Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Chuck Norris. Or the lyric from "If You're Gonna Play In Texas" written by Murray Kellum and Dan Mitchell and performed by the band Alabama.
Warning: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some inaccuracies (historically, culturally, grammatically). Some more amateur Spanish. Dime novels. If you're into 1812, look up the Shipyard Burning in Essex (April 1814)...(happened before the burning of the White House-August 1814) as well as the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders Regiment in New Orleans (1815)...The reality of the War of 1812 is that it was a very complicated mess where everyone was fighting dirty. The more you delve in, the nastier it gets regardless of whose perspective you're looking out from...which is probably why it keeps getting swept under the carpet by all countries involved-except for Canada-Canada's proud-the war helped give its citizens a more unified identity. Fun Fact for those who are curious: General Andrew Jackson (Yup, that would-be president on the $20 bill) was involved on the American side of that battle and if you've read up on him-you know he was gonna fight the U.K. to his dying breath. He went through so many scuffles with them from the American Revolution through 1812-it's hilariously fitting that he became President and the U.K. had to deal with him some more. It just adds to my headcanon that Arthur had a terrible time working diplomatically with him...and that Alfred would deliberately leave them alone together. Feels...you've been warned...o.O Mean slurs involving redheads. Wales...O Wales...he really just sort of...walks into it. Embarrassing parents. Overprotective parents. Overconfident but woefully inexperienced babysitters. Overwhelmed Alfred.
AN: Thank you for your wonderful reviews! I'm glad my story can put you in a good mood. And Happy St. Paddy's Day to its Shamrockin' participants and you too lone Leif Erickson celebrator (I'm glad you keep a flame going for him even when it's not October). Still…Favorite Review: "I'm not used to you updating when it's not 4am." XD And now just to shake things ups, I decided to update now! Happy Reading! And have a great weekend! : DDD
Chapter 21: Don't Be Sad
Arthur was trying to grin and bear it. Really, he was, but...country music…
Humphf…
Still, he watched as Texas strummed his guitar and Alfred fiddled-it certainly kept their moods bright and cheery-playing "If you're gonna play in Texas."
Arthur leaned against the hallway wall-first contemplating the soft wool slippers on his feet and then to Tex's luggage sitting next to the door.
He was, dare he say it, a bit reluctant to see him go. His company cheered Alfred up a good deal. A godsend after that fiasco with Mathieu. Though he understood and empathized that Antonio wanted to spend time with his child. Arthur couldn't find it in himself to even try and argue the point.
Besides, Antonio had already gracefully conceded to relinquish Texas for Christmas Day.
Early on, Arthur had collaborated with Alaska, Hawaii, and Texas that should Alfred stay with him during the holidays, he hoped they would come visit at Kirkland Hall from Christmas Day through the Ball. Because it would've been cruel to assume the boy hadn't developed any traditions of his own during their separation.
Very likely Arthur would find himself busy during the ball with hosting duties and he didn't know how well the other children would treat Alfred in that setting...
Having the three appear on the 25th (as if Santa had deposited them purposely) would make for such a happy surprise.
Tex's phone (which was on its loudest setting) rang and vibrated on the coffee table.
England peaked through the shutters and saw a cab pull up.
Spain exited from the vehicle and motioned for the driver to stay put.
As he jogged up the steps, Arthur opened the door and blinked as Antonio rushed past him with an abrupt "Hola."
It was almost immediately followed by a guitar twanging off-key and an "OOF! Papi?! Qué diablos-"
"Te he extrañado" Spain replied, not loosening his tight embrace.
Arthur watched both brunets head back towards him with Alfred trailing behind.
Texas slung his guitar over his shoulder and gave Arthur a salute, "Thanks fer lettin' me crash, Art."
The Briton sighed-not bothering to correct the nickname.
Antonio ruffled Alfred's hair and smiled sweetly, "Buenas noches, Alfredo. Que sueñes con los angelitos."
The boy gave a baffled sidelong glance to Texas.
The Texan reached over and gave his father a shove in the arm, "Papi!" He tilted his head to where Alfred was "No habla espanol."
"¿Qué? ¿Nada en absoluto?"
"¡Papi, para, me estás avergonzado!" He crossed his arms stubbornly.
"Sorry, sorry. Goodnight Alfred, I hope you sleep well."
"O-oh...kay...thanks."
Tex gave an approving nod.
"With your permission" Spain indicated the luggage.
"Huh? Oh...yeah, right, thanks."
"I wait for you outside."
"Kay."
Antonia hauled the luggage out and wished Arthur a good night.
Alfred offered up Tex's hat which had likely been knocked off during Spain's exuberant greeting and Tex's phone-which the lad swiftly pocketed.
"I can't believe it's time already."
"Fraid so, little brother. I'm off to raise more hell throughout Europe. Someone has GOT to uphold the stereotypes of Americans."
"Keep fighting the good fight" Alfred giggled. "Laugh loudly. Juggle that silverware. Make small talk...with people waiting in line who you don't know."
"You can count on me, cowpoke."
Arthur felt his eye twitch. In one fell swoop, they both showed so much ignorance for Spain's customs. The people there tended to be very boisterous, cheerful, and friendly and were usually forgiving with foreigners.
Alfred laughed brightly.
Like a shadow on the wall, Arthur watched the light-hearted goodbye...
Filled with laughter…
And hugs…
And almost gratuitous "I Love You's"...
Alfred waved until their cab was far, far out of sight.
"Well come on then. We're letting a chill in and I expect it'll be raining soon. Tonight's your night to choose a movie to watch. We still have two remaining episodes of your Power Rangers, right? Go on then, just hack the DVD player like you did in that hotel room."
Alfred nodded, staring out into the night sky.
Alfred was dangerously gifted when it came to technology workarounds. Still...if Arthur could pick up a few skills from the boy.
"You'll have to walk me through it. Seems like a valuable trick to learn-"
He nodded again.
"Unless of course you're eager for news?"
The child nodded once more.
"Yes; some nice, boring news. Some piece with little journalistic merit-"
And again.
Well, if he was going to be in a mood…
"Good. I'll do my best to find the dullest broadcasters. Monotones. Just for you, poppet."
"Yeah, thanks" Alfred mumbled. "Back in...in a minute."
Arthur stared as the child hastily rushed down the steps and into the dark night sky.
The Briton practically tripped over himself to follow.
"Alfred!?"
Yes, he lived in a relatively safe area but-but-but-
Night time!
Barefoot!
No coat!
No wallet!
No nothing!
And the weather was turning!
He'd catch his death out here!
Adrenaline coursed through him and he caught the child before he reached the end of the block.
"A-alfred?!" He huffed-keeping a good hold on his upper arm as he steered him back around and forced him under a nearby streetlight to better see him.
"I-minute-air-myself-I-I-I" Alfred's bottom lip was trembling...the boy looked away.
"Al...?"
"I just...I miss him already" He snapped and he wiped his nose with the edge of his sleeve.
Arthur nodded-trying his best to keep his own emotions in check.
It was a complex feeling of heartache welling up within him; part genuine concern, part petty envy. There'd been a time when Arthur sailing home elicited such woe. Alfred's wails had made his insides twist miserably as he barked orders to his sailors.
He'd come to realize in the next few centuries that the only thing worse than hearing his son's loud sorrow was his angry silence. Arthur could remember staring at him expectantly for some sort of heartfelt emotion as he exited the house-even in spite of the difficulties they were enduring.
He'd deliberately cross through the kitchen, to see his son one final time before he headed out. To give the boy one last chance to see him off with a proper goodbye. The teenager would sit sullenly at their table...at the head of it...in Arthur's spot...and would purposely not rise...
Blatant disrespect...
"It's…"
Following their separation, Arthur's comings and goings received little fanfare or attention from the boy at all-good or ill. Just a smiled greeting and a smiled farewell.
He'd thought that it was likely that Alfred had just outgrown such emotional responses regarding departures (he didn't make a fuss over Mathieu or Lithuania or Hawaii).
England took a deep breath; Alfred was very close to Texas…
It was a special bond.
"...alright…"
"You are the unrefuted, longest lasting, bonafide roommate I've ever had."
And he was…
Though it made Arthur's heart heavy to concede even that when...he'd always consider himself to be the uncontested one who'd loved him the longest...Alfred's relationship with Osha be damned.
And the idea of not being recognized as such...
Still...
It wasn't hard to see how easily Texas had slipped into Alfred's heart. Both were children who, by their own view, considered themselves abandoned by their fathers. They had tumultuous relationships with their fellow colonies.
There was much they had in common: from similar senses of humor to that brazen want of adventure to that frontiersmen idea of what freedom and justice should entail.
And…it had culminated in an almost absurd, dime novel-esque, cliched, shining familial relationship of love and trust…that just...cast the rest of them into shadow…
Real resentment boiled at the pit of his stomach.
Not because Alfred cherished his older brother.
No...no, he was glad he'd found someone who cared about him.
It was the disregard for himself!
Did he really expect Arthur to just let him wander about while he was upset?
That Arthur cared so little?!
Terrible things could befall him! Terrible people! Or terrible thoughts!
"It's alright to be upset after a parting" he told him.
Mentally, he ran through other abandonments...
He'd left for that clinic without a proper goodbye, following his rescue he'd sped off from McDonald's without telling Arthur where he was going, and just now…just now…
A downpour opened overhead...always leaving him in the rain...
Was his company so dismissible?
But if that was so...why did he even agree to come over for the holiday? He could've easily stayed in Virginia, celebrated with Texas, received Yule instructions. He'd chosen to come here. It was difficult to make Alfred do anything against his will.
If he was anywhere (kidnapping or war aside), it was where he chose to be and-
Wait…
Alfred had even run off from his own Thanksgiving celebration...
And…
Texas hadn't acted...surprised...
Arthur blinked.
Was it...not unusual behavior? For Alfred?
He ran off when he felt…
...overwhelmed…?
Well...that wasn't a healthy way to deal with such matters.
"Goodness. Why didn't you simply ask Texas and Antonio if they could stay an extra day? Perhaps, they could've allotted it and you would've had an easier time coming to terms that they needed to leave and-"
"No," the boy rasped wrenching himself free "Can't be sad: I don't want him to worry!" The boy sniffled "He'll be safer and more alert when he's travelling, if he isn't busy worrying about me! And they need time together! Just them! Before Mexico shows up. I know Tex...missed having him around. I know" he hiccupped "I know that. He stayed angry for so long cuz he cared. I can't just-just hog him. He...needs...I..."
This...was a new terrible sound...
Arthur decided then that the dockside wails and the contemptuous silence easily paled in comparison to the soft, half-swallowed squeaks of grief being smothered.
Always the selfless hero? Hmm, Alfred?
"So...you came out here to chase after solace?"
There was a miserable nod.
Thunder rolled overhead.
"Silly thing."
Alfred looked up sharply.
"What a terrible sense of direction...you were headed entirely the wrong way."
"Huh?"
Arthur opened his arms.
Several minutes passed. Arthur would readily admit that holding the position wasn't very comfortable, but he understood that the boy couldn't be rushed and-
Alfred turned around.
His heart sunk into his wet slippers.
No...no, he didn't want to think about…
"You used to be so great."
Blast…
He felt a lump in his throat.
Rejected...again...
The child wrapped his arms around himself.
No…
No, he wouldn't give up so easily, "Al-"
"...Don't want you to see me like this...You keep having to see me like this…"
What?
"...I just need a minute...I'll come back in...in a minute...I just..."
Arthur took a step forward and knelt-carefully wrapping his arms around the small child who tensed.
"Poets...they...they always make love sound so easy. Graceful and…perfect and...it's not. They...they don't talk about how pain...real pain can mix in with it or how it's...it's...it's so...messy and overwhelming and...But...that's how it is. When it's real. When love is real it...doesn't need to be dressed up. Doesn't have to be. Because it's genuine. And that's what makes it so valuable. It...shouldn't be embarrassing... Modor… Er...Mother...sorry...your Grandmother would be proud. She always felt that if you loved anything, it should be deeply...said...that people ought to love from the roots of trees...rather than the leaves. 'Else how can it weather a breeze? Let alone a storm?'"
The child very slowly turned around in the circle of Arthur's arms and sagged against him.
It wasn't quite a reciprocated hug but...
It gave him the impression that where there had been a locked door before...was a door just the slightest bit ajar.
Arthur could work with that.
He lifted him up and set him firmly on his hip, before turning on his heel and marching back into the house.
It was hard to believe that just moments ago he'd been all smiles, and hugs and…
"Don't be sad."
He'd said that quite a bit...now that Arthur bothered to reflect on it.
And while sometimes it was true that melancholy could distract from happy wonders going on around you...
Other times…
"Can't be sad."
Other times it interweaved itself around another, bleaker message: "Don't let anyone see you be sad."
"It's alright to be sad" he declared forcefully as he reached the house and stepped in "...I'd say it was healthy. Unpleasant perhaps...but healthy. Besides, if one isn't visibly distressed and...isn't vocal about said distress…it just...stays inside...trapped and...well...how...how can one receive the consolement he needs? Hm?"
Alfred stayed quiet and toyed with a button on Arthur's shirt.
"How can we make ourselves feel better when we do nothing, to-to-to change the way things are?"
"It's...less sad when I...have something important to do...and when I'm the leaving one. Or when we're...both leaving."
"I see. It's hard to be left behind" Arthur readily agreed.
There was a vigorous nod and then the child stilled and abruptly sobbed, "And he's gonna be the one leaving a lot! They're gonna need him to go out and serve and protect. And I-I won't be able to go with him anymore! We made a promise! And now I'm gonna break it-"
Arthur carefully closed and locked the door behind them and went to sit down on the steps of the staircase.
He carefully maneuvered the child to sit on his lap, "Alfred-"
"He's gonna leave me! He's gonna leave me! Like you left me and I'll be trapped in a house all by myself and-"
Dread filled Arthur's innards.
Alfred mumbled woefully at his reflection. He rubbed an arm across his streaming eyes-body shaking with soft sobs. "I'm too little to be anything important to anyone."
"It's not faaaair" he wailed and slammed his hands against the mirror.
So that was the underlying issue here.
"Alfred! Alfred, please listen to me!"
He cupped the child's face and forced him to look him in the eye.
"You are NOT going to be abandoned. Yes, there will be limitations in what your government will allow you to-"
"S'not fair" he blubbered.
"No" he agreed "Perhaps not but-"
"I just wish I could be fixed!"
Arthur felt his heart crack at that and he pulled the child tightly against himself, "You're not damaged. You're not." He insisted fervently. "There's nothing wrong with you. You're upset. You should be. You've been through a lot...but you're not...you'll never be...never."
Alfred stared at him for a long beat and then hesitantly reached for his father's face. He stared blankly at the tears he collected on his fingers.
"Why...are you crying?"
"Because you're being so hard on yourself."
The child's mouth made an "o" of surprise.
Before the conversation could continue there was the fumbling sound of a key being slid into the door.
Rhys ambled in awkwardly with an umbrella, his luggage, his big ring of keys and an upset Camelot.
The furry little numpty must've run out while the door was open.
"I-I'm here...now" the Welshman announced uncertainly. "Are you...having troubles? I thought I saw you...out...looking for him...just now? "
He took in their haggard appearances, "Are you both alright? Has something happened?"
"Er...no...I...thank you for-for catching him..."
Both brothers stared at one another for a beat.
"S-sorry...about Camelot."
"No need, Sweet. Camelot runs off for an adventure now and again. Always returns."
Rhys stared-first at Alfred's slumped form and then at Arthur.
"Rhys, you're welcome to any of the guestrooms. Come on, Sweet," he set Alfred on his feet and took him by the hand "Let's go check on Americat and make sure he's still inside-"
"It's dinnertime, Americat wouldn't leave during dinnertime."
And he was right: the cat was sitting beside its bowl-mournfully pushing at it with his paw.
Wales read through his list one final time, confident that he had it all scheduled out.
Apart from a convoluted meeting at the door, Rhys had a rather simple evening...alone. Which was actually how he preferred it. Travelling never left him in the best of moods; what with the inconvenience of having to pack so many things, coupled with the strain of lifting and transporting them, just to find that at the end of it all something useful was still forgotten; he'd need to purchase dental floss.
Father and son had gone into the sewing room to talk for a long time and had gone to bed afterwards.
Clearly, there'd been some sort of emotional discourse...
But Arthur hadn't seen fit to enlighten him about it.
He entered the kitchen to find Arthur setting down a bowl of porridge before Alfred.
The child pulled a face at the breakfast meal and Rhys couldn't blame him.
It looked vile.
"Now, you're absolutely certain you can manage?" Arthur asked as they walked out the hall to the front door, away from small ears.
Rhys studied the deep bags under Arthur's eyes; his brother was exhausted.
"We've been having a pixie infestation. If any appear, you have my blessing to stake iron all around the place."
Rhys felt his eyes bug out, but Arthur adored fae coming to visit!
Arthur went on to vent:"They're trying to bypass me. I won't stand for it. I know exactly the sort of mischief they're capable of and Alfred is still...The last thing I need is for him to get injured tree climbing or romping about the garden trying to impress them. God, if he fell..." He took a steadying breath "Are you certain you can manage?"
"Yes" Rhys insisted "You filled out the forms I sent you. I have one for my use and you have one for your records-"
"Y-yes" Arthur replied doubtfully. "It's just...I apologize for the short notice and I...realize you...don't have much experience and I-"
Wales felt his eyebrow lift incredulously.
Didn't have experience?
Eire and Alba had made similar disparaging remarks when he'd told them he was watching over their nephew.
He was starting to feel annoyed.
Yes, he seldom volunteered for the often overly romanticized task of childminding, but it didn't mean he was incapable.
He'd watched over his brothers often when they were small and their Mam was out.
Later on when Arthur was expanding their family by colonizing territories, Rhys was usually the one in charge of hiring their tutors.
He made it a priority to know what subjects they needed to be instructed in and in what order: Australia was a morning person so his more difficult subjects needed to be taught then, while Barbados excelled in the afternoon.
He also took great pains to ensure each child was allotted time to practice the arts or indulge in a hobby.
Academics were all fine and good and necessary, but singing, drawing, dancing, and music were equally so.
Usually he'd written their caretakers studiously to keep up with their curriculum and current interests.
That way if Arthur was detained during an important holiday or birthday, they'd receive an appropriate individualized gift.
He indicated his clipboard, "I have everything scheduled."
Arthur stared at it unconvinced and then turned to contemplate his reflection in the hallway mirror.
"Rhys…" he murmured tiredly, straightening his tie.
"Yes?"
"Please...please be gentle with him."
Rhys blinked. Eire had said something similar: 'Don't beat him to death with your bloody book o' rules. He's a free spirit, Rhys. Free! Ya best embrace it!'
He sniffed.
Yes, he liked order, and he might not have been as carefree as his brothers, but he was hardly an ogre!
He certainly didn't want to worsen relations between himself and Alfred which weren't, he was loathe to admit, particularly good...Despite the large role he'd taken in rescuing Alfred from his captors.
Part of the reason, he'd volunteered for today's task was that he didn't want to be estranged. It was just...the way things had been left during the War of 1812…
And his own anger and anger on Arthur's behalf and on Alistair's as well…
Scotland still hadn't really received an apology for the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders Regiment.
In the years that passed, his anger had evolved into a bitter resentment and a matter of fact reasoning that Alfred practically existed to harm the family.
Childish, immature, and with a streak of cruelty (he'd witnessed many times where he'd deliberately goad Arthur during trade meetings) he'd written him off as an ungrateful, rude young man…
But that was where things got complicated...
He'd never been a man at all, rather he'd been a child masquerading as one.
It explained a lot and made all the expectations Rhys had held him to entirely unrealistic...which made all shades of guilt set in.
Because he done virtually nothing to prevent his capture...and the fact that he was a child…
Feeling the boy flounder around-reaching out for help…His magic so weak and untrained and malnourished...it was like dealing with an infant that desperately wanted to roll over and reach that milestone...and couldn't.
And he had to be careful how involved he became; much the same way lifeguards had to be careful not to sink along with drowning victims, empaths had to be wary of such chaotic signatures.
England had shocked him by charging straight into the foray despite being a complete amateur in the realm of empathic abilities-which had resulted in a multitude of uncomfortable side effects. Ones Wales had been intent to avoid.
Sometimes it still alarmed him how fiercely attached Arthur became in so little time, if the child had returned to the land…
The psychic backlash he would've endured…
Rhys still felt the occasional twinge from Mother's death.
"Alfred, I'm leaving!" Arthur called.
The child rushed out of the kitchen at breakneck speed and barrelled into Arthur.
Rhys barely refrained from releasing a squawk of indignation as he was nearly bowled over.
He looked to Arthur expectantly; awaiting some manner of disciplinary action which he could later mimic should Alfred misbehave.
But Arthur simply knelt down to better hug the boy-one hand petting the child's hair comfortingly.
So then...he took it that...the talk went well...and...things were mending.
Good.
Arthur had certainly agonized over their relationship long enough. It was high time he began seeing some sort of return on it. It couldn't all be on Arthur. Alfred needed to do his part too.
Still...
It was...a bit odd though…watching his brother practically melt in the embrace of two scrawny little arms.
He wasn't usually very demonstrative with his affections. Had he read about it in a self-help article and was giving it a go?
Hmm...Hong Kong probably wouldn't appreciate it.
"My cell will be on all day" Arthur informed the child quietly "If you need me for any reason, any at all-call me. Don't hesitate. Please..."
There was a dutiful nod.
The embrace tightened.
"I'll be checking in on you too. So keep your phone with you, alright poppet?"
Rhys eyed the clock.
Arthur...really needed to go.
His brother sighed and rested his cheek atop of Alfred's golden hair as he told him to be good and patient with Rhys (which made Rhys frown; he wasn't incompetent thank you) and that he loved him.
Being privy to such a tender moment made the Welshman's face heat up. He immediately cleared his throat and informed Arthur he was going to be late.
Arthur scowled at him, took up his briefcase, checked his watch, and reluctantly left.
Rhys sighed.
He would admit that they were off to a bit of an awkward start as he sat across from the child in the kitchen-each frowning at his bowl of porridge. Why Arthur felt compelled to poison them both...
The child heaved a sigh-deciding to risk a bite. He slurped a mouthful.
"Side of your spoon" Rhys instructed.
The child's brows drew together a bit rebelliously before he acquiesced.
Rhys tentatively sipped his own.
Blech. Burnt. Thin. Watery. Disgusting.
Without another word he whisked both bowls; unintentionally startling the child who gasped in surprise.
"Sorry. I'll make us something edible."
Within a few well-spent minutes he boiled some nice, thick oatmeal and poured it into two fresh bowls on the table.
He and Alistair had used the centuries to perfect their recipes-his was still better. Reilley would side with Alistair just to spite him, but if he won over Alfred they'd be even again.
He received a quiet "thanks" and then the silence returned. Or at least until Alfred began scraping at the bottom of his bowl.
Rhys frowned. He really had no table manners at all, did he?
"Did something bad happen between us?" Alfred asked abruptly "I don't like you. And you don't like me. I get it. But I can't remember why, and I think you do."
"I don't...dislike you…" Rhys murmured.
He just wasn't his favorite colon-er-former territory...that much was just being honest.
Alfred had always been too forward, too loud, too brazen, too rebellious.
But it wasn't as though he hated him. The two of them were just very different.
He'd noted those differences back when he'd first the met little colony-assuming he'd grow accustomed to them...and he did.
He'd actually doted on him quite a bit when he was very small.
And then eventually he'd met Canada...and doted on him a bit more; they just had more in common.
But even if he wasn't a favorite, it didn't mean he was an...well...an unfavorite.
Regardless of their many differences...they were family. And if he could survive his obnoxious brothers, he could certainly handle Alfred.
"Come on now, I'm not cotton candy. I can take it, dude."
"We had a confrontation during the war" Rhys admitted.
"Kay. Um...which one?"
"...1812."
"Oh! Okay. I don't remember that one that good-"
"-well-"
"So it's not like you're holding a grudge for like...I don't know...me spitting in your gruel during WWI?"
"Did you?"
"Uh...No?"
Rhys shook his head and took a deep breath, "In Essex."
"Right! The shipyard burning! The British forces made a strategic move by focusing-" Alfred recited.
"Alfred…"
"-promised not to harm the townsfolk so long as the militia stood by and-"
Recited...
Rhys felt his eyebrows furrow.
He'd been there…
Alfred had been there…
And yet…
"Ha! Did you know that they celebrate it? As their 'worse day in history'?
"You arrived to try and fight us off."
"Hm. That sounds like me" Alfred replied dipping a finger into the bowl for a last bit of oatmeal.
"You failed."
Alfred shrugged "I tried at least."
Rhys sighed and offered what was left in his own bowl. The child ecstatically accepted.
"We...we fought. The men didn't but we...I...injured you in the shoulder with my knife and you...well you...you broke my leg."
"Ohhhh" the child nodded as if that explained everything under the sun "So that's why you hate me. Fair enough. Did I break it with my bare hands like Chuck Norris?"
"I wouldn't say that I hate-What? No-I-"
"Dude, it's cool. I'm not fishing for a half-assed apology. It was war and we were enemies. Thanks for just being upfront. I kept wondering why I always felt so jittery around you. You shanked me, that's what it is" he snapped his fingers "That's why you seem so scary."
Rhys stared at him for a moment and looked away and then down. That...wasn't…
Scary?
Surely not…
He was just reserved...
He wasn't...scary.
Rhys sighed as he washed out the ornate teapot he wanted to use for afternoon tea.
The morning had been largely spent making a trip to the grocers, which took much longer than it ought to have. It seemed like he was constantly having to tell Alfred to return whatever it was he'd brought over to show him back to where he'd found it. Along with the importance of not talking to strangers, not approaching strange dogs, not stepping on shelves to improve his reach, and not fussing when Rhys wouldn't buy him a sweet.
Once home, he encouraged Alfred to play with the special coloring book Arthur had made him while he checked his emails.
He remembered Arthur spamming the lot of them with requests for appropriate activities and early lesson plans. And then getting angry at them for choosing things that were too advanced.
He planned on discussing Numerology with the boy that afternoon. He could then gauge for himself what Alfred's skill level was and report it to his brothers. When they'd both visited him the previous week, Scotland had voiced his concern that Arthur was coddling the boy unnecessarily.
"If he applies himself, he's a quick study" Alistair asserted. "But if he's not applying himself, I say we sic Reilley on him. Nothing like Irish tears to get that Hero Complex activated and-"
"I hate to say it, but it's true" Reilley shrugged "I do think I could motivate him if I cried. It won't be pretty-"
"Ack! Ya never are."
"D'ya even look in the mirror?"
"What are you on about, I'm the handso-"
"Yeh, soulless Ginger-"
"Ack, you! You're a Ginger yeh barmy-"
"Ain't as soulless as you!"
"Guess you need more practice then, ya lazy-"
"Or...we could move forward without emotional blackmail. I could talk to him" Rhys argued "like a normal person, and monitor his progress myself."
They grumbled but eventually agreed.
As it was, he actually had a good feeling regarding Alfred and magic.
When he'd pulled out his wallet to pay the cashier at the grocery store, blue eyes had been fascinated by it.
On the walk home, he let the child look at it. It was dragonhide.
The fact that he'd noticed that it was different, even if he didn't know exactly why was a positive sign.
Meant he was listening to his instincts.
He was also pleased to find that despite the boy's assertion that he didn't like Rhys, it didn't prevent him from being happy to assist him in baking. Though he jotted a note for Arthur that in the future it would be prudent to get him an apron that fit. He'd dirtied his outfit during the task and Rhys made him change before he served lunch.
Lunch though…
Lunch was an ordeal.
The child frowned heavily at his meal.
"Is it not to your taste?"
Leek and potato soup was usually a meal that all of the children could stomach well. He'd even gone an extra step and put a bit of bacon on Alfred's portion. Americans loved bacon.
"That's all? That can't be all. And there's not enough for seconds...Wha-Where's my sandwich?"
Rhys had deflected that with "We'll be having afternoon tea."
"...but…that's...I don't...still...hungry..."
He raised a bushy eyebrow, and the child backed down.
Or so he'd thought.
Really, he just went quiet for the sake of scheming.
When Arthur called an hour later to "check in" the child dramatically railed that Rhys was "starving him."
"I've had TWO liquid meals in a row! And I'm still hungry, but he says I can't have more! SaysthattherewillbeteabutIdon'tdrinkteayouknowIdon'tdrink teawon'tevenletmehaveabiscuittoholdmeovertillyougethome!"
He nodded twice, murmured "Kay" and then handed his cellphone over, "Dad wants to talk to you."
Needless to say, he was very surprised that Arthur didn't admonish the boy for being melodramatic. Instead, Arthur had seethed over the phone-hissing in no uncertain terms that he did NOT want his child losing any more weight.
His following words were: "For Christ's sake, you let him into that pantry if he's hungry! Or a liquid diet is all you'll be capable of once I'm through with you!"
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