Alfred's heart had begun to pound; that thing so long dormant that it had, despite frequent searching and vows to transform back to the living thing that it once was, become stone and was not won't to move again, now began to race, skipping beats and scrambling over itself, stumbling and falling in a way that made Alfred's head spin. There were stars before his eyes and they all collected within the little boy before him, and there was his world, all laid out, perfect and sparkling and new.
This would be his life, now; this child whom he had been charged with would fill his days; yes, Alfred Franklin Jones could now die a happy man! What luck, this child falling into his care! But that stopped him: how wrong of him, how terrible to let the mother rest in an unmarked and public grave, and to take her child without paying the least bit of thought, the least bit of thanks! In that moment, he had almost become a thief once more, and the thought pained him such that it was no small wonder that he did not moan, and bury his face in his hands.
No, all of this would be for Alice, that woman who had given everything so that her son could live; Alfred would honor her until the day that God claimed the soul that he owned but allowed to walk freely amongst His children. Alice was in Heaven, now, he was sure; and better there than here on Earth; and now it was Alfred's job to protect her child from the world, to bring unto him the safe and joyful existence that his mother had fought for.
"Of course not," said he, the glee bubbling lower; no less powerful, but in check, now; he had a mission here and he would see it through. "For there is nothing to fear. Tell me, Peter, how old are you?"
A gloved hand came to rest at his mouth, absentmindedly drumming on his lips, as he was given to doing at times when he was restless; and he was restless indeed. The boy before him thrilled him, and Alfred found himself struggling under the sudden crushing force of protectiveness that threatened to choke him.
He had not known it possible, for a father to feel this way about a child! Certainly not a child that wasn't even his! Oh, but he was, he was; Alfred would fill Alice's place as best he could, and Peter would be his own until he was relinquished to his mother's arms, long after Alfred himself had departed the world.
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