Quartering Arts

By Ahro

Rated M for sexual situations, violence and language.

Chapter 7

It had to have been déjà vu. Another, partially cleaned haddock was laying in front of him on the cutting board, while a large mug of beer; already having been drained and refilled, sat beside it. If it wasn't for these strange feelings that seemed to overwhelm the smith, or the continuous ache from his head and collar, he'd have thought the day had repeated itself.

This has to be the most confusing situation I have ever been in.

Picking the mug up once more, he lifted it to his lips, chugging the contents till it was dry and slammed it back down from where it came.

The alcohol was doing it's job in helping to sate the pain from his injuries, yet it did nothing for the odd pang that stirred in his gut at present.

When Arthur had left the previous night for patrol, Alfred had looked to the luxury the drink brought with it. It had worked to rid him of the physical pain, and seemed to be working well now. Already the constant throbbing had begun to ebb, but now he was saddled with a different kind of pain... and it was pissing him off.

This was suppose to have ended. Why is this coming back now?

"Why now?" His scream echoed through the cellar as he flipped the long cutting board and it's contents up against the stone wall. However, in doing so he had forgotten about his arm in his rage, and quickly felt the fragile bone crack from the sudden movement.

He was on the ground, swimming in renewed pain as his head began to float close to unconsciousness.

Shit! I can't pass out here!

With his good arm, he blindly reached for the water bucket that was to be used to wash the fish off after it was clean, and, after spilling some in his haste, was able to lift it above his head and dump the cold, murky water over himself.

The water stung, as there had been scales and blood from a previous piece of fish he had cleaned, and he was sure the cut on his head would fester because of it. He cursed his need for help but at least the water had kept him awake.

Biting his lip from the pain, he stumbled to his feet, leaning heavily on the support of the stone outcropping from the wall. The room spun so he clenched his eyes shut in hopes that it would stop. The rank smell of blood and fish was making it's way into his nose, and it quickly turned his stomach. He attempted to heave it back into the water bucket, only loosing some to mix with the dirty water and blood on the floor.

After the contents of his stomach was gone, he sat back against the cold stone feeling it best to just not move.

This must be someone's cruel joke. Four years I manage by myself with little difficulty, and then this soldier steps in to my life turning every thing on end.

His hand rubbed across his face. He felt disgusting, and all he could think about was that damn soldier, and how right now he wanted badly to hide the mess he was sitting in so the man didn't stumble in on him in such a state. How he had become so dependent on this man in such a short time had him completely bewildered. It was as if he was a lost child all these years, and suddenly a hand had reached out to him to offer help that he never knew he needed.

What am I thinking? I only need help now because I'm fucking injured, and by one of his own people no less! Once I'm healed up, I won't need his help anymore.

"Ugh- what the bloody hell is that smell? Smells of fish and vomit."

Alfred stiffened as the owner of the voice suddenly appeared from the cellar stairs. The look on his face as the soldier came below the upper level immediately made Alfred even more confused.

"Wha- are you alright?" Arthur's tone was of sincere concern as he vaulted off the stairs to run to the smith's side. The man didn't even think twice as he slid to his knees in the blood and vomit strewn floor. His deep green eyes looked Alfred over as he quickly assessed his previous injuries and began to look for any new ones.

"I-I'm alright. Please... just- I'm disgusting, you don't need to be so close." Alfred tried as he attempted to stand from his awkward position on the filth ridden floor.

Alfred was again shocked when Arthur quickly took the smith's good arm and wrapped it around his shoulder to give the smith support. The embarrassment he felt at his own appearance was overwhelming, but he felt so weak from the pain, and exertion from vomiting, it gave him little means to fight the soldier's assistance.

"What happened? You are a mess. We need to get you out of those clothes and cleaned up."

Alfred's eyes widened.

He's going to help me bathe?

"There's- ugh, no 'we' in there." He grunted as Arthur attempted to help him up the small steps to the main floor.

The soldier laughed. "Really, do tell me how you fared last night on your own with that broken collar bone of yours."

Alfred groaned knowing he had fared quite poorly in fact. Attempting to remove his shirt was the most painful experience he never thought he'd have to do. It had pissed him off that something so small had made him so weak.

"Fuck off- you damn Brit."

Arthur simply chuckled knowing he had won as he attempted to lead Alfred outside to the well till Alfred stopped him.

"We're not wasting well water over this. Just, help me to the harbor."

"Are you bloody insane! It's August!"

"Yes, and salt is better to clean out this gash on my head."

Arthur went surprisingly silent as they turned and headed to the shore. Perhaps the man had been stricken dumb by Alfred's words. Salt cured meat after all. It would work to clean the wound as well. Alcohol could come later.

Upon reaching the pier though, Alfred's assumptions of the man were quickly thwarted. The soldier released Alfred's arm and took a step back, crossing his arms across his chest in continued protest. "Fine, just do not hold me accountable if your testicles fall off."

Alfred bit his lip as the words bubbled up in response. This man was just too entertaining.

With a sneer, Alfred turned to face the man, "Afraid of a little cold water, are ya'? Did you suck on your mother's teats till you were ten?"

He deserved it; but what better way to get into icy cold water than to jump in. Or in this case... pushed.

The water quickly rushed up over his head, sending his whole body into shock from the frigid water. He thrashed about till he found his footing on the rocky bottom, and quickly jumped up, shaking his hair out yet immediately regretting the action as it made his head swim. He was at least thankful for the distraction away from his shoulder. Slamming into the water on his back had made him instinctively try to swim which only caused more harm to his collar bone.

"Second guessing that decision, are we?"

Alfred sputtered and hissed as he held his arm against his chest. Trudging out of the water, he brought his good arm up to check the gash on his head. He withdrew his hand to see blood, yet again. Thankfully, it was clean.

"What happened to nursing me back to health?" Alfred chimed in as he showed his bloodied fingers to the soldier.

"Perhaps I just wanted to learn your trade and then off you during the night."

Alfred laughed, "That would be a shame."

The soldier paused a moment, "Why is that?"

Alfred smiled mischievously as he looked over at the soldier on the dock, "Those whores at the bar do a piss poor job at sucking dick."

It worked, and Alfred couldn't help but grin at Arthur's face as it burned a bright shade of red.

"Ugh- that is truly undignified! I would never stoop to the need of a whore's touch." He scoffed as he tried to look appalled at the smith's words; standing erect with his chest puffed out and arms crossed in a dignified manner. Nose up in the air. While Alfred found it the perfect chance to sneak up on the unsuspecting soldier.

Never take your eyes off the enemy.

A loud splash and spluttering curses quickly filled the air as Alfred held his stomach in laughter.

"YOU BLOODY WANKER! YOU FUCKING THINK YOU'RE INJURED NOW! JUST WAIT-"

Arthur continued to shout obscenities as he waded out of the water; rage evident on his features. Alfred had to admit that a moment of fear had run through him. He was in no shape to fight the man off. Just the exertion of pushing Arthur into the water had stressed his injury.

Could I have pushed too far?

Anticipating a blow, Alfred took as much of a defensive posture as his injury and weakness would allow. Instead of a berserker soldier coming at him, Alfred watched the man turn and retreat back to the house.

"Hey! You're just goin' to leave me here? I'm bleeding again."

The man stopped a moment to look back over his shoulder, "Good. That means you'll attract some hungry animal, and save me the trouble of dirtying my hands any more with you." With that, the soldier sauntered back towards the house and closed the door quietly behind him. With as much of a gentlemanly air one could achieve looking like a drowned rat.

Alfred let out a groan.

What made this Brit so entertaining that Alfred continued to put himself in harms way just to see the man's reactions? Now it seemed he'd found the soldier's breaking point.

Ugh, at the rate I'm going I'll need a new arm.

Keeping his arm close to his body, he slowly walked back to the house as best he could. Wincing as each step sent a shiver of pain up his spine. The bone had to have dislodged even further from his mishap in the cellar followed by being pushed in the harbor.

Think it's time I suck up some pride. Didn't think that comment about his mother would enrage him like that. He paused at the steps leading onto the front porch of his home. Thinking back to the soldier's mentioning of the similarities they both apparently shared. Did he join the army for his own revenge? Maybe something had happened to his mother in England and his answer had escaped across the ocean.

Hearing no movement from behind the door, Alfred tentatively entered the dwelling to see only a few candles lit and no Brit to be found.

His desire to look for the man, however, was quickly won over by the welcoming chair at the table. He almost felt like resting his head down and letting sleep wash over him there than to seek his own bed. He had done nothing but push himself since the assault and he should have been doing the exact opposite.

It's almost like I want to go see the doctor and his damn daughter. Ugh- I'd rather die. Maybe it's about time to let off a little and actually try to get better.

He sunk into the chair with a grunt while rubbing his face with his hand. The warmth of the house was quickly getting to him. He'd be passed out in under a minute if he relaxed any further. Did he want to be asleep when the, probably, still irate soldier returned? A knife in his back would rid him of his pain for good, but could he die without avenging his father?

Alfred moaned into his hand as the cravings of sleep gnawed at him. He needed to get changed into dry clothes or suffer that chill that struck down his younger brother all those years ago.

Toeing off his boots, he brought them to place by the hearth to dry, then, while scowling at the muddy, wet, mess he had tracked into the home, headed for his bedroom to unearth clean garments. He was thankful he had recently laundered some as he was known to neglect doing so. His daily routine hadn't changed in four years so it never bothered him to put it off. Why clean sweaty clothes when you'd be getting sweaty on the morrow anyway?

The sling he had fashioned was in shambles as well as the bandages that now clung to him merely from the water. It would all need to be redone, and he knew he'd need the Brit's help in doing so. The continued realization that he needed help perturbed him, but he couldn't shrug the help any longer. He wouldn't be joining up with the Colonial Army, let alone the militias with a busted collar bone. He'd be lucky to lift a pistol; shooting and hitting a target was another matter all together.

With some difficulty, he had managed to remove his pants and undergarments and was already putting on a clean pair when a knock at his door grabbed his attention; causing himself to stumble and almost finding his way to the floor in a heap.

"Shi- what is it?"

The door creaked open slightly, "I'm quite sure by now you have noticed your head is still bleeding. Do you have any intentions of fixing that?"

Alfred's hand went up to move over the gash on his head. Pulling his hand away he noticed that fresh blood was still oozing slowly from the wound.

The sarcasm was at the tip of his tongue yet remembering back to his earlier mental barrages he pushed his pride away.

"I do-," he paused a moment, still finding the words difficult, and knowing the Brit would find every pleasure in goading him into needing the redcoats help after all.

Swallowing the slowly growing lump in his throat he continued, "-and I'm goin' to need your help... as well."

With those final words the door slowly swung open to reveal the soldier, standing in fresh garments, while holding new linen bandages and a fresh mug of beer in the other. The beer was the most welcoming sight he could have asked for. Yet, the stern look the man held on his face put his desires to rest as he averted his gaze.

"Well, you managed to get on new trousers, I see." Arthur came into the room now, placing the bandages and mug of beer on the nightstand. Alfred did nothing but stand there awkwardly. He still had his shirt on, only a few of the buttons had been unfastened. He knew he'd need help with taking the piece of clothing off completely. He had done so the previous night and about passed out from the stress of it all.

"The shirt needs to go." Arthur now starred at him, waiting for him to attempt the task on his own, which he knew he couldn't. The soldier was just playing with him. Urging Alfred to say those words again to him. Even though Alfred saw this man in a different light compared to his companions in arms, he still had that ingrained, belittling effect on people. No one was better than the British.

Smug bustard. He's going to reap every ounce of this and I know I can't do anything about it.

"I'm... going to need... your-," he swallowed, "-your help... with the shirt."

That bastard is fucking smiling. He is just LOVING this.

Without saying another word, the soldier walked up to Alfred, and slowly began to undo the remaining buttons. Much to Alfred's annoyance, his own heart had begun to speed up once Arthur had finished the final button, and his hands moved up to lightly ghost along the smith's bare shoulders, allowing the garment to fall away.

With the damp shirt removed, all that Alfred wore were the ruined bandages. They were partly falling off now and wouldn't take much effort to remove. Arthur started right in on unraveling them. His long, elegant fingers being deftly agile in making sure the bandages came away clean and didn't catch together near his collar bone.

Alfred couldn't ignore the hiss that escaped the soldier's lips. It was the only sound he had made in the last few minutes and it sent a chill down Alfred's spine. It didn't help when he felt the man's light touch move to the grotesque bruising, and swelling that had enveloped much of his right shoulder.

"This looks terrible. I-I'm sorry for being so rough with you earlier. I didn't realize it had gotten so bad."

The man's face had softened greatly with his gentle words as his fingers continued to lightly inspect the severity of Alfred's injury.

Just his voice made the smith feel weak, and he found himself waving his good arm behind him to locate the bed.

Arthur noticed this and quickly helped the smith sit down.

"You are breaking out into a sweat." Came his urgent voice, "I hope it's not a fever." The back of his hand was now resting against Alfred's forehead. Alfred couldn't help but smirk.

"I assure you, it's no fever."

Arthur took a step back to assess the smith.

"For your sake, I hope not. Now, as for that gash. I was unable to ascertain the extent of that injury last night, but it looks like you will need stitches. It is much to deep and wide to heal on it's own.

Emm- I know something I'd like to widen and go deep into.

"I'm not qualified for something like this. I should send for that doctor."

Hearing the mention of the doctor again, Alfred shot up from where he sat and clutched at the soldier's arms. Looking deep into those emerald eyes to catch them on himself.

"There is no getting the doctor. I thought I made this clear."

The man stuttered, "Wha- but, there is no way I can stitch that wound up. I have no training in-"

"Try."

"I'll hurt you."

"I've been through worse."

"I can not-"

"You have to."

The man's eyes faltered away from Alfred's as the smith realized how close he had gotten to the soldier's face. He couldn't help but note the blush that had appeared as well.

Alfred stood back up, releasing the soldier's arms as he did, and moved over to the far window. He heard the soldier shuffle where he stood a moment before the inevitable question was asked.

"Why do you not want me to retrieve the doctor?"

Why am I hiding this? It's not like he would care.

With a heavy sigh, Alfred turned and rested against the windowsill to scrutinize the soldier in the middle of the room. Concern still laced the man's features and Alfred could not understand how he could care so much for the colonist. Alfred had done nothing for him except put a roof over his head; which was something he had been forced to comply with.

Running a hand through his hair he started, "Well before my father was killed, I was in an arranged marriage with the daughter of the town's doctor." Arthur said nothing so Alfred continued, "I had no interest in her, and still don't, yet she couldn't get enough of me. The doctor, Mr. Shannon, was delighted in the arrangement as a Blacksmith is a prized occupation. We make good money so he supported it. My father as well." He sighed again and turned his gaze to admire the wooden floor, "Upon my father's death, I annulled the marriage. With no family to force my hand, I was a free man."

"I take it she does not share the same feelings." Arthur interjected.

"Ultimately. She doesn't believe the marriage can be annulled. She has left me well enough alone over the past four years. I've also not needed medical treatment within that time, either."

"Perhaps she has moved on to someone else."

Alfred sighed, "I wish that were true. During my few trips into town for supplies and selling my wares she stalks me like I'm some sort of prey. Thankfully, that's as far as it has gotten."

"So why are you afraid to seek the help of Dr. Shannon?"

"She's not his apprentice, but he allows her to learn, so she tends to accompany him on all of his patient visits." Alfred rubbed the back of his neck, "Dr. Shannon was disappointed in my choice, but feels that I will change my mind eventually. He doesn't believe a young man with such a business should go unwed with no children to pass on my trade to."

"What if you meet someone else? You may not love Dr. Shannon's daughter, but have you completely sworn off the prospect of a happy life with anyone?"

There was an odd hitch to the man's words that didn't seem normal, yet Alfred moved past it to answer the soldier's question.

"With hostilities growing between the colonists and the empire, I honestly haven't thought as far as tomorrow, yet. Each day I take as a gift that I'm still here. A long, happy, life with someone there to share in it just doesn't sound plausible for me."

Arthur had went silent at his last words and had moved to the nightstand to retrieve the fresh bandages he had brought along with him. His hand rubbed at his face before turning back around to face the smith.

"I understand. I'll refrain from seeking out the doctor. Have a seat and I'll re-wrap your bandages."

Alfred sensed the soldier had stiffened some. Almost like he had closed something off to the smith, yet Alfred had no idea what or why.

Disregarding it, he walked back to the bed and made sure to follow Arthur's instructions so the wrapping would be more beneficial this time.

"Hold your arms up a little so I can wrap under them." Alfred nodded, and with mild difficulty with his right arm was able to allow Arthur room to wrap the bandage.

The soldier was close again. He knew it would happen, but this time Alfred turned his head away to look out the far window. He didn't want to jeopardize the wrap job again.

Or am I just trying to push him away?

"Arthur, I-"

"I was thinking, maybe Micah's mother would be able to stitch up that laceration. Would you be comfortable with her taking care of it?"

His thoughts were lost at the soldier's deliberate attempt to change the subject. Alfred wasn't even sure what he was going to say.

Perhaps it's better that I didn't.

"Yes, she should be able to do it. Besides, I'm not so sure I'd want you doing it."

"Why is that?"

"After that previous wrap job I can only imagine how you'd do with a needle and thread."

The Brit scoffed at this, "I'll have you know I manage a fine needlepoint. Perhaps a nice design in your skull is what you need."

Alfred laughed, "Needlepoint. Really? Oh, that's too much. Alright, enough of this. Help me into a new shirt and we'll go see Micah's mother before it's too late in the evening. You have patrol tonight, correct?"

The soldier nodded as he went for the aforementioned shirt. "Yes, but not until after supper. There is plenty of time."

With more assistance with his shirt, Alfred was finally back to looking reasonably dignified. As much as a beaten up blacksmith could look. With a better sling for his arm, Arthur secured that around his neck and appeared pleased with the strength of his work.

"How does it all feel?"

Alfred shrugged, "Like a blind man did it."

Arthur slapped at Alfred's good shoulder and then moved to leave the room. "I shall go saddle Hero for the ride. I can assume you will be alright riding?"

"If I'm grounded from a horse because of an injury like this than you might as well put me out of my misery now."

Arthur rolled his eyes and left the smith alone in his room once more.

After hearing the man's footsteps recede, Alfred couldn't help but laugh at his situation as it began to dawn on him.

Do I really want to try to get close to this man? Or is this just pent-up, animalistic desires reacting towards whatever human contact comes my way?

He rubbed at his eyes, wishing for anything to make sense of the emotions that were confused within him. It had been five years since he felt that touch of another person. It had been a man's touch then as well, and Alfred had called it love. Was this some twisted form of love returning? He had promised that young man when he was forced to move south that there would never be anyone else. Yet, Alfred had forgotten it all. Was that love?

Choosing to disregard his thoughts, Alfred finally left his bedroom to retrieve his still damp boots from the fire, and headed out onto the porch. A wave caught his attention by the stables as Arthur stepped out with Hero, saddled and ready for the mile trip down the road.

Alfred smiled and waved back with his good arm as he started to walk slowly towards the two.

One thing, though, had caught Alfred's attention just then; seeing the British soldier lead the black draft horse with unhindered ease. Hero had been known to have a knack for becoming aggressive around the British soldiers. So much that when Alfred would head into town he was given a wide berth. Due to the horse not having harmed anyone there was no outcry to put Hero down. Much to Alfred's delight. It was almost as if he had his own bodyguard.

But what about Arthur? Does Hero sense something different about him?

"Never thought I would have the chance to ride such a large horse before. The streets of London rarely saw draught horses due to their size. I think I might need a foot stool like young Micah." Arthur laughed as he patted the horse's neck. Hero whinnied contentedly in response.

"I'd offer you a hand but I'm afraid you'll be the one doing that. Stand on the porch steps. Should be enough to help ya'." Alfred suggested which Arthur agreed to by doing just that.

With the assistance of the additional height, Arthur managed to find his place in the saddle without much trouble.

Now if I can do that without looking like a fool I think I can survive the idea of needing assistance in the first place.

Arthur looked down at him, "I find it would be best to come up on the left side like you normally would."

Alfred nodded; just as Hero's head swiveled around to catch the smith's attention.

I hope you realize you are the bane of my existence right now.

Hero snorted as if he knew his owner's thoughts and tossed his head about almost jovially.

"It seems Hero finds your predicament amusing."

"He'll find it amusing when I skin his hide for a new couch."

Arthur laughed, "Come on then. It will be dusk by the time you find your foot in the stirrup."

Alfred rolled his eyes, and with his left foot secured in the stirrup, the smith took hold of Arthur's proffered hand and was easily lifted into the saddle without straining his injury. Alfred had to admit he was impressed.

"Well, I didn't think you'd have that kind of strength in those tiny little arms of yours." Alfred grinned as he prodded one such arm.

Jerking his arm away, Arthur protested, "just because I show more brains than brawn does not mean I do not keep in shape."

Alfred couldn't contain the devious smirk that crossed his features. He was settled in behind the smaller soldier and their close proximity had begun to take effect on him. The words could not be held back.

"Emm- why don't you prove that by showing me sometime." Alfred allowed his hands to gently rest above the soldier's hips and was delighted to feel the man tense under his touch. Before the soldier could say anything, Alfred had removed his hands and leaned forward to glide them down Arthur's arms to take hold of the reigns.

Leaning his face down next to the soldier's ear, Alfred whispered teasingly, "You seem to be a bit inebriated at the moment. Perhaps it's better that I direct." Alfred then withdrew from leaning down against the soldier's back to sitting up right and only allowing his arms to encircle the man in order to steer Hero.

"Wha- I- hey, you removed your arm from the sling!"

Alfred couldn't help but chuckle, "I like how your mind goes immediately to that."

Alfred couldn't help but notice the red that had crept up into the man's ears as he faced away from the smith.

Arthur's head dipped down to admire his hands while a whisper escaped his lips that Alfred had to strain to hear.

"My mind was certainly in places I didn't want it to be moments prior."

Alfred smiled again, and with an instructed, "Walk on," to Hero, accompanied by a light kick to his flank, they headed off onto the dirt road.

By the time they had reached Micah's home, Arthur's complexion had worsened considerably. According to the soldier, the gentle ride and an exhaustion the man was unaware he felt was what caused him to drift off to sleep in Alfred's arms. Now the soldier's face could have rivaled that of a tomato. Meanwhile, Alfred was nursing a newly formed bruise on his side where he was fiercely jabbed at by the soldier's elbow.

"I thought you would have enjoyed a short nap. No need to get offended by it." Alfred protested as he slipped down from Hero's saddle.

"Really? I'd say you allowed me to fall asleep just so you could get a few jolly's out of it at my expense. You never thought I would be against finding myself in such a predicament? Imagine if we had been seen by another soldier!"

Alfred watched the smaller soldier spout off while he paced back and forth in front of him. His rage and embarrassment clearly evident, yet it slightly panged Alfred just the same.

Taking hold of Hero's reigns, he walked him over to a nearby hitching post and tied the animal off. Not saying a word as he did which seemed to bewilder the soldier into walking over to confront the smith face to face.

"Are you even listening to me? If we were seen I would have had some serious explaining to do to my commanding officer. Not to mention the rumors that would come of it. You still have not explained yourself, either. I would have expected you to shout back by now. Your injuries finally getting the better of you?"

Alfred grit his teeth as his hands clenched into fists.

All he wants is a damn confrontation. Everything he's saying is a lie and he knows it. He's just too embarrassed to admitit to himself. Telling him he had a smile on his face when he had rested back into my arms will only infuriate him more into denial.

Finally finding something to say, Alfred found his height again and glared down at the Brit. He would place the blame on himself if anything. The soldier just wasn't ready to acknowledge himself yet.

"Perhaps I let you sleep cause I enjoyed having you in my arms." Alfred paused, "Is that so hard to believe?"

As suspected, his words caught the soldier off guard but Alfred was saved by a small child running between them to clamp around Alfred's waist.

"ALFRED! Oh, I'm so glad to see that you're okay! I should have rushed to help you. I could have taken on those glorified bullies and sent them swimmin' back across the Atlantic to their mommies. They would have to think twice about takin' on us Americans, again!"

Alfred patted the boy on the head and quickly shot a glare at Arthur. Micah was under the impression they didn't have to worry about Arthur. Yet, he never showed them he would out right disobey orders. Micah's words were that of the rebels, and if Arthur's superiors asked him for names, would he give them theirs?

Alfred would not allow it, and the look he gave the soldier, he hoped, spoke volumes.

"Oh- and Arthur, I'm glad to see you too! You've been takin' care of Alfred's injuries, too! That's very kind of you! I'd never expect a redcoat to be so nice. My mom had been worried when I told her what happened, and she was going to call the doctor for you but I reminded her about Jessie. Unfortunately, that got her into worrying over whether you would ever settle down with a wife and pop out babies to take care of the smithery. I don't think you need any of that cause you're fine on your own, Alfred. And besides, you have me to help you! Oh- and Arthur too!" Micah beamed up at both of them.

Alfred couldn't help but smile as the boy was infectious as ever, however, Arthur's expression was far from jovial. More to the point that it unsettled the smith, and he found himself taking hold of Micah's shoulder to hurry him along to the house.

"Why don't you go prepare us a few slices of your mom's apple pie. We'll be right in afterward." Alfred said to the boy with a smile. Mentioning his mother's cooking seemed like the best way of ridding the boy of them for a few minutes.

"Great idea! Mom just finished baking a few, too! I'll set the table. Don't be long!" Micah called as he quickly ran back to the house and his hollering for his mother could be heard clearly outside.

Now that they were alone once again, Alfred watched as the soldier was still resolute in his expression, while it never once left the spot that Micah had previously occupied. It was a look of shock, yet anger flitted in and out of his eyes. Whatever the man was thinking, it had taken the soldier beyond words, and that was something the Brit was rarely without.

From the words that had been uttered unknowingly by the small boy in present company, Alfred feared the worst from the soldier. You never trust a snake that has been cut in two. It still has the power to bite.

Alfred came within two feet of the soldier who continued to stare at the ground. Not even a flinch, or alteration to his breathing gave Alfred any indication whether the soldier was even aware of where the smith stood. It would be a threat, but Alfred had made himself responsible for Micah and his mother's well-being many years ago. If it came to it, he would end the soldier's life.

"The boy says what we all feel. We have spent enough time in the shadow of the British Empire. Your king refuses to listen and that will cost you. We are Americans and will fight for our freedom. You can take this all however you want. Report our names to your superiors. I will not back down, and if you are hiding behind this caring guise know this-" Alfred paused, quickly grabbing the soldier's jaw to lock his blue eyes with the man's own green ones, he continued, "-I will kill you. On... or off the battlefield, regardless whether I grant your wish for death in doing so. Your death will also not be the last redcoat I lay waste to with my musket buried in their gut."

He released Arthur's jaw and couldn't help but growl at the lack of any reciprocating comments the soldier should have spouted back at the smith.

Perhaps this is where he leaves to report to his commander.

Alfred spat at the ground in front of him as his thoughts began to quickly betray him.

Yet, why am I feeling regret over the truth?

Shaking the thoughts out of his head, Alfred pushed past the mute soldier and headed for the house. Whether the man walked through that door or not would speak Arthur's response immediately.

A/N: Alright! Sorry for the long delay in updating the story! Had a bit of trouble getting back into Alfred's head after playing with Arthur for so long. ;) Oh, and don't worry about the doctor's daughter. She's just a little plot drama to stir things up. As Alfred has gone on about, he has zero interest with her.

I had intended on going longer with this chapter but I felt this point marked for a good place to stop. I wanted their to be more smut in this chapter but instead you got a bit of cute mental fluff of a sleeping Arthur in Alfred's arms. D'aaawwww. ;3

I'm working on updating the previous chapters with what we have beta'd as we go. Thanks greatly to my lovely Beta, Tobi! As always, her hard work makes this story so much easier to read. Thanks lady! :D

As to everyone who has reviewed, faved, and alerted to the fic, I can't thank you enough for your support in the story! Every review, long or short, bad or good, keeps me motivated in hearing your thoughts. Right now, I never expected the amount of feedback I have received while writing this (64 reviews; holy crap that's a lot for someone who never writes fanfiction). So, again, thank you all, and I hope you continued to enjoy, "Quartering Acts". *heart*

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