July 4th, 2014 - Fireworks

ARTIST: stephyhime

AUTHOR: cecemonet-alias

July 4th, 2014 - Fireworks

Author Note: Intense fluff, Canon AU. Arthur finally decides to spend fourth of July with Alfred and does not regret it.

The silence that hung in the house was only broken by the pitter-patter of rain on the roof, and the ticking of the old, golden grandfather clock. The room was large, with white walls held up by the occasional wooden column, and a ceiling ten feet high. There were a few paintings that hung along the plain walls, dating back to the early Northern Renaissance. The floors were carpeted with soft, white material that had adapted shades of light gray and a slight beige-ish tint from years of use. A glass coffee table with a gray metal frame sat upon an old rug all the way from India. There was a leather couch, colored in rich brown and shaped like an "L" in the very middle of the room, facing a very out-of-place looking flat-screen TV.

The TV sat atop a small row of cabinets with glass doors, colored the same shade of brown as the couch. The cabinets contained three rows of movies, two rows of video games, a box with a bunch of chords and game controllers, a Wii console, and an under-used Xbox 360 with a Kinect attached. The old grandfather clock sat along the far wall near the only window, directly across from the only other seat in the room. It was a chocolate-colored chair, like the couch, and was angled towards the window.

Sitting in the chair next to the window, the only occupant of the house was curled into himself, his body all tense. He was completely stiff. Arthur Kirkland, the owner of the house, was sucked into a book.

He aimed the gun at Maggie's heart and fired. A stain, like a dark red rose, bloomed through the silk of her dress. And in that instant, she focused, aimed, and squeezed the trigger three times. As she'd been trained to do, she shot the boy once through the forehead, then twice through the heart.

He staggered from the impact of the shots. Life left his eyes. Then he fell to the floor.

Maggie's once-white dress was now stained red—with her blood, and with his, which had sprayed her. There was so much blood. Who knew humans contained so much blood?

Arthur's eyes darted over the pages. His hands were gripping the book so hard he was afraid he was going to rip it in half. This was what he loved about reading: even if he was safe at home, he could feel the excitement captured in the ink on the page. He knew what it was like to be at gunpoint—hell, having been through hundreds of years' worth of wars, he'd even been shot a few times—and even just reading about it sent adrenaline pumping through his veins. Questions flew through his mind like a flock of crows:

Was Maggie going to be okay?

Doo wee oooooo!

What would happen next? How would she get out of this one?

Oooooo-oo-oooo~ Dooo dooo doooo ooooooo!

…Was that the Doctor Who theme song?

It took Arthur a second or two to realize that his cell phone was ringing. He marked his page and reluctantly set his book down to go answer it.

"Hello?"

"Britain! Dude, it's me!"

When is it not you? "What is it, America?"

"Well, as you know, there's a super-special really awesome holiday coming up at my place, and—"

Arthur sighed and pinched his nose. "America, you ask me the same question at this time every year, and every year I give the same answer. What makes you think I'm going to change my answer this time around?"

There was an uncomfortable pause between them, then he heard Alfred sigh on the other line. "To be honest, Arthur, I almost didn't call you this year."

Arthur's stomach clenched. Alfred never used a serious voice. Ever. The fact that he was using it now made him sound sincere, and… it almost made him sound heartbroken.

"…why—"

"Because I knew you were going to say no."

Arthur's breaths shortened. He didn't like feelings—he always tried to hide them. So when he started worrying that Alfred had gotten upset over this, the first thing he wanted to do was try to keep his hopes up. It was almost his birthday, after all. It was the one day Arthur had been avoiding for two-hundred and thirty-eight years. It was high time he faced it like a man.

"…Well, you're wrong."

"…wait, what?"

"You're wrong. I was going to say yes."

"…is this a joke?"

"No, I'm serious! I'll come to your birthday party."

Arthur could practically picture the young blonde lighting up as he heard this. "Wow, seriously?! That's awesome, man! Thanks, Britain! Dude, I'll even pay for your plane ticket! This rocks!"

He could've babbled for ages, and Arthur really wouldn't have cared. It had been a long time since he'd heard the American sound so happy, and it made him smile. Arthur finally got Alfred to hang up, and only then did he start to worry that he might've just got himself in way over his head.

—-

Arthur was surprised to find that he was flying into California instead of Washington, D.C. The flight was long and exhausting, and he finished his book before it was even halfway over. Disinterest in the movie selections the plane had made him decide to take a nap until they landed. He couldn't get off fast enough.

Alfred was waiting for him at the baggage claim, a bright smile on his face (which, Arthur noted, looked much tanner than the last time he'd seen him). His hair, usually the color of wheat, had been bleached lighter from being exposed to too much sun. The overly tanned fool was wearing some sort of sports jersey (Arthur never paid as much attention to sports beyond Football ("soccer") and rugby), a pair of cargo shorts, and sandals.

"Britain!" He waved at Arthur.

"Shut up, fool!" Arthur hissed, "I told you to call me Arthur when we're around normal people."

"Artie, then!"

"I hate you."

Alfred let out a bout of loud, annoying laughter. "Good to see you too! Which bag is yours?"

Much to Alfred's protest, Arthur insisted on getting his own suitcase. In response to Alfred's comment about the size, Arthur huffed at him.

"What? It's not like I'm staying more than a week."

Alfred shook it off and lead the way out of the terminal with a certain bounce in his step. "Dude, I know you're gonna love Cali, man! I'm having this wicked awesome beach party for tonight… you brought a swimsuit, right?"

"The only one I own."

"Ugh, not that old thing from the nineteenth century!"

"Wha— It's not that old!"

"Might as well be. Dude, I'm not letting you go to my party in that thing." Arthur scoffed as Alfred tossed his bags into the bed of the American's massive pickup truck.

"Then what the hell am I supposed to wear?!"

"Don't worry, I've got something that'll fit ya."

"How?!" Before he could get an answer, Alfred's door slammed.

—-

Alfred nearly died laughing. Then, he nearly died from being strangled by a Brit in a bright green bikini.

"THIS IS NOT FUNNY, ALFRED."

"Dude—" he could still barely breathe, even if Arthur had already let go of his throat, "It was a joke! I didn't think you'd actually put it on!"

"I was naked in your bathroom with nothing else to wear."

"You could've waited; I would've brought you the right one eventually."

"How else would I have come out here to strangle you?" Alfred was too busy laughing to answer him. He held up a wad of green fabric, and Arthur snatched it from him, growling, "Wanker." Before marching back to the bathroom.

Arthur quirked an eyebrow as he looked the trunks over. What was that embroidered on the left leg? Upon closer inspection, his eyes widened. It was exquisite work, but that wasn't what surprised him. It was his crest, and beneath it was the name Kirkland in flawless cursive. Quickly, Arthur rid himself of the stupid bikini and tried them on. He made a startled noise when they fit perfectly. No gaps, no awkwardly tight or awkwardly loose places… Then, it dawned on him.

"I've got something that'll fit ya."

Alfred wasn't kidding. Somehow, he'd gotten Arthur's exact measurements for this bathing suit, and had it embroidered with his crest. Needless to say, Arthur was impressed. He stood in awe, staring at himself in the mirror for a long time. He jolted out of his stupor only because of a knock at the door.

"Britain! Come on, dude! Party's gonna start without ya!"

"…I'm coming…"

This party was unlike any Arthur had ever been to. And he'd been to some pretty wild parties. (He made the mistake of happening to be in Paris during the anniversary of the Storming of the Bastille one year—never again.) As much as he loved to ridicule America for throwing the loudest, most obnoxious parties, he'd never been to one himself. It was barely eight o'clock, and most of these partygoers were already drunk. He'd been drunk many, many times before, but never this early.

Besides, this time, he was going to abstain from having too much to drink. He would rather take in the party sober and relaxed than drunk and stupid. The party was held on a beach, near the pier at Santa Monica, which seemed appropriate. A lot of people were fooling around in the water, while on the sand a DJ had set up a massive sound system complete with lightshow. Arthur just hoped that no one at the party had problems with seizures. He barely recognized most of the songs played, but maybe he didn't need to. He wasn't apt at modern dancing anyway.

"Artie!" Alfred seemed to come from nowhere, two red solo cups foaming over with beer in his grasp, "Dude, I got you a drink!" Not wanting to spoil Alfred's mood by telling him he didn't want another drink, Arthur took it.

"Thanks…!" He shouted over the music, "Who are all these people?"

"Dunno!" As if it wasn't a big deal, Alfred grinned, "I kinda just invite a couple people and tell them to invite all their friends. Then they invite their friends, and their friends invite more people, and everyone just kinda shows up!"

Arthur had to let out a laugh. "So it's a Gatsby party!"

"You know, it kind of is! 'Cept I don't have a Daisy to throw it for." That grin ever present, Alfred locked eyes with Arthur and for an instant, Arthur could swear he saw something other than hyperactive excitement twinkle in his eyes, but it was gone before he could figure out what it was.

"I mean," the American continued, "I don't usually invite countries to my birthday parties, cos no one really wants to come, and the people that would want to come, and the people that would want to come are either creepy or my brother."

Brother? It took a second to click. "…oh! Is Can—is Matthew here?"

"Should be, somewhere," Alfred shrugged, drinking his beer down and tossing the cup before continuing, "Hey, you wanna come see my favorite part of the beach?" this time, Arthur didn't bother to try to answer, because he knew Alfred was going to show him anyway.

Once the crowd thinned out, Arthur realized they were headed for the pier. Instead of leading him up onto the boardwalk, Alfred led him under the suspended platform. Arthur grimaced as they passed the barnacle-encrusted support beams that reeked of salt and brine. This is Alfred's favorite part? Just when Arthur thought he was going to stop, Alfred kept going under the pier.

"Where are we going?" Arthur asked. Alfred paused for a moment, falling back to walk side-by-side with him.

"Just down the beach." Alfred's voice had fallen from an annoying, grating pitch to one more mellow, and calmer. Arthur wasn't shocked, but he made a mental note of how much he liked it better when Alfred wasn't trying too hard to be heard.

"What for?" Arthur's voice was soft.

For a second, Arthur was convinced Alfred wasn't going to tell him. The American just smiled warmly for a second, looking down at the sand while he walked.

"I, uh… found out recently that we could get a better view of the fireworks from this side of the boardwalk."

Arthur nodded. He'd forgotten the American tradition of shooting off fireworks on their Independence Day. Judging by what he'd heard, the show was supposed to be better and better as the years went on. He would never admit that he was actually excited to see it in person.

"Right here! Come on, let's sit down. It's about to start!" Alfred sat down in the sand, gesturing for Arthur to sit next to him. Carefully, so not to get sand in his new shorts (or spill his beer), Arthur sat next to him.

"A bit early, isn't it?" Arthur looked at the sun, that had yet to completely vanish below the horizon.

"Nah, dude. It starts right after the sun goes down."

"Well, the sun hasn't set, now has it?"

"Yeah, but…" Alfred was suddenly interested in his feet. Arthur couldn't tell if it was the sunset reflecting off the water, or if Alfred's face had gone bright red. "I guess I just think the sunset is kinda pretty, you know?"

"You could've seen the sunset from the party, yeah?"

"Yeah, but… I dunno, I just wanted to make tonight special cos you're here…"

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed. "But it's your birthday, not mine. Why bother to do nice things for me?"

"I've had 238 birthdays, Artie. And every year, I get hundreds of people that come for the party, not for me. I don't want to get gifts from people—though I usually love the gifts I get—cos for my birthdays, I really only wanted one thing, and I got it."

"And what's that?"

"I wanted to spend my birthday having the best night ever with you. So no matter what I get for my birthday, you already gave me all I wanted."

Arthur's heart rose to his throat. His eyes widened, and he blinked furiously down at the sand. He tried to form words, but he was too confused. His stomach was twisting in knots.

"Alfred… How am I supposed to react to this? I don't know what to say…"

"Then don't bother," Alfred gave him a wry little smile, and Arthur could swear his heart was going to leap out of his throat, "It's totally fine, I just wanted to say thanks…"

"…god, I could bloody kiss you."

"Thought you'd never ask."

Their lips touched, and Arthur's brain melted. His limbs were numb. All he could really remember how to do was breathe. Was it love? It seemed too simple to be love. Or was it? Love was just wanting to spend time with each other, and they both definitely wanted that. It was the little things: sharing an umbrella, staying up all night talking, watching horror movies together, taking a long drive at 2 AM, falling asleep in each others' arms and waking up with his head on his chest. Little things like that.

Love was right there: the two of them sitting on the beach, watching the sunset, and forgetting the past. Now, there was just the two of them, and Arthur didn't have a single care in the world. They broke apart at the sound of an explosion—the fireworks had started. Arthur gaped as the rockets screeched into the sky, then burst in reds, whites, and blues. This was the happiest he'd ever been on a Fourth of July, and he never wanted it to end. Alfred, his glasses twinkling with a reflection of the sparks and his eyes twinkling with something Arthur couldn't explain, voiced his thoughts exactly:

"Best birthday ever."