Originally this was supposed to be a one-shot. But as it sort of morphed into a three-shot :P Ah well, hope you like! I'm on a short-story finishing streak! :D

Enjoy!


Alfred carefully lifted the phone with one hand, but had to wait until he'd dialed the number with his other before he could lift it to his ear. He hated handcuffs, and frankly he thought they were overkill. It wasn't like he was a rapist or murderer. The same couldn't be said for the people he'd be spending the night with, though, if what he'd heard was true. As light as the offense was, he'd be spending the night in a holding cell with God knows who else.

"Come on, pick up, pick up," he muttered, tapping a foot anxiously. He just had the one phone call, and he really hoped it wouldn't be wasted just because Mathew was with Gilbert...

One ring away from voicemail, an irritated voice asked, "Hello?"

Alfred slumped in relief. Mathew sounded out of breath, but at least he'd answered. "Hey, Mattie? It's me."

"Alfred? Where are you? I don't recognize the number."

"Um, yeah, about that. I'm at the police station."

"What? You're where? Wait, don't tell me, is he with you, eh? I keep telling you to stay away from him. Now he's landed you in jail. What the hell were you doing, anyway?"

Alfred glanced over at the officer standing at the end of the short hall, arms folded, a less-than-pleasant expression on his face. "Well, they might have mentioned something about trespassing and disturbing the peace."

Mathew groaned. "Let me guess, you need bail?"

"Yeah, but it can wait till morning. I'm stuck anyway."

"Alfred, how many times have I told you to stay away from Arthur? How any times have I told you he'll get you into trouble?"

"Are we counting all the times or just the times that aren't sarcastic?"

"I was never sarcastic Alfred! Maple, what are you going to do if mom and dad find out?"

"Who said they have to?" protested Alfred.

"They will eventually, Al."

Alfred started to run a hand through his hair, but grimaced as the handcuffs knocked against the receiver.

"Are you in handcuffs?"

"Maybe."

Mathew muttered what Alfred guessed to be a blend of French and German profanities, though he only understood the occasional "maple".

"Fine. I'll be there in the morning. I'll post your bail on the condition you at least try to stay away from him."

"It's not like I went looking for him, Mattie. He found me, he always does. Spending a night in jail wasn't exactly something I had on my bucket list."

Mathew sighed. "That's the best I'm going to get, isn't it? Fine. Just...keep your head down, alright Al? I want you in one piece when I pick you up."

Alfred hung up the phone, grimacing. He knew Mathew was right, he'd known it from the beginning. Arthur Kirkland was trouble, he knew it and so did the Brit. He smoked, he drank, he swore, and he somehow managed to dodge the law at every turn. Alfred knew because he'd been with him the last two times. This time, though, the third time, he'd been caught. Arthur hadn't been. He'd slipped away and left Alfred facing two irritated police officers.

The thing was, Alfred had actually been trying to avoid Arthur this time. Yet he'd still found himself staring into those toxic green eyes that night. They'd been taking pot shots at drained beer bottles in an old empty lot when the police had showed up. At least they were familiar enough with Arthur that they assumed the Brit had been the one to empty the bottles. Alfred had a clean record, after all, and he was only nineteen. They hadn't even asked, so he hadn't had to lie. The only reason they'd caught even a glimpse of Arthur in the first place was because he'd started kissing Alfred.

The policeman currently handling him marched Alfred out of the general area into the hall where they had overnight holding cells. Two bunk beds were pushed up against the side of each cell, every bunk three beds tall. Alfred swallowed tightly when he saw every cell they passed was full of less-than-pleasant looking inmates. It was only 12:30, had they seriously caught this many already?

"You're lucky," the officer was saying. "You get the last bunk. Everyone else gets to wait it out on a cold bench."

He unlocked the cell at the very end, giving Alfred a push before slamming the bars shut behind him. "Earliest you can get out at 8:00. Try not to make any more trouble for yourself," he said as he walked away.

Alfred wondered briefly why they hadn't taken his cuffs off, only to realize that his five cell mates hadn't been given that curtsey either. He slowly looked around, taking them in. Two of them started to approach him, and he took a step back, shoulders hitting the bars.

One, the shortest, grinned. "What have we got here? Looks like a blueblood."

The figure sprawled over one of the top bunks stuck his head over the edge. "Be nice, Lovi. I know you're mad we're stuck in here-

"Shut it, bastardo! It's your fault for picking that damned apartment complex. We have one fight and the neighbors call the police on us."

The Spaniard pouted, but didn't move from his perch.

"I take it this is your first time in her, oui?" asked the second man, smiling charmingly. He was taller, blond, French, and familiar.

Alfred frowned, squinting in the bad light. "Wait, Francis? That you? What the hell are you doing in here?"

"Alfred? Ah, good, better than Mathieu. Oui, it is me. I was wrongly accused of-

"Indecent exposure," huffed the voice from the top bunk opposite the Spaniard. "How do you know Francis?"

Alfred frowned, but before he could protest Francis answered for him. That one had sounded vaguely Asian.

"I know his brother. As well as his brothers boyfriend. An acquaintance who does not appreciate my beauty."

Alfred snorted. "You're an egotistical perv, dude."

The Italian snickered. "Nice one. Eh, maybe you're not so lame. Name's Lovino, and no I'm not here often. Idiota up there?" He jerked a thumb at the Spaniard. "That's Antonio. Hands off."

"Like, you totally have horrid taste," pouted a blond, hopping down from one of the middle bunks. He brushed past Lovino to study Alfred up close, lips pouting. "Those jeans are total knock offs. And a Captain America t-shirt? Pu-lease!"

"What are you talking about? Both originated in Korea!" protested the voice in the top bunk.

"Shut up," hissed the person in the bottom bunk. "I am sick and tired of getting dragged in here with you! Next time you go raiding China Town, you're on your own. And for the last time, I am from Hong Kong, not Korea you stupid-"

The sentence was finished with what Alfred assumed to be very vulgar insults, but none were in English. The blond, whom Alfred was not entirely convinced was male, kept fussing over him, telling him things like he was an autumn and to stay away from pastels. He seemed to be harmless enough, at least, so Alfred just tuned him out.

"So tell me, Alfred, how did you end up here? I was under the impression you were something of a golden boy," mused Francis, shooing Lovino back to the bunks.

Alfred swallowed. "Oh, uh, not much. That's why they put you here, right? Minimal charges?"

"Mostly. Shoplifting, indecent exposure, disturbing the peace," shrugged Antonio. He was lying on his stomach now, arms folded on the edge of the bed, feet kicking lazily behind him. "What are you in for, amigo?"

"Trespassing and disturbing the peace."

Francis didn't seem convinced. "Did you fall into a bad crowd or something? You and sweet Mathieu were always so good. I'm in here even less thanks to him."

Alfred scuffed his foot on the cement floor. "Um, have any of you ever met a guy named Arthur Kirkland, by any chance?"

The cell went dead silent. Suddenly everyone was staring at him. Alfred shifted uncomfortably.

"Is that a yes?"

Lovino spat on the floor. "Feh, we know him alright." As he turned to climb onto his own bunk, Alfred heard him mutter, "Damned Tramp."

Francis suddenly looked very grim. It wasn't an expression Alfred was used to seeing on the Frenchman's face.

"You, um, all know Arthur?" he asked, not quite believing it.

Francis nodded sadly. "Oui, I'm afraid we do."

"Everyone knows Arthur," drawled the blond. Batting his lashes at Alfred he added, "What a dog."

"He never gets caught," muttered Lovino, climbing up to squeeze in next to Antonio.

"Never," agreed the Spaniard cheerfully, ruffling the smaller man's hair. "He's very good at it."

"I take it he's taken a liking to you?" asked Francis, rubbing his chin.

Alfred shuffled his feet. "I guess," he mumbled.

That was a bit of an understatement, though at the moment he was a little unwilling to say as much. He'd stumbled onto the Brit some weeks ago, when he was still trying to figure out where things were in town. He and Mathew had moved to go to the resident college, both brothers enrolled as freshmen. Maybe that was part of why Alfred hadn't fought this as much as he should have. He had just finished high school, was living away from his parents for the first time, and Arthur was a new drug, as intoxicating as he was unhealthy.

"Has he gotten you into trouble before?" asked Francis, frowning at the cuffs on Alfred's wrists.

Alfred shrugged. "I haven't had to stay overnight before."

So far Arthur had only left him to his own devices three times. The first time it was just a slap on the wrist. The second time he was brought into the station for a scolding. This time...this time it was going on whatever record he might not have had until now.

"Alfred, Arthur is not good for you," Francis told him, eyes sad. "Look at what he's gotten you into. Believe me, I know. We all do."

Alfred frowned. "What do you mean?"

"What a dog," repeated the blond, giggling. "Like Lovino said, he's a tramp. You're the first blueblood to catch his eye, though. A pretty golden boy."

The bespectacled blond bristled at being called 'pretty'. Before he could protest, though, the Korean heaved a sigh. "That one was not made in Korea."

"And you wouldn't believe what it takes to get him to say that," quipped the young man in the bottom bunk.

"Oui, he is right," agreed Francis. "So is Feliks. Arthur is not good for you, Alfred. Once you're out you need to avoid him as much as possible. If he finds you walk the other way."

Alfred hesitated. "I tried that tonight. Look where it got me."

Antonio, who was petting his boyfriend's hair, sighed mournfully. "Yes, he is good at that. You must try very hard. He is persistent."

This earned him an elbow to the gut from Lovino. "I told you not to talk about him, idiota."

"I'm just giving him advice," pouted the Spaniard.

"Antonio was one of Arthur's previous boyfriends," Francis explained. "As am I. The only one in here that isn't is Feliks."

"Because he, like, totally has no taste."

It took a minute for Alfred to process this. He knew it was irrational to think that someone like Arthur hadn't gotten around, but he'd avoided thinking about it too much. Still, Arthur was only a few years older than he was. How bad could he be?

When he asked as much, Francis sighed.

"Very, I'm afraid. He wasn't always like this. We grew up together, you know. But halfway through high school, he changed. I don't know why. I was his first boyfriend. I had hoped he'd come around after I dumped him, but no. Nothing I or anyone else has tried gets through to him."

"What was he like then? Before I mean."

Francis seemed to consider this. "Mmm, that was six years ago. Something happened with his brothers when he was sixteen. Before that, he prided himself on being a gentlemen. He read Shakespeare for fun and avoided trouble like the plague. I think you would have liked him back then."

"You're telling me he turned on a dime overnight? How is that possible?"

"Not overnight. A week or so, I think. But by the time it became obvious there was no talking to him. Either way, it shouldn't matter. Promise me you won't go near him after tonight, Alfred."

For a moment Alfred thought about arguing. Even knowing what Arthur was, he was strangely reluctant to let go. There was even a thought of trying to turn the Brit back around. But, sadly, Alfred decided the logical way was probably best, especially if he wanted a clean record.

Reluctantly, he nodded.

Satisfied, Francis went over to the free middle bunk, climbing up onto it. "You can have the bottom," he said cheerfully, winking slyly.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Thanks."

BREAK/BREAK\BREAK

Mathew was at the jail, bright and early as promised, though he was not happy about it. He made this clear via a glare he kept leveled at Alfred the second he came into view. As his cuffs were removed, as he got his wallet and phone back, as he shuffled back through security, and as they walked out to his car.

The second the door was slammed Mathew burst, "Alfred F Jones, I swear if I have to bail you out again-

"You won't have to, Mattie. I'm done with him, I promise."

Mathew studied him, clearly not convinced. "Alfred," he began warningly.

"Look, I'm deleting his number, see?" Alfred shoved his phone under Mathew's nose as he hit the red button that did the deed. "If he comes knocking, I'm not in the country. I'm done with him, honest bro. You think I need a record? If I'm going to be in the air force, or an astronaut, or anything remotely awesome, I can't have a record. Besides, second hand smoke isn't healthy."

The Canadian still gave him a long look before turning forward again, putting the keys in the ignition. "We'll see. If you can send him packing the next time he comes around, then I'll believe you."

"Fair enough," muttered Alfred. He couldn't meet Mathew's eyes as he said it. He wanted it to be true, but he was also fully aware of just how...persuasive Arthur could be. In the immortal words of the Borg, "resistance is futile."


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