A/N I'm starting to write again and I thought the best way to let my readers know is to give them a preview of the next chapters for both of my fanfics; I have no excuse for their lateness other than letting my busy schedule keep me from writing (which is no excuse really).
Anyhoo, without further ado, here is the first of the previews! I proudly present to you the first 4 pages of the 2nd chapter of "An Interesting Game". Hope they're not too cliff-hangerish! ;p
(My "Call Me Connie" preview is coming; I still need to type up the rest of it and I'm quite ashamed of myself for letting things like new Grimm episodes or schoolwork distract me.)
Ch. 2—Continue? 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7. . . 6 . . .
Alfred bolted up in his bed from a deep sleep, drenched in cold sweat: someone was in his room. He squinted and scanned the shadows of the room Japan had let him stay in, trying to see if the dark shapes resembled anything he recognized. The moon finally managed to wrestle free of the clouds covering it, and a whitish-blue light flooded in through the second floor window that was by his bedside. The light lit up the room enough that Alfred could clearly see who had been hidden in shadow only moments before. He was leaning against the wall opposite the window with his arms crossed and a cocky expression on his face.
Alfred's stomach muscles tightened in reaction to the sight. "You!"
Al sent him a crooked smile. "Oh come on, Alfred. Don't be rude," he said as he started moving towards Alfred. "I've got a name y'know."
Alfred quickly grabbed his Glock 27 from where it was resting in its holster on the bedside table. "Stay back," he commanded, clicking off the safety and leveling the weapon at Al. "I'll shoot you again if I have to." How the hell is he alive? I thought once a nation died in that place, it was for good.
Al stopped his forward movement. He frowned, tilted his head to one side for a moment as he if he was considering Alfred's threat, and then his expression slowly crept back into a smile. "You're not gonna shoot me," he concluded. "You're still not sure if I'm a ghost or not."
Alfred involuntarily gasped.
Al laughed. "I knew it," he said as he began to move towards Alfred again. "You really do believe in ghosts and shit like that. I don't believe in 'em at all; if I can't see it, it ain't real."
"Stop. Don't take another step, villain," Alfred said, not moving the gun barrel from its target. "You were right that I thought you might be a ghost, but if you are, then it won't matter if I do pull the trigger, will it?"
Al stopped a couple of feet from Alfred's bed. "Villain? Interestin' choice of words." He shrugged like it didn't bother him to be called that. "How are you so sure I'm a villain?"
"Because of how you acted in that room," Alfred replied. "You didn't hesitate for a moment and played dirty, not caring who you hurt so long as you could get to me . . . I'll bet in your world you don't wait to be attacked; you attack first."
Al stared for a couple of moments at Alfred and then smirked. "Wow, you're just as smart as I thought you were . . . but I'll bet bullets to dollars that you act like an air-head goofball in front of everyone else." He shook his head and let out a laugh. "We both know that's just a lie." He laughed a second laugh and his smirk widened. "The way you said that . . . about me attacking first. It sounded like you were jealous."
"What?" Alfred said, his eyes wide. He relaxed his aim for a moment, trying to figure out why Al's words were making his heart skip a beat and pound so forcefully. He shook his head; it was probably just a fight or flight reaction to Al's presence. "No, I'm not jealous. Why would I be jeal—" Suddenly, his heart skipped a beat again and his words sat heavy on his tongue as if they were refusing to leave. He swallowed hard, forcing them down his throat, and then readjusted his aim on Al, forcefully pointing the pistol at him. "Just shut up!"
Al spread his arms wide, leaving himself completely unprotected, and moved forward again until the barrel of the Glock 27 was pressed against his abdomen. He leaned in until they were face-to-face and he could look Alfred straight in the eyes. "You are jealous. Deep down you know how wonderfully freeing it feels to act like I do."
Al's words seemed to paralyze Alfred. His mouth went dry and he started trembling and panting for air. His heart was pounding so hard in reaction to the other man's words Alfred thought it might pound right through his chest.
Al wrapped his hand around the gun's barrel. "Admit it: you're tired of always playing the hero . . . the other nations are so annoying, fighting all the time with each other and then expecting you to clean up the mess . . ."
Alfred found he couldn't even will his trigger finger to move. The sensation of unexplainable déjàvu flooded over him. How could this other him know what it was like in his world? Weren't they opposites?
"Nah, you're not gonna shoot me, hero," Al said, his face serious and him not breaking eye-contact with Alfred for a moment. He slid his hand smoothly down the barrel, and then down Alfred's hand, caressing the top of his hand with his fingertips and causing Alfred to shiver all the way down to his toes.
Al noticed Alfred's reaction and smiled. He let his mouth hang slightly open as he ran the tip of his tongue along the bottom of his upper teeth. He then licked his lips and smirked.
Alfred's throat tightened at the sight; it almost seemed as if Al had his hand around it, strangling him.
Al then easily took the weapon away from Alfred.
"And the reason is because you don't want to shoot me," Al continued, setting the gun on the bedside table. "The truth is you wish you could act like me, be like me. You wish you could attack the other nations with reckless abandon, just so you could make them all shut up for two lousy seconds."
Al smiled slightly at Alfred, let out a scoff-like laugh, and leaned in a little closer. "The truth is," he said in almost a whisper, " . . . deep down inside . . . where you lock up all your secrets . . . " He paused and pressed his index finger against Alfred's chest as if to indicate where those secrets lay. " . . .you know the truth . . ."
He reached up and caressed Alfred's cheek with his fingertips, leaving traces of heat where the skin made contact. The touch made Alfred nauseous, but he found himself still paralyzed by Al's words, unable to push Al's hand away.
"Deep down, we're exactly the same," Al concluded, leaning in to close the distance between them until Alfred could feel the heat ghosting off of the other man's lips.
The nausea rose up from deep in his gut and gave him the strength to move again. "N-n-nooooo!" Alfred yelled, thrusting his hands forward to push the other man away from him.
Alfred stared up into the darkness as his hands made contact with nothing but the empty air above him. He bolted up in bed; sweat clung cold and wet to his forehead and had soaked his clothes clean through. The room was silent except for Alfred's panting breaths as he gasped for air. He scanned the moonlit room; no one was there except for himself.
A dream, he told himself. No, a nightmare. That's all it was.
Alfred touched his lips as he remembered the last part of the dream. His stomach suddenly clenched tightly, nausea rising up into his throat until he was forced to dash across the room in a race to the bathroom. He didn't even make it to the door, unfortunately, and was forced instead to stop, kneel down at a plastic wastebasket near the door, and heave the contents of his stomach into it.
"Alfred-kun, are you all right?" Japan said as he burst into the room. "What were you yelling ab—" He watched as America coughed out the last of his dinner. "I will take that for you," he said finally.
"N-n-no,"Alfred said, then let out a moan when the nausea made his head reel. "It's my mess; I should take care of it. I'm a hero—" Before he could finish his sentence, his stomach forced him to vomit out bile and empty air.
Kiku leaned over and gingerly laid his hands on the tops of Alfred's shoulders while he coughed and gagged. Kiku patted and rubbed Alfred's shoulders and back. Alfred could tell Kiku was doing his best to comfort him despite the Asian nation's obvious discomfort at the situation. After a minute or so of that, Alfred's stomach seemed to settle down.
"Are you all right now, Alfred-kun?" Kiku asked.
Alfred leaned to one side of the wastebasket, resting his head on his arm. He shivered, took a deep breath, and then spit the taste of partially digested food and bile from his tongue. "I-I-I think so," he replied.
Kiku nodded and then slid one arm around Alfred's waist and then lifted Alfred's arm over his shoulders. "Come Alfred-kun, let's get you something for your stomach," he said. "I found a good all-natural complex that calms down my digestive system without fail."
Alfred relied on his friend's help to stand and then walk on shaky legs down the hallway towards the bathroom. His head hurt almost as much as his stomach. He instinctively scanned the dark shadows. He still didn't completely believe that his nightmare was only a nightmare. It felt so real.
"Here we are," Kiku said as he reached out to flick on the bathroom light. He guided Alfred over to a stool where he could sit down. Alfred shook his head and leaned up against the wall for support instead.
Kiku shook his head. "So stubborn, trying always to be the tough hero," he said as he dug through his medicine cabinet until he pulled out a bottle labeled "Conga-plex". He looked over at Alfred. "I think maybe perhaps you should have stayed in the hospital, Alfred-kun."
"What for? I was completely healed before we even reached the emergency room," Alfred said. "Shit, even England, who got banged up worse than me, puzzled the hell out of those doctors when they looked at his x-rays. He was almost good as new by the time they got him to radiology. He's not even going to need those painkillers they gave him."
Kiku didn't say anything. Instead he filled a small glass with water and handed it to Alfred. He opened the bottle he was holding, shook one gelatin capsule into his hand, and placed it in Alfred's other hand. "Rinse out your mouth with the water, then take this. It will help with the nausea."
Alfred did as he was told, rinsing and spitting out water until the taste of vomit was gone. Then he swallowed the capsule with a hefty gulp of water.
"The fact that you're not feeling well now suggests that you overestimated your healing powers," Kiku said finally.
Alfred shook his head. "That happened because I had a really disturbing and disgusting nightmare. That's all," he said as he dug through the bathroom kit he took with him on trips. He grabbed his toothbrush, put some toothpaste on it, and proceeded to eliminate any leftover tastes in his mouth. The minty flavor seemed to have a soothing effect on everything. He rinsed his mouth again and then his toothbrush before placing it in the glass.
Japan watched this ritual and then furrowed his brow. "Still—"
"Trust me, Kiku," Alfred interrupted. "I'm fine. Really."
"You can make it to your room on your own?" Kiku said, shooting him an incredulous look.
Alfred nodded enthusiastically and then jumped up and down as if to demonstrate his ability to move on his own. "I think that stuff you gave me is already working. What was in it?"
Kiku cringed. "That's not important right now. Just accept that it works and leave it at that."
Alfred regarded his friend for a moment and decided it was best not to push the issue. He touched his middle. "I'm kinda hungry now. Would it be all right to raid your kitchen?"
Kiku stared at him for a moment and then let out a sound that sounded like a combination between a sigh and a laugh. "Sure. Just don't eat everything in the refrigerator. I don't want to have to go shopping again so soon."
Alfred laughed in return. Don't worry about that. My stomach still feels queasy. "'Kay. Thanks Kiks." He flinched at the nickname as soon as it came out of his mouth. Shit. I didn't mean to use that other Japan's name. He glanced at Kiku. He didn't seem to have registered the difference in names.
"Good night Alfred-kun," he said as he turned to walk down the hallway to his own room. "Sleep well."
Despite his claims of being hungry, Alfred could only manage to eat some toast and drink a glass of water. He didn't have an appetite for anything substantial, which alarmed him quite a bit. When he checked on Arthur before heading to his room and found the other nation sleeping peacefully, Alfred found that the nausea almost completely ebbed away at the sight of his friend.
Probably all in my head, he told himself as he pulled the covers over him and settled into his pillow. And fortunately, his previous dream didn't return. Instead, Alfred dreamed of a curvy, attractive woman with brunette curls and brown eyes, who served him as many bacon cheeseburgers, french fries, and milk shakes as he wanted.
...
To Be Continued...with a completed Ch. 2!