Author's Note: Here I am again with a new story! I'm trying something a little different, so let me know what you think. Please leave a review if you'd like to see more. It'd be greatly appreciated. ;)

"A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;

How could I answer the child?...I do not know what it is any more than he." ~Walt Whitman

Autumn is man's darkest season. What it takes away, it never gives back.

Each day, not one minute past seven, Arthur erupted out the front door, a stack of papers plastered to one hand and a leather briefcase attached to the other.

Today, as always, there was a cigarette dangling between his clenched teeth, blasting smoke into the frosty air while he struggled to unlock the car door.

"Hurry along, boys. We've no time to waste," he proclaimed, herding the twins into their seats like cattle. "Did you both finish Mr. Beilschmidt's homework, last night?"

Francis watched them from the doorway of the house, dressed in a comically fluffy bathrobe and sandals. There was a disheveled air about him—an exhausted temperament that turned his under-eyes a grotesque purple.

"Uh-huh!" Alfred placated Arthur before waving his hand frantically to get Francis' attention. "Bye, Papa! I love you!"

"Love you!" Matthew parroted from beside him, flashing a partially toothless smile.

"Have a good day at school, mes lapins! That goes for you as well, Arthur."

"Damned frog…" the Englishman snarled at once, slipping into the driver's seat with a pronounced frown. He adjusted the rearview mirror and gave the boys a pointed look. "Have we put our seatbelts on?"

Not expecting a uniform response, Arthur checked that the two were buckled up before pulling out of the driveway.

"Daddy, why did Papa sleep on the couch last night?" Matthew chimed when they had stopped at a red light, chewing on his nails.

"Don't put your fingers in your mouth, poppet."

"But why?"

"It spreads germs."

"No, why did Papa sleep downstairs?"

"Because Papa had to do some paperwork and didn't want to wake anyone up," Arthur lied. He took a long drag of his cigarette and flicked away the excess ash on the window. "You know Papa has been very busy lately."

That much was true, at least.

"He's home all day," Alfred argued, kicking out his feet. He had a curious look in his eyes—as though he knew more than he was letting on. "He doesn't even go to work anymore."

"Yes, but he's looking for new work. It's not as easy as it sounds."

Matthew shrugged his shoulders and played with the zipper on his lunchbox. "I like it better when he's home."

They were closer than ever before, Matthew and Francis, practically inseparable, and Arthur couldn't help but feel a sting of jealousy in his chest, knowing the boy clearly favored one parent over the other. He'd even started picking up on some French, and spoke it whenever possible to flaunt his spectacular progress. His favorite phrase was often "J'en mettrais ma main au feu!" (I'd put my hand on fire) or the English equivalent of "I'd bet my life on it!"

He snuck it into every day conversation as many times as possible, saying things like "I'm sure Papa made a good dinner today. J'en mettrais ma main au feu!"

Arthur could only hope this fascination of his would be quelled over time. He didn't need a second frog hopping about—one was already more than he could manage.

The fizzling harmony of children's playful cries greeted them as they neared the school building, and Arthur deposited the car in the teacher's parking lot before snuffing out his cigarette. "Go and stand with the rest of the class, boys. I'll see you in a few minutes."

They had been through this routine many times, and thus, the boys exchanged a brief hug with the man and jogged toward the rest of their classmates without complaint, blending into the crowd and out of sight.

Just another day.

Arthur grabbed his briefcase and locked the car before heading for his designated classroom, mentally preparing himself to tackle the morning. If he hurried, he could still make himself a cup of tea in the lounge. He would need the extra boost of caffeine to function.

Unfortunately, Gilbert Beilschmidt caught him at the most inopportune moment.

"Morning, Arthur. How are the rugrats doing?" he asked, quite casual as he skimmed over his lesson plan. "Word on the block says mean ol' Mr. Kirkland assigned a project that's due today."

"We're making maps."

"Ah, that's why I caught Alfred cutting out templates of continents in my class yesterday. He dropped Europe on the floor."

Arthur sighed and readied his apologies. "He told me he'd started working on it last week. I'll have a talk with him."

"It's all right. I thought it was funny," Gilbert consoled, returning to his own classroom, which was across the hall from Arthur's. "If only we could get him to do his math homework. I've got a few tactics I want to try out on the kids. I'll let you know how they work out."

"Please do."

"Well, buh-bye for now."

"Likewise."

Gilbert was generally well-liked by his students, mostly due to his lax teaching style. He hardly dished out assignments, refusing to hand out what he termed "busy-work" when the children could be spending time outside instead. Nonetheless, he did assign a weekly worksheet of math problems to assess his students' progress. His science class, on the other hand, normally remained a homework-free zone and only required an occasional experiment to be conducted at home.

The first bell rang shortly after their discussion, and Arthur braced himself for the stampede of third graders that swarmed the classroom. They plopped into their desks and continued chatting, excited and full of energy. He briefly imagined himself in their shoes, enamored by the world with so much left to see and learn.

"I hope everyone had a good weekend," Arthur began, raising his voice over the mesh of conversations. And, like magic, the students immediately quieted down, fearing a scolding. "I hear you've all worked very hard on putting together your maps. I'd like for everyone to form a group of three or four and share what they learned with each other. I'll be coming around the room to see your projects, and we'll be hanging them up around the classroom later. "

The students began to merge, and the chatting increased once more. Arthur made sure everyone was incorporated in a group, glowering when he noticed something a tad troubling.

"Matthew," he called out, motioning for the boy to step forward. "I don't want you working with Alfred today. Why don't you work with another group instead?"

He had to get the child out of his comfort zone every once in a while, even though it pained him to do so.

"Okay," Matthew appeased, though he clearly wasn't thrilled with the arrangement. He rarely mingled with anyone other than his brother, and it showed.

Someday, he'd understand, or so Arthur hoped.

The intercom at the head of the room crackled with life, silencing the room once more.

"Mr. Kirkland, you're wanted in the principal's office this afternoon."

A flood of giggles and snickers blanketed the class, followed by a chorus of "oooohs".

Arthur bit back a smile. It wasn't a proper Monday if his lesson wasn't being interrupted at least once. "All right, everyone. Let's get back to work."

What had he done now?

"Arthur, I'm sorry for calling you in abruptly. I promise I'll let you get back to your lunch in a moment. There were just some… concerns that we needed to address."

Mr. Yao was an elderly gentleman, but you wouldn't be able to tell at first glance. He had a youthful spirit accented by a statuesque posture and wiry appearance. Furthermore, he was always one to make you feel welcome, until you were at odds with him. Then, you were on your own.

"It's not a problem."

"Hmm, it is my understanding that you've recently started integrating geography into your lessons, correct?"

"Yes, I have."

"You see, Arthur, geography is not included in the course curriculum for our third grade social studies class. In fact, your recent assignment raised some eyebrows. I've had some phone calls from parents who are worried that their children aren't being fully prepared for the state test at the end of the term."

Arthur stiffened his shoulders and smoothed out his dress shirt. He had anticipated this issue. "I can assure you that my class will be more than ready for the state exam. I've been covering all of the material in the mandated curriculum, but I have added a few additional topics of my own to facilitate the students' comprehension of the subject."

"I know you're a well-educated and capable teacher, Arthur. However, you still have to teach the curriculum in the manner in which it is outlined. I don't see how geography is beneficial to the students."

Clearing his throat, Arthur folded his hands in his lap and prepared his explanation. "Mr. Yao, my job is to teach English Language Arts and Social Studies. I find these classes to be vital to a young student's development. As such, how will these children understand colonial America if they can't identify the states on a map? How are they going to grasp the concept of European imperialism and parliamentary government if they don't know what London is, where it's located, and the type of culture it has? How are they supposed to feel any compassion for others if they can't imagine a world outside of their own city? We live in a globalized era, and you cannot expect these students to be prepared for real life problems if they can't read a map or empathize with the geopolitical problems of others."

He could see the dissent in Yao's eyes. The elder man was sharpening his knives, but two could play this game.

"I would even go as far as to argue that geography is not only beneficial to students, it's essential. They will never understand nationalism, culture, and the struggles of other societies without the basic knowledge of geography. I asked my students to paste the continents on construction paper and to label a few countries of their choice. That hardly seems like an extravagant assignment."

Yao blinked at him as though he had sprouted a second head, but otherwise kept his composure. "Very well, Arthur. If the student's assessment grades begin to suffer, there will have to be an intervention."

"That won't be necessary. My students are performing well above the standards set by the curriculum."

Yao stood from his desk and shook Arthur's hand firmly—an unspoken threat. "Thank you for your time."

"No—thank you," Arthur replied, immensely polite and professional.

Let the races begin.

"Mathieu, stop picking at your peas—I know you don't like them, but you need your vitamins. And Alfred, you have mashed potatoes on your face…again," Francis muttered, clicking his tongue before swiping his thumb across Alfred's cheek. "If you would slow down your eating, you wouldn't make such a mess."

Alfred merely stuffed a forkful of meat into his mouth, barely bothering to chew it. "I'm not making a mess!"

"Tch. Where is your father? His dinner is going to be cold, and I refuse to reheat it."

"He's right here," Arthur announced as he swept into the kitchen, creases of distress in his forehead. He smelled of cigarette smoke and peppermint gum. "Francis, we need to talk."

"Can't it wait until after dinner?"

"Fine."

Arthur planted kisses on each of the boy's foreheads and almost pecked Francis's cheek out of habit, but something stopped him short. Instead, he settled himself down in a chair at the table and tried to force-feed Matthew some vegetables. "Open up, love. They're good for you."

"But they taste bad!" the boy whimpered and gritted his teeth.

Maybe he'd have more success with a guilt-trip. "Papa worked very hard to make this dinner, and we don't want it to go to waste, do we?"

"No."

Arthur turned his attention to his own meal. "Then, I expect you to eat what's on your plate, lad."

They'd almost had an incident-free dinner, but Alfred had a thirst for telling stories, and so, the tale of the day made its presence known. "Papa! Daddy went to the principal's office today!"

Francis quirked an eyebrow, interest piqued. "Did he now?"

"Tell him what happened, Dad!"

"Yes, please do tell us," Francis encouraged, petting Alfred's head fondly. He could always count on his little informer to spill secrets. "Did you get detention?"

Arthur wiped at his mouth with a napkin and let out a bark of laughter. "But of course. It seems I've broken a few school policies."

A heavy silence followed, almost palpable. Francis had a stern look in his eyes.

"Boys, I'm sure Daddy's tired, so why don't we talk about this another time? Go and get ready for bed."

"Aww! But I wanna hear what happened!" Alfred pouted as Matthew took the opportunity to run away from his leftover vegetables.

"Later," Francis assured.

Realizing this was a futile fight, Alfred trailed after Matthew and continued his banter with him instead as they trudged upstairs. When both adults were sure that the children were out of earshot, Francis began clearing the table and sparked another conversation.

"The principal, hmm?" he said, turning on the faucet. "You know we can't afford for you to get into any trouble at work right now."

Arthur offered a hand in cleaning the dishes, gently pushing Francis out of the way. "Oh, don't worry about that. It was some silly stuff regarding the curriculum, but I have it under control."

"I hope so."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do, but—"

"But nothing," Arthur finished. "Francis, I wanted to—to apologize for how cross I was with you yesterday. You losing your job has put us both under a great deal of stress, and I let it get to my head. I shouldn't have said the things I did… I didn't mean any of it. I've been impatient, is all."

"I know. What's important is that it's in the past. Let's make the best of this horrible situation. We're managing for now, yes?"

Arthur nodded and pressed a feather-light kiss onto Francis's temple to ease both of their rampant thoughts. "I'm only worried about the boys. How long will we be able to live off of one paycheck? A measly paycheck, nonetheless."

He remembered when they'd first adopted the twins. They were barely a year old, and financial worries had always been in the forefront of their minds as new parents.

"We have some savings," Francis reminded, stowing away the silverware. "I submitted my résumé to a number of places. I'm waiting to hear back from them."

"Why don't you talk to Antonio? He works at the station uptown, right? Maybe he could help you find a position. Would the officers have to be notified about—?"

"No, no, no. It looks as though I resigned to 'spend time with family'. It shouldn't keep me from getting hired."

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and rested his head against the other's chest. "Good."

"I'm sorry for putting us in this situation."

"It wasn't your fault," he hissed, tightening a hand around Francis's forearm. "I'm going to step outside for a moment. We'll put the boys to sleep and turn in early."

'Stepping outside' was Arthur's key phrase for 'I need to go out and smoke a cigarette before I lose my sanity.' Francis despised the putrid habit, but Arthur had been a smoker since they'd first met, and he'd accepted him for the flaw. He was at least grateful that the man never smoked inside the house, but he'd been 'stepping out' more and more frequently as of late, going through nearly a pack a day.

Of course, he'd fast for the six hours when he was teaching, but then his addiction would be back in full swing, nipping at him relentlessly.

"Okay," Francis conceded, deciding that he'd bring up the issue on another evening. They had enough to think about for now. "Don't take too long out there."

"Or what? I'll get another round of detention?"

Francis grinned and rubbed his nose against Arthur's, causing the other to flush with irritation. The Englishman was never one to be overly affectionate unless his tenderness was being directed at the children. "I used to have a soft spot for bad boys."

"You don't say?"

"There was something alluring about them—a kind of je ne sais quoi."

"Well, in that case, I suppose I must not be your type. I'm far too good for you," Arthur teased, brushing off the advances with a mocking air. Francis was going to have to try harder than that. A little creativity now and then wouldn't hurt.

And as Arthur crept out the front door, Francis jokingly wondered what the other man valued more—love or cigarettes.

Sometimes, it was hard to tell.

He couldn't stop his dreams from running wild.

Nothing compared to staying up late with Mattie when Papa and Daddy thought they were asleep. They'd read comics, tell scary stories, and whisper through the darkness until lethargy finally came upon them, lulling them to rest.

The window was cracked open just an inch, letting in a cool gust of wind as they huddled together in Mattie's bed, trying not to make too much noise. Their toes were curled into the bedcovers, warm and cozy as their shoulders pressed against one another.

"Guess what, Matt? I'm gonna be the fastest runner in the world! Nobody will ever be able to catch up to me in a million-bajillion years," Alfred forewarned his brother. "I'll beat the world record. You'll see!"

Matthew slid further underneath the covers until only his eyes and hair were visible. "You did win your last race, but if you wanna be the best in the world, you havta win the Olympics."

"Win the Olympics?"

"Yeah, you get a medal and then everyone knows you're really the best."

"Well, everyone's gonna know about me," Alfred asserted, picking the lint off of his striped pajama top. He could already hear the chorus of cheers thrumming in his mind, shouting his name. He was going to be the best of the best. He wanted it more than that time he'd begged for the new 'Robot Apocalypse' game.

He pleaded and pressed Daddy to take him to the park every weekend, and then he'd just run. Run until the people behind him didn't matter anymore. Run until the wind cut through his hair and sweat dribbled down his back. In those moments, he was as close to paradise as humanly possible.

"I have another race tomorrow."

"I won't be there because I'm going to the dentist with Papa… Sorry."

"It's okay, Daddy's gonna record it. Are ya getting all of your teeth ripped out?" Alfred teased, narrowly avoiding the pillow that Matthew launched at his face.

"Shut up!"

"Just kidding!"

"Hey, Mattie?"

"What?"

"Do you think it'll make Daddy and Papa happy if I win my race tomorrow?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"They've just been really sad lately. Do you think it's something we did?"

Matthew pursed his lips in thought and shook his head. Now that his brother brought it up, he had noticed a change of mood in the house. "No. Did you make them angry?"

"Not this week," Alfred promised. "I heard that when parents are sad all the time, they can get a divorce."

"Maybe other parents, but not our parents."

Feeling a bout of drowsiness come over him, Alfred lowered his head to the pillows and nodded, hoping Matthew was right. "G'night, Matt. The bedbugs are gonna bite you."

"If they bite me, they'll probably bite you too."

Alfred popped his eyes open once more and grinned widely at his twin. "No, they can't handle my blood—it's too awesome for them to drink. It's like poison!"

He was too invincible for his own good, and Matthew only prayed that Alfred wouldn't poison himself by accident.

"I'll be at the top of the bleachers, okay? Take a deep breath and try your best."

"I know, Dad."

"Good luck, love."

He found his place on the track and scrunched the soles of his shoes against the synthetic surface, testing the resistance. He squeezed in a few leg stretches and then it was show time. He bent one knee and brushed a hand over the ground, waiting for the whistle. Every second was agony, and his heart was already slamming against his ribs.

"Ready… Set…"

The shriek of the whistle propelled his legs forward, sending him barreling down the track with all of his might. His body was no longer his own, and he sprinted forward in a daze, lost in the moment. He was ahead. He was going to win!

The colors around him meshed into one glob and his nostrils flared as he sucked in giant gulps of air. Just a few more yards.

And suddenly, a figure zoomed ahead of him and snagged his attention. He tried to catch up and closed some of the distance between them, but he fell a few feet short of the finish line and arrived second.

Calves stiff and aching, he barely noticed as a silver medal coiled around his neck.

"Alfred!"

He sluggishly turned his head to the side and met his father's eyes, chest still heaving.

"I'm so proud of you."

Tears sprung into his eyes, but he quickly willed them away. "I lost," he murmured. Every part of his skeleton screamed at him for failing.

"No, you didn't. You came in second. That's quite an accomplishment—it was a fierce competition," Daddy told him, stroking his hair back. "Congratulations!"

Alfred frowned and said once more, "I lost."

A warm hand rose to touch his cheek, and he suffered through a barely suppressed sob. He let everyone down. How was he supposed to make Daddy and Papa happy now?

"You were wonderful because you tried your hardest," Dad whispered, kissing his head. "No one gets first place in all of their races."

Those words only served to make him feel worse, and the tears he'd been hiding finally leaked onto his face.

Daddy made a disapproving noise and scooped him close with strong arms. Alfred wished he'd never let him go. They could just stay like this forever, comfortable in each other's embrace.

"Let's go home."

"Did I make you sad?" Alfred asked as he swiped at his puffy eyes.

"Of course not. I love watching you race, you know that," Daddy said once they were in the car, a gentle smile on his lips. "I love you even when you don't get first place."

"So you aren't going to get a divorce?"

Bug eyed and flustered, Daddy twisted himself around in the driver's seat to look at him. The man thought he'd heard it all after working with children for many years, but it seemed they still had the ability to leave him dumbfounded. "Where in the world did you get that idea?"

"You were yelling at Papa the other day and—"

"Oh, Alfred," Daddy sighed, pulling a cigarette out of its packet. His lighter gave off a sharp click and he rolled down the window before taking a drag. "Sometimes adults fight, but that doesn't mean they stop caring for one another. Fighting is part of life, and a little fighting is healthy. You get into arguments with Matthew almost daily, don't you?"

"Yeah…"

"As you get older, you'll see how life can hand us a basket of troubles, but if you find someone that loves you, you won't have to carry the basket alone."

Not really understanding what Dad was getting at, Alfred went back to sulking. Adults were confusing, and they always made everything so unnecessarily complicated.

"Just keep your chin up, lad. You've nothing to be ashamed of."

Alfred huffed, blowing a piece of hair out of his eyes.

That was another thing about adults, they strolled around like they knew everything there was to know.

Poison, poison, poison. They all had it coming.