I have no excuse for this delay XD. And now it's almost Christmas again. There's probably no one else reading this anymore ;7; but it's okay, this fanfic will be finished cause I love writing it. And this time, I promise, it won't take too long XD. Chapter 5 will be the last.

This fanfic was created for the purpose of this very chapter XD.

Chapter 4 - A Miracle

London wasn't white anymore. It had been raining since early morning and it was nearing noon. Heavy rain drops hit and ran down the windowpanes of Alfred's flat and the silent room was filled with the sound of rain. Alfred had been sitting by the window all day without leaving his position, watching how rain washed away the thick layer of snow on the windowsill. The snow was long gone but his eyes were still fixated on the same spot. He could fall asleep to the sound of rain.

His mind wandered to his home city, back to the days where he was nobody, nothing and nought.

New York was a growing city and every flourishing city has its trash population. Alfred by the age of twelve had no memory of ever having parents who cared for his well-being. And he'd reached the point where he had lost the will to survive. Elitist opinion was spreading from the educated observers of social life, saying that the lives of workers and the poor were ones, where questioning and the pursuit for a brighter future had been abandoned. It had simply become impossible. When they worked they weren't doing it for a wealthier future, they did it to survive the day. And Alfred was starting to believe those spreading opinions. In other words, Alfred thought bitterly, his life was meaningless.

So one day he stopped looking for day works, deciding that he should just sit under the old bakery's porch and wait, wait until meaning would find him… or death – depended on what would come first.

It was on the third day of starving, his body already weakened and his mind hazy, where meaning finally found him. He called her angel and sometimes spirit; he wasn't sure what she was. At first he was scared of course, being someone who was frightful towards supernatural things from birth, but his body was too weak to run and he remembered that he had given up on life. But the angel was warm and her voice tender. She spoke of a boy living on the other side of the big sea and Alfred had to smile even though his eyes were steadily growing heavy. Three hours later he knew everything about Arthur. And Alfred longed to meet him.

"The purpose of your birth is to be with him and to give him love," she had said. And he was also supposed to cure the hurt in Arthur's heart and open his eyes to see the world as it is. Alfred remembered the pounding of his heart back then.

The next day he was picked up by a wealthy looking gentleman around his forties, he reached out his hand with a gentle smile. "I was looking for the sky; seemed like I've finally found it."

Alfred had thought about how curious fate worked.

Years later when he finally met Arthur, he fell in love. It was the way the Englishman looked like, the way he dressed and walked. How his eyes were always unfocused whenever he was out on the streets, clearly lost in daydreams. Then when Alfred finally approached him it was also his crisp voice. At that time he wanted to be Arthur's hero, just like how the angel wanted him to be.

He knew how being poor was and the way Arthur looked upon the so-called lower people, his indifference, was something that Alfred really wanted to change within him. So it was just heroic to lead Arthur back to the right track. After all, he was born for him. A life without Arthur was a life without meaning and a meaningless life was out of question.

Then he began to notice these small things. Like the slight glimpse of skin above Arthur's white collar or the length of his blond lashes that were involuntarily flirtatious whenever he was blinking. It was too much for Alfred. His feelings were connected by pure love and care towards Arthur. Until he was beginning to desire the Englishman.

Alfred wondered. When had his love become so twisted and evil? When did lust and obsession cloud his mind?

The first time Arthur rejected him. And Alfred was confident; after all he was the hero.

The second time Arthur rejected him once again. And Alfred's smile did not waver.

The third time Arthur rejected him still. And Alfred began to lose confidence.

And more rejections came as the months went by, and then it was winter.

In winter Alfred was desperate, feeling his beloved slip from his fingers in such a short time and at such speed that he feared to lose him once and for all. So he grabbed for him, took him and never let go.

At one point Alfred had lost track of his mission. At one point he had forgotten what the word hero meant, he was just a survivor. A survivor who needed Arthur in life. Arthur Kirkland was his illness, and he really had to smile at the irony of their circumstances.

But Arthur had given him hope, didn't he?

Alfred bit his lips as he rose from his frozen posture, now deciding to restlessly walk up and down the plainly furnished room, deep in thought and a bit feverish. "Yeah, he definitely gave me hope. He said he was going to think...and, and he didn't reject me. He..." Alfred gently touched his lips with his fingertips and allowed himself to smile. "He kissed me."

Alfred Jones was always quick to recover. Surely, Arthur wanted to be with him as well.

"Are you sure about that?"

Alfred turned and found a pale face staring at him.

"Anselm. You're still around. Weird. Your role is long overdue."

The protagonist chuckled and eyed the American with a look that made Alfred feel like an idiot. "Arthur's power of imagination is strong, Alfred. I'm sure I can manage a little while longer. Besides...I actually still have a role to play."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see."

"And what are you doing here?" Alfred was now leaning against the cold wall. He looked at Anselm challengingly with his eyebrow raised. The ghost however did not appear intimidated, not at all.

"I asked you a question, didn't I?" He replied. "Are you sure that everything will be fine?"

"Of course! I'm the hero and I actually had a huge success last night. I know my ways hadn't been the most orthodox but...but Arthur is changing. I really hate myself for what I've done, really. I wasn't heroic at all...but Arthur is changing. Arthur is changing."

Anselm scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You are a good guy Alfred, your background allows you to be sensible towards social problems and that's exactly what Arthur needs. In fact, I don't care much about your inner conflict about whether or not your actions were right or wrong. I don't care about that particular self-reflection that you're going through. My question is simply, do you really think this is all about Arthur needing you?"

Alfred laughed; his voice filled the half-heartedly furnished flat. Touching his temple and suppressing more laughter, he said, "Of course he does. Arthur needs me and only I understand him! Only I can make him better! I'm Arthur's hero, aren't I? Yeah, I did some really nasty shit these past few days but the thing is, Arthur is changing and he's growing attached to me as well! We are…"

"We are meant to be together…it's written in the stars," he finished. His forehead touched the cool glass, blue eyes stared out the window, as if seeing Arthur Kirkland right before him.

The ghost made a noise and pretended to think while he was idly floating with both legs crossed. "Then…" said Anselm, "then why do you look so desperate?"

Why are you desperate?

Arthur was writing a mystery novel.

It wasn't deep literature, it wasn't about making the world a better place, it was by a long shot nothing like activist authors. But it was a step forward towards Arthur's development as a writer. A mystery novel was perfect as it was for one very popular, always successful in keeping the people entertained. But the most important factor was the chance to write as many varied characters as possible; their little quirks and big obsessions, their good nature and bestiality, their motifs and goals.

His first crime novel was halfway done and he was not to be stopped. The manuscripts were neatly stacked to his side but the floor was littered with newspaper and other research materials. For the first time Arthur cared for the happenings outside of the safety of his own room.

He was in the middle of a tiny romantic scene when he heard someone knocking the door. Looking up he already knew that it was the maid with his dinner. Normally he would carry on writing and sometimes decided to skip eating but today was different. Arthur was different. Instead of ignoring the knock he rose from his chair and walked over to open the door. The maid who had been used to Arthur's antics had already moved on to do other chores in the kitchen. Naturally, she was extremely startled at the sound of her master's voice calling after her. It was probably her first time ever listening to his voice. Shyly, she turned to find out what the master required.

"Thank you," said Arthur timidly, his own words felt foreign in his tongue and yet relief washed over his body.

The maid was stunned and sputtered an answer. She watched how Arthur bent down to lift the meal tray; he seemed to ponder about something as he was halfway inside the bedroom.

"One thing…you don't need to bring me my meal any longer. Please tell my mother that I'm going to join the table starting tomorrow," he said in a half whisper.

The girl nodded hastily and hurried downstairs, eager to share the big news to the mistress of the house and to the rest of the personnel.

Arthur sighed as he sat down to begin eating the steaming meal. The first step of reconnecting with his family had been done. And there was one thing that he wanted to find out. For that he had to invite Lucy out.

No doubt Lucy was delighted to see Arthur the next day and promptly his invitation was accepted. Lucy couldn't remember the last time where her fiancée had attempted to court her on his own accord.

Arthur escorted her to a fine restaurant for a candlelight dinner and pleasantly noted that she was beautiful that night. Her dress was still black but she wore brightly coloured laces and flowers on her fair hair, the pearls on her neck glinted in the dim light. It was a pretty sight. Pretty. But Arthur wasn't impassioned.

Dinner was nice. It had been long since their last friendly conversation, so they did look like the perfect couple, so very young and a brilliant match.

And Arthur was going to kiss her tonight.

"You're still wearing black dresses," Arthur pointed out while cutting the tedious roast lamb which had generously been roasted in sweet wine.

Recently Arthur was beginning to notice small things about seemingly trivial matters and his mind couldn't help voicing its opinions; so he found himself developing into a social cynic. It was amusing even to him, for Alfred was trying to make him become a bright, optimistic and loving person. As a matter of fact, even now in the middle of the luxurious dinner his mind couldn't stop complaining about that madam's overly bejewelled necklace, that gentleman's wannabe noble posture – everything in that room was sickeningly pompous. A few weeks ago these things wouldn't have caught his interest at all.

Good thing Lucy was a down to earth person; pretty but never too passionate with everything that glitters.

But still, why wasn't he feeling it?

Lucy looked down to her decently ruffled dress and back to Arthur. "Does it bother you? Are you afraid people might think you're going out with a widow?" She chuckled.

Arthur promptly waved his hands to dissipate her worries, now feeling bad for having been careless with his words. "N-no…it's just…I thought you've started wearing black because of me."

"Thinking about it it's pretty selfish and radical of me, isn't it? But I wanted your attention, I wanted to warn you, that you were threatening our relationship," she laughed bitterly, "but you never really cared nor noticed."

"I'm sorry," said Arthur in a low voice and he felt sick.

"But in the end I couldn't let you go."

He felt sick. Really sick.

Dinner was held in comfortable silence. At least that's how Arthur would have liked to describe the evening, however both of them knew that they simply had nothing to talk about.

Alfred needed to cool his head. So he had grabbed his thick grey coat and went out into the pouring rain under the safety of his umbrella. Pearl drops of rainwater clung to the leather of his shoes and he absentmindedly stared at those droplets. He hoped that Christmas in London was going to be a white Christmas instead of a wet Christmas. That would suck.

Walking down the park his mind wandered off to Arthur. Always Arthur. Guilt was making his stomach churn and his soul feel heavy. Alfred bit his thumb to calm his guilty conscience.

He really should have talked rather than, well, touch. Of course Arthur seemed to have enjoyed the ministrations but afterwards he always had this expression of self-hatred, as if he was disgusted with his self. And Alfred really had to wonder – how long was he going to justify his actions with Arthur's sexual reactions? The American chuckled bitterly.

"Damn I screwed up, didn't I?"

The rain stopped.

It was the time of the day where the wealthy retreated to the safety of their homes, marking the beginning of the shady nightlife. Alfred figured that it was time to go back.

But then he saw Arthur kissing that woman in the shadows of an alley.

Once they had finished their meal and there was nothing else to talk about, they decided to leave and head home. Leaving the hall with the luxurious chandelier Arthur immediately felt relieved and less guilty. Lucy too seemed more comfortable. She had her gloved hand lightly hooked around Arthur's arm, the other hand was used to lift her skirt.

The rain stopped as if on cue.

"We are lucky," said Arthur and led her outside.

It was already dark outside; the street lanterns cast a yellow light onto the still wet streets. London at night was a city of mysteries.

"I can't believe I preferred staying inside rather than seeing this!" Magic was everywhere, not only in the form of faeries and magicians and dragons. Magic, not unlike a miracle, was akin to an experience, one that was able to make your eyes wide in wonder and astonishment. And looking at this city with its many facets Arthur realised that he was having a magical experience.

Lucy stared at her fiancée. "You've changed Arthur."

Arthur scratched his chin with a sheepish expression and laughed. "I suppose I have."

His steps became gradually slower, he was thinking. And he looked unsure.

Lucy caught onto his uncertainty and tilted her head in question. "Anything wrong?"

Arthur looked up and stared, making her uncomfortable. After what seemed to be an awkward forever, Arthur finally opened his mouth to speak. "Lucy…forgive me but I'd like to try something."

She raised her brows, curious. "Go on then."

Slowly, Arthur nodded. He gulped.

Suddenly, Lucy felt a tug on her wrist. Arthur's leather gloved hand was tightly closed around it. Within a moment they were hidden on an alley between two looming buildings with no light accompanying them.

It was narrow and cramped. Her breathing was laboured as she was too shocked by the sudden movement. Arthur's chest was pressed against hers and she felt a violent blush shooting up her hot face.

"What, what was that about?" She still had troubles breathing.

An answer never came. The man himself was at loss for words.

Lucy could feel the tips of Arthur's fringe tickling her brow, his breath against her skin, and she could faintly see his Adam's apple moving.

Then, she didn't know. There were gloved hands on her cheek and chin…and then cold lips met hers.

Alfred stared in horror. Thousand things and nothing whirled in his head. He felt numb.

He turned on his heel and ran. Away, far away from the sight of a love unreachable.

The kiss didn't last long. Arthur had forced it to last a little bit longer, as if determined to feel something, anything. But he felt nothing but self-loathe.

Their lips parted and Arthur said that he was sorry.

Alfred shut the door to his flat with a loud bang, enough to make the walls rattle at the force. He barely registered the shout of the landlady and flopped down onto his cold bed. Though he was too restless to stay sprawled over the bed.

The next thing he did was rushing over to the window, staring out into the dark night. He stared and stared, clenched his fists and bit his trembling lip. He didn't realise that tears had started to gather around the corners of his eyes, they filled his vision until everything was blurry. Then finally, the tears streamed down and were unstoppable. Little whimpers and other pathetic sounds escaped his quivering lips without him being able to control any of that.

With a loud gasp he began to cry, loud and pitiful. Fists bumped against the windowpane, along with his head.

Alfred was crying; he was alone and nobody listened to his weeping.

"Say, Alfred, why are you sad?"

It was the ghost's voice as he crept from behind without making a sound. "Why are you crying?"

The still sobbing Alfred fell onto the cushion of an armchair near the window, shoulders trembling and eyes hidden behind his hands. "Go! I don't need you mocking me!"

The ghost, though didn't look like he was going to let Alfred be in peace any time soon. Bending himself forward, closer to the American's face, he asked once again. "Alfred, why are you sad?"

"Goddamnit, can't you see?"

"I want you to answer my question," the other said, voice still calm.

"Arthur…Arthur kissed her," whispered Alfred. It was hard to say it out loud and he could only shake his head to cry some more, any shame and pride now forgotten. "He told me he was going to think about it, about us. And I thought that he felt the same, that he did love me."

"No Alfred." Anselm's voice was surprisingly stern and echoed in the dark, depressing room. "No. It's not all about 'love'. Something cracked inside of you at the very moment you saw Arthur kissing another person."

Alfred's brows furrowed and he was seriously beginning to be pissed off by Anselm's weird antics. Without thinking and with a sudden rush he bolted up and stared at the ghost, he was partially staring right through him but his glare was nonetheless intimidating.

"It is about love! It has always been about love! Love and salvation of the most beautiful person ever!" He snapped.

"That's it! That's exactly it!" The ghost yelled excitedly, looking unabashedly happy as if he'd helped someone especially stupid to understand a certain matter. "You said it, Alfred!"

The American was taken by surprise. He gawked, lost for words. "I said what?"

"Salvation!"

"Yeah, salvation."

"Do you really think that this is about you giving someone salvation? That this is about you being the hero over a damsel in distress?" Anselm's transparent face was only inches apart from Alfred's, scaring the human and making him step back.

"That was my mission, wasn't it? To give Arthur love, to make him open his eyes…"

"Alfred, there was never a mission," Anselm said carefully, now surprisingly gentle. "Only a miracle."

And as Alfred was still so very quiet, confused and unable to comprehend, the ghostly appearance decided to carry on.

"Think, Alfred. You've travelled across the ocean with a treasure in your heart. The treasure is your eagerness to save a person and be said person's hero. But please go back in time and remember. Remember the you before you've even heard of Arthur."

"I was…a boy without home. Worthless to others. I…wanted to die."

"Why did you want to die?"

"My life had no value, no meaning."

"And then?"

Alfred's eyes shone. "And then meaning came. It's Arthur!"

"Does that mean, Arthur is your reason to live?"

The American's eyes went wide as realisation struck him like lightning. The 'fictional' ghost smiled.

"It does, doesn't it? Arthur saved your life. And you needhim, otherwise you'll die."

At this very moment Alfred was able to feel the winter chill, hear the rustles of the leaves and see the dust on his table as his sorrowful blindness dissolved. The world, albeit at night, was suddenly so clear. And he could breathe again.

"It is arrogance to think that you're the one-sided hero. You need Arthur, Arthur needs you. This is a miracle that sparked a meeting between two individuals. There had never been a mission, Alfred, only a miracle. Remember that."

Alfred would never have thought that he was ever going to receive life lessons from a goddammed fictional character in the form of a ghost. But Anselm was right and now he felt stupid for being so over the top.

"Wh-what should I do now?" Alfred looked up with uncertain eyes to which Anselm responded with an eye roll.

"Seriously, Al. Be a man and do what a man must do. And Arthur will hopefully do the same."

It was everything Alfred needed to hear. Within a blink he was at the door and took the stairs down. His loud steps caused the landlady to yell at him for the second time that night.

Arthur was reading the manuscript on his bed. He wanted to look for any mistakes or any scenes that needed improvement. The papers were nicely stapled all around him, sorted by chapters.

He was calm. The night had brought him answers, definite answers. While he was scared, absolutely terrified, he had never been so certain in his life. The fairy to his side was nuzzling him and he could sense that the creature was proud of him.

"I know, Chelles, I'm also proud of myself," he said to the little fairy with dark hair, tied together into two ponytails.

At the very moment there was a cold breeze and as he was sure that he'd closed the window, he knew that he had a guest.

Slowly, he raised his head, hand carefully laying the piece of paper onto the neat staple and eyes slowly blinking at the blond American standing by his bed.

To Alfred, the sight of Arthur sitting there cross-legged in a pile of duvets and pillows, each of which in deep royal colours, was the most beautiful thing ever. It was difficult to explain but something was different with the Arthur in front of him. The other was not yelling at him to get the hell out, he didn't go on defence to protect his body; he had changed.

The one before him looked like a painting.

Arthur's eyes weren't glaring but almost in a daze; did he dare to say gentle and soft? He wanted to touch the blond strands of hair falling over his face, those slightly parted lips…

Arthur really looked like a painting.

Maybe Alfred's fate was to be a beholder. Nothing else. He was allowed to look but not take and keep.

"I'm sorry," said Alfred in the end.

Arthur tilted his head just slightly and Alfred could barely say any further. "I've been selfish and arrogant…no that's more of my problem than yours…I meant to say I'm sorry for having been violent to you. I'm sorry for recklessly tearing through your wall and destroying your perfect magical world."

The Englishman looked down to his writings and then back to Alfred. He was surprised to hear these words. And images of the nights 'together' played in his head and Arthur thought: finally.

He needed those words of apologise in order to carry on. And Alfred, too, seemed ready to carry on. They had both matured in different ways.

"Well, yeah…" Alfred pointed at the window. "I won't ever appear in your life again. Farewell…Arthur." Though know that I've always loved you. Your happiness will be enough to keep me alive.

Alfred turned to walk away, ready to go into the dark of the night and leave Arthur.

Arthur's mind raged, definitely that was too simple. How could Alfred just leave like that and what, expect him to forget everything? That was even more arrogant and simply, simply irresponsible!

So many things to say. Instead his arm stretched out, his fingers closed around the hem of Alfred's coat, causing the American to abruptly stop and turn his head in wonder.

Now Arthur had a lot of thing he wanted to say. You disappoint me! I hate you for giving up without trying to make up for your mistakes!

"Ah, linger on…thou art so fair."

Alfred's eyes widened at those words uttered by those sweet lips. And Arthur's other hand grabbed his arm and pulled him down onto the bed, sending the manuscript flying all over the bed and floor. One lonely page slipped through the open window and got carried away with the wind, far away over the roofs of London.

A/N: 'Linger on, thou art so fair' is actually a quote from Goethe's Faust. It expresses Arthur's personal/emotional fulfillment, even though his mind screams to blame Alfred, his heart thinks he's the most beautiful thing eva XD