And the Rockets' Red Glare

[redwhiteandhero]

"They're in here, Mr. Kirkland." The mediwitch stopped by a door, gesturing to it curtly. Arthur cleared his throat.

"Ah, yes, thank you." He didn't move.

"They'll be asleep now, but you're welcome to go in, if you'd like."

"Ah, of course. …Thank you," he said again, but he still made no move to enter, staring blankly past the mediwitch and down the hall. Finally, she seemed to get the hint.

"Right. Feel free to page if you need anything."

Arthur watched her all the way down the corridor before turning, slowly, grasping the doorknob in clammy fingers and finally pushing it open.

The room was bright white, sterile, smelling faintly of potions and poultices. The dividing curtain had been pulled back, leaving both beds open to the room. And on them, of course, his sons.

Arthur felt a lump rising in his throat, and he swallowed hard against it. It occurred to him that it had been a very, very long time since he had even seen the two of them together.

Both boys had been dressed in pale pastel hospital robes, and both sported bandages about the hands and face. Beneath them, their skin was pink and new, flush with recent healing. Identical features twitched in fitful sleep.

They had been found smouldering in the alley beside the hospital's back door, wands still clenched tightly in their fists, knuckles singed and bloodied. There'd been a fight. Someone had heard the screaming and rushed to the scene, fearing the worst. The pair had been brought to a room and patched up, filled up with potions to give them rest and encourage healing. Arthur had been told all this by an orderly, after having been summoned to the hospital by urgent owl.

Finally, he spoke aloud. "You bloody stupid idiots." Alfred twitched in his sleep. "What in Heaven's name could have possessed you two—"

But he cut himself off with a ponderous sigh. Truth be told, it wasn't too unfamiliar a scene. He and his brothers had never sent each other to St. Mungo's, but it certainly wasn't for lack of trying. He remembered all too well the bloodied fists and swollen faces of his youth.

"Bloody idiots," he said again.

Alfred and Matthew had never been like Arthur and his brothers. They'd schemed together more often than not, and even Peter had never been left out of their games for long. They'd fought, of course, but playfully, as siblings do. He'd never imagined they would ever come to blows so violently, so intensely.

Things had changed when Alfred left. Everything had changed.

Arthur was only beginning to realize just how much.