(Points to whoever can guess what book Feliciano is reading in this chapter.)
December 3rd, London
There had been far too many times in Arthur's life when he had hidden in his house, the bolt drawn on the door. He had done so to avoid James, Liam and Dylan for various reasons over the centuries, the men typically planting themselves outside and banging on the door until the paint began to crack from the effort, all the while cursing Arthur up and down in languages he didn't understand, although their tones always managed to make their meanings abundantly clear.
At other times he had drawn the bolt on invasions and then the door of whatever hovel or cottage he had been residing in had never proven strong enough. After that, it was a case of grudgingly learning a bit of Danish, Norse or French, eating some new and unpleasant foods and wearing another absurd set of clothes until someone else came to disturb his peace.
The occasion that stuck out most vividly in his memory, however, was 1776. There had been no new culture with which to reluctantly entertain himself then, nor had there been any amusing and colourful language being flung about outside. Rather, Arthur had locked the front door and been left to his own devices, sat drinking endless cups of tea until he could scarcely taste the drink any longer. Rather, Arthur recalled sitting and thinking as hard as he could about not giving in to the temptation to think about what had just transpired and what he had just lost.
It was therefore with something akin to relief that he heard the firm, heavy rap of knuckles on his door as it at least stopped him from once again considering what he had potentially lost. Also, the knock was readily identifiable as Ludwig's, not Feliciano's, and as curious as the idea was to him, Arthur fancied his chances better against the German.
"Get it over with, Arthur," he muttered to himself by way of a command and with only a little hesitation he got to his feet and went to open the door. Ludwig met his eye the instant the door swung open through his own narrowed blue ones.
"Did you pick a method?"
Arthur frowned in thought then gave a nod of understanding, "Oh, of how I want to die? No. I'd prefer not to, actually, if that's alright. You see, I-" Mid-sentence, the German made a lunge for him and Arthur opted to jog backward down the hall, quickly turning about as he made the living room and darting around the back of his sofa. The German stood on the other side of the chair and continued to stare him down, looking to Arthur not unlike a guard dog that had cornered a robber.
"Arthur. What were you thinking?"
The pair broke into another run, coming to a halt with Ludwig behind the sofa back and Arthur in front. The Englishman winced.
"Me and computers don't get along, alright? I wanted to attach that "story" as a file but I had no clue how to do it. Besides, I thought it best to give you an example because just telling you to write a sexy email or letter would no doubt have led to you just writing some sort of sex instruction manual," Arthur frowned, "Frankly, I thought that was one of my better examples-"
"Feliciano didn't think so," Ludwig said pointedly, and the Englishman's humour left him in a flash. He shot Ludwig a remorseful look, although he remained tensed all the while, ready to try and outrun the man again if the need arose.
"I am really sorry. I never would have thought that he'd go on your computer, or that he'd reach such a conclusion. No offence, but there must have been some other problem if he did react so badly, don't you think?"
Ludwig's anger seemed to slide into sadness, his expression becoming downcast, although his hands still gripped the sofa tightly, "I can only assume so. You failed to offer any substantial help with those underlying matters either."
"I am sorry, Ludwig."
"I know," head snapping up, he shot Arthur another sharp look, "I still want to kill you though."
They swapped places once more, Arthur beginning to feel slightly winded from the exertion of darting about the furniture again, whilst Ludwig - to his disconcertion - seemed unfazed.
"Don't."
"Why not? It would make me feel better," the German drew himself up to his full height, which made Arthur's own shoulders slump. Swallowing weakly, he played what he saw as his last hope, his "ace in the hole".
"Don't because it won't help matters. You've got nothing left to lose but you've got everything to gain," Arthur said, somewhat desperately, "And I'm one of a very select number of people who will try to help you."
Ludwig's confused and near stunned look prompted him to explain, "To the rest of the world, it looks like you were a heartless bastard who trampled on Feliciano's heart in order to get to me. I, in turn, look like a heartless bastard because of what I said to Alfred. No doubt they'll have told some of the others about what's happened. I think, therefore, we'd do well to stick together."
With some reluctance, Ludwig let go of the sofa.
"I see your point," he admitted.
"I'm glad. So, shall we try and put our heads together about all this?"
"What can we do?" the German asked, walking around the sofa to sit down upon it, unusually slumped for the usually straight-backed man, "I cannot see a solution."
"We have one opportunity. The Conference," Arthur said, "I suggest, to begin with, that our correspondence turns toward ideas of how to lure Alfred and Feliciano into situations where we look like attractive prospects once again."
In spite of his nodding, Ludwig noted, "You make it sound like we're hunting them."
"Hunting them out love," the Englishman stood up and looked back at his guest, "Right, so now that's settled, first things first: I'll put the kettle on."
"You realise," Ludwig called after the man's retreating form, "That I have already set in place a measure trying to bring you and Alfred back together?"
The Englishman's head poked back into the hall to give him a puzzled look, "Oh?"
"Yes. I imagine the plan is being carried out as we speak. We can only hope it is effective, ja?"
December 16th, NYC
"Why don't you work?" Alfred asked the metal box in front of him. A green light that shouldn't have been flashing flashed by way of an answer and so Alfred hit the device again with a screwdriver.
"Piece of junk", he muttered, flinching at his own words since they naturally reflected on his own abilities, "What the hell could be wrong with you, huh?"
"Well, if you keep beating it so, there is no wonder that it does not work," a completely unexpected voice offered, "Why not try and kiss it better? Or should I?"
Alfred frowned as he turned to study the figure in the doorway, his arm reluctant to return the defensively raised screwdriver to his side in spite of the fact that he had identified the man.
"Francis? The fuck?"
The Frenchman reached out, caught the man's hand and lowered it enough to plant a quick, chivalrous kiss on the back of Alfred's hand, "It has been a long time, Alfred. How are you?"
"Fine," the American gave his hand an unnecessary wipe on his trouser leg, "But why the hell are you in my house? How did you even get in?
"What is that poor abused little contraption, anyway?" Francis asked cheerfully, walking up alongside the man's workbench and studying it from all sides as though it were a work of art. Alfred quickly draped himself over the box with a yell, shooing the man with one hand.
"Hey! Classified! You haven't even got clearance to be stood in here, beardface!"
The name caused Francis to raise an eyebrow and, with something of a saunter, he raised his hands in surrender and took several slow strides backward.
" "Beardface"? I wasn't aware anyone else called me that," he said, in a deep, thoughtful voice.
"Why the hell are you here? I'm coming damn close to getting you deported," Alfred said.
"Matthieu was kind enough to invite me over. Ludwig and Feliciano's break up has made Europe something of a battle field, so I was very grateful for the offer."
"But Matt's staying with me."
Francis gave an easy nod, "D'accord. So here I am, as Matthew's guest, whilst he is yours. I will cook to earn my keep if you are that reluctant for me to remain."
With obvious distaste, the American sighed, "Fine. Whatever: stay, don't stay, I don't care. Just don't go wandering around like that again. Everything in here is private."
"Very well," Francis consulted his watch, "It is nearing lunch; I imagine you will wish to finish your tinkering so I say au revoir pour maintenant. I shall see you at the dining table."
The door of the work room closed and Alfred gave the machine another blow with his screwdriver, this time leaving a dent and causing another light to blink at him. Something about the light, a small red warning light, caused his brain to flash up a question he had forgotten to pose the Frenchman. Dropping the screwdriver, Alfred tore out of the room and found Francis down the hall, his head inclined towards Matthew's in conversation. The pair stepped apart as Alfred appeared, Francis casually sending the man a glance, Matthew looking a little awkward, glancing around and about his brother as opposed to straight at him.
"Okay, Francis, so you're staying," Alfred nodded his acceptance of the matter, "How much luggage did you pack exactly? How long is this invite for?"
Alfred had a sinking suspicion he already knew the answer and the casual, open handed shrug the Frenchman offered confirmed the worst.
"For "the holidays" as you would say. I shall be here for Christmas, naturally."
"For... ten days?" Alfred asked weakly.
"Oh, at the very least," the man said with an enigmatic smile.
December 15th,
From Ludwig to Kirkland, A.
Arthur,
Unsurprisingly, I have no plans for the Christmas break and I wondered, if you too find yourself in the same situation whether you would like to stay at mine? I am aware that you are still making last minute plans for the Conference but should you wish to stay you would have access to my office and computers so there should be no difficulties in continuing with your preparations.
If you are staying with your brothers please ignore this offer, I simply wished to put my suggestion forward. It might do you well to have a chance of scenery.
Ludwig
December 15th,
From Kirkland, A. to Ludwig
Ludwig,
The last time any of my brothers invited me to stay for Christmas, as opposed to just inviting me over for Christmas Dinner, we were all wearing doublet and hose.
It's a kind offer and I'll accept, if you're really sure about it. I suppose it would be a good idea if we took this opportunity to meet up again before the Conference to go over some final "strategies" in person,
See you in a week or so,
Arthur
P.S. Don't take offence but will your brother be there? I just need to mentally prepare myself if that is the case.
December 18th,
From Alfred Jones to Feliciano!
Hey,
I haven't been in touch for a while, I guess. I'm sorry about that. We've both been kind of busy recently.
I'll sure you're sick of hearing it but I am real sorry to hear about you and Ludwig. Did he say why he wanted to end things? I always thought of him as a dependable kind of guy, but then I guess anyone can surprise you.
What are you doing for the holidays? Matthew's staying at my place and so is your "big brother" Francis on Matt's invite. He practically invited himself though, it's weird. Do you know why he'd want to stay at mine? I mean, it's not like I have what he would call good food or "culture" or any of the crap he likes. It just seems like there must be some other reason for it. I really don't trust the guy. I know you like him but he's beginning to creep me out. My apartment is big but he's always just a room away, or like he'll appear in the hall at the exact same time I do. It's beyond coincidence. And then, whenever we do see each other, he'll start flirting. I'm really getting pissed about it.
Anyway, I'll try to have a good Christmas and I hope you do as well.
I'll see you in January,
Alfred,
P.S. It might be a good idea, if we can wrangle it, to try and swap rooms somehow at the Conference so we end up as far as away as we can get from Arthur and Ludwig. I know we're not supposed to do that but everyone does, right? I'm not above some money changing hands to get things our way. Let me know what you think.
December 19th,
From Feliciano! to Alfred Jones
Hey Alfred,
I don't want to talk about Ludwig. He just told me it was over. He didn't give a reason and neither of us did anything to make him end things. I suppose he was never happy with me.
I'm staying with Lovino and Antonio at Lovino's place for Christmas, which should be fun. Since our celebrations continue into January we'll not have long before we have to pack our suitcases and head to England for the Conference. We're not planning on doing anything special, we're just spending a quiet Christmas with lots of food.
I didn't know Francis was planning on going away for Christmas (he usually finds someone to keep him company, if you know what I mean). He's not a bad guy, really. Just don't take anything he does too seriously. Oh and ask him to make Bûche de Noël, it's really delicious.
About the conference, well, we can try I guess. I'd like to end up sharing with you if I could. Arthur is probably going to give you a bedroom far away and mine will be away from Ludwig's. Those two will want to have rooms next to each other, so it may be that our rooms are already going to be near each other or we'll be sharing.
Have a good holiday and New Year and wish your brother and big brother the same from me, okay?
I'll see you in January.
December 19th, NYC
"Hey, Francis?"
"Oui?"
"Could you make some, err... "Bûche de Noël"?"
The Frenchman went quickly from looking stunned to looking flattered, "Certainly. I, er, well, I was not aware you knew such food existed."
Alfred fought back a look of contempt, "Oh? Well, I do."
The older man strode into the kitchen, followed by Alfred, and acquainted himself quickly with the room's layout, grabbing a baking tin and going methodically through each cupboard and overhead counter, taking ingredients from each in turn with a final, satisfied mutter of "Okay". Afterwards, the man looked at each of the ingredients, even the eggs he had taken from the refrigerator, Alfred saw, with either distaste or disappointment.
"I will have to adjust the recipe. You do not exactly what I would have wished for," the man said sadly, before adding, "You can help me," Francis rolled up his sleeves, washing his hands and beginning to grease the tin, "Here, take these and rub the butter and sugar together for the buttercream."
"Er, okay," Alfred followed suit by washing his hands and began to do so, liking the feel of getting his hands a little cruddy and dirty.
The Frenchman worked in near silence, humming snatches of melody every so often, before he turned to Alfred and shot him a look a slightly conspiratorial look.
"This is pleasant."
"I guess so."
"And we must take advantage of this holiday to eat up and get a little fat before we head to Arthur's," Francis said, with a tone of foreboding, "I fear we will be left underwhelmed by the fare available there."
Alfred focused on grinding the sugar into the butter more vigorously.
"I suppose you know," Francis said next, as he poured the batter into the tin, "That me and Arthur once used to come and go together, as it were?" the man seemed to approve of his own choice of words.
"Yeah, I did. He told me," Alfred said, his tone staccato, "What about it?"
The Frenchman gave a shrug, "I wondered if you had ever questioned the man about it?" he unearthed from somewhere an old bottle of wine and, after a curious, permission seeking look at Alfred, uncorked it. Pouring them both a glass he took a sip, sliding the baking tin into the oven with a glance at the kitchen clock, "If you were curious about such things, that is."
"I guess I did, once. He didn't answer," Alfred drank his own wine a little too quick, swallowing a cough afterwards and speaking hoarsely, "It doesn't matter now," against his will, he felt his heart skip a little, "Are you together again or something?"
Francis gave him a disgusted look over his glass rim, "Non. I think not," he finished his drink, "It was always very strange with Arthur. He was always with someone else."
"You mean he two-timed you?"
"Non," Francis shook his head, "We never "dated", but I mean that we would be in bed and I would be..." he simply smiled rather than vocalised the thought, "Or he would be," again he smiled, "And we were never doing those things to each other. Or, if we were actually doing those things to each other, we came away rather bruised and battered from a few too many friendly slaps and punches. It is not good to do that too often."
"He was thinking about someone else," Alfred said, realising his hands inside the bowl had stopped moving altogether.
"Perhaps," Francis added, as a final thought on the matter, "Still, it was enjoyable. He is different in bed, less dusty and stuffy, less like one of his old books and more like the rough, dirty little secrets they contain, non? He has no real style or technique but his enthusiasm is very commendable," the man looked down at the abandoned buttercream, "I will show you how to do it properly."
Before Alfred could stop him the Frenchman was stood at his back, leaning over his shoulder slightly so that he could find and cup the backs of Alfred's hands and direct them down into the bowl once again.
"More like this," Francis murmured, "Persuade it to do as you wish, don't bully it, Alfred."
The American complied, all the while desperately trying to keep himself from either blushing or flinching at the touch. He couldn't help but feel, as Francis continued to stroke his hands into complying with his instructions, that the ingredients had been "persuaded" minutes before. Alfred tried to find the resolve to simply tell the man to quit whatever he was doing, as oppose to taking a more physical and violent approach. It was with gratitude, therefore, that Alfred heard his brother enter the kitchen.
"Um," Matthew studied the pair and, in particular, the rather satisfied expression Francis was sporting, "Am I interrupting something?"
"Of course not," Francis smiled, "You are always welcome. Here, help me beat these eggs for the meringue, Matthieu."
The Canadian, Alfred was sad to see, doomed himself by walking over to the Frenchman's side without a thought. The sacrifice did, however, give Alfred a chance to make good an escape.
December 19th,
From Ludwig to Kirkland, A
Arthur,
I am pleased that you have chosen to stay. I will pick you up from the airport, it is not a problem. Actually, my brother isn't here for the holidays (he's either been invited to stay with Roderich or he's invited himself, it wasn't clear). It seems pointless and, excuse me for saying so, pathetic for us to spend Christmas alone.
I have had a few more ideas about the Conference that I will discuss with you in person. Still, as much as you do not wish to hear it, I feel the activities you have selected for the weekend are in themselves inherently flawed both from the point of view of enabling us to attempt to reconcile our relationships and from the point of view of encouraging better relationships with the others as well. We have discussed already the one activity which I find very unadvisable. Please reconsider that activity, Arthur.
Ludwig
December 19th,
From Kirkland, A. to Ludwig
Ludwig,
No. I've paid and there's no chance of me getting a refund now. It's happening.
Let's just hope Alfred and Feliciano are on our team otherwise we really are dead,
Arthur