It was a dark and stormy night… but then, why wouldn't it be? It was always raining in London, and that was just the way Arthur Kirkland liked it.
Seated comfortably in an armchair, he gazed listlessly out the window. God, he hated this day. Downing another shot of vodka, he made a mental note to thank Braginski. When gin just didn't cut it, Arthur always turned to vodka, partially because that stupid prat hated the man who gave it to him.
It was July fourth. Alfred had made several calls to his house to invite him to his birthday party, but hell would freeze over before Arthur stopped feeling sorry for himself and wished the boy a happy birthday. Yes, he really hated this day.
It had been over two hundred years since the day of his defeat at Yorktown, and Arthur still couldn't let old memories go. He considered Alfred to be his greatest loss, the one who brought his empire down. A small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that nothing was really Alfred's fault, and his control of the world was already slipping fast through his fingers by that time. Arthur took another shot in an effort to get his conscience to shut up.
He decided that he was a little more than inebriated, so it must be safe to dwell on painful memories at this point. His eyes flicked to the tiny toy soldier standing at attention on his mantle.
Arthur stood up quickly from his workbench, making sure not to further damage his arm. There, he thought, satisfied with his work. I'm finally done. He walked quickly down the hall in search of his charge.
"Alfred," he called, "come here, I have something for you." Tiny footsteps got closer until the boy in question was in front of him, eyes on the package in his hand. "What is it?" the child inquired, eager to unwrap his present. "You'll just have to find out for yourself, won't you?" Arthur replied, smiling down at him.
Alfred hastily unwrapped the gift, scattering paper every which way. His eyes widened almost comically upon seeing his gift.
"No way! Are you sure I can really have this?" Arthur's smile widened at Alfred's exclamation.
"Of course! I made it especially for you, Al."
"Woah, it's so cool! Thank you so much, Arthur!" Arthur laughed. "Take good care of it. And… always be careful when you use a hammer," he said, gesturing to his arm in a sling.
"Wow, there are so many soldiers! All of their faces are different!" Arthur knelt in front of the boy, pleased that Alfred liked his gift so much. "That's because I made them especially for you."
Arthur looked away from the wooden figurine, suddenly overwhelmed by the painful memories it brought back. No, it certainly wouldn't do to keep thinking about that one. Another shot, then.
The pouring rain suddenly got louder… or maybe it was the buzz from all the alcohol? Whatever, he thought. It's just noise. Oh? What's… something shiny caught his eye. It's just my cufflink. But… He really was out-of-sorts today, if he was stupid enough to wear these particular cufflinks on this day.
"Huh? What's this suit for?" Alfred asked, holding up a navy outfit. "It looks expensive. I'm not gonna wear it since I don't need it."
Arthur shook his head and stepped toward the rebellious teen. "No! You've been quite sloppy with your attire lately. I'll have problems if you don't dress appropriately." Alfred frowned.
"What's wrong with my clothes? I like what I'm wearing now," he whined. Stupid boy, Arthur thought impatiently. Don't question your authority.
"Go change," Arthur ordered. "See for yourself how much better you'll look in these clothes."
A few minutes later, Alfred returned and stepped in front of the mirror.
"See," Arthur chided, "I knew these clothes would look much better on you."
Alfred continued to frown. "What? This outfit is too tight. I'll save this for special occasions."
"Fine, that's just as well! See here," Arthur grabbed Alfred's wrist and held it so he could examine the jacket himself. "These cufflinks are identical to mine. When we attend functions, I don't want people to think I've raised a hooligan." At this, Alfred smirked.
"When they see these, they'll know that you're a proper young man. Perhaps you'll make a name for yourself."
Arthur frowned at his sleeve. Maybe back then, I spoke too soon, he mused. Another shot.
He looked around the cozy room, idly wondering if there was an object in there that wouldn't upset him. As luck would have it, his gaze fell upon the musket hanging above his fireplace.
It was raining. Hell, it was always raining at home; he should have been used to it by now. The weather on that cold Virginia day was surely a sign of what would transpire.
Arthur's men had all but left him on his own when they received news that there was to be a grand battle at Yorktown. They were apprehensive when they received news of a "Declaration of Independence" all those years ago, but they had stayed with him yet. What was one more battle?
Arthur sighed and cursed that frog, Francis. Who was he to fight for Alfred in this little "coming-of-age" spat? Then again, he admonished himself, it was surely much more than that. He vowed not to think about Antonio's involvement either – those bastards hated him, had always hated him, and would do anything to see him suffer.
With a heavy heart, Arthur made his way to the battlefield alone. Through the thick fog, he was sure he could make out a wall of blue coats and white breeches. Throwing caution to the wind, he charged blindly forward with his bayonet aimed to kill.
When he finally reached Alfred and his men, Arthur skidded to a stop in the mud. He didn't lower his rifle, even when Alfred spoke.
"Hey, Arthur," he said quietly, "I do want my freedom after all." Arthur brought his musket down just as Alfred raised his. "I'm not a child anymore, nor am I your little brother. From this moment on, I'll be independent from you!"
A feral growl tore from Arthur's throat. "I won't accept this!" he snarled. Enraged, he ran toward Alfred. He shoved his bayonet toward Alfred, but it met the wood of Alfred's own musket. With one strong push, Alfred's gun flew out of his hands and into the mud.
Arthur didn't move his gun even as Alfred stared impassively down the barrel. "Your naïveté is why you'll never finish this," he murmured. "You fool."
From somewhere behind Alfred, one of the patriots yelled "Fire!" but nobody dared to move.
For a moment, it was just the two of them standing there, and the purpose for the battle was forgotten. Arthur thought of how he raised this child, gave him a home, gave him hope, all for it to come crashing down in this one moment. He lowered his gun.
"There's no way I could shoot you… idiot." He dropped his musket and fell to his knees, not even bothering to fight the tears forming behind his eyes. "Damn it, why?" he cried. "Damn it all…" His shoulders shook and he covered his face in a last-ditch effort to look strong.
"Arthur," Alfred whispered. "You used to be so great… once…"
He wiped his eyes fitfully, not even shocked that he had started to cry while reminiscing. One last shot. Arthur exhaled shakily before getting up to throw away the empty bottle. After hearing the satisfying crash from the garbage can, he made to sit back down before he saw the phone.
I'll blame the alcohol for this later, he thought. With trembling hands, he dialed the ten digit number and waited impatiently for an answer.
"Hello?"
"Alfr'd?" he slurred.
"…Artie, is that you?"
"Don' call me that, y' stupid tosser." He giggled. "Anyway, I just called… to say… um…" His head spun from all the vodka. After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he continued. "…to say happy birthday." Yes, that's it.
"Oh, Arthur, really? This is the first time you've called to tell me happy birthday since… forever!" Arthur could just hear the smile in Alfred's voice.
"Not so loud, y' git. Some people 're tryin' to sleep, I reckon." He didn't know how Alfred managed to be just as obnoxious over the phone as he was in person, but if anyone could do it, it was him.
"Arthur… thank you," Alfred said quietly.
"Yeah, well, don' mention it. Ever." If that idiot talked about this in front of Francis, he would never hear the end of it.
"Did you get me a pres – " Arthur hung up, deciding it was best not to hear the rest of that sentence, or he'd feel even guiltier. Oh well, the stupid git couldn't expect miracles, could he?
Feeling slightly drowsy, he stumbled to his armchair and sank into the soft cushion. Glancing quickly outside, he barely registered that it had stopped raining. He knew he would pass out shortly, so he closed his eyes. He even smiled at the last coherent thought that ran through his head. Yes, it was definitely thanks to the alcohol.
Happy birthday, Alfred.