Okay here's the next chapter. I hope I've put sufficient warning for character death because, well, it's pretty important that you remember that when reading this chapter.

…

Charlotte- Wy

Yekaterina- Ukraine

William- New Zealand

Oscar- Hutt River

Erikur- Iceland

Aleksander- Norway

...

1st April, London

…

Peter rubbed his eyes and sat up, yawning and stretching. He glanced over at Charlotte, who slept peacefully next to him, brunette hair scattered across her pillow, face half-shadowed in the dim, early-morning light that peeked in through the curtains of the tiny room Peter had lived in since he was a child, on the top floor of a tiny house on a busy street in London.

Peter sighed and got up. He quietly dressed into his trousers, shirt, waistcoat, shoes and jacket before completing the outfit with a bowler hat to show he was a man of business. Wandering downstairs into the kitchen, Peter found that he was the first person up. Collecting a plate of bread and cheese and pulling a small pile of papers from his jacket pocket, he sat down in one of the wooden chairs around the table to eat and read. The papers contained five tickets for him and Charlotte, their two children and his brother Lars, along with the details of their departure.

He hoped Charlotte liked the idea of this holiday; she'd always said she wanted to visit America sometime in her life and now they would all go as a family. He'd even managed to talk Raivis into getting tickets for him, Yekaterina and their baby; they'd even bought tickets for Yekaterina's younger siblings, Ivan and Natalya, so they could come along as well, so now Charlotte could go on holiday with her entire family. This included her aging father, William, who was travelling around the vast country at the moment and would meet them in New York on the day of their arrival, as stated in a letter he'd sent several weeks ago. Heck, he'd even invited the eccentric artist Franz Edelstein as company for Lars since the pair were pretty close, in case he felt left out surrounded by families and couples. Unfortunately, Charlotte's oldest brother, Oscar, had told them he wouldn't be coming for a number of reasons, the main one being his tiring job. Apart from that, everything was going perfectly and Peter tried to feel happy about the whole thing, but couldn't when he remembered just why he'd planned the whole thing in the first place.

He'd forgotten the last time he and Charlotte had showed any affection towards each other. They never even said they loved each other any more and Peter feared that was because they didn't. Had they used up all their affection when they were young; becoming bored of each other's company; or were their lives just far too ruled by work and sorrow and children for love and fondness anymore? Was Charlotte wishing she could just divorce him if it wasn't so stigmatised? He feared she hated him. It was sometimes hard to tell with her. Maybe Peter could try fixing things by showing some affection himself, but he wanted to make a big gesture for her. And besides, they could all do with a holiday.

Where had all his affection gone? He wondered that a lot now. Stress, maybe. Life had certainly been hard on him lately.

He glanced down at the tickets on the table, his own name staring up at him: Peter Kirkland, second class. There it was, in writing, proof that he was going on the most luxurious, unsinkable ship in the world with everyone he loved. Well, almost everyone. Arthur was pretty jealous that his work kept him from getting a ticket for himself. And his uncles were needed to stay and run the shop.

He folded up the tickets and stuffed them into his pocket- lest any of the others find them- finished eating and wandered downstairs to open the shop, which had been his since his parents died two years ago. Peter had always dreamed of eventually taking over the business, but when the time came, he found it was the last thing he ever wanted. Right now he just yearned for his parents back...

The room where the toys were displayed always looked dark and uncared for since Tino died and no matter how hard they tried, how hard they cleaned and decorated, it was just not the happy, warm place anymore. It lost the magic Tino and Berwald gave it and just felt like a regular, boring little shop now.

No one had been too worried when Tino first got sick, despite his age. After all, the guy had always managed to bounce back from far worse things before. But he got sicker and sicker, barely able to speak without coughing, and Dr Wang was called late one night after Tino had collapsed in front of them.

No one could believe it when Dr Wang told them that Tino wouldn't make it through the night.

After all the man had been through, Peter was starting to believe he could never die, but he did. Thankfully, it was peacefully in his sleep, surrounded by friends and family. He remembered Lars clinging to him as they sat on the edge of Tino's bed, burying his face in his brother's shirt in a rare display of emotion whilst Berwald just held Tino's motionless hand, eyes full of silent pleading, but it made no difference.

Berwald died only months later.

Of a broken heart, they'd told everyone. It seemed fitting; the pair had been close. Even if the direct family were the only ones who'd known how close they really were, no one doubted the strength of their friendship or how much they had relied on each other throughout the years. No one suspected what they also were to each other, or that there was any other cause for Berwald's death and Peter and Lars were happy to keep it that way.

After all, what Berwald had done meant he shouldn't have been allowed a burial in a proper graveyard, and Peter knew he would want to be next to Tino forever, which was probably what made him commit the ultimate sin in the first place.

Peter still felt an overwhelming surge of anger over what his father had done. Sympathy, too, of course, but he couldn't help but think of how it was those left behind who had to deal with the consequences and he just couldn't bring himself to forgive his father completely. Not yet. After all, Peter was now living with the memory of finding his father: dead with a bottle of poison in his hands, of shaking him by the shoulders, screaming and begging, hoping it wasn't too late to save him, even though he was long gone by then.

He missed his parents more than anything, and hoped at the very least they were at peace.

At least Berwald had lived long enough to see Peter and Charlotte name their second child after Tino. He'd been happy about that, definitely, doting on his baby grandchild up until his death. Just as he had with their eldest child, Jemima- named after Charlotte's mother, one of the victims of what was now called the worker's murders that happened nearly 24 years ago.

Peter pushed those memories out of his head, not wanting to think about watching his Uncle Mathias die on the floor of their shop; Jemima's funeral; or how Tino was left fighting for his life at the end of it all. Instead, he opened the front door and began sweeping the doorstep, something he'd done since he was a child and gave him security; plus, it allowed his mind to wander.

At least Tino and Berwald managed to have twenty two happy years together. They'd even travelled as a family to Sweden to meet Berwald's parents, who'd been both surprised and overjoyed at how big Lars had grown, seeing as the last time they'd seen him he was a tiny, screaming baby, and even treated Peter as another grandchild, for which he was grateful. Berwald's parents loved hearing stories of what their son and Tino had done and how they'd become successful against all odds. They also asked about Aleks and Erikur, but avoided mentioning Mathias in case it upset them. They'd thought Tino and Berwald's relationship was rather odd, but didn't comment on it, and most likely didn't realise what their relationship really was.

The four of them had even gone to Finland to track down any extended family of Tino's, and found out his father had a younger brother, who was so relieved that one member of his family had survived the fire that took Tino's father and siblings that he didn't even question Berwald, Peter and Lars' presence, accepting them as family and filling in any questions Tino had about his parents and siblings. Tino's uncle had a family of his own, and Peter and Lars were able to play with cousins for the entire trip.

Peter tidied the shelves in the window and wondered when Aleks would turn up. They were coming from Bristol- where a sister-shop had been set up- to look after the place while he was away. Peter had told him not to worry, that he'd already called in his brother Arthur from Liverpool, but he insisted. He wondered why, but guessed it was because he and Erikur just never visited anymore, not since Berwald's funeral. Besides, they had lives and a business to run.

Peter hoped Erikur wouldn't be too swamped on his own in the shop. Still, the man loved the place, happy to have a shop of his own. Or one that he shared with his brother anyway.

Peter wished the tenth of April, the day of boarding, would hurry up. Still, there was a lot to do: packing, getting the boat train to Southampton, and actually telling everyone about it. The only members of the party who actually knew that they were going were him, Raivis and Franz. He'd wanted to make it a nice surprise for Charlotte, Lars and the children.

He could almost picture their faces when they found out.

...

Anya is Hungarian for mother; I didn't feel comfortable having Kugel call Elizabeta 'Mutti' all the time.