Author's note: Okay. So, I've been working on this for a long, long time. I started writing it early last February (nearly a year ago) and I started thinking about it a long time before that. It's basically "the" story I've wanted to write for this fandom. Updates may be slow because I want to get it perfect (in air quotes, obviously) the first time around. I'll update my other stories concurrently.


Chapter 1

Alfred was sitting in his office, spinning back and forth idly in his desk chair, when the President entered. Alfred stopped his chair and perked up. "Hello, Mr. President. To what do I owe your visit?"

"Hello, Alfred." The President stood in front of his desk casually, hands in his pockets. "I have a bit of a job for you, if you're feeling well enough."

"Oh, yeah, I'm feeling better." Alfred leaned forward curiously. His Boss hadn't asked him for a favor for a while.

"I'm afraid you might find it a little boring. Our ratings in Europe have been decreasing, and people are concerned that our diplomatic relations are suffering. I'd like you to take a vacation there, just a couple of weeks, and talk to some of these countries." He produced a paper and handed it to Alfred. "They're listed in order of priority."

Alfred's eyebrows shot up. "This is a lot of countries." He scanned the list and a slight frown crossed his face. He looked up. "Arthur's on here? He's in the top five."

"Yes. Our ratings aren't down by very much in the UK by comparison, but we do share many ties with him. Visiting him is just a precautionary measure, but an important one. All these visits are precautionary."

Alfred's eye took on a familiar, determined glint. "Yes, sir."

The President smiled. "I'll count on you, then." He turned to leave, but then he paused and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, where would you like to stay first?"

"England."


Arthur sat in his office, grinding his teeth together as he stared at the paper before him. It was a report that was due the next day, but he was having a hard time concentrating. In fact, he seemed to be having a hard time concentrating on anything lately. The recession was wearing him out, and it wasn't even that big a deal for him, relatively. I must be getting old, he thought irritably. I bet Alfred's hardly even feeling it. He pulled out another paper from the stack at his right. This one was a proposal that he was supposed to have read three hours ago. He frowned at the small print for a few seconds. "Enough of this," he suddenly snapped at thin air, and threw down his pen. He leaned back heavily in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. Yes, I bet Alfred's hardly even feeling it. He complained a little, but he's in no danger of going bankrupt, and he doesn't have to support all the others up here. Arthur covered his eyes with one hand. It was terrifying, seeing countries go under like this. Trying to keep them afloat was taking it out of him, and he knew everyone else was suffering too.

I wonder what Alfred is doing right now, he thought suddenly. He removed his hand from his eyes and sat up. Surely he has some time to chat. He picked the telephone up off its hook and dialed the number of Alfred's office, which was where he was most likely to be. It rang several times.

"Hello, Office of the President. How may I help you?"

Arthur frowned. "May I please speak to Alfred?"

"Alfred?"

"Alfred Jones. It's Arthur, Arthur Kirkland."

"Please hold." There was a moment of silence before the person came back online, sounding slightly panicked. "I am so sorry, sir. I didn't realize–"

"It's quite alright," Arthur said impatiently.

"Mr. Jones is . . . not here right now. May I take a message?"

"Er, no, thanks," said Arthur. "Can you tell me when he'll be back?"

"I'm . . . not at liberty to say, sir."

Arthur's frown deepened. "Very well. I'll call again another time. Thank you. Goodbye." He hung up and glanced at the clock. He really should be prepping for the meeting he had in half an hour. What can Alfred possibly be doing that's so secret? He sighed and picked his pen back up. This day is not turning out to be a very nice one, he thought as he began to scribble notes in the margins of the proposal. That prat had better have a good excuse.


It took seven hours and four minutes to fly from Washington, DC, to London's Heathrow airport. It would have taken even less time if Alfred had agreed to take Air Force One, but as he kept having to explain, this was practically a vacation, not a business trip. When Alfred saw London come into view through the tiny window, he couldn't help smiling. The lady sitting next to him noticed. "Visiting family?" she asked kindly.

"Something like that," he replied.

Alfred had specifically asked for a hotel that "normal people stay at," waving away the aide's recommendations for hotels that cost small fortunes for a night. He wasn't disappointed it. It was as cramped as he had been expecting, but for once, he didn't mind. With a total disregard for what time it was (4 o'clock in the afternoon) and the effect it was going to have on him, he went straight up to his room and fell asleep on the neatly made bed.

He woke up in the middle of the night, wide awake. He turned on the light and took out his phone, checking to see if the President had left him any messages. He hadn't. He turned it off again and pulled out some paperwork. Usually he hated all the forms and writing, but here in the middle of the night, so separated from the stress of his everyday life, it didn't seem bad at all. He worked on it for few hours, and then fell asleep again.

When he woke up, it was before seven in the morning. He took a shower, pulled on something casual, and went downstairs for breakfast. It was served in a small, comfortable room with patterned wallpaper. As he ate, he watched the other guests curiously. Only a few others were there – an old man, a couple, and a middle-aged woman who appeared to be on business. None of them so much as glanced at him, so he found a newspaper and scanned it for any news. A headline caught his eye: "UK Unemployment Rises." Arthur's recovering even more slowly than I am, he thought, and felt a slight stab of guilt. He tried to ignore it. He finished up his food and left his room key with the woman at the front desk. He left through the front door, turned left on the sidewalk, and just started walking.

It had been a long time since he had been up this early. The London fog filled the streets and muffled all sounds. Alfred took a deep breath, trying to find something in the air and not even sure of what it was. He closed his eyes, and suddenly there he was – Arthur, a sharp scent almost beyond detection. This is what Arthur sees when he wakes up every morning, Alfred thought, opening his eyes again. This is what it feels like. There was the sidewalk under his feet; there were the cobblestones as he crossed a side street. It was chilly, but Alfred didn't want to go back to the hotel. He hunched his shoulders and put his hands in his pockets. He idly examined the other people he passed. They didn't seem like Arthur at all, on the surface. None of them had his nose, or his hair, or walked like he did. But it still felt like there was a little bit of Arthur in every one of them – or perhaps, every one of them had lent a little piece to Arthur.

After a while, the stores began to open. On a whim, he entered a clothing store and bought himself a dark green cabled sweater. He took off the tags and pulled the soft fabric over his white t-shirt. The heavy fabric and the texture were new to him. He idly rolled the cuff of a sleeve between his fingers as he walked. It seemed like something Arthur would wear, which was mostly why he had bought it. Perhaps I don't look so much like a stupid American now, he thought with a wry smile.

He bought himself a map and looked for Buckingham Palace. It wasn't too far, so he folded up the map, stuck it in his jeans' pocket, and set out. The fog was beginning to clear, revealing a blue sky dotted with clouds. Along the way he stopped at a fast food kiosk and bought some fish and chips. He ate it as he walked, licking the grease off his fingers. The scent brought back memories, and the taste was almost as good as he remembered. He dumped the paper plate that it had come with into a trashcan and walked to Arthur's house.

Arthur's house was not part of Buckingham Palace, exactly, but it was very close to it. One of the advantages of the arrangement was that the guards of the palace looked out for Arthur as well, so there was hardly any extra security. Alfred walked right up the front door and rang the doorbell. A servant answered, a middle-aged man in a black suit. Alfred smiled softly, thinking how little things had changed. "Is Arthur here?"

The servant looked a little taken aback. "Mr. Kirkland is out at the moment, Mr. . . . ?"

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"I'm sorry, sir, do you have an appointment?"

"No. He's an old friend."

This gave the servant pause. "Well, if you'd be willing to wait, I could see if he has returned. . . ."

Alfred smiled again, though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. "No worries. If he doesn't want to be disturbed, I won't bother him."

"Wait, sir," the servant called as Alfred turned to leave. "Aren't you going to leave a name?"

Alfred paused and looked over his shoulder, still smiling slightly. "No. I'll try again later." He walked back down the walkway, turned the corner, and was gone.


When Alfred returned, it was late afternoon. He had spent the day seeing the sights and wandering the streets. The sun had come out and he was back to his joyful self. When the servant opened the door again, Alfred grinned. "Hello, me again."

"Sir, please come inside," the man said immediately, and held the door open.

"What's with the change of attitude all of a sudden?" asked Alfred as he entered the building. "Artie find out I was here?"

"Er, yes, he did," said the servant with an embarrassed look.

"Who's here?" called Arthur's voice in the distance. "Did Alfred come back?" There was the sound of footsteps and the door to the inner house swung open. Their eyes met. Arthur looked surprised, as if he hadn't really expected it to be Alfred. "Oh, hello," he said.

"Hey." Alfred stood with his hands in his pockets, relaxed. His face had softened when he saw Arthur, and he was smiling. He watched Arthur calmly.

Arthur noted the sweater and blinked in surprise. "What are you wearing?" he asked, unable to help himself. "Oh, never mind," he added hurriedly. "Come in, come in." He stepped aside and ushered Alfred through the doorway. Alfred walked into the sitting room and looked around. "Have a seat."

"Thanks." Alfred sat down on the couch and Arthur took an armchair.

"Get us some tea, will you?" he said to the man nearby. "And some coffee for . . . Mr. Jones." The man nodded and disappeared. Arthur turned his attention back to Alfred, confusion and concern in his eyes. "Is something wrong?"

Alfred laughed. "No, nothing's wrong. I just happened to be in the area and I thought I'd drop by."

Arthur eyed him, clearly not buying it. "Ah, I see. What brings you to this side of the world, then?"

"It's really not the other side of the world anymore." Alfred propped his elbow up on the armrest and rested his chin on his fist. "Do you realize that it only took me seven hours to get here? It's not like it used to be." Alfred grinned.

Arthur felt a pang in his chest. Yes, it most certainly is not like it used to be. "I have visited your country since the invention of the airplane, you dolt," he replied, though there was no irritation in his voice. "How far is it, again?"

"3000 miles," Alfred replied easily.

"About 5000 kilometers. Right. I always forget. It is rather far."

Alfred's blue eyes met Arthur's green ones for a moment, utterly serious. Then he turned his gaze towards the wall and shrugged. "I guess."

The tea and coffee came. Arthur reached immediately for his cup of tea, but Alfred didn't touch his coffee. He flipped onto his back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling. "You never answered my question," Arthur said dryly, ignoring Alfred's breach of etiquette.

"Eh, it's not much of an answer," said Alfred. He picked up a pillow and began to toss it up and down over his stomach. "I'm just doing research on how Europe's faring. You know, what with the recession and everything."

"Right, 'the recession and everything,'" said Arthur, teetering on sarcasm. Typical Alfred, thinking it's not a big deal.

"Yes. That."

"How are you feeling?" asked Arthur, trying to sound casual. He'd seen the reports, but he often found that they meant nothing.

"Better," said Alfred, not faltering in his throwing of the pillow. He caught it, and set it down on his stomach. He turned his head to look at Arthur with a wry smile. "Like crap, really."

"I'm sorry to hear it," said Arthur with more feeling than he had intended.

Alfred turned his gaze back to to the ceiling. "Nah, it's not really that bad. I'm just glad to get away from it for a while."

Arthur had to smile. "This isn't exactly the place to come for that. I'm up to my knees in paperwork."

Alfred shrugged. "At least it's not home."

No, not anymore. There was an awkward silence. "So, how long are you going to be staying here?" Arthur asked finally.

"Eh, a week or something. I'll see how it goes."

"Do you have a hotel here, or are you staying at Francis's?" Arthur was honestly curious. He somehow doubted that Alfred was really taking an interest in the European countries after all these years of being oblivious, but it was possible. If he really was telling the truth, staying on the mainland would make the most sense.

"I've got a hotel here. Can I crash here tomorrow night, though?"

"Sure. You can even 'crash' here tonight, if you like." Arthur tried to sound as if he didn't care one way or another.

"I wouldn't want to intrude," said Alfred, not really meaning it.

"You wouldn't be. You're always welcome here."

"Okay, then. That would be nice." Alfred flashed Arthur a smile, almost his usual self, and Arthur wondered if he had been imagining things. He noted that Alfred's expression quickly reverted to the unusually thoughtful one he had been wearing moments before, though, and he frowned.

"Are you . . . really okay?"

"Yup." Alfred sat up and smoothed his hair down with one hand. He reached for the cup of coffee and sipped it. He sat up straighter and met Arthur's eyes. "Oh, right, I was wondering. Where's the nearest Micky D's? I didn't see one on my way up here."

"I am not the person to ask," Arthur replied dryly. "I'm sure some of my citizens would be perfectly willing to help you."

"Nah, I'll just look it up on the internet or something."

"Would you like to stay for supper?"

"Yeah, sure. That would be cool."

"Excellent." Arthur put down his teacup. "Well, as much as I hate to say it, I'm afraid I have some paperwork to finish up. You're welcome to explore the city or stay here, if you like." Arthur stood up and Alfred followed suit. "I'll be in my office if you need anything. Supper will be served at 7 pm sharp."

Alfred grinned. "Yeah, I know. You haven't changed at all. I think I'll go back to the hotel and check out and stuff, but I'll be back soon."

Arthur nodded. "Sounds good. I will see you in a while."

"Yup. Bye."

Arthur remained in the sitting room while Alfred left. He heard Alfred saying something joking to the doorman, then the sound of his footsteps fading and the slam of the door. Arthur sighed and began to walk towards his office.

"Would you like me to bring you some tea?" asked a servant.

Arthur paused. "Yes, please. The Darjeeling, if you don't mind."

"Of course, sir," replied the servant, and bowed back into the kitchen.

"Oh Alfred," murmured Arthur with a sigh as he walked up the worn stairs, "Why is it you always come back to me at the most inconvenient times?"


Alfred took a taxi back to the hotel. He went upstairs to his room and packed his bags. He wondered if he should call the President to check on things, but when he flipped open his phone he realized it was after midnight in the States. This distance makes things so inconvenient, he thought, and snapped the phone shut. "Inconvenient;" that wasn't what he meant. What did he mean? He fell backwards onto the bed with a sigh. "Arthur," he said aloud. He pressed the cool metal of the phone to his forehead and closed his eyes. When he was home, he felt like they were too far away from one another, but now that he was here, it hardly felt as if the distance had become any less. "Complicated?" Maybe that was what he meant. "Painful," he said to the ceiling. Yes, that too. He sat up and ran his hand through his hair. "Annoying," he said. He began throwing his belongings haphazardly back into his suitcase. It's not as if you can do anything about it, anyway, he thought, moping just a little. He zipped up his suitcase and gave his room a once-over. Seeing nothing, he opened the door and pulled the suitcase along after him.

What brings you to this side of the world, then?

(It's simple. I miss you.)

(It wasn't past tense. It hadn't been past tense for over 200 years.)

He checked out of the hotel and took a taxi back to Arthur's. A servant showed him to the guest room and left him to get settled in. It was decorated mostly in pastel greens, with pink accents and white lace curtains. A mahogany chest of drawers was centered on one wall. Alfred smiled a little; Arthur always did like decorating. He unpacked his things and walked into the hall. The door to his old room caught his eye and he paused. He quietly turned the knob and the door swung open.

The room looked different than he remembered. It didn't have anything of his in it, of course – he was sure Arthur had thrown out whatever he hadn't taken with him when he left for good. The furniture hadn't been moved, but the cover on the bed and the curtains matched those in the guest room. It had also been repainted.

Arthur must have heard his footsteps, because a door opened and he poked his head out. "Alfred?"

Alfred turned around with a smile. "Hey. How's it going?"

"Fine. I'll be done in a few minutes. Did William show you to your room?" He saw the door that Alfred was standing in front of. "Oh. I didn't even think about it. If you want your old room, it's yours."

Alfred laughed. "No, I'm done with it. I like the guest room." He looked back into the bedroom. "You redecorated."

Arthur stepped out of his office and walked over to Alfred. "Yes. It got pretty old-fashioned after a while." There was a moment of silence.

"Do you still have that collection of Sherlock Holmes stories?"

"Of course. It's downstairs in the black bookshelf."

"Cool. Mind if I borrow it?"

"Go ahead." Arthur watched Alfred's back retreat down the stairs. Arthur walked back into his office and closed the door. He was frowning. Whether Alfred wanted to admit it or not, something was bothering Alfred Jones.


Alfred was sitting on the couch, reading Sherlock Holmes, when Arthur came downstairs. "Well," said Arthur with a tired smile, "I think it's finally almost suppertime."

Alfred smiled in response and obediently closed the book. "What's for dinner?"

"I have no idea," Arthur said, and Alfred chuckled.

"Just like you."

Arthur raised an eyebrow in a mock threat. "Would you rather I be cooking?"

"Haha, no way!" said Alfred, grinning. Arthur threw a pillow at him. "Hey!" said Alfred as he ducked and it clipped his shoulder.

"Serves you right," Arthur said, crossing his arms. "You don't know how to treat your superiors." Alfred just grinned in response.

"Supper is served," came a voice from another room.

Alfred and Arthur both went into the dining room. Dinner turned out to be roast beef, potatoes, and peas. They talked their way through dinner, Alfred occasionally breaking out into laughter. Arthur found himself smiling and relaxing. Some part of him was almost fooled into thinking that the Alfred sitting across from him was a child, not a man – but then Alfred would reach self-assuredly for his water glass or deftly cut a slice of beef, and Arthur would be reminded quite strongly that Alfred was at least his equal – perhaps more than that.

After dinner, Arthur claimed that he still had work to do and retreated to his study while Alfred headed to his room. Alfred read for a while and then turned out the light, but he continued to lie awake for a long time afterward. Thoughts kept tumbling through his head, and it took a long time to straighten them out into a neat line. Eventually, though, his thoughts slowed and lost their meaning. He slowly drifted off to sleep, his nose buried in the pillow and his senses filled with the scent of Arthur.