Alfred F. Jones slumped over his morning coffee like a zombie. The blonde's chin rested precariously on the palm of his hand while he stared at the steaming cup. Barely able to dress himself, we was wearing a white t-shirt that was rumpled from being packed, his brown khakis were wrinkled and slightly askew, and he couldn't seem to coordinate himself enough to put socks on his feet. Not only had he stayed up all night waiting for the strange voice to return, but when he had finally gotten to sleep he'd dreamed of the green-eyed man again. Alfred felt sure that he was slowly losing his mind. Hearing voices, seeing things... Maybe he should see a doctor.

Iggy sauntered into the kitchen, looking rather pleased with himself. No doubt the orange and white tabby had been up to some mischief. Neither of the two humans seemed to take any note of his arrival, however, so the feline satisfied himself with curling up in a corner near his food bowl and staring them down. Matt took the bait and stepped over to put some food the little dish. Iggy took one sniff and turned his nose up at it.

"Toris is going to come meet us today about the will but..." Matthew began, choosing to ignore the cat's snotty behavior, "If you're not feeling up to it I can meet him alone." He moved back to the counter where he was preparing a big breakfast of bacon and eggs. His typical breakfast of pancakes was stacked neatly in a pile on a plate next to the stove. Every so often the younger brother would wipe his hands on the red apron he had packed. A white maple leaf emblazoned the front.

"I just need sleep," The older brother groaned. His chin slipped from his hand and his head fell hard against the table. If the blonde felt it, he gave no acknowledgment.

"Is it the dreams again?" Matt queried. His brow creased in worry.

"No, I just... I couldn't get comfortable."

"I don't know how that could be. My bed was amazingly soft."

Alfred grunted.

The long-haired blonde ruffled his brother's hair. "Can you make it through the reading of the will today?"

"...Yes."

"Can you make it through awake?"

Alfred grunted again. Matthew sighed, a hand on his hip and concern on his face.

"Al... Why don't you just stay here? I can take care of this."

The American turned to his brother. The side of his mouth tilted downward in a frown. "It's not fair of me to ask you to do all of this on your own. You were already dealing with all of this on the phone, you and Toris worked out the flight schedules and all that junk... I don't want to be dead weight."

"Don't worry yourself too much. If you're not feeling well there's nothing that can be done about it."

"Matt, no," Alfred said, "You spent enough time taking care of me after Mom's accident."

The orange and white feline in the corner had taken an intense interest in their conversation. His head turned to and fro as though he could understand every word of their conversation. Even the cat's expressions seemed to change in accordance to certain tones the two men took. At the mention of an accident, his ears (one white, one orange) flicked forward.

Matthew put his hand on the table and looked at his brother. His blue eyes darkened into a near purple. "That has nothing to do with this. We're brothers, Al, it's our job to take care of each other. I mean, how many times have I been sick and you've taken off of work to stay home and help me? When I had the flu last year you didn't eat McDonalds for a week so you could save money to be home and get my medicine. You're not dead weight."

The older brother ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "You know how I hate sitting on the sidelines like this. Besides, we're in a completely different country. How are you going to find your way around?"

"I have a map and when I find the building I'm sure Toris could show me around from there. You can't be in the center of the action all the time, Alfred. Sometimes it's okay to stop being a hero and just let yourself recoup."

Alfred's fingers tapped the table tiredly. As much as he wanted to argue with his younger brother, he knew Matthew was right. Alfred was in no condition to be thinking critically about finances or properties.

"Okay," He finally said, "I'll stay home today. But after I've had enough sleep you'll have to take me through the city and show me around. Promise?"

His Canadian sibling smiled. "I promise. Now eat some breakfast and find somewhere to take a nap."

"Right, right." Alfred stood and made himself a hefty plate of bacon and eggs. He even stole a few of Matthew's pancakes. Sleep deprived or not, he wasn't about to starve himself too. When he returned to his seat, Matthew was making himself a plate, and Iggy seemed to get over his previous hatred of Alfred and slunk over to rub himself on the man's legs.

The American smiled tiredly down at the tabby. "Hey there little guy. You want some breakfast too?"

"I gave him food," Matt said as he took his own seat.

"You gave him crappy cat food. He needs a real breakfast." Alfred took the saucer from under his cup of coffee (real men didn't use saucers anyway) and placed some of his bacon and eggs onto it. He placed the small dish on the floor and pet the cat gently.

The cat purred and stared up at him with it's giant green eyes. The expressions on the gentle face seemed to be almost...human. Alfred stared into the feline's eyes. Everything else seemed to melt away around him until only he and the bewitching little cat were left. He was completely and utterly transfixed. Something deep inside of the man began to stir up to the surface.

"Iggy," He said softly. The cat's eyes narrowed and his demeanor changed almost immediately. A furry paw swatted Alfred's hand and Iggy apparently saw fit to dig his teeth into the fleshy palm. Alfred yelped loudly and jerked his hand back. Blood bubbled up from the wound. "Fucking cat! See if I ever pet you again!"

"It's a cat. Being bipolar is just what cats do," Matt chided.

"I hate cats," Alfred growled.

Iggy huffed and took delicate nibbles of the food in his dish—fluffy tail twitching back and forth dangerously. Alfred stood and stepped away from the table.

"I'm going to go bandage this," He said.

"You do that and get a nap in. I'll call a taxi and head off to meet Toris."

"Take that stupid cat with you and leave it somewhere."

Matthew shook his head and sighed. "You used to love cats when we were kids."

Alfred was already gone from the room. Iggy stared after him for a moment before finally padding after him.

The American held his hand out in front of him carefully so as not to dribble blood on any of the expensive-looking furniture or floors. It wasn't until he was halfway up the stairs that he realized he really had no idea where to find bandages. Normally people kept them in a cabinet in the bathroom, but did the British think like Americans? He didn't see why not. After making a left into the door down the hall from his room (the only bathroom he'd found so far, and he made a mental note to learn the layout of more of the mansion later) he closed the door behind him. The room was done in a pale off-white color and was lit by a single overhead light. It was a small bathroom that only held a single shower and toilet with a sink and mirrored cabinet resting apart from them against the right wall.

He turned on the warm water and gently washed the blood from his hand, careful not to get soap in the bite. Alfred then opened up the mirrored cabinet with his left hand and searched for some sort of antiseptic or bandage. If there was one thing his mother had taught him, it was to never leave a wound uncared for. Finding nothing, he closed it again.

Only to see a pair of large green eyes staring back at him. The blonde tensed and met the intense stare in the mirror. A man was standing in the doorway. He was smaller than Alfred by several inches, with shaggy, sandy blonde hair that hung down near his chin and just over two massively thick eyebrows. Emerald green eyes were set in a round face with a pointed chin and supported by delicate cheekbones. His skin was like porcelain, pale and delicate. The blonde's lips were full and pink. His expression was set into a scowl, massive brows drawn together and eyes darkened into a deep forest green. He wore a green sweater-vest over a long sleeved white shirt. A tie was knotted neatly and tucked under his vest.

Alfred's breath caught in his chest.

It's him.

The man that had been haunting his dreams, stalking the edges of his vision, the owner of the voice that flowed through his mind. This was the man he'd been longing for.

The American whirled around in place, eyes fixated on the door. A cry of frustration tore from his chest when he found it empty. He turned quickly to the mirror to find the reflection of the man still there. The expression on his face had transformed itself from a scowl to a look of bitter amusement. Alfred turned back to the door and his hands flew up to his head to tug on his hair. Desperate eyes cast around the open doorway for some sign of the man. Eventually they found themselves staring at the floor, and directly into the eyes of a rather fluffy purebred cat.

"You," The man breathed.

The cat apparently realized it'd been caught. It's giant emerald eyes flew wide and it bolted away at top speed. Alfred sprinted after it, bandage long forgotten. The cat skidded across the wooden floors and turned up a rug as it rounded a sharp corner, barely avoiding a collision with a table.

"Come back here!" The desperate American yelled. They made the turn into the main hall where Matthew was adjusting his suit.

"Alfred, leave the poor cat alone! Stop running all over like you own the pla—Alfred!" Matt sighed and rolled his eyes. "He's ridiculous sometimes, I swear."

Alfred chased the cat into the west wing. They reached another set of stairs when the cat suddenly skidded to a halt and doubled back toward Alfred. The orange ball of fur rapidly darted past him back up the stairs. The man attempted to turn with the cat and pursue it, but he feet became caught up in a rug the splayed itself down the stairs. His arms pinwheeled in an attempt to keep his balance, he grabbed onto the nearest object (a vase, incidentally), and brought it crashing down behind him. The blonde's body tilted with gravity and his legs slid out from underneath of him.

Oh shit, oh shit, ohshitohshitshitshit!

A body crashed hard into him, sending him flying backwards down the stairs. Instinctively his arms curled around it and held clutched it close. The force of the impact spun Alfred around so that he landed directly on top of the person that had collided with him. The American lay on top of his savior for a moment; catching his breath and waiting for his brain to catch up with what had just happened. With a low groan the strawberry blonde propped himself up on his hands and looked into the other person's face.

It was his green-eyed beauty. Unconscious, but breathing, and very much solid beneath him.