Chapter Text
September 2019. Present day.
“Hey, are you comin'?”
“Yeah, just give me a sec.”
A report of a break-in at a residential address had been called in about thirty minutes prior, for a house the next town over. Because no lives were in immediate danger and the crime had already occurred, this made it a lower priority task. And because the queue happened to fall the way it did, Francis and Antonio were the ones assigned to go out and write up the report. Grabbing their keys, badges, chapstick, and whatever else off their shared desk, they headed out to get a car.
It was going to be a solid 30 minutes before they got there, so Francis took charge of the radio selection. Adult contemporary, of course, which made Antonio grumble and whine.
“Really, Francis? So... boring.”
“I don't complain when you put on your music.”
“Yes you do!”
“Okay, yes, but that's because you pick awful music.”
“They are not! They would not be on the top 40 if they weren't, right?"
They'd been working together at the local police department for the past ten years, having met each other on the first day of orientation at the academy and never really drifting apart since. They went through their training, their classes, and their exams together, and after graduation they applied, interviewed, and were hired together. Antonio was right there next to Francis when they took their oath to serve and protect. And, well, to do as much desk duty as possible.
This was more than likely going to be a routine report filing. Burglars typically didn't stick around after ransacking a house, so he and Antonio would likely just take a look around, clear the area, and then take down any information on losses, damages, or potential suspect information. And then they'd leave, probably to head straight back into town to catch a couple of drinks before hitting the hay.
The station they worked at was in the city. The house in question was way out in the county, a solid drive away. The only officers here were specifically for emergency, hence why the two of them had to take a long, relaxing drive down country roads to take care of the job. It wasn't the worst part of the job, especially when you get to spend that time talking and bantering with your best friend. As they finally arrived to the street and rounded the corner, they saw a man who, they assumed, had to be the homeowner. A thin, blond man dressed in a brown twill suit was waiting on the front lawn, arms crossed impatiently. He turned to look at the car as it pulled up and the two officers could immediately discern the furrowed brows of agitation on his face.
“Looks friendly.” Antonio commented as he shifted the car into park along the sidewalk.
“Can't blame him. Would you be all smiles and sunshine if your house got broken into?” Francis quipped, before taking a breath and popping open the door. Of course he'd be angry, but that was going to make this task a lot more difficult. And drastically increase the need for a stiff drink afterwards.
Before either of them could offer a greeting, the thick-browed man started things off just swimmingly. “About time you lot got here.” He huffed. His arms remained crossed as he walked up to the two of them, partially out of irritation, partially to shield himself from the chilly fall weather. The later it got in the year, the earlier the cool evening breezes seemed to come in. It was September now, and before anyone knew it, the snow would start falling.
“Sorry, it was a bit of a drive. And since no one was in danger, these things get sent to the bottom of the list.” Antonio explained, but the man just scoffed and rolled his eyes, clearly unsatisfied with the reasoning.
“Right. Well, go on.” He motioned his head towards the front door, which was kicked in quite roughly. Francis paused, staring at the blonde man with a quizzical expression. Something seemed off, and he couldn't quite place his finger on why. When his partner went ahead and he was still standing there, the (irritated, clearly irritated) man turned to give him a look. But when his eyes met Francis', he stopped. That odd feeling must have gotten to him too. Quickly, he shook his head, coming to his senses. “What, are you going to stand there and let him go in alone? Go on!”
Okay, that got his attention. He muttered a mindless “yes, okay” and headed up to the porch where Antonio was waiting. He'd definitely noticed that interaction, and was giving Francis a puzzled look as he approached. Not saying a word, the two of them drew their handguns and entered the house to confirm it was empty.
As expected, it was a simple smash-and-grab type of operation. After creeping all around the house, the two officers determined it was clear. No burglars hiding in closets, cabinets, or rooms waiting for someone to come back in. They'd taken their prize and booked it, leaving a fine mess in their wake. After clearing the master bedroom, Antonio and Francis dropped their weapons and took a breath.
“What was that out there?” Was the first thing out of Antonio's mouth. He'd been dying to ask this entire time.
“Oh, uh,” Francis searched his brain for the right way to put it, “He seemed familiar. Just couldn't quite figure out from where.”
“Maybe we met him at a bar?” Antonio used his foot to poke at a piece of trash in the hallway. Whoever these burglars were, they sure didn't have any qualms about literally trashing the place.
“Maybe. I'm not sure.” Francis began to descend the stairs. “Though I'm sure I'd remember someone with that amount of attitude. Maybe I'm mistaken.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Antonio followed behind him, and the two of them put their weapons away as they went back towards the front door. “Let's go get that report and get out of here. He looks like he's ready to chew us up and spit us out.”
When the two officers walked out the front door without their weapons, the man in question dropped his shoulders in relief. Francis waved his arm to have him come up, and his leather shoes left imprints in the soft grass as he approached.
“Thank you, officers.” He seemed much less tense now, but still with a hint of agitation in his voice. Understandable, of course. His house had just been ransacked.
“Yeah, no problem. All clear.” Antonio was looking around at the damage. It was rough, but fixable. Except for that front door lock. They'd need it replaced ASAP.
Francis took out his pad of paper and a pen. “I'll get the report going. Can I get your name, please?”
The man turned and looked at Francis intently, probably way more than necessary for a simple question like a name. It took him a moment and Francis was about to inquire if he was alright before he responded. “Arthur Kirkland.”
A wheel turned in Francis' head, and he perked up. He did know him! “Wait, Arthur? Wow, I knew I recognized you from somewhere--”
“I don't recognize you.”
Francis' excitement was cut brutally short by Arthur's curt response. He was staring back at him with a look that told him not to press it, and Francis glanced at faithful, friendly Antonio to ease the tension slightly. “I-I'm sorry, I just--”
“What else do you need for the report, officer?”
Arthur was in no mood to be friendly. This was all business. Francis shook his head and laughed awkwardly, but went back to it. “If you could, uh, take a look around? I'm going to document losses and damages.”
Arthur nodded, and turned sharply to take in what he could. A look was shared between Antonio and Francis that said it all.
The three of them meandered the house, with Arthur scoffing and moaning about all the work he'd have to do to get this place back to a livable state. Periodically he would point out things that were missing and turn around to make sure Francis wrote them down. All in all, aside from the disarray, very little was actually taken. A couple of electronics, a pocketbook (with no actual bank notes or checks inside), and a television really seemed to be the only objects of value missing.
As they made their way up the stairs, Antonio stopped to pick up the trash as a source of evidence. If there were any prints, they'd probably be on the wrapper. Arthur waited with his arms crossed, while Francis noticed the two rooms on either side of the hallway with twin beds and sports paraphernalia inside.
“You have kids?”
Arthur seemed to bristle at that. “Yes.” His response was curt, and did not invite further inquiry.
Francis debated if he wanted to press further. “Are they here?” Arthur's look could have cut him, but he waved a hand dismissively. “Just to ask them some questions. Sometimes it's kids at school they might know.”
The agitated, frustrated British man opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of footsteps downstairs was answer enough. He sighed, exasperated, and closed his eyes. “Speak of the bloody devil.”
“Dad??? DAD CAN WE COME IN?” A loud voice called from the front door where, clearly, they'd already walked in.
“Is everything okay?” A second, much quieter voice followed, but was quickly drowned out by the first one yelling swears as he noticed how torn up their house was.
Upstairs, Arthur rubbed his temples.
“Boys, quiet down,” He scolded lightly as he descended the staircase, Francis following behind. The two teen boys had to be the kids mentioned, probably twins. They were both blonde and wore glasses of a slightly different frame. The longer haired kid gave his dad a hug as the other stomped around the living room.
“The TV is gone!!” He exclaimed in distress.
“Alfred, it's alright. None of us were hurt, and the TV is replaceable.”
“I know but it's gone!!” The teen paced around the living room, looking at whatever else was thrown around. He was shocked—hyped up and anxious over the adrenaline of it all.
Francis watched the little family from the bottom of the staircase, holding onto his pad and pen and trying to desperately to stay in his lane. Arthur had made it quite clear that he didn't want any personal discussions, and that he was only to take his notes, write the report, and get out. But that odd feeling was not going away, and only made him feel more uncomfortable when he saw the kids. He couldn't explain it. Maybe he just needed a drink.
“Boys, can you go take a look at your rooms upstairs? Let me know if anything is damaged or missing, so I can tell the officer.” Francis wanted to point out that they could talk to him directly, but that seemed like a point he didn't want to attempt making.
The two teenagers went up the stairs and passed Antonio, who was coming down having just bagged up his little wrapper of evidence.
“Oh, thanks for picking up my trash, officer!” Alfred mentioned as he passed by. Antonio smiled, and crumpled up the evidence baggy in his hand.
“Yeah, no problem.” So much for fingerprints. He greeted the quiet one as well, and paused for a moment to watch them go down to their rooms. Turning back, his brows looked furrowed in amusement. “Wow, Francis, those kids look like they could be your little mini-mes or somethin'.”
“Excuse me?” The response from Arthur was sharp, dripping with anger. “Don't talk about my children's appearances, officer.”
Antonio was caught off guard by the sudden snap. He glanced at Francis and then back at Arthur, raising his hands defensively. “Woah, I didn't mean anything by it! I just think they look a lot alike--”
“This is inappropriate. They're teenagers, don't comment on their looks.” Arthur was quick and his responses were harsh. But still, Antonio (who really, really didn't mean anything by it!) didn't get the hint to drop it.
“That's not inappropriate! Is it inappropriate, Francis?” He looked at his partner and friend for validation, but Francis was shaking his head and moving his hand to give him the 'drop it' notion.
Arthur was fuming. “What's your badge number?”
“Excuse me?”
“Your badge number. What is it?” He was grabbing a pen and a scrap of paper, ready to write it down. “Well?”
Antonio looked back and forth between the two of them as he nervously read out his number. Arthur scribbled it down, hands shaking with an anger that neither of them could explain.
“Thank you. I'll be calling your superior officer.” He folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket pointedly. “Those are my children, their house was just broken into, they have enough to worry about with school, they don't need random adult male alphas commenting on their appearances. You should know better.” Arthur was wagging the end of the pen in Antonio's face threateningly. Something told the both of them that he was dead serious.
“I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it.” Antonio sputtered, but Arthur wasn't about to drop it.
“No, of course you didn't. Of course you didn't even THINK about it, did you?” He scoffed in anger. “They're seventeen, how dare you leer at them like they're pieces of meat. Honestly, this is the 21st century, I can't believe I have to even say any of this to you. I'm going to be letting your supervisor know what happened here so in the future you think twice about what you say about young omegas and their looks.”
Antonio shot a glance at Francis looking for help, but the Frenchman seemed to be stuck on something Arthur had just said.
Did he say they were seventeen?
Suddenly, wheels began turning in Francis' head. He remembered exactly where, when, and how he met Arthur. It would have been approximately seventeen years ago. He stared at him, and Arthur immediately recognized the look on his face telling him he was putting those puzzle pieces together.
Like a panicked animal, Arthur coughed and began to cut short this process to get the two officers out of his house before Francis could open his mouth and say anything. “So, uh, I believe we're done here. Thank you, officers. If we need to follow up we'll contact you.”
“But the report--” Antonio wanted to mention that they hadn't quite finished documenting losses and damages, but Arthur was already directing them to the still-broken door. Maybe they could stay at a hotel until they got that lock fixed.
“If we find anything else, I will call the station to follow up.” He smiled pointedly, a sharp turn from the angry tone just moments prior.
The door didn't lock, or even shut all the way, but it was closed in their face before either of them could get another word in. But briefly, before it was closed, Francis turned around and saw the quieter of the two boys standing on the staircase. Their eyes met for only a second before Arthur closed the door between them.
“That was... weird.” Antonio finally broke the silence that hung between them as they got into their car. The two of them chuckled, finally able to say something about it.
“Yeah, really.” Francis glanced at his partner, who was clearly about to ask if he'd really crossed the line, but he shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. “Don't worry about it, Antonio. I don't think you did anything wrong. He was obviously tense.”
Antonio let out a sigh of relief as he turned the key and began to drive away from the residence. “Thanks. But I'm still gonna need a drink. You down?”
Francis watched the house get smaller in the side mirror as they drove away. His friend's words were still ringing in his brain. “Yeah. A drink sounds great.”
In the dining room, Arthur watched the patrol car drive away. He never imagined he'd see this day, certainly not like this, anyways. Thoughts were swirling in his head, and with every moment that car was in his vision his breath was shorter. When it finally turned the corner his shoulders dropped, the tension leaving his body. He must have shown it on his face, because his son, Matthew, was watching him from the base of the stairs.
“Dad? Is everything okay?” He approached cautiously, having heard the tail end of his father's rant. Arthur jumped slightly, surprised to hear his son's quiet voice behind him, but the sight of those violet eyes eased his nerves.
Arthur quickly walked over to Matthew to give him a hug. “Yes, yes everything is just fine, love.” He held his son close, trying not to let his thoughts spiral and get ahold of him. Everything would be just fine.
The following morning, back at the station, Antonio got called into their superior's office for a talking to. Apparently, Arthur was dead serious about calling in his complaint and their supervisor was dead serious about letting Antonio know that this wasn't to happen again. It must not have been too bad of a conversation, because Antonio walked out twenty minutes later with nothing else but a grimacing look to share with Francis.
“All good?” Francis asked as his work partner walked around behind him, taking a seat at the other side of their shared desk.
“Yeah, oh yeah. I definitely understand the, uh, impacts of my word choices now.” They made eye contact and then burst into hushed laughter. The whole situation was just an inside joke to them now. But with the superior officer's eyes on them, they had to save it for later and get back to work.
“Something funny?” A voice said over Francis' shoulder, and he looked behind him to see their detective buddy, Gilbert, leaning over to get in the conversation. Being in a different role, Gilbert didn't get the chance to work with them often, but the three of them were still the three amigos of the station. He'd unfortunately missed the drink session last night due to a questioning that ran late, and he really wanted to catch up on what he'd missed out on.
“Oh my god, Gilbert.” Antonio laughed, straightening the papers on his desk. He really, really needed to get his clutter under control. “You have no idea.”
The two of them regaled what happened yesterday to their friend, who rolled his eyes. He'd met his share of, well, high-strung people in his jobs and he knew how it went with those types. “Yeesh. Wish I'd been there to say something. Lord knows you're both too chicken to stand up for yourselves.”
Antonio laughed sheepishly. “Yeah, well, when you've been 'talked to' as many times as I have, you learn to keep your head down, I guess. Easier to just smile and nod and get outta there, y'know?”
“Yeah, I suppose.” Gilbert chuckled, crossing his arms. He then narrowed his eye and nodded at Francis' computer screen. “Oh god, what are you doing? Cyber stalking teenagers' Facebook profiles?”
Francis' eyes went wide and he waved his hands in defense. “What, no! No, I just... well, I got a little curious after what Antonio said yesterday how they looked like me. And I mean...” He flipped the screen around so both could see it, and leaned backwards so his face was right next to the screen. Matthew's Facebook profile was pulled up, and Francis pointed between his face and the picture. “What do you think? Is there a resemblance?”
“Why do you care?” Was Gilbert's immediate response, shaking his head and chuckling.
Francis rolled his eyes at him, but then looked to Antonio for backup. “What do you think? You see it, right?”
“I mean, yeah, I guess.” Antonio was extra cautious about saying anything now, having just had his ass chewed out for twenty minutes over it. “But maybe it's just the hair, y'know?”
Francis sighed dramatically and moved his screen back to it's original position. “No support. No support, not even from my closest friends!”
Gilbert leaned against their desk, arms crossed. “Okay, now I'm really confused. Why do you care so much?”
“Yeah, Fran, this is clearly eating at you. What gives?” Antonio set his papers down, looking at his friend in concern. Francis was the quickest to let things go, and he wouldn't be going on about it the next day, certainly not going as far as to look the kid up on Facebook, if there wasn't something bugging him about it.
The blonde leaned back in his office chair, crossing his fingers across his stomach. He tried to find the right way to explain it, but voicing it felt so... not right. “This is going to sound crazy, but what if we are related?”
Gilbert and Antonio shared a confused, doubtful look. Gilbert tilted his head slightly. “Not following. Why do you think that?”
Francis sighed, and kept going. “Well, that omega? Arthur? I met him a long time ago and we, well... y'know. We fooled around.” His friends looked surprised, but Francis waved his hand. “We were teenagers, it was a long, long time ago. But, uh...” He looked back at the screen, staring at Matthew's face and struggling to get the next few words out. The more he played it in his head, the more sense it all started to make to him.
“Francis?” Antonio interrupted his thought, pressing him to go on.
“He got pregnant. And he told me he terminated it, but I never saw him or heard from him afterwards. And now I'm thinking...” He wanted to continue, but the words just escaped him. Silence said it all, no words needed.
“Holy shit.” Antonio leaned back in his chair, processing this truth bomb. He looked up at Gilbert to gauge his reaction, but their silver-haired friend was shaking his head in disbelief.
“Nah, I doubt it. Why wouldn't he tell you? I mean, you're a catch, man. And there's no way someone just decides to raise two unexpected twins on their own. That's too much.” Gilbert had a fair point. He'd raised his younger brother since the death of their parents several years back, and the two of them had heard often about the challenges of raising a kid. And that was just one, raising two would be a mountain of a task for one person.
“That's what I'm thinking.” Francis agreed immediately, but Antonio shook his head, doubtful.
“I don't know... they do look an awful lot like you. When did you say you met Arthur?”
“It would have been seventeen years ago."
“And he said they were seventeen. That can't just be coincidence, right?”
Antonio made a solid point, too. And the more Francis looked at the screen, the more he remembered that moment when he caught Matthew's eye before the door was closed in his face. Something was just nagging at him, and as much as he wanted to agree with Gilbert, his gut told him otherwise. He had to get some answers on this, it was going to eat him up inside not knowing.
Francis closed the browser window, deciding that he was going to tackle this later. “I don't know, guys. Maybe I should think about this later, though, huh?” He picked up a file that was sitting on his desk, tapping it against the corner before taking the contents out. “These cases aren't going to process themselves, right?”
Gilbert shrugged and got up from where he was leaning to return to his own desk. “Great idea. Get back to work—get your minds off of it. You guys watch too much drama.”
“They are called telenovelas, thank you, and they are masterpieces!” Antonio defended as Gilbert passed him, chuckling. He waited until their friend was out of earshot before leaning forward across the desk. “Hey, I'm serious, you gotta check it out. I think something is fishy about the whole thing.”
Francis looked over at him with a nod and a smile. “Oh, I know. I'm going to. Thanks, man.”
There hadn't been much business lately, so the locksmith Arthur called had been able to come out the very next day to set a new lock on their front door. As he was leaving, Arthur went to shut the door when he saw a patrol car pull up out front and a scowl immediately fell across his face. Great. The frog was back. Francis passed the locksmith as he walked up to the front door where a very, very irritated Arthur stood with crossed arms and a raging glint in his eye.
Cool. This might not go so well.
“Uh...” Francis put his hands in his pockets, trying to find a way to diffuse the obvious tension. “Looks like you were able to get that lock fixed pretty quickly.”
“Yes.” Arthur's tone was curt, unwelcoming. “Why are you here, officer?”
“Just to follow up.”
“To follow up?”
“Yes.”
“On the report?”
“Well, no.” Francis was trying to find the right way to approach this, but Arthur seemed anything but approachable. “It's actually a personal reason."
He'd hoped that would open up Arthur's curiosity, but the British man scowled even more at his words. “I have no personal business with you, Officer...” He squinted, looking at the embroidered badge on Francis' uniform, “Bonnefoy.”
“Oh come on, you know my name.” Francis was dying to get to the conversation at hand, but Arthur shrugged.
“No, I don't. Like I said, I have no personal business with you, and quite frankly if you're not here to follow up on the report then I'd rather you not be here.” He was short, and to the point.
“Arthur, I know--” He took a step forward, one step that was apparently just too close for Arthur. The look on his face switched from agitation to pure anger and he stepped forward with a combative stance, forcing Francis back on his heels.
“NO, YOU STAY BACK.” His voice was surprisingly loud for such a lanky, otherwise unassuming man, and the locksmith that was packing up his truck turned to look in their direction at the commotion. Arthur was aggressively shaking his finger in Francis' face, giving him a stern warning. “You have NO business here aside from handling my report, and I do NOT want to see you on my property again, understood? I do not know you, nor do I want to. I want you to leave, and never contact me again outside of a registered, official line from the police station. Am I clear?”
Francis' mouth was agape, his eyes wide in shock. This was... certainly not how he planned this discussion to go. His hands were raised palm up, but he turned them in a shrug, not completely agreeing with Arthur's demands. After all, those might have been his kids. He had to know if they were his kids. “Arthur, please, hear me out--”
The blonde, bushy browed man scoffed angrily and stormed back inside, appearing in the doorway a second later with a pad of paper and a pen. “Your badge number, Officer Bonnefoy?”
“Arthur, listen to me--”
“Your BADGE. NUMBER. OFFICER.” He glared at Francis with an anger that could have burned straight through him, and his knuckles were white holding onto the pen. Francis swallowed the lump in his throat and accepted defeat, repeating his badge number so Arthur could scribble it down hard enough to rip holes in the top sheet.
He clasped the pad and the pen in one hand and crossed his arms again, standing back at the top of the porch, a distance between them. Francis shook his head in disbelief. Why wouldn't Arthur just talk to him about it? His mouth moved, trying to think of words to say that would make the British omega change his mind, and Arthur raised his brows ready to debate whatever else came out of Francis' mouth, but nothing did. He couldn't find the words. With a defeated nod, he apologized.
“... Terribly sorry to bother you, Mr. Kirkland. I'll let you know if anything else comes up with your case.”
Arthur nodded, and Francis turned to walk back to his car. He got in, and took one last look at the porch to look for any change of heart that might have sparked, but all he saw was Arthur, standing firm as a brick, arms crossed and eyes directing him to get lost. And as much as his heart screamed at him not to, he turned the key and pulled away.
The following day, it was Francis' turn to get chewed out by their superior officer. First thing in the morning he'd been called in, and had it made explicitly clear to him that he was not to handle Kirkland's case anymore. It would be reassigned, since he and Antonio weren't able to approach it in the professional manner needed. Francis wanted to explain the history, but figured it was no use. Their supervisor wouldn't care to hear it. Maybe he should take Gilbert's opinions to heart, and try to convince himself that this was all in his head.
Antonio greeted him with raised brows as he returned to the desk. “Shut it, Toni.” Francis groaned, taking a seat.
“You went back, huh?”
“I said, drop it, Toni.”
“He must really not want you to get involved.”
“Toni, please.” Francis was pleading. At that point Antonio realized that his friend was seriously hurting, and dropped his grin. He watched as his friend went back to looking at his desktop, knowing he was pulling up the Facebook profiles again.
“Hey, colega, I'm sorry.” He got up to go put his hand on Francis' shoulder in solidarity. “Maybe Gilbert was right, y'know? You know I get so romantic in my head.” He laughed, rubbing Francis' shoulder to try and ease the tension.
Francis was silent. He shook his head, going back between Matthew and Alfred's profile pictures. “No, Antonio, I think you're right. I just... I need to know, y'know?”
“I get it.” Antonio watched the screen switch. He still stood by what he said earlier. They do look alike. But Gilbert had a point too. This sounded like something straight out of a telenovela, not real life. “What are you going to do?”
Francis closed the browser and leaned forward, putting his face in his hands. What could he do? Arthur wanted nothing to do with him. If he approached him again, he'd likely get written up for harassment, if he wasn't terminated. If he approached the kids, Arthur would find out, and oh God that was a shitstorm he didn't even want to think about. He could do some independent investigating, but at what point would that be considered an inappropriate breach of privacy? And it wouldn't answer any of his questions—only Arthur could confirm for sure.
“I don't know, Toni.” Francis sighed, lifting his head up. His friend's warm hand on his shoulder was comforting, but not the sort of comfort he needed right now. “I really don't know.”
Two days later, Friday evening, Arthur was stuck at work late, per usual. Being the editor of a struggling newspaper publication was difficult enough, but with the budget getting leaner and leaner every year, he'd taken on more and more responsibility to keep things afloat. And here he was, 8pm on a Friday evening, trying to iron out wrinkles with their printing company to ensure tomorrow's paper would roll out smoothly. All in a day's work. Every single day.
When things were about as good as they could get before deadline, he closed up the office and gathered his things. On his desk sat a picture of middle school aged Alfred and Matthew, and he paused to look at it. Francis' sudden visit had brought up so many questions for him, questions he thought he'd answered and left behind years ago. But self doubt was rising to the surface, and he'd been fighting tooth and nail to push those thoughts out of his mind. The past was the past. He couldn't go back now. No, he'd made his decision and it was all he could do now to stick by it.
Arthur took a deep breath and grabbed his coat off the hanger on the back of his door. He took a brief look around—of course no one else was in the building, everyone else went home on time, home to their families and friends like normal people—and turned off the lights. He set the alarm, stepped out the door, and pulled his phone out of his pocket to check missed messages. But a patrol car and a familiar long-haired officer stood in the way of him and his car.
“Officer Bonnefoy--” Arthur began, his tone devoid of any patience. Francis didn't let him continue.
“Are they mine?”
They paused. Their eyes met. Both of them knew what he meant, but Arthur chuckled nervously. Deny, deny deny. “I'm sorry, I don't know what you--”
“The boys. Alfred and Matthew. Are they mine?”
Francis was dead serious, arms crossed, leaning back against his car. Arthur was cornered. The British omega looked side to side, like a trapped animal, trying to think of some way out of this. Some way to avoid the confrontation he'd been dreading for seventeen years. He'd hoped he could run away from this for the rest of his life. Run away from the biggest mistake and worst decision of his entire life, and live happily believing he'd made the right choice. And here Francis was to ruin it all.
Their eyes met once more, and Arthur had no excuse. He had no way out this time. He looked down at his hands, pulling out the key to the office again. “Come on inside.” His voice was quiet, defeated. “Let's talk.”