Tea, Scones and Ice Cream Sundaes

USUK, modern day AU.

Rated M for future chapters.

Warnings: Language, slash pairings, mentions of abuse,

Chapter One: Of gay bars and radioactive spiders

Enjoy~!

Tat-a-tat-tat.

Arthur Kirkland's eyes snapped open as he heard the sound of someone knocking at the teashop's back door. The Briton was slumped in a wooden chair in the TeaFairy, his head lying face down on a table, his tousled hair shielding his face from sight. It was seven o'clock in the morning but Arthur had been there for hours. He was still wearing the teashop uniform from yesterday, his messy blonde hair was unbrushed and his eyes were dull with lack of sleep. Arthur raised his head from the table and rubbed his eyes sleepily. There were lines on his chin from where he'd been lying on the table's edge.

Tat-a-tat-tat.

Arthur's features pulled into a scowl. There was only one person in the world who knocked at the door like that at this time in the morning. He slowly got up from the table and walked over to the back door. The person outside knocked again and Arthur kicked the door irritably.

"I'm coming already Francis!" he growled.

"That's what she said," came a faint murmur from outside. Arthur scowled again. It was going to be one of those days, he could tell.

He quickly combed his fingers through his hair, decided the stupid Frenchman deserved to wait outside in the cold for a bit longer, then went back into the main part of the teashop, reached behind the counter for the TeaFairy apron which he tied easily around him, before finally returning and unlatching the door.

There stood Francis Bonnefoy, a man in his early twenties with long shaggy blonde hair, a meticulously trimmed stubble, and a mischievous grin on his face. He was wearing a baker's apron and carrying a large crate, and shivering slightly from the cold - Arthur noticed with a satisfied smirk.

"Ah, mon ami! You took a long time getting to the door this morning! Are you feeling alright? Tu es un peu fatigué, non?" Francis asked, stepping inside the teashop, uncomfortably close to Arthur, who pointedly backed up.

"One, I'm not your friend. Two, stop speaking French, it's irritating. Three, I took a long time to get to the door because I do not wait on your arrival every morning. And four, I'm feeling fine," Arthur summarised, walking back inside the teashop to stand behind the counter. Francis followed him in, and heaved the crate onto the counter.

"Just as I thought then, you're in a bad mood today. Did Gilbert hide one of your unicorn plushies again?" Francis asked, smirking, as he started to unpack the contents of the crate and dump them on the counter. Arthur blushed.

"Charlie was not 'hidden', that was abduction, pure and simple."

Francis waved a hand dismissively and Arthur scowled. He decided to change the subject.

"So, er, what have you brought today?" he asked, pulling a small paper bag out of the crate, opening it slightly and sniffing the contents with a dubious expression.

"Same as usual," Francis answered, as he continued to unpack the crate. "Those hideous scone things you insist on ordering everyday. My gorgeous croissants because as much as you hate to admit it, they're popular here. Some lemon drizzle cakes, a few Bakewell tarts, my divine cupcakes, a handful of Andersen's Danish pastries... White chocolate cookies. Bannoffee muffins. And of course, my fabulous self, at your service!" Francis answered, taking the last package out of the crate and whipping the crate off the counter with a flourish. Arthur surreptitiously closed the paper bag he'd sniffed and folded over the top as he put it back on the counter.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. The last thing can bugger off though. I can't sell you to customers," he said grumpily, stowing some of the various cakes away into the glass case by the counter.

"Oh, but I'm sure some of your customers would be very willing to buy me," Francis teased with a flirtatious toss of his head.

"If only getting rid of you was that easy," Arthur replied smoothly without looking up.

"Oh, you'll never get rid of me, mon cher," Francis declared, tickling Arthur's neck, who scowled and slapped his hand away.

"God help me," Arthur muttered. Francis raised an eyebrow.

"Why are you in such a bad mood today?" he asked, trying to stroke Arthur's hair and getting shoved away forcefully.

"I'm not. It's natural for me to feel bogged down when your stupid froggy face is so near to me," Arthur snapped.

"Ouch," Francis said, taking a step back. Arthur glowered at him and Francis' lips curved upwards in a devious grin. "But it wasn't always like that," he said mischievously. Arthur pulled a carton of milk from the fridge.

"How do you mean?" he asked, regretting rising to Francis' bait instantly as he wrestled a mug from a crowded cupboard and dumped a heaped teaspoon of sugar into it.

"Are you forgetting all the magical times we shared together in my bedroom?" Francis asked with a smirk. Arthur nearly dropped the pot of sugar.

"I- I am constantly doing my best to do just that. And for good reason," he stammered, trying not to blush and failing. Francis chuckled softly as Arthur turned away and replaced the oversized sugar pot on the counter. Francis reached out, grabbed Arthur's chin, turned the blonde's head towards him, and examined his face carefully.

"Were you here overnight again?" he asked, searching his face and finding some sort of clue. Arthur started guiltily.

"No," he fibbed, jerking away from Francis' hand.

"You know I know you too well to lie to me," Francis scolded softly. "What happened?"

"I, er..." Arthur started.

"Come on, tell me. I asked Andersen to put some cakes in the oven back at the bakery and I don't trust him not to burn them. I need to get back there fairly soon," Francis said. Arthur scowled.

"Fine. Gilbert dropped by at the end of my shift and dragged me off to this random gay bar with him. And I was still in my uniform, would you believe?! And so I got drunk trying to convince some Polish transvestite I wasn't homosexual while Gil went off with a stranger. I woke up lying in a nearby club's bathroom and by then it was four in the morning. I just came straight here. Don't know where Gilbert went though," Arthur explained. Francis chuckled softly.

"Oh, you are funny. And Gilbert's fine, he turned up at Toni's an hour ago. Drunk as hell and smelling of rhubarb for some reason, but otherwise unharmed. You don't need to worry about him," Francis said.

"I wasn't going to worry. The wanker always turns up eventually," Arthur replied. "Now stop talking so much, I need to make tea."

"Is caffeine really what you need at this time in the morning?"

"Cannot. Function. Without. Morning. Tea," Arthur said decidedly with a forceful 'isn't it obvious?' glance in Francis' direction. He took a teabag from a jar and placed it in the mug, before filling the kettle with water and flicking the switch to turn it on.

"I don't understand why you don't just use your industrial size tea maker thing to make yourself a cup of tea," Francis stated, eyeing the heavy tin contraption in the corner.

"There's only one of me to make tea for - that thing makes about fifty at the same time. And I personally like making my own tea myself. Problem?" Arthur answered. He turned to face Francis and leant against the counter.

"Not at all, mon cher." Francis smiled. "I think you have a problem though. I think that you're lonely."

"What makes you think I have a problem?" Arthur asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes into emerald slits.

"I think you need someone to care for you," Francis carried on.

"I don't need anybody else," Arthur interrupted shortly, folding his arms.

"Nonsense. You, mon ami, need a lover to share your hopes and dreams with. Someone to spend time with. Someone to love you and care for you for the rest of your life. Ah, I am sure fate will bring them to you eventually, but for now I guess you'll just have to wait..." Francis sighed.

"Yeah, well fate can bugger off because it hasn't done anything for me so far," Arthur replied, eyes on the steaming kettle.

"Maybe your future lover is right under your nose. Maybe even...standing where I am now," Francis said with a wink.

Arthur looked distastefully at him. "You can bugger off too."

"No, I mean it. You're lonely and so am I. We should try again," Francis said.

"I've told you before, I'm not gay," Arthur huffed dismissively.

"Oh Artie, you know you're lying," Francis teased.

"I know I'm not. We never had a relationship. We never will," Arthur said determinedly. Francis sighed, a smirk on face. Arthur glared at him. "And anyway, you don't do relationships. You can't do relationships."

"Maybe I've changed."

"Maybe the Queen breakdances to dubstep in the royal drawing room every Friday night."

Francis grinned. "She might do," he said, starting to laugh until Arthur affixed him with a murderous glare that made him stop mid-chuckle. He grinned at Brit. "But Artie, do you not remember all the good times we shared together?" he said, nudging him. There was a pause.

"I made some mistakes when I was younger," Arthur answered, looking away. Francis grinned deviously at him.

"Well, I happen to think that some of them were quite good mistakes..." he said, twirling a lock of hair around a finger. At that moment the kettle boiled, and Arthur turned again to pour the water into his mug, glad of the distraction. After he'd set the kettle back down, he reached for the milk and poured some into the mug. He stood in the corner of the teashop, wedged into the right angle where two countertops met, idly stirring his tea.

"Give me one example of something I did in my teens that was a good decision," he challenged, still not facing Francis.

"I can think of many things. Our relationship was a very good decision on your part-" Francis started. Arthur scowled and cut him off.

"It was not a relationship! It was a couple of nights. And they were the biggest mistakes of my life," Arthur said shortly. "Try again." Francis creased his forehead up in concentration and stepped closer to Arthur.

"Well. I have to say. the green Mohican you had when you were 18, really, really did suit you," Francis said. He walked closer towards Arthur, until he was standing right behind him so that Arthur was trapped between him and the counter. "Your punk phase was simply adorable, darling." He tickled the back of Arthur's neck. "And it was such a shame when you took your eyebrow piercing out." He started idly tracing a finger down Arthur's spine, who shivered but couldn't pull away. Francis' finger stopped just above Arthur's tailbone, resting suggestively on the top of his jeans. "It was terribly cute when you stood up in front of the whole college and screamed that you weren't homosexual into the headmaster's microphone. That was a good decision - I won the bet I made with Gil and Toni over what percentage of the student body would still think you were straight by graduation."

Arthur made an angry noise and went to interrupt, but Francis cut him off. "It was 4%, for your information. Your outburst that day killed off 30% of the people who still believed you were straight," Francis said. Arthur angrily clenched his hands into fists, seething inwardly. "Oh, and finally, I have always found that tattoo of an electric guitar on your tailbone very, very sexy."

"Piss off!" Arthur cried, blushing bright red but still unable to pull away.

"I believe..." Francis moved his finger further down. "If I remember rightly...That it is about...here, is it not?" He tapped the spot mischievously and started to laugh.

Arthur hissed angrily and whipped his foot up rapidly, heel connecting forcefully with Francis' groin.

Francis fell to his knees in pain as Arthur turned around and pushed past him, holding his mug of tea to his body as if it were a lifeline.

"Get out of my shop, Francis," he growled. Francis slowly got to his feet, hands protectively curled around his crotch, still laughing breathlessly.

"Oh Arthur, you're so mean to me," he said, grinning.

"Get. Out."

"I did nothing wrong," Francis chuckled.

"I mean it," Arthur growled. "Or I will happily kick you where it hurts again. Harder."

"You don't mean that, Arthur," Francis said, grinning.

"Out!" Arthur nearly screamed. Francis straightened up and picked the crate up from the floor. Arthur aimed another kick at him and the Frenchman dodged out of the way, a devious expression on his face.

"Ok, ok, I'm leaving!" he assured Arthur. He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the back door. "But I mean it about the tattoo. It's definitely one of your best mistakes!" he called quickly, before whipping his head back around the corner in anticipation of another onslaught. Arthur watched with a murderous expression on his face as the Frenchman vanished and the door opened and closed as he let himself out. Only when he'd gone did Arthur walk to the back door and lock it behind him.

"Idiot frog. That tattoo was not a mistake," he murmured under his breath.

An hour or so later as Arthur stood in the kitchen wiping down the counter, he heard a rattling at the TeaShop's back door as someone pushed a key into the lock and let themselves in. Arthur sighed and dumped the dishcloth he'd been using back onto the counter. Another person to spoil the peace.

"Hey Artie, I brought squirty cream!"

A girl's voice floated into the shop in greeting. Arthur frowned in confusion and exasperation.

"What the hell are we supposed to do with cream?!" he asked incredulously.

"Hey, it's not just any cream, this is Sainsbury's finest squirty cream!" she called back. Various rustling noises ensued as she hung up her coat and kicked the piles of cardboard boxes crowding the back room out of her way.

"I don't care if it's 24 carot gold special edition cream - what are we going to do with it?" he called back irritably.

"Someone's in a bad mood today," she commented. Arthur just snorted, and watched as a 21 year old girl edged into the room. Her brown hair was bunched into two loose pigtails either side of her head with some bright red ribbon, and she wore a floaty blue dress that came down to her knees on her petite frame. She was shivering, arms clutched tightly around a can of whipped cream in her hands. She made a beeline straight for the teashop's radiator and flung herself across it with a relieved sigh.

"Morning, Michelle," Arthur said sarcastically, not expecting a reply. Michelle carried on hugging the radiator.

"Oh my God it's bloody freezing out there," she moaned. Arthur tutted.

"Then wear something that's not paper thin and comes down further than your knees," he said, returning his attention back to the dishcloth.

"But these are my working clothes. I can't break the habit and wear something different!" she cried, still attached to the radiator.

"Ooh, quel horreur," Arthur said sarcastically. That did get Michelle to look up. She raised her head off the radiator and fixed him with a disapproving look.

"Your French is bloody terrible," she commented, before flopping back down towards the warmth.

"Your common sense is bloody terrible," Arthur snorted, with a pointed look at her light summer dress.

"I can't change the fact that these are my working clothes! I've worked at the TeaFairy in these every weekend for the last year. I can't wear something else now," she explained.

"We live in England, not some remote island off the coast of Africa. Wearing a dress is fine here for summer, but we only get about a month of it a year and we won't even get that if last year was anything to go by. You may want to rethink," he lectured, rubbing at a chocolate smear on the counter.

"You sound like an old man," she murmured, words muffled.

"And you sound like a petulant child," he shot back, giving up with the chocolate stain and rinsing the dishcloth in the sink. Michelle ignored him. She slowly got off of the radiator and walked over to him, proudly plunking the can of cream on the counter. There was a pause.

"Well, what are we going to do with it?" Arthur asked, eyeing it distrustfully as if it were a bomb primed to go off.

"I thought we could serve a little bit with the chocolate cake and stuff. Just a little swirl next to it," she said brightly. Arthur huffed.

"Unnecessary," he said. Michelle rolled her eyes and poked him.

"I don't care. It's a nice touch," she said, putting the cream beside the overflowing stack of napkins on the counter. "Conversation closed."

Arthur scowled but didn't say anything. He rubbed at his eyes and flung the sodden dishcloth in the sink, shaking the drops of water off his hands.

"Francis told me about last night. You really should stop letting Gil just take you to random gay bars," Michelle said suddenly, as she opened the teashop's food case. "Ooh, cupcakes!"

"Get your head out of the display stand! And I couldn't do anything about it - Gilbert just showed up, grabbed my arm, and marched me off!" Arthur protested.

"You know you could have stopped him if you'd really wanted to," Michelle said distractedly, gazing longingly at the cakes in the glass display stand.

"You don't know what Gilbert's like," Arthur grumbled, dragging his hands through his hair to try and create something vaguely resembling a hairstyle and not just a mop of feathery blonde fluff.

"Uh, yes I do. I know Francis, and with Francis comes Toni and Gil. There's no ignoring their personalities when they're around," she said.

"Fair point," Arthur murmured. He crossed to the front of the shop and roughly flipped over the 'sorry, we're closed!' sign so that it greeted customers with a bright 'come in, we're open!'. He snorted at the overly cheery letters and walked back over to Michelle.

"So who's coming in to help out today?" he asked her.

"There's a timetable behind you," she answered. Arthur huffed and turned round to read it.

"Just don't expect me to stick around until late today, so if Peter or Flo don't bother to come in, you're going to have to stick it out and stay in alone," Michelle warned from behind him. Arthur ignored her, scanning the sheet.

"Well, Peter's scheduled to come in at ten, and Isla at two. Vi might drop in too at some point in the afternoon. Although I doubt Peter will be there on time," Arthur summarised.

"Oh, give him a break, Artie. You know he'll do anything to impress you and convince you that he's worthy of becoming a full time, paid worker here," Michelle chastised.

Arthur said nothing and turned back around, spotting a stray mug on the counter and grumpily stowing it away in a cupboard. His eyes flitted up to the clock - yup, nine o'clock.

And so began another day.

The morning passed uneventfully with only a small number of customers coming in; the only slight bit of drama occurring when Peter (who had mercifully come in on time that day) dropped a mug of tea on the floor and Arthur nearly burst a vein.

And so it was a complete surprise when a little after eleven o'clock, as Arthur was washing up a large stack of white cups and saucers by the sink, something completely unexpected happened.

There was a sudden bang as the teashop door was thrown open carelessly, sending the lethargic old bell into a frenzy of alarmed clanging, and everybody looked up in surprise. Arthur scowled at the lack of respect for his shop, looked up, and then found he could only stare, stunned, as a young man strode confidently into the teashop.

His mop of sandy blonde hair was so messy it didn't seem to have two strands pointing in the same direction. A little tuft of hair poked up noticeably at the front of his head and his light blue eyes gleamed mischievously from under his feathery hairline. He was wearing low slung jeans and his blue top, adorned with a yellow smiley face, was thrown casually over his well-built frame. A large brown bomber jacket was nonchalantly slung over his broad shoulders, and he grinned widely at the assembled company inside the Teashop as he entered.

"Howdy folks!" he greeted brightly. Arthur rolled his eyes and went back to cleaning up the mugs. Typical. An American.

The people in the teashop, who all seemed rather taken aback and alarmed by this stranger's overly cheerful greeting, slowly began to turn away and resume their conversations. The American grinned and walked up to the counter, placing his hands on the surface. Michelle smiled at him and headed towards him.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked.

Arthur realised he was staring again and turned away quickly, a faint blush on his face. He abruptly became very interested in a non-existent stain on the handle of the mug he was holding and rubbed at it vigorously.

"Hello miss! Yes, I'd love a coffee actually, strong, black, three sugars, please," the man said cheerfully. Michelle froze and there was an awkward silence.

"Um, I'm sorry sir, we er...we don't sell coffee here," Michelle said carefully. The man's eyes widened.

"What?" he asked disbelievingly. Michelle faltered.

"Uh... We're a teashop... I'm afraid we only sell tea and cakes. You won't find any coffee here," she told him.

"You can't run a shop without coffee!" he spluttered indignantly. Arthur could tell by Michelle's expression she wasn't sure how to react. And then he realised he was looking at them again and determinedly turned away.

"Uh... I'm sorry sir, I really am. But...this is a teashop. You can get good coffee from Starbucks, they're get close to us-"

"I don't want to go to Starbucks! The manager there's a jerk!" the man insisted. Michelle bit her lip and turned around to find Arthur's eyes, shooting him a desperate look that clearly said 'help me!'.

Dammit, he was looking at the man again.

Arthur took a deep breath and exhaled, knowing he was going to regret this. And then straightened his apron and walked over to Michelle and the customer.

"Er, hello. Can I help?" he asked politely. The man beamed at him.

"Alfred Jones, pleased to meet you," he enthused, sticking out a hand. Arthur quirked an eyebrow but realised the sooner he got rid of this American the sooner he could return to normality. He shook Alfred's hand quickly as if not wanting to touch him overly.

"Uh-likewise. My name's Arthur Kirkland - I, er, I run the TeaFairy," he said. "Is there anything I can help you with?" He was vaguely aware of Michelle slowly edging away from him and Alfred. She obviously didn't want to be caught up in this. Thanks a bunch, Michelle, Arthur thought.

"Yeah... How come you don't sell coffee?" Alfred asked, bright blue eyes fixing Arthur to the spot. Arthur's words stumbled out of his mouth.

"W-we are a Teashop, and-er...our whole premise is that of selling exclusively tea. I'm sorry, but I think you might need to-to, find somewhere else if you..." Arthur trailed off as he became aware that Alfred was gazing intently at him.

"What?" he snapped, a little harsher than he had intended. Alfred grinned.

"I'm just looking at you. Arthur," he said, and Arthur flushed, provoking another wide grin from Alfred.

"But, er... If you want a coffee I'm afraid you'll have to find somewhere else..." Arthur said quickly. Alfred quirked his head to one side and smiled.

"Oh, that's ok," he said. There was an awkward silence in which Arthur fiddled uncomfortably with his apron strings. Alfred was still staring at him and frankly his unwavering gaze was starting to unnerve him.

Arthur decided to try and be professional about this. He flicked his hair from his eyes and put a hand on his hip.

"Have you-er... Do you have any other questions?" he asked briskly. Perhaps he could at least get Alfred to leave.

But Alfred just fixed his grin back into place."Yeah. Fancy going for a drink?"

Any attempts at professionalism shrivelled and died.

"I-I'm sorry?!" Arthur gasped.

"I said, d'ya want to go for a drink?"

"N-no! What sort of question is that?! No-now order something or get out of my shop!" Arthur cried, feeling his face go bright red. Alfred grinned at him.

"Okay. Second option. I'll have a tea then. And a, er, a muffin thingy. Please," Alfred asked. He added an angelic smile on the end of his words as if that would make Arthur weaken. In fact it just made him redden further and forget what he was going to say.

"Uh, uhm, sure, I er... Yeah," Arthur stuttered out. He turned abruptly and busied himself with making tea. Despite Alfred not specifying what sort of tea he wanted, Arthur was not about to turn back and ask. To be honest, Alfred's blatantly interested gaze and distracting smile were effectively fixing him to the spot and Arthur was afraid if he met his eyes again he wouldn't be able to look away.

Wanker. Arthur decided to give Alfred the cheapest drink available.

He busily set about grabbing a teabag and a cup, clicking the switch on the water boiler to turn it on, pouring milk into a tiny jug and setting that, with a teapot and cup, on a tray. As an afterthought, he added a spoon. He grabbed a muffin from the food case and put that on separate plate, and when the water had boiled he poured it into the teapot and dumped a couple of teabags into it in a practiced movement. He told himself he was imagining the shaking of his hands.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Alfred was watching him intently and blushed again.

He pushed the tray towards Alfred and scowled when the American smiled brightly at him.

"£4.49," he said simply. Alfred pulled a beaten-up old wallet from a pocket and fished inside for the money, before handing it over, taking the change with a smile, and picking the tray up.

"Cheers Arthur," he said, then with a last bright grin that made Arthur's knees weaken irritatingly, he turned and placed the tray down on the nearest table, then sank into the chair and pulled the muffin towards him eagerly.

Arthur rolled his eyes and turned to go back into the back room, and found himself face to face with a smug-looking Michelle.

"What?" he snapped, already irritated by the American and fast becoming pissed off by Michelle's expression.

Michelle quirked her eyebrows. "Getting asked out by a male customer. That must be a first for you," she said mischievously. Arthur glared at her.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he hissed.

Michelle grinned. "He's kinda hot though, don't you think?"

Arthur went red. "Don't be absurd!"

He pushed past her and stalked into the back room, sat down heavily on a cardboard box, and folded his arms.

Michelle followed him and smirked. "What are you doing?"

"Staying out of his sight until he goes," Arthur answered. "Now go serve some customers. Peter can't do it on his own."

Michelle rolled her eyes with a grin and walked back into the Teashop. Arthur huffed irritatedly and kicked the wall. The wall made an ominous hollow sound and Arthur quickly withdrew his foot.

The shop was falling apart. Yes, it was built by the council and was technically structurally sound, the thin wall put up to separate the shop from the back room was more than a little unstable and there were huge networks of cracks in the ceiling. The front of the shop where customers sat was fine, nicely decorated and clean, but behind the scenes, the back room was littered with cardboard boxes and junk, the wallpaper was peeling horrifically, and cobwebs were clustered over the ceiling. Arthur had done his best, going at it with a feather duster, an army of bin bags, and litres of fresh paint, but somehow, it never seemed to do anything.

The space where the shop now was, had been vacant for a year or so before Arthur had bought it, derelict and empty, and the council had made up their minds to rebuild it, but Arthur was in need of a cheap space to set up a little business, and knew that if he waited until it had been revamped, it would be much more expensive. So Arthur had bought it quickly, turned it into a little Teashop, and done his best from then on. Sure, he had to have inspectors coming in every few months to check the place was free of damp, stable and safe for customers, and the back room was a little dismal, but Arthur had a business going, had loyal customers that supported him, good working staff (mostly), and an income. And the TeaFairy was his second home. In fact he felt more comfortable sitting here in the shop than he did in his miniature apartment nearby. Arthur had put his all into the shop, and though it had paid for itself many times over, it was starting to show signs that it desperately needed help.

Arthur was just hoping the shop would at least survive as long as he needed it.

He was brought back to the present by an abrupt squeal from the teashop. He knew immediately it was Michelle, but as to the cause... With a sigh, he got up and peeked around the side of the wall in an attempt to find the cause of the problem without being seen by Alfred.

Arthur wondered momentarily why he was worried do much about Alfred seeing him, then thought back to the American's cheerfully forward, mortifying words, and remembered.

'Fancy going for a drink?'

And that bright unwavering smile, as if Arthur was the only person Alfred had ever wanted to see. Idiot.

Arthur scanned the Teashop, and with a pang of irritation and another emotion he couldn't place, his eyes met Alfred's, who was sitting down at the table with muffin crumbs and a nonchalant grin smeared across his face. It was as if he had been waiting for Arthur to reappear solely with the intention of smiling inanely at him.

Arthur scowled directly at him before looking away to find the source of the scream.

Michelle was standing with her back pressed to the counter, arms raised in fright, eyes focused on a point on the work surface by the wall between the back room and the teashop... Peter stood beside her, hand on her shoulder, as if trying to comfort her.

Arthur made his way over. "What?" he asked tiredly. Peter looked at him, blonde hair bouncing with the movement.

"There's a spider on the work surface," he explained. "Shelle got spooked and nearly knocked the water boiler over."

There was a pause, then Arthur clapped a hand to his forehead and sighed. "Not again."

Peter shrugged. "Come on, it was over a week ago that that last happened."

"Michelle, you're supposed to be from the Seychelles - surely you had massive snakes and spiders there," Arthur said exasperatedly. Michelle fixed her eyes on him.

"That doesn't mean I had to like them! Now just get rid of it!" she squeaked.

Arthur took a deep breath, cursed his colleagues for being such wimps, then crossed over and scanned the surface for the offending insect.

"Where?" he sighed. "I don't see-oh Jesus fucking Christ!" Arthur leaped away as if burned. "It's green!"

A spider crawled out from its hiding place behind the water boiler. It was only small, but it had a large white growth on its back and it was also green. Fucking green. Horrified, Arthur backed up.

And then, suddenly, from behind him, there was an eager cry of -"I'll save you!"- and as if Arthur's day couldn't get any worse, Alfred jumped up from his seat, raced over, located the spider on the surface, scooped it up in his hands, and then turned around, his blonde hair falling perfectly across his face.

He grinned at Arthur. "It's cute."

There was a distrustful silence. "It's green," Arthur hissed.

"Hey, maybe it's radioactive or something and I'm gonna turn into Spider-Man!" Alfred said enthusiastically.

"It BIT you?!" Michelle exclaimed, horrified.

"Oh! Well, er, no," Alfred said with a sheepish grin. "I guess I'm kinda glad. Imagine having to live everyday as a radioactive-induced superhero."

There was a dead silence and Arthur realised the entire teashop was watching the little melodrama. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on, and turned to Alfred.

"Just get rid of it, okay?" he murmured.

Alfred beamed at him and walked out of the shop, cradling his hands to his chest, as Michelle turned to Arthur.

"I thought you were fine with spiders...?"

"I am when they're not bloody 'radioactive' - er - I mean - green ones. You tell me it's normal to see a green spider?!"

"Sure it's normal, Artie. And it's not all green, it's abdomen was just green because it was pregnant. It's going to have spider babies!" Alfred called, coming back inside the shop.

Arthur stood stunned for a minute. "One, don't ever call me Artie! Two, it was green enough for me, okay? And three, I don't care if it was pregnant! That means more abnormal green arachnids in the world that I don't want! Tell me that's a good thing!" he said, turning on him.

Alfred grinned brightly, as if the smile was the only thing that deflected Arthur's comments, then walked over and sat down at his table again. "You're welcome for getting rid of the spider. You can repay me for my noble quest by coming to sit with me," he called.

Arthur went bright red and floundered for a minute. "What?!"

And then suddenly, somebody came up behind him and shoved him towards Alfred, who grinned. Mortified, Arthur turned around to face his assailant, and visibly deflated. "Oh, Virginia. You're in early," he said flatly.

A girl with caramel brown hair held in a side plait and freckles dotted all over her grinning face, beamed at him. "Yup, aren't you pleased to see me? And my name's Vi, not Virginia."

"Whatever. Peter, you can go home now, Vi's here," he called, still trying to keep the colour of his face - which was turning a dangerous shade of pink - under control.

Peter sighed. "Aww!"

Vi stepped towards Arthur and murmured softly into his ear so no one else would hear. "Arthur, when a handsome American saves from certain peril at the hands of a radioactive spider, grins at you like that, and asks you to sit with him, you accept, ok?" she whispered. Arthur felt as if his face was going to catch fire.

She insistently shoved him towards Alfred, and before Arthur could even reason with himself, he'd taken a few shaking steps forward and collapsed into the chair opposite Alfred, who beamed sunnily and indadvertedly lit up the whole room. Arthur turned around to face Vi with a pleading look, but she just grinned cheekily at him.

"It's okay, Peter can stay and cover for you," she said. Behind her, Peter's chest swelled at the thought of being asked to do something important.

Bright red in irritation, Arthur turned back around to face Alfred. Goddammit. Why did the world hate him today?

The American grinned, placed an elbow on the table and leaned forward towards Arthur, so close Arthur could smell the shampoo in his feathery hair, see every single eyelash framed individually against his eyelids, feel his gentle breath on his face, hear the brush of hair against his jacket, lose any grip on reality and find himself slowly spinning, drowning inside Alfred's bright blue, enchanting, bewitching eyes...

"Right. So how much sugar and milk should I add to my tea, Arthur?" Alfred asked with a smile so bright it made Arthur's head hurt.

Goddammit. Arthur knew he shouldn't have come to sit with him. Because if Alfred looked at him like that again, he would surely sink below the surface of the conflicting emotions suddenly fighting for attention in his heart. Where had these emotions come from? What was their purpose? When had Arthur started to feel like this? Who was Alfred to leave him speechless?

Why did the world hate him today?

-A.N-

Hi guys! My name is Charli Petidei, and welcome to Tea, Scones, and Ice Cream Sundaes.

This is a little USUK fic I've been working on for some time, and though I know the first chapter's insanely long, chapter will be less so in future XD

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, reviews are always welcome and constructive criticism much appreciated!

Love you all :)

Charli Petidei xxx