Ch. 2

The clinking of the spoon spinning in Francis' tea was starting to annoy Alfred. He stared moodily as the graceful, pale hand twirled the liquid expertly. How Francis managed to find a chic tea house, no matter where he went, was as baffling as it was impressive. Alfred was nursing a well earned cup of coffee, at least he thought so after the offended look the cashier gave him when he asked if they had any. They did, and it appropriately tasted awful. He drank it anyway out of defiance.

"So what brings you back to the States?" he asked. He had been mulling over how to start the little talk he had been dragged into, and came up with the most inane questions every time he went to speak. He finally settled on one of the ones that wouldn't likely stray into unwanted territory.

"Oh, I was thinking of setting up shop again," he answered off handedly, tapping his spoon lightly on the cup's rim.

"You're a long way from New York. That's where all the work you want is."

"I went to New York first, and had been living there for a short while. But, I felt traveling would do me some good," he popped the spoon in his mouth and slid it out slowly before finally setting it aside," I was thinking of doing a little traveling cook book, where I write about the recipes I pick up and the experiences I have; and I figured I should give my idea a little test drive in a place that offers me variety and comfort."

"So, you're gonna be staying here awhile?" Alfred grimaced as he pulled his own mug away. He wasn't sure if he was frowning from his drink's bitterness, or the thought of Francis living so close to him again.

"You don't want me around?" Francis laughed softly over the brim of his scalding hot tea, "How hostile you've become! I've wanted an excuse to relax for a little while, so I'll be taking my time to enjoy the sights, I think."

"Fantastic. So why were you around my school particularly?" Alfred tried to subdue the sharpness of his words, but Francis always made it hard to not get snippy.

"One of the professors is an old friend of mine. We both started out as dish washers when I first came to work in this country," he said, his eyes briefly going out of focus with the memory.

"Boy or girl?" Francis laughed at his remark. Alfred found himself thinking that the question didn't matter much. With Francis it could have been anything.

"You haven't lost your cheekiness. Very good," Francis wiped at his watering eyes and pinned him with a look that was practically glowing with fondness. Alfred only felt dread drop cold in his stomach. Meeting Francis's eyes, and how wistful they seemed as they peered through Alfred's glasses at his own, he came to realize the unspoken truth. It shouldn't have upset him as much as it did, but nothing was ever rational with Alfred when it came to that particular man.

"Arthur sent you." Suddenly Francis' face was mirroring his own stricken expression.

"I knew it! He can't just leave me alone!" Alfred shot to his feet, hands clutching at the table edge and grinding his teeth as he stood staring down at the man across from him. Francis slightly pushed his own seat back, his shoulders tense as he leaned forward to look up at Alfred imploringly.

"No, he didn't." Alfred clicked his tongue at the answer and moved to leave when his wrist was wrapped in a surprisingly strong grip. Francis lightly dug his trimmed nails into the protrusion of bone below Alfred's palm, and tugged at him to sit. He wanted to resist, but the grim line Francis had set his lips in told him that he was more than willing to cause a scene to get his way. So Alfred went back to his chair and waited for Francis to let go. The older man simply squeezed a little harder and held on firmly.

"I swear, he's not why I'm here." He would have been convincingly sincere with how he delivered the line, had he not been pinning Alfred's arm to the table.

"Liar," Alfred hissed back at him, trying to cram as much contempt he could muster in the small word.

"It's true." Francis loosened his hold and rubbing apologetic circles with his thumb over the indents on Alfred's skin. "I'm not going to lie; he did say something that made me want to come, but I'm here because I want to be. He doesn't even know I've left Europe yet. I just really wanted to see you."

"What did he say?" Alfred asked, dismissing anything else Francis had said.

Francis seemed to have to contemplate his answer for a minute. Alfred suspected it was going to be another case of half-truths and whole lies. Wouldn't be the first time the older man attempted to manipulate him under the guise of familial concern. As if he ever considered him family, a contemptuous voice in his head concluded.

"He was talking about regrets," Francis began.

"This should be good then," Alfred snorted, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Francis continued as if he hadn't said anything, "It's how he usually gets when he's drunk, always going on about one of his many mistakes. This last time he was talking about you and how he felt things went wrong… It just got me thinking of how things ended badly between us, and I was hoping to get to apologi-"

"Too little too late," Alfred interrupted rudely, getting up and leaving without the other man being able to stop him that time.

He threw open the coffee house door harder than he intended, apologizingd to the patrons grumbling about the cold coming in before he ducked out when he saw Francis following him. He tried to run off down the sidewalk and ignore the shouts coming from behind when his feet hit a dark patch of ice, and sent him with a squawk into a deep bank piled up with brown snow from the plows. He just wanted to lie there until he froze to death, or the trash men picked him up, or something equally melodramatic. Either way he felt impotent, so he didn't resist when he felt Francis pull at his arm and help him to his feet.

"Really, Alfred," he sighed, brushing snow out if his short blond fringe, "I understand that you're frustrated, but this is ridiculous. After everything I've done for you and you're this angry about that stupid fight we had?"

"Everything you've done for me," he seethed through clenched teeth, "Was just another way for you to get one up on Arthur. Don't think I don't know."

Francis went to speak, but Alfred went on, "You just wanted to see him suffer, and I was the perfect way for you to do that. And that's the only reason you helped me out of that house!"

"That's not," Francis started, but seemed to decide on another tactic from vainly proclaiming his innocence, "That's not the whole reason. I did want to help you, and I agreed with where you were coming from. I know him and how he gets, and there was no way he would have seen things your way. Getting back at him for the whole Mathieu thing was just a consequence."

Alfred didn't care, and wasn't listening. He just stared at a patch of cement and let Francis run through his excuses. The reasons didn't matter anymore, and he just wanted to go to bed so the day would finally end.

"Please just take me home," he whispered, still not looking up from the ground. Francis complied, leading him back to the car without another word. The drive was silent, Francis occasionally glancing over at him, and Alfred staring listlessly out the window. When they pulled up to Alfred's apartment complex they stayed still and quiet in their seats, both waiting for the other to say something. Alfred was the one that caved.

"Thanks," he said blandly, unfastening his seatbelt.

"We need to continue our talk. You can't expect me to leave it where it is," Francis responded, squeezing the steering wheel and looking off in the distance.

"What's there left to say?"He almost felt like crying.

"Everything." He looked over at his passenger with an empty smile. "I'll drop this tonight, but I want to see you again, preferably soon."

Alfred realized there was no avoiding Francis if he didn't want him to. "Fine. You know where to find me."

"Actually, I was hoping for your number. Unless, of course, you want me to drop in." Alfred whipped out his hand for Francis' phone. He handed over his cell with a smirk and Alfred added himself to the contacts, trying not to read the name that was right under his.

"That it?" He toyed with the door handle in anticipation.

"That's it. Goodnight, Alfred," Francis said, relaxing back and smiling more warmly.

"Right." He hopped out of the car and strode up the steps before he could be called back. His numb fingers flitted around his ring of keys to find the right one, causing a loud jingling to echo around the walkway. He tried to jamb the one he needed into the lock but kept hitting and chipping the faded paint surrounding it. After the third miss, his body shaking and shivering, the door opened at last and revealed a short and grim looking boy behind it. Kiku looked up at him blankly, stepping away to allow him entrance. Alfred rushed inside, rubbing his arms and stamping his feet on the little mat in the cramped hallway.

"I was getting worried. I tried to call you back but you never answered." At Kiku's remark, Alfred pulled out his phone and found that it somehow got turned on silent.

"Heh, sorry," he offhandedly apologized, thumbing through his missed calls, "I was kinda distracted. I didn't mean to stress you like that."

"Who was the man on the phone?" Alfred knew Kiku didn't mean anything by it, but he had to work hard to swallow the retort trying to bubble up through his burning stomach.

"Him? Don't worry about him. I'll see you tomorrow, man." He exaggerated a yawn and dove toward his bedroom without a backward glance. He shut the door behind himself and slumped heavily against it. His body deflated as he breathed heavily out of his nose, and his knees slightly knocked against each other. What was he going to do?

Stumbling forward, he simply kicked off his shoes and threw himself down on his bed. Burying his face into the pillow, he let out the primal scream he had been holding in for hours. When he was done, he just felt light headed and even more irritated. Turning over and starting to nod off, he set his jaw forward in resentment against people who were no longer there. Next time Francis saw him, he'd have to make certain beyond any doubt that nothing was going to change. Satisfied with his own determination, he allowed himself to drift to sleep just as the consistantly unwanted voice in the back of his mind whispered, 'You never could say no to him.'