A/N- :') TY for all the comments / reviews. I love them all, good or bad. This quick update is a semi-thank you, but mainly a 'Term is Ending (school) and updates won't be as frequent :X Regardless, this is somewhat of FILLER. It's a bit boring, honestly, but yeah. Not too many chapters, only a few in fact, before the end.
xx Dandy
All the blood in Alfred's usually tan countenance paled, his eyebrows twitching and lips construed in a confused manner. Francis inhaled sharply as he felt the atmosphere around him tighten and freeze over Arthur just looked lost, but the way he crossed and uncrossed his arms didn't confirm, nor deny Francis's accusation. Francis stepped out of the bedroom doorway, and walked closer to the other two blondes.
"…I don't know what you're talking about, Frog," Arthur mumbled finally.
"What…what kind of question is that, Frenchie?" Alfred hissed. He pointed at Arthur's quietness. "HE is an English prof- Artemis is DEAD. Wh-WHY are you even here?!"
"Arthur…"
When the Brit didn't respond, Alfred grabbed his shoulders. "He's kidding right? There's NO wa-"
"Whoever you're talking about is most likely deceased."
Francis sighed in exasperation. He took two long strides toward the Alfred's desk. The luxurious watch had been under a few papers, and pretty much ignored by Arthur and Alfred. The former hadn't even had time (haha) to realize he hadn't been wearing his old accessory for a while now. Arthur sucked in a deep breath, and was already ahead in where Francis was leading this. Francis picked up the accessory with great care and turned its face around. He hovered it below Alfred's glasses. The American picked up the carved initials almost immediately.
"…The 2007 design dispute…" Alfred whispered. "This was gifted th to Artemis after he won-…" Arthur snatched the watch back.
"Give it back."
"Why do you have it?" Alfred countered.
"Why is HE your bloody idol?" Arthur shot back.
"French-dude says it's YOU! You don't look anything like hi-" The American was cut short. Undoubtedly, Arthur possessed the appropriate height, but from his memory, the English attorney was a very young-looking bloke. He had green hair, always wore either a poker face or cocky smirk, and random facial jewellery. Arthur crossed his arms and turned around. He could feel his past-self keeling over laughing. It was enough to want to shove both the Frenchman and American out.
"…Well, I don't think I would want to-"
"You still have your nose ring on your bureau," Francis murmured. Alfred's jaw dropped at the news.
Arthur lost it. His right hand sliced the air and pressed against Francis's cheek, leaving a blooming red mark. Alfred looked back between Arthur and Francis. He shut his eye, and allowed the face of Kurt Landon Artemis- was that even his real name?- come into focus. He remembered the clipping on the 2008 case, the last case, "Artemis" had been in before he disappeared into the air. If everything that Francis was trying to bring upon the table was correct, he didn't just disappear- he flew across the bloody Atlantic. His brain compared two face portraits, as if he could imagine those god-awful license photos from the DMV. Sure, Arthur was 28…which would have made 'Artemis'…24….and in 2008….he was just that.
"When's your birthday?" Alfred asked.
Francis rubbed his cheek, and turned to Arthur. That had been one of the questions that he had asked the Brit earlier. Arthur just scowled, and turned around. He felt no sympathy or guilt for slapping Francis hard against his bloody cheek, and he was NOT under any obligation to answer Alfred's question. Admitting the truth would just solidify the truth.
"It sure as hell is not what you told me," Francis chimed. He wasn't bitter over the strike- it was more or less deserved.
"You don't know half the pain he's caused."
The tone of Arthur's voice intimidated Francis and Alfred.
"Just…go, you two. Get out."
The Brit didn't even bother to shove them. He just stuffed the watch in his back pocket, turned around and headed to the washroom. Alfred restrained himself from grabbing Arthur's shoulders. What did he mean by all the pain? Arthur was in pain?
"You like him, don't you?"
Alfred turned is gaze at the other blond. "Oh, what?"
"I think if you want him to ever finish off this discussion, we should do leave him to be for a bit."
"We can't-"
"We should. You're smart- I think you can put one and one together. Love is such a vile thing, isn't it?"
Alfred just gave Francis an odd look. What did the French know about love. Pfft.
X-X-X-X-X-X
"I don't know how Artemis did it, sending the mother away for life from her child, how he lived with that guilt. I just…I'm going to need someone."
"Surely you've done cases-" Arthur whispered hesitantly.
"I have. And it was my brother who consoled me and those big guys that promoted me that wrote my paycheques that made things okay. But they weren't really."
"You're laying all this heavy on me, rather fast, aren't you?"
"For some reason, I don't know why, but every time I talk to you, it's as if you've gone through worse, or understand. Even if you're only a teacher."
The diner waitress slid the large (and falling apart) hamburger at her customer, slowly getting an impression the fellow was falling asleep with his eyes open. Whoever this man was, he dressed awfully nice, but still bore a resemblance of a rambunctious teenager who seemed sort of love struck. The waitress didn't want to intrude of the man's thinking, but she did know that the chef used processed cheese, and the meat patty was its best when the cheese still tasted rather soft and gooey, not solidifying and cool.
"Mister?"
He reminds me him,Alfred mouthed. He is him.
A small tug on his shirt woke the American out of his daze.
"Sir, your burger…"
"Hu- oh! Oh, right!" Alfred frowned. "Can I get it to go?"
Well, the waitress thought, so much for gooey cheese.
For a hefty fee, a certain 'Prussian' had sold to him a crate of Arthur's favourite Irish beer. The man that was 'in-love' with Alfred's younger brother had not really understood anything the American was saying when Alfred had spazzed to him about how to apologize to Arthur. Truthfully, Alfred didn't know why he was apologizing. He'd done what Arthur wanted him to- leave. Alfred figured it would be a peace offering. He needed to talk to the Brit. Something weird in his chest throbbed, saying he would never be at peace with himself if he just left Arthur to be. It was probably what Arthur wanted to do anyway, but Alfred was a determined person.
He didn't want to ever seen Arthur cry. And now… he was Alfred's idol. He wanted to know everything, and he'd rather die than say something that would hurt Arthur.
But that wasn't the only reason he felt the need to take a cab to Arthur's.
It didn't feel like Alfred was attracted to Arthur. Alfred never truly understood what it meant to like someone, never finding and understanding the thin line between wanting to be friends, and wanting more that platonic friendship. He racked through his brain, and all he got was that Arthur was a man who poured beer on him as an introduction. Then somehow, his realization of being lonely drew him closer to the man who had not seemed like the type to ever want to be with him. It was a weird way to think, actually, Alfred said to himself.
Maybe that was it. Maybe…the weird encounter, the short time together, the awkwardness, the back and forth was more than a series of coincidences. It was a weird way to bring them together.
The scowl that Arthur wore could be endearing to Alfred- the Brit did a poor job of trying to look not flustered or blush. He liked that the Briton liked drinking past his limits. He hated his cat- which, by the way had seemed to be hiding the other day?- but even that he could laugh at. Alfred couldn't say love, but he might just say together.
When he got to the floor that Arthur resided on, Alfred bolted down the hallway, probably shaking the floors. He panted a bit in front of Arthur's door and clenched a fist to knock, but then just rolled his eyes and pushed the door open.
"Eh? Who's there?"
Alfred remembered that face. It was the teenager that had not murdered someone cold-heartedly- it was the teenager who'd merely acted in a time of his life being threatened. Peter cocked his head. He knew who this American was. It was one of the men that had been working to prosecute him. Peter remembered Arthur had kicked him out the other day.
Well, good thing Arthur was out, right?
Peter shifted the weight between his two feet, not sure what else to say. He was waiting for Alfred's response.
"Huh? Oh, uh, is Artie here?"
"He's out."
"It's late."
"He's old. Why are you here?"
Alfred shrugged, gesturing at the beer. He set it at the foot of the doorway. "Peace offering."
"I have to hand it to you for coming back and wanting to talk to him. He's been somewhat of a reclusive mess."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, don't tell him this, but when he was talking to Francey-Pants and you yesterday, I was still in the room, right? I sort of went sneaking."
"Where is he?"
"Late visit to the Zwingli's. I think he needed a good away from all this for a while." Peter gestured to the kitchenette. "Let's drink and I'll tell you what I know."
"You're 19…you can't drink."
"Eh, I'm European. Screw it."
Alfred listened intently as the teenager started out his talk. Peter took meagre sips of the beer every once in a while and thought about how he would approach something new. Arthur had bailed out Peter, something Peter could not believe Arthur could afford. The prof basically spent it like it was pocket change- he barely thought about it. Alfred felt like he knew how Arthur was feeling. When someone you want to protect and love is in danger, no price tag is too high.
Alfred gained more respect for the Brit.
"I don't think 'Kurt Landon' was ever his actual name. Think about it. Arthur, Artemis. Kurt Landon, Kirkland. I mean, it's not as spy-like as an anagram, but you can't put aside the obviousness.
"Don't tell him I went snooping, but I know his birthday matches the one that 'Artemis' had. There was a certain big bash for his 22nd in Manchester.
And, long story short, I think Mr. Kirkland hated what he did. He was young, and he loved the power and money, but I think he was suffering…mentally, that was.
There was the stress, and the emotional upturns, all that jazz.
Okay, don't tell him, but I think he had a tryst with drugs and shit, and might've even been on anti-depressants. At least, Francis somehow convinced me. The man knew him, or at least, saw him, back in Europe."
Alfred just stared.
"Are you bullshitting me?"
Peter shrugged, taking a larger gulp of his beer.
"I don't know. Artemis never died, and I'm more than willing to bet he had connections. How else could he teach at such a young age? Probably some money shuffling and non-disclosures, and bam, a college prof before 30.
You can try to pry the actual story from him, but just…don't think for once that Mr. Kirkland is less than Artemis, your 'idol'. Mr. Kirkland is a great person, and I think he's spent years fighting to bury his past. I'd say it's almost been 5 years? Four? He hates what he used to be, the power-hungry punk, maybe even manwho-e. I don't know. But you know, it shouldn't matter. Don't talk to him as the rich British lawyer. Talk to him as the weird prof that he is.
And don't worry…he likes you too."
"How'd you know I liked him."
"Well, don't you?" Even after a bit of alcohol, he could feel his inhibition turn fuzzy.
"I don't want to talk to him to worship his past. Maybe talk, yes, but before I even knew who he was, I still felt something.
Arthur stood there with a few feet behind Alfred, mouth a bit agape. Peter widened his eyes when he realized Arthur was standing there.
"Shit."
Alfred turned around and smiled nervously at Arthur.
"…H-hey…"
Arthur's lips tugged slightly.
"is that the good stuff from Gil's?"
Afterword:
Comment :D I love dem . _ . '' /guilty as charged.
Only a few more before da ending.
We just need Alfred sorted out. Next chapter should bring back some of the minor character + Francis 8D