Author's notes: Long chapter ahead!
Warning: mention of violence
The next morning is just the same as every other. Waking together when the alarm goes off, Arthur takes the shower first no matter how it aches in his heart to slip from between the heated arms of the other. While he's in the bathroom, Alfred prepares their breakfast only wearing briefs and tank top and begins to choose his outfit for the day. Quietly appreciating each other's features they get dressed; Arthur looks down at his own abs and arms in pride and Alfred flexes his own biceps' as a reply. Both of them have a smug grin on their lips as the heroic and masculine flexing-show begins and ends shortly after. Arthur tries his best but has to admit, it would took years of training to be on his friend's level in muscularity, though he feels such pride and confidence that he's never felt before. Not only at the flexing muscles stretching beneath his skin but the lack of those puffy, soft fat lying on his hips and hanging on his upper arms fills him with self-appreciation. Only a glance at his friend proves that Alfred has been thinking the same, the only difference is that the man is stroking his own stomach muscles and pouts a little, calling his own body baby-names. Their efforts are paying off, though Arthur has to wipe his own face in the sudden wave of exhaustion. His partner is quite the self-admiring type, after all.
No word is uttered about last night. Breakfast is pleasant, the tiny space is filled with the sounds Alfred produces, munching on his French toast like a content child. He even has the mug of milk in front of him, the mug depicting superheroes. His eyes shine in glee as he checks Arthur out shamelessly, not caring about the embarrassment of the other, bright blue sky courting the burgeoning forest in spring.
The notion hanging in the air that they'll actually go after a criminal makes his heart beat feverishly.
. . .
During the day, usual Thursday, Arthur finds himself wondering about the occupation Alfred is getting him into.. It requires such an amount of background knowledge that he doubts could master sufficiently. Feeling a bit trapped still chasing the source of light, Arthur brushes through his hair and slightly shakes his head in order to clear his mind a little. His boss leaves him to his thoughts (and with a huge piles of books to be categorized and scanned), and the man rolls his eyes at the puny task he has to fulfil. This life is like the fire drowning in the lack of air but remaining lit, drawing dark figures and shapeless terror on the walls of future while the other...
From the weak spark of a candle it started... and now just keeps growing, bursting into flames and catches on everything around him. His heart is already in the pit of coals.
His entire being is gaining a new definition and just by merely breathing and standing by the piles in the storage of the shop... he feels his insides and mind obtaining new concepts of life. Living by Alfred's side... too close to the base of flames still distant. Their centres, their souls will never mend the way they desire although their need to grasp on each other is undeniable.
His mind drifts from the aspects of the job to the notion Alfred used over and over again. Researcher, hunter... staying away from the front lines, the researcher prepares the safe ground for the hunter to walk on... but still being left behind with nothing more than the empty promise of the other's arrival and the waiting to chew his mind up slowly. He could already picture himself going mad, insanely expecting Alfred's arrival. He would lose his mind in no time. His desire is to accompany the hero, as an ultimate goal hanging in the air above all that would matter otherwise.
He's already losing it. He's not his usual self around the man and it burns his conscience with the dark pit of lust in his heart. One half of him is desperate, wouldn't hesitate to devour him and let his own self to be melted into Alfred's touches, into his life... the other half is painfully alert and demands his willpower to not leave from a certain safe distance from the hero. To be close means to be seen and noticed, it keeps him alarmed no matter how their intimacy and understanding is growing almost day after day. To be around Alfred means exposing himself to a danger he decided to run away from nevertheless he himself cannot give a correct name to the object of fear. The mere thought and feeling that sends jolts of energy through his veins, shouting and ordering him to run, flee and just get free of all closeness, all touches and the intimacy that cages him and buries his senses alive... just the memory of the sentiment, that piercing and almost instinctive despair brings goose bumps on his back and arms.
Though Alfred has no means of doing harm to him... and his burning heart cries for the mere presence of the other. Knowing that he is not around, recognising the fact in his mind once again... his heart clenches in longing. Adventure, passion, safety... how can a single man hold all these concepts in his mere existence?
If he'd be here, he'd be making fun of the whole situation but actually they'd never get to the end of the task, namely because of the dork that would read every cover of every book, ask Arthur about them and would start debates around the topics in the descriptions. As the time would pass however, Alfred would become lazy and bored, leave the task back to Arthur and since he's such a pest anyways, he'd go on his nerves and annoy him to gain his attention. The even more embarrassing and infuriating fact is that he wouldn't be fed up with his presence because after all, Alfred would be near him. Remembering his eyes, the pair of vivid blue resembling the sky of a fresh spring day, Arthur takes a deep breath and stiffens the strings in his heart.
There's no doubt about Arthur's willpower, failing its own principles. After all, sometimes one has to lose a battle to win another, it is a simple, universal law of life.
. . .
Alfred brings Chinese take-away so they won't have to bother with cooking that evening. It seems both of them are restless in anticipation, not even a quick hug is shared between them: Arthur takes the packs of food from the man's hands and begins to prepare enough tea and coffee for the evening. In return, Alfred is quick in setting the laptop ready, logging in and ready to explain the charts of statistics to Arthur about the frequencies of several types of crimes committed. Since he considers himself to be a young amateur in the field, he's mostly after thieves and occasionally dares to accept more difficult cases, only with the advice and approval of his mentor- and colleague, the Great Dane and the team of that man.
The area of Maine is more quiet in comparison with other states. Arthur learns quickly that it is an actual legal phenomenon to be a bounty hunter and since not all of the states provide this system, Maine is among those who do it only in cases of emergency or accept cases from different states. In connection with that, the people Alfred hunts are mostly not citizens of Maine although if the police or the FBI informs him about a local problem, he's more than glad to help.
"After all, that's what heroes do. The money is secondary," he tells as if this was the most universal fact of life, aware of the slightly tired humming of the blonde. "I'm not doing it for the money."
"Yea, right."
Just from the roll of Alfred's eyes Arthur knows the young man doesn't want to go into details; he turns back to the screen but seeing the tiny pull on his lips, the Englishman is certain of the other's annoyance.
"So: as expected there are more hunters in the area but you've met only me so far, I'd like to keep it that way for a while. It would be better if you'd get used to this all, learn the ways and the rules as well," with that, Alfred opens another page on the screen and highlights the title. "This is the website with all legal matters. What we can do, what we mustn't do. For example, I have the badge that I'm a bounty hunter, I may use violence in certain cases, not only for self-defence. I may enter into other people's houses with their consent but I may enter without it if there's a direct threat to civilians in the residence, I'm allowed to use violence and I'll not be sued if I hurt the criminal or accidentally someone else. There are several cases when I'm allowed to enter without consent as well, there's a list about them. You see now, why we are being watched; if one of us picks a violent hobby or starts drinking it will be problematic."
The blonde only nods, his mind soaking the information up and practically gluing everything into his memory, he only looks up into the confident deep-blue eyes to encourage the other.
"Read these laws and rules and you should know all you have to about the limitations and general obligations. Everything is separated into topics so you'll find it by categories. For tonight the most important part would be the 'Encounter' part," and he's already jumping to the article, only to sigh and click with his tongue. "Read it now, if you have questions I'll answer them."
In the very minute Arthur takes the laptop and turns it to have a comfortable angle, much to Alfred's surprise. It is tangible in the air that for the young hero it is strange and foreign to introduce his own world to someone else; it fills him with the shake of realization of being different from the normal people yet being tolerable for one. Arthur is right beside him, his eyes narrowing in focus in order to memorize and comprehend all written information. Pride grows and stretches Alfred's heart with the sudden urge to stroke Arthur's back and display his gratefulness along with his enlarging affection. The man sitting next to him hides his mouth as a natural gesture and with the other hand, hugs his own middle to support his posture as his mind loses the ground of reality and sinks among the dry words of judicial sentences. Concentrating deeply, Arthur doesn't realize the way he is being looked at, watched and analyzed by the young American. His posture, tiny gestures and unconscious moves are being read and deducted.
Not even a few minutes later, Alfred is sure in his assumptions. He's already been sure that Arthur has been hurt way before their encounter, he has assumed problematic teenage years but his newest observations have brought new and different information to him. A part of his mind makes a mental note to be more careful around his partner, knowing that soon he'll introduce psychology, the science of deduction and criminology to his friend; he'll also have to be cautious of his own actions. After all, Arthur will desire to practice on someone...
But there was one more test he wanted to do, before the final conclusion.
Casually standing up and stepping to the counter to pour more coffee, with a swift move he pulls a simple glass in front of him and pretends to be clumsy for a second. He's right behind Arthur, he doesn't have to look to know the man doesn't pay attention to his action right now. With a silent apology before-hand, Alfred pretends to stumble and all of a sudden, pushes the glass from the counter. The item falls and he catches it with a loud yelp, eyes already glued on the other man.
The sudden loud yelling causes Arthur to freeze on the chair. His shoulders, controlled by his unconscious are pulled up as he ducks his head and obviously squeezed his eyes shut, his elbows and upper arms held tightly to his sides. All of a sudden, the blonde seems to be shrunken, frozen and like a caged animal, waiting for his fate to fall upon him. The moment is still not passing, Alfred merely places the glass back on the counter with a knowing, dark frown on his forehead.
There. Right there. All of the expected reactions are being displayed as Arthur's mind perceives the absence of threat still stays to be alert. The man, unaware of his own actions, pulls the sleeves of his shirt onto his hands to hide his fingers, releases a sigh but swallows and barely moving his head makes an attempt to look behind. His breathing is slightly ragged since he's trying to take control of it again, obviously his pulse beats loud and heavy in his veins. "You okay?"
"Yea. My hand slipped."
He shifts and sits beside the blonde, fakes a chuckle and checks the page but from his peripheral sight he studies the other. Arthur's iris is shrunken in the haunting memory of fear, eyes widened but forced not to look like that. The simple fact that minutes later his knees are still held tightly together, his arms are still pulled and flexed right next to his figure and the sleeves of his jumper are still pulled over his knuckles while he's picking and scratching the skin, convince the young man.
. . .
By the evening Arthur knows all he has to, however his knowledge is sufficient for only these kinds of cases. Thief and violent person, their first common target will face a team that is merely trying its wings of cooperation. Alfred tries to help him by suggesting a strategy, which in the Englishman's opinion is rather stupid. He disagrees, draws another plan on the sketchbook but just as he did, Alfred disagrees with him as well. Their childish interaction is only distracted by the time; by ten o'clock they are struggling to understand each other's reasons (without any success) and although Alfred wants the hunt to be well-planned, the plan has to be his.
Rubbing his temple in annoyance and exhaustion (not from the constant arguing but from having such a strong-headed sparrow-brained American to deal with), Arthur stands to take the equipment from the drawer. Bullet-proof vest, wristbands, ankle-bands, gloves and black cap, his most comfortable shoes and jacket. He reminds Alfred not to forget the emergency-phone before departure.
.. .
"Good Lord, it's cold."
"There is more fat to gain for you then."
"Not with your cooking."
Arthur rolls his eyes in annoyance, "shut up, you twit."
"I lost the ability to obey such degrading commands."
Once again, Arthur tightens his fingers into a grip and resists the urge to punch the other in the shoulder. They should be quiet after all... but the choice of words and the proud voice rubs something inside of him and Arthur grumbles beneath his nose, just not to answer anything rude.
He sighs, takes a deep breath from the frozen air of Augusta and slightly shakes his head. No. They're after a criminal, they should act like professional hunters. But either of them is one. In his silent wondering he doesn't notice as Alfred starts bouncing beside him, sinking a bit by every step he makes and rising high at the next; boredom and anticipation battling inside. At the sight the blonde sighs again. Giant five years old.
They pass beside cars and empty intersections, making their way towards the centre. The streets lack light; there are merely insufficient and dim glooms of yellow, pouring on the dirty grey asphalt and the pavement. Their steps melt in the shadows as their figures bend and unite occasionally, a peculiar sight to observe how broad and vast Alfred seems beside him.
The town centre, though lit and maintained lies in numbness and quiet reluctance as if it refused to give any information about their target still lying open and ready. The usual drunks and young bands barely make it different; their groups and loners stray like packs of animals; the thought draws a knowing smile on the blonde's lips. Without glancing on the other he senses the shift of mood; Alfred picks a slower pace at intersections, alleys and when they pass beside other people. For the time being Arthur silently obeys, occasionally they switch sides or he is the one slowing down to watch an alley.
The hours pass in frost and in an unspoken, crawling tension. The man they are looking for must be in the area they are observing still they cannot get a hold of him. Hearing Alfred hiss in annoyance when they encounter a disturbingly noisy group of teenagers brings him to a sudden decision.
"Let's split up."
The frown on the other bears such heavy and strong emotions that Arthur has to raise his own eyebrows, "woah, now what?"
Worry, rejection and the attempt to look bossy flash through the dark blue eyes, he even hardens the tone of his voice as he speaks again, "Arthur, don't be stupid."
The man's jaw drops, hearing this sentence. He gapes and stops abruptly on the pavement, shakes his head and opens his arms. "What? Why?"
The young hero rolls his eyes, yet again there is a universal law of life that Arthur doesn't know yet. The feeling creates a knot of shame and annoyance in the slightly shorter blonde; his fist tightens and his own frown deepens. "Now what?"
"Arthur, everyone knows that every time someone said 'let's split up' in a movie, someone died and either of us are black so according to the movie-laws you wouldn't die but you would be kidnapped or injured later if we split up now."
Resisting the urge to face-palm himself, Arthur merely shudders from the stupid argument he just heard, "I'm not a chick, I can protect myself, that's why we were training."
"Not on the first mission. Maybe on the second, maybe later, but not on the first. Come, stay by my side," he motions, only to stir the urge to object for the sake of objection in the other but no matter how hard he tries, Arthur is unable to spit any coherent, reasonable answer. The man who is three years younger than him, is right, his attire and words carry rock-hard confidence that cannot be questioned. Bowing his head in hesitance and submission, the blonde sinks his gloved hands into his pockets and walks up to the other only to continue their patrol in mutual silence. Their atmosphere changes as they follow the paths and of course, Alfred's lead.
Still pouting, a habit he borrows from the hero walking beside him, Arthur glances aside in childish resistance, not even wanting to see his friend in his sight. It is hard enough to digest his defeat, seeing Alfred focusing and being so good in what he does just makes everything worse. The streets echo the sounds of their steps which sometimes provide gentle tapping and crunching of snow. The breeze, the light and the darkness swallows, surrounds and beyond the borders of the weak lamps' rays, Arthur wonders about the hidden dangers Alfred talks about. What could the streets, gloomy shadows or corners covered in black show anything new to him? Avoiding getting hit or dodging attacks in general was on his daily routines once and feeling confidence grow in his chest, Arthur believes he could handle everything at this point again. He has more strength than ever, after all.
Reaching the area of the downtown district, Alfred's complete attire changes. His posture, normally casually loose shoulders, easy steps and hands held merely in his pockets without any stiff move, transform into something Arthur would recognise to be similar to a predator's pacing. A canine or a larger feline with the shoulders flexed down and slightly backwards, elbows pulled slightly back if he'll jump into running in an instant it'd be easier to help the acceleration, hips and spine moving in one vertical angle. Suddenly becoming aware of his own pose, Arthur wonders if his posture would be efficient if there's be a chase, after all, he's not use to sprints... usually when they jog, they do some warming-up beforehand.
"We're close," the voice of his partner also dropped; fixing his eyes on his entire surroundings, Alfred barely opens his mouth.
"How do you know?"
"Just listen and watch."
For a couple of seconds Arthur is puzzled, his eyes dart to alleys and intersections but when Alfred clears his voice the Englishman's attention perks even higher.
"I'll yell now. Don't be scared. If he jumps up and starts running, we'll go after him. Remember: his left leg is limp, he's short and probably has weapon."
"Wait, what? How do you know he's here?"
"I've known it for a while. I'll tell you later. Shh!" He clears his throat and suddenly stops walking, making Arthur stop abruptly as well. It takes only a few seconds as their gazes meet, radiant blue with wide, alarmed and poisonously vivid green.
The streets carry the sound of Alfred's voice before it echoes and leaves the air in frost silence again. The young man shouts as if Arthur had startled him and would be shocked, holding the other's gaze sternly but in fact his voice brought chills on the blonde's spine. Surprise and a previously unknown jolt of thrill sends electricity down his form as he spots the indeed short man, around a hundred meters ahead of them now bolting from a corner. The man in shaggy black coat pretends to stumble and hold onto a wall but even Arthur could see that it is only an act. The man looks back at them through his dirty, shoulder-long hair, his gaze wakes something inside the Englishman that fast grabs a hold on the situation. There's the target.
Before he realizes what he's doing, he flexes his arms, shoulders and tightens his fist into an iron-tight grip. His legs tingle from the inside, feet restless and with a deeper breath he glances up on his partner, only to see the same effects. Alfred's eyes carry the same wildness, that uncanny instinct of hunt when their conscious removes every other reasonable thoughts and suddenly becomes aware of the surroundings in a different aspect.
The target limps. Can't run fast, which means in short-distance he's more dangerous. His tactics are defensive mannered, just like Arthur's but since he's older he's more experienced either in dodging or creating blockades for his attackers. In the coat there must be weapons. Knife or gun, preferably knife since it's easier to carry, a gun has more weight and is more dangerous for the self as well. The target doesn't have many options to escape, though in alleys he can hide. Keeping him away from alleys is important. Alfred will directly attack, he'll be the chaser.
"Behind the trashbin."
"From the right," Alfred nods, rolling his shoulders and watching the criminal stumbling, a quite horrible act of pretending to be drunk. "I'll take him down."
"Right. I'm the back-up."
A silent pause is between them, a moment before both begin to run but since either of them knows exactly when should they step into sprinting, the sounds and puffs of their breath fill the space. First to move is Alfred but predictably Arthur is the one practically bolting from his place and with his actions he both surprises and pleases his new partner. The slightly shorter man steps in front of the other just to jump out on the open road of the town and run as fast as he could to cut the ways of escape from the criminal. The man in the shaggy coat shudders and holds onto the wall before turning and beginning to run as well, no matter how ridiculously slow and painful his motions seem. Arthur is quick in getting to the other side of the street and on his way, checks the cars and alleys as well: all empty or insignificant.
The fugitive pushes the trash-bin and its contains pour out on the pavement. The crashing sound pierces through the numb street, shadows and frozen wind carry the noise along with the tapping of the two men's feet. Alfred is already there, without a struggle he leaps through the rubbish and is quick to grab the sleeve of the man, with a thunder-fast jerk he drags the fugitive to the wall but with that he provokes the criminal to pull his knife out. The blade flashes in the pale street lights, forcing Alfred to jump back several steps and stabilize his position. Arthur is late, he states inside and decides to act anyway.
"Let me go! Back off!"
The dirty man stinks from sweat and the filth of travelling; the blue-eyed man knows in an instant that the criminal is on the last string of his patience as well. Judging the edge of his words, the high-pitched voice which resembles the tone of a caged and starved animal only looking for a small opportunity to break free, Alfred tightens his fist and once again, reconsiders his own options. His mind closes the environment out and focuses only on the rather unstable person in front of him.
"I know who you are, kid!" The man spits, even in the weak light of the dark street Alfred can see his teeth flash. "I'll tell everyone about you!"
Being distracted by talking, the man is unable to react in time when Alfred steps forwards and with a simple move grabs his wrist and turns it up and out, forcing it to drop the weapon in an instant while his other hand delivers a forceful hit in the old man's guts to bring him down on his knees. What he doesn't expect is that the criminal knows the technique: he puts his injured leg in front of himself and grabs the American's hip, by that confusing the young man. Eyes widened in shock and alarm, the bespectacled tries to jerk his whole body back but the old fox reaches into his own coat again, takes another knife out and is ready to plunge it in between the ribs.
Green eyes fuming in poisonous rage scan the scene. He has seconds left to act.
In the frantic struggle the dark-blonde barely registers the powerful kick that brings the fugitive off him but hears as the man yelps in pain and anger; like a furious animal he's ready to stand again but meets a quick sting into the junction of his shoulder. Without even seeing the flash of the next attack, he loses his balance as a fist punches directly into the upper part of his stomach, right below his ribs and thus blocking his breathing and for a deadly moment even his heartbeat skips from the impact. Stumbling backwards, the only notion he has in mind is to raise his arms in defence though this makes his situation even worse. This other attacker makes his arms go limp in a second and the shot of fury fills the old man's whole mind again as he sees the taller, spectacled man blocking his way from the other side of the road. He's trapped.
The last thing his conscious notes is that a sharp hit, more like a thorough sting finds the middle of his chest above his heart, and another, much heavier punch from the side encloses him into darkness.
. . .
The police station in Augusta is a white building behind a huge park. The entrance is small and although there are more gates, the one Alfred uses is the most obvious one: the front. Arthur has no idea what is to come, it doesn't matter that he's read the rules on the website, the flow of events leave him in uncertainty. Dragging the tied up fugitive from the backseat and taking him on the shoulder as if the man hadn't any weight in particular, Alfred motions towards the station and the Englishman begins to walk behind him.
Regardless of the late hour, the officer in the entrance hall greets them with cheerful welcome; Arthur is taken aback by the enthusiasm however Alfred is more than ready to act the same as the young police staff. He practically drops the old man from his shoulder to the floor (ignoring his yelp of pain) and squeezes the offered hand of the officer tight, "finally, good to see you."
"Same here, my boy, and it's my job to say 'finally'. This one took a while for you to catch."
Arthur's eyes slightly widen at the statement, he even takes a step back hesitantly when Alfred scratches the nape of his neck apologetically, makes a face and shrugs, "Yea', this knew how to hide well. 'Had to know his habits first."
"It's good that he's here," nods the black-haired man, he places his hands on his hips in a rather self-assured way that matches the shift of weight he makes from one foot to another. "That's where he belongs... now, come on and take your reward."
"Amm, just a sec, mister?" Alfred pretends to hesitate, Arthur knowss the childish act in his voice too well to sense what is to come; the stranger policeman in the black uniform raises an eyebrow and his eyes jump onto the Englishman in an instant, realizing his existence and his being in the station as well. The moment their eyes meet, Arthur feels his iris widen in terror; he's quick to pull himself together this time but when Alfred clears his throat, the blonde squeezes his eyes shut.
No. Don't...
"That's my partner. I mean, I'm training him to be but he was a great help tonight. You might see him later again," he announces, beaming with bright satisfaction and pride at the mention of 'his' training. "Actually we knocked this guy out together!" He adds, cheerful pride rings in his voice
"Nice, nice," the officer nods and measures Arthur, eyes running up and down on his figure with the icy, stinging absence of interest. "Alright, stay here until Jones finishes the paperwork."
"I'll be right back," beams the dark-blonde and seeing those sky-blue eyes dancing and sparkling in happiness restores a tad bit of Arthur's confidence as well. He hums and watches as two other officers pull the fugitive away on the ground (still holding him tied) and silently bears the sight of his partner disappearing behind a glass door which leads further into the station. The only opportunity to occupy himself with is sitting down and trying to cope with his fundamental fear of police officers.
. . .
Apparently for Alfred their success equals celebration in the same restaurant they visited when Arthur decided to move in with him. He orders a bunch of chocolate muffins, steaks for both of them, French fries (chips!) and cola. Upon seeing the vast image of food in front of himself Arthur braces himself inside and resists a shudder. He's going to throw up just from the sight of those huge plates and when they arrive he indeed feels a foreshadow of defeat.
The hero munches, swallows, drinks and meanwhile his gaze wanders all around the peaceful, silent and nearly empty diner. When his eyes find Arthur he smiles with a closed-mouth beam, occasionally grunts and hums in contentment. Indeed, the blonde himself allows a tiny smile on his lips, seeing his friend in such an elated state of being.
Time goes by, the dessert arrives and though Arthur is more than full, Alfred is ready to take a bite of muffin into his mouth; although his motions are beginning to slow both in speed and enthusiasm. He's getting his tummy full after a tiring and risky night of work and feels uplifted by having his friend close to him (the sentiments urge him to entwine their fingers, blinking and humming knowingly when he spots the soft redness on the other's cheeks), having double-chocolate muffins and seeing the world falling back into its right order. The share of their desserts, the reward for the fugitive, Arthur gently holding his hand fills a previously unknown void in the young man's heart and sends comfortable warmth to pool in all parts of his being.
As if it was the most heart-warming scene ever in his life, Arthur curses himself for his soft feelings towards this young man. The hard moments, the risky seconds seem distant and insignificant compared to what he has now...
"Man, I need a chocolate-mint shake too."
A giant, endless vortex of fast-food consumption.
Merely sighing, Arthur talks to the lady behind the counter to have a large sized shake for the hero, just to distract the staff a little... knowing that probably the whole restaurant focuses on their 'lovely' interaction. In the small intermission he leans in a little and whispers in the space between them, cautious eyes directly gazing into the content blue ones.
"You know... you still haven't told me how did you know he was there?"
Alfred raises an eyebrow, darts his eyes first to left then to the right as a display of confusion, shakes his head then swallows the large bite he held inside his mouth, "you mean... the old man?"
"Yes."
With a simple shrug and a pull on his lips as if it was another general fact of the universe Arthur misses, the young man hums, "I've been tracking him for two months, I got to know his routes and reactions. Psychology and deduction, mainly. I recognised him around eleven o'clock and by the time we actually met him he wandered into the district I wanted him to go. You'll know that technique too, soon. For the first hunt, you were awesome."
That doesn't exactly give the answer he wanted, but definitely, it's answer... what he gets afterwards is the reply he wouldn't expect at all. It leaves him dumbstruck, green eyes widened with disbelief and sudden anger at the other with the urge to object in the very second...
"Look, in gaming terms I'd say you're a noob and for a minute I wasn't even sure if you were really there or not but we did just fine."
"I made sure the street is clear, isn't that among the things that has to be done? I arrived as fast as I could but you were already in trouble, he almost got you!" He hisses back, fighting to maintain his control since in the restaurants they must keep their conversation as quiet as possible.
"Yes, but you were the one saying to be the back-up! I thought you'll be right behind me but shoot it, you were just a bit late," and he bits into a muffin again, looking straight in the other's eyes with such confidence that causes Arthur to open his arms in surrender.
"Alright. What are you suggesting?" He places his arms back on the table but crosses them, meaning to keep his opinion for himself; the way of communication Alfred knows like the palm of his hand. In the end, the American even chuckles a little, shifts and stands to change his place and sit right beside his new partner on the other side of the table, to look in his eyes and by this, tell him about his trust, reassurance and simple presence as well. His nearness causes Arthur to pull his hands into his lap protectively and to keep the distance he wishes for; nevertheless Alfred smiles and fights the desire to take Arthur's jaw into his hands and plead for his attention in that way.
Right there, right then, he can only look in the overwhelmed, intimidated still breathtakingly hoping eyes and wish that his words will carry the meaning and affection he carries in his chest.
"I'm trying to say that since that moment, you're the bravest man I've known in my life, and I'm proud of you," here, he chuckles and has to break their gaze for a second before glancing back. "And of course, proud of myself too."
. . .
Again... again, they are not at home, not in the sheltering warmth and behind closed doors, they're out and open for intruders, gazes... in that very moment, Arthur's body, soul and heart is in sweltering fire. He can't help it, the only action he's capable of doing is grasping the hand squeezing his and giving in his weaknesses. He's ashamed, pathetic, his cheeks and ears are burning in embarrassment, just how cheesy and awkward they can get but it's still not enough?
If they'd be at home... or just in the car, in a place not so open, Arthur would bet they'd lose their precious control that is already dancing on the edge of a blade. They'd lose it and throw all of the rules away. Alfred would already be on top of him hugging him tight or the other way around and the world would be shut out for the next few hours.
Oh, how bad he wishes for that to happen. It takes his breath away and twirls his senses.
. . .
One thought lingers in his mind on the way home and as he stares out on the car's window he allows a smile to hide in the corner of his mouth. Alfred's hand caresses his on the top of his thigh and no matter how intimate it is Arthur doesn't know when he felt the same secure openness with him the last time. It has been long... far too long. Since New Year's Eve.
"Let's get some cookies on the way back."
Frowning, the Englishman grunts in protest and glances at the full tummy of the otherwise fit and lean friend who looks back at him with the best set of his puppy-eye collection.
"Just one box of muffins theen!" He nags, earning a tired moan again.
"Do you just ever get tired of eating?"
At that, the dark-blonde rolls his eyes in consideration, pretends to think deeply and as a reply he merely hums.
"Ummmm... no. There's a shop on the next corner."
. . .
Author's Notes:
How did you like it?
Soo we wander in to a more mature world very soon with the boys, not only occupation-wise but in their interactions will change as well. I'll post here the purely "T" rated version but the explicit "M" version will be on my AO3 account.
Even there, feel free to comment/review, I love to see every single message I get. : ) Thank you for your support guys, without you I'm not sure if I'd be writing it. Review/comment, whatever your impression is, I'd love to hear. :3