[Fanfic] The Five Stages 5/5 [USxUK]
Aug. 21st, 2010 11:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blood_wingedTitle: Stage Five: Acceptance
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing/s: USxUK
Characters: (this chapter) US, UK, Scotland.
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Summary: When their break-up leaves Arthur devastated and Alfred hurt and steering clear of him, the American nation finds out that love doesn't work like it does in the movies, and sometimes you have to come close to losing something before you realise what you have.
“Alfred?”
They had been sat in silence for so long that Alfred had begun to think Arthur had fallen asleep, and as he spoke, he shifted to glance down at him. Arthur was looking at his hands, his fingers trembling, but it didn’t seem to be bothering him and Alfred realised with a hint of pity that he had been through this more than once before.
“Hm?”
“What happened to your head?”
Once again Alfred’s fingers moved to his forehead, tracing the thin, slightly raised line now left after one of the nurses had kindly removed his stitches. He rubbed it, shrugged and managed a small smile.
“Uh… that was you.”
For a long moment Arthur stayed still, quiet, his eyebrows drawn in a faint frown as he watched his hands shaking in his lap. He clasped them together and looked up with a puzzled expression, searching over Alfred’s face, his gaze flicking up to the still-healing scar then back to Alfred’s eyes.
“I did that..?”
“Ah… yeah…” Alfred had to struggle to keep from laughing though he wasn’t sure why. “You threw a glass at me, Artie, don’t you remember?”
It was almost painful to watch the slow recollection dawning across Arthur’s face, as whatever colour he had left drained from his cheeks and left him looking pallid and sickly. He met Alfred’s eyes again, this time with mixed horror and guilt, throat working as he tried to speak. Alfred waited, never looking away from him, until he finally managed to put his thoughts into words, his voice hushed and a little strained.
“I remember seeing it hit you…” he said, his eyes wide. “But... I-I don’t remember throwing it… I’m so sorry, Alfred… I understand if you-”
“Let’s not talk about that now.”
Arthur lowered his head and choked back a few coughs, and Alfred rubbed his back and shoulders absently, feeling the faint tremors running through the too-slim body in his arms as his fingers found the points of his shoulderblades and every vertebrae of his spine. The younger nation knew that he had not been this thin the last time they had seen each other, only two weeks previously, and he could only imagine what he had been putting himself through since then to bring himself to this kind of state.
“How could you let yourself come to rely so much on me for your happiness,” he muttered without thinking, and Arthur stiffened slightly. “You really are such a hopeless person.”
“Who is more hopeless..?” Arthur asked quietly. “Me, or the person who keeps coming back to me?”
“Sometimes, I wonder,” Alfred replied as a smile twitched at his lips. “You’re bossy, you’re demanding, impatient and stubborn as a pack mule. You never take me seriously and you have no sense of humour and no fashion sense to speak of. You’re always talking to thin air and you can’t cook to save your life. I can never make any sense out of you, Arthur… you’ll shout at me to get out of your house then immediately fall apart without me, but you won’t just say you’re sorry… You really are hopeless.”
The English nation didn’t speak, though whether he didn’t trust himself to or simply had nothing to say in response to the sudden outpouring of how Alfred saw his less redeeming qualities, Alfred wasn’t certain. Still, he didn’t try to pull away and Alfred didn’t let him go, his hand still moving warmly up and down his spine. He rested his chin atop the smaller man’s head and smiled, a flash of teeth that Arthur didn’t see before he squeezed him gently closer and rubbed his shoulder lightly.
“But,” he went on. “You have the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen, and you look so cute when you blush, and I love that weird laugh you do when you think something’s really funny.” Arthur glanced up at him, lips twisted in mild annoyance, but he carried on regardless, his voice softening. “You work really hard, and you’ll put everything before yourself if it’s something you think is right. I like how… how you always know when I need you, even before I do sometimes, and you always know just what to say to make me feel better… You’re always straightening my clothes and my hair and making sure I look good – I like that too… No one’s ever taken care of me like you have, Artie, and you can be so kind when you’re not trying to impress anybody. You never truly let me out from under your wing, and I used to resent you for it, but I don’t, now, not really.” He took Arthur’s hand and shifted to look at him, keeping silent until the other man lifted his head and met his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You taught me that… sometimes… even a hero needs a hero to come and rescue them. You were mine for such a long time, Arthur. Let me be yours.”
Arthur stared at him, something unreadable in his eyes, and the confidence that Alfred had gathered in himself over the course of that speech began to waver. He wondered if Arthur had actually heard him at all, or if he was simply gathering his strength to hit him over the head like he usually did if Alfred said something that he thought was stupid. When that didn’t happen, he chewed his lip for a moment, then lowered his head and touched his nose to Arthur’s, speaking in a low voice, a mischievous smile on his face.
“And I adore that face you make just before you c-”
“I think that’s quite enough,” Arthur told him briskly, and he grinned, planting a kiss on each of the man’s beet-red cheeks before settling him back in bed, clasping one of his hands. He watched as the blush faded and left Arthur with that sickly pallor once again, and noticed for the first time how much weight the man seemed to have lost. It was more visible now that he was awake and alert. The fine line of his collarbone showed up too much against his skin, and the fingers that now held to Alfred’s felt thin and brittle, as if he could snap them in a single moment of forgetting his own strength. Still, he was awake, and there was something in his eyes now that hadn’t been there when Alfred had last seen him. He lifted Arthur’s hand and kissed his palm, then rested his cheek against it, watching the man’s face as he spoke.
“I want you to do something for me… Well, two things,” he said. Arthur glanced at him, his expression wary, as if he knew those words far too well. Alfred couldn’t explain the pang of anxiety that twisted his stomach as he made his best attempt to word his request in a way that wouldn’t offend. “I want you to get help. You… you’re not well, Arthur.”
“I don’t need a psychiatrist.” The response was instant, delivered in a flat, lifeless tone while he tried to work his fingers out of Alfred’s grip. Alfred frowned, and gave the man a little shake, taking him by the shoulders and glancing around the room.
“Look at where you are,” he said. “The state of you. You’re sick, Artie… Please.”
His voice had softened once more and Arthur was staring at him again, his eyes wide and open and something in them that Alfred would have marked as fear if he didn’t know better – and he did know better – than to even think to suggest the very idea that Arthur might be scared at such a tenuous time. He had a hold over Arthur in these moments, though he only half realised it as their eyes stayed locked together. Arthur’s gaze wavered, but never broke from his as he licked his lips and replied.
“… Alright.”
“Right…” Alfred kept his voice calm as much as he wanted to shout and cheer. “The other thing… I want you to stop drinking. Really, this time.”
“… Okay,” Arthur murmured. That had been an oath he had made before and broken, Alfred knew, and he took the man’s face in both hands, making sure he kept eye contact as he spoke.
“You promise?” he asked, and Arthur blinked, hands coming up to clasp Alfred’s wrists.
“I promise.”
“Honestly?” He stroked his thumbs over Arthur’s cheeks and the older man frowned, finally tearing his gaze away. “Arthur, I want you to mean it… I don’t want to come this close to losing you again. I can’t. It took this for me to realise that if we want to make this work we both have to try… you can’t expect me to read your mind, and I can’t expect you to always know what I want… I… Arthur, I want to be with you, so much, but I can’t while you’re still drinking… It isn’t fair on me, and you know it. So… I want you to promise.”
“I…” Arthur glanced back at him, and his shoulders dropped, body moving forwards to be instantly wrapped up in Alfred’s arms. “Damn brat…” he murmured, though he couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at his lips. “I do. I promise. I really promise. I’ll do it for you.”
Whether or not Arthur would be true to his word this time was something that was yet to be seen, and Alfred waited, sitting by him as he coughed and spluttered and swore at the nurses, holding his hand when he had nightmares, speaking softly to him when the mood swings made him feel so sorry for himself that he cried. He mended, slowly, and soon enough was told that he could go home. His hands were shaking so much that Alfred had to tie his shoes for him, and though he didn’t say thank you, the younger man knew just what that light pat and the ruffling of his hair meant.
Arthur was so weak and unsteady on his feet that his hold on Alfred’s arm was like a death-grip as they walked outside to hail a taxi. The sight of a large four-by-four parked in the driveway of his house had Arthur frowning, and Alfred took his arm as they walked up to the door. It was unlocked, and Alfred held Arthur back as he stepped in and called out, hearing an unintelligible shout from somewhere inside, followed by the appearance of a head of bright-red hair at the end of the hall. Arthur stiffened, stumbling as he pushed past Alfred and used the wall for support, approaching his brother and squaring up to him, clearly irritated by having to look up to meet his eyes.
“What the sodding hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Aam watchin' yer hoose, arenae Ah?” Scotland replied, one eyebrow slightly raised. He looked his brother up and down and rolled his eyes, glancing to Alfred as he approached and took the smaller man’s arm. “Come tae th' scullery an' sit doon afair ye strain yerself.”
“It’s called a kitchen, you ignorant Pict.”
“Brython,” Scotland threw back, leaving Arthur fuming as he turned away. “Anyway, Ah wasnae expectin' ye back sae suin ur eh'd awreddy be gain. Ah wooldnae want tae upsit ye in sic' a delicate condition, efter aw...”
“Sod off,” Arthur snapped, though he allowed Alfred to guide him into the kitchen and sit him down. Scotland stood by the back door and lit a cigarette, shutting his eyes as he exhaled a cloud of smoke and leaned his head back against the door frame. “And get out of my house when you’re smoking those things, it’s disgusting.”
“Ye didne hink they waur sae ‘disgustin’' when ye smoked, Englain,” was the low-voiced reply, and Scotland slid his eyes over to his brother. “Ah am glad tae see ye weel.”
“I-!” Arthur looked ready to snarl out another insult but instead he fell silent, and looked down at the table as Alfred pulled up a chair beside him. “Thank you,” he mumbled instead, and Scotland cracked a faint, lop-sided grin, putting his cigarette out against the palm of his hand and moving inside to toss the butt into the bin.
“Aam gonnae, 'en,” he said, picking up his coat and pausing, eyes slightly widened when Alfred placed a hand on his arm.
“Wait,” the younger man stood up and strode into the kitchen, rummaging until he found a slightly battered cardboard box. “There’s something I want you to do, Arthur, before Scotland goes.”
“Ye can caa me William, if ye want tae,” Scotland offered, earning him a sharp glance from his brother that he deftly ignored. Alfred grinned slightly.
“That’s your name? William?”
“Nae mair than yoors is Alfred, ur his is Arthur, but it's a nam 'at Ah gang by,” he replied, and Alfred grinned again, clapping a hand down onto his shoulder which was quickly shrugged off. Unfazed, Alfred set the box on the table and looked over to Arthur, folding his arms.
“Now, Arthur, I want you to get all your alcohol here, and put all the old and expensive ones in this box, alright?” When Arthur stared at him, he simply set his jaw determinedly and frowned, and sighing, Arthur got up and shuffled across to his drinks cabinet, unlocking it and bringing back bottle after bottle. When he was finished a dozen bottles were in the box, and Alfred pushed it over to Scotland. “You’ll look after those, right, William?” he said, and Scotland shrugged, pulling the box towards him and getting to his feet. “Hold on a second.”
Alfred grabbed the rest of the bottles and took Arthur’s hand, drawing him to the kitchen sink and unscrewing the cap from one, handing it over. Arthur blinked, and looked between Alfred’s face and the bottle in his hand, biting his lip and looking away as he tipped the liquid into the sink.
“Ah, whit a waste…” Scotland said almost mournfully, cradling the box of expensive spirits to his chest. Snorting, Alfred shook his head and handed the next bottle over, watching the contents as they circled the drain and disappeared. When the last one had been disposed of, Arthur let out a quiet sigh and glanced up, unable to keep from smiling as Alfred shone one of his trademark toothy grins at him. He hugged him tight and kissed the top of his head, nuzzling against his hair and making a quiet, delighted sound.
“I’m proud of you, Arthur,” he mumbled, and Arthur blushed.
“Aye… aye, me tay,” his brother said, quietly and appearing almost embarrassed at the admission. He cleared his throat and pulled a still half-full packet of cigarettes from his pocket, pushing them into the bin and taking the box of bottles up again. “Ah'll be aff. Cheerio the noo.”
“Oh, bye, William!” Alfred leaned over Arthur to shake the man’s hand, waiting until he heard the front door shut before hugging Arthur close once again, holding him until he mumbled something against his chest. “Eh?”
“You’re crushing me just a little there, Al,” he told him, and Alfred stepped back, stealing a quick kiss as he did so. “So, ah… when do you plan on heading home?”
“When I know you’re alright,” was the firm reply.
As Arthur’s withdrawal eased, as did the tension in their relationship and it was as if they were starting again. Eventually, Arthur was well enough to return to work, and Alfred did his own while he was gone, never speaking a word of how much he had to do to catch up with everything, though the cups of coffee that Arthur would bring in to him and the gentle rubbing of his shoulders that followed told him that somehow he knew. His smiles and laughs returned, and Alfred could swear that his cooking was better. They did everything that they used to before the arguments had started, even the smaller, more playful arguments that always ended in affection.
Then, one night, while Alfred lay with his head in Arthur’s lap being soothed by fingers stroking through his hair, after watching a scary movie and spending the entire thing shaking in Arthur’s arms while he pretended not to notice, he felt the man cup the back of his head and opened his eyes just in time to see Arthur’s close, his vision filled with his lover’s face as their lips met, and he wrapped his arms awkwardly around him. They took their time in moving upstairs, and when they finally rolled apart and lay, chests heaving, side by side on the bed Alfred knew that this time, things would be better.
It was three months later when Alfred twirled into the kitchen, skidding a little on the hardwood flooring as he sang loudly to himself, a slightly off-tune song comprised entirely of Arthur’s name. He set about making himself some coffee, turning to lean against the counter and freezing as his eyes fell on the amused-looking man sitting at the kitchen table, cup poised halfway to his lip and a faint smile curving the corners of his mouth.
“I… thought you were gone,” Alfred mumbled, pushing his glasses a little further up the bridge of his nose.
“Ah hah?”
“You’re still here.”
“I am.”
Arthur watched as Alfred turned back to the counter, blushing to the tops of his ears, and smiled, sipping at his tea. He didn’t need an addiction to keep him sane and happy – he had everything he wanted already.
-----------------------
<| Chapter Four |
Genre: Angst/Romance
Pairing/s: USxUK
Characters: (this chapter) US, UK, Scotland.
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Summary: When their break-up leaves Arthur devastated and Alfred hurt and steering clear of him, the American nation finds out that love doesn't work like it does in the movies, and sometimes you have to come close to losing something before you realise what you have.
*****
“Alfred?”
They had been sat in silence for so long that Alfred had begun to think Arthur had fallen asleep, and as he spoke, he shifted to glance down at him. Arthur was looking at his hands, his fingers trembling, but it didn’t seem to be bothering him and Alfred realised with a hint of pity that he had been through this more than once before.
“Hm?”
“What happened to your head?”
Once again Alfred’s fingers moved to his forehead, tracing the thin, slightly raised line now left after one of the nurses had kindly removed his stitches. He rubbed it, shrugged and managed a small smile.
“Uh… that was you.”
For a long moment Arthur stayed still, quiet, his eyebrows drawn in a faint frown as he watched his hands shaking in his lap. He clasped them together and looked up with a puzzled expression, searching over Alfred’s face, his gaze flicking up to the still-healing scar then back to Alfred’s eyes.
“I did that..?”
“Ah… yeah…” Alfred had to struggle to keep from laughing though he wasn’t sure why. “You threw a glass at me, Artie, don’t you remember?”
It was almost painful to watch the slow recollection dawning across Arthur’s face, as whatever colour he had left drained from his cheeks and left him looking pallid and sickly. He met Alfred’s eyes again, this time with mixed horror and guilt, throat working as he tried to speak. Alfred waited, never looking away from him, until he finally managed to put his thoughts into words, his voice hushed and a little strained.
“I remember seeing it hit you…” he said, his eyes wide. “But... I-I don’t remember throwing it… I’m so sorry, Alfred… I understand if you-”
“Let’s not talk about that now.”
Arthur lowered his head and choked back a few coughs, and Alfred rubbed his back and shoulders absently, feeling the faint tremors running through the too-slim body in his arms as his fingers found the points of his shoulderblades and every vertebrae of his spine. The younger nation knew that he had not been this thin the last time they had seen each other, only two weeks previously, and he could only imagine what he had been putting himself through since then to bring himself to this kind of state.
“How could you let yourself come to rely so much on me for your happiness,” he muttered without thinking, and Arthur stiffened slightly. “You really are such a hopeless person.”
“Who is more hopeless..?” Arthur asked quietly. “Me, or the person who keeps coming back to me?”
“Sometimes, I wonder,” Alfred replied as a smile twitched at his lips. “You’re bossy, you’re demanding, impatient and stubborn as a pack mule. You never take me seriously and you have no sense of humour and no fashion sense to speak of. You’re always talking to thin air and you can’t cook to save your life. I can never make any sense out of you, Arthur… you’ll shout at me to get out of your house then immediately fall apart without me, but you won’t just say you’re sorry… You really are hopeless.”
The English nation didn’t speak, though whether he didn’t trust himself to or simply had nothing to say in response to the sudden outpouring of how Alfred saw his less redeeming qualities, Alfred wasn’t certain. Still, he didn’t try to pull away and Alfred didn’t let him go, his hand still moving warmly up and down his spine. He rested his chin atop the smaller man’s head and smiled, a flash of teeth that Arthur didn’t see before he squeezed him gently closer and rubbed his shoulder lightly.
“But,” he went on. “You have the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen, and you look so cute when you blush, and I love that weird laugh you do when you think something’s really funny.” Arthur glanced up at him, lips twisted in mild annoyance, but he carried on regardless, his voice softening. “You work really hard, and you’ll put everything before yourself if it’s something you think is right. I like how… how you always know when I need you, even before I do sometimes, and you always know just what to say to make me feel better… You’re always straightening my clothes and my hair and making sure I look good – I like that too… No one’s ever taken care of me like you have, Artie, and you can be so kind when you’re not trying to impress anybody. You never truly let me out from under your wing, and I used to resent you for it, but I don’t, now, not really.” He took Arthur’s hand and shifted to look at him, keeping silent until the other man lifted his head and met his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching. “You taught me that… sometimes… even a hero needs a hero to come and rescue them. You were mine for such a long time, Arthur. Let me be yours.”
Arthur stared at him, something unreadable in his eyes, and the confidence that Alfred had gathered in himself over the course of that speech began to waver. He wondered if Arthur had actually heard him at all, or if he was simply gathering his strength to hit him over the head like he usually did if Alfred said something that he thought was stupid. When that didn’t happen, he chewed his lip for a moment, then lowered his head and touched his nose to Arthur’s, speaking in a low voice, a mischievous smile on his face.
“And I adore that face you make just before you c-”
“I think that’s quite enough,” Arthur told him briskly, and he grinned, planting a kiss on each of the man’s beet-red cheeks before settling him back in bed, clasping one of his hands. He watched as the blush faded and left Arthur with that sickly pallor once again, and noticed for the first time how much weight the man seemed to have lost. It was more visible now that he was awake and alert. The fine line of his collarbone showed up too much against his skin, and the fingers that now held to Alfred’s felt thin and brittle, as if he could snap them in a single moment of forgetting his own strength. Still, he was awake, and there was something in his eyes now that hadn’t been there when Alfred had last seen him. He lifted Arthur’s hand and kissed his palm, then rested his cheek against it, watching the man’s face as he spoke.
“I want you to do something for me… Well, two things,” he said. Arthur glanced at him, his expression wary, as if he knew those words far too well. Alfred couldn’t explain the pang of anxiety that twisted his stomach as he made his best attempt to word his request in a way that wouldn’t offend. “I want you to get help. You… you’re not well, Arthur.”
“I don’t need a psychiatrist.” The response was instant, delivered in a flat, lifeless tone while he tried to work his fingers out of Alfred’s grip. Alfred frowned, and gave the man a little shake, taking him by the shoulders and glancing around the room.
“Look at where you are,” he said. “The state of you. You’re sick, Artie… Please.”
His voice had softened once more and Arthur was staring at him again, his eyes wide and open and something in them that Alfred would have marked as fear if he didn’t know better – and he did know better – than to even think to suggest the very idea that Arthur might be scared at such a tenuous time. He had a hold over Arthur in these moments, though he only half realised it as their eyes stayed locked together. Arthur’s gaze wavered, but never broke from his as he licked his lips and replied.
“… Alright.”
“Right…” Alfred kept his voice calm as much as he wanted to shout and cheer. “The other thing… I want you to stop drinking. Really, this time.”
“… Okay,” Arthur murmured. That had been an oath he had made before and broken, Alfred knew, and he took the man’s face in both hands, making sure he kept eye contact as he spoke.
“You promise?” he asked, and Arthur blinked, hands coming up to clasp Alfred’s wrists.
“I promise.”
“Honestly?” He stroked his thumbs over Arthur’s cheeks and the older man frowned, finally tearing his gaze away. “Arthur, I want you to mean it… I don’t want to come this close to losing you again. I can’t. It took this for me to realise that if we want to make this work we both have to try… you can’t expect me to read your mind, and I can’t expect you to always know what I want… I… Arthur, I want to be with you, so much, but I can’t while you’re still drinking… It isn’t fair on me, and you know it. So… I want you to promise.”
“I…” Arthur glanced back at him, and his shoulders dropped, body moving forwards to be instantly wrapped up in Alfred’s arms. “Damn brat…” he murmured, though he couldn’t help the tiny smile that tugged at his lips. “I do. I promise. I really promise. I’ll do it for you.”
Whether or not Arthur would be true to his word this time was something that was yet to be seen, and Alfred waited, sitting by him as he coughed and spluttered and swore at the nurses, holding his hand when he had nightmares, speaking softly to him when the mood swings made him feel so sorry for himself that he cried. He mended, slowly, and soon enough was told that he could go home. His hands were shaking so much that Alfred had to tie his shoes for him, and though he didn’t say thank you, the younger man knew just what that light pat and the ruffling of his hair meant.
Arthur was so weak and unsteady on his feet that his hold on Alfred’s arm was like a death-grip as they walked outside to hail a taxi. The sight of a large four-by-four parked in the driveway of his house had Arthur frowning, and Alfred took his arm as they walked up to the door. It was unlocked, and Alfred held Arthur back as he stepped in and called out, hearing an unintelligible shout from somewhere inside, followed by the appearance of a head of bright-red hair at the end of the hall. Arthur stiffened, stumbling as he pushed past Alfred and used the wall for support, approaching his brother and squaring up to him, clearly irritated by having to look up to meet his eyes.
“What the sodding hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Aam watchin' yer hoose, arenae Ah?” Scotland replied, one eyebrow slightly raised. He looked his brother up and down and rolled his eyes, glancing to Alfred as he approached and took the smaller man’s arm. “Come tae th' scullery an' sit doon afair ye strain yerself.”
“It’s called a kitchen, you ignorant Pict.”
“Brython,” Scotland threw back, leaving Arthur fuming as he turned away. “Anyway, Ah wasnae expectin' ye back sae suin ur eh'd awreddy be gain. Ah wooldnae want tae upsit ye in sic' a delicate condition, efter aw...”
“Sod off,” Arthur snapped, though he allowed Alfred to guide him into the kitchen and sit him down. Scotland stood by the back door and lit a cigarette, shutting his eyes as he exhaled a cloud of smoke and leaned his head back against the door frame. “And get out of my house when you’re smoking those things, it’s disgusting.”
“Ye didne hink they waur sae ‘disgustin’' when ye smoked, Englain,” was the low-voiced reply, and Scotland slid his eyes over to his brother. “Ah am glad tae see ye weel.”
“I-!” Arthur looked ready to snarl out another insult but instead he fell silent, and looked down at the table as Alfred pulled up a chair beside him. “Thank you,” he mumbled instead, and Scotland cracked a faint, lop-sided grin, putting his cigarette out against the palm of his hand and moving inside to toss the butt into the bin.
“Aam gonnae, 'en,” he said, picking up his coat and pausing, eyes slightly widened when Alfred placed a hand on his arm.
“Wait,” the younger man stood up and strode into the kitchen, rummaging until he found a slightly battered cardboard box. “There’s something I want you to do, Arthur, before Scotland goes.”
“Ye can caa me William, if ye want tae,” Scotland offered, earning him a sharp glance from his brother that he deftly ignored. Alfred grinned slightly.
“That’s your name? William?”
“Nae mair than yoors is Alfred, ur his is Arthur, but it's a nam 'at Ah gang by,” he replied, and Alfred grinned again, clapping a hand down onto his shoulder which was quickly shrugged off. Unfazed, Alfred set the box on the table and looked over to Arthur, folding his arms.
“Now, Arthur, I want you to get all your alcohol here, and put all the old and expensive ones in this box, alright?” When Arthur stared at him, he simply set his jaw determinedly and frowned, and sighing, Arthur got up and shuffled across to his drinks cabinet, unlocking it and bringing back bottle after bottle. When he was finished a dozen bottles were in the box, and Alfred pushed it over to Scotland. “You’ll look after those, right, William?” he said, and Scotland shrugged, pulling the box towards him and getting to his feet. “Hold on a second.”
Alfred grabbed the rest of the bottles and took Arthur’s hand, drawing him to the kitchen sink and unscrewing the cap from one, handing it over. Arthur blinked, and looked between Alfred’s face and the bottle in his hand, biting his lip and looking away as he tipped the liquid into the sink.
“Ah, whit a waste…” Scotland said almost mournfully, cradling the box of expensive spirits to his chest. Snorting, Alfred shook his head and handed the next bottle over, watching the contents as they circled the drain and disappeared. When the last one had been disposed of, Arthur let out a quiet sigh and glanced up, unable to keep from smiling as Alfred shone one of his trademark toothy grins at him. He hugged him tight and kissed the top of his head, nuzzling against his hair and making a quiet, delighted sound.
“I’m proud of you, Arthur,” he mumbled, and Arthur blushed.
“Aye… aye, me tay,” his brother said, quietly and appearing almost embarrassed at the admission. He cleared his throat and pulled a still half-full packet of cigarettes from his pocket, pushing them into the bin and taking the box of bottles up again. “Ah'll be aff. Cheerio the noo.”
“Oh, bye, William!” Alfred leaned over Arthur to shake the man’s hand, waiting until he heard the front door shut before hugging Arthur close once again, holding him until he mumbled something against his chest. “Eh?”
“You’re crushing me just a little there, Al,” he told him, and Alfred stepped back, stealing a quick kiss as he did so. “So, ah… when do you plan on heading home?”
“When I know you’re alright,” was the firm reply.
As Arthur’s withdrawal eased, as did the tension in their relationship and it was as if they were starting again. Eventually, Arthur was well enough to return to work, and Alfred did his own while he was gone, never speaking a word of how much he had to do to catch up with everything, though the cups of coffee that Arthur would bring in to him and the gentle rubbing of his shoulders that followed told him that somehow he knew. His smiles and laughs returned, and Alfred could swear that his cooking was better. They did everything that they used to before the arguments had started, even the smaller, more playful arguments that always ended in affection.
Then, one night, while Alfred lay with his head in Arthur’s lap being soothed by fingers stroking through his hair, after watching a scary movie and spending the entire thing shaking in Arthur’s arms while he pretended not to notice, he felt the man cup the back of his head and opened his eyes just in time to see Arthur’s close, his vision filled with his lover’s face as their lips met, and he wrapped his arms awkwardly around him. They took their time in moving upstairs, and when they finally rolled apart and lay, chests heaving, side by side on the bed Alfred knew that this time, things would be better.
It was three months later when Alfred twirled into the kitchen, skidding a little on the hardwood flooring as he sang loudly to himself, a slightly off-tune song comprised entirely of Arthur’s name. He set about making himself some coffee, turning to lean against the counter and freezing as his eyes fell on the amused-looking man sitting at the kitchen table, cup poised halfway to his lip and a faint smile curving the corners of his mouth.
“I… thought you were gone,” Alfred mumbled, pushing his glasses a little further up the bridge of his nose.
“Ah hah?”
“You’re still here.”
“I am.”
Arthur watched as Alfred turned back to the counter, blushing to the tops of his ears, and smiled, sipping at his tea. He didn’t need an addiction to keep him sane and happy – he had everything he wanted already.
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<| Chapter Four |
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(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 01:59 am (UTC)*smacks Arthur*
*hugs Arthur*
*hugs Alfred*
*fistbumps William*
<3
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 02:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 02:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 03:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 06:51 am (UTC)Yay for William! =D And the ending was so lovely, skfbskajfska ♥
Thanks for the ride ^^
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 04:29 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 12:43 pm (UTC)"Cuz I remember love, so beautiful~" *Sings along then shot* Yes, sappy song is sappy!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 12:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 04:30 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 05:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 05:25 pm (UTC)Thanks very much :3
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 05:20 pm (UTC)indeed it's a nice story~~ :)
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 05:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 10:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-22 11:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-23 08:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-23 07:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-23 07:55 pm (UTC)<3
Aw, this was a lovely, satisfying conclusion. Sorry this is so late, hehe, but really, all the hardship they went through was worth it in the end. :) Awww. <3
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-23 07:56 pm (UTC)<3<3
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-23 08:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-23 08:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-26 07:14 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-28 08:14 am (UTC)I really liked the way you ended it. ♥ Oh, these boys~.. PSSSST Willy. ILU ♥ Come away with me, yes, yes?
Freakin' accentsThis is a fashionably late comment, by the way.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-29 12:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-06 10:36 pm (UTC)You are awesome even if trying to figure out what the hell you said can be a chore.
*smacks Arthur upside the head*
(And gooo, Alfred! GO!)