Alfred was utterly fascinated. Logically, he had known that other countries had militaries; of course they did. However, it was only his first week in England, so you can't blame him. Alfred worked at a little restaurant right down the street from an airport, and the first thing soldiers want when they get home is some good food.
And so they came into The Family Diner—not a family diner, thefamily diner—wearing their uniforms; Alfred absolutely loved it. A returning Vet would come into the diner, their spouse on one arm, kids bright-eyed and grinning, wanting nothing more than to share a meal as a family.
The man who stood in front of Alfred today had no family. He stood, back straight and hat held under one arm. The uniform was sharp: a black suit, end of the sleeves striped in gold, and medals adorning the front. It was the first of its kind Alfred had seen.
"Welcome to The Family Diner," Alfred greeted, eyes roaming over the uniform with interest. "Any preference in seating for your meal today?"
The soldier cleared his throat, and Alfred finally made eye contact. The soldier raised an eyebrow.
"An American, of course I'd be stuck with an American. Near a window, please."
Alfred grinned, grabbing the man a menu. "Will anyone be joining you today? Right this way—or will you be dining alone?"
"Alone."
"Ah, that's too bad."
The man took his seat, opening the menu Alfred offered. Alfred remained hovering. "I'm Alfred, I'll be your server today. Would you like a drink to start out with? And if you don't mind me asking, what branch of the military are you in?"
The man sighed and shut the menu. "Americans." Despite the obvious annoyance in his voice, a smile was flickering across the soldier's face. "Some Darjeeling tea, if you have any." Alfred had no idea what that was. "And I'm in the Navy."
Alfred, despite himself, took a seat across from the man. "Really? That's a really spiffy—" Spiffy, really? "—Outfit, do you wear that on the boat or…? Do people call you captain?"
The man's faint humor disappeared, and he observed Alfred with a wary curiosity. "We don't usually wear this, no. I had to go to a silly ball thing, and it required more formal dress. I'm a vice admiral."
Alfred nodded, eye once again flicking over the medals. "Alright, so it would be Admiral…?"
A second passed, but the man answered. "Admiral Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland."
Alfred grinned. "Alright, Admiral Kirkland Arthur Kirkland, I'll be right back with your tea." He stood, heading toward the kitchen.
As Alfred entered the kitchen, he was completely stumped. "Hey, what the hell is Farjeelin tea? Some guy was asking for it, because he couldn't order Earl Grey like every other British dude who walks into this place."
Francis, a man who was probably the only reason the food tasted decent, looking around from the grill and smirked. "Darjeeling? It's the little blue box, you…" He descended into playful French teasing, none of which Alfred could understand.
Alfred quickly made two cups of tea, yelling over his shoulder to Francis that he was taking his break, and to get some other poor sap to cover his tables, it wasn't that busy anyways. He returned, sitting back down across from Arthur.
"Ah, you sat back down," Arthur murmured, taking a cautious sip of his tea. His eyes widened, and Alfred felt a flush of pride. He may be no Englishman, but his tea making skills were well honed.
Arthur caught Alfred's gaze and quickly broke it. "Tell me, Alfred, do you flirt with every military personnel that walks in here?"
Alfred took a sip of his tea, mind racing. "What? I just wanted to talk about the Navy, and like, your uniform. Who's flirting? Could it be, Admiral Kirkland Arthur Kirkland, that you're flirting withme?"
Arthur, the serious vice admiral, refused to make eye contact again, focusing on his tea like it was the whole world. Alfred wasn't sure if he was flirting; Arthur did look stunning in that uniform of his, his blond hair contrasting nicely with the black of his suit, the well-fitting—
"But what is living on a boat like?" Alfred asked, leaning forward and resting his chin in his hand.
Arthur considered the question. "Terrifying if you can't swim."
"What?" Alfred tried to control his face, he really did, but a grin spread across it, and then he was laughing, nearly spilling his tea. "Who goes into the Navy if they can't swim?" He finally choked out, removing his glasses to wipe away tears.
"Someone very brave," Arthur said quietly, watching Alfred like he was a dog chasing its own tail and smirking.
"You're very funny, Admiral Kirkland Arthur Kirkland."
Arthur shrugged. "And you make crappy tea, Alfred."