A/N: So I got a number of requests to continue the November 12th piece from the USUK calendar collection. So here ya go! Can be read as a stand-alone story (although the piece in question is super short, so I'd recommend reading it first). US/UK fluff AU, there will be short mentions of PruCan in the next chapter.

Wheelchair Accessible

Part 1

If it weren't for the fact that his ass was currently soaking wet, Arthur probably would have thought that this whole afternoon had been a dream. Some fairy tale that his mind created wherein Alfred Jones—the guy he'd had a crush on since middle school—swooped in just like a white knight to save him. Although if it was a fairy tale, he probably would have changed the setting to somewhere that wasn't a frozen Walmart parking lot.

Also would have changed the situation so the 'rescue' didn't involve him getting knocked out of his wheelchair by his van's demon-possessed ramp and having to be picked up and put back in his seat by said hopeless crush.

He would keep the outcome the same, though. Because—and he really didn't understand how this had happened—he now had a date planned for this evening with Alfred 'F. for Fucking-Beautiful' Jones.

A date. With Alfred. This evening.

It was actually difficult to keep from squealing at that thought, but he managed. Because he was a man, and men did not squeal.

His fingers were almost completely numb by the time he reached the front door of his apartment. Numb enough that he almost dropped the house key and had to fumble frantically to keep it from falling right down between the porch slats. Because that would be just what he needed.

He finally managed to make his way inside, though, and was instantly hit with warmth. Warmth and the scent of gingerbread.

Which meant his roommate was home.

"Francis?"

He wasn't honestly sure whether he was happy or annoyed by this fact. On the one hand, getting out of these jeans without help right now would be insanely annoying. It had been hard enough to wriggle himself into them this morning; he had no desire to fight his way out of a pair of sopping wet jeans, particularly when his fingers felt like icicles.

But on the other hand, Francis himself was annoying. He adoredteasing Arthur, particularly when it involved his (mostly non-existent) love life, and if he found out about his date tonight… He would spend the rest of the evening tormenting him and being a general nuisance while Arthur tried desperately to mentally prepare himself for the evening.

"Ah, Arthur! You're back!"

When you got right down to it, though, it didn't matter whether he wanted his roommate here or not. The universe never asked for his opinion.

Francis stepped out of the kitchen, wearing the stupid 'Kiss the Cook' apron that one of his friends gave him for a gag gift a few Christmases ago. He was smiling like an idiot, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and hands covered in flour.

"I was wondering where you'd gotten to. Emilie is here tonight, so try to be on your best behaviour, mon ami." He winked and started to turn back toward the kitchen, but then he stopped as he seemed to notice that Arthur was fucking soaked. His eyes widened and then he sighed, entire body seeming to slump. "Cher, did you fall out of your chair again?"

Arthur shot right into defensive mode. "Not my fucking fault. That van…"

He interrupted him, giving him an annoyingly long-suffering look. "You need to look into getting that fixed, mon ami. One of these days you're going to get hurt." He glanced back toward the kitchen. "Do you need my help to get changed?"

Yes, although he hated to admit it. He was slowly starting to warm up, but his fingers still felt cold and clumsy.

Francis took his silence as a 'yes' and nodded. "All right. Let me just set Emilie up with a movie and I'll help you."

"Why's she here tonight anyway? I thought next week was your weekend."

His roommate shrugged. "Christine called this morning and said that Richard was coming down for the weekend, so she asked if I'd mind taking Emilie now. I said it was fine."

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "She's still dating that prick?"

And Francis's own expression meant that he agreed with the sentiment. "It's her choice."

Yeah, but it was Francis's kid that the guy was potentially going to be raising. Arthur honestly didn't mind Christine herself. She was pretty flighty, disorganized, kind of shallow and self-centered, and obviously had terrible taste in men. But she was trying to raise Emilie as well as she could and the fact that she and Francis managed to be pleasant to each other and not drag this into some horrible custody battle was refreshing.

But Christ, did he hate this new Richard fellow. He was just an egotistical wanker who didn't pay nearly enough attention to Emilie and who'd always stand there and stare at him when he and Christine came to drop Emilie off. It was like he thought he was at a bloody freak show and Arthur was going to start doing tricks for him.

Francis just shrugged at his comment and headed back into the kitchen while Arthur turned and rolled himself down the hallway to his bedroom.

Where he allowed his thoughts to drift to this evening.

Alfred Jones.

He still could barely believe it. Alfred Jones had asked him on a date. Not only had he asked him on a date, but he'd actually seemed excited that he said yes. Honestly, Arthur would probably have convinced himself that this was just a pity date if he hadn't seen how Alfred did that ridiculous 'fist-pump' when he thought Arthur wasn't looking.

He had to resist the urge to squeal again and instead turned his mind to more important matters. Like what he should wear tonight.

Nothing that he owned felt appropriate. His 'style' mainly consisted of button-up-shirts, sweater-vests, what Francis called 'old man clothes'… The frog always lamented his lack of fashion, which Arthur normally would brush off because it's not like he'd ever want to dress like that git. He spent more time on his appearance then ninety percent of the girls that Arthur knew.

But right now he kind of wished he'd taken his roommate up on his many offers to take him shopping and help him 'spice up' his wardrobe. Everything just seemed… boring and dowdy and not even close to appropriate for a date with Alfred.

Although, his brain helpfully supplied, Alfred was the type of person who always came to school in loose-fitting trousers and a grubby T-shirt or hoodie. So why in the world was he worrying about what he wore? Alfred was the type of person who probably wouldn't even notice if Arthur tried to dress nicely.

Plus, they were going to a basketball game.

He frowned as he thought about that. He'd never been to a basketball game before and he honestly had no idea what the dress code was for that type of environment.

"So, are you going to tell me what has you in such a good mood, mon ami?"

And damn that fucking frog to hell. Arthur jerked at the sudden comment and spun himself around to face the doorway, where Francis was leaning and smirking at him. His grin only grew more irritating as he crossed the room to stand in front of him.

Arthur sent him his most scathing look. "What makes you think I'm in a bloody good mood?"

"Cher, you fell in the snow. You're soaked and those jeans are probably ruined. If you weren't in an exceptionally good mood for some reason, you would be throwing a temper tantrum the likes of which the world has never seen." He tilted his head to the side and his grin somehow managed to grow even more smug. "So, as they say, 'spill'. What happened?"

Fuck Francis. Why did Arthur live with this git again? The two of them had known each other since childhood, so he'd definitely known what he was getting into when he agreed to the arrangement. It'd just been desperation. If he'd had to spend another week in that house—with his parents constantly babying him and treating him like he was helpless—then he would have gone insane. Even living with this annoying, nosy twit was better than that.

"Nothing happened," he muttered before suddenly rolling forward, right over Francis's toes.

The curses of irritation were music to his ears. He grinned to himself as he rolled over to the bed and then glanced back to his irritated roommate. "Might want to keep your voice down. Don't want Emilie to hear that kind of language."

The look that Francis sent him was one of those 'if looks could kill' glares, but he did stop with his tirade.

It honestly probably wasn't in Arthur's best interest to be antagonizing the person who was going to be carrying him in a matter of moments, but eh… Since when did Arthur listen to that kind of logic? It wasn't like Francis was the type of person who'd do something like purposely drop him as revenge. He would just have to keep an eye on his food for things like hot peppers for the next couple days.

"You're such an ass," Francis muttered to himself. "Scoot forward."

Arthur obeyed, waiting as Francis slipped one arm behind his back and the other underneath his legs.

"All right, I'm going to lift you now."

He nodded. And as annoying as Francis was, that was at least something he appreciated. His parents had never, in his entire life, actually asked if he was all right with being picked up. They'd always just done it without even bothering to give him a warning. He remembered being a little kid and having dozens of dizzying moments when he'd just find himself lifted into the air and transferred from one place to another like he was a fucking doll or something.

Francis never did that. He was also careful to not jostle him; he just lifted him and then settled him on the bed, propped up against his mound of pillows.

And then pinched his arm as hard as he possibly could.

"Ow!"

"That is for running over my foot, mon cher."

Jesus fucking… Arthur yanked his arm out of reach, glancing down at the rapidly-reddening area. "Do you ever cut your nails?"

Francis ignored the question, of course, and instead sat down at the end of Arthur's bed and began unlacing his sneakers. "So, as repayment for nearly breaking my foot, you're going to tell me what happened today, oui?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I didn't 'almost break your foot'. And no, I'm not telling you. It's none of your business anyway." Although honestly, he had no doubt that the idiot would find out whether Arthur told him or not.

"Cher," Also, the git was not above whining until he got his way. "Tell me~"

Arthur groaned and allowed his head to fall back against the pillows. God, he didn't have the energy to deal with Francis. He had to get rid of the git anyway so he could get ready for his date. "Fine. Just help me get these fucking trousers off." They were cold and wet and uncomfortable and despite his general dislike for having anyone babying him, he just wanted the stupid things off.

Francis was grinning like an idiot now, obviously pleased that he'd won so easily. Bastard at least knew enough to obey Arthur's order, though. He tugged the filthy socks off his feet and then moved to the jeans. "So, what happened?" he asked as he undid the button and then began to peel the soaked fabric down his legs.

"Have I ever told you that you're fucking annoying?" He wanted to smack the idiot, but Francis had moved out of range and now he just laughed as he balled up the denim and tossed it onto the floor. He'd better be planning on picking that up later.

"I was at Walmart and I fell out of my chair because that ramp is shit," Arthur started.

But then Francis immediately interrupted him. "I told you that you need to look into getting it fixed almost a month ago." He'd moved Arthur's foot into his lap and was now rubbing at his toes. "Your skin is freezing. At least you were intelligent enough to come straight home before you got frostbite."

Arthur glared at him. "You're the one who wants to hear this story, so shut up. Anyway, I was sitting on my ass in the snow and this cuntbag across the parking lot is just staring at me like I'm his entertainment for the day. And then…" He hesitated, but then decided he wasn't going to get any peace until he told Francis exactly what happened. "Anyway, so then Alfred Jones showed up."

He tried to say it with as little emotion as possible, but Francis's eyes immediately lit up in recognition of the name. "Alfred Jones? The Alfred Jones that you have been lusting after since middle school, mon ami? That Alfred Jones?"

Arthur chucked a pillow at Francis's face in response. He knows his own face is probably bright red right now. "Shut the fuck up, frog."

"Ah, cher~ So that's why you're in such a good mood. Did he swoop in and rescue the damsel in distress? Did he give you a kiss?" And this was why Arthur didn't want to tell him, because he's never going to shut up about this.

"Of course not, you bloody idiot." Well, not exactly at least. He had swooped down and helped him back into his chair, but he wasn't a fucking damsel in distress. "He was a gentleman and helped me back into my chair and then he may have offered to take me to dinner and a basketball game tonight."

His attempt at making it sound like he really couldn't care less was probably ruined by the fact that he was having trouble schooling his expression into the proper nonchalance. He turned his face away, huffing. "Anyway, so that's all that happened."

Francis looked like Christmas just came early. For some reason that Arthur couldn't understand because it's not like he was the one who got asked out.

"Ah, cher! How romantic! I'm so proud! My grumpy little roommate finally has a date!" And suddenly he jumped off the bed. "Don't worry, mon ami! I know that you're hopeless when it comes to fashion, but I will make sure that you knock him right off his feet!"

Arthur didn't even have the chance to tell him to fuck off before he…well, fucked off. The git didn't even bother to help him back into his chair; he just raced out of the room like something was chasing him. Arthur had no doubt that he'd be returning soon with a pile of clothing that he would rather engulf in flames than allow to touch his body.

For a moment he just lay there, kind of startled by his sudden disappearance. Then he groaned because why? Why in the world couldn't he live with someone who wasn't a total wanker?

Transferring between his bed and wheelchair without assistance was always an adventure, but by this point he'd at least done it enough times that he could focus on other things at the same time. Which may not be a good thing right now, as his thoughts immediately returned to speculations and worries about tonight.

There were so many ways he could potentially embarrass himself in front of his long-time crush. Alfred Jones was one of those people who others were drawn to like moths to candle flame and Arthur was—well, Arthur. He honestly couldn't understand why in the world the git would even want to ask him out if it wasn't just a stupid pity date.

Christ, he'd been crushing on him for so long. Alfred was like… the human personification of sunshine. He had that gorgeous golden hair and tanned skin and gorgeous abs and perfect teeth and eyes the exact shade of a cloudless afternoon. And personality-wise… Yeah, he was loud and obnoxious and he had terrible habits when it came to clothing and food and he talked out of turn and Arthur wasn't entirely sure why all of that made him so attractive.

Probably had something to do with how insanely nice he was. Most people had avoided Arthur back then—he was the guy known throughout school as 'the kid in the wheelchair with the nasty personality'—which was a moniker he maybe deserved back then… But Alfred had always graced him with one of his smiles when they passed in the hallway and held the door open for him without being obnoxious about it. And Arthur had kind of fallen for him even though he knew it was totally stupid.

He honestly spent most of middle school avoiding the other boy and had felt equally relieved and disappointed when the two of them ended up going to high schools in totally different areas of the city. He'd still seen him, though. At the sports games that Arthur would forever deny attending. Alfred was on the American football team, the baseball team, and his brother was on the hockey team, so he always attended those games as well.

And since Alfred was there, Arthur often went as well. He'd make excuses, but Francis would always laugh at him and say how transparent he was.

Then, he'd graduated from high school and decided to stay in the city for college. He'd gotten multiple scholarships to Merrleton University and he honestly found himself reluctant to move from his cozy, totally accessible apartment—his reluctance had nothing to do with Francis, either, so don't even start.

He absolutely had not expected to look across the auditorium during freshman orientation and see Alfred sitting amongst the crowd, already seemingly engaged in making friends with the obviously-shy Asian boy seated next him. For a moment, Arthur had honestly wondered if he was going crazy and seeing things, because how?

But he wasn't going crazy, Alfred Jones had decided to attend the same exact college as him. Granted, he rarely saw him after that first day since his major was English and Alfred's was something science-related. But still... Their university wasn't that big. Apparently Alfred had noticed him enough to want to ask him on a date.

A date which he really needed to prepare for…

A shower was the first order of business. Then he could at least attempt to make himself look appealing, which would probably be easier if he had some idea of what Alfred found attractive. He couldn't do anything about his eyebrows and his hair was a lost cause and there was no fucking way that he was wearing anything belonging to Francis despite his own lack of a 'fashion sense'…

And he was starting to depress himself.

Arthur shook that thought right out of his head as he rolled himself into his bathroom. Fuck that. He wasn't going to sit around feeling sorry for himself. He had a date with Alfred Jones and if the git had an issue with his eyebrows or anything along those lines, then obviously he wasn't the type of person that Arthur thought he was.

"Okay, Arthur." He was alone, so it was okay to do the out-loud pep talk as he finally shucked the rest of his clothing and then moved himself into his transfer seat. "There's nothing to worry about. It's just a date. You've been on dates before…" Not in a long time, but this wasn't a totally new experience.

The sensation of the warm water against his skin was relaxing, as if all of his stress, panic, and the memory of his earlier almost-freezing experience was being washed right down the drain. He could stay under the spray for hours—and had on a couple occasions after falling asleep—but he didn't have time for that tonight, so he only allowed himself to soak up the warmth for a few minutes before he moved on to washing himself.

He could hearhis idiot roommate in his room after he turned the spray off. He couldn't exactly hear what he was saying, but he could hear the sound of his voice rambling about something. Arthur rolled his eyes as he dried himself and then pulled on his bathrobe. If only he could just escape or maybe lock Francis up somewhere for the evening. But Emilie was here and he rather doubted that she'd be happy if he did anything to her father.

"Git, get out of my room," he said as he re-entered his bedroom.

Both Francis and the giant pile of clothing that was currently covering his bed proceeded to ignore him. The little girl seated on top of the giant pile of clothing didn't.

"Uncle Artie!" She slid down the mound, taking half of the clothing with her before Francis could move to actually help her down. "Uncle Artie!"

You know, as annoying as Francis was, Arthur was more than willing to tolerate his existence if it meant that he could have Emilie in his life. She reminded him of Alfred in a way, all sunshine and bright smiles. He couldn't help the grin that crossed his lips as she ran to stand beside his chair and leaned over as far as she could to give him a hug.

"Hello, Emilie."

"Uncle Artie going on date!" She exclaimed, clapping her little hands together.

Goddamnit, Francis. He lifted his head from the happy four-year-old to glare at her father, who just winked back before he returned his own attention to the little girl. "Ma petite, we need to make sure that Arthur's ready for his date. Why don't you help him pick out an outfit?"

God-fucking-damnit, Francis. He should have guessed that the bastard would fight dirty. He knew that Arthur couldn't say no to Emilie, who had lit up and nodded before hurrying back to the pile of Francis's clothing. She immediately began digging through it like a crazy woman, while Francis met Arthur's eyes over her head and laughed at the furious glare that met his and promised all of the pain in the world.

The bastard didn't even respond outside of that laugh. "I'm going to start making dinner for us, Emilie. Can I trust you to make sure that Arthur looks pretty for his date tonight?"

"Uh huh, Papa!" She tugged a hot pink shirt from the pile—about half of Francis's closet came from the women's sections of his favourite stories and of course he'd add those articles of clothing to the pile—and turned it back and forth in front of her face with an expression of intense concentration. It seemed to pass her inspection as she nodded and then set it on the floor beside her feet.

Arthur rolled himself closer to Francis while the other was watching his daughter's antics and punched his hip to get his attention. Rather pleased by the wince and startled yelp and then annoyed glare that the bastard sent him in response. Arthur motioned for him to move closer, which he did after a moment, bending down to be on his very annoyed roommate's level.

Arthur made sure to keep his voice soft enough that the very-distracted Emilie wouldn't hear him. "I am going to kill you," he hissed. "I am going to slit your throat in your sleep one of these days."

Francis just smiled and then laughed. "I love you too, mon cher." Then he jumped backwards before Arthur could smack him or run over his foot again. "Don't worry about anything, Emilie has a wonderful sense of style, so you'll definitely look perfect for your date!"

And then he darted from the room again, leaving Arthur with a little four-year-old fashionista. A four-year-old fashionista who unfortunately had inherited her father's stubbornness and who he knew was not going to rest until she helped him find the 'perfect' outfit for his date.

God damn Francis.

A/N: New story! So as I said at the beginning, this story came about because I noticed that a lot of people on were asking about a continuation of the November 12th story from that calendar thing I did last year. So I finally decided to get around to writing it. I'm expecting this to be 4, maybe 5, parts. And yeah, we will actually get to see Arthur and Alfred interactions, lolz. xD Next part we get to see Alfred's preparation/freaking out about this upcoming date. Because these guys are dorrrrrks.

Also, I myself am not in a wheelchair. I did a bunch of research and based a lot of this off my cousin's experiences that she's told me about, so hopefully nothing is totally off.

Please review and let you know what you think! :D More reviews = faster updates!

Also, Emilie is an OC. Unless you want to think of her as a Hetalia character. S'all good.