blood_winged (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
blood_winged) wrote2011-06-20 05:05 am
blood_winged) wrote2011-06-20 05:05 am
Entry tags:
[USxUK] My Fair Lady [3/5]
Title: My Fair Lady
Genre: Romance
Characters/Pairing(s): USxUK
Rating/Warnings: PG. Genderswap. Arthur cusses a lot.
Summary: Yet another of Arthur's magical mishaps lands him in more trouble than he can handle, with a strange new body to (temporarily) deal with and as if that wasn't enough, he has Alfred hanging around.
“It’s a good thing we made an early start, there’s a load of stuff I want to show you,” Alfred was saying, rather excitedly as Arthur locked the front door of his house and slipped the key into his pocket. The English nation didn’t think that the describing of his London’s landmarks as ‘stuff’ promised a very good beginning to the day, but he could hardly put up much more of a fuss without sending the American into a sulk, or worse, making him suspect something. Besides, it couldn’t be that bad. This was London, after all, and if he was careful he might even be able to teach Alfred a thing or two. He didn’t expect much more from the man than being excitedly told of the best (and cheapest) places to eat and maybe being shown Big Ben if he was lucky. There was something about being around that place that always calmed him down, and maybe he’d finally get his head together enough to come up with some solution.
As they walked towards the train station Arthur was becoming more and more aware of the fact that the clothes he was wearing didn’t really fit him all that well. If Alfred had noticed the same he didn’t mention it, but allowing him the credit for displaying that level of tact wasn’t something that Arthur was currently prepared to do. Every time their arms bumped Arthur would feel his hair stand on end, his teeth gritting so firmly by the time they finally reached the station that his jaw had began to ache. To his surprise Alfred didn’t even need to be told how to use the ticket machine in the station and soon enough he was holding one out to Arthur with that ridiculously wide grin on his face. Arthur scowled, and tucked his hair behind his ear, ducking his head and all but snatching the ticket from the American’s outstretched hand. Alfred just wrinkled his nose and cocked his head, gesturing for the other to follow him. It was easy enough to keep up the pretence of not knowing where he was with how uncomfortable he felt, and he watched with slightly narrowed eyes as Alfred pored over a map of the underground system. He knew the different coloured lines by heart, where they all crossed, but he kept silent as he listened to Alfred mutter to himself.
“Alright, so we need to take the District to Westminster… Yeah. Okay, that’s easy!” He looked up, searching for a signpost to take them in the right direction, then they were off again and Arthur was hurrying along behind him, doing his best not to get lost in the crowds. There was something about London at the weekends that he had disliked since the place had become a tourist destination, and he was reminded very starkly of it as he and Alfred stood pressed near to the door of an underground train, the carriage rocking and jolting underneath them. Arthur closed his eyes, letting out a steadying breath through his nose.
“Hey,” Alfred said. “You feeling alright? You look a bit-”
“I’m fine,” Arthur muttered waspishly, though he couldn’t hold back his sound of relief as they stepped off the train and he was rather quick to make his way out, pausing by Alfred’s side as the American stopped to get his bearings. The next thing he knew, he was being whisked off, heading towards a place that he knew very well indeed.
“You know Big Ben, right?” the young man asked him, and he nodded stiffly. Alfred smiled. “Arthur likes it here, I reckon. Every time he drags me up here and the clock chimes he gets this look on his face, like he’s real happy about something. It’s nice.” Arthur’s gaze shifted from the other’s face up to the clock, his arms folded over his chest. “You know,” Alfred said then. “The bell up there, it has a huge crack in it. It’s not even the first one. The hammer was too heavy. They patched it up but it still sounds funny.”
“You-” The astonishment couldn’t be kept out of his voice when he spoke, but he choked it back and huffed softly. “Arthur told you that?”
“Well… no, he didn’t.” Alfred wrinkled his nose and grinned, and offered his arm to his companion. “Hey, look, you can see the London Eye from here.”
“I hate that thing,” Arthur muttered, and Alfred laughed.
“Arthur hates it too, he thinks it’s unnatural or something. He’s so weird.” He made a small movement, a kind of wiggle with his arm still held out, and after a moment of hesitation Arthur took it, frowning slightly. “Whitehall is over there, we’re walking up there next.”
Alfred didn’t stop talking for the entire ten minute walk up the wide London street, pointing out everything along the way. The treasury, and the cenotaph, to which he performed a solemn salute that brought Arthur’s heart up to his throat. He dragged Arthur across the road to peer through the gates at Downing Street, and paused outside the Wales Office, grinning and nudging his companion’s side. Insisting upon having someone take their photograph standing by one of the mounted guards, he threw his arm around Arthur’s shoulders and leaned his head against him, giddily showing him the photograph afterwards. Soon, Trafalgar Square came into view, and Arthur moved his gaze up Nelson’s Column, then glanced over to the American walking cheerfully along beside him. Alfred caught his gaze and looked up, too, tilting his head to one side.
“That’s Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson,” he said. “One of Arthur’s navy guys. I never met him but I know he led the British fleet against the French. Nelson was crazy, man. He had one arm gone and he was half blind, and it still took a bullet in the back to kill him. Crazy.” Arthur might have bristled at the implication of one of his best men being ‘crazy’, were it not for the respect in Alfred’s voice as he spoke. He huffed, but Alfred wasn’t finished. “They put these fountains in to make the space smaller, you know. So people would find it harder to riot here. Didn’t stop them in the nineties, though!” Alfred laughed, and Arthur stared at him again, feeling a not entirely unpleasant shiver run up his spine. Had Alfred been listening to him all those years… and he’d never given him credit?
“Hey,” the American nation was grinning at him again. “Let’s walk up to the palace. It’s this way.” He led Arthur towards Admiralty Arch, shading his eyes and peering up at it. “Anno decimo Edwardi Septimi Regis Victoria Regina cives gratissimi,” he read, slowly, obviously struggling with the pronunciation of the Latin words. “In the tenth year of King Edward the Seventh, to Queen Victoria, from most grateful citizens, 1910.” The translation, once again, came rather slowly, but he smiled and puffed himself up proudly when he finished. “I don’t think he lived to see it finished. That’s what Arthur says, anyway. I guess he’d know best.”
Alfred’s smile didn’t dim as they made their way down The Mall, the road lined with flagpoles flying the Union Jack. The Victoria Memorial came into view, and Alfred headed straight for it, arms folded as he looked up at the angel atop it. “I guess you know what this is,” he said, glancing at Arthur, who nodded once. “Y’know, I always found it strange… King George, he was the German king’s cousin, wasn’t he?”
“Mm,” Arthur muttered. “They were both Queen Victoria’s grandsons.” He’d always felt slightly sore about that. Alfred made a quiet sound of acknowledgement.
“Yeah, that’s it. But, I mean, if they were cousins… they were family. Why did Germany take Austria’s side?”
“Because Wilhelm was a bloody idiot and never thought about a damned thing before he went ahead and did it,” the English nation snapped, turning his back on the statue and looking towards the palace. Behind him, Alfred blinked and raised his eyebrows, then shrugged slightly and looked back up at the monument again.
“I never met her,” he said. “Me and Arthur weren’t really talking when she was alive, so...” A quiet sigh left him, and he shrugged again. “Doesn’t matter now, I guess.” He snapped a photograph and nudged Arthur in the direction of Buckingham Palace, leaning on the gate and peering to where the armed guards were stood at the sides of the arched entrance. One of them moved, taking slow and measured steps, turning on his heel and returning to his previous post. Alfred took another photo. “Queen Victoria was the first monarch to live here,” he said then, looking over to Arthur, who simply nodded. “Hey, are you okay?”
Arthur blinked and glanced at the American nation, the other’s eyes a little widened behind his glasses and oh so very blue. He cleared his throat and brushed a hand over the front of his jacket, flinching slightly at what he felt there, almost having forgotten what he’d managed to do to himself. “I’m fine,” he replied, turning his eyes away again. “Stop fussing over me.”
“Heh, yeah, okay. I’d just not want Arthur to come home and find out I’d been treating his sister badly. I know how he gets with women.”
“What do you mean by that?” Arthur’s tone changed to something suspicious, his eyes narrowed.
“You don’t know? Pfh, you should see him around Hungary or Belgium, or Taiwan. He treats women like they’re made of glass, like… like they’re special.”
A small frown flickered over Arthur’s face and he turned to rest his back against the palace gate. “I never realised,” he muttered, which was in part a truth. Arthur treated women as he always had, as ladies, as he believed they deserved to be treated, but he had never realised that other people noticed. Next to him, Alfred laughed and rolled his shoulders, rubbing the back of his head.
“Yeah, well. It’s kinda nice to watch. I don’t get to see him be like that very often.” A twist of something that felt like guilt curled itself in Arthur’s stomach and settled there uncomfortably, and he shook his head, setting off after Alfred again. He knew where they were going before he was told, but when the red and white Westminster Cathedral rose up beside them, Alfred said very little about it, continuing along until they reached Victoria station. The crowds were still almost unbearably thick, but Arthur managed to stick close to Alfred’s side as they headed for the train. The American pulled them both off at Tower Hill, and grabbed a couple of burgers from a stand just outside of the station. He pointed at the tower, swallowing before he spoke. “That’s the Tower of London.” They moved towards it, Arthur getting the same uncomfortable prickling feeling at the back of his neck as he always did when he was around this place. “That bit in the middle, it’s called the White Tower. Arthur hates it. He’s never let me go inside all the times he’s brought me here, he just tells me it’s a symbol of oppression but he won’t say why.”
Arthur swallowed, his throat feeling slightly thick. “That tower was built after the Norman invasion,” he said, barely trusting his voice not to shake. “Arthur hates it because… it represents the conquest of his country.”
“Ohh…” Alfred seemed to understand, munching on his burger while Arthur took tiny bites out of his and attempted to calm the squirming in his stomach. “I get it. Do you want to go inside?”
“No!” Arthur’s reply was quick, too quick, tense and a little too high and Alfred frowned, looking between the tower and the slightly pale face of the girl next to him.
“’kay…” he said. “I was just asking. I kinda wanted to see the Crown Jewels.”
“Oh.” He looked up at the tower. It seemed so innocent now but he still hadn’t forgotten the days of its construction. “I suppose, if you really want to.”
“Nah, it’s cool.” Alfred was trying to make himself seem unconcerned but Arthur could hear the faint tone of disappointment in his voice. He sighed, looking down at his feet, closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath as he reasoned with himself. It had been almost a thousand years since then, it couldn’t be right to hold on for things for so long. Spending so much time alone, perhaps it gave him too much time to think.
“Come on.” Without thinking he took hold of Alfred’s arm and began to steer him towards the tower entrance. “We’ll go in, it’s fine.” Alfred didn’t protest, but sang a little ‘if you’re sure~’ into Arthur’s ear and went along with him happily. The American insisted upon paying, which was just as well as Arthur was far too distracted to think about how much it was costing to get into the place. He all but swayed where he stood when the White Tower came into full and splendid view in front of them, his eyes travelling up to the very top where a Union Jack flew as if in mockery of him. He heard Alfred let out a low whistle beside him, and for a moment he hated him for it.
“Ariah?” His elbow was touched and he flinched. “Ariah, jeez… You’re actually scared of this thing.”
“That’s what it was built for,” came the quiet reply after a long moment of silence. He hadn’t been this close to that tower in longer than he wanted to remember and he was already regretting so easily giving in to the American’s wishes. “It was built to make us afraid.”
“Us? You mean, you and Arts?” He sounded puzzled, looking at Arthur in a mixture of confusion and concern.
“Me and-? Yes. Yes, that’s it.”
“Huh…” Alfred put his hands on his hips, then wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders again. “It’s a tiny building, you don’t need to be scared of it anymore.”
Small words, but comforting, yet despite it Arthur had to move his eyes to the floor, remaining so until they had moved on and entered a building that was slightly less intimidating. Jewel House. It had been so long since Arthur had seen the jewels contained within that he found himself lingering by display cases while Alfred chatted with one of the security personnel. It poked at a part of him that he hadn’t felt in a long time – the pirate in him that adored the look and feel of treasure. Calming, almost, and by the time they had finished he no longer resented the American for bringing him into the place. Alfred was clearly enjoying himself more than Arthur would have thought possible as they continued to make their way around the grounds, and he spent well over half an hour poring over the suits of armour displayed inside the White Tower, once he had gently coaxed Arthur into going inside. He still didn’t like the place, it felt cold, laden with too many unhappy memories, but, as Alfred had said, there was a time when you needed to abandon old memories and create new ones. Now seemed to be as good a time as any.
“Aah, I didn’t plan to go in there, we’re running way behind time now,” Alfred was saying as they walked out, the American nation carrying a plastic bag containing a few souvenirs. He was swinging his arm and humming, not seeming at all perturbed by running late as he led Arthur along, back to the underground and to the St. Paul’s station. Arthur was beginning to find all the walking rather exhausting, and Alfred slowed his pace to match his companion’s as they left the station and walked up to St. Paul’s Cathedral. They stopped in front of it and Arthur sat down on the steps immediately, while Alfred squinted and adjusted his glasses and leaned back, looking up the length of the building.
“This is the fifth one,” he told Arthur. By now, Arthur had given up on being surprised at the things that Alfred knew about his capital city. The guilt he had felt before hadn’t gone away, yet he had no idea how he was going to incorporate the knowledge that Alfred had indeed been listening to every word he said all these years into his interactions with the man once he was back to normal. “Can we go in? There’s something I want to look at.”
“Sure…” Arthur got slowly to his feet, gritting his teeth as his sore muscles protested, and followed the man inside. They had the good fortune to have arrived between services, and Alfred paid the admission yet again, despite Arthur’s protests. The English nation watched the other as they walked in, noting the way that Alfred’s step faltered as the grand interior of the cathedral suddenly surrounded them. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, however, and moved through to the apse, to where a large book was contained in a glass case. He could quite honestly say that he had no idea what the young blond was up to as he pulled someone aside and whispered something to them, flashing something from his wallet that had the man quickly walking away. Alfred shot Arthur a confident smile, and moments later the same man returned, carrying a key.
“This way, sir,” he said, holding out a pair of latex gloves to the American, which he put on without question. They were allowed to step through the barrier and approach the case, and the man opened it, standing aside while Alfred stepped forwards and carefully turned the pages until he found what he had apparently been looking for.
“Look here.” He gestured for Arthur to step up beside him, and when he did, Alfred was pointing to a name written in the book. Arthur knew what all these names were – the names and ranks of some twenty eight thousand American servicemen of the American, Canadian and United Kingdom armed forces who had died to preserve liberty during the Second World War. Alfred was pointing to one of them, and Arthur’s eyes widened as he read it. “Jones, A. F. Junior,” Alfred said. “First Lieutenant, United States of America Air Force.” The American was smiling, but it was a faint, almost grim smile. “That’s me. They thought I was shot down over the Pacific. They didn’t know who I was so they confirmed my death, and I never got around to correcting them.”
“Why ‘junior’?” Arthur muttered, stepping back as Alfred closed the case and pulled the gloves off, nodding to the man with them who walked over and locked the case again, and escorted them back to the other side of the barrier. Alfred shrugged.
“They’d always call me that in the armed forces. They called a lot of the younger ones ‘junior’, so I took it. It wasn’t as if it made any difference, anyway.” He shot a long, lingering look back at the small chapel, and let out a huffing breath. “I never wanted to be involved. Washington said to me once, he told me to never get involved in the politics of other countries, but I couldn’t just sit by and watch the people I cared about get hurt. I couldn’t do that.” He rubbed his nose. “Anyway… We’re not finished yet. Come on.”
They had a look around, heading down into the crypt where Alfred rather proudly showed off his knowledge that both Admiral Nelson and the Duke of Wellington were buried there, adding the phrase ‘and another thing!’ to his speech in a way that made Arthur smile. From there, they headed up to the Whispering Gallery, and the American nation seemed to find great amusement in moving away from Arthur and whispering to him. When they reached the Golden Gallery, Arthur found his heart in his throat again at how amazed Alfred looked as he gazed out over the view of London, leaning over the balustrade with the wind whipping his hair up. When the man murmured softly about how pretty the view was, Arthur had to turn his face away so that Alfred wouldn’t see the sudden red blush flooding his cheeks.
He was feeling a peculiar kind of calm as they left the cathedral, and Alfred was smiling, a jaunty bounce in his step as they walked side by side. Arthur barely noticed where they were going until Alfred was nudging him off the underground again at Oxford Circus, and he suddenly found a faint anxiety bothering him that he didn’t quite know the source of.
“What are we doing here?” he asked, slanting a look over at Alfred, who flashed his best charming grin.
“Shopping!” the man exclaimed, and Arthur stopped dead.
“Oh no. No no no.”
“Whaaaat? Come on. How long are you gonna keep wearing Arthur’s hand-me-downs? Not that you don’t look good in them, by the way.” He grinned again. “But really, a pretty lady should have some pretty clothes.”
“I don’t want pretty clothes,” Arthur half-growled, feeling a rising indignation that was quickly halted when Alfred clasped his hands in front of him and put on the most soul-crushing Puss-in-Boots expression that Arthur had ever seen. The English nation gritted his teeth, winced, then caved. “Fine. Fine! But you’re paying.”
“Okey!” The American took hold of his hand, and suddenly stopped, glancing down to where his fingers clasped the other’s smaller ones. He frowned slightly, and lifted Arthur’s hand up, uncurling his fingers and looking at his palm, where a thick scar marked the skin. Arthur felt the bottom drop out of his stomach and yanked his hand away, pushing it deep into his pocket.
“Before I change my mind, Alfred.”
“Oh. Oh! Right, yeah. Come on… Ariah.”
It wasn’t as painful as Arthur had first thought that it would be. Modern fashion did, after all, include some rather attractive styles of shirts and waistcoats for women and he slowly began to relax, going so far as to purchase some underwear while Alfred loitered nearby and giggled at one of the more raunchy-looking lingerie displays. He relaxed, yes, until Alfred picked something out that had him immediately flushing scarlet and taking a step back.
“I am not wearing that.”
‘That’ was a knee-length, green cotton dress, with a modest neckline and a black flower stitched at one shoulder. The skirt looked floaty enough that it would inevitably do a Marilyn Monroe if one walked over an air vent wearing it, and Alfred was holding it up like he’d just found the best thing in the store. He moved over to Arthur, holding it against his body, and made a sound of approval. “I think you should try it on.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No!”
“I’ll take you out somewhere special.”
“You- What?” He was sure that Alfred was fighting a blush, still holding the dress out, his lower lip slightly twisted and his eyes on the floor.
“If you try it on, I’ll take you out somewhere. For dinner.”
“I… oh.” They must have looked ridiculous, the both of them blushing, and against all his better judgement, Arthur took the dress from him. It wasn’t… that bad. “Fine, I’ll try it on.”
And try it on he did. The dressing room had far too many mirrors in it, and Arthur was intensely aware of Alfred singing Star Spangled Banner to himself as he waited. It was the first time that Arthur had really had the chance to get a good look at exactly what he’d done. Every mark that had been on him before was still there, every scar, only his shape was different. He shook his head and looked away, slipping the dress on and sliding the zipper up. Again, he looked at himself, and sighed. “What are you doing, Arthur,” he whispered, seeing the lips move in the reflection that didn’t look like him, hearing the words in a voice that wasn’t his. Alfred poked his head around the curtain and he squeaked, turning around. The man was staring.
“You uh… you look real pretty…” Alfred stated, breaking out in a smile. “Real pretty. Um, I could get you some shoes too, and you could wear that…” He looked at Arthur as if just waiting for a negative response. Arthur turned back to his reflection, and that guilt rose in his stomach again.
“Sure,” he muttered.
“Really?” The American’s expression brightened. “Awesome!” He disappeared, and within minutes had come back with a few pairs of low-heeled shoes that were, surprisingly, the correct size. Alfred only laughed when this was pointed out, only saying that he was very observant and winking in a way that made Arthur wonder what else he might have noticed.
As they left the shop the dress was still being worn, the tags having been taken off at the till, and Arthur was quickly learning that walking even in such small heels was a task in itself. It was only innate balance and years of traversing the decks of heaving ships that saved him. That, and Alfred’s insistence that he carry all the bags because that was how a gentleman ought to behave. Thankfully the walk to the restaurant that Alfred had picked was short, and as they came to it Arthur knew that Alfred must have planned this beforehand. The restaurant, 2 Veneti, was not one that you just walked into on a whim, and suddenly all of Alfred’s talk about running behind time made sense. He cast a glance over at the American, who smiled at him in return, and he found that he couldn’t help but smile back. It was unfair, to find out all of these things about the man now, when the other had no idea who he really was. Arthur couldn’t believe that he was only doing these things to make a good impression on a sister that had never been mentioned before.
Over dinner, Alfred talked, astonishing Arthur still further with more intimate details about his beloved capital. He told him about the prison cells of Newgate that still existed under the Viaduct Tavern, and the lamp outside of Charing Cross station that was one of the last of its kind. He described in detail several of the odd buildings around the city – 10 Hyde Park Place, the Turkish bath house that was now a pizzeria, and London’s smallest cathedral. Waving his fork around as he talked he mentioned the three parts of the Berlin Wall on display outside the National Army Museum, and told Arthur that there were more rivers in London than just the Thames, then went on to name them all. Arthur had to concentrate to make sure he didn’t just forget that he was supposed to be eating, his eyes fixed on the man as he spoke, telling him things that Arthur himself had half forgotten.
“You know,” Alfred said, toying with the hot chocolate fondant he’d chosen for desert. “Arthur thinks that I don’t listen to him, but I do. I listen to everything he says.”
“Maybe you should tell him.”
Alfred just laughed and shook his head. “Nah, he’d not believe me anyway. It’s fine, though.”
Arthur wanted to protest. He wanted to say that no, it wasn’t fine, that he never meant to hurt the American nation’s feelings (which would have been half a lie, because sometimes, he honestly did), but he held his tongue, twisting his hands together under the table. It was almost too difficult to not tell Alfred who he was, but then the American was calling for the bill and rifling through his wallet for a credit card that he could use, and Arthur got his head straight. He couldn’t tell him. In all likelihood, Alfred wouldn’t even believe him.
It was slowly growing dark when they left the restaurant, and Alfred checked his watch, muttering something about just having enough time as he took Arthur back to the underground station. When they changed at Holborn, Arthur had no idea where they were supposed to be going, until they emerged at Waterloo and Alfred began to take them towards the London Eye.
“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, trying to stop but finding it harder than he thought while wearing heels.
“We’re going on the Eye,” was the cheerful response. “We have just enough time. I’m gonna show you something really special, you’ll see.”
He wasn’t even given time to protest. Arthur was pulled up the ramp by Alfred, their hands clasped tightly together, and he was being told to watch his step before he knew what was happening. The door of the glass capsule slid closed, and he sat down abruptly, a slight shiver running through him.
“Hey… are you cold?” Alfred’s voice was oddly gentle, and he moved over, letting his ever-present bomber jacket slip off and draping it around Arthur’s shoulders. “Look, come and see. It’s a great view.”
All Arthur could think about was how much he hated this. He didn’t like things that seemed so fragile taking him so high. Some things, he could deal with, because he had to or because they were necessary, but he didn’t need to deal with this. He shut his eyes but Alfred took his arm, pulling him up and to one of the glass sides. “Take a look,” he said, and Arthur cracked one eye open, immediately opening both wide.
It was different to the view from St. Paul’s Golden Gallery. Dusk was falling and the City of Westminster was spread out below them, lighting up in the growing darkness. He pulled Alfred’s jacket closer around himself and found that he was smiling, moving around the cabin to take in every angle of the view. Alfred had his camera out again, snapping photographs of the cityscape, but all Arthur could do was stare.
“It’s nice, huh?” The American was behind him suddenly, and he nodded, glancing over his shoulder. “I come on here every time I’m in London. Arthur doesn’t know. I keep thinking I should try and get him to come up with me one day, but he doesn’t like this thing. Hey, maybe you can put in a good word?”
“Maybe.” Arthur said quietly. Had he really been missing all of this?
“Cool, thanks.” He missed the way that Alfred grinned as he turned his back, and the ride seemed to be over far too quickly. The American didn’t take his jacket back for the journey home, leaving Arthur to hang it up in the hallway as the man ran upstairs carrying all of the bags from their shopping trip. Arthur leaned against the wall, tipping his head back and exhaling slowly. All of his nerves felt on edge, but he was alright, he was alive and in one piece and he hadn’t given himself away… he hoped.
------------
<| Chapter Two | Chapter Four |>
Genre: Romance
Characters/Pairing(s): USxUK
Rating/Warnings: PG. Genderswap. Arthur cusses a lot.
Summary: Yet another of Arthur's magical mishaps lands him in more trouble than he can handle, with a strange new body to (temporarily) deal with and as if that wasn't enough, he has Alfred hanging around.
*****
“It’s a good thing we made an early start, there’s a load of stuff I want to show you,” Alfred was saying, rather excitedly as Arthur locked the front door of his house and slipped the key into his pocket. The English nation didn’t think that the describing of his London’s landmarks as ‘stuff’ promised a very good beginning to the day, but he could hardly put up much more of a fuss without sending the American into a sulk, or worse, making him suspect something. Besides, it couldn’t be that bad. This was London, after all, and if he was careful he might even be able to teach Alfred a thing or two. He didn’t expect much more from the man than being excitedly told of the best (and cheapest) places to eat and maybe being shown Big Ben if he was lucky. There was something about being around that place that always calmed him down, and maybe he’d finally get his head together enough to come up with some solution.
As they walked towards the train station Arthur was becoming more and more aware of the fact that the clothes he was wearing didn’t really fit him all that well. If Alfred had noticed the same he didn’t mention it, but allowing him the credit for displaying that level of tact wasn’t something that Arthur was currently prepared to do. Every time their arms bumped Arthur would feel his hair stand on end, his teeth gritting so firmly by the time they finally reached the station that his jaw had began to ache. To his surprise Alfred didn’t even need to be told how to use the ticket machine in the station and soon enough he was holding one out to Arthur with that ridiculously wide grin on his face. Arthur scowled, and tucked his hair behind his ear, ducking his head and all but snatching the ticket from the American’s outstretched hand. Alfred just wrinkled his nose and cocked his head, gesturing for the other to follow him. It was easy enough to keep up the pretence of not knowing where he was with how uncomfortable he felt, and he watched with slightly narrowed eyes as Alfred pored over a map of the underground system. He knew the different coloured lines by heart, where they all crossed, but he kept silent as he listened to Alfred mutter to himself.
“Alright, so we need to take the District to Westminster… Yeah. Okay, that’s easy!” He looked up, searching for a signpost to take them in the right direction, then they were off again and Arthur was hurrying along behind him, doing his best not to get lost in the crowds. There was something about London at the weekends that he had disliked since the place had become a tourist destination, and he was reminded very starkly of it as he and Alfred stood pressed near to the door of an underground train, the carriage rocking and jolting underneath them. Arthur closed his eyes, letting out a steadying breath through his nose.
“Hey,” Alfred said. “You feeling alright? You look a bit-”
“I’m fine,” Arthur muttered waspishly, though he couldn’t hold back his sound of relief as they stepped off the train and he was rather quick to make his way out, pausing by Alfred’s side as the American stopped to get his bearings. The next thing he knew, he was being whisked off, heading towards a place that he knew very well indeed.
“You know Big Ben, right?” the young man asked him, and he nodded stiffly. Alfred smiled. “Arthur likes it here, I reckon. Every time he drags me up here and the clock chimes he gets this look on his face, like he’s real happy about something. It’s nice.” Arthur’s gaze shifted from the other’s face up to the clock, his arms folded over his chest. “You know,” Alfred said then. “The bell up there, it has a huge crack in it. It’s not even the first one. The hammer was too heavy. They patched it up but it still sounds funny.”
“You-” The astonishment couldn’t be kept out of his voice when he spoke, but he choked it back and huffed softly. “Arthur told you that?”
“Well… no, he didn’t.” Alfred wrinkled his nose and grinned, and offered his arm to his companion. “Hey, look, you can see the London Eye from here.”
“I hate that thing,” Arthur muttered, and Alfred laughed.
“Arthur hates it too, he thinks it’s unnatural or something. He’s so weird.” He made a small movement, a kind of wiggle with his arm still held out, and after a moment of hesitation Arthur took it, frowning slightly. “Whitehall is over there, we’re walking up there next.”
Alfred didn’t stop talking for the entire ten minute walk up the wide London street, pointing out everything along the way. The treasury, and the cenotaph, to which he performed a solemn salute that brought Arthur’s heart up to his throat. He dragged Arthur across the road to peer through the gates at Downing Street, and paused outside the Wales Office, grinning and nudging his companion’s side. Insisting upon having someone take their photograph standing by one of the mounted guards, he threw his arm around Arthur’s shoulders and leaned his head against him, giddily showing him the photograph afterwards. Soon, Trafalgar Square came into view, and Arthur moved his gaze up Nelson’s Column, then glanced over to the American walking cheerfully along beside him. Alfred caught his gaze and looked up, too, tilting his head to one side.
“That’s Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson,” he said. “One of Arthur’s navy guys. I never met him but I know he led the British fleet against the French. Nelson was crazy, man. He had one arm gone and he was half blind, and it still took a bullet in the back to kill him. Crazy.” Arthur might have bristled at the implication of one of his best men being ‘crazy’, were it not for the respect in Alfred’s voice as he spoke. He huffed, but Alfred wasn’t finished. “They put these fountains in to make the space smaller, you know. So people would find it harder to riot here. Didn’t stop them in the nineties, though!” Alfred laughed, and Arthur stared at him again, feeling a not entirely unpleasant shiver run up his spine. Had Alfred been listening to him all those years… and he’d never given him credit?
“Hey,” the American nation was grinning at him again. “Let’s walk up to the palace. It’s this way.” He led Arthur towards Admiralty Arch, shading his eyes and peering up at it. “Anno decimo Edwardi Septimi Regis Victoria Regina cives gratissimi,” he read, slowly, obviously struggling with the pronunciation of the Latin words. “In the tenth year of King Edward the Seventh, to Queen Victoria, from most grateful citizens, 1910.” The translation, once again, came rather slowly, but he smiled and puffed himself up proudly when he finished. “I don’t think he lived to see it finished. That’s what Arthur says, anyway. I guess he’d know best.”
Alfred’s smile didn’t dim as they made their way down The Mall, the road lined with flagpoles flying the Union Jack. The Victoria Memorial came into view, and Alfred headed straight for it, arms folded as he looked up at the angel atop it. “I guess you know what this is,” he said, glancing at Arthur, who nodded once. “Y’know, I always found it strange… King George, he was the German king’s cousin, wasn’t he?”
“Mm,” Arthur muttered. “They were both Queen Victoria’s grandsons.” He’d always felt slightly sore about that. Alfred made a quiet sound of acknowledgement.
“Yeah, that’s it. But, I mean, if they were cousins… they were family. Why did Germany take Austria’s side?”
“Because Wilhelm was a bloody idiot and never thought about a damned thing before he went ahead and did it,” the English nation snapped, turning his back on the statue and looking towards the palace. Behind him, Alfred blinked and raised his eyebrows, then shrugged slightly and looked back up at the monument again.
“I never met her,” he said. “Me and Arthur weren’t really talking when she was alive, so...” A quiet sigh left him, and he shrugged again. “Doesn’t matter now, I guess.” He snapped a photograph and nudged Arthur in the direction of Buckingham Palace, leaning on the gate and peering to where the armed guards were stood at the sides of the arched entrance. One of them moved, taking slow and measured steps, turning on his heel and returning to his previous post. Alfred took another photo. “Queen Victoria was the first monarch to live here,” he said then, looking over to Arthur, who simply nodded. “Hey, are you okay?”
Arthur blinked and glanced at the American nation, the other’s eyes a little widened behind his glasses and oh so very blue. He cleared his throat and brushed a hand over the front of his jacket, flinching slightly at what he felt there, almost having forgotten what he’d managed to do to himself. “I’m fine,” he replied, turning his eyes away again. “Stop fussing over me.”
“Heh, yeah, okay. I’d just not want Arthur to come home and find out I’d been treating his sister badly. I know how he gets with women.”
“What do you mean by that?” Arthur’s tone changed to something suspicious, his eyes narrowed.
“You don’t know? Pfh, you should see him around Hungary or Belgium, or Taiwan. He treats women like they’re made of glass, like… like they’re special.”
A small frown flickered over Arthur’s face and he turned to rest his back against the palace gate. “I never realised,” he muttered, which was in part a truth. Arthur treated women as he always had, as ladies, as he believed they deserved to be treated, but he had never realised that other people noticed. Next to him, Alfred laughed and rolled his shoulders, rubbing the back of his head.
“Yeah, well. It’s kinda nice to watch. I don’t get to see him be like that very often.” A twist of something that felt like guilt curled itself in Arthur’s stomach and settled there uncomfortably, and he shook his head, setting off after Alfred again. He knew where they were going before he was told, but when the red and white Westminster Cathedral rose up beside them, Alfred said very little about it, continuing along until they reached Victoria station. The crowds were still almost unbearably thick, but Arthur managed to stick close to Alfred’s side as they headed for the train. The American pulled them both off at Tower Hill, and grabbed a couple of burgers from a stand just outside of the station. He pointed at the tower, swallowing before he spoke. “That’s the Tower of London.” They moved towards it, Arthur getting the same uncomfortable prickling feeling at the back of his neck as he always did when he was around this place. “That bit in the middle, it’s called the White Tower. Arthur hates it. He’s never let me go inside all the times he’s brought me here, he just tells me it’s a symbol of oppression but he won’t say why.”
Arthur swallowed, his throat feeling slightly thick. “That tower was built after the Norman invasion,” he said, barely trusting his voice not to shake. “Arthur hates it because… it represents the conquest of his country.”
“Ohh…” Alfred seemed to understand, munching on his burger while Arthur took tiny bites out of his and attempted to calm the squirming in his stomach. “I get it. Do you want to go inside?”
“No!” Arthur’s reply was quick, too quick, tense and a little too high and Alfred frowned, looking between the tower and the slightly pale face of the girl next to him.
“’kay…” he said. “I was just asking. I kinda wanted to see the Crown Jewels.”
“Oh.” He looked up at the tower. It seemed so innocent now but he still hadn’t forgotten the days of its construction. “I suppose, if you really want to.”
“Nah, it’s cool.” Alfred was trying to make himself seem unconcerned but Arthur could hear the faint tone of disappointment in his voice. He sighed, looking down at his feet, closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath as he reasoned with himself. It had been almost a thousand years since then, it couldn’t be right to hold on for things for so long. Spending so much time alone, perhaps it gave him too much time to think.
“Come on.” Without thinking he took hold of Alfred’s arm and began to steer him towards the tower entrance. “We’ll go in, it’s fine.” Alfred didn’t protest, but sang a little ‘if you’re sure~’ into Arthur’s ear and went along with him happily. The American insisted upon paying, which was just as well as Arthur was far too distracted to think about how much it was costing to get into the place. He all but swayed where he stood when the White Tower came into full and splendid view in front of them, his eyes travelling up to the very top where a Union Jack flew as if in mockery of him. He heard Alfred let out a low whistle beside him, and for a moment he hated him for it.
“Ariah?” His elbow was touched and he flinched. “Ariah, jeez… You’re actually scared of this thing.”
“That’s what it was built for,” came the quiet reply after a long moment of silence. He hadn’t been this close to that tower in longer than he wanted to remember and he was already regretting so easily giving in to the American’s wishes. “It was built to make us afraid.”
“Us? You mean, you and Arts?” He sounded puzzled, looking at Arthur in a mixture of confusion and concern.
“Me and-? Yes. Yes, that’s it.”
“Huh…” Alfred put his hands on his hips, then wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders again. “It’s a tiny building, you don’t need to be scared of it anymore.”
Small words, but comforting, yet despite it Arthur had to move his eyes to the floor, remaining so until they had moved on and entered a building that was slightly less intimidating. Jewel House. It had been so long since Arthur had seen the jewels contained within that he found himself lingering by display cases while Alfred chatted with one of the security personnel. It poked at a part of him that he hadn’t felt in a long time – the pirate in him that adored the look and feel of treasure. Calming, almost, and by the time they had finished he no longer resented the American for bringing him into the place. Alfred was clearly enjoying himself more than Arthur would have thought possible as they continued to make their way around the grounds, and he spent well over half an hour poring over the suits of armour displayed inside the White Tower, once he had gently coaxed Arthur into going inside. He still didn’t like the place, it felt cold, laden with too many unhappy memories, but, as Alfred had said, there was a time when you needed to abandon old memories and create new ones. Now seemed to be as good a time as any.
“Aah, I didn’t plan to go in there, we’re running way behind time now,” Alfred was saying as they walked out, the American nation carrying a plastic bag containing a few souvenirs. He was swinging his arm and humming, not seeming at all perturbed by running late as he led Arthur along, back to the underground and to the St. Paul’s station. Arthur was beginning to find all the walking rather exhausting, and Alfred slowed his pace to match his companion’s as they left the station and walked up to St. Paul’s Cathedral. They stopped in front of it and Arthur sat down on the steps immediately, while Alfred squinted and adjusted his glasses and leaned back, looking up the length of the building.
“This is the fifth one,” he told Arthur. By now, Arthur had given up on being surprised at the things that Alfred knew about his capital city. The guilt he had felt before hadn’t gone away, yet he had no idea how he was going to incorporate the knowledge that Alfred had indeed been listening to every word he said all these years into his interactions with the man once he was back to normal. “Can we go in? There’s something I want to look at.”
“Sure…” Arthur got slowly to his feet, gritting his teeth as his sore muscles protested, and followed the man inside. They had the good fortune to have arrived between services, and Alfred paid the admission yet again, despite Arthur’s protests. The English nation watched the other as they walked in, noting the way that Alfred’s step faltered as the grand interior of the cathedral suddenly surrounded them. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, however, and moved through to the apse, to where a large book was contained in a glass case. He could quite honestly say that he had no idea what the young blond was up to as he pulled someone aside and whispered something to them, flashing something from his wallet that had the man quickly walking away. Alfred shot Arthur a confident smile, and moments later the same man returned, carrying a key.
“This way, sir,” he said, holding out a pair of latex gloves to the American, which he put on without question. They were allowed to step through the barrier and approach the case, and the man opened it, standing aside while Alfred stepped forwards and carefully turned the pages until he found what he had apparently been looking for.
“Look here.” He gestured for Arthur to step up beside him, and when he did, Alfred was pointing to a name written in the book. Arthur knew what all these names were – the names and ranks of some twenty eight thousand American servicemen of the American, Canadian and United Kingdom armed forces who had died to preserve liberty during the Second World War. Alfred was pointing to one of them, and Arthur’s eyes widened as he read it. “Jones, A. F. Junior,” Alfred said. “First Lieutenant, United States of America Air Force.” The American was smiling, but it was a faint, almost grim smile. “That’s me. They thought I was shot down over the Pacific. They didn’t know who I was so they confirmed my death, and I never got around to correcting them.”
“Why ‘junior’?” Arthur muttered, stepping back as Alfred closed the case and pulled the gloves off, nodding to the man with them who walked over and locked the case again, and escorted them back to the other side of the barrier. Alfred shrugged.
“They’d always call me that in the armed forces. They called a lot of the younger ones ‘junior’, so I took it. It wasn’t as if it made any difference, anyway.” He shot a long, lingering look back at the small chapel, and let out a huffing breath. “I never wanted to be involved. Washington said to me once, he told me to never get involved in the politics of other countries, but I couldn’t just sit by and watch the people I cared about get hurt. I couldn’t do that.” He rubbed his nose. “Anyway… We’re not finished yet. Come on.”
They had a look around, heading down into the crypt where Alfred rather proudly showed off his knowledge that both Admiral Nelson and the Duke of Wellington were buried there, adding the phrase ‘and another thing!’ to his speech in a way that made Arthur smile. From there, they headed up to the Whispering Gallery, and the American nation seemed to find great amusement in moving away from Arthur and whispering to him. When they reached the Golden Gallery, Arthur found his heart in his throat again at how amazed Alfred looked as he gazed out over the view of London, leaning over the balustrade with the wind whipping his hair up. When the man murmured softly about how pretty the view was, Arthur had to turn his face away so that Alfred wouldn’t see the sudden red blush flooding his cheeks.
He was feeling a peculiar kind of calm as they left the cathedral, and Alfred was smiling, a jaunty bounce in his step as they walked side by side. Arthur barely noticed where they were going until Alfred was nudging him off the underground again at Oxford Circus, and he suddenly found a faint anxiety bothering him that he didn’t quite know the source of.
“What are we doing here?” he asked, slanting a look over at Alfred, who flashed his best charming grin.
“Shopping!” the man exclaimed, and Arthur stopped dead.
“Oh no. No no no.”
“Whaaaat? Come on. How long are you gonna keep wearing Arthur’s hand-me-downs? Not that you don’t look good in them, by the way.” He grinned again. “But really, a pretty lady should have some pretty clothes.”
“I don’t want pretty clothes,” Arthur half-growled, feeling a rising indignation that was quickly halted when Alfred clasped his hands in front of him and put on the most soul-crushing Puss-in-Boots expression that Arthur had ever seen. The English nation gritted his teeth, winced, then caved. “Fine. Fine! But you’re paying.”
“Okey!” The American took hold of his hand, and suddenly stopped, glancing down to where his fingers clasped the other’s smaller ones. He frowned slightly, and lifted Arthur’s hand up, uncurling his fingers and looking at his palm, where a thick scar marked the skin. Arthur felt the bottom drop out of his stomach and yanked his hand away, pushing it deep into his pocket.
“Before I change my mind, Alfred.”
“Oh. Oh! Right, yeah. Come on… Ariah.”
It wasn’t as painful as Arthur had first thought that it would be. Modern fashion did, after all, include some rather attractive styles of shirts and waistcoats for women and he slowly began to relax, going so far as to purchase some underwear while Alfred loitered nearby and giggled at one of the more raunchy-looking lingerie displays. He relaxed, yes, until Alfred picked something out that had him immediately flushing scarlet and taking a step back.
“I am not wearing that.”
‘That’ was a knee-length, green cotton dress, with a modest neckline and a black flower stitched at one shoulder. The skirt looked floaty enough that it would inevitably do a Marilyn Monroe if one walked over an air vent wearing it, and Alfred was holding it up like he’d just found the best thing in the store. He moved over to Arthur, holding it against his body, and made a sound of approval. “I think you should try it on.”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No!”
“I’ll take you out somewhere special.”
“You- What?” He was sure that Alfred was fighting a blush, still holding the dress out, his lower lip slightly twisted and his eyes on the floor.
“If you try it on, I’ll take you out somewhere. For dinner.”
“I… oh.” They must have looked ridiculous, the both of them blushing, and against all his better judgement, Arthur took the dress from him. It wasn’t… that bad. “Fine, I’ll try it on.”
And try it on he did. The dressing room had far too many mirrors in it, and Arthur was intensely aware of Alfred singing Star Spangled Banner to himself as he waited. It was the first time that Arthur had really had the chance to get a good look at exactly what he’d done. Every mark that had been on him before was still there, every scar, only his shape was different. He shook his head and looked away, slipping the dress on and sliding the zipper up. Again, he looked at himself, and sighed. “What are you doing, Arthur,” he whispered, seeing the lips move in the reflection that didn’t look like him, hearing the words in a voice that wasn’t his. Alfred poked his head around the curtain and he squeaked, turning around. The man was staring.
“You uh… you look real pretty…” Alfred stated, breaking out in a smile. “Real pretty. Um, I could get you some shoes too, and you could wear that…” He looked at Arthur as if just waiting for a negative response. Arthur turned back to his reflection, and that guilt rose in his stomach again.
“Sure,” he muttered.
“Really?” The American’s expression brightened. “Awesome!” He disappeared, and within minutes had come back with a few pairs of low-heeled shoes that were, surprisingly, the correct size. Alfred only laughed when this was pointed out, only saying that he was very observant and winking in a way that made Arthur wonder what else he might have noticed.
As they left the shop the dress was still being worn, the tags having been taken off at the till, and Arthur was quickly learning that walking even in such small heels was a task in itself. It was only innate balance and years of traversing the decks of heaving ships that saved him. That, and Alfred’s insistence that he carry all the bags because that was how a gentleman ought to behave. Thankfully the walk to the restaurant that Alfred had picked was short, and as they came to it Arthur knew that Alfred must have planned this beforehand. The restaurant, 2 Veneti, was not one that you just walked into on a whim, and suddenly all of Alfred’s talk about running behind time made sense. He cast a glance over at the American, who smiled at him in return, and he found that he couldn’t help but smile back. It was unfair, to find out all of these things about the man now, when the other had no idea who he really was. Arthur couldn’t believe that he was only doing these things to make a good impression on a sister that had never been mentioned before.
Over dinner, Alfred talked, astonishing Arthur still further with more intimate details about his beloved capital. He told him about the prison cells of Newgate that still existed under the Viaduct Tavern, and the lamp outside of Charing Cross station that was one of the last of its kind. He described in detail several of the odd buildings around the city – 10 Hyde Park Place, the Turkish bath house that was now a pizzeria, and London’s smallest cathedral. Waving his fork around as he talked he mentioned the three parts of the Berlin Wall on display outside the National Army Museum, and told Arthur that there were more rivers in London than just the Thames, then went on to name them all. Arthur had to concentrate to make sure he didn’t just forget that he was supposed to be eating, his eyes fixed on the man as he spoke, telling him things that Arthur himself had half forgotten.
“You know,” Alfred said, toying with the hot chocolate fondant he’d chosen for desert. “Arthur thinks that I don’t listen to him, but I do. I listen to everything he says.”
“Maybe you should tell him.”
Alfred just laughed and shook his head. “Nah, he’d not believe me anyway. It’s fine, though.”
Arthur wanted to protest. He wanted to say that no, it wasn’t fine, that he never meant to hurt the American nation’s feelings (which would have been half a lie, because sometimes, he honestly did), but he held his tongue, twisting his hands together under the table. It was almost too difficult to not tell Alfred who he was, but then the American was calling for the bill and rifling through his wallet for a credit card that he could use, and Arthur got his head straight. He couldn’t tell him. In all likelihood, Alfred wouldn’t even believe him.
It was slowly growing dark when they left the restaurant, and Alfred checked his watch, muttering something about just having enough time as he took Arthur back to the underground station. When they changed at Holborn, Arthur had no idea where they were supposed to be going, until they emerged at Waterloo and Alfred began to take them towards the London Eye.
“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, trying to stop but finding it harder than he thought while wearing heels.
“We’re going on the Eye,” was the cheerful response. “We have just enough time. I’m gonna show you something really special, you’ll see.”
He wasn’t even given time to protest. Arthur was pulled up the ramp by Alfred, their hands clasped tightly together, and he was being told to watch his step before he knew what was happening. The door of the glass capsule slid closed, and he sat down abruptly, a slight shiver running through him.
“Hey… are you cold?” Alfred’s voice was oddly gentle, and he moved over, letting his ever-present bomber jacket slip off and draping it around Arthur’s shoulders. “Look, come and see. It’s a great view.”
All Arthur could think about was how much he hated this. He didn’t like things that seemed so fragile taking him so high. Some things, he could deal with, because he had to or because they were necessary, but he didn’t need to deal with this. He shut his eyes but Alfred took his arm, pulling him up and to one of the glass sides. “Take a look,” he said, and Arthur cracked one eye open, immediately opening both wide.
It was different to the view from St. Paul’s Golden Gallery. Dusk was falling and the City of Westminster was spread out below them, lighting up in the growing darkness. He pulled Alfred’s jacket closer around himself and found that he was smiling, moving around the cabin to take in every angle of the view. Alfred had his camera out again, snapping photographs of the cityscape, but all Arthur could do was stare.
“It’s nice, huh?” The American was behind him suddenly, and he nodded, glancing over his shoulder. “I come on here every time I’m in London. Arthur doesn’t know. I keep thinking I should try and get him to come up with me one day, but he doesn’t like this thing. Hey, maybe you can put in a good word?”
“Maybe.” Arthur said quietly. Had he really been missing all of this?
“Cool, thanks.” He missed the way that Alfred grinned as he turned his back, and the ride seemed to be over far too quickly. The American didn’t take his jacket back for the journey home, leaving Arthur to hang it up in the hallway as the man ran upstairs carrying all of the bags from their shopping trip. Arthur leaned against the wall, tipping his head back and exhaling slowly. All of his nerves felt on edge, but he was alright, he was alive and in one piece and he hadn’t given himself away… he hoped.
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