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Polished Oak

Alfred stared across the table.

"Piss off."

The professor pressed his lips into a fine line. He laced his fingers and set them over the stack of papers. A pen rolled away from him. He watched it clatter to the hard wood floor.

"No."

Alfred chuckled, shrugging.

"OK, fine, fuck off."

"We're not getting anywhere this way, Mr. Jones, and you know that." Professor Kirkland said with a vague nod.

"Do I look like the kind of guy who cares? No, really, please, humor me, professor." Alfred said, spreading his muscled arms outwards and then pointing towards his chest. His blue eyes twinkled. He crinkled his nose in a smile that appeared much more like a leer than even he intended.

Kirkland shook his head.

"You look like fucking Christmas tree." Alfred said when Kirkland continued his silence.

Kirkland didn't even look down. He knew how his ironed green suit and thin red tie could resemble Christmas colors, but he had to digress. The green was far too pale and the red far too close to blood. If anything, he looked like a militant with a Brazilian neck-tie. Kirkland sighed and brushed his shock of wheat-yellow hair back. Alfred's eyes didn't even pass over his unseemly features.

The grandfather clock chimed at the other end of the farmhouse. Arthur saw a pig trot by outside the window and refrained from shuddering. The floors were clean and had a slight gleam when touched by warm sunlight. Alfred didn't hide his pride in the house he built with his bare hands.

"You're a strong kid." Kirkland said.

"Like hell I am."

"But mouthy."

"Who cares? I get shit done."

"And vulgar."

"You got that right, professor."

"And dangerously intelligent." Arthur Kirkland smiled at him.

"So I can do a few science problems without a hitch." Alfred said, looking uncomfortable. His gaze turned away, his handsome profile framed by sunlight. He crossed his arms and glowered. "What the fucking hell do you want from me?"

"I only want you to come and take a test."

Alfred said nothing. He watched as his pigs walked by. A young girl ran after them, her eyes serious with her desire to work. She held a bag of feed for their chickens. Arthur couldn't see her face and noticed a thick gold-blonde braid poked out from under her hat. She wore a simple frock.

The silence drew on. Alfred said nothing still. He must be, what, Arthur thought. Twenty? Twenty-one? No older than twenty-five. But he had matured well beyond his years, save for his occasional outbursts of nasty, middle-school language.

"Is she your sister?" Arthur asked. "Looks like you."

The girl passed the window again, turning to look into the window. She had freckles on her cheeks and her eyes were the same color as Alfred's—clear, poignant blue. Her lips were the color of plums and she shared Alfred's stern brow. She nodded politely at Arthur and grabbed the window, forcing it open.

"She isn't my sister." Alfred said.

The girl leaned through the window. "Pa, do you want to have eggs tonight? There're four extra."

"That sounds fine, Sam." Alfred said, waving a hand.

"Want some, mister?" She turned towards Kirkland.

Kirkland shook his head. "No, young lady, but I am flattered by your darling offer. Perhaps another day."

Sam shrugged and shut the window, "here, kitty, kitty, kitty," she called, ducking down.

Arthur stared at Alfred in a state of mild shock. He was a professor. He had seen wily teenagers become stunned parents in a matter of months. But the girl, she was at least eight or nine.

Then again, Arthur hadn't had much luck guessing lately.

"She's my daughter." Alfred explained.

"How old is she?" Arthur asked, trying to sound conversationally curious.

"Oh lie you give a fucking damn about how old she is. You want to know which broad I got laid with at what age to get a little kid. And fuck you. She's the damn best kid on the entire planet. Does her work without me asking her, does well in school, and is the sweetest thing you'd ever seen. Wish her ma could have seen her, though. She would have been proud. Well, she would have been proud if she wasn't a scared shitless whoring, cunt-faced bitch."

"What a complex string of curses." Arthur muttered weakly.

Alfred was a proud man. Of his house. Of his kid. Of his life. Now, to make him proud of his brain.

"But if you gotta know, she's nine and I'm twenty-five. Made a mistake at sixteen. Most guys do that, but I fucked up good." Alfred shrugged and picked up his glass of water. He took a long drink, watching bubbles of air bubble and turn yellow.

The doors slid open and Sam walked in. She set a basket full of eggs on the table. She set them aside and excused herself, walking away to leave the men alone.

"Why do you live here?" Arthur asked.

Alfred didn't reply.

"Why not in the city? With your mind you can work anywhere."

Arthur pretended as if he hadn't heard Arthur.

"Fine, don't answer my questions, don't take the bloody test, but at least stop by the college in the city, University of the Cyclamen. I want to speak more with you. I want you to learn. I don't care if the bloody board wants your money, I want your mind to expand. I want what's best for you. I want you to come and just take a look around. Please." Arthur slid a card with the address across the table.

The card fluttered to a stop next to Alfred's hand. He looked down at it, picking it up and looking over the card.

"Why?"

Arthur's eyes widened.

"Why what?"

"Why do you want me to go?"

"So you can have a better life, for one thing. I have other reasons, I am not a simple man, no one is I gather, but let me explain. Make more money, be happier, don't overwork yourself. Don't make your daughter work. Let her live better. If you love her then why don't you try to make her life better?"

Alfred huffed. "Look, you fucking prick, how the hell would getting more money make her happier? She gets food, I work at a electricity company, she gets a roof over her head. Isn't that enough? Money would muddle her brain. She'll get the education she deserves, which is far more than I do, and she'll go to college."

"Isn't it at least tempting?" Arthur paused, shook his head. "You're your own man. You seem to have things settled."

"You don't know fucking jack-shit about me." Alfred said, squinting at Arthur. Arthur noticed that he seemed to need glasses.

"Maybe I don't. I want to learn more. But you have to let me. Men would kill for an opportunity that you have. Why not take it?"

"I—"

"No." Arthur raised his hands. "I don't want to hear it. Come if you want, tomorrow at five. If you don't show up then I'll take it as a 'no' and that will be the end of it. I'll never bother you again." He gathered his coat and walked towards the door.

He paused before the wooden frame, his hand resting on the polished wood. He was waiting for a "good bye", or "I'll come", or "wait hold on", or even a "get loss, asshole". Nothing came. Arthur tossed a glance over his shoulder, well aware that he had exposed himself as weak, and looked at Alfred. Alfred was staring at the card, his cheek against his tightened fist. Scars lined his forearms and a light tan spanned over most of his skin.

Arthur, settled now that no reply would come, turned towards the door and left.

I don't own Hetalia

Inspired by many things, namely The Outsiders, Good Will Hunting, and Entre les murs.

Hope you enjoy. If you do, please drop a review!