SUMMARY: Arthur Kirkland lived a relatively normal life. He's studying law, has a part time job. Well, had one, that is. He makes things work, and that was pretty much all that mattered. Until, that is, he ends up harboring a baby-faced American, prison-broke imbecilic fugitive who claims he's innocent. And Arthur just might be the only one who can prove it.
Okay, so this is my second Hetalia fic. I'm beyond addicted to Hetalia, but I was always afraid of writing fics for it because I may...well, screw up. My first one was Stolen Kisses Are The Sweetest, and it was a oneshot, USUK. I thought I did pretty okay on that, and then all the prisoner!Alfred fanarts inspired this story. I was originally going to make Alfred really, really intense, but as the story was written, that didn't really happen.
I know this was written in the span of two days, and it's hasty and ugh, I know I could've done A LOT better, but I feel like it will take me about a week to revise it to perfection and I'm extremely impatient. I may just come back to the story and revise choppy scenes as I go, but for now, I hope you enjoy.
I know. Bad summary, cheesy title. Suggestions for a better title, please?
Arthur Kirkland was usually never out this late.
But, truth be told, it wasn't really his fault. Balancing college and a part time job was the absolute worst. At least now he didn't have to worry about the part time job. He wouldn't be working there anymore.
He didn't own a car, yet, so he had always just biked or walked to the little grocery market he worked at. But, long story short, he was fed up with it. From being harassed about his sexuality by college boys that seemed to drop by only to do just that or his bigot boss, a woman who refused to let him change shifts so he didn't have to deal with them. He was fed up. So he gave up.
But maybe Arthur had acted too rash. He really needed a job right now. He was practically living off frozen meals of fish and chips and bagged crisps. That, and couldn't he have waited to quit until his shift was over? It was literally raining cats and dogs.
Most of the shop windows were dimmed, all besides one that caught his eye. He used to be able to go there all the time, a little café that served the absolute best earl gray tea, and was also a quaint little book store. The lights were bright and warm; welcoming. Always as he had remembered. He hadn't been able to go in a long time, maybe months. His schoolwork had practically consumed him. He'd tried doing his work in the little café, but it was hard to concentrate with the lovely aroma of fresh teas and coffees and the crisp smell of freshly published books.
No longer an employee, and now a few hours of free time on his hands, Arthur hurriedly crossed the street through the rain and opened the door to the bookstore. The bell ringed welcomingly and the overwhelming warmth made him sigh in complete relief.
There was a small old lady at the counter near the door that watched Arthur curiously as he made his way to the shelves. He decided to be quick; he wanted to go home and just rest in the remaining amount of free time he had. He chose a book at random, not really bothering to read the back or the reviews as he tended to do. He made his way toward the café section and sat down to bask in the overwhelming, motherly scents and read his novel.
Luckily, he'd picked up a mystery novel, one of his favorites. Five pages in and he had to keep telling himself, "I'll just finish this chapter then pack up to go…" or "Well…one more page couldn't hurt…" And before he really knew what had happened, about two hours had passed and the sweet lady at the counter had come to tell him it was time to close up.
She saw the weary look in his eyes as he lifted a tired gaze from the pages of the book. He had a sweet face, she noticed. He reminded her of her own grandson. The lady patted his shoulder.
"Bad day, huh?" she concluded.
A bit surprised, Arthur's eyes met hers, and then he looked back down at the closed book on the table. He nodded solemnly. "I…lost my job."
The lady, Clarice, her nametag declared, hadn't expected him to tell her exactly why but was pleased, none the less. He probably just needed to get it off his chest, and Clarice was a very good listener. "I understand, love. We all go through tough times, but it'll get better."
Arthur nodded, standing and slinging his shoulder bag over his neck. Clarice patted the tall boy endearingly, giving him a comforting smile. "I'll tell you what," she stated, "Come back tomorrow evening and I may be able to get you an interview with Mr. Forks, the owner of this place. We could use a helping hand."
Arthur looked at Clarice with wide eyes. "Really?" he asked hopefully.
Clarice winked at him, laughing an aged laugh. "Now hurry, before the rain gets stronger," she urged.
Arthur nodded, hurrying toward the door and waving to the kind woman as he left. Only when he'd stepped out into the rain did he realize he'd left the book at the table and hadn't put it back on the shelf as he should've. He contemplated going back inside, but thought otherwise. At least his day was made a little better.
He made the long trek to his apartment, the rain pounding against his umbrella. The rain was calming, almost assuring. At least things were going to be okay, he assured himself. He may have another part time job. And he'll be able to pick up on his schoolwork soon enough. Things would get better. Please let them get better.
And maybe it was his wishful thinking that got him in this situation.
It was late. Streets weren't safe at night. Arthur Kirkland indeed felt like the biggest bloody idiot in all of England.
On that night, when he'd had just the smallest hint of hope, it was smashed to bits.
Arthur was taken hostage.
He was just a block away from the apartment complex he called home, too. So close, right? But damn it all, his days never go right and they weren't going to start getting better now.
He was walking, there on the sidewalk, when he was hit on the back of the head with something metal. And God, did it hurt. He heard a chain rattling. He was really, really confused. Arthur's umbrella dropped and he collapsed on the ground, face down, trying to process things as his mind faded in and out of fuzziness.
He was being lifted. Well, dragged. Large hands picked him up below the arms and dragged him off the sidewalk. The fuzziness was slowly, slowly fading. He regained enough of his find to scream, "Let…let go of me this instant!" And meagerly struggled against the one carrying him. But he still felt weak from the blow to his head. He wanted to puke. The rain seemed too loud in his ears. Panic made him shake.
"L…let me g-go…" his own voice rung in his ears. His head hurt a lot. I think I'm bleeding, Arthur thought vaguely. His vision was blurring at the edges, and he had to close his eyes and readjust before opening them again to try and find his surroundings, memorize the route so he could make his way out if he were to escape. He recognized where he was. How did he get me here so fast?
Arthur's body was being dragged to the apartment complex. All the lights in the two story building were out and the Briton was being dragged to the side of the building. Arthur was baffled. Was this guy a bloody idiot?
Arthur squirmed, but only managed making the stronger man grunt as he carried him. He knew he was still too dazed to fight back properly, but Arthur was slowly regaining his strength. Soon he would be able to throw in a good punch.
The man dragged Arthur into the complex through the side of the building, and quickly went through the exit doors up the stairs. The stairs hurt his legs, but after the first flight was climbed, the man hoisted Arthur onto his broad shoulder. The guy was in a bloody jumpsuit. A jumpsuit for Christ's sake!
The man carried him up to the third floor. He was at least smart enough to avoid the elevator, where anybody could pop up. But why here? Arthur could beat on the walls and scream and get people's attention very easily. Hope was high again.
The man carried him down the hall and dropped Arthur rather abruptly on the ground. Arthur coughed, lifted his head drowsily, breathing just as heavily as his captor. He saw the orange jumpsuit, and saw the broadness of the shoulders and neck…and then the fairly tan, smooth skin that glistened with sweat…and then the dirty blonde hair, with a rather abrupt cowlick that bounced with his jerky movements. Startling sky blue eyes. There was a broken pieces of handcuffs on his wrists.
Arthur felt like he was going to be sick. Did he have a concussion? That what happens, right? You feel sick and you puke and you forget things and your head hurts like hell. Arthur didn't feel like he'd forgotten anything. He couldn't really think right now anyway. His head fell back against the wall and he tried desperately not to get sick all over the carpet, tried to calm himself down enough to think. Just think.
He couldn't move. That was for sure. His head pounded with every movement. There was no use in crawling. He'd be too easy to catch and just end up wasting energy. And he'd need that energy. His head hurt a lot. Arthur was pretty sure he was bleeding from that hit.
Hands were on him. His hips. Arthur's eyes shot open and he saw the mop of messy blonde hair bent to him, and his captor's hands were feeling him. He found what he was looking for—reached into Arthur's pocket and pulled out the key—his apartment key.
"N-no…" Arthur protested weakly, panting breath restraining a desperate voice.
He heard the familiar click of the door. Arthur was being lifted again, much to his displeasure. He felt motion sick. "Up ya go," the boy said. The way the words came out indicated that his captor was definitely not from around here. That was a clear American accent.
"I didn't really mean to hit you that hard," the man with the boyish face told Arthur as he placed him more gently on the couch where he watched Arthur try to register things rather dazedly. "I was hoping you'd be unconscious…"
"Y-you…git," Arthur gasped. "What the hell do—" Gasp. Pant. "—think…you're doing…"
"Kidnaping?"
Arthur mustered enough strength to glare. "Well you're not doing a very good job, now are you?"
"I think I'm doing good so far."
"You brought me to my own bloody apartment!"
"Well…yeah," he conceded. "But I know how to keep you here and to keep you quiet."
Arthur didn't say anything for a while. He just focused on trying to sit up straight, which meant gripping the couch and pulling himself upward. He gasped with the effort, and the back of his head stung. He hissed.
"Dammit, you're bleeding." And then he disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with paper towels.
He reached for Arthur, and Arthur retaliated. "No! Don't touch me!" He shoved rather weakly at the other blonde, who only gave him aggravated glare.
"Fine. Bleed out." But he continued reaching for Arthur until he got tired of fighting. He let his captor dab at the back of his head, hold it three to absorb blood, and then dab more.
"What's…stopping me…from screaming bloody murder and alerting everyone in this building?"
His captor gave him a stony glare. "Cork."
"Wha…what?"
"That's where she lives. Cork, Ireland. 228 Forest Lane, Cork."
He was answered with a horrified gaze.
Baby-face smirked. "Yep. Carlin Kirkland, age 21, currently living with her boyfriend of 23. Richard or something. I personally think she could do better. And then there is Dylan Kirkland…"
"Who told you all this? Why are you doing this? Are you going to hurt them?"
"Allistor. I need your help. And I will if you don't help me."
"Allistor?!"
"He was my roomie in the ward. Only one that actually believed me in my case. He told me you're studying law. You're almost done with school. You can help me clear my name."
"Tell Allistor that he can go to hell. He's exactly where he belongs, giving away his family like that. And I hope you go after him."
"It's Alfred," he replied. "And I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you. Three years in prison gets you places. Gives you connections. I have someone special in Ireland right now, waiting for a phone call. They do what I say. Don't make me use that number, Arthur. I just want your help. I'm not guilty."
"Says the man who hit me on the back of the head and dragged me to my apartment!"
"Granted. How else was I supposed to make you listen? I did this so you'd have no choice in the matter. I don't want to hurt your family. I really don't. All I want from you is your help."
Arthur considered his position a moment, but realized there wasn't much to think about. His siblings may have hated him, but he certainly didn't hate them. He still loved them. He wouldn't let them die if he had a choice.
"For the record, I only went into law because I thought I'd be living a mystery novel or something. There's no guarantee I can clear your name or whatever my brother promised of me."
"That's fine. I just need you to try. My family is in America, and they believe I actually did what I was accused of, so I don't have money for a lawyer, and it doesn't help that I'm a foreigner."
"What were you accused of?"
"Murder." And this was followed by a devilish smirk that matched his babyish face.
Arthur swallowed. He still felt a bit dizzy from the blow, but now he just wanted to sleep. This really was too much.
But the jumper.
"You…escaped prison."
"Yeah."
"You…you're a fugitive."
A nod.
"I'm harboring a fugitive!"
Alfred nodded gravely. "I've been careful, don't worry. You just need to stay quiet until you graduate in…how long?"
"…Three months."
"Great. That's not too long."
"Three months is a bloody long time to harbor a fugitive! This plan—if you can even consider it a plan—is going to end up getting me in the slammer. God, you imbecile!"
Alfred, to Arthur's surprise, just laughed as he watched the English boy rant. "I don't know if anyone's told you this before, but you have a really cute angry face."
"Shut up, you wanker—what are you doing? Put me down or I'll shove my foot so far up your ass—"
"He said you had a foul mouth. Still not as bad as Allistor's but—"
"Don't compare me to my brother, you—"
"Adorable?"
"Foul—"
"Innocent?"
"Loathsome—"
Alfred dropped him on his own bed. "G'night, Artie."
"That's not my name! And don't just walk away—"
Alfred turned, pecked him on the forehead. Laughed hysterically at the shocked, glazed eyes of the British law student. "Sleep tight."
The door shut behind Alfred, leaving Arthur in the dark.
Thanks for reading. So will this be a oneshot, or should I continue? I'd like to continue but I'm afraid I've never written yaoi and it's rated M for a reason.
Again, thank you for reading! Reviews mean the world to me!
