If you didn't know Alfred F. Jones, you never truly ever received that feeling that when the man with that stubborn cowlick pressed his Italian-soled foot into the office or courtroom, the man meant business. He was jovial man, and typically liked by all, but he did have his unfavourable traits, as did everyone. His co-workers could say he almost always had his head in the clouds unless he was speaking with a client or dealing with his uptight superior. He ate too much for his well-being, and he wanted everyone to be his friend. Of course, a man of his power and status, everyone wanted to be his friend, but not everyone appreciated his self-centred moments and childish behaviour at times. You couldn't blame him though- 99% of the time everyone was too scared to say anything.
The 25-year old had somehow gone from being a chubby kid with aspirations of being an astrophysicist to bolting into a prestigious college with a dream of defending the innocent. He had a secret fetish for science, sure, but whenever he proved that person who couldn't afford a lawyer was 100% INNOCENT, he heart soared to the clouds. It wasn't long before the wide-eyed 23-year old had been reached out by international firms that paid him handsomely. Ever since, he lived in that shared penthouse overlooking Central and one of the crown jewels at the firm he worked for.
Alfred missed working for the poor, it was true, but as his mother had told him, people find success, and success had found him. He would have been a bigger idiot to deny himself the life he could never have back home in Virginia with his mother. And the young man would give himself time to consider the fact if he ever truly loved the work of a law, or whether the hope of being a hero had consumed any objections.
Looking back, now the American was a a key behind-the-scenes person for big-shot corporations, and sometimes, they were guilty.
And Alfred would defend the bad guys…
It didn't make sense, but the in the city of money and power, sometimes you just couldn't afford to think otherwise.
Alfred's eyes scanned the thick document for the second time before he nodded and dumped it into his tray that would be sent to his boss upstairs. He had gone through so much tiny font that now his eyes were starting to give way. He pressed the back of his hand to rub his eye a bit, and he wasn't a doctor, so any negative effects possible slipped his mind.
When he'd taken his break, he had persuaded his brother (who was probably in Lower Manhattan right now) to give him Gilbert's number.
Why?
Quite frankly, the American, who specialized in criminal prosecution, didn't know why. He just somehow needed to have a conversation about Arthur.
Yes, Alfred felt like a complete creeper.
He couldn't feel any signs of being attracted to the green-eyed blonde, but the man in general definitely piqued his interest. Alfred was hoping that Arthur was weekly pub-hopper, which would make things easy for him to drop the shirt off. The American told himself he was doing a good thing by driving all the way to QUEENS on a random night just to return a shirt. Yes, that's what heroes do, right?
When Matthew finally snapped, and raged in French to his brother, all Alfred could do was wait. He eventually hung up on his brother, and just waited.
Within seconds, Matthew had texted Alfred the number to Gilbert's bar.
"SCHIEBE! STOP CALLING!"
Alfred's head snapped when the German voice that answered was definitely not….Gilbert.
"Er…hey…" Alfred chuckled nervously; suddenly feeling a bit scared in his Armani suit.
"LUDWIG BEILLSCHMIDT. VHAT?"
L-Ludwig? Who's that?
"I think I've gotten the wrong number…"
"DON'T CALL BACK. SCHIEBE!" Ludwig growled into his phone on the other line.
"W-W-Wait…is this Awesome Pub?" Alfred asked, trying to keep his voice calm.
Before Ludwig could confirm it, he hung up.
In his pub in Queens, Gilbert keeled over laughing, wiping his tears.
Matthew had texted him about 10 minutes ago that his brother was about to call. The realtor really did not want to know what Alfred wanted to do to mess up that poor Brit's life, and requested that Gilbert take things into his own hands. Of course, being the awesome boyfriend that he was, he just decided to pull one over the American law nut. He felt bad about Arthur having to lend the obnoxious idiot a shirt, and he truly liked the scowling Briton. From what Matthew told him, Alfred definitely wanted to see Arthur again, but he was warned Alfred never people around long, could never hold a relationship because his job was too important, and Matthew was sure the English professor didn't even LIKE Alfred.
Ludwig turned to his brother. "You are vatching the bar this veekend, too?"
"Ja, of course," Gilbert smirked. "Cuz Wiggy got lucky again?"
The blonde German's face just reddened.
X-X-X-X-X-X-X
"How was your birthday?"Lilli Zwingli asked, looking up from her clipboard as she noticed the familiar British fellow at the door.
It wasn't my birthday.
"It was fine, Lilli. Thank you for remembering," Arthur chuckled, hanging up his coat on the rack. Lilli handed him his personalized name tag.
"Big brother said you probably got drunk," the girl giggled, scrawling on her clipboard.
Arthur winked, "Don't trust the gun-wielding bloke."
"Mr. Kirkland!"
Arthur's face brightened as the cluster of small children gathered around him. He hadn't come to visit them on the weekend because he was 'celebrating', but it was nice to see their innocent faces again.
Almost every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday, Arthur would drop by after his lessons to read with the children at the home. They were sweet to any company, and eventually either called him Mr. Kirkland or Brother Artie. Lilli would usually giggle in the corner when the pre-teens chucked an eraser at Arthur's insistence to read a chapter of Harry Potter, because 90% of them had already stormed through the novels. He had since decided to allow the kids to just choose- by accident, the poor teacher had been on the rim of reading one of Dickens' books, before he realized so many revolved around orphanages.
He knew that when the students were of age, they were taken to an inner-city school, but they spent the afternoons trying to entertain themselves, hoping to be adopted. Arthur had met Lilli when he had moved into the county with intent to help out as much as he could. He didn't have much of a social life anyway, and his new life was to bury the past one. With minimal convincing, he waltzed into the shelter and began volunteering.
It still felt weird at times, but it felt nice.
His past life would have never done such a thing.
"Did you do anything particularly interesting, Arthur?" the soft-spoken young lady asked, shutting off the lights in the little kids' room. She shut the door and escorted the Brit out. Arthur shrugged, running his hand through his hair.
"Honestly? No. I met this bastard of a bloke, but that wasn't interesting. In fact, I almost forgot about him until you brought the night up."
No, you didn't.
Lilli laughed, "Well, was he from around here?"
"No. I believe he's a bigshot in Manhattan. Like I give a damn, right?" Arthur guffawed.
"I take it he's a rich man in the city."
"I wouldn't necessarily disagree with you, dear."
"Will you be seeing him again?"
"The chances aren't exactly slim. He borrowed my shirt, you see. I might have ruined his other one, and I do have it hanging in the closet after I washed it. It's a bloody hassle to deal with silk shirts. Who wears silk shirts?"
Do you really want to answer your own question, Arthur?
"He probably pays others to get to cleaned, huh?" Lilli sighed. "It must be nice to be money-making man, huh?"
"I wouldn't know. I'm an English professor. Need I remind you?" Arthur added, almost too quickly.
"Well," Lilli shrugged, taking back the Arthur's name tag and handing him his coat. "However much money he makes, you'll be the better person. You don't defend the city, but you acknowledge the ignored."
Arthur opened his mouth to say something.
Lilli cut him off. "And you care."