Author's note: Wow, apparently you guys really want to see where this is going, because a ton of you subscribed. :D I hope I don't disappoint you!

Chapter 2

After breakfast, Alfred decided that he would explore the city a bit. He got directions to the British Museum and decided to walk. He had no real plan, but he was perfectly fine with that. It seemed like it would be difficult to get lost, and even if he did, he would just ask someone for directions.

It was moderately sunny outside, and many people were out and about. He managed to pick up a brisk pace, clicking along the sidewalk as fast as he would walk normally. He looked around, taking everything in. It was all just so different. It wasn't obvious, at first – he could have simply been in a different part of the States – but every now and then something would catch his eye, like the bright red telephone booth across the street or the license plate on a car. He realized that he was gasping for breath, and he slowed. He suddenly felt exhausted, but he had only been walking for a few minutes. He bit his lip, but the pain in his leg was getting worse. He stopped and looked around. There was no way he was giving up on his exploration of the city. He caught sight of a bus stop and realized that there was nothing for it. He would have to take the bus.

When he reached the bus stop, he plopped down on the bench. A couple others were standing nearby, but they ignored him. Several minutes later, a bus pulled up beside the stop. Alfred let the others go first before he hauled himself up the few stairs of the bus. He paused just inside. The bus driver was looking at him expectantly. "Ah, right," said Alfred, and plunged a hand into his pocket. He pulled out a handful of change and began to shift through it, looking for British currency. He squinted at the coins in his hand and realized with a sinking feeling that he didn't actually have any British change. He had paid for everything so far with his credit card, so the money had been transferred automatically. He gave the bus driver a weak smile. "Uhhh. . . ."

He heard footsteps. "What can possibly be taking this long?" asked a slightly irritated and distinctly British voice.

Alfred turned around to find himself face to face with none other than the man from breakfast. Alfred broke into a grin. "What, no way! You're taking the bus too?"

The man frowned at him. "Of course I'm taking the bus. How else do you expect me to get to the conference? Which you're making me late for, by the way."

"What is the problem, exactly?" the bus driver asked pointedly. "Can you pay for the ticket or not?"

Alfred laughed, though it was forced. "Well, I can, but, uh – Do you happen to accept credit cards?"

The bus driver looked at him. Mr. Sweater Vest looked at him. Alfred's smile didn't weaken in the slightest. Finally Mr. Sweater Vest sighed and dug his wallet out of his back pocket. "What the hell. Give the man a ticket." He gave the driver exact change and the driver handed Alfred a small slip of paper, which he immediately slid into the safety of his jeans' pocket.

Alfred caught Mr. Sweater Vest's gaze. "Thanks a lot," he said feelingly with a relieved smile.

His eyes softened. "No problem." The bus lurched into motion and Alfred stumbled a little. The man reached out a hand to steady him, but before he could, Alfred rightened himself. The man's hand withdrew from Alfred's vision, and when Alfred looked up he and turned and was walking to the back of the bus.

Alfred followed him, and he was pleased to see that there was an empty seat behind the one that the man slid into. He quickly sat down, ignoring the seat clearly reserved for handicapped people (he was not handicapped), and leaned over the seat in front of him. "So, what's this conference you're going to?" Mr. Sweater Vest actually jumped slightly in his seat. He looked over his shoulder

"Pardon?" There was that slight furrowing of the eyebrows.

"You said you're going to be late for a conference. What kind of conference is it? What kind of work do you do? You said you're here on business, right?"

The man stared at him for a moment. He frowned a little in puzzlement, and then his expression relaxed. "I'm Arthur," he said finally. "You haven't bothered to ask that yet."

"You're right, I haven't. Alfred," he said with a grin, and stuck out a hand. Arthur awkwardly shook it over the back of the seat. "Alfred Jones."

"Kirkland," Arthur replied stiffly. "And it's a literary conference."

"Oh? Are you an English professor or something, then?"

"Er, no, not really. I work for a publishing company and I research on the side."

"So, this is for the publishing company?"

"No, it's for the research."

"So not strictly business?"

"Well, no, I suppose not."

"I see." Alfred grinned again, maybe just a little bit flirtatiously. Arthur went a little pink and he turned around.

"Well, this is my stop. I'll see you later." Arthur picked up his bag and stood up.

"Right. See you around." Alfred watched as Arthur walked down the isle and waited near the door for the bus to stop. When it did, Alfred could have sworn that he glanced over his shoulder to the back of the bus just before he disappeared down the steps.

Alfred suddenly felt that this was turning out to be a very good day.

Alfred's day at the British Museum was more exhausting than he had been expecting, and therefore also shorter. After several hours of walking and resting, he was pretty much done for the day. He had seen the Rosetta stone and a lot of other really cool stuff, and there was still a ton left to see, but he was starting to get hungry and his leg was hurting. He left the museum and found a restaurant for lunch. After he ate, he decided that he was going to walk back to the hotel, no matter how long it took him. By the time he got back to the hotel it was already late afternoon. He pushed open the glass front door and headed for the stairs.

He was about halfway up the first flight of stairs when he heard someone coming up behind him. The stairs were too narrow for anyone to really pass him, so he had no choice but to continue. He finally made it to the first landing. "You can go ahead," he said, and turned around. Arthur was standing a few steps down from him. Alfred leaned on his crutches and smiled. "Hey."

"Hello." Arthur made no move to pass him. In fact, he seemed to be looking at Alfred's leg curiously. Alfred wondered if there wasn't enough room, so he tried to back against the wall. "Is it from the war?" Arthur asked suddenly. "Or a war, rather."

"What?" Alfred realized that he was talking about the crutches and he laughed. "No, it's not from a war."

"Oh." Arthur blushed a little from embarrassment. Alfred decided that Arthur wasn't interested in passing him, so he turned around and continued up the stairs, hauling himself up one step at a time. He heard Arthur's footsteps following him. There was a slight pause, then: "You know, you could ask them to give you a room on the ground floor. I'm sure someone would be willing to switch with you."

"Nah. I'm not asking for any special treatment."

"It's not like it would be undeserved."

"Come on. What if I switched with some little old lady and she fell down the stairs and broke her arm, or worse? It would be unfair."

"You could fall and break your arm, too," Arthur pointed out.

Alfred laughed. "Yeah, that would really suck. Then I wouldn't even be able to use my crutches."

"Exactly."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the tap of Alfred's crutches and the click of Arthur's shoes. Alfred tried to keep his breathing even, and he managed to look not too out of breath by the time he reached the next landing. He stopped and looked down at Arthur. "What floor are you on?"

"The next one."

"Ah." Alfred smiled. "Well, see you around."

"Indeed."

Alfred opened the door to his floor and pulled himself through the doorway. When he turned around, Arthur was standing right behind him, a hand on the doorknob. Their eyes locked. They were closer than they had ever been before, and Alfred could see every fleck and shade of green in Arthur's eyes. I must be taller than him by an inch or two, Alfred thought idly. They were exactly at eye level, but Alfred was leaning on his crutches while Arthur stood perfectly straight. Arthur's mouth twitched and he began to pull away.

"I'm a firefighter," Alfred said suddenly. Arthur paused. "That's how I injured my leg." It took a lot to say it, more than he had been expecting. Normally he appreciated being able to say that, appreciated being able to see the admiration and unspoken words in other people's eyes: He's a hero. But he was not a soldier, and clearly that was what this man had been expecting him to be – someone who would kill for what he loved.

Arthur smiled, genuinely. It was not the toothy grin that Alfred charmed people with. It was a gentle, relaxed smile that made Alfred feel like he was the most wonderful person in the universe. "I see," said Arthur. "Well, I shall see you later." The door clicked shut and Alfred found himself staring at worn wood. He realized his heart was pounding. I want to see that smile again, he thought. I want to make him smile like that again.

He turned and went to his room.

Later that evening, Alfred started feeling hungry again. He made his way downstairs and waited in the lobby for a while, hopping that a certain someone else might also be thinking of going to dinner, but he did not appear. Alfred asked the receptionist for suggestions for where to have dinner, and then he set off into the night.

The city was very different at night, all neon lights and flashing signage. It felt a little like New York, but it was also distinctly different, even more so than during the day. He breathed in deep, enjoying the cool air on his face. He was already more relaxed than he had been in weeks. It almost feels like home, he thought idly. It's really not that different here. A bus whizzed pass, blowing his bangs in his eyes. He puffed them out of his vision. I feel like Italian food.

He found an Italian restaurant fairly easily and got himself a table. It was a little pricy, but it was also his first night out in a new place, so he figured the occasion deserved a little treat. He let the lull of conversation roll over him, and before he knew it he was finishing up his dinner. He ordered dessert, and when he was done he glanced at his watch. It was later than he had expected. The waiter brought the bill and he whipped out his credit card. He began to hand it to the waiter, but then he hesitated. "Hey," he said with a smile, "Is there any way I can get cash back?"