"Sir," the secret service agent said to the President. "We have an issue. He's not here."
"He's probably getting donuts. I wouldn't worry about it," the Commander in Chief reasoned. "The lines are usually long, from what I hear."
"No, sir, you don't understand. He's gone."
"Gone?" He stared at the agent in surprise. "Tell me you're joking."
"I'm not, sir. They checked his apartment, and he's not there. Neither is his stuff. We called his house and his neighbors in New York, and he isn't there, either."
"And we don't know what he's doing?"
"He withdrew a lot of money from his bank account. We're trying to trace it."
"Oh, Alfred..." The President muttered. "What do you think you're doing?"
(London, six hours ago (8:30))
It had been quite a shock when Arthur opened his flat door when the American tumbled in.
"Bloody fucking hell!" He shouted, quickly moving out of the way to avoid having his jet-lagged boyfriend fall on his feet. Luckily, Alfred awoke with a start.
"Oh! Artie!" He said, grinning up at him from the floor. "Finally came to let me in, huh?"
"I came to get the paper," he stated, picking said newspaper up from the doorstep. "Though I suppose I've let you in as part of the process. Why are you here...? Why didn't you use your key?" He asked as the American got to his feet.
"My key? Oh, yeah, I guess I forgot about that..." Alfred laughed nervously.
Arthur looked him over. He had brought two very full looking suitcases. He looked stressed, as though something was bothering him. Bothering him enough that he'd come all the way to London, unannounced, to get away from it. Though he knew of the shitstorm going on in America with the shooting and everything, he didn't want to make assumptions just yet. He wanted to hear what was wrong from him. "I'll make you some coffee. Come inside."
Though Alfred's doting and talking was distracting, Arthur had managed to find the coffee he kept for when America visited, making him a cuppa. He acted normal, but Arthur knew. It was a mask. The whole world often looked to America. If he showed he was panicking, others would panic, too. Unfortunately, this trait had begun to carry over to his everyday, non-country life.
Arthur hated it, though in all fairness, he knew where Alfred had learned it from.
The American kept talking as the Brit set down the coffee and tea. "Have you been eating enough, Iggy? Man, you're still so thin! I'm gonna cook for you later, so don't order curry or anything! I-"
"Alfred..." He interrupted.
"Yeah? What is it, babe?"
He ignored the pet name. "I'm not exactly complaining, but why did you come here?"
His smile faltered. "What d'ya mean? Can't the Hero come and visit his awesome boyfriend?"
"Well... I suppose... But this is all very unexpected. You usually call first."
"Hey, I have an idea!" Alfred said, standing up and slamming his hands on the table. "How about if ya show me what's new in that museum you like?"
Realizing that he wouldn't get any answers now, he agreed.
That's how five hours later, he had just finally gotten back from the British Museum and Malabar Junction, still worried about his boyfriend. Sighing, he went to put the leftovers from lunch away.
It bothered him, not knowing. Something was wrong, but it was as if Alfred kept pushing him away, and he hated it so much. He glanced at the American, sitting on the couch and watching BBC2. Sighing, he walked over.
"Alfred, I need you to tell me exactly what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong, Artie." He refused to make eye contact.
"Don't you bloody lie to me!" He shouted, growing more fed up by the second. "I think I can fucking tell when there's something wrong with my boyfriend!"
"There's nothing wrong! I'm fine!"
"No, you're not! You dropped everything to come here without any warning, and you won't tell me why! How long were you waiting at my doorstep? An hour? Two?"
"I wasn't waiting long, okay?!"
"I bet you left in such a hurry, you left your key at home!"
"Well..."
"Just spit it out! You can't see how fucking worried I am?!"
"I can't take it anymore!" Alfred finally shouted. "I just can't!"
A bit surprised, Arthur stepped back.
"Everything in my country is a fucking mess. I have a bunch of people running for president, and honestly, I don't think any of them are as good as anyone thinks! We have a guy who's never been in politics who wants to build a fucking wall, a lady who's either hit or miss with a possible political scandal, and an old guy who seems pretty ok, but who isn't getting the votes! And don't even get me started on the Orlando shooting! It was so awful, Artie! He killed them just because they were gay! And now, everyone's freaking out more and more about terrorism, and the elections, and EVERYTHING." He choked back a sob. "I hate it, Artie... I don't want to be a country right now... So I ran away. I just left. They don't even know I'm here..."
"Alfred..." Arthur sat on the couch next to him, holding him close. No wonder he had seemed so stressed."It's okay... It's going to be okay; go ahead and cry."
They sat there for a good half an hour, Arthur comforting the American as he cried into his shoulder. "It's alright... It's going to be alright... Are you feeling any better, love?"
Alfred nodded slightly.
"Then here's what we're going to do. In a little while, we're going to call your boss. Let him know where you are and that you're safe. That you'll be staying here for a little while. Then, we're going to take your mind off things for a little while. Make you feel better." Gently, he kissed the American's forehead. "We can't fix this, but we can try to make it better. How does that sound?"
A soft, quick kiss on the lips answered his question.
N: venting venting ventingggg
I've had this idea for a while, and just finished it today. I'm super sorry if it's crappy. I don't do as well with angst as I'd like to. But I think it's fairly decent. You even got a little fluffy end there.
Malabar Junction is a South Indian restaurant near the British Museum.
thank you for reading.