Author's note: Well, last chapter, guys. :) I've really enjoyed writing this one, and I was actually tempted to draw it out a bit more because I'm sad to have to finish it . . . but this is how much I'd planned to write, so I'll stop. On to bigger and better things, right? Haha. :) Thank you all for reading this far and for all your support and lovely comments. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it!
Oh, and I realized I never really mentioned the timeline. In case you're curious: Alfred got injured in December of 2001, so most of the story takes place in March/April.
Chapter 11
Friday morning, Alfred woke up early and couldn't get back to sleep. He got up and packed his bags, hobbling around without his crutches to check and double check if he had missed anything. He left out just his toiletry bag, and then he showered and dressed and went down to breakfast.
Arthur was there. He had barely started his food, and he looked tired. Alfred got his food and sat down. They exchanged greetings, but they were unusually silent for the majority of the meal. Arthur helped Alfred pack his bags into the taxi, and then they left for the airport. Alfred took Arthur's hand into his lap and held it there for the duration of the ride. Arthur didn't protest.
When they reached the airport, they got out and Alfred paid the driver. While Alfred went to unload his bags, Arthur pulled the driver aside. "Don't wait for me," he said. The driver nodded. They took Alfred's bags inside.
Alfred paused just inside the doors and looked at Arthur. Arthur had one hand in his pocket and the other on the handle of one of Alfred's suitcases. "I'll go with you as far as I can, up until security," he said, and Alfred smiled in response.
"Great. Let's find the baggage check-in, then."
They waited in line for a long time, saying little. When it was their turn, Alfred heaved his suitcase up onto the scale and pulled out his passport while Arthur stood by awkwardly. "Going home?" the lady at the counter asked kindly.
"Yup," Alfred said happily.
They had some time to kill, so Alfred found a Starbucks and they both bought coffee. ("Their tea is too awful," Arthur had said when Alfred had given him a questioning look.) Alfred got a coffee-cake for the them to share, and they picked at it while they drank their beverages. They sat at the little table long after they had finished. Alfred started glancing at his watch frequently, and Arthur knew that they were cutting it close.
"I guess we should start heading over to security," Alfred finally said. Arthur nodded and tossed his coffee cup in the bin. They walked very slowly to where security started. Alfred stopped by a potted plant against a nearby wall, and they both looked over at the people queuing up.
"What time is it?" Arthur asked.
"I have twenty minutes."
"Until it boards?"
"Until it leaves."
"Oh."
"Yeah." They stood there for a moment in silence, and then suddenly Alfred's eyes widened. "I can't believe it! I almost forgot!" He began patting his pockets.
"What?" Arthur asked, alarmed. "Your passport?"
"No! We haven't even exchanged numbers yet!" He looked at Arthur, panicked. "Do you have a pencil? I have an old map here were can write on." He pulled it out and ripped it in half.
"I might have a pen." Arthur searched through his pockets until he found it, and then handed it to Alfred.
Alfred handed him the other half of the map and began frantically scribbling, the paper pressed against the wall. "Cell phone, home phone, what else. . . . Oh, email. And my IM screen name!"
Arthur looked at his half of the map. It was black and white, the kind they gave out for free at newsstands and hotels. It was of London. Alfred had circled the places he wanted to go: Piccadilly Circus, Buckingham Palace, the British Museum. . . . The hotel had been circled in red, and there was a star next to it. "I don't have instant messaging."
Alfred looked up. "No way! You need to get it. It's so much easier–"
"I don't really like email. It's too impersonal." He looked down at his feet, trying to fight down the sick feeling in his stomach. "If you want to write to me, I'd prefer you send me a letter, the old-fashioned way."
"That's cool. I'll add my address too, then." Alfred scribbled something out and then handed the paper and pen to Arthur. Arthur folded the piece of paper neatly and tucked it in his front pocket. He pressed the paper against the wall and wrote out his information in a neat little list.
Cell phone:
Home phone:
E-mail Address:
Home Address:
He turned and solemnly handed the piece of paper to Alfred. Alfred tucked it carefully in the inside pocket of his jacket. They looked at each other.
Alfred bit his lip. "Look, this . . . isn't going to be it, okay? I'll promise I'll see you again. I promise I'll come back to you."
Arthur swallowed and looked at the floor. "It's alright. You don't need to make false promises for me."
"It's not a false promise!"
"I know you don't mean it to be, but sometimes life just gets in the way. We both have work, and you have lots of catching up to do with you leg. Don't . . . don't make promises when you might not be able to keep them."
Alfred took his hand between his own. Arthur looked up. "I never break my promises. I won't let life get in the way."
"Sometimes you just can't help it," Arthur said, blinking away tears. If this is goodbye, admit that it is. Don't pretend that it's anything else! "As a firefighter . . . you said . . . you said that you promised you would save the world. I know what you meant." Alfred was so close, Arthur could feel his breath against his skin. "You meant that you were never going to let anyone die. But the towers – you had to break your promise, but it wasn't your fault. I won't blame you if you can't keep your promise."
"I never promised I would save them. I promised that I would try." His hand brushed Arthur's cheek. "I knew sometimes I'd fail. But you know something?" Arthur couldn't do anything but nod. "When I only wanted to save the world, I thought that trying was enough. With you, though. . . ." Alfred pressed his forehead against Arthur's, just above his bandaged cut. He took a deep breath. "After your accident, when you were in the hospital, I didn't know how you felt about me. But I decided that it didn't matter, because even if today was the last day I saw you, you were alive. But if you love me back, even a little bit, I can't let this be the last time I see you. I am going to save you from loneliness, and from anything that hurts you. I'm going to come back here and see you, and I'm going to make sure that if you ever get hurt, you don't stay that way. So don't tell me that I can't keep my promise, because I will."
He had told himself that he wasn't going to cry. He grabbed Alfred by the lapels of his jacket and buried his face in its soft collar. Alfred wrapped both arms around him and leaned on him as his crutches clattered the floor. Arthur sobbed into his shoulder, and he could feel Alfred's tears in his hair. When he heard Alfred's breathing even out, he made an effort to do the same. But he couldn't, so still crying, he pushed Alfred away. "What time is it?" he choked out, fruitlessly brushing away the tears as they fell. He could feel Alfred trying to pull him back into his embrace, but he resisted. "What time is it?"
"I have twelve minutes."
"You have to go."
Alfred cupped his face in his hands and looked into his eyes. He kissed him, right in the middle of the busy airport, and then he was gone.
Arthur watched him long after he became just a smudge in the security line, and long after he had disappeared from sight. He stood against the wall next to the potted plant until his tears had dried, and then he turned and went to hail a taxi.
The months were long. Alfred's letters were long and detailed, though he generally seemed to find time to write about twice a month. Arthur always took care to reply to them, but not to write too frequently lest he annoy Alfred. Sometimes it amazed him how hard it was to write his thoughts down on paper, while other times it flowed so easily he only stopped when his hand grew too tired.
One day in December, a letter came of a different sort.
Arthur,
I'm going to come up and see you in about two weeks, when I'll have time off work for Christmas and stuff. Can I stay at your place? Cuz that'd be great. :) Call me if that won't work and I can try to get a room at that hotel we stayed at.
See you soon!
Love,
Alfred
It was postmarked the 9th of December. It arrived on the 21st at two in the afternoon.
Alfred showed up six hours later.
The door bell rang and Arthur leapt to his feet. He flung the door open and was met with Alfred's grinning face. He took a deep breath. I'm so glad your here, his brain said. He opened his mouth. "Your phone was off! I got the letter today and I tried to call you, but your phone wasn't even on, because you were already on the bloody plane! How am I supposed to get hold of you if you're jumping on planes all the time?"
Alfred's grin didn't even waver. He dropped all the bags he was holding and pulled Arthur into a hug. "I love you too," he said, sincerely, and Arthur didn't doubt it.
"Yes, I love you, you git," Arthur grumbled into his shoulder, but he wrapped his arms around Alfred's waist. Alfred was so warm, and he was there.
Alfred let out a long breath into Arthur's hair and actually moaned a little. "You smell so. Good."
Arthur snorted. "You need to take a shower." Alfred just nuzzled his neck. Then Alfred paused, as if he were thinking, and then he looped an arm under Arthur's knees, put the other behind his shoulders, and carried him through the door bridal-style.
"What are you doing?" exclaimed Arthur, turning pink.
Alfred carried him past the kitchen and into the hall. He paused before the first door and frowned. "Where's your bedroom? What are all these doors for?"
Arthur sighed and tapped the door nearest to them. "This is the linen closet." He pointed to the door across from it. "That's the loo." He jerked a thumb towards the next door on their left. "That is my bedroom."
Alfred grinned. "Oh good." He sidled up to it and managed to open it with one hand, and then he walked inside and threw Arthur onto the bed. He rubbed his arms and looked down at Arthur with a sly grin. "Goodness, you're heavy." Arthur snorted, but he didn't protest when Alfred climbed on top of him and finally, finally, kissed him until he was breathless.
"Mmm," Arthur said contentedly when he remembered how to think again. Alfred pulled back, smiled down at him, and then plopped his head down on the bed beside Arthur's neck. Arthur made a small noise of surprise, and then patted Alfred's back. "You must be tired." Alfred nodded. "Oh, love," he said fondly. "Hungry too, I bet. Let's get you some food."
"Nrm," Alfred said into the bed, and didn't move.
Arthur sighed and wrapped his arms more tightly around Alfred's back. He had forgotten how wide his shoulders were. "So you're really all better, hmm?" he said absently.
"Mm-hmm."
"It's been a long time."
"Mm-hmm." Alfred turned his head so he could speak more clearly. " 'Member when we first met?"
"Of course."
" 'N I kinda tried to ask you to dinner that first night, but you didn't take the bait."
"What was it? Indian food?"
"Mm."
Arthur smiled softly. "I took the bait. I had no idea whether you were really trying to ask me, though. I showed up too late, I think."
Alfred perked up a little. "Really?"
"Yup."
Alfred raised himself up off the bed just enough to kiss Arthur sweetly. When they parted, he smiled down at him. "I'm glad."
Arthur smiled back. "Me too."
Alfred stood up and pulled him to his feet. He grinned tiredly. "I suppose I should get all my baggage off the front porch."
"Might be a good idea. I'll help you." They went back to the front door and Alfred began to haul in the first of four very, very large suitcases. Arthur stared. "How long are you planning on staying?"
"Oh yeah, we need to talk about that, huh?" Alfred heaved the second suitcase over the doorjamb.
"Er, might be a good idea."
"What do ya say, food first?"
"Yes, of course." They went into the kitchen. Alfred took a seat on a stool at the counter while Arthur began looking through the fridge for leftovers. "How was your flight?"
"Fine. Long." He yawned. Arthur shoved a couple things in the microwave and then went over to stand by Alfred. It made him anxious to be far away from Alfred for too long. Alfred seemed to feel the same way, and looped an arm around his waisted protectively. He leaned his head against Arthur shoulder and sighed. He looked up sideways at Arthur, using his best puppy-dog eyes.
Arthur smiled and ruffled his hair. "What is it?"
Alfred closed his eyes and rubbed his nose in Arthur's shirt. "I've just missed you."
"I've missed you too."
"What do you think about not having to miss me anymore?" Alfred was looking at him again.
"What does that mean?"
"Well, see, I got a temporary visa thing, and when they finally sent it to me I quit my job. I think I can just keep reapplying for it, and its a working visa, so in a few months once I've gone through the application and training process and all that, I can get a job here." Alfred looked at him expectantly. Arthur looked back at him blankly. "Can I move in with you?"
Arthur's world swam before his eyes. "Pardon?"
"It's fine if not. I know it's pretty sudden, but I think I'd like to move up here anyway. It seems like a nice place. All my stuff is still in storage in the states, but I can get them to ship it up here pretty quick."
"Oh." Arthur quickly went through the logistics in his head. Bed – double, would fit two. Closet – always had some empty space. Dresser – there was room for another one. Money – he could support Alfred until he got a new job, if necessary. Emotional response – definitely, definitely positive. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah." Arthur looked down at him. "I'm supposed to try new things, right? Take risks? Do things on a whim?" Alfred chuckled. The microwave beeped and they ignored it. "And, okay, yeah, that would be really nice." Alfred whooped and picked him up by the waist. "Will you stop picking me up?" Arthur demanded, blushing.
Alfred just grinned and set him down. "How about our first meal together here then, huh?"
"If you'd put it that way to begin with, I would have actually cooked us something," he mumbled, still pink.
Alfred kissed him. "I'm just happy to be here."
That was December of 2002.
Three years later, Arthur was curled up on the couch, eyes glued to the television screen. His eyes were red from the tears. They wouldn't stop falling and his vision had gone blurry. He brushed them away anyway. "It is unclear how many casualties there are, as some people are still being transported to nearby hospitals for treatment, and it is believed there may have been a fourth blast. . . ."
The door was opened so hard it slammed against the wall and bounced back. "Arthur?" came Alfred's panicked voice. Arthur could hear him rushing through the house, first into the kitchen, then down the hall. . . . His footsteps paused for a moment at the entrance to the living room. "Arthur," Alfred said, relieved, and then Alfred's arms were around him, pulling him sideways into him as he sat down on the couch. Arthur's hands reached out automatically, grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I came back as soon as I heard. What's going on? All I heard was that there were bombs in the subways. It took forever to get back. . . ."
"They still don't know who, or why. It was very recent. Rush hour. . . ."
"That's what people were saying. I couldn't get to the station soon enough to help." He nuzzled Arthur's neck. "I'm glad I could get back."
Arthur nodded and buried his head in Alfred's shoulder. "I am too," he said quietly.
"This just in, I have just been told that we have a confirmed report of a fourth blast on a passenger bus. . . ." Arthur's grip on Alfred tightened to the point of being painful.
"Shh, you're safe," Alfred murmured. He blinked away tears and rested his head on Arthur's. His eyes rested on a stack of books balanced haphazardly on the end table. Alfred noticed a stack of books on the end table by the couch. He reached around Arthur's shoulders and picked one up. "Shakespeare? Why did you bring these over here? Were you reading them when you heard . . . ?"
"No," Arthur said shortly, and turned his face away. "They're about the most precious things I own, since they were both the first present I received from you and contain the target of my life's ambition. I had little else to comfort me, since I wasn't sure if you were alive or dead."
"Arthur," Alfred said softly. Arthur turned back to the television again, his face grim. Alfred brushed the hair out of his eyes. "Arthur. I'm not going to leave you." He took Arthur's hand. "I haven't forgotten my promise."
"I'm just so scared," Arthur whispered, and he felt his eyes starting to fill with tears again. "This isn't supposed to happen, not here. . . ."
Alfred pulled him close. "I know," he murmured into his hair. "I know."
In memory of all those who died in the September 11, 2001 and July 7, 2005 terrorist attacks.
