A/N: because im such a nice author, i'll wont leave you hanging there like I was originally gonna. only cos ilu guys XP
much love~ 3
JANUARY 12th, 2017, SOUTH FLORIDA
ALFRED'S POV
My eyes kept drifting shut, my glasses kept slipping down my face and my muscles were screaming for a rest of some sort, but I couldn't make myself sit down or stop pacing back and forth in front of the medical block in the corner of the camp. I was far too on edge. Francis chose that moment to come up to my side."
"I heard of the accident. Shall notre Anglais be alright?"
I heaved a sigh, heavy and long. "God, I don't know. He wasn't breathin' when the bomb hit. I-I told him I loved him. I told him, a-and... and now he ain't gonna wake up..."
Before I'd even realised what I had said, I felt the tears rolling down my face and the constricting feeling in my chest. Francis seemed to deadpan for a moment before pulling me into a consoling hug. He began muttering nonsense in a low voice in an attempt to comfort me, but I couldn't believe anything he said, no matter how hard I tried.
"I want Artie..." I sobbed into his shoulder. "I-I want Arthur, I want..."
"Sh, sh, it's okay, chérie. I am sure they will let you in to see him. Even a doctor cannot separate l'amour you have for him."
As he finished talking and I began to compose myself, a doctor opened the door an inch and ushered us inside. We went in and while he led us past patient beds and blue drawn curtains, he explained what had happened.
"Mister Kirkland is currently under a local anaesthetic. He survived the incident, but not without some very serious burns and cuts," he said, stopping beside one bed and smiling slightly. "The both of you are quite lucky. If it weren't for you using your jacket to apply pressure to one of his wounds, he would have suffered severe blood loss, and I'm sure you know the rest. I'll leave you to him."
With that, he nodded shortly and turned on his heels to leave, allowing myself and Francis to see Arthur. But when I made to step through the drawn curtains, Francis lightly cleared his throat, catching my attention.
"I'll leave you to him, mon ami." he murmured, smiling softly.
Nodding, I turned my attention back to the curtain, afraid of what I'd see when I stepped in. Arthur was in a bad condition when I had carried him on my back to the camp. I ran when I couldn't hear his rasping breath anymore, straight through the raid without any concern other than getting Arthur to a doctor. Yet now, as I pushed through the curtain and quietly stood beside the bed, wiping the last of the tear tracks from my cheeks, Arthur at least seemed peaceful.
And he was alive.
That was enough.
I pulled up a chair right beside the bed and sat down, and I observed his body, bare from the waist up. His pale skin was a filthy grey-black, patterned with thick soot and ash and grime. Some cuts that were not bandaged still bled fresh onto the scratchy cotton sheets below. My eyes caught on to a spot near his chest and I stared, overwhelmed with sadness and anger. Beneath a patch of charred skin, where a scar would undoubtedly remain, there was long cut, stitched and lightly covered with thin bandages. It was much too close to where his heart was. I vaguely remembered seeing a shard of something protruding from his coat before I used my jacket to stop the bleeding. If it had been embedded a little deeper and slightly to the right, it would have killed him.
I bit my tongue harshly, refusing to give the matter any more thought.
I wrapped one hand around the white metal bars of the bed, the other reaching over to sought out Arthur's own, bruised and littered with tiny cuts.
The gentle beeping of the machinery beside the bed had me on edge more so than before, threatening to drop to a steady blaring that would signal Arthur's death. I didn't like thinking about it. But when I looked at his content face, I was instantly soothed that for the most part, he was okay. So I settled back into the chair, idly rubbing small circles into Arthur's hand with my thumb, lulled by the beeping.
I wasn't sure how long had passed by the time I heard the rustling of sheets next to me. Hand still around Arthur's, I opened my tired eyes and turned to look at him. Liquid green eyes, slightly glazed and dirtied, opened slowly and looked languidly about the room. Finally, they landed upon me, then fell to the hand about his own, colder than mine. My breath caught when he looked back to me.
"Arthur?" I whispered. "Are you okay?"
Arthur didn't respond, but sluggishly attempted to sit up from his current position on his back, but was stopped by the cord from an IV bag. As his arm pulled an inch from the cord, he let out a muted sound of pain, but he nevertheless abruptly tried to move again. Startled, I gently pressed on his shoulders and lowered him back down, muttering under my breath.
"Don't move, you're hurt real bad. Here- lie down, don't move, I'll be right back."
I slipped out of the curtains and hurried to a sink, where I filled a stray Styrofoam cup with water. I whisked back around towards Arthur and closed the curtains behind me. Arthur was trying to sit up again, causing me to keep him in place with a firm grip on one shoulder while I brought the cup up to his lips with my other hand.
"Stop moving, you'll hurt yourself. Drink, okay? You need some water. It's alright, you're alright, just drink slowly..." I murmured, tilting the cup so he didn't have to move and pain himself.
When he backed up, I placed the cup on a small table beside us and slowly settled onto the edge of my chair, hand skimming down his arm to recoil around Arthur's. He coughed a few times, startling me right back out of the chair. I opted for instead standing as close to the bed as I could, still holding his hand and gently rubbing nonsensical patterns into the small of his back. When he stopped coughing and was seemingly okay, I breathed a sigh of relief.
"Arthur, look at me."
Complying, he turned his gaze on mine. His eyes were narrowed, dull and tired looking. As the silence hung in the air for a moment, I listened to his rugged breathing, rattling in his chest. I felt an unintentional rush of affection and gently squeezed his hand.
"Talk to me, y'alright?"
He opened his mouth minutely, but he took a while to actually speak. I made a move to back away from Arthur and return to the chair, but when I shifted not an inch, a look of vulnerable fear passed through his face.
"D-don't move- Alfred..."
I instantly moved back to my previous place and wrapped one arm around his shoulder, to which he coiled both of his arms around my chest the best he could while he was somewhat lying down.
"Don't go, I don't want you to go, I want you to stay... Alfred..."
"It's okay, I'm right here," I whispered, panic rising when Arthur's breathing began to pick up. "Just breathe deeply okay? Look at me- Arthur, look at me, breathe deeply and slowly, alright?
His arms fell to his sides and he looked desperately up into my eyes, mouth hanging open in rushed inhaling and exhaling.
"Slow down, okay? Everything's fine, I'm right here, it's fine. It's alright..."
Gradually, he calmed down and his breathing returned to a normal pace, although it was undeniably fatigued and lethargic. He still had his eyes on me, and mine on his, as it seemed to be his only current lifeline. I ignored the steadying beeping of the machine beside us and began to leisurely massage his upper arms, relaxing him even more. Eventually, I stopped and breathed out Arthur's name. To that, his closed eyes snapped open, regarding me with sudden intensity. I bit my lip before pulling myself together.
"Are you okay now?"
He nodded, swallowing thickly and dropping his gaze to the rough sheets that had been wrinkled and pushed to the side. I propped his chin up with my thumb and forefinger.
"Talk to me, please." I said softly.
"I'm sorry..." he hissed under his breath.
Startled by the ferocity in his voice, I dropped my hand and wrapped it around his again, for I know both of us were in need of some sort of comfort. I didn't press further, just waited until he saw fit to speak again.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I didn't mean to... I'm just a bother, I- Alfred-"
"You're speaking nonsense, Artie."
Arthur hung his head and clutched at my hand with a deathly tight grip. "I'm sorry." he insisted roughly.
I inwardly sighed, and leaned down so I could look him in the eye again. "You remember what happened, yeah?"
Absentmindedly, Arthur's fingers skittered along the wound in his chest. His face contorted in pain and he quickly dropped his hand, letting it lie limp in his lap. I scooped it up with my own and held both of hands in mine, squeezing them to catch his attention.
"I could have died," he whispered, wetness tracing his lower lids. "I'm so sorry."
"Hey, no tears, we agreed on the stiff upper lip, right?" I said hurriedly, fighting back against the prickling behind my own eyes. "Come on, you're right here, ain't you?"
Arthur nodded, closing his eyes for a second and quickly reopening them, a stray tear spilling down his face. With a finger I reached up rubbed it away, brushing my thumb across his cheek in an affectionate manner. Arthur's eyes snapped to mine.
"I heard what you said." he whispered suddenly, all the sincerity he could muster in his tone.
For a second I froze, then swallowed slowly. "Y-yeah?"
"Mm. That was the last thing I heard before I passed out." he said quietly, staring quite intensely at me.
I didn't say anything. Rather, Arthur spoke again. And when he did, everything that had happened so far during the war, every injury and every death, every argument and abandonment, every single thing, good and bad, all seemed to melt away.
"I love you too."
