Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Rock Band. Or the Welsh fairy tale: The Boy That Visited Fairyland. Or Mozart. Or Pop Tarts.
Warning: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). American perspective on how smiling can be 'misinterpreted' in other countries; we're not interested, just cheerful. Go away : D Mentions of Tony and shameless headcanons regarding him. American codeword: interesting. If we can't think of anything positive to say about your statement/play/art/anything but don't want to hurt your feelings...we'll remark that it's "interesting." Otherwise we'll use more excited phrases like "fantastic," "amazing," "epic," etc. and we'll be quick to point out the things we enjoyed. If something truly is "interesting" we'll be sure to elaborate why that is. Otherwise...if we just say it's "interesting" without giving evidence to that claim…*shakes head* sorry but whatever you dragged us to/showed us was awful or dull or both. And then we just smile and nod until you give the hard glare and demand honesty. Fluff. Feels. Tsunderes.
AN: Thank you for your reviews! I read and re-read them often to keep me pumped up. In other news, a couple of you may have noticed that I finally finished my story image. I'm gettin' better with my art tablet/program XD. Enjoy! As we move steadily towards the abyss : D
Chapter 25: William Shakespeare Meets Jerry Springer
Alfred dutifully held up a handful of screws for Rhys to choose from as the older man set Arthur's door back on its hinges. He'd been about to do it himself, but Rhys's eyes had bugged out at the sight of him balancing on a ladder with a drill gun.
Personally, he'd been surprised that Arthur was handy enough to even own a drill and that their morning trip to the hardware store hadn't required them to buy one.
He kept waiting for a chewing out, but...nothing.
Usually breaking stuff earned him a stern lecture, but neither Arthur or Rhys mentioned the door at breakfast.
Rhys only remarked once they finished, that they'd need to have Scotland teach him how to pick a lock...as it was more cost-effective by having less collateral damage.
He'd squirmed a little bit, because he had a long-ingrained habit of busting down whatever door was in his way...he blamed his Wild West days. Still, he could see how lock-picking would be useful...a little subterfuge now and then wouldn't hurt.
Tex always said it was easy to figure out which parts of town Alfred's group of marshals had been through.
While Rhys made lunch, he began the unhappy task of gathering up all his stuff.
It was kind of like he and Rhys knew they were on kitchen timers-they could only really handle each other for brief spurts. Once they dinged-they both got snippy. Time apart allowed them to reset themselves, so they could better tolerate one another later.
Alfred sighed; Rhys just...wasn't as cool Uncle Alistair or as fun as Uncle Reilley.
He couldn't help feeling a little melancholy as he unhooked the Rock Band equipment. Just as he'd expected, his old man had enjoyed the toy and they'd probably end up being too busy at the Manor to play again.
While he waited for his last load of laundry to dry and for Rhys to call him to come eat, he made his way around the house picking up odds and ends: a manga book here, a cat toy there, a coat, a shoe, a marker.
Straightening and tidying and cleaning until England's house resembled its stuffy, museum-esque, Pre-America glory.
As he was packing everything into his suitcase for Part 2 of his Master Plan: Be Cool-Rule Yule, Texas hit him up for a videochat.
"Say hello Papi!" The Texan ordered-snagging his father in a headlock as he passed by behind the couch.
"¡Hola, Alfredo!" The Spaniard greeted with a wave-completely unfazed.
Alfred stared-amazed that Spain was letting Texas do that.
Whoa.
Romano had really broken that dude in, hadn't he?
He remembered having to outline appropriate physical interactions for the Italian when he'd been working in his house.
That he was NOT allowed to elbow or push people around. It wasn't really a problem Alfred had to deal with-Romano had been pretty intimidated by Alfred's muscles-but the other man had a nasty habit of bullying clerks and harassing female workers.
Alfred had to tell him repeatedly that any girl that happened to smile at him or make eye contact was NOT necessarily interested. And it was absolutely NOT alright to follow her out of a club or bar or down the street.
Seriously...frickin' creepy behavior.
He knocked that off when Alfred made sure to follow him one night, cracked his knuckles menacingly, and offered Romano the experience of being ran outta town on a rail.
He couldn't even imagine trying to put Arthur in a "friendly" headlock. Old man would go berserk.
"Don't add an 'o'" Texas growled giving his father a shake before releasing him.
"So it's just been the two of you, then?" Alfred asked.
"Yeah, a couple more are gonna turn up tomorrow and Mexico will be here Satur-"
He wondered if Tex felt half as anxious as he did at the prospect of meeting up with other former wards.
"There's so much fish here Al! I mean there are tons of different kinds of seafood! Tons! So many different crustaceans and fish and-and-and well, the market smells reeeeeeeaaaaallly bad, but...I gotta say. It's worth it to get Papi what he needs in order to cook and-next time he comes by my place, I'm gonna have him try some gator meat-you know how I can make a mean pot of-"
"I tell you mijo. Papi has already eaten...many...unique...meals and doesn't need-"
"Yeah, but that was like starving explorer style-I'm talking about a spicy gumbo that'll-"
"We will see" Spain smiled, gently patting him on the head-taking care to ruffle the dark curls before taking his leave.
Tex was trying very hard to frown, but couldn't quite manage it.
"He's...so embarrassing. I swear...Anyway...How have you been gettin' on?"
Dang.
Put him on the spot.
He was glad his brother seemed to be having a good, stress free vacation.
If only he could say the same!
Dude, there'd been so much emotional drama going on under this roof and he had the uneasy feeling it'd just get worse once everybody met up. Oh yeah, it was gonna be William Shakespeare Meets Jerry Springer. He could feel it.
He grinned as brightly as he could, "S'going great!"
Arthur entered his home thoroughly spent; every limb was sore, his back ached, and his eyes burned with fatigue.
The time he spent trying to convince Mint that he could sort out the letter fiasco made him late to the conference, which meant an embarrassing trudge to his seat and numerous "sorry's" as he endured sidelong glares from his coworkers.
He'd stayed several hours late in an effort to get as much work as possible done and reaffirm his dedication to his job.
Still, entering his house after ten gave him a sense of unease rather than accomplishment.
He slipped off his shoes and set his briefcase down-trying to ignore the pang he felt seeing Alfred's suitcase and Americat's carrier sitting in the hall.
He tore his gaze away. He'd need to rise early and write the UnSeelie Court. Then he'd need to see if he could persuade Wales to spare a bit of magic and "fire-send" it to ensure the UnSeelie Court received it immediately.
Arthur's magic reserves were too low for such a showy feat, plus he'd never had much of a talent for summoning or sending even when he was fully energized.
God, it was such a mess.
He'd done his best to comfort Mint but...
He could only imagine how angry the UnSeelies had been to find only "they" received a letter barring them from Alfred's presence.
No wonder those damned Dartmoor Pixies had infiltrated the house. They thought they were allowed!
And naturally, the Seelies would've gloated over it too.
It wasn't exactly a secret that given the typical behavior of the two courts, Arthur preferred the Spring and Summer Reigning Seelies versus the Autumn and Winter UnSeelies.
Yes, they were both incredibly mischievous, but mortals usually survived their encounters with the former...while the latter…were known to...
The latter...
Well…
Most fairy tales tended to be grim for a reason.
Even so, England tried his damnedest to be fair. However much time he spent with one, he allotted for the other.
But with this turn of events...
They'd think it was blatant favoritism and even after it was explained as a simple mishap.
Blast...with his luck, they'd likely demand a favor of some sort. Might have to enchant a jewel or attend a fairy birth or offer a blessing or something or other.
He loosened his tie.
All the lamps had been extinguished save one guiding light Rhys had left on over the stairs for him.
A Post-It Note on the banister mentioned that there were leftovers from dinner.
It was testament to his exhaustion that it took him several moments of bewildered blinking and thinking to place the author of the note.
The elegant loopy cursive was so far removed from Rhys's narrow stilted style (honestly, he wasn't sure when his brother would accept that the age of carving into stone was over) that he found himself tracing it with a finger.
Food in fridge.
Reheat with microwave: 1 min 18 s.
Do not deviate from instructions.
Thank you.
Alfred wrote him…
Not in a left-handed scrawl. Not on a wrinkled, grease-stained scrap of paper. A note unsullied by "text-lingo." No unnecessary smiley faces or absurd doodles of himself riding an eagle with American flags in both hands.
Just a simple note penned to him...in beautiful cursive…
He had a strong desire to keep it in his top dresser drawer with a myriad of other uplifting notes and drawings his other colonies had gifted him with throughout the years…
As a...bookmark of sorts...holding a place in that drawer until the boy wrote him a proper letter.
He loosened his tie even more.
Every instinct urged him to slip into bed and rest already. And he was eager to follow through on that plan-as soon as he made sure Alfred was safely tucked in his bed.
He frowned as he noticed a sliver of light coming from the child's room. Was he having trouble falling asleep? Alfred's door was slightly ajar.
"If you're too tired," Rhys murmured "we can finish tomorrow-"
Arthur scowled. Yes, he wanted Alfred to receive magical instruction from his relatives and he could well-remember long nights of his brothers "correcting" his casting.
'No Albion, straighten your spine!'
'No Albion, feet farther apart!'
'No Albion, your pronunciation is all wrong!"
But Alfred and Rhys were travelling tomorrow! The child needed to rest without thoughts of how he'd done everything "wrong" looming over him.
Just as righteous anger began bubbling-there was a sullen "No."
"Alfre-"
"...keep going! At least...until he's home. I can't sleep...until he's home...He texted you, right?"
"He texted me" Rhys affirmed.
"And it was a while ago, right?"
"He'll be along anytime."
Warmth fluttered through Arthur's heart; he'd been missed. Somehow...each time he heard that, he just…
There'd been so many occasions where it scarcely seemed like his presence or absence mattered to the boy at all.
He was about to take that as his cue to enter when curiosity struck; exactly which lesson was Wales teaching?
More Numerology? Perhaps an introduction to Astrology?
Rhys hummed thoughtfully as he found his place, "Now where was I-Ah yes. Elidyr followed the elves through a dark passage that opened up into a fairy kingdom of splendor-"
Arthur's jaw dropped. His eyebrows shot up towards his hairline.
"It was a wondrous land-the likes of which the boy had never seen. And all the beings he saw seemed so lively and-"
A fairy tale!
They weren't having a lesson at all!
Rhys, of all people, was reading a fairy tale. And Alfred was listening.
"Was it really? Wondrous, that is?" Alfred interrupted.
Rhys shrugged "I suppose. To one unfamiliar with-"
"I mean if something was really wondrous it'd be like...it'd be like drawing water from a well that was in the sky! Or-or-or a beanstalk that floated sideways or matchsticks that could become celery if you wanted them to."
Rhys coughed, "Yes, well...er...I suppose all of those things could be wondrous. Alchemy is wondrous. I can attest to that. I see botany will...be a subject you fancy. Gardener Magic and all...however, in the context of this story. I disagree. Wondrous simply means it inspires 'wonder' or 'delight.' Remember, Elidyr is a peasant learning at a monastery. To him, the sight of a castle and meeting the royalty residing in it-"
"Nuh-uh! You don't know that!" Alfred argued.
"Alfred, I'm just reading you the text, it says 'wondrous'-"
"Yeah...but...no. You're saying that it's only wondrous cuz he's a peasant. Like peasants don't see neat things. That's just not true! We see all sorts of stuff! Heck, we probably see crazier things than you guys in your castles do. I'm probably like...the patron saint of that-one of my besties is an illegal alien-"
"I don't think that's the correct term-"
"From outer space!"
"...wha-what?"
"Tony won't take the naturalization test. Which is irritating cuz you so can't complain, if you don't vote. That's just...that just drives me crazy. I keep nagging but...he keeps blowing it off like it's not a big deal. And he belongs to a different Star System and I guess there are tax things he'd have to check off if he admitted he's been living on the surface. His job has rules and he wasn't really supposed to be talking to me to begin with. S'posed to be all surveillance and no intervention but...his ship had a malfunction and it came down. Anyways, he has to make periodic trips back to report. Ya know; new technologies, new diseases all that fun stuff for posterity. He'll probably be back in a couple years-none of his coworkers are that crazy about this area. Guess we're like the slummy, downtown sector. Nobody's gonna fight him for it."
"Tony?"
"Yeah, he really loves pizza. And for a while, he only trusted pizzerias that were owned by people named Tony. So I nicknamed him and it stuck. It's really funny though. Cuz I didn't know Tex was Antonio Jr.! Ya know that that means?! BOTH of my besties are Tony's! Tony and Toni. Seriously. Lol."
"You've gone on quite a tangent" Wales muttered less than amused. "Shall we continue our story?"
"Oh...right...RIGHT! But first! Peasants! I just think it's awfully presumptuous of you to down us collectively like that-"
"I am not 'downing' you" Wales interrupted "I think your personal experiences may be coloring your interpretation of the text and making you oddly sensitive to-"
"Yes you are! You're all 'he's a peasant.' Your nose does this twitch thing when you're being haughty."
England stifled a chuckle; because Rhys's nose DID twitch when he was being snobbish.
"..."
"He's the main character, dude! Get over it!"
"Fine" Rhys cleared his throat "For reasons unknown and we will assume highly mystical, Elidyr found the kingdom wondrous. He followed the two elves and met their King-"
England gave the door a knock and then entered, "Hello there."
Rhys blushed a bit from his spot in a chair drawn close to the bed. He was dressed in a long flannel nightshirt and robe with...almost comically fluffy slippers.
"Er…"
Both brothers shared an embarrassed glance. Rhys hated being caught off guard. He'd gotten so tangled up in his conversation with Alfred-he likely hadn't sensed Arthur's approach.
Meanwhile, Arthur just couldn't move past those slippers-like he had Yorkshire Terriers strapped to his feet.
"DAAAD!" Was the happy shriek that greeted his entrance.
Alfred threw his bed covers off, hopped down from the bed, and barreled into his legs with enough force that Arthur was glad that he'd had the foresight to buy sturdy furniture for this room. Clinging to the heavy dresser kept him from keeling over.
He couldn't bring himself to the admonish the boy for his exuberance when the child sagged in relief against his legs, "I've watched a lot of horror flicks that involve subway trains. Glad ya made it. I was gonna give ya til midnight."
"If those sort of movies give you the willies, you should rethink your choice about selecting them to watch in the first place."
The child craned his neck to look up at him...and frowned-cheeks puffing with displeasure at the light scolding.
Arthur sighed.
He picked Alfred up, tried not to grimace when his back cracked, and tucked the child back into bed.
Alfred then waffled on and on. First about what he'd watched on the telly, then about odd people he'd seen at the hardware store (particularly the ones who had large noses), then about the bedroom door he and Rhys fixed, and finally about food-Alfred saved him some was he hungry? To which he answered "No."
He was too exhausted to be properly hungry. While the granola bar and yogurt he'd had at Parliament for dinner was by no means a fit meal-he was much too tired to bother with the hassle of fixing himself dinner. Eating so late at night...it would throw off his appetite for the next day.
Rhys seemed a bit miffed that whatever interest Alfred had in his story was lost to Arthur.
Arthur sat down beside Alfred on the bed (careful not to squash the little feet) and removed his tie altogether.
Rhys was starting to look annoyed at the interruption; judging from the way he was settled in the chair-one leg crossed over the other, a large leather book across his lap and the way one finger was tapping his place on the page-he'd gotten rather comfortable in the storyteller spot.
No doubt he'd become accustomed to large blue eyes widening with interest as the story's plot reached its climax.
Even if Alfred could delay a tale's progress now and then by asking an absurd amount of questions. It was rather endearing; it usually meant he was very curious about the setting and circumstance of the characters within. It meant he cared.
Alas...poor Rhys...
Right now Alfred only had eyes for Arthur.
Said eyes were currently scrutinizing him….intensely.
The eyes he could take, it was the fearless mouth that often got on his nerves.
Still…he was too tired to be properly annoyed and there was the fact that this wasn't a large obnoxious adult poking at him.
No…
This was his little child….making all the inappropriate comments that children were wont to make because they observed their caretakers so very closely.
Yes Alfred, his suit had sweat stains.
Numerous turns speaking in front of a large audience within a close proximity of an overheating projector did that.
Yes Alfred, it was late and he was getting "prickly." Five o'clock shadow had long since made its appearance on his face.
Yes Alfred, his...socks didn't match. He must've been...distracted this morning...
Rhys straightened both legs for a moment and then crossed the other on top.
Arthur gave him a meaningful, "Thank you" and "Goodnight."
There was no reason to keep him up when there was no telling how long Alfred's interrogation would last.
Rhys fidgeted with the book before ultimately leaving it on the chair as he left.
Arthur eyed the bookmark-realizing that Rhys truly had wanted that tale to be finished.
Still, he'd gotten to have Alfred to himself all day. He should've started sooner. Could've peppered the day with stories. Alfred used to love that back when he was very small.
His eyes slid over to where Alfred's suitcase stood zipped and ready for transport. An outfit for the next day was folded on top of the dresser. Alfred's toiletries were in a large Ziploc bag; ready for one more use and then to be stowed away.
Damn, it made his heart sink no matter how he tried to resist the feeling.
He looked down at the little one, who stared first at the door that Rhys had left open and then at the book and then hopefully at Arthur.
They both needed to turn in and rest.
Arthur knew that was the practical thing to do; tomorrow would be a long day indeed.
Yes...rest…
They ought to...rest...
He pulled the child into his lap and reached for the book. For goodness sake, they hadn't seen each other all day!
They'd rest in just a bit...right after they finished that story...and maybe...one more afterwards.
Rhys woke when the sun peaked through the slats of the guest room's blinds. Thankfully, his room at Kirkland Manor would have blackout curtains.
Still, waking early allowed him ample time to do yoga, shower, dress, and make breakfast.
Rhys eyed the kitchen's clock.
He pulled the whistling kettle off the stove, expecting the bustle of tea making to draw Arthur downstairs.
Yet, all remained quiet and still.
Didn't he have a report, or something?
The food was going to go cold if Arthur and Alfred kept dawdling.
A tentative peek into Arthur's room revealed his bed was made and that the area was devoid of its occupant.
Alfred had yet to make an appearance either this morning, and he'd told the boy firmly that they were absolutely leaving by nine on the dot. Regardless of the boy's state of dress...or undress.
And he'd made sure not to crack a smile as he announced that-staying stoic as he explained how uncomfortable and cold it could be riding the train in a towel.
The boy had stared at him with eyes the size of saucers as Rhys delivered that declaration.
Now suspicious, he made his way to Alfred's room...where he found his brother still in his clothes from the previous day, curled up with Alfred in a mess of blankets.
Rhys's book of fairy tales was at the foot of the bed. Judging from where the bookmark was now resting, they'd read a few more.
Hmph.
Welsh tales should've had a Welsh narrator.
He glanced at his family members.
Arthur had a careful arm cradling his child to his chest. It seemed that Alfred had taken that as an invitation to burrow himself as close as he could; goodness, Arthur might've even been able to button his jacket closed...if he'd had a mind to try.
He deftly removed his phone from his pocket and snapped several quick pictures.
Satisfied with the images, he reached over and set a hand on Arthur's shoulder.
He gave a little shake.
"Arthur."
Arthur grunted and frowned.
"Arthur, Alfred needs to get up and dressed."
Nothing.
"Albion."
Still nothing.
Perhaps, he should approach this from a different angle.
"Alfred" he tapped the child gently.
"America."
There was a grumble.
"America."
"Nonono" the child muttered sulkily-bottom lip jutting.
He stared darkly at his brother. It was clear who Alfred inherited his petulance from. He'd definitely witnessed that expression more often than he'd liked through the ages.
Rhys frowned-very gently maneuvering his hands around the child and began to pull him away-untangling him from his little makeshift cocoon.
The immediate loss of warmth made the child whimper.
Rhys gave him a soft shake in hopes of awakening him and quieting the noise. It had struck him as he reached for Alfred, that it would be for the best if he could get the child up and dressed before Arthur awoke.
That way it would be a brief goodbye and Arthur wouldn't have the time to be woeful over it.
However Arthur reacted to the separation would set a precedence for how Alfred would view it.
If Arthur didn't get to mope, Alfred would likely be optimistic and see it as a chance for adventure.
Then later when Arthur called to check in on them (as he undoubtedly would), Alfred would be cheerful enough with the situation that Arthur could feel confident that he was in no danger. He could then slacken their bond a bit.
Arthur would have some time to spend attending his own needs.
Determined now, Rhys gave a stronger tug and a more vigorous shake.
Unfortunately, rather than waking the boy up, the child released a sharp cry and was abruptly snatched back into Arthur's arms. Arthur held Alfred tightly as he glared at Rhys-bleary eyed and teeth bared.
It was one of those moments where if Rhys reached again, he'd be bit.
Gentlemanly conduct be damned.
Rhys could sense it.
Arthur had a terrible tendency of doing that when he was deeply distressed.
And while Scotland often complained that he was the only one England did that too. The reality was that usually Rhys and Reilley were better at reading the warning signs he gave.
Usually, he'd pull back. Bare his teeth once. Growl once. Hiss and then bite.
And if you were quick enough, once the hiss started you could still maneuver your hands out of the way.
It was a habit he'd developed after...after Rome…
And they were never able to break him of it.
Rhys ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
What was particularly concerning was...he skipped the first one...went straight to the teeth.
Unease churned his stomach.
That was the warning and there wasn't going to be another.
That didn't bode well at all.
Rhys watched the child disappear from sight as Arthur turned over onto his side.
He stared at Arthur's back-eyebrows twitching and walked around the bed-patience gone.
"Arthur!" he growled, kicking the leg of the bed-causing it to shake. He kept his arms carefully folded against his chest, "Arthur, he needs to get up now! And you have work also! Don't you?"
One green eye opened.
"It's time! Arthur get up already!"
"Wot are you barking about?"
"Arthur...Alfred and I are running late, now!"
An hour later found his brother kneeling in the entryway in his rumpled business suit looking...miserable.
Arthur straightened the child's coat and pet his golden hair.
"I...I'll...I'll see you tomorrow, right?" Alfred asked.
Arthur pulled him in close and nodded.
When two minutes turned into ten, Rhys cleared his throat: "Arthur, we really must depart soon."
After two extra kisses to the child's forehead, he let Alfred go.
He surprised Rhys by offering him a handshake which he used to pull him in for a hug...so he could hiss in his ear, "Don't you dare take any risks whilst he's in your care."
Alfred sighed and plucked at the booster seat.
This morning Arthur had actually chased them down the block in his slippers with the damned booster seat over his head.
There'd be a car waiting for them after their train ride and rather than let the staff allow Alfred to take ONE drive without it…
Sullen-faced, Alfred poked at the leather carseat.
As if they hadn't had enough crap to drag along with their suitcases and Americat's carrier-they had to bring this.
This...symbol of his downsized shame.
He risked a glance at Rhys who had his nose buried in another book.
He'd read the whole time they were on the train too.
His uncle had offered to buy him a book at the station, but he'd had to refuse-explaining that sometimes reading while riding made him motion sick.
Sometimes it didn't but…
If he was gonna chance it, he'd have definitely done so with Arthur and not Rhys.
Rhys was NOT his biggest fan to begin with, and vomiting on his shoes would only make things worse.
Yeah...no way he was chancing that.
He was, however, starting to get the impression that Rhys had a soft spot for Mattie. When they passed a newsstand featuring some Canadian hockey star he couldn't recall the name of, Rhys got to talking about Al's blood-related neighbor to the north.
It was pretty much a monologue of how much he was looking forward to seeing Canada and asking his opinion on various books and ballets and sports. When he finally wrapped up like ten minutes later, he looked expectantly to America to parrot similar statements back, but…
...a pacifier…
He gave him a pacifier.
And yeah...maybe it was just a joke and he was being a baby about it and proving his brother right but…
He gave an awkward, vague shrug of "...yeah…it'll be...interesting."
The tone of voice Rhys used when discussing Mathieu was so...different. He lost that flat, brusqueness that Alfred was growing accustomed to.
He'd just assumed that was how Rhys was with everyone.
He wasn't sugary with him or Arthur. And Tex had labelled him as the "haughty" one. Reilley was the "chatty" one. Alistair the "plaid" one and Arthur supposedly flip flopped between being the "bossy" one and the "crazy" one.
Tex was still trying to convince him that Arthur had driven his truck on two wheels and sidewall skied.
Tch. He wasn't buying it.
Arthur was like...the slowest, safest driver in the world! Whenever Arthur got to drive them to stuff, they were almost always late because he insisted on driving the exact speed limit.
He shook his head-trying to dislodge thoughts of Arthur which only served to remind him that he wouldn't get to see him until sometime tomorrow. Staring out the window didn't help either because everything was green and reminded him of his eyes.
And the sky was so grey and gloomy and as it started to rain it made him remember...
He shook his head.
Yeah...Rhys was definitely the "haughty" one.
He could totally envision him sneering at Tex for having the audacity to serve them all Pop Tarts for breakfast.
And now America suspected that if he'd been Canada and not himself, Wales might've upgraded them for a "First Class" trip.
Not that he had anything against "Standard Class."
Or even paying his own way...which he'd had to do…
Or buying lunch for himself…
Which was fine! Cuz he was independent! And totally used to looking out for himself...
But…
If he was gonna pay for his ticket, shouldn't he be allowed to splurge and get himself a cushy spot if he wanted it?
Or if they were gonna travel together...couldn't Rhys at least...talk to him a little bit?
He leaned back into the booster seat and kicked his heels. He'd drained the battery of his Ipod listening to music on the train.
Still…
At least the Bentley that had picked them up was nice and the chauffeur was a fan of Mozart.
But nobody would talk.
The chauffeur, Mr. White, drove. The middle aged man did not smile or make small talk. He packed the "boot," opened and closed doors, and drove. Rhys had frowned at Alfred's attempts to engage the human in conversation.
"He has a job to do, Alfred. Don't distract him."
It was practically a miracle when Arthur called.
"How are you, dear?"
Lonely. And Tired. With a sore butt from the flat seats of the train.
"M'ok."
Arthur had pretty much been a constant presence since Alfred's arrival in England. Suddenly being without him, made him feel so...
"Have you eaten?"
"Yeah."
"Is he treating you well?"
He wasn't treating him mean...exactly. He just...he just wasn't...wasn't Arthur.
"S'ok."
"Are you certain?"
"Yeah…"
"Are you tired?"
"Yeah…"
"Perhaps, I should let you make use of this time and take a kip-"
"No! Don't hang up, don't hang up, please don't-"
"I'm here! I'm here, Sweet."
Dammit. He curled his toes and fidgeted in the seat.
"Can you…?"
"Can I? What? What is it, darling heart?"
He took a deep breath, faltering a bit as his face burned, "Can...you just...talk...with me…?"
Cuz I miss you. It didn't quite leave his mouth. And thank God for that because he could sense that Rhys was listening to him and he knew he sounded like such a little kid.
Making such a mushy request...
Dammit, even Mr. White seemed to be sitting a bit too straight and stiff-even for a driver with good posture and manners.
But...but...but he just needed to hear him!
Arthur talked. First about the weather and how it had begun raining where he was too, next about several mishaps that happened during the conference the previous day, then to several French movies that Francis wanted him to personally review.
"The Frog really is asking for it. I'll take care to remind him of that when he complains that I was too harsh."
"Did you ever visit...like Elidyr?"
"Naturally."
"Was it wondrous?"
"Darkly wondrous. Capable of magic that is quite captivating in its beauty or...cruelty. They're fey creatures, darling. They operate by a system of rules that are...difficult at times to understand."
"Oh."
"We'll make our rounds and visit the Courts when you're a bit older. Once I've had time to prepare you for it."
Alfred frowned. Was that the polite way of saying he didn't want to watch Alfred make a fool of himself?
"I remember when Mother took me. It was Beltane. I thought we were collecting an awful lot of ribbons, shells, and flowers for ourselves. But when we made a left turn and travelled deeper into the forest instead of towards the village-"
Alfred listened raptly to his father's tale until his cellphone began to beep-signalling his phone was about to die.
"Your story…" he murmured mournfully. It was just getting really good! They'd had to sneak past an ogre!
"We can talk more later, pet."
He nodded, "I'll charge my phone."
"That's a good lad. And I'll talk to you tonight, alright?"
"Kay."
"I love you, my Sweetling."
Alfred bit his lip and gripped the phone tighter, "G-Goodbye...Daddy."
He turned it off and shoved it in his pocket, blinking hard.
When he finally looked up, he noticed that Rhys had put down his book and was observing him with intent hazel eyes.
Mr. White was also taking a few seconds now and then to stare at him through the rear view mirror.
Great.
Just...great...
Alfred wiped his nose with the sleeve of his blue turtleneck and turned his head away from them to watch the greenery rushing by.
Stupid rainy England.
He wiped at his nose again.
Why did everything have to be so green?
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