Back once more! Thank you all so much for the feedback on Chapter 1. I was, admittedly, a little worried about how you guys would respond to the time-skip, and it's good to see that it hasn't been too confusing. I have tried my best to include as many different characters in little updates on what they've been up to, but it will take the first few chapters until you guys are all caught up on everyone. There has been a lot of confusion both about the lil flashback at the start as well as the girl at the end of the chapter, and what can I say other than you'll see eventually? ;)
Last time:
- The bounty hunters + pirates are still prisoners of the resistance. In ~7 weeks, Arthur, Mei, Leon, Alfred, Tori and Gilbert have all chosen to work for the rebels, for varied reasons. Matthias resents being held prisoner.
- Lovino and Feliciano have managed to get jobs and stay under the radar. Feliciano is having some trouble in learning how to master his pyrokinesis.
- Lukas is desperate to fight and be more useful to the resistance's efforts. Yao is reluctant to let him fight, out of fear that he would get injured or killed.
- A mysterious woman is departing for Rela. She is looking for someone/something.
Kabeeta Tripathi: Nepal
Please continue to tell me what you guys think! I'm working through some intense writer's block right now, admittedly, and nothing helps more than your kind words and advice!
Resistance Headquarters,
Draak-Zafi Forra, Nyma
27th Maii
The bullet clipped the edge of the target, a loud metallic clang sounding out as it veered away to lie, forgotten, in the cracked red earth. Cursing, Alfred lowered his rifle and squinted at the range.
"You were off a little." Matthew said, reaching over and adjusting his brother's hold a little. "Try again." Sighing a little at the relentlessness of the training but acknowledging the necessity, Alfred shifted into the firing position again, adjusted his angle for windage, and fired again. The bullet punched a clear hole through the lower edge of the target. Matthew grinned, and Alfred let out a shout of victory, pumping his fist energetically.
"Yes! I finally got one!" he said, grinning from ear to ear. Matthew raised an eyebrow at him.
"You did, well done. Now try hitting it again." Alfred was almost immediately sobered by this, but obediently realigned his sights and pulled the trigger twice more. One of the bullets collided with the metal stand and sent sparks flying, but the other hit the target again. Matthew noted the trajectory of both, and nodded at him. "Okay, now you can really celebrate." He said. "You might actually make a decent shot."
Alfred grinned at the compliment, gratefully sliding out of the firing position and lying down next to his brother. While he had been squinting and sweating under the relentless Nymian sun, Matthew had been reclining against the two-foot cement wall designed to act as a prop for the heavy guns, holding a book above his head to ward off sunburn and casually muttering criticism. He groaned, trying and failing to reach for the book which Matthew was now fanning himself with. His brother wrinkled his nose, shoving him away.
"You're covered with machine oil." He said, holding the book even further out of his reach.
Alfred groaned again. "Because I had mechanics earlier this morning." Matthew laughed at the agonised look on his face.
"You complain about mechanics now, but trust me, when you're able to fix up ships and weapons, you'll thank Dalisay and Gavrilo from the bottom of your heart." Alfred huffed, disbelieving, but grinned and gave up trying to steal his brother's book, flopping back in exhaustion as Matthew sat up a little. "I know that it's a bit full on, but it's just to teach you a bit of endurance and organisation. You won't get far here at all if you can't operate well on a tight schedule or under pressure." Alfred nodded.
"Yeah, I get that, really, but that doesn't mean I can't still complain about it."
"Fair enough; I complain about my jobs every day. I'd be a bit of a hypocrite if I lectured you for doing the same."
"So, complaining is still very much so on the table?"
"I've heard Yao bitch and moan from time to time." Matthew laughed. "No one would bat an eye."
"Yao? Seriously?"
"Oh yeah. He once threw a cup of hot coffee at someone because they were being so pretentious and self-absorbed." Alfred laughed.
"Awesome." Matthew nodded in agreement as Alfred continued. "Not that I don't love sweating out in the sun, but is there any chance I could hit a shower soon?"
Matthew blinked, then a slow smile spread across his face. "Actually, I might have something even better."
"You asshole! I'll get you for that!" Alfred yelled, pelting after Kristian as the teenager recovered from his laughing fit and began to run, slipping and sliding over the red mud which coated the ground. Alfred staggered a little, sliding in the water, but continued his pursuit of the Iramese sniper.
He and Matthew had headed in the direction of the wooden practice arena. It was one of the few places where combat training could be private, and as such, it had become the place where Lukas Bondevik trained his abilities. Despite the rumours flying around the resistance, Lukas had still remained relatively on the down-low. He had abstained from getting involved in anything major in the weeks since whatever drama had gone down (Alfred knew only that there'd been a dispute between two major figures, one of which was Yao). Though of course, their crew had found out his identity due to Vash's ingenuity, Alfred, and all of the others who had become part of the resistance, had been sworn to secrecy, under threat of death.
Alfred was happy enough with that deal. All he had to do was remember to use the surname 'Christensen' when referring to Lukas, and in return, he got to spend time with his brother and his other friends who had changed allegiances. He got to learn all sorts of things and make new friends from all around the Galaxy. Though he would filter his words if he was to visit his friends, he loved the resistance.
As a part of him being kept in line, Alfred had been one of the more unwilling volunteers on whom Lukas practiced his abilities. He and Matthew had arrived at the walled arena, expecting to help out with his training, only to come across Lukas and Kristian having an intense water-balloon fight. The pair, by their own admission, had been training, but had succumbed to the immense temptation to cool down. The day had been uncommonly hot, even for Nyma, it was true, and Alfred and Matthew had jumped right in as well.
And Kristian had just nailed him in the eye with a balloon. The arena's red dirt ground had been well and truly drenched, with skids of mud now lining the space. Alfred cursed as he slipped again. Kristian seemed to be managing quite well in the mud and grime – perhaps due to the fact that the Iramese settlements were always inexplicably located near mudflats – and darted out of reach, laughing. Alfred slipped up again, cursing as his fingers dug into the thick mud on the ground.
Matthew had his hands full trying to deal with Lukas. The Fynknian was darting out of reach easily, using his powers to send massive walls of water flying. Alfred laughed out loud as his brother emerged from one such wave, hair soaked and plastered all over his face, spitting indignantly. Alfred finally managed to stagger off a patch of mud, and hurled a water balloon at Kristian. To his satisfaction and delight, it smacked the sniper directly between the eyes and made him slide backwards. Alfred let out a yelp as Kristian ran at him, obviously keen to even the score.
Yao watched them absently as they slipped and skidded around the muddy arena. He had been intending to meet Aelia by the communications tent to discuss a field agent who had reported some trouble, but found himself frozen as he silently watched the group of four. He felt like something was lodged in his throat as he watched them continue to run and yell joyfully.
Kristian was still a child…he had always thought that. He was only 17, of course he was still young. Lukas, also, he considered too young to fight. Nineteen was young, very young, though the rebellious Fynknian might not have seen it that way. But…
Alfred and Matthew, both of whom were over 20…they were children too. How many times had he trusted Matthew to go on dangerous missions and win the day for the resistance? How many times had he watched the blond pick off their enemies with a high-grade rifle? He felt oddly sick. Too young…they were all too young to have been dragged into this mess of a war. Yao leant against the wooden slats which bordered the arena, breathing deeply.
I'm a weapon which could wreak havoc on the Union. And Lukas was right about that, wasn't he? But, he was too young to be involved in all of this.
And yet, how many times throughout history have the greatest and strongest fighters and rulers been young adults? Even teenagers? A lot. Lukas' own father had ascended to the throne aged only 18, just a week after his mother, the Queen at the time, had died of a long-fought illness. Lukas was older now than his father had been then.
I know that I'm hardly going to win this war by myself, but if can't fight at all, what's the purpose of having me here?
He made a good point. Why did he have to make a good point?
Yao's own war with the Union had started when he was only about 26 years old. He had thought of himself as young and naïve then. If he had been young at 26…Lukas couldn't go to war. He simply couldn't.
He was only 19. Yet he saw the desecrated bodies of his parents when he was only 8. Is he not desensitised?
It would be so unsafe for him to go alone. To let him go into combat as a Fynknian person…he would stick out, without any doubt. Drawing attention to himself would result in death, and even Yao's influence didn't extend so far as to bring back the dead.
If I don't let him fight, he'll just run out when I'm not looking…
But there was hardly a way to fight a safe war. What Lukas needed was somewhere that he would be safe, where people would look out for him without his identity necessarily being known to them. There wasn't really any place like that, though.
He wants to fight. Sending him into war was too dangerous, surely, especially given that Yao didn't even know for sure how capable Lukas was in battle and other stressful situations.
What if that's it? There is only one place where he can fight and make a difference, and not be unduly noticed. But I can't send him there, not unless I know he'd be well prepared for it…
Yao sighed, burying his head in his hands briefly before raising his head again. He cast a single glance back at the mud-slick arena, where the quartet were still laughing with merriment. Straightening up, he marched toward the communications tent. He was surely late for his meeting with Aelia now, but he hoped that she wouldn't mind terribly. An idea was forming in his head, and he let it stew. He needed a solution to this problem, and if his tired, beleaguered mind could create one, he would welcome it.
Arthur sighed as his boots met the hard-packed red dirt of Nyma's Dragon-Tree forest again. The day was as hot as the weather meter on his borrowed ship had indicated, and though he had dressed lightly, he had already begun to sweat by the time Mei and Leon had followed him down. Leon's tell-tale groan to his right told him that the Yanish teen was also disgruntled by the temperature. Shrugging off the heat, he nodded to Colonel Jakolin as she disembarked behind him.
They hadn't meshed very well in the four days that they'd conducted the mission over, but he still felt a sense of respect for her. She was capable, strong-willed and very practical, and had been of great use while they'd been away. She nodded in return, marching off immediately to debrief with her superiors. Arthur's lip curled at the thought.
Mei and Leon looked in her direction, expressions hesitant. A sense of obedience had been instilled in them from their earliest days, and he knew that they were both trying to combat the urge to follow Ines and conform to the resistance's wants and expectations. He sighed quietly, then jerked his head in her direction, indicating that they should follow her. Leon turned and moved in that direction, though Mei hesitated a little. Arthur raised an eyebrow at her, maintaining the silence he had adopted since their re-entry into the planet's atmosphere, and she verifiably scurried after Ines.
Though Arthur was perfectly content to flaunt the careful rules which his agreement with the resistance had been made under, he didn't wish to get his young subordinates in trouble. He had been touched, beyond belief, when they had chosen to join the rebels alongside him. In his mind, at least, he was owed no loyalty by them, and yet they chose to display it at almost every opportunity. Though Mei was eager, and Leon clearly attempted to present a disinterested front, they were both equally devoted to remaining in his service. He didn't understand their reasoning, but he appreciated the company.
One thing which he would never admit, even on threat of death, was that, even surrounded by wealth and resplendence, Arthur often got lonely. Mei and Leon were among the very few who could alleviate the heavy feeling that sometimes settled in his chest. Once upon a time, Francis had been one of those people, too. No longer, of course. Nowadays, all that Francis' presence brought to Arthur was confusion and sorrow over a friendship that had been shattered due to things he didn't understand even now.
Arthur did not turn in the same direction as his crew-mates; instead he crossed the large dirt plain which had slowly developed into a common area for rebels to spend time, making his way towards the area in the distance, where he could see the lines of residential containers and tents which housed the vast population of the resistance. He hunched his shoulders a little, bowing his head in an attempt to dispel any attention.
It didn't work. He could feel the curious, roving stares of the rebels who caught sight of his hair, or his face, or even his clothing. Arthur was, to the majority of the people here, something of a curiosity. He was not a rebel, but he could no longer justifiably call himself a pirate anymore, as he now served a master other than his own greed and desires. He was alive enough to complete dangerous heists and dart around the system to perform complex tasks for the resistance, but dead enough that he required frequent check-ups by their head medic, Kabeeta, and that his eyes were carved hollows in his face.
He located the sources of a few of the stares, and met them, staring back with a challenging and unflinching vigour. Most people were surprised to see how much life still lingered in those eyes. Bright spheres of emerald, he had heard people say. Like a wildfire has been lit just behind the surface.
Most people looked away; others held it. He managed to muster up a bare sliver of respect for the latter group. It was hard to meet the gaze of a dying man and hold it. He admired their gall.
He was grateful when the heat on the back of his neck lessened, and he found himself inside the small, cramped tent which the rebels had managed to procure for him. They had decided from the start that having him share with someone else was not an option, and so he had been given his own tent, something which, as Arthur understood it, had annoyed younger recruits. He held no official position – he couldn't even be considered a true member of the rebellion. Yet here he was, enjoying a privilege which most rebels didn't even receive unless they had a significant rank. It made him smile a little.
He shrugged off the loose outer shirt which he had been wearing, running his hands up his forearms. The needle marks at the insides of his elbows had become more prominent in the last few weeks, mostly due to his change of medication to Kabeeta's formula. Though it was clear in colour, it irritated his skin, and left signs of burst blood vessels and bleeding under the skin on his arms. As if he needed another physical sign that his body was on a time limit.
Wincing a little at the sight that he could expect, he turned and faced a floor-length mirror in the corner of his tent. He recoiled a little.
For Arthur, showing any weakness was as good as succumbing to it completely. It was why he hadn't told any of his crew-mates that he was terminally ill. The pirate industry was constructed on skill; the more apt and capable you were, the more heists and missions you pulled off successfully, the more respect you gained from others. Arthur, as someone who had done things which most considered impossible – or, at the very least, extremely difficult – had gained a lot of respect from other pirates. It had been their guidance which had allowed him to them gather members for his crew. But, they had been his friends at times as well. He missed the odd companionship which came from being collectively hunted down by righteous governments and seen by the general public as wholly despicable. If they were to see him now, they would either admire him more for his lingering voracity, or immediately take advantage of him.
Malthecs, when taken regularly enough, had stayed the physical effects of Chalydrantis. He hadn't looked, externally, like he was even sick. Kabeeta's formula did no such thing. His veins were visible through his skin, and though she always overfed him, he had lost weight in the past six weeks. His cheekbones had been drawn into sharp relief. His eyes were dark and sunken, and his lips were cracked and bloody. However, the most obvious signs were his nails and hair. His hair, previously a mess of blond streaked with the tell-tale grey, was now completely changed. It was a fairly light grey in colour, though the colour wasn't quite consistent throughout his head – a sign that it wasn't natural greying. His finger and toenails now bore massive dark blotches on them – another unmistakeable sign of what he was suffering from. Even at his worst, in the past, he had never exceeded a few grey strands of hair and a pinhead-sized spot on his nails before. His appearance finally matched the disease which ravaged him internally.
But even with the grey hair, and the dark nails, and his thinning frame…there was a burning fire in his eyes. Though his skin was drawn tight over his muscle and bone, it was flushed with colour. Though his eyes were sunken, his near-constant headaches had disappeared, and only reappeared perhaps once or twice a week. His body looked weak but wasn't. He could haul himself up the sides of buildings and run down long streets with just as much capability as he had during a 'good' period. Whatever Kabeeta's solution was doing to him, it seemed to be working better than what Malthecs had done.
Sighing, Arthur pulled off his boots, wrinkling his nose a little at the dark colour of his toenails. He sat down with relief, and remained still for a moment, just letting his body relax and wind down a little. He considered the distance between his tent and the debriefing rooms, before deciding to simply take whatever punishment came his way for missing it. He knew that Yao – the only one whose opinion really mattered in this agreement of theirs – would care more that the mission had been a success than that Arthur had skipped debriefing. Let the high-ranked generals think whatever they wanted. He was doing exactly what they had agreed on. Arthur completed heists for them, and he got medication in return. He wasn't going to go above and beyond for them.
Shaking his head a little, he pulled on a more comfortable pair of shoes, and set off towards the main medical tent in the base. He was yet to accept his reward for his latest mission.
Kabeeta Tripathi was a curiosity to Arthur. She was a rebel by definition and even occasionally by nature, and yet she fit none of the many stereotypes nor common imagery which Arthur had previously seen. When one thought of the term 'rebel' – or 'terrorist', which was the preferred name by the Union for those who dared to defy them – one tended to bring to mind the image of some scruffily-dressed person bearing a gun or other weapon. Though there were multitudes of scruffily-dressed people here, as well as those who never went anywhere unarmed, Kabeeta was a pleasant difference.
It was reasonable, Arthur supposed, that not every person who had joined the resistance was cut out to be a fighter. There were several people who Arthur had met in the time since he had made that deal with Yao who were political rivals, or conscientious objectors. People who opposed the Union's political actions or defied laws designed to limit expression, but had never intended to pick up a gun and display their dissatisfaction with murder. Those people worked in other jobs around the resistance. They worked as analysts or communications officials, drove vehicles or took care of the children of fighters off on missions. Many volunteered to clean or cook food. Many more became medics, and patched people up when the war tore them up a little.
That was Kabeeta's role – she was the head medic, meaning that she had supreme authority over anything related to medicine, surgery or the infirmary. She was the one who had created the advanced formula which he was trading his time and skills away for. And though he might resent that he had been roped into an agreement which the rebels knew he couldn't well refuse, he couldn't dislike Kabeeta.
Despite the glares which he sent in every direction (including hers) she was always warm and kind in her greetings and demeanour. She could be authoritative when she wanted to be, especially when someone's life was on the line, but was for the most part a generally lovely person. She was efficient, and never took up more of his time than she needed, but was happy to talk to him. She had, in the past seven weeks, become one of the friendliest faces around here.
He didn't know exactly where she was from. Normally, a person's ethnicity could act at least partially as an indicator, but even on that front he was unsure. She had narrow eyes which were dark in colour like those of Yanish people, and hair which was either black or a very dark brown. She looked like she might have been from the Kyrs system, but her skin was a rich caramel colour. Her clothing didn't help – her long hair was always tied back in a practical fashion, and she wore dark pants and shirts which were almost always hidden beneath medical scrubs. Like essentially everyone else at the resistance, she wore zip-up boots. She had the fairly strong remains of a curious accent, but Arthur was hesitant to ask her about her past. He guessed that he himself was an anomaly – most of his name was falsified, and his time living on Reycass had given him a Northern Reycausian accent which had replaced his existing Pyndaphian one. She had the right to secrecy, though he was still curious.
"I keep telling you, little musībata nirmātā, it's not good to skip debriefings." She scolded him as she rolled his sleeve up, eyes roving over the inside of his elbow. "I know that they must be boring – you are not the first to complain about them – but they are still important."
"How are they important?" Arthur asked dryly as he watched her pick up a sanitised cloth and wipe his arm with it. "All we do is repeat details that they already know. In any case, Mei and Leon went to it – why would it be necessary to have me there as well?"
"Well, it isn't the facts which count so much as it is your perspective on the events and your role in them." Kabeeta said as she picked up a hypodermic syringe filled with the clear liquid keeping him alive. "You can't expect poor Mei and Leon to remember everything they did as well as your role in the proceedings." He winced a little. She made a fair point. "Besides," she continued, examining the chamber to ensure that there were no oxygen bubbles inside, "the benefit of going would be more than that." Kabeeta grasped his arm, locating a vein with ease due to how prominent they were on his arms. "Going to debriefing shows that you're committed to this deal. It would soften Yao's opinion of you, which might make him be a bit more forgiving about how often he sends you out on missions."
As he was considering her statement, she plunged the needle directly into his arm. He just barely twitched at the sensation. It was a familiar pain, but pain nonetheless. She slowly pushed down the plunger, forcing the liquid into his body. She extracted it slowly, pressing a small pad of cotton to it.
"You really think that his opinion of me is going to change? He despises me." Arthur said sharply. Kabeeta simply laughed.
"Oh, my child, you are wise for your age, that I will never deny, but you have no intelligence regarding Yao. You have not known him nearly long enough to read him. There are people here who have known him years and would never be able to guess what he was thinking."
"Can you? Read him, I mean." Arthur inquired. Kabeeta looked up at him as she wiped a small dot of blood from his arm.
"I have known him a long time. We met so long ago, that many forget he was even part of the resistance at the time. I would not claim to know him perfectly – better than others, certainly, but not perfectly – but I would hazard to say that I can tell what he thinks of certain people."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Really? Give me an example."
Kabeeta leant back a little, meeting his challenging gaze. "If you so wish." She cast her gaze around, before it settled on a young man covered in mud, who was nursing his temple and grinning sheepishly. "Kristian Alekseev. He's a young member of our sniper division. Yao is very grateful for his skill and drive, and Kristian has always been a loyal fighter. However," she paused, surveying him for a minute, "he's very young, only 17 years old. Yao fears what would happen if he sent him into the same sort of high-risk situations which he throws snipers like Tino into. He sees Kristian's youth and recognises his eagerness to fight and do the right thing, but also recognises that, untempered, that enthusiasm could result in disaster. He normally has Matthew babysitting him. That's why he's kept him around here for the last few weeks. While Matthew is suspended, he has no-one to watch over him, so Yao's kept him where he knows that he's relatively safe." She turned back to Arthur, laughing when she saw the stunned look on his face. She patted his shoulder gently.
"Yao doesn't despise you. He respects your skill and capability in the field, and is probably grateful to have been able to strike such a deal with you. Though you're a little stubborn and headstrong, yes, it's nothing he hasn't dealt with before. I think that he would really like it if you were a proper member of the rebellion, but would never stake his hopes in something like that. You two would get along well, I can tell."
Arthur was silent, before he sighed. "Sure, whatever you say." Kabeeta smiled, ruffling his hair a little.
"You're all done. Come in again if your general condition changes, okay? Don't leave it to Mei to rat you out because she's concerned. Have a bit more responsibility for your own health." She chided him. He sighed. She said something similar every time he was in here. He nodded reluctantly, and Kabeeta gave him a warm, motherly smile. "Alright get out of here." he smiled wanly and hopped down from the bench he had been perched on, and made to leave the infirmary when he heard someone calling his name.
Turning, he blinked in surprise when he saw who was trying to catch his attention. It was Alfred, and Arthur had to press a hand to his mouth to hide his smile when he saw that, like Kristian, the blond was covered in mud. The energetic man ran up to him, beaming. Arthur raised an eyebrow, sweeping his gaze up and down indicatively. Alfred blushed.
"Yeah, I can explain that." He said sheepishly. "We were having a water fight and all the dirt just turned into mud."
"That is what tends to happen when dirt gets wet." Arthur said shrewdly, still trying valiantly to suppress a smile. Alfred blushed further.
"Uh…yeah. Anyway, Kristian slipped over and banged his head pretty badly, so we brought him here. It's only a minor concussion, luckily." Arthur nodded.
"I see." He said simply. "Sounds like your afternoon was very adventurous."
"Hehe, yeah, it was pretty fun. Other than Kristian getting hurt, that is." he amended. "How did your mission go?"
"Good, obviously. If it went badly I likely wouldn't be standing here." Alfred blinked, nodding as his mood seemed to deflate a little.
"Oh, yeah, right, heh, stupid of me to ask." Arthur cursed himself. Why was he being so cold to Alfred? If anything, the former bounty hunter had been one of the few people who seemed to actually enjoy spending time with him. He could be a little too loud sometimes, but he was sweet, and had never done anything deliberately to irritate Arthur. He forced some of his usual clinical mask to disperse, and made his voice a little gentler.
"How's your preliminary training coming along?" he asked, tone far softer than it had been previously. Alfred seemed to notice the change, and perked up a bit, happily explaining how he had been getting along in lessons on ship anatomy, shooting and basic first-aid as the pair walked out of the infirmary and into the falling night. Arthur couldn't fight his smile when Alfred started to detail the water-turned-mud fight to him. Judging from his recollection, it had been quite wild. Arthur pulled the man back when he went to walk inside the dining hall, instead shoving him in the direction of the showers, declaring that he 'wasn't going to eat with someone who was so filthy'.
When Alfred returned (finally clean again), he seemed surprised to see Arthur still standing where he had been. Likely, he had probably expected the pirate to have gone inside already. Admittedly, Arthur had been tempted, but had recalled the slightly hurt look on Alfred's face from earlier, and stayed in place for once. They walked in alongside each other, as Alfred continued to explain that Matthew was, technically, only a year and three days older than him, and that, come Juillat, Matthew would only be 'two years older' for three days. Arthur only half-followed whatever argument Alfred seemed to be trying to prove, but he found that nodding absently and humming occasionally sated the blond.
"Speaking of birthdays," Alfred said as Arthur shook himself out of his stupor, "when's yours? I can get you something if you want." Arthur cringed guiltily. He had been very busy the past few weeks, and as such hadn't spoken to the cheerful new rebel as much as the other would have liked. He had been so preoccupied with the numerous missions which Yao had been sending him out on that he hadn't even realised that the date had passed until about three days after.
"Uh..." he scratched at the back of his neck, "A month ago?" Alfred's jaw dropped open, and Arthur could see that he looked quite affronted.
"A month ago?" he said, voice pitched a little higher than normal. "You've been 24 for a month and you didn't tell me?" Arthur was tempted to point out that he and Alfred had technically not even known each other for four months, and the only people that really knew his birthday were his family members, but kept quiet.
"I've been busy, you know. Besides, I didn't think that anyone would particularly care. I don't."
Alfred looked floored by that information. "Why would I not care? We're friends, aren't we?"
Arthur blinked, and, looking into the baby blue eyes staring at him, he could do nothing other than nod. Alfred brightened at that.
"Well then, that means that I have to get you something!" he said brightly. "Like a book or a knife or something." At this he trailed off, obviously thinking. "Nah, I'd have to get you something more awesome than that, especially since it's for you." Alfred had turned a vibrant shade of crimson by the time he had finished saying that sentence, and Arthur was trying to ignore the light fluttering in his stomach.
"You really don't have to get me anything." He murmured. Alfred shook his head, grin wide.
"Nope! You're getting a present whether you like it or not!" he said cheerfully. Arthur rolled his eyes, but grinned again, and turned back to his meal, missing the dazed look which had appeared on Alfred's face when he saw that he had managed to make the bitter pirate smile.
