AN: Not much to say with this one. Thanks a million to Love-Peace-Anime, KassyMalone, InvaderPey, aquamarinetiger98 and PerfectingSilence for the reviews! they make me incredibly happy and bashful :D
Chapter 3
The next time he wakes up he's both more coherent and more co-operative. With only a smidgen of hesitation, he introduces himself as 'Arthur', to which Alfred informs him of his own name with a big smile.
Despite being awake and talking, he's still not in a very good state. Bones are still broken, and his many wounds are still open and potential infection risks. Alfred informs him bluntly that he's not allowed to leave the bed for anything except to relieve himself, but Arthur is still too weak to argue so the conversation doesn't extend beyond that. Alfred keeps the cabin warm, maybe a little bit warmer than he'd normally have it, in the hopes that it would encourage his recovery. The rest of the time he's either out hunting for food - fish and small animals being a staple of his diet, along with roots and the occasional edible plant he uncovered - or writing in his journal.
They talk about unimportant things; Arthur and his dream job as an author, Alfred and his degree in archaeology. He loudly bemoans the lack of any decent ruins or remnants in the area, but still endeavours to maintain an academic approach to life. He has a journal, and documents every creature and plant he finds. Arthur is surprised to see detailed drawings interspersed between chunks of spidery writing.
He spends a lot of time sleeping. Alfred doesn't worry too much, because the more sleep he has the faster he'll recover. The bruises are starting to fade and the cuts are beginning to close. The gunshot wound is slightly more problematic, and Alfred unravels the makeshift bandage one morning two weeks after he acquired his guest to find it weeping and inflamed. With only limited equipment at hand, he ends up using the last of his medical disinfectant in an attempt to clear it.
~SR~
It's raining. Actually, 'rain' is a fairly nice way of describing the raging hell tearing through the landscape, ripping up flurries of snow akin to frozen tornados and hammering the reinforced sides of Alfred's hut like an enraged demon, released from the clutches of hellfire to pour its wrath upon this dead land.
Arthur is still bed bound, much to his clear chagrin. Alfred tries to help the situation by talking to him and giving him something to occupy himself with that isn't wallowing in misery and annoyance; Alfred finds that he is happy to talk when the subject is mundane, but every attempt to sway the conversation towards the circumstances of their meeting is dismissed, the discussion drawn back to a more comfortable topic. Alfred doesn't press the issue; after all, he expects the same courtesy.
Alfred doesn't have much in his cabin except the necessities needed to survive in this wasteland, but he has a couple of books and some of his old journals. Arthur is busy perusing these, flinching violently whenever a particularly violent blow shakes the sturdy little hut, whilst Alfred is updating his current journal.
He hopes the storm doesn't last too long, but knows that these things can extend anywhere up to three weeks. He picked up on the signs early enough and made sure to stock up on both wood and food, but he worries about Arthur; he's still too weak to go without warmth and sustenance. If it comes down to it, he'll happily give up his own food to keep the smaller man going. He hopes it won't last long enough for that to happen, though.
The fire is crackling away. Occasionally it flickers and sways, catching some of the worst of the wind that manages to sneak down the small chimney and encroach upon the warm haven he's created. The pair barely notice, wrapped up in their own little worlds, away from the freezing hell that mercilessly batters the land. Alfred knows that his little home can hold up against the worst of what this place can throw at it, and Arthur is soothed by this confidence.
For some reason, despite his somewhat caustic mannerisms and the clear shield he has drawn around himself, Alfred finds himself irresistibly drawn to the strange man. He reasons that it is because he is the first person he has spoken to, or even seen, in months, but a worrying niggling in the corner of his mind makes it hard for him to convince even himself that it is just this.
In the end he just shrugs it off. Alfred is a firm believer of 'what will be, will be', so he sees little point in stressing over a mere possibility. It is far more useful to focus on the present than potential futures.
~SR~
The first time he had asked Arthur what he was doing in the tundra wastelands of his home he hadn't been given an answer, the older man having simply shrugged the question off. The second time, still very much bed-bound, he had pretended to fall asleep. The third time he had simply ignored the American.
The air is still as they sit side by side, cupping warm mugs of cocoa that Alfred had acquired the last time he had ventured out to the 'local' settlement.
"I was being chased." If Alfred is surprised by this statement, he doesn't show it. Arthur knows he's been waiting with barely concealed impatience for it.
"Chased?"
"Hmm." Alfred realises that to get more would require prompting.
"By who?"
"By whom, Alfred."
"Whatever, 'whom' was chasing you, Artie?" Alfred wanders what his snow man could have done to warrant being pursued until the metaphorical ends of the earth.
"I'm the youngest and only surviving son of the Kirkland family. This means I'm also the only heir."
Ah.
"'Only surviving'? What happened to the others?"
"Well I used to just think it was because of accidents... but I know better, now."
"Arthur?"
"They were murdered and it was covered up…" The smaller man paused, looking Alfred in the eye before turning away and staring blankly into his cocoa. "I don't know the details because I never asked, but if the immediate Kirkland line died out, other people would inherit the fortune."
"And these people knew this, and realised the only way that was going to happen was if you were all dead?"
"Yes. I mean, I was never on the best terms with my brothers, but I never wanted them dead."
There's such a pained look on his face, and tears creeping from the corners of his eyes, that Alfred doesn't hesitate to lean over and embrace him. It seems to help a little bit.
"And when you were the only one left, they tried to kill you too." It was a statement, not a question. Arthur sniffed, tears now pouring in earnest, leaving wet tracks down his pale face.
"I didn't want the money. I hated my parents and it was only by default that the money went to me. It was always supposed to go to my brothers - I was the odd one out. I had nothing to do with my family... I only found out that they were all dead when I was contacted by their lawyer. Next thing I know, these strange people are watching my house, following my car... so I ran. And I kept running, until there was nowhere else to go.
I was scared. I'm still scared."
Alfred doesn't try to hide his shock. Ever since Arthur has been capable of getting around by himself he has been completely composed, with a haughty and icy demeanour. Sometimes Alfred could forget the circumstances in which he'd found him. Arthur shakes his head and gives him a watery smile.
"Never mind. What's past is past. Why are you here, Alfred? You don't strike me as being the sort of person to live alone." Alfred gives a forced laugh. He doesn't mention the fact that Arthur has still avoided telling him why he was in the state he was in, but he realises that it doesn't matter. There's a warm feeling bubbling in his chest, knowing that Arthur trusts him enough to tell him what he has.
"I'm not interested in a relationship, that's why. I can be awesome on my own."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it Alfred. People like you don't just live in the middle of nowhere. You're too… alive, I guess." Arthur seemed to struggle to find words: "People like you need to be around other people."
"I did something bad…"
"Oh do come on, it's not like you killed anyone."
..
"Alfred?"
~SR~
Arthur hasn't pressed him on his life since. At first Alfred worried that he'd jump to conclusions and leave him so he was alone again, but Arthur didn't treat him any differently at all. Alfred thinks that Arthur is a lot deeper than he has been giving him credit for. It hurts him that to know that Arthur could open up despite all the horrible things that had happened to him and yet he can't give anything in return... but Alfred is a coward, and he knows it.
Arthur will just have to wait until Alfred is as strong as he is.
AN: Schedules are for pansies, reviews are adored.
