Have you ever seen the movie Night at the Museum 2: Battle of the Smithsonian

I loved the movie because of Colonel Custer – he was just like Alfred. My favorite line was "We're Americans! We don't plan!" And Ivan the Terrible was great – I can totally see Ivan saying his lines, "Ivan the Awesome". Fufufu.


Chapter Eight: Knitting with Barbed Wire

Although neither spoke the car was far from quiet. It puttered with old age and grime, wheezing like an out of tune pipe organ. The car itself jerked over potholes and vibrated like a sleazy motel bed.

Things were awkward to say the least. Alfred kept his eyes on the road, sweating over Ivan's response. He'd tossed and turned all night in preparation for popping the question and he knew they hadn't been dating long but he felt this would be the best for Ivan. How long did people wait before moving in together? Was two weeks too soon?

Oblivious to the American's distress Ivan took his own sweet time being shell shocked.

Alfred wanted him to move in?

Alfred wanted to become one?

He didn't know how to respond, a simple thank you and a peck on the cheek would never suffice.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore; not his cracked ribs or his bruises, or his head injury, or even Alfred's filthy, dirty car.

Ivan leaned over to sneak a kiss from his blond hero (not that he'd ever say that - Alfred had a big enough ego as it was).

"You are stupid, kind but stupid, yes," he whispered cheeks rosy and heart thumping like an excited rabbit.

In his surprise at the sudden jump of affection, Alfred swerved the car. The car next to his honked, the driver saluting the birdie.

Ivan roared with laughter, as Alfred held onto the steering heel until his fingers turned white. Alfred blushed, then glared, trying to ignore how un-cool he just acted.

Ivan laughed again, kissing the blond - if only to see him squirm.

"Not when I'm driving!" Alfred whined, shoving Ivan away like an over affectionate, near three hundred pound dog.

Ivan giggled, slapping away Alfred's hands away to tickle the American's side.

"Stop!" Alfred hissed.

"Red light," Ivan chirped. As expected Alfred slammed down the breaks, jolting both driver and passenger against their seat belts. Ivan continued giggling.

In less than half an hour later Alfred pulled the car into a grungy parking lot out side of a small pub. He jumped out of the car (in the literal sense of the word) and slammed the door shut. The blond took a deep, comforting breath. Ivan followed, closing his door with a soft click, a smile just as tiny and unspoken on his lips.

"Well," Alfred said, allowing the word to hand in the air for affect. "Let's go before my cousin changed his mind. I called in earlier but he's like that. Permanently has a stick up his butt."

Ivan giggled at the blonds' words and allowed himself to be dragged into the pub. An odd sense of dejavu struck the Russian once inside the "Gentlemanly Pirate" - the pub. The room was well lit with antique-styled lamps, and if it weren't for the pub being empty Ivan swore he could hear happily drunken conversations and the clink of glasses on wood. Pirate paraphernalia littered the walls, but in such order the adventurous theme was almost lost.

"You are late," the owner of the pub stated, snapping shut a small golden pocket watch. He walked out from behind the bar stool, gazing at the pair with a scrutinizing stare.

The man was shorter than Alfred and wore well put-together clothes that would be perfectly normal in the closet of a fifty or sixty year old man; though the Brit in front of him was no older than twenty five. Monstrous, thick eyebrows surveyed the room - adding to the man's sharp eyes in a scowl.

Ivan quirked one of his own, slim sized eyebrows at the Brit. Again he was shaken with remembrance. The Russian was very sure he had met the Brit before - his eyebrows were quite recognizable.

Alfred tittered with laughter, but it was sheepish, less courageous than his usual best.

"Haha, sorry. Traffic was a bi -"

Across the room the English man's green eyes flashed. Alfred caught himself, remembering his cousin disproved of "Impolite language that would make any respectable woman faint and likewise any respectable man green with disgust". He stopped in mid sentence, filling the awkward pause with a nervous chuckle.

"Anyway this is the guy I was telling you about. Can you fix his scarf?"

The English man tittered, waggling his finger at Alfred.

"If I can embroider silk I believe I can repair anything. But manners, cousin, manners. First you introduce your family and guest."

Alfred rolled his eyes. Really, Arthur was too formal; he always forced his strict measures on Alfred. Ivan felt a sudden flush of possessiveness.

Alfred was a fool but he was Ivan's fool. The Russian saw no reason for anyone else to tease the blond, it was his job.

"Artie, this is, Ivan. Ivan, this is Arthur."

Arthur rolled his eyes as he extended is hand. The larger man stared at it for a moment before realizing the Brit wanted him to shake it.

"Arthur Kirkland. Sorry, my cousin still as yet to grasp the finer points of an introduction."

Alfred scoffed.

"Ivan Braginski," the Russian affirmed. Then added, "Alfred's boyfriend."

The response was instantaneous, like a gunshot going off in a chapel.

Arthur dropped his gold watch – it rolled away to flop on its side like a beached whale in an empty corner. The Brit gapped like a fish before his face contorted like a raisin. Ivan swore he could see steam puffing out of his ears. It was a terribly amusing expression, making the large man chortle with laughter.

But what was by far the funniest was his Alfred's expression, blushing like Ivan had disrobed him. The American almost shrank at Arthur's stare like he had been hit. Ivan had no sympathy, enjoying his boyfriend's embarrassment far too much to care a lick about his feelings.

Boyfriend. It was official. Announcing it to Arthur was almost like telling a dirty secret to a parent. And all the colorful expressions they made! Ivan could only imagine what the expression would have been if he had deflowered the cute little blond.

"Alfred's what?" Arthur ragged when he gained control of his voice; though it still squeaked with high-pitched accusation. The Brit groaned and pressed a hand to his temple, trying to subdue the forming headache.

"Come on Artie, you promised you wouldn't freak," Alfred urged, pouting. "Remember when Mathew brought home Francis –"

Arthur winced and groaned like he was giving birth. He marched away, snarling curses under his breath.

"Don't remind me. It's taken almost all of this time to wine me off hexing that frog for Mathew's sake." Arthur disappeared into the back room, announcing that he would return with proper knitting tools.

"You never told me your cousin was a bar tender. I will have to become a regular customer, yes~" Ivan chirped once the room was clear.

"No, no!" exclaimed Alfred, flailing his arms. "Artie and I don't get along well as it is! It took me forever to convince him to fix your scarf. If you bug him he'll go back to England and never talk to me again!"

Ivan had to wonder what relationship the two cousins had. They weren't at each other's throats but neither were they welcoming. The large man could see it in their eyes, a festering history of mistrust and betrayal. Ivan was curious to know what caused the tense atmosphere but knew that would dig up his own family's ghosts – a thing he would try to keep from Alfred as long as possible.

So, to keep face Ivan just smiled and pulled a tight arm around his beloved sunflower.

"Ow! Ivan, too tight!" the blond complained, though it was hard not to grin.

They continued play fighting (flirting) until a gruff, un-amused cough interrupted the pair. Arthur sneered at the two; in his arm the knitting supplies and on his nose half moon spectacles. Alfred pulled away, a tiny uncomfortable blush coloring his nose.

"Don't just stand around all day, show me the patient," Arthur insisted, taking a seat and spreading out the tools over the table.

Ivan looked to Alfred, the blond taking a seat opposite Arthur, leaving another spot for his boyfriend. Both blonds stared at the lavender eyed man. It was unnerving. They wanted him to take off his scarf.

He never took off his scarf. It was as much a part of him as his skin.

Katyusha had given it to him before Natalia had even been born. It had seen him through all his joys and overwhelming pains.

The scarf had been his one and only friend for many years.

But. . . that was why it had to be fixed. Ivan owed it that much.

He stripped off the scarf with the delicate hand of a glass weaver.

It was Ivan's least favorite feeling in the world – a naked neck. He hated it, the chill, the itch, the feeling of being watched it caused.

But he'd endure it for the scarf.

Alfred offered his hand but Ivan refused it. He cringed when Arthur laid the broken cloth flat. At the rift the fabric was frayed and stringy like it had been clawed by cats. Arthur tittered like a nanny.

"What on earth did you do to it? Put it though a paper shredder?"

Ivan snatched the scarf back snarling.

"I'll fix it myself, yes."

He was halfway across the room when Alfred pulled him back, again surprising Ivan with his strength.

"Calm down. Arthur's the best at what he does. Just calm down." Alfred rested a hand on the putty haired man's hip, relaxing him and guiding him back to the table.

With a few more soothing words Ivan relinquished his scarf again. Arthur lined up the pieces once more this time looking over it as if expecting the Russian to leap over the table and attack.

If the Brit insulted his scarf again Ivan had half the mind to do just that.

A few more tense moments of inspection passed before Arthur made another noise. He picked up the scarf and started the long, laborious task of mending it. It was only moments later when Alfred started talking. The American was cursed with the gift of gab. He couldn't sit still long before rambling to both Arthur and Ivan. The Brit commented here and there but remained as impassive as Ivan was.

Alfred was sure Ivan stopped breathing minutes ago, watching Arthur patch up the scarf with unwavering devotion. The Brit's fingers moved with hypnotic grace; a stitch here, a tuck there.

It seemed that in no time at all the scarf was already mended.

"Like a band-aid," the Brit noted when he was finished. Ivan grabbed for the scarf, almost knocking Arthur over with his pair of gorilla arms.

"Whoa! Ivan, settle man, settle!" Alfred charged, holding Ivan back. Arthur huffed and smoothed out his ruffled clothes. He glared at Alfred, the American flashing a sheepish smile.

Ivan was blind to the world around him.

The scarf was near perfect. The string Arthur used was so close to the scarf's original color it disappeared into the snowy fabric. Katyusha would be so happy to see how great it looked.

Ignoring the petty argument the two blonds were having, Ivan stood and grabbed the two in a bone crushing bear hug. He swung the pair around in the same motion one would wring a towel.

"Thank you, friend Arthur! Thank you, yes~!"

He giggled and kissed Alfred hard, ignoring both blonds as they complained and tried to break free.

"Put me down you dolt! A simple thank you would suffice!" the Brit wailed.

"Ivan, buddy, you're breaking my ribs!"

The large bear dropped Arthur but kept Alfred in his arms, pressing insistent kisses to the American's forehead.

Arthur grumbled and shot the duo a scathing glare that neither saw, too wrapped in their own world. The Brit cracked his back and scoffed, packing up his things.

"We should celebrate, yes!" Ivan sang with a gleeful cheer. "Come, Alfred, let us drink!"

"Put me down first! I can't think like this!"

"For the love of God, just go!" Arthur spat, unable to take anymore of his cousin's . . . tomfoolery. He was going to have to nurse a head ache and he hadn't even drunk anything yet.

The two quieted to stare at the seething Brit. He was like a cat, hissing and spitting as he swatted at rambunctious kittens.

Or perhaps he was just a very young grouchy old man.

"Come on, Ivan. Lets get some cheeseburgers, I'm starving," Alfred pleaded, trying to get the Russian out of the bar before Arthur went on one of his temper tantrums.

Ivan dropped the American, inspecting the scarf again as he said their goodbyes.

"Thanks for everything, Arthur."

The words were soft and echoed with past memories. Thank yous that should have been said long ago but never were.

The Brit focused on the grain of the table then the floor before speaking, back to his cousin.

"Shove off, will you? You're such a bother."

Despite the unkind words, Alfred could see Arthur's ears reddening with blush.

The American flashed a stellar grin. "We should get together again some time. Just you, me, and Mattie. I'm sure he'd love to do it."

Arthur's side of the room was quiet. The Brit didn't move; didn't breath. The only sound in the pub came from a clock.

"That would be fun. Shall I call Mathew to set up the date? I doubt you could do it, being as unreliable as you are."

"Hey, I've changed a lot since . . . since the accident."

The weight of Alfred's words was crushing.

"Yeah, I can see that," Arthur agreed after a moment. He stared at Alfred from over his shoulder, eyes softer than they had been through the whole meeting. "I can tell."

~O~O~O~O~

Although neither Ivan nor Alfred spoke the car ride to the American's house was far from quiet. Alfred had the radio booming rap music again. Ivan, being too disgusted with the rank stench of the car, rolled down a window. Fast, viper-like wind streamed into the car, rattling the scattered trash as it yowled in their ears.

"Thank you, Ivan."

The comment was sudden. Ivan would have believed he imagined it if not for the meaningful look the blond had as he studied the road.

"Hmm, what for?" The large man was baffled. If anything he should thank Alfred for getting Arthur to fix his scarf. It was obvious the blonds did not see eye to eye.

At his comment Alfred laughed, though it quickly turned into a sigh. He shook his head in a self-pitying grimace. Ivan did not like the action. He liked to think of Alfred as a strong man, an equal to Ivan. Alfred at the moment was neither.

"I used you," the blond stated, voice as nonchalant as the weather. "Arthur and I hadn't really spoken since the accident. That and the issue with Francis. He stopped answering my calls and eventually I just figured he moved back to England. It wasn't until the night I picked you up I knew he was still here. You passed out in front of the "Gentlemanly Pirate". When we were kids he always went on and on about how he was a Gentlemanly Pirate so I figured it had to be him."

Alfred laughed again. It was a detached noise. It didn't fit the happy American at all.

"And then when you needed your scarf fixed I remembered that Arthur's hobby was embroidery and girly things like that. When I was a kid he would make these really ugly sweaters for me every Christmas. And I mean ugly! And they smelled like cat and were itchy!"

Despite the horror of his words Alfred smiled and laughed more truly than he had all day. It was a relief to hear the noise, like an assuring breath of a loved one. It was a reminder that things would be alright. Things weren't as complicated as everyone made them out to be.

Ivan liked the laugh.

"So. . .thank you for letting me talk to Arthur. I really missed him."

Ivan twiddled with his scarf as silence swam back over the two. It was uncomfortable, especially with the foul mouthed music. He would have to teach Alfred the difference between a song and noise when they got to his house.

Oh yeah. . .he was moving in with Alfred.


AN:

Apology time!

Sorry everyone for my general laziness. I haven't felt quite like writing for a while, that and I really don't like England (he's such a bitch) and I honestly did not have fun with this chapter (that and my laptop and computer needed to be completely revamped so he has new insides). That aside I believe this chapter is necessity for plot development. I just feel like if I don't have fun writing it people won't have fun reading it, so sorry it took so long to update.

Yes, England has Dumbledor's "half-moon spectacles" and yes he makes sweaters like Mrs. Weasly. I'm a Harry Potter fan.