Wow it has been a really long time, huh? I am very sorry about that and thank you for your patience! Thank you for your lovely and kind reviews as well. They and some encouraging probing from a few individuals have finally gotten me to write this chapter out at long last.
After coaxing another round of ale out of England, America has enough of a buzz that the pain caused by the royal ass is bearable. There's also the comfort that his rapid healing rate will make this end fairly soon. England has gone surprisingly quiet. Probably plotting more ways he can get off to himself vicariously through another person. Making someone stare at a map during sex, so narcissistic. And England wonders where he gets it from.
England's fingers trace lightly over the rope. Although he's still determined to figure Alfred out, part of that is now dedicated to how he is going to use this acquired knowledge to seduce the lad. There is no way someone else can possibly compete with him. Not when he's determined. England has acquired a taste for getting what he wants after all, and he would hate to break this trend.
Determining they have spent enough time in this place, England stands. "We will be leaving now. Come along, Alfred."
America is only too glad to be leaving. "Can we get something to eat, then? I'm starving!"
Giving Alfred a quick look over, it is hard for England to believe that Alfred has been starving a day in his life. Dramatic little thing. That is alright, England doesn't mind a little dramatic language. "It has been quite the exciting day for you, I am sure. Very well, I'll arrange for food."
They make their way towards England's house, America making a very conscious effort to keep his stride smooth. Laying down sounds nice about now but he can take it. Besides, it's not like he's going to give England that satisfaction. Goodness knows he's smug enough as it is. Big smug-faced jerk.
Despite Alfred's negative perception, England remains rather pleasant to him on the way back. He keeps the conversation to light topics that contain subtle inquiries into more personal details about Alfred. The more he knows about him the better, after all.
Upon entering the house England looks Alfred's disheveled appearance over more critically. "How about we get you some fresh clothing before I see to dinner? You may properly clean up and rest while you wait."
America pauses, a little taken aback that he's being so hospitable and something close to nice. Then he shrugs it off. Free food is free food after all, and he is pretty inclined towards clean clothes. "Sounds good to me!"
Lips tugging up in a slight smile, England nods and leads him forward. America follows after, abruptly realizing that he'll be eating England's cooking. He sighs to himself. Oh well, at this point he's hungry enough it doesn't matter.
They enter a room and England opens a wardrobe, pulling clothes from it. He holds a few things up, scowling at them as he judges their worthiness, then tosses them here or there. Finally he brings a shirt up and holds it against Alfred, nodding with a pleased expression on his face. "Yes this will do nicely. It compliments your eyes."
For a brief moment he looks up to meet Alfred's eyes, expression mildly suggestive. America meets his in return, confusion rising over the pause. He tilts his head. "Oh… ok."
England barely restrains himself from snorting as he turns back to the wardrobe. Alfred is completely oblivious. It is charming in its way but… He gathers together a handful of clothing and turns to push them at Alfred. "Very well. Put these things on, then. Anything else you need? If not I will call for you when supper is ready."
As much as America wants a proper bath he knows better than to ask this time around. "I think I can somehow manage myself from here without total disaster following, yeah."
"If you insist." England closes the door behind him and America looks the clothes over.
After a moment of debate he starts going through the rest of the clothes and trades a few items out. Some of it just looks so stupid overall he can hardly believe it. A few items of clothing give him a good laugh. Boy is he sure glad he's never lived through any stupid looking fashion trends! Nope, not a single one, none at all.
After getting himself freshened up, Alfred collapses belly first onto the bed. After pulling a pillow close and making himself comfortable he stares at the room. Great, now what? Just a lot of waiting. He hates waiting so much. For a while he thinks over his Burgerman script and then even that loses its luster. He turns and something digs into his hip.
Making a small grunt of discomfort America reaches down to move it. He pulls the pocket watch up. Strange thing that it is. What's even the point of such a magical item (or whatever it's supposed to be)?
Shifting his position a few times more, America clicks it open and looks the inside over. The hand is about halfway to the six. He dangles it in the air as he examines it a while longer then closes it, holding it lazily in his fist. This is boring.
America abruptly sits up. He's in a different time period in the past around things he has never seen in his whole life! Or at least not when they were brand spanking new. It's a great opportunity to do stuff! Stuff that can only be done in the year 1595! All he needs to do is think of something. Something worthwhile…
~.
When the food has been set out England goes to retrieve Alfred. It's a somewhat light supper but it should be good enough for the glutton. After all, one can only expect so much on such short notice and this has taken longer to arrange than he'd have liked.
The door to the room is still closed and England is admittedly surprised that Alfred has stayed put. In fact he's been worrying over the lad running amok all over the house in a state of boredom. So he has some self-control after all.
England knocks on the door. "Alfred? Alfred, are you ready to eat?"
There's a muffled sound from inside but no response. Frowning slightly, England knocks harder. "Alfred? What are you doing in there?"
When there is still no real response, England senses that something has gone horribly wrong (or else something incredibly foolish is afoot). He tests the doorknob and finds it turns easily. Right, onwards then. He bursts into the room. "Alfred!"
The room is perfectly fine until England's eyes reach the bed. It has been piled high with pillows, blankets, and unknown items that are propping the former items up. For a moment his voice fails him. What is this mess? "Alfred, what has gotten into your head?"
There's some rustling and America's head pops up from between a few pillows. "Hi, Arthur! Like it?"
England has to turn away for a second and ask himself quite earnestly if he truly wants to spend effort on wooing this man. He turns to look at America and is once more charmed by the bright smile that is flashed at him. The annoyance diminishes and he merely scrunches his eyebrows together. "Was this mess necessary?"
"Pretty much. You don't mind right? I mean just look at it!" America laughs happily. He better not mind. This thing is a work of art! Best pillow fort. A fort built in this grand year of 1595!
England reaches up to rub the bridge of his nose, swallowing another small surge of annoyance. "Charming. The food is ready and we should get a move on unless you want it all to be cold."
America brightens and squirms his way out of the fort, trying very hard not to knock it all down. Some damage is done as he has more or less barricaded himself within it while building but it is minimal. There's a small pang of pain that shoots through him and he hisses. Shit. This food better be good, Arthur owes him.
As America slips past him England can't help but look back at the jumble of pillows and blankets that will have to be tidied up. And for what? For this child's amusement, honestly. "Is there a point to that?"
"Hmm?" America glances back at him, pausing on one of the stairs.
"That mess back there." Arthur gestures with a slight turn of his head.
America's smile returns again and he laughs. "For fun, of course!"
"Oh, of course, my mistake." The former doubts crawl back in. They are temporarily distracted as he notices that Alfred isn't wearing exactly what he told him to. He follows, looking him up and down. "I see you found some issue with my choices in clothing."
"I wouldn't worry about it too much. I just liked some other stuff better. But I got myself dressed and everything. Aren't you proud?" America's smile turns slightly mocking and England's eyes narrow.
"Dreadfully so."
America throws himself at his chair, more excited about eating than arguing over clothes. That's a topic he'll have many, many fights with England over in the future…America's past… Both. He regrets his hasty movement immediately as pain shoots up his back again. Ouch. Fuck. Why had he done that? He winces and grits his teeth for a moment.
Being far calmer about it and clearly amused, England takes the seat to his right. "Try not to hurt yourself, love."
After making a face at England to let him know what a dick he is for even saying that, America returns his attention to the food. It takes him off guard. All of it actually looks really good and edible. What is this witchcraft?
"Go on, help yourself." England has already started to dish up, looking a bit smug with himself.
Still blown away, America begins to fill a plate with food. After regarding it suspiciously he finally takes a bite; and then another. It's good. It is all legitimately delicious. For a while he does not speak, simply satisfying his hunger. From time to time he makes pleased sounds and England's smugness only grows.
England eats very little, more interested in watching Alfred for a while instead. "You find it to your liking?"
America holds up a finger as he chases a rather large bite with a drink of ale. Rubbing his mouth, he faces England wearing a cheerful expression. "Oh yes! Really good. You had someone else make it, didn't you?"
The flustered look on England's face is quickly masked, but the brief moment it shows is all the proof America needs. It makes him laugh. England's expression immediately sours, voice acquiring an indignant tone. "And what exactly makes you assume such a thing?"
"There is no way you can cook this well and we both know it." America catches himself and hastily adds, "I mean, you gave me breakfast that one time. The quality here is hardly close to that meal. I guess you can say I'm a bit of a food expert. I know my stuff and when another hand has prepared something."
Totally recovering from his blunders like a smooth criminal. Aw yeah.
England stands abruptly. "Think what you like!"
America can't help but smile. He's not sure why England is trying to impress him but it's really funny. "Thanks either way, though. It is good."
England is clearly taken off guard by the compliment and is quick to recover again. But he does seem a little bit pleased again. "Of course it is. Ungrateful little…"
Satisfied with unmasking the fraud, America returns to eating what's left on his plate. He slumps back in his seat and pats his stomach. "Food will always be my favorite thing."
England finds a mark for his revenge and reaches over, pinching Alfred's cheek. "It shows."
"Hey!" America squawks, batting his hand away. "Excuse you!"
"What? It gives you a lovely glow. Do not tell me you are actually sensitive about such a thing. It is a mark of abundance and wealth after all." Despite the mock-soothing words, the sting has marked the full return of England's good mood.
"We can retire to the withdrawing room for now. This mess can also be dealt with later." England gestures grandly, apparently eager to move the conversation onwards while he still has the upper hand.
Puffing out his cheeks, America gives him a look then huffily walks past him. He is not fat. If he is perhaps just the slightest smidgeon chubby then yes, it is a glorious sign of abundance. The beautiful seas of wheat and plentiful fruits, damn it!
America collapses into a very uncomfortable but very fancy chair. England settles down on a couch, making himself comfortable. He slides back into that inquisitive line of casual conversation and for a brief moment America has the worst déjà vu of a conversation he might share with present time Arthur. It's an eerie feeling but not completely uncomfortable.
Tired of dancing around information about himself, America decides to use one of his best cop-out methods towards people who start grilling him: he turns the conversation on the other person. People with big egos love talking about themselves. Alfred knows that well; he loves talking about himself after all!
"You know, I bet you have all sorts of interesting stories about going out to sea. Having daring adventures, seeing exciting places." America gives his best smile of sincerity and interest.
"I suppose I have some." England seems reluctant to leave their current vein of conversation. However, it isn't long before he gives into America's wide-eyed and eager probing. Once he gets going he is just as pleased to talk about himself as America knew he'd be. Score one for Alfred F. Jones!
The bluff soon becomes an actual source of interest to Alfred, who shifts from time to time only to make himself more comfortable in this stupid chair. Arthur really has done a lot, seen a lot: Weathered storms he thought would be the end of him, fought battles that make something crawl inside of Alfred with discomfort, seen wonders that inspired such awe he struggles to articulate them properly. Horrific and beautiful and tragic and fascinating stories all tied together. It's a little difficult to remind himself this is England who has done all these things. And yet from time to time a story strikes a chord with one told to him as a child.
England continues to talk as the sun begins to set. Candles are lit and it pleases him to see Alfred still hanging on his every word. Eventually that begins to waver as he begins to nod off. England knows when to cut himself off. He stands, brushing his fingers through Alfred's thick blond hair. "You certainly have low stamina for one so young. Now, now. No need to make that face. Off to bed with you. To my room. You remember where that is or were you far too intoxicated last time?"
America makes a soft sound of annoyance. "Yeah, I remember. Why do I have to sleep with you, anyway? I can just use the room I was in earlier."
England tugs his hair. "Do you not think as a guest in my home you would do as I ask?"
Hell no. Still, America isn't interested in a fight so much as sleeping. He'll just push off England if he gets handsy. "Fine, but I'll be guarding my virtue."
It is all England can do not to snort. What virtue might he possibly be talking about? He can only assume it's a joke. "As you please. I will be up soon."
Pressing the candle to Alfred's hands, he watches him disappear before taking another for himself. Might as well do a little cleanup. He'll let his turtledove have his rest. There is a flicker of amusement at the endearment until he sets his eyes on the food and the sting of Alfred's earlier observation comes back to him. How had he known?
After some trial and error, America finds England's room. He debates on how much to take off. Being too naked is just like an invitation for trouble but wearing too much is uncomfortable. After some compromises he finds a balance of comfort and practicality.
America tucks the pocket watch carefully beneath one of the items of clothing. If Arthur takes it he's more or less fucked. Though he's not quite sure if it will leave without him or if he has to be holding it like when he activates it. Probably best not to find out either way.
He yawns. It has been a very long day and he's learned some very interesting things, particularly about Arthur. Arthur, who is both surprisingly fascinating and a regular asshole all at once. Now he just wants some sleep. Everything else can be saved for the morning.
With a small puff of air he snuffs the candle and is plunged into darkness. Settling into the bed feels so good and he curls into the blankets. He sighs softly in contentment, closing his eyes. The silence winds around him, gently leading him towards sleep.
Just as he is tittering on the edge of unconsciousness something makes him tense up, though he can't quite say what the cause is. A soft breeze ruffles his hair as the faint scent of wildflowers tickles his nose. Is there a window open? Before he can sit up or even open his eyes to investigate he feels something on his face; the lightest brush of fingers cross his lips. There is the distinct thought, accompanied by a splash of fear, that it is a ghost. Before the idea can even fully manifest he is out cold.
~.
When things are tidy enough for Arthur's liking he decides it is time to retire. Besides, how can he stay away from such an appealing bed partner for so long? Chuckling softly to himself he heads upstairs. As he enters the room the dim light flickers on a pale figure and England is immediately on the defensive. "Who's there?"
There's a laugh, like the tinkling of bells. It is one he recognizes and his expression changes from shock to mild distress. "Queen Mab?"
Indeed it is the fairy queen, turning her fiercely elegant face towards him. "Good evening, Arthur."
England eyes her warily as she idly strokes Alfred's face and hair. He focuses on gathering his wits around him lest he say something he shouldn't. "My lady, if I might inquire, what are you doing here?"
"Are you not pleased to see me?" The words sound playful but he knows there is some mockery in them.
"I am always as pleased to see you as I am a spring day, you know this. I cannot help but wonder if there is not… some way I can serve you?" The words seem adequate and he waits tensely.
Mab sighs to herself and runs a finger down Alfred's cheek. He does not stir in the slightest. "Oh, you see that dreadful farce I was subjugated to earlier left me so upset I was looking to find something to cheer myself up."
"Is that so? I apologize for making her majesty so unhappy. What exactly do you seek to lift your mood?" His eyes drop to Alfred uneasily. It is hardly his intention to let Mab have him but defying the temperamental queen inevitably ends in some kind of hardship.
Mab traces the movement of his eyes and her smile becomes more amused. "I know I hardly need another pet at the moment and that Oberon is against it but I think there's no harm in it. You know how he can be, anyway."
England is not so foolish as to ever side with one against the other and holds his tongue. Mab's smile becomes more amused. Clever creature. She picks up the thread of her story. "I was in a most melancholic mood thinking about that hateful mortal's words. Ah, and then I thought of your companion here and it was like a ray of sunshine upon me after a horrid storm. I thought I might steal him to be my own playmate. You know I try not to take things from you, dear one, but I did not think you would particularly mind."
It is harder for England to bite his words back this time. He holds his breath for a moment then begins to speak. "My Queen, I-"
"However," Mab interjects sharply. "Certain truths have come to light upon closer inspection and it seems I cannot take this one as a playmate after all. I really must wonder where you found him, Arthur."
That takes England aback and he is not sure what to say. "If it is not so bold of me, may I ask what exactly these truths are?"
Queen Mab strokes Alfred's hair one more time then stands and glides over to Arthur, towering over him. Her eyes shine greater than any gem with mirth. "I would be more than happy to tell you. If you would only eat some of the food of my realm."
So that is how she's going to play it. This is quite the old game, though there are deadly serious consequences behind it. He bows his head respectfully. In this matter his hands are tied. "You know as much as it would please me to do so I have my obligations here just as you have yours. I will be happy to partake at the end of days. Before then I am determined to have the rest of the world at my feet."
Mab laughs softly, pressing a finger lightly to Arthur's lips. "It shall be so lovely when I finally have you and your brothers in my court. Unless one of you ends up finishing another off before that day."
She gives him a pointedly accusing look and he deflects his gaze, unable to hide the lack of remorse. "Indeed. We will all be pleased to serve your Majesties, I am sure."
"Hm." Mab pulls her finger away. "Then I suppose we are at an impasse of desires. You have always enjoyed a good riddle, anyway. I would hate to spoil it for you."
She turns and returns to Alfred's side, leaning over to kiss his forehead. "I wove a small enchantment around him. He will sleep heavily without any ill effects once he awakens. He is a handsome thing. Feel free to bring him along when your world does end."
The room fills with laughter as her body breaks into a colorful swarm of butterflies that quickly vanish into mere wisps of smoke. England takes a step forward, a question hanging on his lips. What does that mean? Is she merely teasing him or…?
A fleck of hot wax drips onto England's hand and brings him back to the immediate present. The candle is put off to the side and he goes to Alfred. It is lucky that Mab has not taken him, but why not? What is it about him that changed her mind? Is he one whose destiny is fixed? That would make it foolish for her to remove him from this realm and into hers. Perhaps Alfred is not a mere mortal. If not, then what? There are so many things. Some kind of spirit, a demi-god, a shape shifter, perhaps a myth or an otherworldly creature? Whatever he is, it is something that can be seen by other mortals.
As England's mind begins to work more furiously, things start to make a little more sense. Or at least, it might explain certain things if he is more than human. Everything from the way he looks to the way he speaks might be hinged on this. There are books upon books on such matters if one knows where to look, but this is not the time.
He cannot ask most of the creatures that hang around. Most of them fall within Mab and Oberon's court and if their queen will not divulge the information they surely will not. No matter. As Mab said, Arthur likes the challenge. Whatever Alfred is, he will figure it out without fail.
England tilts Alfred's face into the light, watching him sleep. "Just what are you trying to hide from me, Alfred? I shall have to take steps to reveal your true identity. Yes, and I think I know just the place to start."
After a moment he smirks and leans down, kissing Alfred on the lips. "We shall try iron to bind the fae."
~.
Waking up is a slow and tedious process. It takes several minutes for America to even float into anything resembling self-awareness. Opening his eyes is its own battle. He lets out a slow breath as his lashes finally flutter and the first rays of light rush in. Blinking rapidly, America gradually gets a better grip on full consciousness.
For some reason his body feels heavy and lethargic, like some kind of weird hangover without a headache. Had he been that tired last night? A minute or so of staring at the ceiling does not clear up his memory leading up to falling asleep last night. Oh well, must be fatigue. Heavy sleeping isn't exactly abnormal for him. He shifts slightly and a sting of pain shoots through his shoulder. A thousand pinpricks immediately spread along his shoulders. "What the…?"
America tries to sit up and finds that he can't. Instead, pain shoots along both arms with a follow up of discomfort accompanied by the jangle of metal. America tilts his head up and finds that his forearms have been wrapped in cloth and shackled to the headboard. "Oh come on! You've gotta be kidding me."
America slumps back, wincing as his entire back becomes a tingling field. "Arthur! Arthur, what is this shit?"
There's no response and America kicks a blanket off himself impatiently, squirming his body around to try and get the blood fully circulating again. If England had that food drugged or something so help him. In the middle of his internal grumbling America notices a piece of paper propped up on the side drawer. He squints, not quite able to make all the words out without Texas. He begins to read them out loud. "Alfred, I must attend to my dearest Elizabeth but will be back in- yada yada my name is Arthur and I can go suck a bag of dicks."
After a little bit more shimmying about America attempts to look at how his arms are fastened up. It requires a very awkward quirking of the neck. What's the deal with all of this anyway? At least the asshole bound his arms up so the metal hasn't chaffed the skin.
Even made of metal these aren't really a big deal, though. He can get them off no problem. The question is how does he want to go about it? Break the entire headboard and make Arthur wonder how he did it when he returns? Break a single link, get the cuffs off, then put it all back together and make it look like he's vanished out of thin air?
The former might be more fun but the latter is the more amusing of the two. Alfred works his wrists until he can feel his hands again. Thankfully there's enough slack for him to comfortably work with. When his fingers are cooperative enough for the nimble work required of them he feels out one of the links. A bit thick but hardly unbreakable. After finding where the metal has been joined he pinches it between his fingers and begins to bend it, working at it until he feels the metal give and snap. It only takes a moment to break it open completely from there. He slips it out of its fellow link and the chain goes slack on either side.
Arms now free, America sits up and properly stretches to get the rest of the blood flowing and get rid of that weird static feeling. Once the broken link is carefully put aside for future use America turns his attentions to the bulky cuffs on his wrists. Breaking them off outright won't work as well for his overall scheme. America's not too bad at picking locks but he doesn't really have anything on him to do the job.
His eyes sweep over the room to find some sort of tool he can use to jimmy them open. All he needs is a piece of metal or something similar. He gets up, the chains falling to his sides. The room is filled with items and there must be at least one thing that will be useful to him.
As America is rifling through a drawer a thrum goes through him that vibrates at the very core of him. Startled, he freezes up. It comes again and this time it is accompanied by a soft sound, constant and distant. With each passing second the sound becomes sharper until it takes on the undeniable identity of a ticking watch.
America whirls around, eyes immediately drawn to a muffled blue light. Surely it isn't that late in the day already? He hurries over to uncover the pocket watch, tossing away the piece of clothing he used to conceal it. Somehow the latch keeping it closed has popped open, revealing its face. The thrum comes again with a waft of sea breezes. This answers one question. The watch will activate without him. It seems his time based theory is correct. Which means he's out of time.
"Man, I'm not ready yet!" Somehow he doubts the watch really cares. America's eyes dart around, searching for something to get the cuffs off in time. Everything is a blur in his state of panic. "Come on, come on!"
Nothing. Cursing, America starts to rip one off, grunting softly from the effort before there's a satisfying click as it comes apart. It falls with a heavy clunk to the floor. The light is almost blinding now and America's heart jumps up into his throat. He can't afford to get left behind. Seems there's no choice.
America abandons the other cuff and snatches the watch up, the metal burning against his hand. Not a moment later he is overcome by that sensation of falling through the sea. His heart is pounding heavily as cold relief washes over him. That had been a little close for comfort. Just like a time based action flick! Yes, he is so cool!
America finds himself unceremoniously dumped onto the floor of England's weird magic dungeon. For a few minutes he sits and orients himself. Once his eyes have adjusted to the dark he stands and gropes around, finding his flashlight. He turns it on, gripping it between his teeth as he works the other cuff off.
It takes no time at all and once the cloth on his arms is unwrapped he searches out his clothes, trying to be quick and quiet about changing. The quiet part doesn't go so well when his elbow clips something that goes clashing to the floor. Although he winces and waits for England to come racing down the stairs he doesn't appear and America lets out a breath of relief. There are no further incidents as he finishes changing.
Packing the new clothes back in the bag along with the other half of the chain and shackle, America puts more effort into hiding everything this time. Once the watch has been safely restored to its proper place and his glasses have been restored to theirs, America sneaks his way upstairs and heads for England's bathroom. The bliss he felt the first time he had showered after coming back is nothing compared to this time. He also makes a point to brush his teeth for almost five minutes.
By the time he gets around to bouncing downstairs to make a quick exit he is feeling reborn. "Hey, England! "
While the clattering in the basement had not brought England, America's call has him in the doorway in a heartbeat. "Where have you been? Surely your call didn't… Did you use my shower again?"
"Yep! Hope you don't mind. You know how it gets when you're super busy! Gotta take advantages of showers when you can." America laughs boisterously. This England is such a pushover it's hard not to get carried away.
Annoyances flashes in England's eyes. "It doesn't bother me but you could have let me know. You dashed off straightway and I've been slaving away over the scones while you call who even knows and-! Who did you have to call, anyway?"
"Mm? Oh… No one important!" America hadn't really thought through who he might be calling but there are so many plausible choices it doesn't seem like that big of a deal. "About those scones, I-"
England stiffens a bit and he reaches forward, grabbing the sleeve of America's coat. "Oh no you don't! You aren't going to tell me you're about to jet off again after I've gone through all the trouble!"
It sounds like a demand but America knows it's actually more like a request. For a brief second he prepares to dismiss him and then like a bolt he remembers that this very man is going to go throw a 'very large sum of money' into the ocean all because of some stupid bet he made with him Even after all these centuries have passed. It had stricken him before but somehow now it seems even more incredible and all America can do is stare at him. Why does he even care anymore? It's a stupid bet made such a long time ago. So why bother?
America's disposition softens. Is there any reason he has to go running off right this second? Not really. The least he can do for this dope is eat his god awful scones. It's not like he hates England. He's never hated him. Even despite various injuries in the past… and the more current past (if that even makes any sense).
England snaps his fingers in front of America's face. "Are you just going to gape at me all day? Are you staying or not?"
America blinks, mouth opening. There's a weird realization on top of everything else that England wants him to stay. Maybe that's not so weird. He does randomly invite America over even when it is awkward or boring. America licks his lips and tries to speak again with more success. "Yeah! Duh, I mean I wouldn't come ask for you to make scones if I was going to run off. I was just going to ask how much time they have left."
England's stance relaxes, though his expression remains peeved to hide the flash of pleasure. "About five minutes or so. They would have been done sooner but I was waiting for you to come back to start them then put them in when I figured you weren't coming back anytime soon."
"No need to sound like you want to bite my head off about it. Hm… You know I've always wondered about something." Without a further word America walks to the kitchen.
England trails after his heels. "What have you always wondered?"
"Well, everything you make always turns out burned to a charcoal crisp. So I was wondering…" America grabs an oven mitt and pulls the oven door open. England tries to protest but he has already pulled the scones out. They are browning on the top but unburnt. "Why don't you ever pull them out earlier than the given time? See?"
England stares at them looking mystified before snapping out of it. "I-! Some of us are dedicated to following things by the book!"
America laughs, setting the scones down on top of the oven. "Oh, well you must excuse crazy devil-may-care sorts like myself who live on the edge. I'll refrain from doing something so wild in your presence again lest you faint."
"Oh do shut up!" England glares at the scones as if they have betrayed him. "Point noted."
They fall into silence as England digs out a plate for the traitors, grumbling to himself. America watches him. It's a little strange how differently he interacts with England now and England in the past and how easily he transitions between the two. Maybe it's because it's still difficult for him to acknowledge the simple truth that they are one and the same even though on a fundamental level he knows they are. They're just so different. Well, maybe not so much as he originally thought. Still, it's hard to imagine this man grumbling about scones getting off to fucking someone looking at a map of his country.
Thinking about those kinds of things are too serious for him. It's all kind of silly in the end. America will see England in the past two more times and that will be it forever and then they'll both go along with their lives. Except for the whole fulfilling their bet thing. Nope, too serious. "Hey, remind me to invite you to the premier of my new movie when I finish it. Burgerman!"
England snorts as he carefully moves the hot baked goods to the plate. "You have the most rubbish ideas. What makes you think I'd even want to see something like that?"
"Fine then, be that way. But it'll be awesome. I was only inviting you because I was inspired around…here." Maybe not 'here' but it had been England's house and... Yeah, close enough.
"I guess I'll go, just to see how ridiculous it is." And it will be an excuse to spend more time with America. Not that the git needs to know that.
"Well now I have to think about it." Impatient, America reaches over and rips one of the scones in half to let it cool faster. It only burns his fingers a little bit. When the upper half is tolerable to the touch he takes a bite. "Mm… Not burnt. Not bad… But still bland."
As America laughs at his own supposed wittiness, England gingerly takes the bottom half of the scone. He doesn't even dignify the stupidity with his anger, looking it over coolly before taking a bite. "Then put some jam on it you twat."
America nudges him roughly with his elbow before going over to the fridge to find some. Honestly, man has no sense of humor. At least these are more edible than some of the other things he's had to stomach over the years.
England nibbles on the scone, annoyed that it tastes better than his usual burnt messes, and watches America with internalized affection. He almost asks about the phone call again then lets it drop. No matter who Alfred might be seeing, right now he's here with Arthur and that's more than satisfactory enough for him.
~.
It is later than England had intended to return but there is no helping such things sometimes. He can only hope that Alfred is not too uncomfortable in his current predicament. It will be hard to resist the urge to tease him, being all chained up, but he'll do right by him for the unexpected duration of his imprisonment.
The shock England feels when he enters the bedroom barely shows outwardly but he feels it in his very bones. Alfred is gone. A few quick strides have him at the bed. His foot brushes against something and there is the scrape of metal against wood. England looks down slowly, crouching to pick up the other half of the chain. He examines the broken cuff, intrigue growing by the moment. "Damn."
A general inspection of the room shows little else of what might have happened. The only other thing he finds is the initial broken link. He clicks his tongue and takes a seat on the bed. "Definitely not a fae, then."
This has only made Alfred that much more interesting to him. Whatever he might be, Arthur will have to make a show of apology in some way. Luring a human back in after a stunt like that isn't too bad, but the temperament of something else… It's hard to say. Alfred might not even come back to him. But oh, Arthur truly hopes he does. There is still a mystery to be solved and a heart to be wooed.
Notes:
Weight – At this time having some extra weight was still a sign of health, prosperity, and abundance. It could still be used as a means of teasing by some. In poorer times it might have been more as a critique of someone who did not share their wealth as a wag of the finger type comment.
Withdrawing room – What a drawing room used to be referred to as.
Iron to bind the fae – In some fairy lore, it is possible to entrap and or critically weaken fairies by using iron. I've also seen this principle used with other creatures, even dragons one time. Arthur is testing whether Alfred falls into the category of a fae creature by seeing if iron has a particularly weakening effect on him. The reason he bound his arms with cloth beforehand was so that if it did the metal would not burn his skin. It only makes sense that someone like England, who has such close ties and affection with fairies/mythical creatures, would not want to blatantly harm one.