A one-shot. Emphasis on one-shot. That's it! I'm done, man.

First shot at Alternate Universe, btw.

Summary: AU! Assassin Arthur Kirkland thinks that absolutely nothing would prevent him from killing just about anyone. Bodyguard Alfred F. Jones begs to differ. Bodyguard!US/Assassin!UK.

Disclaimer: I wish! But no, I own nothing.

Save You From Yourself

Blood.

Blood stained the snow. It was splattered all about in random directions, on random walls. It mocked passersby. The red accentuated the vast color of white around it-and it smelled of copper. A single body lay in the middle of it all, silent and lonely and dead.

A bloody body.

A bloody alley.

Blood-stained snow.

A blood-stained heart.

And it was beautiful.

Assassin Arthur Kirkland snapped out of his mirage. It hadn't happened yet-the man was still there, in the alley, very much alive and well...but the assassin could taste it. The inevitable end of the man he was requested to kill. He smirked and cocked his gun, taking careful aim.

The height of where he was never bothered him. He sat perched upon the top of the building, waiting and watching. That man had been waiting in the God-forsaken alley for a while now and no one had shown up. Now was his chance.

He made sure the target was in reach-that it was an easy kill.

His index finger lay positioned on the trigger of the gun. Arthur pulled it back slightly, not even wincing at the cold snow that fell on his body.

"And just what are we doing, now, Kirkland?"

Shit, Arthur immediately thought. He had jumped slightly, but not too much.

He turned around slowly and glared at the American behind him, who was wearing his regular bomber jacket, and had his handgun drawn.

"Jones," the assassin hissed, standing up from his previous kneeling position and placing the gun to his side. "What the hell are you doing here?" When he received no response, Arthur smirked and allowed his cigarette to fall out of his mouth. He kicked it towards the American and made a gesture that meant "shoo" with his left hand-the one not wielding a gun at the moment.

"Fuck off, do-gooder."

"I wish I could, but," Alfred smiled abnormally cheerily, "you were about to assassinate my client, my good sir." The annoying American stepped lightly on the roof of the building, making footprints in the snow atop it. He leaned in so that he and the Brit were mere inches apart. "That doesn't sit straight with me."

Arthur ignored the mad churning in his stomach, dismissing it as mere disgust for the man before him. "What a pity. So, you've been hired to protect this man, have you?" He made a gesture towards the man, who was now smoking his third cigarette.

Alfred nodded curtly. "I'm the hero, the bodyguard, if you prefer. I'm gonna protect him, even if my life's on the line."

Some part of Arthur praised Alfred for that kind of talk. God knows how little people there were in the world that thought like that anymore. The other part of him hated the git for how naive he must be.

Arthur shrugged and began to position his gun again, aiming for the head. "Idiot."

Suddenly, Alfred grabbed Arthur's gun and threw it to the side. Arthur looked to the side at his gun, then shrugged and pulled out a hangun.

The American attempted to grab this one as well, but Arthur dodged him swiftly, flipping up into the air and landing behind Alfred. He slowly-This isn't teasing-wrapped his left arm around Alfred's waist and used his right hand to jab the gun in the American's neck.

"I don't want to have to do this Jones," the assassin murmured in Alfred's ear. They felt both of their faces heat up-but both dismissed it as the cold weather. "None of my bullets are meant for you."

Alfred smirked. "That's a shame." He jabbed Arthur in the gut, who grunted in pain and cursed, and then reversed their positions.

"I would be honored to be shot by one of your bullets, dude," he laughed in the assassin's ear. "You always were beautiful."

Arthur's eyes widened and he searched Alfred's face for any signs of joking. There were none. This was one of those instances where Alfred was being totally serious. And it both pissed Arthur off and made him so happy he could burst. He thinks I'm...beautiful?

Arthur flushed a deep red and kicked his left leg out, but the American dodged it. He held his handgun up and pointed it at the American.

"Don't say things like that!" he growled. Alfred laughed.

"What? Does it bother you?"

Arthur spat on the ground and turned once again to the alleyway-only to find that his target was gone. He cursed loudly, turned around, and shoved Alfred in the chest.

"Why the hell did you do that? Now he's gotten away! That was the deal of a lifetime," the assassin screamed openly at his face now. Alfred shrugged.

"My job. I do it right, and I do it good," he said smoothly.

The British man sighed and went to go pick up the sniper that had been knocked out of his hand moments before. He slung it over his back and, turning away from the American, carefully pocketed the handgun in his thigh sheath.

Too bad that blasted yankee noticed anyway.

"You have a thigh sheath?" the American sounded genuinely impressed. He had also put away his weapons, and was now staring at the spot in-between Arthur's legs, where the thigh sheath was, albeit blushing. "That's...that's sexy."

"Shut up! You're worse than Francis!" The British assassin cried, though his face grew to a massive shade of red. "You've already ruined my job for tonight...now I'm going to have to murder someone on Christmas Eve!"

Alfred blinked. "What's wrong with murdering on Christmas Eve?"

The assassin's eyes flashed. "I just don't like doing it. It's cruel."

The bodyguard doubled over from laughter. "And assassination isn't?"

"Do shut up," the British assassin insisted, sitting on the edge of the tall building. "I'm just different."

The American bodyguard's face was solemn for once and he sat down next to the assassin. Enemies-on a rooftop. Alfred ruffled Arthur's hair lightly and smiled brightly.

"And that's what I like about you."

Arthur, intrigued, rose one of his bushy eyebrows. His black trench coat drifted in the December breeze. "What?"

"You're different...from the other assassins," Alfred pointed out. "Most wouldn't give a crap about assassinating on the holidays. You actually care." Arthur looked at him like he was crazy, and then rolled his eyes and took in the vast London panorama.

"Rubbish."

"It's true rubbish, though," Alfred insisted. He whipped out his gloves from his bomber jacket and put them on. "I don't see why you kill."

"I kill because it's all I've ever done, you moron," Arthur spat. He debated on whether or not he had lost his sanity. He was opening up to his arch nemesis-his enemy, the one he was supposed to be hell bent on killing.

That...that didn't explain why he got so twisted up inside at the thought of him, does it?

"My mother was an alcoholic," Arthur explained, albeit sadly. "She ran away from us. My father got depression." He made hanging motions with his hands, smirking, and Alfred rose an eyebrow. "Hung himself. Poor bloke. My grandparents took me in. I murdered my first person in the eighth grade. Then I ran away."

Arthur then smiled-but it was sad, and forced. "The end."

A silence passed over the two of them. Alfred didn't know whether or not he wanted to laugh or cry-all he did know was this:

He wanted to be a hero. He wanted to save people from certain death.

The American knew that the concept of it was naive, and maybe even stupid. But he believed in the concept of a perfect world. A better world.

And for some reason-he just knew that it had to start by saving Assassin Arthur Kirkland from his deep-seated misery.

"You don't have to kill, you know," Alfred explained. "Like, uh, me!" He pointed to himself for emphasis. "I'm addicted to saving people just like you're addicted to..uh, killin' 'em." He paused. The Brit seemed bored at this point.

"I'm just saying...why can't you be addicted to saving people, too?"

Arthur blinked and then looked away, scowling. "That's stupid, Jones."

"Call me Alfred."

Arthur was surprised at the sudden demand, but shrugged. "Fine. That's stupid, Alfred. Happy now?"

"No," Alfred stated bluntly. "I want you to give up your life of crime."

Arthur laughed bitterly. "And you think it's just that easy, eh? That I can just go out on the street just like you ordinary blokes and simply resist the urge to slit someone's throat? To push someone in front of a car? To shoot someone in the back of the head?"

"Yes," the bodyguard dead-panned. "But...I...shoot, I can't believe I'm saying this."

Arthur blinked and pushed a strand of dirty blonde hair behind his ear.

"I like you! I know you're an assassin and all, but I like you...Kirkland. A lot," Alfred was flushed and he was scratching the back of his head. The abnormal strand of hair on his head stood up straighter than usual-it was weird.

"You're that assassin that doesn't like to get too involved. I watched you attempt to murder that man a week ago-"

"You stalk me?"

"Listen!" Alfred snapped. That was enough to shut Arthur up. "But when you saw that he had children, you immediately called HQ and said you demanded another job!"

The assassin leaned his head on the palm of his hand and sighed. "So?"

"So you're not a bad guy," Alfred said. He stood up and kneeled down in front of Arthur, leaning in close so that they were-as they had billions of times-inches apart. However, this time, it felt...different.

Arthur flushed again. "A-Alfred...What are-?"

"I know a bad guy when I see one. You aren't one."

Dead silence fell on the two. Finally, Arthur stood and shook snow off of his trench coat.

"You can't, Jones," Arthur told him, his voice trembling. "You cannot save a man who has done a life's worth of treacherous and unspeakable deeds! You can't...save me, Jones." And, as an aftermath, he added, "No one can."

Alfred was silent. Then, he said, "Are you sure about that? That no one can save you?" Everyone can be saved. I wanna be the one to save you. "Keep thinking that. 'Cause I'm not about to give up on you, Arthur Kirkland."

There was another long silence. The wind halted its howling, and the snow stopped falling. Arthur's shocked look turned into one of confusion, pity, and then back to loathing.

"You are an idiot, Alfred F. Jones," he spat before jumping off the ledge onto another building and disappearing into the night.

Alfred smiled and pushed his glasses-affectionately named "Texas"-up his nose.

There was no way he could tell Arthur the truth. Not at all.

He smiled cheerfully and leaped off of the building as well, landing, as always, on his feet and walking to the limo awaiting him. He opened the door and got in.

"How did it go, Alfred-san?"

"Fine, Kiku. Kirkland wasn't able to kill him."

"Kirkland?" Kiku's face darkened a bit. "Were you distracted at all?"

Alfred's smile faded, only to be replaced by another beaming smile seconds afterwards. "Distracted? By Kirkland?" The American laughed, and then, smirking, he added:

"Hell, yes."

Kiku rolled his eyes knowingly at the American, before tapping on the window separating them from the driver and demanding, "Drive."

And the bodyguard, too, disappeared into the night.

The truth was that Alfred F. Jones, bodyguard extroardinaire, had fallen head over heels in love with Arthur Kirland, London's best assassin.

And he wasn't going to give up until the assassin was saved-from himself, and from the world around him.

"Let the game begin," Alfred murmured, and beautiful green eyes flashed in his mind before he fell asleep.

~Save You From Yourself~

I don't know about you guys, but my favorite part was the thigh sheath. *shot*

*sigh* Anyway, it's done. And it's a one-shot...*shot again*

Ow! Fine. Why don't you review..? Kolkolkolkol...

Kidding! Reviews are love, btw.

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Blank Paiges XD