Frederic smiled softly as she curled up beside him and laid her head on his shoulder. "I was born in Scarborough," he began, "but I never knew my mother or father. I was lucky enough to be taken in by a couple who wanted to save a child from the orphanages-" Here, he shuddered a little, remembering his brief time in one of the public Scarborough orphanages. Even though he was just two when he left, he remembered the conditions frighteningly well. "-and although they worked all the time and were rarely home, they were decent parents and I grew up as happy as one could be in poverty." He thought for a moment, then went on, "My best friend as a boy and through my early adulthood was named Clover. He was the greatest friend anyone could ask for, and he raised me more than my adoptive parents did, as his parents were also rarely at home and he knew how to take care of someone." The smile that had left Frederic's face when he mentioned the orphanage grew again as he recollected all the good times he'd had with his best friend. "We were more like brothers than friends, and all my fondest childhood memories are ones spent with him." He leaned the side of his head on Karen's, glad she was still letting him hold her hand. "My son is his namesake. He- he passed away soon before I- soon before Clover- my son, Clover -was born." It was easy to tell the loss of his longtime best friend was a painful memory for him, but what Karen didn't know is that the death of his best friend hurt him just as much, maybe even more, than the death of his wife.