HOME | DD

Description
Character(s)/Pairing(s): FACE family, with mild FrUK
Rating: G
Warnings: Fluff, Human AU, Slash
Summary: With Arthur and Matthew sick with the flu Francis is left to take care of Alfred on his own.

It was a miracle that he hadn't gotten sick. It was a miracle that Alfred hadn't gotten sick. Deep in the heart of flu season, a cold had managed to infiltrate their family and take out half of the occupants of the modest sized house, leaving Francis in a somewhat awkward position.

He frowned, inspecting the thermometer that had seconds ago been tucked between Alfred's little lips and confirming that the child was in fact perfectly fine. "His temperature is normal," Francis announced, lifting Alfred off of the bathroom counter and into his arms. "It seems that we have one sick twin and one healthy twin."

"Wonderful," Arthur mumbled, the words barely audible through the layers of snot clogging his nose and the dizzying congestion weighing down on his fevered mind.

The man was quite a sight -- his already tussled hair was sweat damped and clinging together in odd clumps, his heated skin was somehow clammy and flushed, and tick black bags hung under red rimmed eyes -- and the sleeping toddler in his arms didn't look much better. Poor little Matthew had just managed to drift off after spending the better half of the night and into the early hours of the morning vomiting and coughing and sobbing at his frustrating inability to breath. Even now his little nose, now a scarlet hue, was still dripping fiercely and his chubby little cheeks were apple red.

It was hard to tell who had gotten sick first, Arthur or Matthew, but Francis knew the real blame fell on the shoulders of those sticky fingered brats at the Petri dish called the daycare center. Francis had no doubt in his mind that some thoughtless parent had dropped one of their children off -- knowing good and well that they were feverish -- and allowed them to spread their bacteria to every occupant of the candy colored playroom.

"Well, it looks like its quarantine for Matthew and me," Arthur sniffed as Matthew sleepily wiped his drippy nose on the soft fabric of his father's t-shirt. Arthur was too far gone to even take notice of this disgusting gesture, choosing instead to press a tired hand to the back of the boy's head in an attempt to sooth him back to sleep. "I'm going to seal us off in the bedroom. No sense in having us all get sick."

Alfred squirmed in Francis's grasp, reaching a single hand out towards Matthew in concern for his well being. The gesture suddenly made Francis aware of the fact that the twins had never been separated for more than a few minutes. His sweet twins had always done everything together; they ate together, they slept together, they usually got sick together, except today. He smiled, grasping Alfred's questing hand in his own and offering a gentle squeeze. Perhaps this time apart will do them both some good.

"That sounds like a marvelous plan," Francis agreed. "Alfred and I will just have to make do without you two."

Arthur nodded, cringing slightly as he fought off the urge to sneeze near the uninfected toddler. Two sick individuals were more than enough for one household. "Keep a close eye on him," he instructed. "If he shows any signs of being sick himself..."

"Do not worry, I know what to do," he assured him, ushering Arthur and Matthew towards the master bedroom. "You two go get comfortable and focus on getting better. I will be back in just a moment with some soup."

"And some orange juice for Matthew," Arthur suggested. He clucked his tongue in disapproval as he pressed the back of his hand to the boy's forehead. "He's so warm," he muttered remorsefully.

"I will be sure to bring up some medicine as well." Francis was about to lean in to give Arthur's cheek a quick peck, but the appeal of the gesture quickly died when a deep hacking cough erupted from his throat. No, Francis decided, his husband would remain untouched for today. "Say goodbye to Daddy and Matthew, Alfred," Francis cooed, taking Alfred's little hand in his own and gently motioning it into a waving gesture.

"Dada. Matt Matt," Alfred chanted, his blue eyes dancing from Arthur to Matthew.

Arthur offered him a warm (yet tired) smile in return, waving at Alfred as he eased himself into the bedroom. "Have fun with Papa, Alfred," he said before closing the door behind him. Once the door was closed, Francis heard what had to be the loudest sneeze his ears had ever witnessed and would have sworn up and down that he saw the walls shake from the aftershock.

"Poor man," he sighed as he headed downstairs towards the kitchen.

Alfred began squirming in his arms, fussing and fidgeting more and more with every step Francis took from the door. Francis imagined that a part of little Alfred wanted to go back and play "hero" by tending to his father and brother, but at that moment the best thing he could do was stay away and stay healthy.

"Do not worry about them, mon chou," Francis crooned as he deposited the boy into the playpen situated in the middle of the family room. "In a few days time, they will both be all better."

Alfred blinked up at him and then turned towards his side, the side of the playpen Matthew usually occupied, and pouted in displeasure. "Matt," he shouted, patting the empty space beside him for emphasis. "Matt Matt Matt!"

Francis sighed, running his fingers through Alfred's honey colored hair before caressing his cheek to check to see if he were the least bit warm. He still felt normal and Francis hoped that he stayed that way. "Your brother will be back, I promise you," he told the child, willing the young mind to understand him as he grabbed a stuffed animal that had been flung to the other side of the play area and deposited it in Alfred's arms. "Play with your bunny and be a good boy for Papa."

He was satisfied to see Alfred grab the bunny, hugging it to his chest fiercely as Francis turned the television on. Arthur absolutely hated when Francis sat the children down in front of the television, convinced that such an act would turn them into mindless zombies, but he felt certain that it would not hurt to do so just this once. He quickly set the station to a children's puppet show before heading into the kitchen to put something together for the two sick occupants of the master suite.

It was only after he had gathered all of his ingredients for chicken soup and set the water to boil that Francis heard a loud clang emerge from the living room. Setting his knife down, he stepped out of the kitchen to find that the playpen had been tipped over, lying flat on its side, and was missing one toddler.

Even though he managed to spot Alfred right away, his heart was still hammering in his chest at the sight. Somehow the boy had not only knocked over his playpen, he had grabbed his toy rabbit and was now bravely scaling the steps, no doubt intent on reaching Arthur and Matthew.

"Naughty naughty," Francis chided, scooping Alfred up and into his arms. He responded with wild kicks and whines of displeasure, but Francis's grip stayed firm. "I do not know how you managed such a trick, but you will not escape a second time."

Intent on keeping an eye on Alfred, Francis decided to put the boy in his high chair and keep him in the kitchen with him. "No more trouble from you," he instructed, handing the stuffed bunny back to Alfred. "Stay still and Papa will get you your breakfast."

Alfred gave a petulant whine, but seemed content at the prospect of food, chewing on his bunny's ear as if to show his hunger. Francis gently pried the fabric out from between his lips before giving Alfred a small bowl of cereal to chew on instead, knowing that his baby teeth would be up for the task.

With Alfred occupied, Francis found himself free to roam around the kitchen, finally able to set about his intended task. He quickly put the last touches on the chicken soup, mindful to make enough for later, set about making Arthur's tea, and searched around for something soothing for Matthew's stomach, deciding that a simple piece of toast would do. By the time he had the necessary items on his tray assembled -- medicine, juice, toast, soup, tea -- Alfred had already finished with his cereal and was focused on making his empty bowl dance by smacking the plastic high chair with his eager hands.

"No hitting," Francis chided, taking the bowl away from Alfred, much to his displeasure. "Stay here for just a moment. Papa will be right back."

"Bah!" Alfred cried before shoving his fingers between his lips and suckling on them.

He smiled at the boy, before grabbing his breakfast tray and heading up the stairs. When he reached the bedroom, he saw that Arthur had tucked himself under the sheets, using a stack of pillows to cushion the headboard as he cradled Matthew in his arms. The boy was still fast asleep and Arthur was still occupied with running his hands over his hair and murmuring soothing words to him.

"Your soup my lord," Francis announced, breaking up the tender scene and gaining Arthur's attention.

"Thank you," he sniffed. Arthur paused, grabbing a tissue to clear his nose, and then continued. "Did you bring Matthew's medicine?"

"Of course." Francis laid the tray across Arthur's waiting lap, giving him access to the small bottle of purple medicine and the plastic measuring spoon he had set out for Matthew.

Arthur grumbled something under his breath as he inspected the bottle of children's cold syrup that Francis had brought along for Matthew. "Tell me we have more medicine than this?"

"None that I can find."

"Just as well." Arthur sighed -- well, as best as he could with a clogged nose -- at the sight of the nearly empty bottle. "You'll need to head to the store to pick up more tissues anyway."

"What about the box you have now?"

Arthur responded to the question by grabbing another tissue and clearing out his nose before tossing the wad of paper towards the towering pile of balled up tissues that was now flowing out of the waste bin.

"Fine. Is there anything else your wet nurse can do for you?"

"Could you open a window?" Arthur sighed, adjusting Matthew's sleeping form to allow himself better access to the tray laid out across his lap. "It's quite stuffy in here."

Francis complied, despite the fact that he knew Arthur would only demand he close it minutes later, because he could not resist the man when he was sick and meek and asked him as nicely as his drowsy mind would allowed. It was fortunate that the day was mild enough that he could allow the fresh air in without the fear of making their symptoms worse.

He left the room then, because Arthur needed his rest and he had left Alfred unattended for far too long. Heading into the hall, he wasn't too surprised when he found Alfred at the top of the stairs waiting for him.

"So nice of you to share this new talent with me," Francis sighed, scooping Alfred up and carrying him into the nursery. Alfred responded by fussing and whining once more when he saw that his plan to enter the master bedroom had once again been foiled. Francis huffed, patting Alfred's back tenderly as he silently wondered where this sudden rebellious streak had come from. "Let us get dressed and run some errands for Daddy."

"No!" Alfred cried, slapping Francis's hand away and giving his hair a fierce yank just for good measure. "No no no no no!"

"No hitting," Francis sighed, detangling his hair from Alfred's strong grip with a grimace. He realized then that this was just the start of a very long day.

---

Francis was eying the duct tape thoughtfully. He wondered if it would be in bad taste to strap a small child down to his seat, because that seemed to be the only way to get Alfred to stay still today. While picking up more medicine, tissues, and a few other things that would be needed around the house, Alfred had managed to slip out of the shopping cart not once, not twice, but four times! (Although this time most of Alfred's escape attempts centered on the desire to search for sweets and greasy snacks food instead of his missing brother.) Francis loved his son to pieces, cherished him with every breath, but for the life of him he could not understand this sudden need Alfred felt to run off.

Francis shook his head, moving away from the duct tape and towards the cash register. He could handle one baby, he told himself. He took care of the twins together all the time and it was no trouble. So why was handling Alfred alone for one day giving him such a headache?

Francis sighed, adjusting the boy in his arms. Holding Alfred would keep him from running off, he was certain of it.

He approached the checkout line and was surprised to find Antonio standing at the register. It was an odd sight to be sure as Antonio was the general manager of the store and usually spent his hours in the back office or floating around the building. "Hello Antonio," Francis greeted as he began placing his items on the counter. "What are you doing at the till today? Have you been demoted?"

"Nothing like that," Antonio laughed, as he went to work ringing up Francis's purchase. "Its flu season you know. I've been having a ton of call outs all week. Even with the managers pitching in, nearly every department is short a hand or two today."

Francis hummed, nodding sympathetically as he adjusted the squirming toddler in his arms. "Ah yes, we are being effected by that at home as well," he told him.

"Oh, so that's why you are down one baby, huh?" Antonio guessed, smiling down at Alfred. "Which one is this again? I can never remember."

"Alfwed! Alfwed!" the boy interjected, punctuating each cry of his own name by waving his arms.

"Alfred," Francis laughed, patting the child's back. "Matthew and Arthur have fallen ill, I'm afraid."

"Aw, that's rough."

"More than you think," he sighed, shifting Alfred when he felt the child's fingers begin to slip into his hair once again. "While those two are stuck in bed, I have been having my hands full with this one. Apparently Alfred decided he wants to be a little Houdini today, because he's been spending every second trying to slip away from me." He grimaced, a long hiss escaping his lips as Alfred managed to grab a fistful of his hair and give it another tug. "Or doing that," he half sobbed.

Antonio giggled at the sight and Francis was annoyed that the man didn't even attempt to hide it. "Aw, I think the little guy is just cranky," he suggested, reaching across the counter to give Alfred's head an affectionate pat. "I bet he needs a nap."

"No nap!" Alfred practically screamed. "No nap no nap no nap!"

Francis swallowed back a groan as he shushed the child and gave his back a vigorous pat. "Never say that word in front of a hyperactive toddler, Antonio," he chided, although he would certainly have to consider that suggestion.

---

Francis felt fortunate that he wouldn't actually have to deal with getting Alfred settled down for a nap. He had the soothing car ride home to thank for accomplishing the task for him. As soon as they had pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, Alfred had been lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking motion of the sedan and Francis was pleased to find that he hadn't woken up, not even when they pulled into their driveway.

Juggling bags of groceries and a sleeping toddler was no easy feat, but Francis had managed to carry out the task without causing Alfred to as much as stir. Of course, the hard part was assuring himself that Alfred would not escape once he had set him down.

Francis found the solution to his problem in the form of his new best friend duct tape. He had discovered the roll hiding itself under the kitchen sink and he had used more than half of it to fasten the playpen to the ground, attaching it to the end tables and coffee tables and any other sturdy structure he could find. For the time being Francis did not care about what sort of effect the adhesive would have on the polished wood, because he now felt certain that Alfred would not be getting away.

Of course, looking down at the child's prone figure -- soft even breaths escaping from gently parted lips, long eye lashes fluttering against round cheeks, and tiny arms wrapped around the soft fabric of a much abused plush rabbit -- it was hard to imagine Alfred being capable of ever doing anything wrong.

He smiled, bending down to brush the boy's blond hair aside to touch his forehead. Still normal.

---

The next time he entered the master bedroom, it was Arthur who that was fast asleep -- curled up into a ball, red nose buried deep into the soft white pillow below him, and blankets pooling around his waist -- while Matthew was wide awake. The toddler was busy crawling around the bed, tugging at the buttons on his oblivious father's night shirt and babbling to himself.

"Look whose awake," Francis cooed, setting the box of tissues that he had brought with him down on the foot of the bed as he went to scoop Matthew up. He pressed a hand to Matthew's forehead to check his temperature and was pleased to find that the boy was not nearly as warm as he had been a few hours ago. "You feel so much better. How wonderful!"

Matthew expressed his mutual enthusiasm by sneezing into Francis's shirt before sloppily whipping his drippy nose with the back of his own hand. Francis cringed as he grabbed a tissue and properly cleaned up the last traces of snot and drool from Matthew's face. The child was lucky he loved him as much as he did.

"Alfwed?" Matthew asked in his usual breathy whisper, blue eyes peering up at Francis and pleading.

Francis sighed as he threw out the tissue and gently sat down on the mattress beside the still sleeping Arthur (who let out a hacking cough, followed by a monstrous snort, before coughing again). "I am sorry mon petite," he whispered, running a gentle hand over the boy's hair. "You will see Alfred again in another day or two."

For a moment Matthew just looked at him, seemingly processing his words, but it wasn't long before tears began to appear in his blue eyes as they grew wider and wider and his face twisted into an expression so heart breaking that Francis felt sick inside. He was no comfort to anyone today. Matthew's sniffling sobs were enough to cause the boy's entire body to shake and snot to drip from his nose, a fact that Matthew remedied by burying his face in Francis's chest and Francis decided then that his shirt had lived a long, full life and would be buried at the end of the day.

"Why is my baby crying?" Arthur grumbled, prying his face out from the white linen wrapped pillow to glare his blurry green eyes at Francis. He groaned as he crawled into a sitting position and reached his arms out towards his husband. "Give him to me."

"It wasn't my fault," Francis insisted instantly as he gave the sobbing toddler to Arthur.

"Of course it wasn't," Arthur sighed as he continued to rub soothing circles into Matthew's back and whispered gentle words into his ears. "How's the other baby?" he asked once Matthew's sobbing had settled into gentle whimpers.

Francis sighed, pressing his hand against Arthur's forehead. Still warm. "Not so good," he said. "He has been an absolute terror all day."

"Oh."

"Every time I turn my back he runs away from me."

"Really?"

"And even when I keep my eyes on him, he still doesn't behave."

"Shame."

"He's been pulling at my hair."

"Oh."

"I think I have a bald patch on my left side."

"Really?"

"You aren't listening to a word I'm saying."

"Shame."

"If you weren't sick I would kill you."

"No, you wouldn't," Arthur said confidently, "because then you would have no one around to tell you how pretty you look every second of the day."

Francis huffed, focusing instead on collecting the now empty cups and bowls littering the bedroom. "I could find someone else."

"Listen," Arthur said suddenly, lifting a hand in the air to halt the conversation. "Do you hear crying?"

Francis sighed as the sound of distant wailing reached his ears. "I'll get it," he said, deciding to forego the tray in order to reach the child that much sooner. When he reached the living room, Francis found that Alfred was now wide awake and making sad attempts to escape from the confines of his pen. He halted his latest escape attempt when he noticed Francis entering the room, deciding to turn his attention on him instead.

"Papa," Alfred sobbed reaching up his chubby little arms and pleading with watery blue eyes. "Papa up! Up up!"

A nightmare, Francis reasoned as he reached down and lifted the still sobbing child into his arms. "There there, mon chou, everything is alright," he crooned, rubbing gentle circles into Alfred's trembling back. "Papa is here now."

Alfred sobbed, drool and tears flowing freely from him as he buried his face into his father's chest as Francis suddenly realized that he should probably take the shirt off considering all that it had gone through upstairs. He was about to set Alfred back down in order to remove the shirt that had spent most of the day being used as a tissue, but the loss of physical contact did not sit well with the toddler. A shrill, piercing scream erupted from the boy's impossibly wide mouth the second his toes touched down on the soft padding of his playpen.

Francis instantly picked him back up and once Alfred was safely within the circle of his arms his wails turned back to gentle sobs once more. "Papa," Alfred sniffed, burying his face in Francis's shoulder. "Papa Papa Papa."

"Papa's here," he sighed. "Papa's here." His heart felt torn in half in the face of this new problem. On the one hand, it was wonderful to know that Alfred still found comfort in his presence. On the other hand, holding a sobbing toddler to his chest all day was going to make things more than a bit difficult.

---

Francis wished that Alfred were still small enough to fit into a babybjorn. Life would have been so much simpler if the boy were a few months younger and a few pounds lighter so that he could just slip the child into the harness and carry him around while still maintaining the ability to use his arms.

But no. Life was not that simple and Francis was forced to spend the rest of the day cooking and cleaning while cradling Alfred to his chest, because the second the tips of his toes touched the ground the baby would erupt into frighten shrieks that were loud enough to shake the walls and cause a rundown Arthur to scramble out of bed and down the stairs, demanding to know what was wrong with the baby. Francis had to wonder what sort of nightmare the child had had to shake him up so.

"Is that good, mon chou?" Francis cooed as the boy sat comfortably in his lap, nibbling on a peanut butter sandwich. He had already given Alfred his lunch and had finished preparing another bowl of soup for Arthur and a small sandwich for Matthew, but he couldn't very well give it to them when he had to spend every second cradling Alfred against him to ward off the last lingering traces of the boy's nightmare. Bringing the baby into the master bedroom with him was a sure fire way to get the child sick, although Francis was starting to wonder whether things would be much simpler if everyone just got sick together. "Are you feeling better?"

Alfred merely hummed, swallowing every last crumb of his sandwich before licking his lips and saying "More."

"More?" Francis half teased, half groaned. That was the second sandwich Alfred had eaten, after swallowing an entire apple (sliced of course) and gnawing a whole orange until there were only peels and seeds left behind. Alfred always had possessed quite the appetite, but today that little quirk of his was just another thing to exhaust him. "More more more!" Francis sing-songed, punctuating every "more" with a kiss to Alfred's cheek. "You are Papa's little piggy aren't you?"

Alfred giggled as he happily sucked on his fingers (most likely to fully capture every last trace of food) and bounced on Francis's lap. "More!" he giggled. "More more!"

He sighed, rubbing his cheek against Alfred's hair. "You know I must feed your father and brother don't you?" he told him, kissing Alfred's cheek once more for good measure, "but I will humor you just this once, and then no more."

"More," Alfred said, choosing this time to focus his attention on Francis's hand. "More Papa more."

He sighed again, this one a bit more dramatic than the last, as he wrapped Alfred's little hands in his palm. "Alright. A little more."

---

"What are you doing out of bed?"

Arthur turned towards him, freezing mid-step in the middle of the hall. Francis had caught him slipping out of the nursery and back into the master bedroom with a stack of diapers and a change of clothes for Matthew in his hands and suddenly the answer was obvious. "Well I had to get up eventually," he mumbled, "and I couldn't count on you to do everything. Has Alfred really been that much of a handful?"

He nodded as he walked Arthur back into the bedroom where Matthew was resting in the middle of a nest of blankets and pillows. "Yes. Now, instead of pushing me away, he's clinging to me like a little otter."

"An otter?"

"Oui, an otter. They have little arms and tight grips... like Alfred."

"Huh. So that's why it took you so long to bring us lunch?" Arthur said teasingly as he settled himself back down on the bed, gently adjusting Matthew over to the opposite side of the bed so that Francis could set down the second tray of food. "It's practically dinner time."

"Yes, well baby otter Alfred was particularly hungry today. I nearly emptied the pantry in an attempt to satisfy him," he explained, cringing as Arthur reached for a tissue and blew his nose. "Are you feeling any better?"

He groaned in response, tossing the tissue away and wiping his hands on his pants. "I'll be fine. How is our little semi-aquatic mammal doing? Any signs of fever?"

"None. He is perfect."

"Good," Arthur sniffed. "Where is he?"

"Downstairs sleeping off a food induced coma in his modified playpen."

"'Modified'? Modified how?"

"Do not worry," he said dismissively as he handed Arthur his bowl of chicken soup. "All you need to know is that it is secure."

"Fine. How are you?"

"I am dead inside."

Arthur snorted, then coughed, then grabbed a tissue to blow his nose. "Don't be a drama queen," he chided. "Now go back downstairs and give the baby otter a kiss on his furry cheeks for me."

Francis leaned forward to plant a kiss on Arthur's lips, but quickly came to his senses when Arthur pinched his nose and took a deep breath in order to pop his ears (Francis assumed). "I am suddenly filled with a mad, burning lust for you," he said dully.

"Yes, well you can rip my clothes off later, when I've regained feeling in my brain," Arthur huffed.

"Alfwed." The two blinked, looking over at Matthew curiously before following the child's gaze to see little Alfred standing in the doorway.

"Matt Matt! Dada!" came Alfred's excited squeals as he charged towards the king sized bed. Fortunately Francis had recovered from his shock quickly enough to intercept the child before he could even attempt to scramble onto the infected bed.

"I thought you said he was 'secured' in his 'modified playpen,'" Arthur huffed as he wrapped his arms around Matthew, who was currently attempting to crawl across the bed and over to his twin.

"Apparently I was wrong," he sighed.

There was a look of quiet longing mirrored in both of the twin's eyes as the two reached stubby little arms towards one another. Alfred kicked at him, squirming in Francis's arms, while Matthew just sat back in Arthur's lap and allowed quiet tears to flow down his cheeks. If he didn't know any better, Francis would have thought that the two had been separated for weeks instead of just a few hours. Perhaps this was just a sign that the boys needed to spend more time apart.

"Now you understand what I am dealing with?" Francis lamented, adjusting the squirming toddler in his arms. A small part of him hoped that Arthur would make some snide remark at his comment just so Francis could remind him that he had spent the afternoon dealing with the easier twin since Matthew had no doubt spent most of the day unconscious.

Arthur, however, was clearly too worn out from coughing and sneezing his way through six boxes of tissues to even muster up the brain power to acknowledge Francis's goading. "Yes, I'm sure you've had a very trying day, now will you please get Alfred out of here be he gets sick too?"

"Alfwed," Matthew sniffed, sadly waving goodbye to his brother.

"Matt Matt?" the boy whimpered as Francis carried him away. Alfred sniffled as tears began to flow down his cheeks. Francis sighed as he closed the door behind them and Alfred began to wipe his damp face against his chest. "Papa?"

"Your crocodile tears will not work on me," Francis chided. "Now let us go downstairs and survey the damage you've done."

---

The playpen was dead. Somehow, Alfred had managed to tear a massive toddler shaped hole into the cloth siding and Francis had a hunch that no amount of duct tape would bring the play yard back to working order. Although that was not the worst discovery he had made that day.

He had only been on the computer for a few minutes trying to find out if they made children's play pens with metal bars, only to find that such things were reserved only for dogs (but he was tempted to purchase one anyway), when Alfred -- who had been sitting contently in his lap -- began to cough.

Francis felt his heart still in his chest at the horrible sound. How could this have happened so quickly? Alfred had only been in the bedroom for a second, hadn't even managed to touch Arthur or Matthew, let alone the duvet cover that the two had spent most of the day coughing, sneezing, and sweating into, so how could he have caught their cold already?

Alfred coughed again, the sound piercing his ears like nails scrapping against a chalkboard, as he pressed a hand to the boy's forehead. He didn't feel warm, but his cheeks were flushed and, from the constant sniffling sound he was making, the child's nose was starting to get a bit runny. It seemed as if he were now going to have to juggle three sick people instead of just two.

"Alfred, you cannot get sick now," Francis sighed. "Your father will kill me if he finds out."

For one moment, Francis had a clear mental image of Arthur on top of him, straddling his hips as he wrapped his hands tightly around Francis's neck, the air caught in his pipes as tight fingers dug into his skin... Francis frowned, shaking the image out of his mind. Now was not the time to reminisce about bedroom games.

A small groan escaped him as he grabbed Alfred and carried him up the steps and towards the thermometer still in the second floor bathroom. He could only hope that since Alfred did not feel warm, his fever was not a serious one. Of course, he was not exactly on a good luck streak today. He sighed, placing the boy on the counter top and tucking the thermometer between his lips. Suddenly he was having flashbacks to just this morning when he had done much the same.

Francis frowned as he pulled the thermometer out of Alfred's mouth and studied the digital numbers in front of him. "You are perfectly healthy!" Francis clucked his tongue as he looked down at the little boy whose only response was to give another cough. "I see, this is your latest attempt to go see your brother and father, but you cannot fool Papa."

Alfred didn't seem to understand Francis's words, nor did he seem willing to believe that his plan had failed. He grabbed Francis's hand in his own and pressed his palm against his forehead before giving another cough.

Francis smiled at the gesture. He had to admire his son's tenacity if nothing else. "Yes, you are a very sick boy," he chuckled as he once again lifted the child into his arms.

---

Evening couldn't come soon enough and Francis had welcomed the peaceful stillness that had settled upon the small house with open arms. The broken playpen (along with his diseased shirt) had been disposed of and Francis was going to have to figure out how to tell Arthur about it. Of course, that was not an issue at the moment as Arthur and Matthew were both fast asleep in the master bedroom, completely enveloped in a deep sleep fueled by fever and cough syrup.

Alfred, on the other hand, was wide awake and refusing to give in to the weariness that was no doubt pulling at his little body. It had been a long day, and Francis had no doubt in his mind that tomorrow would be much the same, but none of that seemed to matter to Alfred who had never slept by himself in what must have seemed like a monstrously large bedroom to the toddler.

Francis yawned, interrupting the stream of tender words that had been pouring from his lips as he rocked Alfred and rubbed soothing circles into the child's back. He suddenly realized that he likely wouldn't be getting much rest himself tonight even if Alfred managed to nod off within the next few seconds. After all, Arthur and Matthew had by now thoroughly infected every inch of his bedroom and had thereby killed any desire Francis had to so much as look at the rumpled bed sheets. No, if he wanted to maintain his health, his options were limited to either the living room couch or the nursery rocking chair that he was currently occupying.

A soft moan escaped Alfred's little lips as he shifted in his grasp. His blue eyes were beginning to droop, his lids struggling to keep themselves up, and Francis felt certain that it wouldn't be much longer until the boy drifted off.

"That's right, mon chou," Francis whispered as he ran a soothing hand over the boy's soft blond hair. "Just let yourself drift off. Papa is right here."

"Bunny," Alfred whispered, pointing weakly to the stuffed rabbit lying at their feet.

Francis smiled as he carefully bent down to pluck the rabbit off of the floor by its ear and deposit it into Alfred's waiting arms.

Alfred sighed, curling himself around the doll and its soft fabric and allowing his eyes to finally drift shut. "Papa," he breathed, nuzzling closer into the man's warmth.

"That's right," Francis whispered, pressing a quick kiss to the boy's hair. He decided then that it would be much more comfortable to spend the night right here, just like this, than to go downstairs and sleep on that beaten up old couch. "Papa's right here."

---

One week. That was all the time it took for Arthur and Matthew to return to normal and be well enough to move around the house again. Yet at the start of that new week Francis woke to find his body completely drenched with sweat and all four of his limbs feeling as if someone had taken a mallet to them, pounding his muscles to mush. He moaned, struggling to breathe through the fluids stuffing his nose as a hand pressed itself against his cheek.

"You're burning up," Arthur said.

"I hate you," he whimpered.

"It's your own damn fault you got sick," he snapped. "I told you not to kiss me!"

"You said you were feeling better!" Francis opened his blue eyes just long enough to take in the full extent of the scowl marring Arthur's face. "Fine, I am sick and it is my own fault," he sighed, shifting underneath the layers of sheets draped across him. "Just do me one small favor: if you truly love me, do not cook for me."

Arthur's dry laugh barely reached his clogged ears and somehow Francis could see the man roll his eyes even without looking at him. "Funny," Arthur droned. The mattress creaked slightly as Arthur stood up. "Just wait right here. I have something for you."

Francis waited (because he had no choice... and no power over his limbs) fighting against the urge to drift back to sleep and stay unconscious until he was back to perfect health. He did not have that luxury, however, as the sudden dip in the mattress alerted him to Arthur's return.

Peeling his eyes open, he looked up to see his husband sitting beside him on the bed, cradling a red nosed and cranky Alfred in his arms. "Say hello to your new bedmate," Arthur announced, giving the boy's back a good pat as he released a shaky cough.

A weak smile crept onto Francis's lips as he struggled to sit upright despite the protests from every inch of his being. "Ah, so you are sick as well, I see," Francis croaked.

"Yes, this is what he gets for stealing food from his brother's plate," Arthur said sternly as he gave Alfred's cheek a quick kiss before depositing the feverish boy into Francis's awaiting arms. "I'll go get you both some medicine."

"Don't I get a kiss too?" he pouted.

"Kissing is what got you into this situation." Francis only continued to pout, waiting patiently for the man give in to his pathetic disposition and his wide blue eyes. It took less than a second for Arthur to heave a weary sigh before leaning in to give Francis a peck on the cheek. "Enjoy that. I won't kiss you again until you're better."

"So cruel." Francis smirked as Arthur got up once more and walked out of the room. Alfred gave a loud sniff then, grabbing a fist full of Francis's silk pajama top and wiping his drippy little nose with it. "Disgusting," Francis chided, as he detangled his silk top from Alfred's tight grasp. "You are still Papa's little piggy."

"Papa," Alfred moaned, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against Francis's chest.

He sighed, running a hand over the boy's head. "Yes yes, Papa's here. Papa's here."

Description
Character(s)/Pairing(s): FACE family, with mild FrUK
Rating: G
Warnings: Fluff, Human AU, Slash
Summary: With Arthur and Matthew sick with the flu Francis is left to take care of Alfred on his own.

It was a miracle that he hadn't gotten sick. It was a miracle that Alfred hadn't gotten sick. Deep in the heart of flu season, a cold had managed to infiltrate their family and take out half of the occupants of the modest sized house, leaving Francis in a somewhat awkward position.

He frowned, inspecting the thermometer that had seconds ago been tucked between Alfred's little lips and confirming that the child was in fact perfectly fine. "His temperature is normal," Francis announced, lifting Alfred off of the bathroom counter and into his arms. "It seems that we have one sick twin and one healthy twin."

"Wonderful," Arthur mumbled, the words barely audible through the layers of snot clogging his nose and the dizzying congestion weighing down on his fevered mind.

The man was quite a sight -- his already tussled hair was sweat damped and clinging together in odd clumps, his heated skin was somehow clammy and flushed, and tick black bags hung under red rimmed eyes -- and the sleeping toddler in his arms didn't look much better. Poor little Matthew had just managed to drift off after spending the better half of the night and into the early hours of the morning vomiting and coughing and sobbing at his frustrating inability to breath. Even now his little nose, now a scarlet hue, was still dripping fiercely and his chubby little cheeks were apple red.

It was hard to tell who had gotten sick first, Arthur or Matthew, but Francis knew the real blame fell on the shoulders of those sticky fingered brats at the Petri dish called the daycare center. Francis had no doubt in his mind that some thoughtless parent had dropped one of their children off -- knowing good and well that they were feverish -- and allowed them to spread their bacteria to every occupant of the candy colored playroom.

"Well, it looks like its quarantine for Matthew and me," Arthur sniffed as Matthew sleepily wiped his drippy nose on the soft fabric of his father's t-shirt. Arthur was too far gone to even take notice of this disgusting gesture, choosing instead to press a tired hand to the back of the boy's head in an attempt to sooth him back to sleep. "I'm going to seal us off in the bedroom. No sense in having us all get sick."

Alfred squirmed in Francis's grasp, reaching a single hand out towards Matthew in concern for his well being. The gesture suddenly made Francis aware of the fact that the twins had never been separated for more than a few minutes. His sweet twins had always done everything together; they ate together, they slept together, they usually got sick together, except today. He smiled, grasping Alfred's questing hand in his own and offering a gentle squeeze. Perhaps this time apart will do them both some good.

"That sounds like a marvelous plan," Francis agreed. "Alfred and I will just have to make do without you two."

Arthur nodded, cringing slightly as he fought off the urge to sneeze near the uninfected toddler. Two sick individuals were more than enough for one household. "Keep a close eye on him," he instructed. "If he shows any signs of being sick himself..."

"Do not worry, I know what to do," he assured him, ushering Arthur and Matthew towards the master bedroom. "You two go get comfortable and focus on getting better. I will be back in just a moment with some soup."

"And some orange juice for Matthew," Arthur suggested. He clucked his tongue in disapproval as he pressed the back of his hand to the boy's forehead. "He's so warm," he muttered remorsefully.

"I will be sure to bring up some medicine as well." Francis was about to lean in to give Arthur's cheek a quick peck, but the appeal of the gesture quickly died when a deep hacking cough erupted from his throat. No, Francis decided, his husband would remain untouched for today. "Say goodbye to Daddy and Matthew, Alfred," Francis cooed, taking Alfred's little hand in his own and gently motioning it into a waving gesture.

"Dada. Matt Matt," Alfred chanted, his blue eyes dancing from Arthur to Matthew.

Arthur offered him a warm (yet tired) smile in return, waving at Alfred as he eased himself into the bedroom. "Have fun with Papa, Alfred," he said before closing the door behind him. Once the door was closed, Francis heard what had to be the loudest sneeze his ears had ever witnessed and would have sworn up and down that he saw the walls shake from the aftershock.

"Poor man," he sighed as he headed downstairs towards the kitchen.

Alfred began squirming in his arms, fussing and fidgeting more and more with every step Francis took from the door. Francis imagined that a part of little Alfred wanted to go back and play "hero" by tending to his father and brother, but at that moment the best thing he could do was stay away and stay healthy.

"Do not worry about them, mon chou," Francis crooned as he deposited the boy into the playpen situated in the middle of the family room. "In a few days time, they will both be all better."

Alfred blinked up at him and then turned towards his side, the side of the playpen Matthew usually occupied, and pouted in displeasure. "Matt," he shouted, patting the empty space beside him for emphasis. "Matt Matt Matt!"

Francis sighed, running his fingers through Alfred's honey colored hair before caressing his cheek to check to see if he were the least bit warm. He still felt normal and Francis hoped that he stayed that way. "Your brother will be back, I promise you," he told the child, willing the young mind to understand him as he grabbed a stuffed animal that had been flung to the other side of the play area and deposited it in Alfred's arms. "Play with your bunny and be a good boy for Papa."

He was satisfied to see Alfred grab the bunny, hugging it to his chest fiercely as Francis turned the television on. Arthur absolutely hated when Francis sat the children down in front of the television, convinced that such an act would turn them into mindless zombies, but he felt certain that it would not hurt to do so just this once. He quickly set the station to a children's puppet show before heading into the kitchen to put something together for the two sick occupants of the master suite.

It was only after he had gathered all of his ingredients for chicken soup and set the water to boil that Francis heard a loud clang emerge from the living room. Setting his knife down, he stepped out of the kitchen to find that the playpen had been tipped over, lying flat on its side, and was missing one toddler.

Even though he managed to spot Alfred right away, his heart was still hammering in his chest at the sight. Somehow the boy had not only knocked over his playpen, he had grabbed his toy rabbit and was now bravely scaling the steps, no doubt intent on reaching Arthur and Matthew.

"Naughty naughty," Francis chided, scooping Alfred up and into his arms. He responded with wild kicks and whines of displeasure, but Francis's grip stayed firm. "I do not know how you managed such a trick, but you will not escape a second time."

Intent on keeping an eye on Alfred, Francis decided to put the boy in his high chair and keep him in the kitchen with him. "No more trouble from you," he instructed, handing the stuffed bunny back to Alfred. "Stay still and Papa will get you your breakfast."

Alfred gave a petulant whine, but seemed content at the prospect of food, chewing on his bunny's ear as if to show his hunger. Francis gently pried the fabric out from between his lips before giving Alfred a small bowl of cereal to chew on instead, knowing that his baby teeth would be up for the task.

With Alfred occupied, Francis found himself free to roam around the kitchen, finally able to set about his intended task. He quickly put the last touches on the chicken soup, mindful to make enough for later, set about making Arthur's tea, and searched around for something soothing for Matthew's stomach, deciding that a simple piece of toast would do. By the time he had the necessary items on his tray assembled -- medicine, juice, toast, soup, tea -- Alfred had already finished with his cereal and was focused on making his empty bowl dance by smacking the plastic high chair with his eager hands.

"No hitting," Francis chided, taking the bowl away from Alfred, much to his displeasure. "Stay here for just a moment. Papa will be right back."

"Bah!" Alfred cried before shoving his fingers between his lips and suckling on them.

He smiled at the boy, before grabbing his breakfast tray and heading up the stairs. When he reached the bedroom, he saw that Arthur had tucked himself under the sheets, using a stack of pillows to cushion the headboard as he cradled Matthew in his arms. The boy was still fast asleep and Arthur was still occupied with running his hands over his hair and murmuring soothing words to him.

"Your soup my lord," Francis announced, breaking up the tender scene and gaining Arthur's attention.

"Thank you," he sniffed. Arthur paused, grabbing a tissue to clear his nose, and then continued. "Did you bring Matthew's medicine?"

"Of course." Francis laid the tray across Arthur's waiting lap, giving him access to the small bottle of purple medicine and the plastic measuring spoon he had set out for Matthew.

Arthur grumbled something under his breath as he inspected the bottle of children's cold syrup that Francis had brought along for Matthew. "Tell me we have more medicine than this?"

"None that I can find."

"Just as well." Arthur sighed -- well, as best as he could with a clogged nose -- at the sight of the nearly empty bottle. "You'll need to head to the store to pick up more tissues anyway."

"What about the box you have now?"

Arthur responded to the question by grabbing another tissue and clearing out his nose before tossing the wad of paper towards the towering pile of balled up tissues that was now flowing out of the waste bin.

"Fine. Is there anything else your wet nurse can do for you?"

"Could you open a window?" Arthur sighed, adjusting Matthew's sleeping form to allow himself better access to the tray laid out across his lap. "It's quite stuffy in here."

Francis complied, despite the fact that he knew Arthur would only demand he close it minutes later, because he could not resist the man when he was sick and meek and asked him as nicely as his drowsy mind would allowed. It was fortunate that the day was mild enough that he could allow the fresh air in without the fear of making their symptoms worse.

He left the room then, because Arthur needed his rest and he had left Alfred unattended for far too long. Heading into the hall, he wasn't too surprised when he found Alfred at the top of the stairs waiting for him.

"So nice of you to share this new talent with me," Francis sighed, scooping Alfred up and carrying him into the nursery. Alfred responded by fussing and whining once more when he saw that his plan to enter the master bedroom had once again been foiled. Francis huffed, patting Alfred's back tenderly as he silently wondered where this sudden rebellious streak had come from. "Let us get dressed and run some errands for Daddy."

"No!" Alfred cried, slapping Francis's hand away and giving his hair a fierce yank just for good measure. "No no no no no!"

"No hitting," Francis sighed, detangling his hair from Alfred's strong grip with a grimace. He realized then that this was just the start of a very long day.

---

Francis was eying the duct tape thoughtfully. He wondered if it would be in bad taste to strap a small child down to his seat, because that seemed to be the only way to get Alfred to stay still today. While picking up more medicine, tissues, and a few other things that would be needed around the house, Alfred had managed to slip out of the shopping cart not once, not twice, but four times! (Although this time most of Alfred's escape attempts centered on the desire to search for sweets and greasy snacks food instead of his missing brother.) Francis loved his son to pieces, cherished him with every breath, but for the life of him he could not understand this sudden need Alfred felt to run off.

Francis shook his head, moving away from the duct tape and towards the cash register. He could handle one baby, he told himself. He took care of the twins together all the time and it was no trouble. So why was handling Alfred alone for one day giving him such a headache?

Francis sighed, adjusting the boy in his arms. Holding Alfred would keep him from running off, he was certain of it.

He approached the checkout line and was surprised to find Antonio standing at the register. It was an odd sight to be sure as Antonio was the general manager of the store and usually spent his hours in the back office or floating around the building. "Hello Antonio," Francis greeted as he began placing his items on the counter. "What are you doing at the till today? Have you been demoted?"

"Nothing like that," Antonio laughed, as he went to work ringing up Francis's purchase. "Its flu season you know. I've been having a ton of call outs all week. Even with the managers pitching in, nearly every department is short a hand or two today."

Francis hummed, nodding sympathetically as he adjusted the squirming toddler in his arms. "Ah yes, we are being effected by that at home as well," he told him.

"Oh, so that's why you are down one baby, huh?" Antonio guessed, smiling down at Alfred. "Which one is this again? I can never remember."

"Alfwed! Alfwed!" the boy interjected, punctuating each cry of his own name by waving his arms.

"Alfred," Francis laughed, patting the child's back. "Matthew and Arthur have fallen ill, I'm afraid."

"Aw, that's rough."

"More than you think," he sighed, shifting Alfred when he felt the child's fingers begin to slip into his hair once again. "While those two are stuck in bed, I have been having my hands full with this one. Apparently Alfred decided he wants to be a little Houdini today, because he's been spending every second trying to slip away from me." He grimaced, a long hiss escaping his lips as Alfred managed to grab a fistful of his hair and give it another tug. "Or doing that," he half sobbed.

Antonio giggled at the sight and Francis was annoyed that the man didn't even attempt to hide it. "Aw, I think the little guy is just cranky," he suggested, reaching across the counter to give Alfred's head an affectionate pat. "I bet he needs a nap."

"No nap!" Alfred practically screamed. "No nap no nap no nap!"

Francis swallowed back a groan as he shushed the child and gave his back a vigorous pat. "Never say that word in front of a hyperactive toddler, Antonio," he chided, although he would certainly have to consider that suggestion.

---

Francis felt fortunate that he wouldn't actually have to deal with getting Alfred settled down for a nap. He had the soothing car ride home to thank for accomplishing the task for him. As soon as they had pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road, Alfred had been lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking motion of the sedan and Francis was pleased to find that he hadn't woken up, not even when they pulled into their driveway.

Juggling bags of groceries and a sleeping toddler was no easy feat, but Francis had managed to carry out the task without causing Alfred to as much as stir. Of course, the hard part was assuring himself that Alfred would not escape once he had set him down.

Francis found the solution to his problem in the form of his new best friend duct tape. He had discovered the roll hiding itself under the kitchen sink and he had used more than half of it to fasten the playpen to the ground, attaching it to the end tables and coffee tables and any other sturdy structure he could find. For the time being Francis did not care about what sort of effect the adhesive would have on the polished wood, because he now felt certain that Alfred would not be getting away.

Of course, looking down at the child's prone figure -- soft even breaths escaping from gently parted lips, long eye lashes fluttering against round cheeks, and tiny arms wrapped around the soft fabric of a much abused plush rabbit -- it was hard to imagine Alfred being capable of ever doing anything wrong.

He smiled, bending down to brush the boy's blond hair aside to touch his forehead. Still normal.

---

The next time he entered the master bedroom, it was Arthur who that was fast asleep -- curled up into a ball, red nose buried deep into the soft white pillow below him, and blankets pooling around his waist -- while Matthew was wide awake. The toddler was busy crawling around the bed, tugging at the buttons on his oblivious father's night shirt and babbling to himself.

"Look whose awake," Francis cooed, setting the box of tissues that he had brought with him down on the foot of the bed as he went to scoop Matthew up. He pressed a hand to Matthew's forehead to check his temperature and was pleased to find that the boy was not nearly as warm as he had been a few hours ago. "You feel so much better. How wonderful!"

Matthew expressed his mutual enthusiasm by sneezing into Francis's shirt before sloppily whipping his drippy nose with the back of his own hand. Francis cringed as he grabbed a tissue and properly cleaned up the last traces of snot and drool from Matthew's face. The child was lucky he loved him as much as he did.

"Alfwed?" Matthew asked in his usual breathy whisper, blue eyes peering up at Francis and pleading.

Francis sighed as he threw out the tissue and gently sat down on the mattress beside the still sleeping Arthur (who let out a hacking cough, followed by a monstrous snort, before coughing again). "I am sorry mon petite," he whispered, running a gentle hand over the boy's hair. "You will see Alfred again in another day or two."

For a moment Matthew just looked at him, seemingly processing his words, but it wasn't long before tears began to appear in his blue eyes as they grew wider and wider and his face twisted into an expression so heart breaking that Francis felt sick inside. He was no comfort to anyone today. Matthew's sniffling sobs were enough to cause the boy's entire body to shake and snot to drip from his nose, a fact that Matthew remedied by burying his face in Francis's chest and Francis decided then that his shirt had lived a long, full life and would be buried at the end of the day.

"Why is my baby crying?" Arthur grumbled, prying his face out from the white linen wrapped pillow to glare his blurry green eyes at Francis. He groaned as he crawled into a sitting position and reached his arms out towards his husband. "Give him to me."

"It wasn't my fault," Francis insisted instantly as he gave the sobbing toddler to Arthur.

"Of course it wasn't," Arthur sighed as he continued to rub soothing circles into Matthew's back and whispered gentle words into his ears. "How's the other baby?" he asked once Matthew's sobbing had settled into gentle whimpers.

Francis sighed, pressing his hand against Arthur's forehead. Still warm. "Not so good," he said. "He has been an absolute terror all day."

"Oh."

"Every time I turn my back he runs away from me."

"Really?"

"And even when I keep my eyes on him, he still doesn't behave."

"Shame."

"He's been pulling at my hair."

"Oh."

"I think I have a bald patch on my left side."

"Really?"

"You aren't listening to a word I'm saying."

"Shame."

"If you weren't sick I would kill you."

"No, you wouldn't," Arthur said confidently, "because then you would have no one around to tell you how pretty you look every second of the day."

Francis huffed, focusing instead on collecting the now empty cups and bowls littering the bedroom. "I could find someone else."

"Listen," Arthur said suddenly, lifting a hand in the air to halt the conversation. "Do you hear crying?"

Francis sighed as the sound of distant wailing reached his ears. "I'll get it," he said, deciding to forego the tray in order to reach the child that much sooner. When he reached the living room, Francis found that Alfred was now wide awake and making sad attempts to escape from the confines of his pen. He halted his latest escape attempt when he noticed Francis entering the room, deciding to turn his attention on him instead.

"Papa," Alfred sobbed reaching up his chubby little arms and pleading with watery blue eyes. "Papa up! Up up!"

A nightmare, Francis reasoned as he reached down and lifted the still sobbing child into his arms. "There there, mon chou, everything is alright," he crooned, rubbing gentle circles into Alfred's trembling back. "Papa is here now."

Alfred sobbed, drool and tears flowing freely from him as he buried his face into his father's chest as Francis suddenly realized that he should probably take the shirt off considering all that it had gone through upstairs. He was about to set Alfred back down in order to remove the shirt that had spent most of the day being used as a tissue, but the loss of physical contact did not sit well with the toddler. A shrill, piercing scream erupted from the boy's impossibly wide mouth the second his toes touched down on the soft padding of his playpen.

Francis instantly picked him back up and once Alfred was safely within the circle of his arms his wails turned back to gentle sobs once more. "Papa," Alfred sniffed, burying his face in Francis's shoulder. "Papa Papa Papa."

"Papa's here," he sighed. "Papa's here." His heart felt torn in half in the face of this new problem. On the one hand, it was wonderful to know that Alfred still found comfort in his presence. On the other hand, holding a sobbing toddler to his chest all day was going to make things more than a bit difficult.

---

Francis wished that Alfred were still small enough to fit into a babybjorn. Life would have been so much simpler if the boy were a few months younger and a few pounds lighter so that he could just slip the child into the harness and carry him around while still maintaining the ability to use his arms.

But no. Life was not that simple and Francis was forced to spend the rest of the day cooking and cleaning while cradling Alfred to his chest, because the second the tips of his toes touched the ground the baby would erupt into frighten shrieks that were loud enough to shake the walls and cause a rundown Arthur to scramble out of bed and down the stairs, demanding to know what was wrong with the baby. Francis had to wonder what sort of nightmare the child had had to shake him up so.

"Is that good, mon chou?" Francis cooed as the boy sat comfortably in his lap, nibbling on a peanut butter sandwich. He had already given Alfred his lunch and had finished preparing another bowl of soup for Arthur and a small sandwich for Matthew, but he couldn't very well give it to them when he had to spend every second cradling Alfred against him to ward off the last lingering traces of the boy's nightmare. Bringing the baby into the master bedroom with him was a sure fire way to get the child sick, although Francis was starting to wonder whether things would be much simpler if everyone just got sick together. "Are you feeling better?"

Alfred merely hummed, swallowing every last crumb of his sandwich before licking his lips and saying "More."

"More?" Francis half teased, half groaned. That was the second sandwich Alfred had eaten, after swallowing an entire apple (sliced of course) and gnawing a whole orange until there were only peels and seeds left behind. Alfred always had possessed quite the appetite, but today that little quirk of his was just another thing to exhaust him. "More more more!" Francis sing-songed, punctuating every "more" with a kiss to Alfred's cheek. "You are Papa's little piggy aren't you?"

Alfred giggled as he happily sucked on his fingers (most likely to fully capture every last trace of food) and bounced on Francis's lap. "More!" he giggled. "More more!"

He sighed, rubbing his cheek against Alfred's hair. "You know I must feed your father and brother don't you?" he told him, kissing Alfred's cheek once more for good measure, "but I will humor you just this once, and then no more."

"More," Alfred said, choosing this time to focus his attention on Francis's hand. "More Papa more."

He sighed again, this one a bit more dramatic than the last, as he wrapped Alfred's little hands in his palm. "Alright. A little more."

---

"What are you doing out of bed?"

Arthur turned towards him, freezing mid-step in the middle of the hall. Francis had caught him slipping out of the nursery and back into the master bedroom with a stack of diapers and a change of clothes for Matthew in his hands and suddenly the answer was obvious. "Well I had to get up eventually," he mumbled, "and I couldn't count on you to do everything. Has Alfred really been that much of a handful?"

He nodded as he walked Arthur back into the bedroom where Matthew was resting in the middle of a nest of blankets and pillows. "Yes. Now, instead of pushing me away, he's clinging to me like a little otter."

"An otter?"

"Oui, an otter. They have little arms and tight grips... like Alfred."

"Huh. So that's why it took you so long to bring us lunch?" Arthur said teasingly as he settled himself back down on the bed, gently adjusting Matthew over to the opposite side of the bed so that Francis could set down the second tray of food. "It's practically dinner time."

"Yes, well baby otter Alfred was particularly hungry today. I nearly emptied the pantry in an attempt to satisfy him," he explained, cringing as Arthur reached for a tissue and blew his nose. "Are you feeling any better?"

He groaned in response, tossing the tissue away and wiping his hands on his pants. "I'll be fine. How is our little semi-aquatic mammal doing? Any signs of fever?"

"None. He is perfect."

"Good," Arthur sniffed. "Where is he?"

"Downstairs sleeping off a food induced coma in his modified playpen."

"'Modified'? Modified how?"

"Do not worry," he said dismissively as he handed Arthur his bowl of chicken soup. "All you need to know is that it is secure."

"Fine. How are you?"

"I am dead inside."

Arthur snorted, then coughed, then grabbed a tissue to blow his nose. "Don't be a drama queen," he chided. "Now go back downstairs and give the baby otter a kiss on his furry cheeks for me."

Francis leaned forward to plant a kiss on Arthur's lips, but quickly came to his senses when Arthur pinched his nose and took a deep breath in order to pop his ears (Francis assumed). "I am suddenly filled with a mad, burning lust for you," he said dully.

"Yes, well you can rip my clothes off later, when I've regained feeling in my brain," Arthur huffed.

"Alfwed." The two blinked, looking over at Matthew curiously before following the child's gaze to see little Alfred standing in the doorway.

"Matt Matt! Dada!" came Alfred's excited squeals as he charged towards the king sized bed. Fortunately Francis had recovered from his shock quickly enough to intercept the child before he could even attempt to scramble onto the infected bed.

"I thought you said he was 'secured' in his 'modified playpen,'" Arthur huffed as he wrapped his arms around Matthew, who was currently attempting to crawl across the bed and over to his twin.

"Apparently I was wrong," he sighed.

There was a look of quiet longing mirrored in both of the twin's eyes as the two reached stubby little arms towards one another. Alfred kicked at him, squirming in Francis's arms, while Matthew just sat back in Arthur's lap and allowed quiet tears to flow down his cheeks. If he didn't know any better, Francis would have thought that the two had been separated for weeks instead of just a few hours. Perhaps this was just a sign that the boys needed to spend more time apart.

"Now you understand what I am dealing with?" Francis lamented, adjusting the squirming toddler in his arms. A small part of him hoped that Arthur would make some snide remark at his comment just so Francis could remind him that he had spent the afternoon dealing with the easier twin since Matthew had no doubt spent most of the day unconscious.

Arthur, however, was clearly too worn out from coughing and sneezing his way through six boxes of tissues to even muster up the brain power to acknowledge Francis's goading. "Yes, I'm sure you've had a very trying day, now will you please get Alfred out of here be he gets sick too?"

"Alfwed," Matthew sniffed, sadly waving goodbye to his brother.

"Matt Matt?" the boy whimpered as Francis carried him away. Alfred sniffled as tears began to flow down his cheeks. Francis sighed as he closed the door behind them and Alfred began to wipe his damp face against his chest. "Papa?"

"Your crocodile tears will not work on me," Francis chided. "Now let us go downstairs and survey the damage you've done."

---

The playpen was dead. Somehow, Alfred had managed to tear a massive toddler shaped hole into the cloth siding and Francis had a hunch that no amount of duct tape would bring the play yard back to working order. Although that was not the worst discovery he had made that day.

He had only been on the computer for a few minutes trying to find out if they made children's play pens with metal bars, only to find that such things were reserved only for dogs (but he was tempted to purchase one anyway), when Alfred -- who had been sitting contently in his lap -- began to cough.

Francis felt his heart still in his chest at the horrible sound. How could this have happened so quickly? Alfred had only been in the bedroom for a second, hadn't even managed to touch Arthur or Matthew, let alone the duvet cover that the two had spent most of the day coughing, sneezing, and sweating into, so how could he have caught their cold already?

Alfred coughed again, the sound piercing his ears like nails scrapping against a chalkboard, as he pressed a hand to the boy's forehead. He didn't feel warm, but his cheeks were flushed and, from the constant sniffling sound he was making, the child's nose was starting to get a bit runny. It seemed as if he were now going to have to juggle three sick people instead of just two.

"Alfred, you cannot get sick now," Francis sighed. "Your father will kill me if he finds out."

For one moment, Francis had a clear mental image of Arthur on top of him, straddling his hips as he wrapped his hands tightly around Francis's neck, the air caught in his pipes as tight fingers dug into his skin... Francis frowned, shaking the image out of his mind. Now was not the time to reminisce about bedroom games.

A small groan escaped him as he grabbed Alfred and carried him up the steps and towards the thermometer still in the second floor bathroom. He could only hope that since Alfred did not feel warm, his fever was not a serious one. Of course, he was not exactly on a good luck streak today. He sighed, placing the boy on the counter top and tucking the thermometer between his lips. Suddenly he was having flashbacks to just this morning when he had done much the same.

Francis frowned as he pulled the thermometer out of Alfred's mouth and studied the digital numbers in front of him. "You are perfectly healthy!" Francis clucked his tongue as he looked down at the little boy whose only response was to give another cough. "I see, this is your latest attempt to go see your brother and father, but you cannot fool Papa."

Alfred didn't seem to understand Francis's words, nor did he seem willing to believe that his plan had failed. He grabbed Francis's hand in his own and pressed his palm against his forehead before giving another cough.

Francis smiled at the gesture. He had to admire his son's tenacity if nothing else. "Yes, you are a very sick boy," he chuckled as he once again lifted the child into his arms.

---

Evening couldn't come soon enough and Francis had welcomed the peaceful stillness that had settled upon the small house with open arms. The broken playpen (along with his diseased shirt) had been disposed of and Francis was going to have to figure out how to tell Arthur about it. Of course, that was not an issue at the moment as Arthur and Matthew were both fast asleep in the master bedroom, completely enveloped in a deep sleep fueled by fever and cough syrup.

Alfred, on the other hand, was wide awake and refusing to give in to the weariness that was no doubt pulling at his little body. It had been a long day, and Francis had no doubt in his mind that tomorrow would be much the same, but none of that seemed to matter to Alfred who had never slept by himself in what must have seemed like a monstrously large bedroom to the toddler.

Francis yawned, interrupting the stream of tender words that had been pouring from his lips as he rocked Alfred and rubbed soothing circles into the child's back. He suddenly realized that he likely wouldn't be getting much rest himself tonight even if Alfred managed to nod off within the next few seconds. After all, Arthur and Matthew had by now thoroughly infected every inch of his bedroom and had thereby killed any desire Francis had to so much as look at the rumpled bed sheets. No, if he wanted to maintain his health, his options were limited to either the living room couch or the nursery rocking chair that he was currently occupying.

A soft moan escaped Alfred's little lips as he shifted in his grasp. His blue eyes were beginning to droop, his lids struggling to keep themselves up, and Francis felt certain that it wouldn't be much longer until the boy drifted off.

"That's right, mon chou," Francis whispered as he ran a soothing hand over the boy's soft blond hair. "Just let yourself drift off. Papa is right here."

"Bunny," Alfred whispered, pointing weakly to the stuffed rabbit lying at their feet.

Francis smiled as he carefully bent down to pluck the rabbit off of the floor by its ear and deposit it into Alfred's waiting arms.

Alfred sighed, curling himself around the doll and its soft fabric and allowing his eyes to finally drift shut. "Papa," he breathed, nuzzling closer into the man's warmth.

"That's right," Francis whispered, pressing a quick kiss to the boy's hair. He decided then that it would be much more comfortable to spend the night right here, just like this, than to go downstairs and sleep on that beaten up old couch. "Papa's right here."

---

One week. That was all the time it took for Arthur and Matthew to return to normal and be well enough to move around the house again. Yet at the start of that new week Francis woke to find his body completely drenched with sweat and all four of his limbs feeling as if someone had taken a mallet to them, pounding his muscles to mush. He moaned, struggling to breathe through the fluids stuffing his nose as a hand pressed itself against his cheek.

"You're burning up," Arthur said.

"I hate you," he whimpered.

"It's your own damn fault you got sick," he snapped. "I told you not to kiss me!"

"You said you were feeling better!" Francis opened his blue eyes just long enough to take in the full extent of the scowl marring Arthur's face. "Fine, I am sick and it is my own fault," he sighed, shifting underneath the layers of sheets draped across him. "Just do me one small favor: if you truly love me, do not cook for me."

Arthur's dry laugh barely reached his clogged ears and somehow Francis could see the man roll his eyes even without looking at him. "Funny," Arthur droned. The mattress creaked slightly as Arthur stood up. "Just wait right here. I have something for you."

Francis waited (because he had no choice... and no power over his limbs) fighting against the urge to drift back to sleep and stay unconscious until he was back to perfect health. He did not have that luxury, however, as the sudden dip in the mattress alerted him to Arthur's return.

Peeling his eyes open, he looked up to see his husband sitting beside him on the bed, cradling a red nosed and cranky Alfred in his arms. "Say hello to your new bedmate," Arthur announced, giving the boy's back a good pat as he released a shaky cough.

A weak smile crept onto Francis's lips as he struggled to sit upright despite the protests from every inch of his being. "Ah, so you are sick as well, I see," Francis croaked.

"Yes, this is what he gets for stealing food from his brother's plate," Arthur said sternly as he gave Alfred's cheek a quick kiss before depositing the feverish boy into Francis's awaiting arms. "I'll go get you both some medicine."

"Don't I get a kiss too?" he pouted.

"Kissing is what got you into this situation." Francis only continued to pout, waiting patiently for the man give in to his pathetic disposition and his wide blue eyes. It took less than a second for Arthur to heave a weary sigh before leaning in to give Francis a peck on the cheek. "Enjoy that. I won't kiss you again until you're better."

"So cruel." Francis smirked as Arthur got up once more and walked out of the room. Alfred gave a loud sniff then, grabbing a fist full of Francis's silk pajama top and wiping his drippy little nose with it. "Disgusting," Francis chided, as he detangled his silk top from Alfred's tight grasp. "You are still Papa's little piggy."

"Papa," Alfred moaned, closing his eyes and resting his cheek against Francis's chest.

He sighed, running a hand over the boy's head. "Yes yes, Papa's here. Papa's here."