Author Notes: Has anyone seen Atonement? I didn't really know or see the film until recently when we studied it in class. As the film progressed, I loved how I was completely manipulated without me knowing. That's the sort of feel I'd like to recreate in this fic, except with a few tweaks here and there. I've also tried to keep details about traditional English lifestyle as accurate as possible, like having breakfast, dinner then tea instead of breakfast, lunch and dinner. This fic was partly inspired by Master KaiKen's adaption of Titanic – UNSINKABLE; go check it out, it's epic! (Although as a USUK shipper I'd think you already have.)
IMPORTANT NOTE:Just a foreword about some characters here; this fic does not contain OCs. In short: Alba is Scotland, Cymru is Wales and Ulster is Northern Ireland. And though he hasn't been introduced yet, Eric is Ireland. You'll meet him next chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia and Atonement or anything related to them.
It was still early in the afternoon, just briefly after dinner had taken place. The weather was splendid and the temperature was just right, even for a sunny summer's day. The sunlight poured into a fairly large bedroom with white wallpaper lined with lilies through two large windows, warming up the areas where the light fell upon. The bedroom contained a substantial amount of toys lying about the floor, as the master of the bedroom was but a boy of thirteen – not yet an adolescent but no longer a child. Having grown bored with his toys hours ago, the blond boy opted to sit at his unusually large wooden desk that fully occupied one side of his room. He was still of small stature and had to elevate himself on the chair with a thick hard covered book, but his frantic tapping at the typewriter betrayed his hidden expertise. His oddly thick eyebrows twisted this way and that as he spun his epic adventure onto paper, fingers dancing across the typewriter keys with the familiarity of an experienced author who spent days writing away his dreams. Not a single error made its way onto the paper, each phrase spelt and punctuated correctly with precision. His ocean blue eyes twinkled with a spark of joy as he finally concluded his majestic project with the strike of the key for a full stop.
"The end." He read the words out to himself triumphantly as he slipped the paper out of the typewriter and collected it neatly together with numerous other sheets into a folder. He jumped off his seat in excitement. He had been working on this for a long time now and just couldn't wait to show his family.
As he slid down the house's polished banisters from the upper floor where all the bedrooms were, he couldn't help but feel anxious about showing his work to his fourth brother, Arthur. Arthur was his only full brother, his three other siblings being half-brothers and thus, he cared deeply for his opinions; but it was also because Arthur was the Shakespeare of the family and the elite of literature in his education. Despite constantly deliberately annoying Arthur for not playing with him even in his free time, he holds this specific brother in the highest regard – not that he would tell him of course.
He rushed past the front door of his house then stopped in his tracks and retraced his footsteps. He leant backwards until he could peek from behind the wall without being discovered. A cheeky smile stretched across his lips as he recognised two blond young men outside on the grand stone steps that always welcomed the family's guests. One had wavy light blond hair that nearly reached his shoulders and was dressed in a white shirt with rolled up sleeves that was slightly tinted yellow from age and dark blue trousers dirtied with stains. The other had short unkempt dirty blond hair with a peculiar strand that defied gravity; his eyes were a dazzling blue that seemed to always hold a glitter of mischievousness and his overall physical appearance was far more masculine than the other blond man.
He crept up behind the paler man who had his back facing him and suddenly brought his hands down onto the young man's shoulders with a loud exclamation. The blond jumped and gave a small shout of surprise. He turned and sighed when he realised who it was that had given him a fright. "Peter, please stop scaring me like that!" The other young man with dirty blond hair looked up from tying his boot's laces and chuckled.
"I don't want to," Peter whined with a grin, "It's too much fun, Matthew!"
Matthew sighed and flinched a little when the other man came over and swung his arms around his shoulders. The new participant in their conversation ruffled Peter's hair playfully, an American accent obvious in his voice, "You're such a little rascal! Anyway, how's your play coming along?"
Peter hurriedly fixed his hair and blinked. "How did you know I was writing one, Alfred? I didn't tell anyone about it!"
"You sure 'bout that?" Alfred winked at him, "Because I heard from someone! And to top it off, we're best buds right? I know everything about you!"
"I suppose so," The thirteen year old smiled, "I wrote it for tonight's dinner party when Cymru and Alba come home!"
"What is it about?" Matthew asked, his voice containing a twang of French.
The boy hugged the folder to his chest protectively, "Well if you come tonight you'll find out! I really do want you two to come see the play."
"Now buddy, you know we'd love to but…" Alfred smiled apologetically.
"…But you know we're still technically servants. It'll be improper for us to attend. Sorry, Peter." Matthew politely finished the sentence.
Peter frowned in disappointment. He was awfully fond of Matthew and Alfred. Although they live down at a lodge a small distance away, Peter had never once saw them as anything less than family. Matthew and Alfred were fraternal twins and looked nothing like each other, but many still made the common mistake of calling Matthew his brother's name except for a rare few, such as Peter himself. The brothers were quite a curious pair as well and they never ceased to interest Peter with their stories of travelling. As children, they spent early years of childhood going back and forth between America and Canada as their parents had split up and took custody of them separately. Their parents had agreed to let the brothers meet occasionally, and it was during these times when they would have mind blowing adventures. It was also the reason why Alfred had a heavy American accent while Matthew possessed a Canadian accent. In many instances, Peter's stories had been inspired by their various tales about the coldest winter they had ever experienced in Canada and the amazing aero manoeuvres of American pilots.
"How about you give us a copy of the script instead?" Matthew blinked his violet eyes, "You used to give us a copy of those nicely bound stories you wrote. We've kept them all."
"No! I want you to see it, not read it!" The boy objected firmly. The twins looked at each other with troubled expressions. "It doesn't matter; I'll talk to you two later about it. I'll see you around!"
With that, Peter left the twins and continued on his way through the house in search for Arthur and his mother. On his way, he glanced at the grandfather clock that stood in the foyer. It read half past two. He huffed in approval. They would both be easily located in the parlour having tea. Peter continued on his way, strolling confidently through the house until he reached the double doors of the parlour and swung them open without a second thought, calling out for his mother's attention as he closed the door behind him. The parlour was fancily decorated with glass cupboards to show off all the beautiful tea sets that they owned, a miniature crystal chandelier dangling low from the ceiling and the couches and armchairs a soothing shade of beige to match the soft wallpaper. In the centre of the room was a well-made black cherry wood coffee table, surrounded by the other furniture. It was almost as if the room revolved around the table itself.
Peter's mother was a refined looking woman with rich golden locks despite her old age and various wrinkles, a picturesque lady seated on one of the couches with strands of her hair pulled back with a barrette and the rest left out to rest on her shoulders as if to pose for a painter. She held a cup of tea in her delicate hands, her grip porcelain-like as she lifted the china to her lips. Seated opposite from her across the coffee table was Arthur. Much like his mother, he too emitted a sense of sophisticated ambiance as befitting of a high classed gentleman of contemporary society. Like Peter, Arthur had the same sunshine blond hair but instead had green eyes attributed to their father. Unlike any of his other brothers, Arthur was lanky, thin and everything far from rough and muscular. However, it seemed that girls still chased after him, preferring a gentleman over obliviously eager men. Peter had often read sections of those silly love letters that girls sent to Arthur when he wasn't looking and wondered why people would try to become more than friends with his older brother when he was well known for his snappy attitude and sarcastic cynical comments.
"Mother, mother! I've just finished my first play!" Peter bounced over to his mother and held out the folder which holds his play's script.
Arthur who had been seated in his favourite armchair looked up from his cup of tea and transported himself over to sit beside their mother, murmuring the title of the play to himself, "Beyond the Clouds… Is this another of your 'over the hills and far away' stories?" He rolled his eyes.
The boy glared at him the best he can. Stupid jerk Arthur. He had gone to work so hard for this play to be completed and now he was brushing it off as another of his average stories? How dare he! "That's not true!" Peter stuck his tongue out at his sibling, "This one's special! It's much more exciting and mysterious! I worked very hard on the mystery factor!"
"The day the world marvels at your stories and calls them something that's surpassed Sherlock Holmes, and then I'll acknowledge that it's above average." Arthur sipped at this tea.
Peter wanted to punch him in the stomach badly. Very badly.
Their mother hushed them and said she'd like to read the play without the two of them bickering in the background. The brothers shot each other a look and apologised to their mother. Minutes later, Arthur couldn't help but silently agree that this had to be Peter's best work yet. For a thirteen year old, his writing skills had developed soundly and his stories were becoming more intricate. He couldn't stop reading the script and found himself a little impatient at his mother's slow reading pace. As soon as the page turned, his eyes would dive in again and swallow up each and every word printed on the paper. Of course, the story was still underdeveloped in some areas and could still only be classified as something that a youngster like Peter would read. But he'll admit it in his head, Peter was good.
Their mother shuffled the papers back neatly and closed the folder with a smile, "Peter, that was absolutely stupendous! Your first play… Beyond the Clouds by Peter Kirkland," Her smile widened and she planted a kiss on Peter's forehead, "Oh I'm so proud of you! I'm sure everyone will be delighted tonight to see it performed. Won't they, Arthur?"
The blond man blinked at his mother's pressuring smile. For a moment Arthur considered complimenting his little brother properly but when he saw that smug face plastered to the boy's face, he scratched the thought out. He'd just spoil the kid rotten and give him an unnecessary ego boost; the rest of the family was there to do that. He nodded in agreement but made it clear that his compliment was purely sarcasm, "Why yes, of course. I'm dying to see it already."
Taking the chance, Peter planted his hands no his hips with that same arrogant expression stuck to his face and said, "Well if you liked it that much, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to let you join my cast. You can be the big scary grizzly bear!"
"You're asking me to act?" Arthur raised a thick eyebrow and took another sip of his tea, "I love reading and writing but I'm no actor, Peter. I have neither talent nor passion for that area."
Their mother patted Arthur on his knee warmly as she stood. "Now, now Arthur, be nice. I'm certain that you'd make an endearing grizzly bear. I'm feeling a little faint from the heat so I'll be in my bedroom if you boys need me."
Arthur nodded and poured himself another cup of tea. Peter watched their mother as she glided out of view. He could hear her slowly walk up the stairs and close her bedroom door softly. Peter plopped himself onto the shorter couch adjacent to the one Arthur was seated in and swung his legs in the air. An amiable peacefulness spread across the room, a cloud drifting across the sun and casting the room in temporary cool shade. The thirteen year old boy blinked at his older brother who had his eyes closed as he took in the scent of Darjeeling.
"Hey Arthur," The blond boy almost whispered, afraid of disrupting the silence, "Can I ask you something?"
"Haven't you already?" The older blond sipped his tea, his composure still intact.
Peter took that as a 'yes'. "How come you don't talk much with Alfred anymore? You used to be best friends with him."
The young man brought the china cup back to its saucer, watching as a small droplet of tea rolled down the curve to settle at the bottom of the cup. It was true that he used to be best friends with Alfred. They had known each other ever since they could remember and they had grown up together, attending the same schools and eventually, university. However, as soon as university began, he had stopped associating himself with Alfred. He made friends with other people he met at university and no longer talked to the dirty blond unless necessary; and that was rare, as they had studied different subjects. It wasn't that he disliked the American although he was loud, obnoxious and overly inconsiderate in terms of reading the atmosphere. But somewhere along the way, something in his mind clicked and told him that Arthur Kirkland should not be friends with Alfred F. Jones any longer. So he stopped being friends with him.
"It's only because we move in different circles nowadays," The Brit replied nonchalantly, "Plus he's rather thick headed, naïve and ignorant. I don't like meddling with impossibly shallow people like him. Not to mention he's a servant of the house."
His little brother pouted and gave him a hard slap on the arm. Arthur nearly dropped his tea cup and saucer. He glared at the boy, demanding an explanation for the sudden violence. Peter crossed his arms angrily, "Alfred's not a servant! He's part of the family! And you went to the same university as him, so you can't say he's uneducated and dumb without admitting you are too!"
"He only got into the same university as me because father paid for his school fees and vouched for him," Arthur retorted as he replaced the saucer and cup on the coffee table, "Don't you forget that he owes our family. Now if you'll excuse me Peter, I have more important things to do than waste time arguing with you."
The older blond stood and straightened his clothes before proceeding towards the double doors that their mother had disappeared from only a short while ago. The cloud that had obstructed the sun had now shifted away and sunlight spilt into the room once again through the large windows. Peter opened his mouth to protest but was quickly cut off.
"And no, I'm still not going to be in your play no matter what you say." Arthur shut the door.
Peter sat in solemn silence for a moment, listening to Arthur's footsteps quickly disappear. Fine, he didn't want to act in his play. Fine, he wasn't too impressed with it either. The blond boy hopped off the couch and swiped his play script off the coffee table and stormed out of the parlour. But how could he say such horrible things about Alfred, his childhood friend? Obviously, Arthur needed a piece of his mind! Once again, Peter paused to look at the grandfather clock in the foyer. He couldn't believe his eyes – was it three in the afternoon already? Forget Arthur, he needed to assemble his cast!
Who else was free?
Ah. His third oldest brother, Ulster.
Tucking Arthur away into the back of his mind, Peter hurriedly scrambled back upstairs to see if his brother was in his bedroom or not. He stood outside the door and timidly pushed the door open, finding to his delight, the person he was looking for. Generally, his third brother was a very upbeat and friendly person and something about his appearances also gave that same impression; chocolate brown hair, chipper lime green eyes and the lightest sprinkle of freckles. Not at all hard to approach, but Peter still swallowed nervously when he found Ulster sitting at his desk, busy scratching away on paper with his ink pen. The brunet had long since finished university, but had decided to aim for a research doctorate degree in the art of engineering.
Though he had eased the door open as quietly as he could, somehow Ulster still managed to detect his lurking presence. Before Peter could do anything else, he said, "Sorry Peter, maybe some other time. I need to get this done."
The blond boy shut the door softly behind him with a whispered apology. Well, that went well.
Peter dragged himself back into his bedroom and shut the door dejectedly. He had written this masterpiece and no one wanted to perform it! He picked up a wooden building block he had used previously in the construction of his castle and threw it onto the ground with frustration. Somewhere in the background, the constant drone of a buzzing bee could be heard and Peter couldn't feel more annoyed. He marched up to the window where the bee was flying around, the bug trying to push past the glass but obviously failing. For a second, he was intent on squishing the insect with his bare palm, whether it stung him or not.
Then he saw them – Alfred and Arthur.
Together at the fountain.
It was odd enough to see them together, but what followed was even more peculiar. Peculiar to the point of being dangerously scandalous. Lethal, even.
Arthur sat on the edge of the fountain with the family's golden vase that was solely reserved for special occasions and a bunch of flowers beside him, an expression of rage etched on his face as Alfred held onto his arm firmly, saying something to him. Peter couldn't quite catch any dialogue being exchanged from this far a distance. But whatever it was that the American said, it annoyed Arthur even more as the Brit flung the other's arm away. However, the baffling thing was, Arthur began to strip. He was obviously still vexed by Alfred, but he began to fervently cast off his clothes – first his grey waistcoat, his white shirt, his shoes and socks.
Thank the Lord he didn't decide to take off his slacks.
But that was enough to send Peter whirling around and duck for a hiding spot. He was definite that he would not be seen from the fountain, but rather, he was hiding to avoid seeing them. He felt like he had just been told someone's dirty little secret; a secret that was never meant to be known by the likes of a thirteen year old boy.
And yet, he regained his courage and returned to his window once again with trembling hands.
Something had occurred while he wasn't looking, but Peter's eyes widened in shock when Arthur re-emerged from the surface of the fountain gasping for air. He was not in danger of drowning although Peter knew very well that his fourth brother could not swim. Arthur held onto the side of the fountain and proceeded to struggle with getting out of the water. Next thing he knew, Alfred was at Arthur's side, his hands touching his brother everywhere. His hands grabbed at Arthur's arm, his waist, his stomach, his chest – anywhere you could imagine. Peter understood that it was improper for a gentleman to touch a lady anywhere apart from her hand and this was with her permission no less; but for a man to touch another man wherever he pleased? That was simply wrong. Peter wasn't sure if the American was helping his brother get out of the fountain or not, but from where he watched, it all seemed too suspicious. He wrinkled his nose in repulsion. If Alfred was helping Arthur, why was Arthur trying to loosen his grip on his arm? Why was Arthur shouting at him?
More importantly, why did Arthur just randomly strip himself and dive into the fountain for no apparent reason?
When his brother was finally out of the water and free from Alfred's roaming hands, he stood there huffing and dripping water for a second before he snatched up his clothes and redressed himself, not caring that the fabrics were eagerly soaking up the liquid and clinging to his thin body frame. The entire time, he had his grass green eyes trained on Alfred. The other blond just gawked back at him; he might as well have been eating Arthur whole with his eyes! When he was satisfied with simply buttoning up his now thoroughly wet shirt, Arthur gathered the ornate vase, the flowers and the remainder of his clothes into his arms and stormed off. On the way, he tore something out of Alfred's hand. The dirty blond man seemed to have said something again, but this time Arthur completely ignored him and marched all the way back to the house.
The show was over.
He knew their secret. No; Alfred's secret. And nothing made him more certain than Alfred bending over the side of the fountain afterwards and dipping his hand into the water, his touch seemingly disgusting and sick to his eyes. Peter's concentration diverted back to the bee and he once again, attempted to kill the insect. However, he only managed in pushing the window open and letting it fly free. Suddenly, the weather didn't seem as wonderful as before, nor the day as perfect as it seemed.
