He's a Keeper

Chapter Nine: Separate

Important Notes: John – Scotland, Oliver – Wales, Connor – Ireland, Chloe – N. Ireland, Angie/Angélique – Seychelles, Emma Peeters – Belgium

Arthur sat in the uncomfortable chair provided for him by the receptionist. An uninteresting stack of periodicals sat precariously on the end table next to him. He held his face in his hands, breathing deeply into his cupped palms. Connor sat in the chair adjacent to him. The air was silent and thin between them and somehow Arthur couldn't help but to feel that this was his fault – and the thought was a cold, dark stone that weighed heavily on his mind as the seconds ticked by.

The double doors nearby flew open, and Arthur glanced up to see his mother, frantic and distraught, fat tears beading up in the corners of her bright green eyes. She spied Arthur and rushed to him, dropping her bag to the floor with abandon to press his face into her chest, attempting to give comfort and receive all at once. "Arthur, sweetheart, love…" She cried softly into the crown of his hair, as he managed to awkwardly pat her on the back. "Please… tell me…"

When Connor looked away, his freckled face pinched with anger and worry, their mother held Arthur's head tightly and hiccupped. Suddenly she dropped her grip on her youngest son's head and headed for the reception counter. "I demand to see my son," she snapped, her voice crippled and harsh from crying and fretting.

The receptionist smiled thinly, her patience had already been tried by the two present brothers. "I'm sorry ma'am… your son is in the ICU at the moment, and they don't allow for visitors."

"His name is Johnathan MacGregory. And I have every right to see my son, you tart!" Almost immediately Connor was up from his seat, ushering their bitingly crying mother into his seat next to Arthur. She flung herself into an awkward embrace with her youngest son, and Arthur carefully wrapped his arms about her, burying his face into the wool fabric of her coat that smelt wonderfully of sandalwood, once he saw Connor give him a stiff nod.

How long they stayed like that, Arthur didn't know; hours, days, years, maybe. It was a long while before his mother's hiccupping sobs died down to soft snivels. Chloe had come in soon after, and relieved Arthur from his position as pillow. He thanked his half-sister quietly, kissing his mother softly on the forehead, and put on his coat to go for a quick walk around the hospital grounds.

His legs shook beneath him as he walked and he felt that he simply should collapse onto the snow dusted walkway and blubber and cry all over again like he did when he was on the phone with Alfred.

And now that he thought about it, he didn't exactly give Alfred a proper explanation earlier, either. Just cried, said he couldn't make it, and cried some more – like a fucking girl. He sighed and watched his breath flood from his mouth in a cold, white smoke. Leaning against the pale wall near the designated smoking area, Arthur pulled his mobile from his pocket; quickly scanning the one text he'd missed over the course of the past few hours, trying to repress the flutter in his chest at the bold words that flitted onto the screen.

[Alfred]

Call me when you can. Day or night, I don't care when as long as you call. I want to make sure you're okay. :( I love you Arthur.

[Message received 12:09 AM]

Arthur smiled a small, watery smile at the text. He couldn't understand how Alfred could still sound so sweet and innocent even through simple words. He sighed and went through his contacts, pulling up Alfred's information. It was either now or never, he figured. With a press of a button he held the mobile against the shell of his ear, involuntarily shivering as the cold device touched his skin.

The mobile rang once; twice; and on the third ring it clicked in answer, followed by a heady, "Hello?"

Arthur hesitated a few moments, simply relishing in the sound that he knew to be Alfred's voice, before responding with a dry, "Hello…" He cleared his throat and squinted up at the waning moon. "Uhm… this is Arthur…"

"I know that," Alfred said with a small chuckle. The sound was warm and soft, and Arthur suddenly found himself wishing to be wrapped in the boy's strong embrace – as if nothing from the world could affect him as long as he was there, with Alfred. "How are you holdin' up? Everythin' alright?"

He sighed again. "It depends on your definition of 'alright'." Arthur paused, swallowed the cold night air thickly, and continued, "I myself am fine, I assure you of that. It's just… just…" And suddenly his throat constricted in that way that meant he was attempting to hold back tears once again. Quickly he breathed through his nose in short, shuddering breathes. "I'm sorry…" he mumbled after a bit, listening for Alfred's smooth assurances that it was fine. "I… You…" Arthur grimaced at himself. He must sound pathetic right now. "You were right… A-about John…"

Arthur could practically hear Alfred's breath hitch and the hesitation that stemmed from it. There was a rustling over the other line as Alfred moved about and whispered worriedly, "Is he alright? What happened Arthur?"

"It was an accident," he said in a rush, the words tumbling from his lips. It was something he'd wanted to get off his chest all night, but he'd been afraid to say more than, 'John's in the hospital – hurry over.' He peered around in the darkness for unwanted guests before continuing. "He… He was pissed – drunk – of course… yes, and well, we've just received a dusting of snow… and he was driving you see… and…"

Alfred made a sound between a sigh and a whine on the other line. "Is he okay?"

He stopped, breathed, took the time to watch his breath, and decided to answer, "We don't know."

"Arthur… I'm so sorry. I don't – I don't even…"

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault." The quiet of the night stretched around him. The chill air nipped at his cheeks and nose and Arthur repressed a shiver. He'd rather be out here than in there right now.

"Hey," Alfred said shortly, and Arthur wondered if maybe he'd dazed out for a moment and missed something. "You know that I'm here for ya, right? If ya ever need to talk or anythin'… I'll be here."

Arthur pushed away from the cold building, stalking back to the entrance of the emergency doors and simply peering inside at the scene. His Mother and Chloe sat together, whispering softly as a nurse approached them, her face mournful. "Alfred, I was the first one to the hospital," he said slowly, his head a whirlwind of emotions as the nurse began to speak – he only saw her lips moving as Chloe, Connor and his Mother watched her with baited breath. "They told me that John… at the very best would be in a coma for a while. And at the worst – and more predictably – he wouldn't make it through the night."

His Mother's face welled back into a fit of tears and Chloe clutched her close. Connor's face dipped down and he pressed a hand to his eyes. "Arthur, you listen to me," Alfred cooed into his ear, and Arthur closed his eyes – a hand pressed against the glass of the door. He wasn't here; he didn't see; it was only himself and Alfred and nothing else. "No matter what happens, I'm gunna be there for you. You tell me what ya need, and I'll get it. You tell me what ta say, and I'll say it to ya 'til I'm blue in the face. I might not be perfect and I might not be able to say the right thing or get ya what you need at the right time – but… I'll do it for you Arthur. And… you're not alone. I'll never let ya be alone."

A stray tear rolled down the cold curve of his cheek, and despite everything, Arthur found himself smiling bitterly. "My… wonderful, amazing, marvelous poppet – my love – my… I can't even think of a proper term. You are indeed perfect."

Alfred choked a little on the other line in embarrassment. "Nah, ain't no one perfect. 'Specially not me."

"But you are," he said, opening his eyes to gaze at the morose scene once more. "Perfect for me."

*February*

Arthur sat alone but not alone in the sterile room with his closed laptop resting atop his lap. In one hand he held his mobile while the other tangled into the too white sheets of the bed he settled next to. Outside the weather was dreary gray and little speckles of rain splashed themselves against the window. The quiet in the room was only rivaled by the blank quiet of his mind. For the past three weeks everything had been so incredibly horrendous and long, and the weather so heavy and dark, that Arthur was positive he'd simply stopped thinking and only existed.

He continued to stare blankly at the wall opposite of him until his phone vibrated, violently wrenching him from the lulled daze that had spread across his body.

[Alfred]

Bootin up the comp now. b on soon! :)

[Message received 3:42 PM]

At that, Arthur set his phone on the rumpled sheets of the occupied bed and placed his laptop from his lap to the end table and opened the device. He woke it from its power saving sleep and began searching for the correct applications.

He waited for Alfred to get online before starting a new conversation with a new ingrained ease that came from countless different conversations over the past few months.

"Hey there!" Alfred greeted as his image spilled onto the screen. He smiled his usual dimple deepened smile and Arthur couldn't help but release the tiniest of grins in response. "How are ya? How's John doing? Any news?"

Arthur grimaced and turned the computer a bit so that the built in webcam could catch image of the man lying in the hospital bed next to him. Arthur could tell his Mother had stopped by to visit John not long ago, as his dark red hair was brushed and laying neatly to the side – the same way she brushed all their hair whenever there had been family photos. "They gave him a ventilator today," Arthur said softly, reaching out to touch John's unmoving hand. "He's scheduled for another MRI in a couple of days to check brain activity… but… they're not hopeful."

There was a stuttering pause from Alfred and for a moment Arthur felt horrible for putting the American in this situation. He knew Alfred wasn't good in morbid situations, and the way the young blond's face pinched with uneasiness should have made him want to end the conversation then and there. But he didn't want to. Somehow he felt that Alfred needed to see this – to be a part of this. It was his hardship and somehow it just felt… right, in a sense, to share the burden.

"Well, I'm still hopeful," Alfred said suddenly, looking childishly petulant. He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and sighed. "But… I just… Now that everything's all depressing – I wanted to say Happy Valentine's Day. Did you get the flowers?"

Arthur's head dipped a little in embarrassment. "Ah – yes. I received them at work. You wouldn't believe the fuss that Francis made over them. I uhm…" He shifted the computer again so that it faced the corner of the room where a bouquet of lush, red roses in a frosty glass vase sat on a table. "I brought them here – I came here directly after. They're lovely. I'm sure John will enjoy seeing them when he wakes up."

The American grinned. "Yeah, I bet! 'Coz he's gunna wake up soon! And when he does, things might be tough – but yanno, family is strong, yeah?" Alfred chuckled awkwardly. "Sorry, I sound lame. But I love you Arthur! I love you thi-i-i-is much!" he exclaimed holding his arms as wide as and smiled goofily, making Arthur snort.

"You're just like a child," Arthur mumbled happily. His green eyes slid over to his comatose brother and he reached over to card his fingers through his red hair – ruining the hairstyle he knew his Mother painstakingly worked on. John never did like looking smart. "But that's quite alright. And I do believe you're right. He will wake up."

They shared a warm silence together, simply cozy with hope. And Arthur wished he could pluck up moments like these and store them away like priceless treasures – something to take out and admire on rainy days. He had a feeling that he would need them for days to come.

A week later, when the lush, red roses had wilted and the tips of the petals dried into a ruffled black, John's neurologist escorted Arthur, his Mother and Chloe into a small, private room. They glanced about the white walls, shooting each other sad, desperate looks. Chloe grabbed one of their hands in each of her own, her pixie-like face somber. "We should wait for Connor," his Mother said softly as the neurologist shut the door with a click.

Chloe shook her head, her coppery red hair swishing against her shoulders as she did so. "He can't make it – they have him working too far out today. I'm sorry," she mumbled and squeezed their hands reassuringly. Arthur let loose a long breath.

"I'm sorry to have called you all here," the neurologist began once the family had quieted down into a numb silence. He held a clipboard in his hands, the pen dangled uselessly in the air from a thin chain. "I'm very sorry to inform you that at five o'clock this morning, Johnathan was pronounced brain dead. He's not going to wake from his comatose state; he cannot breathe without assistance, and he does not respond to any outside stimuli. I'm sorry for your loss."

For a long moment the world seemed to simply stop spinning for Arthur. Chloe dropped her hold on his hand to clutch at his Mother as she slid to the ground, a choking sob erupting from her throat. The neurologist frowned in sympathy – he probably dealt with this type of situation often enough to become distant from it. He set Arthur with a level stare and pulled a cue card from his clipboard and handed it to him. "If you need to speak to someone of your loss, this is the business card for a therapist who specializes in this type of occurrence. If you ever feel depressed or in grievance for too long, don't hesitate to contact them."

Arthur took the card blankly, stuffing it into the pocket of his trousers without much thought. When the only sound was nothing but the muffled cries of the women, the neurologist gave a sharp nod and left. Arthur's ears rang and he pressed a shaking hand to his eyes as they began to water. Almost as if she were miles away, he heard his mother cry, "He was just a baby! My little baby! Gone!" He felt suffocated and empty and wrong.

Quickly he set a hand on Chloe's shoulder and pressed a kiss to his Mother's forehead before fleeing the scene; the hospital; his grief. How he ended up in his flat, he couldn't remember, but he completely bypassed his tea and went to his room, mechanically digging through his closet until he found what he was looking for. He pulled off his jumper with sharp, reckless movements and replaced it with a rumpled tee that Alfred had accidently forgotten during his visit. It was a size or two too large and proclaimed, 'Beef is what's for dinner', but he didn't care because it was Alfred's and it still smelt of the young American.

With a face that was the very definition of despair, he crawled into his bed and under the covers, pulling the extra pillow to his chest tightly as hot, messy tears began making tortured trails down his cheeks. Alfred couldn't hold him right now, but he could make due. With a strangled sniffle he pulled his mobile from his trouser pocket and tapped through his contacts. Is all he needed was to hear his voice…

*March*

Somehow his Mother's house was smaller than he remembered it as a child. He tapped his knuckles on the old, oaken table that had been in this very same kitchen for the entirety of his life. The pads of his fingers traced the familiar scratches and stains along the surface as everyone else chatted quietly; tame. He thought it ironic that the loss of family brings a family together.

"I miss him," Chloe said suddenly, looking at everyone in the face, from his Mother, to Connor, to himself and then at Oliver – who had received two weeks of leave to come to John's funeral. "It's hard to imagine that he's gone… Like he's going to walk through the door at any moment and say, 'Just kidding!' To give us all a good fright."

Connor's face scrunched up at the suggestion. "That sounds like something the bastard would do," he grumbled, ignoring their Mother's protest of, 'Language!' Briefly everyone's eyes fell onto the kitchen door, the air in the room growing still as they waited with baited breath for the impossible. When the doors remained shut tight, Connor turned back to their Mother, habitually taking her hand in his. "And what now?"

It was the question everyone was thinking, but didn't know the answer to. "Do we just… pick back up where we left off?" Chloe asked innocently. How does one fill the hole left by a brother? She hid her face in her hands from frustration at the dull silence that followed.

After a long, introverted silence, Oliver was the first to speak and everyone nearly jumped in their seats at the sound of his airy voice. "I don't see another option," he said quietly, adjusting the paperboy hat that pushed down his fair blonde hair. "No matter what happens, I have to return to D.C. in a week – which reminds me, Mother, I have news."

Chloe huffed, crossing her arms defensively across her chest. "Just like that? Forget about him altogether? Has the military stolen your humanity as well, Oliver?"

Oliver's dark blue eyes slid over to his half-sister. "I never said forget. I said move on. John was my brother too – we snuck out of the house at night together and broke into the Murphy's sheep field and sheered words into their fur," he mumbled nostalgically, despite their Mother's horrified face. "We caught salamanders and hid them in Chloe's bed, and we stole Arthur's books to draw naughty pictures inside – we were always together, of the same mind. Of course I'm upset he's gone – that he fell that low – but god dammit, it's not like I can go back in time and fix it!" Throughout his speech, Oliver's voice slowly grew and grew until he was practically shouting at no one in particular. His pale face was flushed with feeling and he suddenly sighed sadly. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Chloe apologized with a slump of her shoulders. "I'm being a horrible tart," she said.

Their Mother sighed through her nose. Her lips pursed momentarily before she finally asked, "What's this news you were speaking of earlier, Oliver?"

"Ah – yes. I was going to say that in November they're transferring me to a new unit – only temporarily, but they need a specialist, and they chose me to go."

"And where are they transferring you to?" Connor asked, scratching absently at the freckles on his face. "Back over the pond I hope."

Oliver shook his head. "No… Actually it's some tiny town in North Dakota – it's by Canada or some other… But what I was going to ask… They're taking my belongings there by truck – and myself as well, and uhm…" he trailed off, his thick brows knitting as he seemed to search for the correct words. "I was hoping, Mother, you'd hop across the pond and help me move."

Arthur frowned in thought as their Mother expectedly agreed without qualm. "Where is North Dakota in America?" he found himself asking after his long silence. Chloe startled at the sound of his voice – as if she'd forgotten he was even there.

"That's right!" their Mother exclaimed, "Sweetheart, you were looking to go to America this month before all this happened, were you not?"

Oliver turned to look at Arthur in surprise, along with Connor and Chloe. He flushed under their penetrating stares and cleared his throat. "I… Well… Yes…"

Their Mother smiled and to Arthur it looked wolfish. "Oh, yes! You were going to visit your little love, Alfred!"

Chloe sputtered in astonishment. "Hold it! Just a tick – you mean Alfred like, Alfred Alfred?"

"What other Alfred could there be?" Connor asked in retort. "Actually I'm more surprised the bloke is a poof. Overly fond of Arthur, maybe, but well…"

Arthur grimaced. "What does it matter with whom I decide to romance?" he muttered darkly, somewhat upset when his question went unheard as Chloe and Connor began telling their Mother all about Alfred from their few encounters with the jovial American.

Oliver leaned away from the chatter and towards Arthur, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. "Is it true then?" he asked in a hushed voice, a small smile on the corners of his pale lips.

"Of course it is – do you honestly think I'd lie to Mother?" he answered in a furious whisper.

His older brother's smile widened. "Where does he live?"

Arthur gave him a suspicious glare. "What does it matter to you?"

"Eh… I'm just curious," he said easily. His blue eyes flashed to the other side of the table. "Maybe I can help you out? I can get both Mother and you tickets to America, you know."

Arthur's breath seemed to hitch in his throat at the proposition – a plane ticket to America wasn't exactly something to buy willy-nilly. "He lives in Nebraska. Why would you get me a ticket anyway?"

Oliver just shrugged, adjusting his hat as he was prone to do. "Nebraska… That's not too far from North Dakota. Just a state or two away. And… consider the ticket a birthday present then – to make up for the past couple of years that I've forgotten." He smiled widely at his youngest sibling. "I'm sure we can work everything out with your American – and I bet Mother's been wanting to meet him, you can tell just by the way she's eating up those stories Chloe and Connor are feeding her."

Arthur shook his head in disbelief, watching as the table's conversation switched from his love life back to the situation at hand and he sighed a sigh of relief. But to wait until November? That was eight months away. Arthur's stomach tightened at the sheer thought of having to wait another eight months. He glanced at Oliver and then to his Mother. He had no idea what to do.

Arthur sat in his kitchen, idly scratching Excalibur behind the ears as the young cat curled up in his lap. He was already over the fact that there would always be orange cat hair on everything he owned from now on. His laptop sat on stand-by on his kitchen table, a cooling cup of tea next to it as he waited for Alfred to get online.

Excalibur's claws kneaded into his thigh as a conversation invite popped onto his screen. With a roll of his eyes he accepted the invite and watched as Alfred's image burst onto the screen. The American smiled wearily, pushing up his glasses slowly. "Hey, how are ya?" he asked brightly after a moment of hesitation.

"I just buried my eldest brother today. How do you think I am?" he answered with venom. Arthur wasn't sure what attributed to his sudden bitter anger – perhaps it was bottled emotion from John's funeral that morning, or maybe it was the darkening weather outside, or even the fact that even though his brother was dead, he was still going to be working in the morning. But when Alfred's face took on a look that was the very image of a kicked puppy, whether the American knew it or not, Arthur sighed, biting the inside of his cheek. "I'm sorry," he grumbled as he ran a hand through his already messy hair. "I shouldn't take things out on you, Alfred. I'm just at… wits end."

Alfred nodded solemnly, his normally happy face subdued by Arthur's darkened mood. "And m'sorry, too. I didn't think…"

The corner of Arthur's mouth twitched upwards. "You rarely do," he jabbed, quickly adding, "And I love that about you," before Alfred could protest. He reached over and grabbed his teacup, sipping on it as Alfred's image froze in place for a few seconds before the feed resumed. Sometimes it was a rude reminder that Alfred was really an ocean away. "I have a question for you."

"Hmm? What's up?"

Arthur tapped the tip of his nail against the side of his teacup, listening to the sharp clicks as he thought of the best way to approach the subject. "What are you doing in November?" he asked vaguely, arching a brow when Alfred seemed to seriously consider the question.

"Well… other than Thanksgiving – nothing real important that I know of… well… uhm…" the American trailed off unexpectedly and worried on his lower lip. "Well, I dunno… but uhm – that brings us to the news I mentioned earlier…"

Arthur didn't like the sound of that. And in all honesty, he'd completely forgotten any mention of news from Alfred. "And this news is…?"

There was a terse moment as Alfred ducked to the side and exited from view before he reemerged with a fat manila envelope in his hands. "Well, in the mail yesterday I got this letter… and it's an acceptance letter from that University I was talking about – the one with the crazy Aerospace program? Remember?" Rendered mute, Arthur nodded slowly, his stomach dropping lower and lower into the pit of his stomach with every word that spilled from Alfred's mouth. What could this mean for them? "It's awesome! And crazy! But, well I called the University today – talked to an advisor. I told 'em how I didn't wanna have ta move onto campus until I absolutely needed to, yanno? And get this: she told me that I could get a full ride; all four years – if I minor in Physics. And my first three semesters can be completely online! So I can help Pa with the ranch for as long as I can."

Alfred's grin was wide and filled to the brim with pride and hope – a hope that Arthur recognized quickly as the want for recognition, to be praised. "That's astounding news," he said softly, trying to keep his voice from wavering. "But if I may ask, why physics?"

"Oh… Well, you see, they hand out these national test things when we're Seniors – our last year of school… And on my test – the one for science application – I got the ninth best score in the nation." Alfred scratched the back of his head humbly. "I'm kinda good at science and math. Only when I wanna be though. But I want to major in Business Agriculture, so if I want that free ride, I have ta minor in either Physics or Cellular Biology and I'd take Physics over that any day."

"Wait a tick." Arthur set down his teacup roughly, his full brows knitting together in disbelief. "You're practically a genius, Alfred, and yet you're majoring in Business Agriculture? You could be a physicist – any job you want! And you choose that?"

The American's grin faded slowly as Arthur ranted. He fiddled nervously with the envelope in his hands, his blue, blue eyes slipping from the screen to look off to the side. "I know what I want in life," Alfred mumbled into his headset. "I don't need nothing special – just the ranch, family, and… well… you." He flushed a becoming blush across the apples of his cheeks. "Although… I pretty much consider ya to be family…"

Arthur coughed. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he said quickly, making Alfred chuckle. "Back to my previous question, about November; I was asking because I was looking to visit around then…"

"N-November? But…" For a long moment Alfred seemed truly at a loss for words. "That's like a bazillion years from now!" he cried at last.

"I know, I know… But Oliver offered to buy my ticket – at the least the one there."

Alfred snorted without amusement. "If that's the case, I'll buy your ticket here! For like tomorrow!" he whined, his forehead wrinkling under his desperation and displeasure. "I can you know, I've been saving up ever since I came back. I can, I will! Please?"

The Englishman shook his head slowly, tousling his wild blond hair. "That's not the point, and you know – although I appreciate the offer." He frowned and gave Excalibur a few extra scratches before shooing the animal from his lap. "When I stop in tomorrow at work, I'm going to see how long of a vacation I can get, alright? I want you to count on at least two weeks."

"But I want to see you now!" Alfred groaned miserably, his voice going an octave higher as he attempted to suppress a strained whine. "I'm so tired of waiting! You should be right here, right now, and you're not and –!" There was a loud clatter as Alfred hit his head onto his computer's keyboard with a dismissible grumble. "I friggin' hate life right now…"

Arthur chuckled slightly as he picked up his teacup once again and set his chin on the lip of his cup. "As do I, my dear poppet," he said with a tiny sigh. "As do I…"

They said their farewells – Alfred more exuberant with his than usual, as if he were physically trying to push himself passed the ill-news of another eight months worth of waiting – and Arthur shut down his computer with a frown. Time was already putting a strain on the barely-there relationship that they had. He was beginning to fear what another eight months could do to them. It had been stupid of him to think that perhaps they could make it through this as a couple – not when they were incredibly stronger as friends.

He sighed through his nose as he cleaned out his teacup and set it aside to dry. He absolutely refused to let Alfred go. He couldn't – not without seeing Alfred one more time.

And as he advanced towards his room to ready himself for bed, he couldn't help but think of how long eight months was, exactly.

[Arthur]

Alfred… What are you doing for the entire month of November?

[Message sent 4:04 PM]

[Alfred]

Does that mean what i think it does? :D!

[Message received 4:09 PM]

[Arthur]

Clear it with your Father before you begin making plans, love.

[Message sent 4:11 PM]

[Alfred]

Consider it done! I LOVE YOU! :DD

[Message received 4:18 PM]

- End Chapter Nine -

Finally! ^-^ I thought I'd never finish this chapter, guys! D: I hope that I've been able to keep up each chapter's quality as this goes on. :)

And as always, thanks to Lucia-luce for betaing! And now I'm off to work. /dies