THIS WAS FOR NEW YEARS BUT I SUCK AND IT'S REALLY LATE. AHHHHHHH
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Lawlzzzzz /broken sobbing/
*Also, as for "Destiny Calls" and "Memories are a Funny Thing" I will have new chapters up by the end of this week hopefully! X] (I haven't had my laptop in almost 9 days! GAH)
Every year Alfred lit a single candle. He would place it in the window of the front foyer.
It was of course a sign, a signal fire, a beacon meant for Arthur, so that he might find his way home easier and faster. He was always traversing the world, expanding his reach, spreading his empire, gaining more power. Alfred found it mildly irritating to put it lightly. Arthur was supposed to be his friend. Alfred had picked him – over Francis! – and yet he left him here to fend off the monsters and darkness all alone. It was illogical and hurtful. And most of all… it was lonely.
So every year he lit a candle; a flame to guide his frivolous caretaker home.
The darkness, though it came earlier this time of year, had crept up to the house already. The stars were visible through the deep velvet and shone as though they were taunting the weak, flickering candle still perched on the window sill. It had been burning for hours now; much longer than it ever had before, despite Alfred having lit it far later than normally. He had been busy trying to master baking cookies and the candle had momentarily slipped his mind; though the purpose and occasion for the candle had not given him a moment's peace in a week.
Arthur was coming home!
Christmas had flown by at a mind boggling speed. Alfred had woken up one morning and it had been a few days prior and then suddenly one morning he had glanced at the calendar and it was December 29th. The Christmas decorations were of course left up for Arthur to see when he got home. He would be bogged down with presents from here and there across the globe but Alfred wouldn't care. The second the door opened he would launch himself across the room and straight into Arthur's arms forcing him to drop everything he was holding in order to catch the child. The presents and boxes and bags would land in a heap at their feet as the force of Alfred's impact sent them both spinning.
Alfred knew Arthur was stronger than that though; knew that a punch as weak as his collision would never send Arthur reeling the way he pretended it did. Alfred didn't mind. It was comforting.
But here it was, dangerously close to midnight, to the New Year, with the candle almost burnt out and Arthur was nowhere to be seen. Alfred bit his lip and shuffled up to the window, rubbing his fingers across the glass pane to clear it of the condensation. Outside the snow whirled in thick tornadoes and the path to the front door had not been stepped on in days.
He huffed and flopped down on the floor.
As difficult and daunting as the task was, Alfred did try his best not to be the petulant child that was always underfoot, forever a bother, never comforting, and a real pain in the arse in general. This year however might change that. He glanced at the clock on the wall; it was 11:37 PM. Arthur had less than half an hour to be home or Alfred would throw a fit unlike any Arthur had ever seen.
It was in his right to throw that fit, he reasoned as he sat curled up in a blanket in front of the door, chewing on a small cookie he'd fished from the jar. Arthur was hardly ever here. It was his job to be home in time for New Years. It was the least he could do. Sure, they'd never really made it a rule or even really talked about it but things like that didn't matter. What mattered was that he came home in time to watch the clock tick through to another new year and hopefully, if Alfred were lucky, stay for a couple days and visit properly.
As he huddled under the quilt contemplating the hard, cold floor beneath him and how it was putting his legs to sleep, the minute hand made steady, heart-pounding progress towards the 12. The house had never been so clean. Alfred had spent the whole morning scrubbing floors, wiping mantles, polishing tables and chairs, and clearing out the spare bedroom. Everything was set. Everything was perfect. Except that Arthur wasn't here…
Why was it that Alfred had chosen Arthur over Francis?
He couldn't remember anymore.
Francis had had tons of yummy food and nice clothes and lots of friends; Arthur hadn't had any of that. He had had yucky burnt food covered in vinegar and weird button up vests and lots of enemies. Alfred was sure Francis would visit him more than Arthur ever did and he was sure that there wouldn't be the tense atmosphere that sometimes inexplicably erupted between him and Arthur.
In a state of semi-consciousness Alfred conjured up a mental image of Arthur when he had first met him. Slowly the surrounding wood finishing and furniture melted away into flowers and fields and rivers and clouds and clear, blue sky. There was Francis, standing to the side looking perplexed, still holding a plate of delicious steaming trout and potatoes and carrots. Alfred glanced around. Ah, there he was.
Arthur.
He was sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around his legs and a forlorn frown on his face. Yes, this was entirely too accurate, Older Alfred thought as he watched the scene unfold. Even in his memories Arthur's strange clothing, the cloth pants that only came down to his shins, the vest, buttoned up to the very top, and the frilly shirt with sleeves just a tad too short, looked terribly uncomfortable and he cringed when he saw Little Alfred staring contemplatively at Arthur.
As he struggled to send a message to his past self to not choose Arthur, to not choose the man who seemed so deceptively weak and small but was really a tyrannical hard ass of a ruler, finally he took a good look at said man.
His lips were twisted down, and his hands, clasped so tightly around each other, were shaking ever so slightly. He was the very picture of despair and loneliness. Older Alfred sighed. That was it. He remembered now. Arthur had needed him; far more than Francis did or ever would…
Being needed was something that Alfred had always desired, always did desire, even if he didn't understand why. Being needed and loved was an attribute that Arthur would always be able to provide for Alfred far better and more completely than Francis ever would.
Alfred was awakened by the huge, solid wooden front door hitting him squarely in the face and he leapt up, yelping and throwing the blanket to the ground.
"Oh Lord! Alfred! Are you alright?" A frantic voice pushed through from beyond the haze of pain clouding his mind.
When the voice registered the throbbing faded though.
It was Arthur.
"Arthur!" Alfred yelled joyously and threw himself forward. Suddenly however, the whole night came rushing back to him. He was mad. He was hurt. He skidded to a stop a foot from Arthur and glared at him as forcefully as he could.
"Alfred?" Arthur murmured confusedly. He had tossed the many bags and boxes at the foot of the stairs already in preparation of a hug but was left standing with his arms held out.
Glancing at the clock again Alfred realized it was still 10 to the hour. Arthur had made it home in time.
"What is it Alfred?" Arthur was worrying his lip, a crease between his eyebrows as he tried to figure out what was wrong.
Thinking back on his revelation Alfred sighed as he watched Arthur pluck some loose feathers from his felt sleeves while waiting for Alfred to gather his apparently scattered thoughts. It was unavoidable wasn't it? Arthur would forever disappoint him continually and never know it. He would always be late. He would always be gone. He would always get hurt. Alfred studied him closely; there were bruises across his knuckles and telltale bandages wrapped around his wrist.
But, he reasoned, Arthur would always come home.
"It's nothin'. I just have a huge headache now haha!" Alfred laughed loudly and grinned.
Arthur frowned. "I really am sorry Alfred but you shouldn't be sleeping there."
Alfred sighed again.
Arthur would never change.
It seemed that every year the New Year got more exciting, more tense, more interesting, and more imperative.
Alfred groaned as he sat staring up at the clock on the wall, pressing the mute button on the TV. He was still skulking in his living room, and had been for the last two hours. It was New Years Eve and he didn't have any plans. All his friends were too busy to be around. New Years was best celebrated at home with family after all.
Usually Alfred wandered out into the streets of New York City or Chicago to enjoy the festivities with his people but this year he just didn't have it in him. It was so loud and so bright. The streamers would be strung from the top of every building, balloons would fill the evening sky and there would be untold numbers of floats as a part of the endless parades lining the packed streets.
So many people, so many families, just… so many.
He closed his eyes and leaned back into the couch. Today had been such a bust. So many happy people out with the ones they loved. He stared at the TV for a moment in disgust as a couple waved at the camera and kissed beneath the rapidly falling confetti, laughing as they ran away from the chuckling film crew.
Alfred liked to do his best to be mature; he was a country after all. But still… he was just a teenager. How mature was he expected to be? He should be allowed to pout and feel sorry for himself sometimes right? He should be allowed to buy a gallon of Super Man ice cream and curl up on the couch and sulk for the day. It wasn't like he really had that much to do anyway. Even though he was a country he had a government and they did most of the work. He was just needed to do the dirty work that normal humans couldn't or didn't want to, and occasionally some of the really boring-ass paperwork that tended to pile up. And by boring… he meant BORING; populace charts, surveys, housing needs, etc, etc.
The couple on the TV was back he noticed, turning his attention towards the screen once again. They had found some festive hats and were dancing. The news crew seemed quite taken with them; the reporter even donned her own hat and joined them in some strange cancan.
Alfred snorted and chucked a pillow on the floor in anguish. It just kept getting worse and worse. At this rate he was going to abandon his hovel and run amuck in the crowd not bothering to worry about cameras or reporters or spies. (No, he supposed spies weren't really a problem but it was more exciting to pretend they were…)
What was it he did every year before his country had gotten so impressive? He frowned, staring up at the ceiling trying to remember.
Ah, that was right.
He'd lit a candle for Arthur every December 31 in hopes that he would somehow see it and get home faster. Really, in retrospect it had been stupid of him to assume that Arthur, far across the sea, God knows where, would be able to see his one pittley little candle. It was just childish fantasy and dreams.
He sighed and tugged at the hem of his shirt. He folded his arms and flopped sideways onto the couch cushions.
Really, it was stupid.
He blinked a couple times as the people on the TV grew blurrier and blurrier as his eyes unfocused.
He was sure he had some old candles in the back of one of his cupboards.
Blushing furiously, his fingers trembled as he tried to light it. The blasted lighter kept going out and it wasn't his shaking fingers causing it, that was for sure! Finally he managed to get the flame to catch and took a step back to admire the glow it threw against the window glass and wooden archway. It looked warm and inviting honestly. The thought that maybe he should light candles more often crossed his mind jokingly. But really, thinking on it, he knew that this one little candle wouldn't change anything. He wouldn't have that life back. It wasn't as if this year was going to be like those others. It wasn't like Arthur was on his way here or would know he had lit the damn thing.
Suddenly the happy feeling once again melted and he was left staring morosely at the small flame. Why was it that the merest thought of Arthur could ruin his best mood? As he crossed his arms and continued to stare in irritation at the candle there was a knock on the door. He turned to stare at it in confusion. Who in the world would have come all the way out here? He had purposely holed up in his country house; as far from other people and towns and city life as he could.
His stomach flipped and he frowned, trying vainly to crush the silly rising hope that had sprung up in his chest when he imagined opening the door to Arthur; to his smiling face and pile of presents. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair; he was being so… stupid. But as he pulled the door open with an "umpf" he felt the blood drain from his face.
Standing stock still against the dark, wintery background, and holding a small box with a miniscule red velvet bow on top, was Arthur.
"Hullo, Alfred…."
Alfred vaguely realized that his mouth had dropped open. He rubbed his eyes roughly and something in him snapped.
"Alfred…?"
"What are you doing here?" He asked roughly, accidently letting the feelings slip through the filter he kept in mind constantly when dealing with Arthur; a filter that he had learned through the years was necessary; to be honest with Arthur, to explain or react on true emotions was not now, and never was, an option.
"What do you mean?" Arthur asked slowly, glancing first down and then to the side.
"I mean -… What -…" He struggled to string together words that would accurately describe how he felt but came up blank. "How did you see it?" He finally murmured quietly.
"See what?" Arthur asked quizzically, tilting his head to the side.
As Alfred was about to answer he noticed Arthur shiver and he sighed. "You better come in then huh?" He gestured towards the snow piling up on the bushes just outside the door and grinned sardonically.
Instead of answering Arthur merely ducked his head and stepped past Alfred and into the hallway. Suddenly he turned and held out the small box in his hands. "Here." He muttered stiffly. "I know it's not as much as… I usually, as I used to -…" He broke off.
Alfred just stared at the box being proffered.
"What was it that you thought I saw?" Arthur asked pointedly, trying desperately to steer the conversation in a direction he could keep up with. He'd never seen Alfred this distracted and had no idea how to deal with it.
Alfred blushed lightly and jerked his face away. He didn't wanna answer. He didn't wanna go into this embarrassing, ridiculous farce he'd talked himself into. Why in the world had he even mentioned it? Was he trying to make himself even more miserable?
"Alfred?"
"It was nothing." He said darkly. Turning, he stared at Arthur for a moment. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"
A hurt look flitted across Arthur's face before he answered, "No… I just… thought…"
"Are you staying?" Alfred asked in shock.
"Can't I?"
Alfred rubbed a hand across his mouth and stayed silent for a moment. What was the right decision? Should he just turn Arthur out the door? Or should he allow him in? He was about to open his mouth and turn Arthur away when he remembered the loneliness that had been driving him insane all day, that empty longing that he hadn't been able to shake and had kept welling up in his chest and mind.
Arthur frowned sadly and ran his fingers along the top of the box, back and forth, back and forth. "Alfred, I only thought that – "
"Do you want some tea?"
Arthur blinked and nodded his head slowly. "Yes, that would be lovely." He murmured quietly, almost disbelievingly.
Finally the emotion took on a name in Alfred's mind and he stepped forward lightening quick, wrapping Arthur in his arms and reveling in the long familiar sound of the box hitting the floor when Arthur dropped it in favor of throwing his arms around Alfred's waist in surprise.
Love.
Happiness.
Contentment.
Those were the names of the intangible concepts whirling around in his heart. Those were the terms used by quicker witted individuals who could compartmentalize better to sum up how they were feeling. He tried not to dwell on the fact that, despite knowing now the names of his feelings, he still had no idea what to do with them. How was one supposed to act on feelings they, until just recently, didn't understand or know to what extent they even truly existed?
He buried his face in Arthur's neck and sucked in a shaky breath. It had been so long since he'd smelt the lingering tea leaves, wood smoke, and old books. It had been so long since he'd felt this warmth against him. It had been too long since he'd held this precious, precious man in his arms.
"You were almost too late." He whispered. Arthur stiffened in his arms and he could feel a bit of warmth hovering against his ear which was pressed against Arthur's cheek.
"Alfred…?" He asked weakly.
"You almost didn't make it." Alfred said, still pressed against Arthur. "It's 11:28 PM; it's almost the New Year. It was almost too late." He himself wasn't even sure what he meant by the last statement.
"Alfred what are you talking about?" Arthur asked softly, running a hand over the shoulder of Alfred's leather jacket and up through his hair. "Shh shh, what are you talking about?"
It was the same, he realized then. Here was Arthur, wrapped tightly in a hug, it was New Years, he was comforting Alfred to the best of his abilities, and without the knowledge that once again it was his fault.
"I lit the candle." Alfred said, pulling back. "I lit the candle in the window for you."
"Is that what you meant?" Arthur asked, craning his neck to see over Alfred to the window in the front room. "The candle?"
Alfred nodded.
"It's gone out." Arthur muttered lowly.
Alfred spun them both to face the room and stared towards the candle that had just petered out, a small plumb of light gray smoke rising from the stub of wax.
"It doesn't matter." He glanced down at Arthur. "You saw it in time, right?" He grinned and Arthur smiled demurely in return.
New Years Eve is only a new chapter.
A/N: Gee, that didn't turn out like I'd expected at all… there was supposed to be sea-fairing adventures and at least two more flashbacks with angst…
Huh… weird.
Also… not my best. Tsk. I'm so flighty lately. Grrrrrr
But hope you guys liked it anyway!
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