One Day Too Late

by What The FrUK

Arthur Kirkland has dreamed of falling in love his whole life, but his weak heart prevents it. It's only when he starts to give up hope that he runs into a mysterious man who just may offer the key to his salvation. If only he were willing to give it.FrUK

3. Every Minute

Hey all, Kari here to answer reviews like a good little girl again. SO sorry for the late chapter. It was my fault, and my laptop crashed. So I had to get a new one and get Geek Squad to recover all my data. I was very bored for 2 months. And about the two new characters, I plan to write their backstory either in this story, or as a side story on this account. Kapeesh? Anywho . . .

Moonstreakneko- D: I am not that crazy! D: don't you dare mock my fangasm-ness!

VelvetChinaDoll- O_O *stares awkwardly at you* now why the heck would I tell you a spoiler like that, dearie? *cheeky grin*

XXlikecatsXX- ummm . . . That's ESPN, hun.

Lady-Ribbon- ahahaha, thankies thankies. I'm never much of a fan of a BA!Alfred, but it works well for this fic, nah? And Kiku's not really being bullied, he just has a lot of . . . Worries. A lot a lot. And don't worry about Francis, he'll show up in a secy-poo

Serene528Moon- WOO! *high fives you* thank GAWD someone got my reference. It would be very sad if no one did. D: and I wish I could update faster, I just have . . . Procrastination problems. And Myriad is just as lazy as me. We try tho, we try.

ApurpleAvacado- O_O not telling! Stop being so smart! *smites u for possible spoilers* naw, good guessers are much appreciated. But NOT TELLING! *zips lips*

.Phantom-thankies very much! And OF COURSE Alfred is in it. D: he's my FAVORITE!

Boriquen Hetalia- root away! And of course they're gonna make it more fun. It'd be so much more boring if they didn't. o 3o

Jamacia-tan- thank you!

CreativeInjustice- wish I had enough time to look into it, but I'm behind enough on the stuff I'm already watchin and reading. Including Hetalia

LithiumKiss- thankies thankies! And yes, Twilight is VERY pathetic. XP glad u think so.

Hanaadi88- hahaha, that's okay. Glad u like it so far! It's fun to write. :3

Counterintuituve- thankies very much! But FrUk can't have very much lovin until Francis accepts Arthur as his mate, now can he? :D

One Day Too Late: Every Minute

Alfred's hands had been strong even when they were small, his grip around Arthur's fingers just as sure and steady as it was in the present. He'd come to the hospital as suddenly as he'd left, both him and his brother rushed in through the ICU with doctors yelling around them. The noise of it had woken Arthur as they blazed past his room, monitors beeping and nurses waving people out of the way.

They said it was an abnormally high fever, a hundred and six to be exact, and nothing the doctors did the entire time the twins stayed at the hospital could bring it down. It was after the first four days that Arthur finally got to meet them officially.

He'd been sitting on the window box in the ward's playroom, an open book balanced on his knees and his eyes trained on the world outside. A shout from a doctor outside in the hall caused his attention to waver, but he did no more than turn and gaze at the doorway halfheartedly as two small blondes barreled inside and crouched just out of sight from whoever was outside. They were completely identical in almost every way aside from the slight difference in their hair. The boy with the straighter hair spoke first.

"They're toys in here!" he squealed in delight, rushing over to the toy box in the far corner and throwing it open. His brother followed wordlessly, a large white stuffed bear clutched to his chest.

Arthur narrowed his eyes as the rowdier twin began to toss the toys around the room before he turned back to the window, staring out it with a sigh. He'd been cooped up in the place for far too long, and there was no one to take him home anymore, either. His eyes followed the paths of small raindrops down the windowpane to the ground far below, and his shoulders hunched with regret. If he'd been healthy, if he'd been born a normal child, his parents wouldn't have been driving that late at night, or that fast, to come see him. He would have never had such a terrible attack.

But wishing he could have been born different was the same as wishing he'd never been born at all.

The blond blinked as he came back to reality, the patter of the rain on the window fading to background noise as his ears picked up the rather loud "Brroooom!" noise just beside him. The child with the straighter hair was crouched next to the window cushion, a toy truck in hand as he made it roll along the edge just past Arthur's feet. Noting the other's irritated gaze on him, he looked up with an almost too innocent grin, "Do you wanna play?" Of course he didn't want to play. He spent every waking moment in this hospital listening to worried nurses and doctors tell him not to run, not to jump, not to get too excited, and not to scare himself; ever. Arthur frowned, shaking his head slightly, "M'not allowed," he muttered, pointedly turning back to his book.

The child smirked, "Me neither. Mattie and I are supposed to be restin'. But I wanna play." He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side, "Do you always do what stupid adults tell you?" Arthur made an indignant face, "No! Course I don't! But-" he drew off with a strangled little noise in the back of his throat. If he didn't listen, he'd have an attack, he'd learned that long ago.

Smiling faintly, the blue eyed boy began to roll the truck across the cushion near Arthur's feet again, "Yeah," he whispered softly, as though he'd been able to guess what Arthur was unable to say. "But . . . Isn't it better to have fun? It would suck to-" he waved a hand absently, incapable of so much as referencing the word, "without having ever had any fun, you know?"

The other's eyes widened, and he held his breath while he thought about it, an old habit. After his parent's deaths, he expected his own at every turn, practically waiting for it here in the window seat of the playroom. He lifted a hand to his face, suddenly realizing that tears had begun to form and trickle down his cheeks. Sniffling, he inhaled a sharp sob, closing his eyes as the child looked up at him. "I-" He sucked in a shaky breath of air, "I don't want to die . . ." Arthur gasped, choking on the tears he couldn't seem to stop, "I don't want to die!"

The blue eyed child smiled once more, "Then don't. Play, and have fun, and run around." He tugged on the edge of Arthur's shirt, "And don't' forget to make friends. 'Cause then . . . You make memories too. And as long as there are memories, you can never really die."

Arthur hiccupped, searching for a proper reply in his mind but coming up short. So instead, he said softly, "M-my name is Arthur."

"I'm Alfred."

Arthur hated the night time. In its eerie silence, he could hear the billowing whoosh of things that he should never be seeing as they glided past his door. He could see the light of souls in the dark shadows, following the all too human looking reaper outside and into the night. And for those the reaper left behind, he could see them wandering the halls too. Wailing, wanting, yearning for the life they'd left behind. They would enter his room and call out to him, and he would ignore them. He'd learned that if he didn't they would never leave him alone.

Alfred and Matthew couldn't see them, not even the reaper who hovered around Arthur every few days, checking to see if it could take him yet. When he told Alfred about it, the other blond had merely smiled as he always did. A smile that said he believed him because they were friends, but at the same time, found the whole thing ridiculous. But when Arthur panicked when a spirit or sprite wandered too close, Alfred wouldn't hesitate to let Arthur cling to him. And he would hold him tight in return, murmuring that everything would be all right as long as he was there.

Except that he wasn't. And Arthur knew that the day would come when Alfred and his brother, slowly on their way to recovery, would leave. And he'd be all alone once again.

He had his first attack in a long time a few weeks later, only to awake to feel unusually warm finger grasping his own. Arthur breathed in slowly, turning his head to the side to make emerald eyes meet azure-blue, "Hey . . ."

Alfred smiled, though for once his mouth wavered from it's usual confidence, "Hey," he replied, voice wavering. "M'glad you're okay, Arthur."

Arthur nodded, closing his eyes, "Me too. Let's play again tomorrow, okay?"

The other blond clenched his hands around Arthur's with a sharp inhale of breath, "Yeah. We'll play lots, promise."

He was gone when Arthur woke up, almost as though he and his brother had never been there at all. When he asked the nurses they just stared at him blankly, or would laugh softly and tell him that he was getting much too old for imaginary friends. But he knew better. The hand that had gripped his tight had been warm, firm, and all together very real. Not like a ghost, or a fairy, or even a reaper of death. Real, and human.

Arthur sat straight up in bed, breath uneven, only to nearly jump out of his skin upon finding Lovino perched vulture-like on the edge of his bed, glaring down at him with the most evil glare he'd seen in quite awhile. "You said Alfred's name in your sleep," he said lowly, the tone making the Englishman flinch. "You do know that everything you saw yesterday has to remain an absolute secret, correct?" The blond shuddered slightly, "I'm not stupid, Lovino. I won't say anything about it."

The Italian scowled, "Not even to Feli or that potato-bastard?"

This startled Arthur, "Wha- you mean you haven't told them? Are you insane?" Lovino merely gave him a bored stare, "No, you are for thinking that would go over well. Let them live in their happy little bound-to-end fairytale for now. They don't need to know anything about the SPN, or what we do at night." He swung his legs off the edge of the bed and stood up, straightening out his shirt in a very OCD way, "Feli wants your help in the garden today, so get up and get dressed." Glancing back at the blond, his mouth straightened once more, "And keep your mouth shut."

Arthur rolled his eyes and watched as Lovino slowly stalked out of the room before he began to riffle through his drawers for a shirt and pants he could wear while working on the garden. And if there was one thing Arthur hated, it was getting good clothes dirty. He chose some worn out jeans and a light, but pleasantly form-fitting t-shirt before he wandered outside, catching the cup of tea waiting for him on the counter near the back door before he went.

Feliciano was crouched beside his small flower garden. When they were younger, he and Arthur had planted the first seeds there, the ancestors of the flora that had become to bloom freely there now. They'd planted them with the promise that as long as flowers continued to bloom in that spot, Arthur's heart would keep beating. With how long he'd been in the hospital before Francis had shown up, he'd all but forgotten.

The Italian didn't look up as Arthur kneeled down beside him, cradling a single blue flower in his palms, dirt floating off the tips of his fingers in the cool early spring breeze. He smiled as Arthur glanced at him, "It's a Himalayan Blue Poppy," he said slowly, stumbling a bit on the words, "I got it for you to plant. Pretty, isn't it?" Arthur nodded, at a loss for words as Feliciano handed him the plant, the dirt around it sprinkling out between his fingers. Carefully, he placed it in the small hole the Italian had dug, scraping dirt over it ever so carefully. "Feliciano . . ." He started, swallowing tightly, "Why?"

Feliciano merely smiled, one of those innocent, yet oddly wise smiles that Arthur had always found comfort in. "Because it's blue," he said simply, turning his attention to the other flowers in the garden. "Everyone has a color that they enjoy most for some reason or another. I thought that maybe for you-" He stopped, smiling a bit wider, but ending the sentence there as he threaded his fingers between the petals of a cornflower.

The blond glanced at the flower, studying it's color as the late morning rays of sun hit it's leaves and petals. How was it that Feliciano always seemed to know things like that, better yet, how he knew that the flower in question was the exact same shade as Francis's eyes had been. A frustrated growl rumbled up in his throat at the thought, and he tore his fingers into the earth around the plant and pulled it up from the ground, throwing it onto the grass. Feliciano gasped in surprise, jumping up with an astonished, "Arthur!" before Arthur turned his back to him and stalked out of the yard and around to the front of the house.

Shoulders hunching in confusion, Feliciano made as if to follow him, but instead bent down to scoop the broken flower up from the ground. With a slow tenderness, he placed it back where it had been before, making a little pained noise as he noticed the broken stem and the petals that floated freely away from the plant. "Poor thing," he whispered. "He didn't mean it, really, he didn't. Arthur's just . . . He's hurting." His brown eyes glazed over, and he cupped his hands around the thing, murmuring soft words of comfort.

Lovino, who was watching from the back doorway narrowed his eyes as his twin pulled his hands away from the plant, the flower blooming fuller than before. Without a word, he made his way over to his brother and placed a warning hand on his shoulder, "Feli-"

"Don't, Lovi," Feliciano interrupted voice unusually low and hostile. "Just don't. you wouldn't let me do a thing for Arthur when he was sick, the least I can do is fix the flower I got for him." He looked down, focusing his gaze on the ground, "Everyone has things that they live for, Lovi. Arthur is still looking for his. Let him be, at least for a little while."

"What do you live for, Feli?" Lovino asked quietly, auburn eyes blazing.

Feliciano frowned, knowing what his brother was prying for. "I live for a lot of things, Lovi," he said finally. "I live because I was born," he paused, "because you would die if I died," He glanced at the cornflowers out of the corners of his eyes with a faint smile, "I live for the person who would give me flowers everyday when we were small."

Lovino growled, "Feliciano, you know that-"

"That we aren't allowed to be with humans?" Feliciano finished, "Yeah, of course I do. But Lovi, what's life without breaking a few rules?"

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Francis hadn't moved much from the large, ornate couch that took up the mansion's main sitting room in the last few months. His hair was growing out longer than he would have liked, but he ignored it for the most part, running his fingers through it to pick out the tangles every few hours. It was the only room in the house with a television, which annoyed him to no end. He was the sole person in the place who watched it, and thus he had to pay for it. Although, his allowance was large enough to cover that as well so . . .

Ilea was lounging on the rug at his feet, a coloring book open in front of her. She'd worked her way through most of it that day, and was doing a connect-the-dots when she noticed Francis watching her. She smiled pleasantly, "Does the young master require something?"

"No," Francis smirked, closing his eyes, "not right now, sweetie. I'm just waiting too die."

He nearly had a heart attack as a hand fell on his shoulder, and he sat straight up in surprise. "That's no way to talk in this house, Francis Bonnefoy," a cool, calm voice said smoothly, sharp fingers digging just a little too harshly into his shoulder.

The vampire inhaled sharply, "Roderich, don't sneak up on me like that, you prick."

An older man with slicked back light brown hair and dark blue eyes hidden behind thick glasses frowned down at him, the mole near the corner of his mouth twitching as he held in a smile of amusement. "You really plan on dying, Francis?"

Francis put his hands behind his head and grinned cheekily, "Well, I don't know. I don't exactly have a lot going for me as it is, so . . ."

Roderich stretched his arms out in front of him, fixing the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves absently, "What about that boy you were with? The sick one."

"Arthur isn't sick anymore, he doesn't need me," Francis muttered sourly.

The other stared down at him for a long moment before he moved around the side of the couch and sat down, straightening the collar on his very old fashioned suit. "Francis, need is a two way street. Especially for people like us."

"Vampires," Francis cut in.

An amused smile crossed Roderich's face, "Yes, vampires," he echoed. "Francis, do you know what I went through to get where I am today?"

"You embraced the role of a vampire and sucked lots of blood," Francis said, slouching down where he sat. "Whoopdie-freakin'-do."

Roderich shook his head, "Well that was a pleasant way to summarize my life in a sentence. But no, that's not exactly it." He swept a hand back through his hair, taking off his glasses with the other hand. "My life was never easy, Francis. And a long time ago, anyone associated with vampires was killed on the spot. I . . . I have a lot of memories of things that I regret, and there is no way to ever take them away. But I can pass on a word of the wise, Francis."

Francis tilted his head to the side, "Oh?"

"Live so that there are no regrets," Roderich whispered. "And don't let the people you love slip away from you." He stood up, flicking a bit of lint off of his dark blue tailcoat, "I'll let you think on that for awhile," he said, making his way out of the room. Roderich walked slowly down the hall towards the kitchen, leaning heavily against the counter when he got there. The room was mostly just for decoration, though Francis, who still had yet to drink a drop of human blood, kept the fridge well stocked with food. Roderich slumped down to his knees, resting his head in his hands with a strangled sob. "We raised him to carelessly," he murmured into his hands. "And now he's going to die because he's too stubborn to accept who he already is."

"Would you have rather we had left him to be raised by mortals like you had been Roderich?" a low voice said behind him, well calloused hands resting gently on his shoulders.

"No," Roderich whispered. "No, never. No good would have ever come out of that."

"Of course not. We did what we could for him. And if the little turd wants to die a mortal man, then so be it. He does not have to choose a partner. Life is about free will, after all." The tone was sour, flavored with subtle tinges of sorrow.

Roderich bit his lip, rubbing his palm over his eyes as he realized he'd left his glasses in the other room.

There was silence for a long moment before the other spoke again. "You said that your life was full of regrets. Am . . . am I . . ."

The vampire stood, his mouth set in a tight frown, blue eyes narrowed dangerously as he turned to face the other. His fingers laced into the shoulder length blond hair as he let his forehead touch the other's, "No, Vash. No."

Vash flinched away from the touch, seagreen eyes shimmering with disbelief, "But I was not your first choice," he said hoarsely.

"No," Roderich admitted, "But fate was inevitable, and without you I would be lost." He cocked his head, drawing back a bit and catching the blonde's wrist and bring it up to his chin.

Vash looked away. He'd been Roderich's partner for almost three hundred years now, and he still never got entirely used to that hungry look the other man would get in his eyes sometimes. He inhaled as Roderich surged forward, long canines sinking into his wrist as he used his other hand to grab Vash's waist and tug him closer. Wincing at the first sharp spark of pain, he whispered, "I tried to stab you when we first met, do you remember?"

"Captain of the guard," Roderich murmured, titling his head up to lick his lips and trace a fine trail of blood down Vash's arm with his tongue before he made his way back to his wrist.

The blond groaned, eyelids fluttering as Roderich continued to feed on him, his knees beginning to weaken. If he told anyone that every time Roderich did this, it felt somehow orgasmic, they'd probably laugh. Hell, it had taken him almost a hundred years to tell it to Roderich. "Do you think that fate will save Francis as well?" He asked softly, but Roderich didn't answer. He slipped down to his knees, unable to support his own weight anymore, the Austrian catching him with an amused chuckle. "Francis is still here," Vash muttered, a whimper escaping him as Roderich bit him harder.

"No he's not," Roderich assured, pausing a moment to listen. "His little familiar is though, but she's no trouble."

Vash moaned, trying to push himself back up, "It's never a 'no' with you is it," he muttered.

Roderich shook his head, "Table? or shall I carry you to the bedroom?"

"Francis will kill you if you mess up his table. And I can walk myself to the bedroom, thank you very much you damn aristocrat." He straightened up as Roderich obediently drew back, rolling his eyes pointedly. Turning to lead the way, he glanced over his shoulder, "You don't regret taking me instead of Elizaveta?"

For an uncomfortably long moment, Roderich was silent, his eyes practically boring holes in Vash's back. "I don't," he said finally. "I could only save one of you, and I chose you, Vash. So stop wondering if I would have ever chosen different."

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"Live so that there are no regrets, and don't let the people you love slip away from you."

Francis stood with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his eyes trained on the frozen ground between the hospital buildings, the shadows that covered the area leaving the dirt cold in the early spring air. He couldn't remember why he had come here; Arthur wasn't here anymore. Actually, Francis had no idea where he was now. He hadn't bothered too look it up, he didn't really want to know. The less he knew, the easier it would be to forget entirely. Which was exactly what he wished he could do.

He wished he could forget emerald eyes and blond hair and all together too-large eyebrows. But he couldn't. With a frustrated sigh, he kicked at the ground, his mouth turning downwards into a scowl. He wanted to die alone, that was what he'd always planned to do, right? Why did his heart suddenly clench with fear at the thought when it never had before?

Maybe if he'd grown up in a normal household, without Vash and Roderich always fighting over whether or not Vash becoming Roderich's life partner had been a mistake, it would have been different. He'd come to the decision long ago that he would never make someone regret staying with him like he assumed Vash did. That just wouldn't be right. Immortality was not something to wish for.

"Francis?"

His heart leapt uncontrollably in his chest, but he remained where he was, muttering a short, "Imagination. Not real," under his breath.

Arthur stood on the other side of the small park between the buildings, standing stalk still, too stunned to move. It couldn't be, it . . . just couldn't be . . . ! Standing in the exact place they had built the snowman together was Francis. At least that's what his eyes told him. "Francis," he said again, a bit louder this time, though the disbelief was clear in his voice. "Francis, wait. Please don't go," he winced at how completely pathetic that sounded. "Please . . ."

Francis sucked in another breath, reminding himself that, inhuman or not, he still had a need for air. "Mon cheri," he said softly, "It will be so much better for you if I do. You would do better to have never met me at all."

The Englishman's thick eyebrows furrowed in anguish, "But . . . Without you I wouldn't be here at all. Whatever you did, it saved me. And for that, I am eternally grateful." He paused, taking a few steps forward, "Can't . . . Can't I do something to help you as well?"

"You have no need to feel obligated to do any such thing," Francis hissed, his tone sharp and harsh. No, he did not want Arthur to be indebted to him like Vash was to Roderich. His fists clenched in his pockets, his nails digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

"I don't feel obligated," Arthur drew out the word, emphasizing it as though it were some sort of foul thing, "I want to help you, Francis. Is that such a terrible thing to wish for?" He managed to swallow back a pained undertone in his words.

Francis's shoulders hunched, and he tucked his head down against his chest, "You said that you wanted to rescue a helpless princess," he teased.. "And I'm really not that." He looked up, his visage lightened with a crooked smile

"Maybe I lied," Arthur snorted, feeling a sudden effervescent mood lift his chin. "And besides, you're flamboyant enough to pass for one."

The vampire rolled his eyes, a small smile crossing his face that Arthur couldn't see. "Thank you for that lovely comment on my sexuality, mon cheri. It was quite awkward."

Arthur grinned, "Really? Good. It was meant to be." He shrugged his shoulders halfheartedly, taking a few more steps closer, "I'm not asking you to choose me to be your life partner, or whatever the hell it is that you need. But I . . ." He reached out, closing the short distance and lightly touching Francis's arm, taking note of the small flinch that resulted. "But I'd like to find some way to help you, all the same. Not out of a debt to pay or anything like that. I want to help out of my own free will."

"Life is about free will, after all."

Francis smirked, "You can certainly try."

"Francis," Arthur leaned his head forward, resting it between the taller man's shoulder blades, "How many more months do you have?"

The vampire tilted his head up towards the sky as though thinking, "My birthday is in November," he said slowly. "That's all you really need to know, cheri."

November. Eight months. He had eight months. Arthur swallowed, realizing with a start that their might not even be eight months left at all if he let anything slip to Alfred about Francis. "Francis . . . There's something else."

"Hmm?"

"Do you know anyone named Alfred F. Jones?"

Myriad Lapse here! BUWAHHH…! I can't help but feel at great fault for making this chapter so late. *headdesk* After all, I REALLY coulda done a better share of the writing than I did for this chappie. (Correcting grammar and enhancing visualization isn't really much for someone like me to do, methinks…DX) but unfortunately, I'm the world's laziest procrastinator. Seriously, I can't even get to posting up a single story I have in my head because I'd never EVAR update on it. So, be glad I'm not crushing too many hopes just yet.

Well, I wanna mention that I've gone through hell and high water while experiencing certain personal events, and I've grown into an even BIGGER fan of Hetalia than when we first started this story. Example: I could not name the face of a single Nordic country three months ago, and now I'm obsessively fangasming over DenNor fan works amongst others. So I think a great change in my writing style will show up in the next chapter (which, I swear, I'll finish! D:).

Well, I'm wondering if any of you can guess a little something about this story Kari and I forgot to mention. There's a tad relation to where we got the title, and I wanna know if any of you are familiar with our source. It shouldn't be too hard, but I'm not giving any hints except for the title, the first two chapters' titles, and the plot in general. If you can guess it, I'll be happy to reward you with imaginary muffins. :3 Eh-heh . . . Auf Wiedersehen!