Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or The Nutcracker. Or the song I'll Be Home For Christmas.
Warning: Some profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Norman Invasion. Floating Angst. Sharp Angst. Family drama.
AN: Hey all! Finals are over. Hallelujah! Thanks for the reviews and well-wishes. It was nice to have people in my corner.
: DDD Thanks for being patient! And I hope you enjoy this chap!
Chapter 51: Handled
Reilley was the last one to file out of Arthur's makeshift bedroom.
He'd finally skirted around the bed when he realized he just had nothing assuring to say.
He closed the door behind him and then froze...unprepared for the gaggle of concerned wards coming toward them.
He waved Mathieu and Olivia away, "Uh...let him...let him alone. Give him some air, ya know? Uh yeah...he's...you know…" He glanced hesitantly at the door. Miserable. Arthur was miserable. Aye, the audible crying sounds in the room next to them was making it difficult to pretend otherwise.
Really, how was he going to play down the level of despair Arthur was feeling? Dammit, this was a legitimate moment of weakness that Arthur had NOT brought on himself through doing something stupid. Which meant he deserved privacy. "But...I don't think now's the time to...er-"
C'mon Gift of Gab-articulate!
"Clear out, all o' yeh. Out. Nuttin' fer you here," Scotland groused "He wants yeh. He'll tell me. I'll fetch yeh. Till then. Back. Back, you!"
It was a subdued night. With Arthur's, Texas's, and...of course...Alfred's empty seats at the dinner table-there wasn't much cheer.
Reilley carefully removed a smudge from his goblet.
It wasn't fair...just when they finally had a good sense of Alfred...
Reilley sighed, like radar, the blip was just gone…target destroyed.
He'd pause every few bites to stare at where Arthur ought to be pompously discussing Coleridge or Tchaikovsky or something. Sure his brother was an obnoxious, pompous twit and Christmas was often a balancing act of stroking his ego by following his orders and coddling his wards to keep him from being an overbearing, complaining arse but...
But he'd never have wisht this on him.
He's delivered bad news to him before. Watched others do it. Sometimes took a bit of malicious pleasure in it depending on the era.
It usually consisted in England stiffening as he absorbed the blow and then moving on-taking inventory of the rest of the situation and planning a counter attack.
It wasn't like the cabin when they'd thought...thought that...Alfred had…
He shuddered as he remembered the broken body that had rested on the operating table like a shattered clay bowl.
This was just a temporary death. He'd be back. A matter of hours...unless it'd been a really bad crash...
Admittedly, he didn't know all the details. Alistair told them enough. Not all...but enough.
When Rhys asked if Alfred had suffered, he said no.
He was careful not to respond too fast or too slow. He stayed composed…
Said it was instantaneous.
Didn't move or blink as he delivered the line.
It might've worked for a human who didn't really want to hear how the soldier of their family met his demise but…
Rhys flat out told him just to avoid bringing it up to Arthur. To just leave the room if he asked.
That howl…
Reilley shuddered-recalling the sound...
It didn't take much to convince everyone to turn in early. If only to escape Alistair plying them with tea. The idgit seemed to believe tea could make anything swallowable.
"Everythin' will be better in the mornin'" was the lie all three found themselves repeating.
Rhys decided to stay up waiting for the call.
"When yeh hear word, tell me," Alistair insisted. "I can go fetch him. Regardless if he's...back or not. You two took Art to hospital. Yer done. I'm the reserve. I can go."
It was a good plan. Fair.
Rhys had driven them to the hospital. Reilley had driven them back.
Rhys had shielded Arthur from the break for as long as he could. Reilley had comforted the children after dinner. They'd gone through the game boards and tidied them up-making sure pieces were accounted for, rescuing cards that wound up in the wrong boxes, jotting down what couldn't be found so Reilley or Arthur could order a replacement online.
Cleaning was a monotonous task. It was so damn dull it could leech the feeling out of any charged moment. Sure enough, it got them all to talking and he assured that Alfred would be back soon and Arthur would be fine. They both just needed a little time, so the rest of them just needed to be a little patient. Spelling things out that way made it all simple. Simple was manageable.
Alistair couldn't help with that sort of thing. He was a man of action-a pacer, a teamaker, an avenger. If it had been anything other than an accident the human would've been dealt with.
Yes; fetching Alfred would give Alistair an equal part to do. He was still feeling guilty over Yule.
Later on, he and Scot smoked for a bit in the cold night air. Alistair spent a good deal of the time cursing Mr. White.
"He had no right...goin' off without clearing it," Alistair muttered darkly. "And then he didn't even bother to see him to or from or-he's lucky I was on the phone and he just got to deal with Gray...I'd've told him what fer!"
With all the smoke and rancor he was breathing out, he may as well have been a bloody dragon.
"For the love of God...S'just an accident," Reilley sighed. "Stupid...accident..."
Stupid accident that was tragic as hell.
Alistair's mouth twisted like he really wanted to argue, but he changed the subject instead, "...my cards are tellin' me gibberish."
"Hm?"
"I tried to do a reading earlier and...I dunno...consult your runes when you can."
Reilley ground the butt of his cigarette against the balcony railing and then scrubbed the ash off with his fingers, "Alis...some things just...aren't going to make sense…no matter how much yeh want them to."
He waited up with Scot for a few more hours before hitting the sack. Hopeful that his nephew would be returned to them by morning.
But the call never came.
And the cord connecting them remained taut-like a stupid little game of phone where someone was stepping on the line connecting their soup cans.
Alfred always liked kiddie games like that...and now he no longer wondered why...
All too soon it was time to hassle with breakfast.
"Maybe we should get Alistair to bring it…and to threaten," Reilley suggested.
Mr. Gray had informed them that no one got Arthur to eat dinner the previous day.
"My bedside manner," Alistair nodded confidently. "It's a fearsome thing."
Indeed, it was. He could vividly remember being force fed by the Scotsmen when he'd refused meals following a crushing defeat from those damned Normans.
Damn those Normans.
He blinked and looked over at Rhys.
Damn it, whenever Rhys was thinking about Normans the rest of them started thinking about them.
Northern Ireland frowned at Scotland, "He's thinking about Nor-"
"I didn't get conquered," Scotland smirked. "It doesn't bother me."
"Fecking soulless Ginger," Reilley grumbled.
"Like lookin' at a more handsome mirror, eh?"
"Ha! More like a carnival!"
Rhys picked up the tray.
"I will deliver it," Rhys announced and walked briskly down the hall-leaving his brothers to stare after him.
To say Rhys was stunned as he entered the room was an understatement.
He found Arthur dressed and hobbling about on an old pair of crutches. He must've had a servant pull them out of the storage room.
And there were rolls of wrapping paper and ribbon. He glanced to where a pile of presents had been stacked. Had he been wrapping all night?
"We're going to The Nutcracker," Arthur told him flatly.
"Arthur…"
This wasn't the time to force things.
"He's not back...and now I...I doubt we're getting a call…" Arthur braced himself against the dresser. "They may have already transported him back to the States and...the other children…" Arthur looked up at the dresser top's mirror and stared into his own reflection's eyes, "I can't...I can't just...the world never stops just because...I can't neglect them...just because...we're going," Arthur repeated "Get the children ready. If Wy wants her hair styled, she needs to be down in the next half hour."
"...Right. Now...eat."
Arthur looked dispassionately at the tray.
Rhys proffered it at him more insistently.
His brother sighed and took the toast and waved him off as he reached for where a tie and cufflinks were waiting.
Two hours later, Rhys found himself fighting the urge to fidget. Arthur had sent Eva off with instructions to return on the morning of the ball. Hopefully, Alfred would have returned by then.
"Arthur…" she mumbled-lines of worry on her face. "Arthur...I…"
"It's Christmas Eve," Arthur announced blithely. "You should've left yesterday. I thought we had that planned out. You need to be with your little girl."
"...Arthur…"
"As I've already explained, it's just...a temporary phase. He'll be back."
She hesitated and then rested a hand on his shoulder, "I feel terrible about-"
"No no, not a word more on that. Tell Emma Happy Christmas, won't you? Give her this," He held out a small sparkly bag. "From one unicorn aficionado to another."
Eva sighed and took the gift, "Please, call. Whenever he's back. I mean it. Three in the morning. That's fine. Or even if you just want to talk. Call."
"I daresay there will be traffic, if you don't time it right. Off with you now."
"Please call me, Artie. Say you will."
Rhys stared grimly at his bottle of Tums. He was running low.
He sighed.
It was like battling invading Normans with Gruffydd-trying to convince himself that they would win back their land.
Only here, he was trying to convince himself that the tug of war game they were playing with Tragedy wouldn't ruin the holiday so completely that a shadow would loom over it ever after.
He watched Jet and Jake share looks as the latter pulled at his collar.
"Here Jake, let me help with that tie," Arthur demanded.
The young man shuffled forward and let the Englishman redo it.
"It's important not to tie it too tight. One should always aim for fashion and function when possible."
"Yes, sir."
"That's a good lad, now step back. Let me take a look. Ah. Very nice. Very nice, indeed."
England brushed an imaginary spec from New Zealand's shoulder before giving him a nod of dismissal.
It usually would've been cause for teasing, but Arthur had been full of parental helpfulness.
No one had gone un-mothered as it were.
No one dared struggle against it.
Not when his green eyes were so bloodshot and his carriage (despite his best attempts to stand up straight) seemed so...defeated.
"Inglaterra," Spain began compassionately-crossing the room to rest a hand on England's elbow. "I know how terrible-I know...but he is resilient and you have to take comfort in that. All you can do now is be ready and know that we're ready too and-"
"God, tomato-bastard!" Lovino cut him off and punched him in the arm. "You're smothering him! Leave him the hell alone!"
"We're going out," Arthur interrupted-taking a step back and letting Antonio's hand fall away. "You...all...will stay. Mr. Gray and the household will attend you and yours. Must be going now. Terribly busy. If we want to arrive in time, we must go now."
"I will let you know if I learn anything!" Antonio vowed passionately.
"I won't let them break anything," Mexico promised softly.
Rhys watched his youngest brother give a sharp nod and limp as he led his company out.
After seeing everyone seated on the bus, Arthur stood up at his seat at the front.
"We're going to the ballet and I expect everyone to be on their best behavior, is that understood?"
It was the usual speech he made on an outing to a formal place.
As the years passed, the response and respect it garnered gradually wore down. It was usually met with eye rolls and scoffs and weary agreement.
This time there was a smattering of submissive, "Yes sir's".
Like it was the 1800s again...
"Good."
He sat down-spine erect, injured leg crossed on top, fingers laced tightly.
A pair of crutches and a wheelchair had been packed as precaution, but Arthur insisted that all he needed was his cane.
It was a fashionable one he'd used while healing up from the Crimean War. It was one the children knew well. He was trying to establish familiarity.
"Arthur…" Alistair grumbled "Just use the goddamn wheelchair."
"No; I'm just going to be sitting."
"Art-"
"I said NO."
"Ack...have it your way, I ain't carryin' you when you get exhausted."
Rhys watched it all with tense nerves-he needed to be prepared to step in at any time.
Arthur was on the brink. He could sense it.
Wy and Sealand were such good sports as they crossed the street. Sealand had to hold Wy's hand and Wy had to hold Arthur's. And there was minimal fuss as they settled into their seats. Peter only had to be warned once not to fold his program into an airplane.
The orchestra was quite good, though Rhys's slight headache (from lack of sleep) kept him from fully appreciating it...you know...along with the soul crushing guilt he felt.
But there was nothing to be done about that and so he focused his full attention on the present.
The reality was...
He couldn't do anything for Alfred, so Arthur became the priority again.
They were well into Act II when it happened.
Arthur scrambled to leave-nearly breaking his other ankle as he fled down the stairs.
Thankfully, Rhys had left his seat as soon as Arthur moved and was able to catch him.
He helped his brother out of the dark theatre and dismissed ushers who were starting to approach in concern.
"I'm sorry I…" Arthur rasped "I thought I could do it...I really thought...but Mother Ginger...and the parents all pulled out their phones to record...and Mother Ginger and all her little ones and..I-I...I..."
Rhys pursed his lips and gave a grim nod. They waited out the end of the production in the lobby.
Arthur pushed food around his plate. He really ought to manage a few more bites. The restaurant was expensive (its menu boasted enough French selections to warrant the addition of several extra pounds to the bill), he ought to eat a bit more.
He eyed the wine bottle next to Rhys. He'd need to reach across in order to get it, which he doubted would go unnoticed.
Hazel eyes locked with his, moved to the bottle, and then back to him.
Arthur's gaze returned to his plate.
It was good to eat here. Considering the French influence several of his wards had, they'd definitely benefit from it. He was trying to be better about that sort of thing. Truly.
It was good that they were here. Now. He wouldn't have to hear America complain about eating food he couldn't pronounce the name of.
It was good.
He blinked hard.
God, he felt like a ship with an awful breach.
He felt like the goddamned Titanic, but he was determined to do as the orchestra had...and continue playing for the sake of those around him.
They were all so subdued.
He had to fix that.
What happened was a tragedy for him to grieve. Not them. It was his fault. They were just children. They needed to enjoy their Christmas.
He needed to convince them. They were in good hands. They were safe. He wouldn't let anything befall them.
He bought more candy than they needed at a highline boutique, treated Wy and Sealand to toys, bought each of his wards a new movie or book of their choosing, and carefully selected a hardcover edition of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight and a soft plush toy before they returned to the bus.
He made sure festive Christmas music played on the ride home.
"Come on now, we...we need to decorate the tree now," Arthur announced as he limped over the threshold. His foot was smarting terribly after so much walking, but medication could ease that. That was just physical pain.
"Come on now, come in. Out of the cold."
He'd instructed the staff to have the boxes waiting for them when they returned.
"Arthur, we can wait," Jet murmured as he removed his coat.
"No," he swallowed "No. We...we should've decorated the tree yesterday. We'll...do so now."
"Arthur..."
"Otherwise, you won't get to enjoy it tomorrow."
Arthur smiled blandly at the artificial tree.
He'd planned on having two trees this year. This one and a real one, since Alfred was fond of the "real thing." He and Alistair and Arthur would've gone to the wood's edge and selected a small suitable one.
But that didn't happen yesterday.
Arthur stared numbly at the white lights of the artificial tree.
It didn't shed any needles and came pre-lit, which meant everything was nice and clean.
The ornaments were hung in a fairly orderly fashion, though there was a bit of drama over whether Wy or Sealand would get to be the one who placed the star on top.
The squabble added a bit of much needed normalcy and he sat back and watched and tried to feign cheer.
Tried to pretend this was just one more Christmas they'd be apart because Alfred was terribly busy and still estranged rather than...
Tried not to be upset when Peter noticed the element he'd forgotten. The detail he'd scrambled to add a few days back.
All the children had a special ornament.
Olivia had ballet shoes. Peter had a sailboat. Wy had an art palette.
It was an old tradition, he'd kept alive ever since…
Arthur forced a tight smile as he stretched his hand out.
Peter hesitated as he came forward.
"Thank you, Peter. I'll hold onto that one, shall I?"
He set the old flower-shaped ornament beside the television remote.
Wooden and chipped. Alfred's name was barely legible on it. He'd carved it for Alfred when he'd learnt of the boy's obsession for the flower. When the whole situation had been...fully explained...he'd offered to make something else.
"No...tis good to remember, isn't it? And this means...this means...you'll always remember me, right? Daddy, do you promise?"
He asked Peter to turn some music on for them which the boy gladly did.
And all was...almost well until…
Until...
"I'll be home for Christmas…If only in...my...dreams…"
He took great care not to look at the wooden Forget-me-not on the table beside him.
Perhaps…
Perhaps he ought to go...rest...for a moment...or five...or get some air...or get...somewhere...
He stood up unsteadily-leaning heavily on his cane.
Mr. Gray came in, "Sir, we had a call from a Ms. Jones just now. She hung up and said she was going to try your personal-"
Arthur's cell rang.
He scrambled to answer, "Hello?"
"Arth-"
Mathieu shocked him by plucking the phone from his hand.
"Boy?" He snarled. "What are you-"
"Momilani..do face chat," the Canadian demanded.
"Well...I…"
Arthur stared and then found himself nodding.
Yes...yes...they deserved an explanation...face to face...
Canada walked over to the television and fiddled with it and after a few tense moments, the Hawaiian woman's face filled the screen.
Mathieu slipped the cellphone back to Arthur.
Correctly guessing that she was now addressing a room, she gave a weak smile, "Aloha everyone. We've just arrived in the U.K. and I hope everyone's doing alr-"
Arthur swore, "Bugger."
That was right. Their flight was scheduled to arrive today.
Arthur ran a hand through his hair, "Momilani, I'm sorry I-"
"Nonono. No, Alaska and I went straight over to the Embassy."
Arthur's mouth went dry, but he forced out, "...Is he there?"
He was mildly aware of Alistair and Rhys walking over to flank him.
"Doubt it," the woman answered breezily. "Anyway, it may be a while before we come by the manor. Gotta pick up some things. Grab stocking stuffers. Get a few things handled. Maybe by tomorrow night or the day aft-"
No. No, she didn't get to pretend like nothing happened. When he could read in the bags under her eyes that she knew more than she was letting on!
"Where IS he?" He hissed.
Her voice took on a hard edge, "I don't KNOW Arthur. We won't know until Texas is sworn in as temporary head. Blame America, he's the one that set it up this way. Frickin' bureaucracy. Look. We'll finish this. We'll get Alfred's coordinates and then I can relay them to you."
"No one knows where he is? You don't have any clue?" His voice shook. Bloody hell, what was the matter with these people?! No wonder he'd had to go rescue Alfred himself. The lot surrounding him was completely incompetent.
"No Artie, we don't," she snapped.
"Stupid co-"
"England," Alaska cut in, glancing over Hawaii's shoulder. "The land, the people, the government, comes first. No one's allowed to look for him while there's a vacuum of power."
Momilani sighed, "Yup...that's the way it works here. He set it up that way deliberately. Look, I don't know the whole reason why but...look...we're just calling to give you a heads up that we're here and we'll notify you when we can-"
His brothers crossed their arms-not liking the answers they were getting any more than him.
"So I've been told to inform you and Antonio to stop calling. I'll be keeping in touch, just keep your phone turned on and-"
"You don't know where is?!" he screeched at the phone.
"Hey! We pulled strings to get you the cop. You think everyone gets that special treatment? Anyone else just gets a call three hours later to inform you America's "busy." Yeah, they get the song and dance about how something really important came up and-sorry...I'm sorry. This is always really stressful."
Arthur sucked in a breath, "...do they think I'm unsuitable now? Is that why...I've not been informed? I haven't been deemed-"
"Huh? Unsuit-No. No, Arthur take a breath. Take a deep breath. It is NOT your fault. This happens."
"Not on my watch," he replied stonily. "When they grow up and go off, that's one thing. I can't protect them then but this? This?! This is NOT supposed to happen."
Alaska peered back over Hawaii's shoulder and murmured, "Vending machines."
"Yes," Momilani nodded "Yes. God. Yes. That one. I remember that one. That was...look, Arthur. What we're saying is that it happens. Don't beat yourself up. It's...upsetting" she took in a hard breath "But it's not uncommon. America does what America wants. And sometimes there's consequences."
"You...you don't even try to argue…?" His eyebrows were twitching-he could feel it.
"Hon, you'll have your opportunity to lecture him to your heart's content when he reanimates. In the meantime, I just need us to be a united front. Is Spain there?"
"Si, bella dama!"
Arthur glared. The Spaniard kept lingering in rooms with him-sending him unwanted compassionate looks.
"Good. Texas has been very bad and I want you to know that….Because Hurricane Momilani is about to rain down hard on that boy and I don't want him running to you with a sob story-"
"Goddammit, woman. Ya chatty Cathy," a Texan drawl came over "What have you done!? I told you I don't wantcha talkin' to him about this stuff-"
Spain hurried over to talk into England's phone, "Tejas, I am very disappointed in you. Not telling anyone where you are going. Not leaving a note-"
"So sorry Papi, it was just a matter of national security. Next time, I'll drop all my responsibilities JUST FOR YOU!"
"Texas!"
"Tejas!"
"Look, I'm rolling with or without y'all."
"Arthur, we're leaving now for-Texas you give me that slip or I swear-" The threat succeeded and she rattled off the motel's address a beat later. "Don't worry, we'll handle this."
The call ended.
He stared at the screen
Handled?
Alfred didn't need to be handled. He wasn't a bloody crate.
He needed to be cared for.
He couldn't leave it to them.
Arthur cleared his throat, "I'll be in late tonight. I need to go to him. I would do this for any of you. I want you to know that. And tonight he needs me. As custom, you're allowed to open one gift tonight. I expect pictures. And we will be together in the morning. Rhys," Arthur nodded "You're-"
"Coming with you," The Welshman finished.
Arthur blinked taken aback and sighed, "Alistair-"
"Nope. I'm going."
"Alistair."
"Shut yer gob. I'm going."
Arthur grit his teeth and turned to his remaining brother.
Reilley pulled out a rosary, "Someone has to pray we make it through holiday traffic with you at the wheel."
Texas covered his ears with his hands, "La la la. No, I can't hear you. Nananana. Nope. Still nothing!"
"Urgh! You're being so childish!" Momilani growled. "Did you really just storm out of there without telling anyone!? Your father must've been worried sick."
"I thought Canada would've told him I'd gone. God, he's as useless as two buggies in a one-horse town!"
"Did you tell Canada where you were going?" Hawaii demanded.
"..."
"Texas!?"
"I'm a man! I don't have to tell folks where I'm going. I ain't five years old! I left. End of story. Stuart's gonna see to it that the car gets returned. It's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal. Ya know, Alfie thought that too. Look where that got him?"
"Al didn't look both friggin' ways. That's what got him!"
Plus, it wasn't their business. If Al hadn't set things up so they received a notification that was their problem.
Momilani felt otherwise and had made her discontent well known these last few hours.
Texas pressed himself against the backseat in frustration.
Personally, he thought the Europeans had some nerve wanting everything to change on their account. Where were they the last two centuries? Exactly. That meant they didn't get to call the shots.
Hell, even Hawaii and Alaska didn't get that privilege. He and Al...they made things work long before the two of them learned to care about the teenagers strengthening the United States. And yeah, maybe it wasn't perfect, but it held up just fine.
He glared out the window and then gasped as Alaska pulled into the parking lot and began hunting for a space, "Praise the lord, we're here!"
The joy was short lived.
They were all thrown hard against their seatbelts as a car cut out in front of them and stole their parking spot-tires squealing.
When the madman leapt out of the car and limped toward them, the feeling of shock turned to dread.
Hawaii had no mercy and she automatically rolled down his window.
"Give me the key!" Arthur hissed.
Texas flung the manilla envelope-watching with wide eyes as the man tore it to shreds. It just had a little cord that you unwound. All he'd needed to do was unwind it.
"...done lost his mind…" Texas murmured-shaking his head slowly.
"Tejas! Tu me has decepcionado-"
Fuck! No! They let him bum a ride over?!
He unbuckled and slid to the other side of the car-away from the open window.
"Roll the window up!" he pleaded.
"Tejas!"
"Alaska take pity on my soul!"
The man didn't move their SUV and the corner of his lips went up in amusement.
"Texas," Hawaii turned from her spot in the front passenger seat. "I'm gonna make this easy. You have three seconds. Get yer ass out there."
"..."
"3...2…"
Click. She unlocked the doors.
"You're a cruel woman."
He glared hard at her as Spain opened the side door.
"I have waited enough, mijo," Antonio stated sternly. "No more. Answers. Now."
Crap.
Craaaaap.
That tone.
Gah!
Those eyes.
He was heading into danger.
There was only one way to play this hand.
It would be humiliating but...he had to try!
He shot forward-across the seat and wrapped his arms around the man's middle pitifully, "Papi, ella es tan mala." He pressed his face against his chest-ignoring how it made his glasses go askew.
"O Texas," Hawaii scoffed. "He's not going to fall for-"
"Everyone's like that with me, makes it hard for a guy to know who he can share his grief with."
He was probably layin' it on too thick, but it was too late to go back now.
"..."
His hair was pet very gently.
Too gently and for a moment he was a ragtag rebel again-waking up after the Alamo. The death he remembered most intimately...before he and Al learned how to write them off as inconveniences. Before he and Al took the sting out and made them funny.
He'd woken up to the smell of bonfires-his slaughtered men gathered up and burned.
Only he'd been spared-a white slip of parchment pinned to his clothes: Idiota.
He'd waited for comfort like this and it didn't come.
"Of course you can tell me, mijo."
Read and Review Please : DDD
