. I lived in France for a few years with my ex-wife and Francis, but the Motherland is my motherland. Why did that...'throw you off?'”

“'Cause it totally makes me think of villains from James Bond, or the bad guy in Rocky IV or something. Or mafia bosses. You aren't a mafia boss, are you?” He eyed Ivan's well tailored clothes and nice shoes. He clearly wasn't poor. Maybe that money came from some shady dealings.

“Certainly not,” Ivan huffed in annoyance. “I would be a terrible mafia boss.” No further elaboration there. “And you do not think I am a James Bond villain any more, da?”

“No, you're...um...” He wracked his brain for a Russian movie character who wasn't a bad guy or a hot babe. “You're like...Fievel's dad.”

“Who?”

“You know! From An American Tail! There are no cats in America, and something-something-something about cheese~”

Ivan was still processing this. “...I am a fat mouse?”

“No, I meant...Fievel's dad was a pretty good guy, y'know? Taking care of his family, moving 'em to the other side of the world to get away from evil cats with mustaches, you know the drill.”

“You are trying to say that I am a good parent?” Ivan's eyes softened slightly.

“Yeah, that was the idea. You just...seem like you really care about your kid and have a good head on your shoulders. Might have missed my mark a little, but give me a break. At least I'm not comparing you to Ivana Humpalot or something.”

“I thank you for that.”

The door to the school's daycare loomed ahead, and Alfred held his breath. After all that promising talk, it would be just his luck to find Arthur waging war against Francis behind that door. Ivan was still smiling, and Alfred tried to take that confidence for himself as he tugged the door open. He couldn't hear any screams. That was encouraging.

Stepping inside, he found the room surprisingly peaceful. Had Arthur and Francis already killed each other? No, Arthur was in a far corner by himself, half hidden by the huge picture book open in his lap.

“You fetch Arthur and we will meet together at the entrance to talk, da?” Braginski said, confirming their mission before taking off in search of Francis. Alfred shrugged to himself and followed orders, tip toeing over to Arthur's little corner and resisting the temptation to yell 'boo!' Nah, that wouldn't be nice when Arthur was lost in a book. He opted for a more gentle hello.

“Hey, kiddo! Are you ready to go home?”

Arthur peeked over the top of his book. “About time,” he grumped. “I can't read when stupid Fanny Franny is here.”

“Heeeey, Art? Let's not call him that anymore, okay? I mean, he's not that bad, right?”

Arthur didn't glare daggers. He glared stilettos that had been dipped in poison. “I hate him.”

“But you barely know him!” Alfred protested as he urged the boy towards the door, where Ivan was waiting. By the desperate look on his face, he was having a similar conversation with Francis.

“I don't need to know him! I already know I hate him. He has stupid hair and he talks funny.”

“Yeah, well...” They had arrived at the entrance. Ivan gave Alfred a sheepish smile and looked helplessly down at the children, who had started an Olympic-level staring contest. Francis broke it first and turned on a saccharine smile for his father.

“I drew a picture today, Papa,” he sang, holding a piece of paper up for Ivan's inspection. Alfred inched around for a look as well. His jaw dropped. There was a crayon drawing of Arthur (the eyebrows gave it away.) His head was not attached to his body, and there was plenty of scribbley crayon blood around the crime scene.

“Francis,” Ivan said sharply, “that is very naughty. I have told you, decapitation is not nice.”

“Oui, Papa,” Francis grumbled, dropping his eyes.

Alfred swallowed dryly and placed a protective hand on Arthur's shoulder. “You, uh...you have that kind of conversation with your kid often, Ivan?”

Ivan forced a laugh and crumpled the drawing in his large hands. “Francis has a vivid imagination. Such a rascal!”

Alfred chewed on his lower lip. Ivan had fallen silent, and was watching Alfred expectantly. Apparently he wanted Alfred to get the ball rolling. Wonderful.

“Hey, kids!” he began in his most cheerful tone. “Me and Francis' daddy have been talking, and he thinks it would be good for you guys to hang out some more.”

There was a moment of noisy confusion as both boys shouted their protest at the same time.

“I know you guys aren't too keen on it,” Alfred tried again, raising his voice. “But if you spend some time together, maybe you can become friends-”

“No!”

“Never!”

Alfred slumped in defeat and turned pleading eyes on Ivan, who thankfully took his cue.

“It is not up for discussion,” he said firmly. “Mr. Jones and I have already made up our minds. We will set up play dates for you two, and you will make an effort to get along or there will be trouble. And if there is trouble, I will not be happy.”

Francis shriveled under his father's stern look, and Arthur retreated behind Alfred's legs.

“Geez, Ivan,” Alfred laughed uncomfortably. “Don't you think you're overdoing it a little? You're even scaring me a bit.”

The harshness in Ivan's face melted into a look of honest concern. “I am sorry. I do not mean to be scary. I only wanted the boys to know that this is serious. This is important to you too, da?”

“Sure it is, but I don't think it'll help things if you scare the crap out of them.” Ivan's shoulders wilted, and Alfred felt a sudden pang of guilt. “B-but I'm exaggerating a bit, y'know? You weren't that scary! Just...kind of intense. You're okay, man. Don't let it get to you.”

Ivan managed a crooked little smile at that, and finally turned to his son with a sigh. “It is time for us to go home, Francis. Say good bye to Mr. Jones and Arthur.”

Francis pouted, but still grumbled, “Good bye, Mr. Jones and Arthur.”

Alfred gave Arthur a little encouraging nudge, until he also spat out a 'good bye.' He was still scowling after Ivan and Francis had left.

“It's not gonna be that bad, Art,” Alfred promised. Arthur said nothing, but didn't protest when Alfred lifted him up to sit on his shoulders and started the trek back to his car.

____________________________________________________________

Waiting for the next step of Operation: Get Arthur and Francis to Play Nice was an awful lot like waiting for a girl to call you back after a first date, Alfred thought. Was Ivan going to take the initiative and call? Was he waiting for Alfred to do it? Was it too early to jump into this thing? Should he wait a few more days? He found himself checking the messages on his phone entirely took often, waiting for Ivan to finally take the next step.

In all honestly, he just wanted to talk to the big guy again. It was hard to make friends with the other parents, and he had just gotten more and more isolated since Emily died. Of course he had Arthur, but it still got a little lonely at times. For all his weirdness, Ivan seemed like a good guy. Maybe one of these days they could actually hang out, get some beers, go bowling, whatever.

He nearly air punched when Ivan finally, finally called him back three days later.

“Hello, Mr. Jones,” Ivan said stiffly.

Alfred frowned at the phone. “What's up? Weren't you gonna call me Alfred? Or you can go with Al or something if you like. And I can still call you Ivan?”

There was a happy little laugh across the line. “Ah, of course! But I was not sure if maybe you had changed you mind about that.”

“Nah, not me. I'm pretty laid back about what people call me, as long as it's not 'you asshole,' or something like that.”

“I have no cause to call you that, so you have no reason to worry.”

“Good to know!” Alfred chuckled. “So, um...about the kids...”

“Of course, I have thought about that. And I have some ideas I would like to discuss with you. But first, I would like to say that if a certain little boy named Francis does not stop eavesdropping on my phone conversation, I will have to give someone a spanking.”

There was an 'eep!' and a click of a phone being hung up.

“Hope I'm not the one getting a spanking,” Alfred laughed, and immediately winced. Oh man, that was a lame joke.

“Not to worry,” Ivan replied cheerfully. “Your bottom is safe from me.” The line fell uncomfortably silent. “I-I am sorry, that was not...that did not come out right.”

“Don't sweat it, I kinda started the bad joke there.”

“I like you, Alfred. I say the wrong thing too often, and it makes most people keep away. But you are different, da?” There was real warmth in Ivan's voice, and Alfred was suddenly glad that the other man couldn't see his bashful grin.

“Oh...well...I mean, I stick my foot in my mouth all the time too. So I get how you feel.”

“We are comrades in arms, then.”

“Of saying stupid stuff?”

“Da!”

“Well, better than being alone with it.”

“Precisely. Now, about the children. I think we need to pick an activity that they will enjoy. Francis has been gloomy lately. For the past few days, he has done almost nothing but cook. Francis always cooks when he is unhappy.”

“He cooks? Isn't he kind of...young?”

“He has one of those...bake-easy ovens. You know, with those tiny cakes and sweets children can make.”

“Easy Bake Oven?”

“That! He often vents his, ah, creative frustrations by making those simple recipes it comes with. Although the other day he managed to produce a souffle. I am still not entirely sure how that happened.”

“He must have been pretty upset.”

“I thought the same. So, we must find something happier for him, da? But Arthur must enjoy it too. Tell me, what does your son like?”

“Well...” Alfred went down his mental checklist. “He likes books, and he's crazy about tea. He has pretend tea parties with his toys when he thinks I'm not looking. And he loves all kinds of fantasy stuff. Like Harry Potter and all that, y'know? I usually read those books for his bedtime stories.”

“I see! And has he seen the latest movie? The one that just came out in theaters?”

“Nah, not yet. He really wants to, but money has been a little tight lately...”

“Then how about we make our play date a trip to the movies. I will treat, so you do not need to worry about money.”

Alfred hesitated. This almost felt like charity, and he hated taking charity. But this was going to help Arthur, and Ivan meant well... “I'll pay you back as soon as I've got the money,” he promised.

“Oh, do not bother about it-”

“Really, I insist.”

“Nyet. I have already decided. This is a present for my new friend and hopefully Francis' friend-to-be. You will not be rude and turn down a present, will you?”

“Damn, when you put it like that...”

“Then you agree with this plan? What time would be good for you?”

“Art and me are free on weekends.”

“Then...the seven o'clock showing on Saturday?”

Alfred glanced briefly at his calendar. “Works for me.”

“It is a date!”

Alfred swallowed a laugh. Ivan sounded weirdly cute when he said that. “Sure thing. Anything else we need to talk about here?”

“Ah, just one thing.” Suddenly Ivan's voice had turned solemn and subdued. “I understand this may be uncomfortable, so please do not feel that you must answer anything. I just wondered...has it been difficult for you? Raising a child alone?”

Alfred let out a long, slow breath. This wasn't something he talked about often, but surely Ivan would understand better than anyone else. “Y-yeah, it's kind of rough sometimes.”

“I see. It is for me too, but this is not something I want to admit easily, da? I worry that it sounds like...like caring for Francis is a chore now, or something I do not want. And that is not true! I would not give him up for anything, and I will never understand how my ex-wife could walk out of his life so easily, but...” He fell silent. “I am sorry. I say too much. I have not had anyone to talk to about these things, and once I start, it all comes out...”

“Hey, no problem. I know where you're coming from. I love Art to pieces, but it's been...pretty rough since Emily died. I-it was cancer, y'know. They caught it really late, and by then...” He cleared his throat roughly, trying to dislodge the growing lump there. “B-but I'm just lucky she was there with me for the really hard parts. It would have been awful to be flying solo during potty training. God, it took forever to get Art out of diapers. He just never liked big changes.”

“It was the same for me with my wife,” Ivan said softly, then gave a little laugh. “I could not have survived Francis teething on my own. So horrible. The fussing was bad enough, but he would always chew on my nice neckties, and always right before a meeting.”

Alfred found a chuckle coming easy, the tension in his throat lessening. “Oh no, you know what the worst thing is? Colic. Those sleepless nights trying to get Art to stop crying for five minutes...pure hell. I'd rather have teeth pulled than go through that again.”

“Ah, I was lucky Francis never had that. But he did go through the phase when he did not want to wear any clothes. I would get him all dressed, and as soon as I turned around he was naked again.”

“Oh man, I can only imagine!”

“Do not imagine, it was awful. And he would do that when we had company over too...”

“Aw, poor you,” Alfred laughed, and soon Ivan was joining in too.

“Alfred, can we talk more later? I-I am glad to have a friend who understands, but I need to start fixing supper...”

“Yeah, of course!” Alfred answered eagerly. “You can call any time you like! Uh, have a good dinner!”

“Da, and you too!”

Alfred clicked his phone off and headed to the kitchen to start his own dinner. His feet felt strangely light all the way.