Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or William Wordsworth's "I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud." or Disney's Sword and the Stone. Or "Red Asphalt." Or Tums. Or Skype. Or Joyce Carol Oates' Where Are You Going, Where have You Been? Or Facebook.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). More bits of Spanish because...Spain. Poking a little fun at Catholics. More War of 1812. World War II references. Manhattan Project. Family drama, family fluff, family angst. Flashbacks. Some more fun Celtic Knots.
AN: Hey everyone! You've likely discerned a pattern; when I've got family visiting...being alone with my computer...doesn't happen. But here's a longer chap as a consolation. XD Marzue, your reviews made me lol. I think everyone's been in that spot. You shook it off like a champ! : DD Thank you all for your reviews, I love the love. They keep me focused! Hopefully, I'll get Sirena updated some time this week too. In the meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this chapter! : D
Chapter 16: Buzzword Bull Crap
Rhys adjusted his hold on a stack of books and reached for his bottle of Tums. He shook several chalky tablets into his mouth before slipping it back in his pocket.
It was going to be a…melodramatic visit.
He'd known it from the time he'd first fastened his seatbelt on the ride over. From what he'd seen in his passenger visor mirror and from what he could sense, Mathieu and Texas were in some manner of feud. Attempts made by Mathieu to talk to his brother were deflected by the Texan setting his hat over his face and feigning sleep.
All of the passengers were rather short with one another when they did talk—finding petty things to argue over—namely where they ought to stop for food or the loo or what genre was best for the radio. And Reilley objected to every song and station Rhys or Alistair turned the dial to.
Then there was Alfred's creatively dangerous manner of exiting a car...which (after Mr. Gray's tour) earned him a stern talking to from all four Kirkland brothers. Worse, he'd seemed surprised and kept bringing up that he'd been a stuntman in Hollywood as a defense.
Then once they were inside Kirkland Manor, a new altercation bloomed between Arthur and Alistair. And from the dread in his stomach, Rhys knew Arthur was preparing to demand answers from their Scottish brother that would dredge up the past in the most emotionally explosive way possible.
He didn't know exactly which topic he'd seize upon (as there were many to choose from) but…
Rhys shuddered; he knew it would be very unpleasant. Perhaps, he was merely prolonging the inevitable, but when they did finally come to blows (physically or verbally or both), it was Rhys's desire to be near Alfred so he could negate the strong emotions the child would undoubtedly experience through his bond to his father.
Arthur was still grossly inexperienced when it came to neutralizing his feelings along that connection.
Rhys blinked at a sudden breeze and his eyes narrowed. Fae?
No...no...He breathed out through his nose in irritation.
Out on one small balcony, Reilley and Alistair were smoking.
The latter was unsurprising. Alistair could never free himself from the habit for long but...Reilley was smoking again...and he'd been doing better...had said he was intent on cutting back until...this.
He felt his insides twist. It was so hard to get his brothers to take their healths seriously.
They often acted like Rhys delighted in keeping a food diary and participating in yoga. He knew that discipline was necessary to keeping himself healthy.
He grimaced as the odor wafted in. He never liked them smelling of ash. It reminded him too much of torched land.
He heard a high-pitched laugh echo through the hall and followed it.
He and Alfred may as well have been the only ones talking at dinner, earlier.
It was...amusing. He knew Alfred was his nephew and not his child but…it was still...so amusing seeing some of his own traits resurface in someone else...far younger…
Alfred had a tendency to flit from topic to topic much as he did. Only where Rhys had learnt fairly quickly the importance of silence and patience, of letting others control the train and pace of conversation and commenting only when appropriate and with limited passion…Alfred cared little about what anyone else thought of his seemingly nonsensical thoughts or rather...he cast his ideas out like a fishing net to see if anyone else at the table was similar.
If people couldn't see the parallels between what he was talking about or keep up, he didn't want to talk to them. It was...refreshingly bold. When he commented on the tendency, Alfred laughed and called it "Pinballing."
They had a time of it; going from weather to satellites to space exploration to deep sea exploration to geographical exploration to poetry.
There were plenty mutters of "whiplash" while they were discussing the merits of William Wordsworth's "I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud."
Which was a fitting conclusionary piece that even gave voice to the topic they'd really been exploring in its title: loneliness...and wandering as a result of it.
Exploration was one of Alfred's favorite means of combatting the feeling. If you turned wandering into questing it made the endeavor more romantic.
And Alfred was terribly romantic, perhaps to some extent even more than Arthur because he was still so young.
Though it did make Rhys's thoughts cycle back to 1812 and what leaving his nephew under a toxic cloud of darkness and death had done to him. He remembered the memory Alfred shared of his injury in the aftermath. How he'd struggled to find a silver lining...and when he wasn't able to...essentially struck a match and created artificial light for himself; motivation where there wasn't real hope.
Because that hex was vicious...and wouldn't leave him such a commodity.
So he created a narrative for himself; a chronicle of adventures. If he was constantly finding new places, new people, and new ideas, he didn't have to focus on what had been lost.
Meanwhile, it was easy for Rhys to empathize on a lack of connections. He wasn't someone who bonded easily with others.
Just because one could sense the moods of people around him didn't make interactions easier. Often...it seemed to complicate things along with his tendency to take note and record others' quirks and preferences. It begged the question of sincerity: theirs and his. How much of what you were doing was to placate them and make the situation smoother for yourself because conflict was tiring and tedious? Did they actually like you or the way you tended their needs? How much of their feelings towards you was thus manipulated? Were they wholly artificial relationships?
He'd never been particularly good at lying...at giving false information. But he did sometimes lend himself, his strategies, his ear, his attention and service in subservient ways that could be mistaken as loyalty. Plenty of royal and aristocratic social climbers realized that too late.
Having arrived at Arthur's bedroom door, Rhys shifted his hold on a small stack of books and knocked.
Arthur called out that it was open and Rhys let himself in.
His youngest brother still looked rather haggard; his indulgence in alcohol the previous night was still being paid for.
At first, his brother gave him a quizzical look, then a knowing one as he took in what Rhys was carrying.
"Alfred! Your uncle's here to read to you."
The child rushed out of his adjacent room and slid across the floor in footed pajamas. His face lit up. The less daring side of Rhys reasoned that it was at the sight of more Welsh fairy tales. The child adored stories...particularly ones he'd never heard before...or couldn't remember.
"You came for me?!" The boy grinned.
Rhys froze and scanned the child's features. He'd said those exact words in Essex in 1814 though with none of that cheer.
Blue eyes narrowed and the flickering light of flame in the harbor cast dark shadows on the youth's face. "You came for me."
Wales' straightened his spine—aware his men were gauging his every move and would no doubt report any sign of weakness to England. "Yes."
He'd then drawn his knife and demanded the boy's unconditional surrender and watched those eyes blaze brighter than—
Arthur cleared his voice harshly.
Rhys blinked and noticed his nephew had his arms out though they were starting to falter.
Rhys knelt down and leaned into the embrace—using his free arm to hold him close. Alfred sighed and pressed close—his arms knocking the books from Rhys's hold to reach around his uncle.
If he had done things differently...thrown that knife to the ground...made his men fall back and leave them room—
"K-wuch? Kitch?" Alfred murmured soft enough for only him to hear.
He rested his face against the small shoulder and held him tighter and nodded. "Cwtch."
"-and you're against him teaching your son because…?"
Arthur paced the room as his early morning counseling session proceeded via Skype.
Dr. Hargreaves started by apologizing for upsetting Alfred and for all the aspects of the office and himself that might have triggered his episode. Which put Arthur at greater ease than he expected...and he shared more than he anticipated.
They got to talking about the vulnerability of children. How you couldn't protect them from everything...you'd happily give your eyeteeth but...
Even though Arthur knew that; it always gutted him when he couldn't protect his wards.
When the man asked if he thought his own childhood was affecting his perception, he brushed it off.
Yes, tragedy was no stranger to him.
He'd known pain, humiliation, terror...
It was just...different.
It made him into something fierce.
It made his wards...
He thought of the Fall of Hong Kong, The Bombing of Darwin, the invasion of New Zealand's waters by Axis forces…
The man just didn't understand how awful it was.
He was over two millennia old. While most of them were so young. It was natural to feel protective...to feel responsible...when they were injured and scared and looking to him to bloody do something.
And the fact that when he couldn't deal with the threat alone...he just...
It reminded him of how his government and Canada's had contributed to the Manhattan Project...while America shouldered most of the weight...and risk…
Which...if it hadn't made him feel terrible before that he lacked the space and resources to do the testing himself...
His teeth clenched. If it had felt like a dereliction of duty in the 1940s leaving such a task to his teenaged, estranged ex-colony...
Knowing now that it was his seven year old child being tested on…
That England and his government had pushed for it. Had hungrily waited for information to bolster their own firepower.
And he'd never even had the decency to accompany him during a testing. There were just so many other battles to fight...and so he...just...threw what resources and funds he could afford.
Thrown money and equipment and scientists at America and convinced himself it was enough. That if America could drag himself to meetings following a testing, it couldn't be so terrible. And it didn't help that his own envy of that strength and that weapon, kept him from probing too deeply in conversation.
Or maybe their governments were conspiring against them again…
That he was always conveniently busy...they always kept him conveniently busy...because if he'd been horrified by what Japan suffered for the price of war...how could he handle what America endured for the high cost of science?
Arthur forced a breath. "It's difficult. Entrusting your child to….anyone else. Do you have children?"
"I do. A little-"
"Have you any idea how many wards I've raised? And in dangerous times I...from child to adult—I've mopped up every kind of mess you can imagine. Of course I have. No fuss. I adore my little ones...I do it gladly. But...not everyone will be like me. Not everyone will deal with-"
"Dealing with those other people in the outside world is part of growing up."
Green eyes flashed. "Home is supposed to be safe!"
"I'm...unsure why Alistair's desire to commandeer the geography lessons you had planned for Alfred is so...vexing for you. Is there no way to for you two to instruct him jointly or simultaneously?"
Arthur sighed.
Geography...because he wasn't sure how well Dr. Hargreaves would take discussions about magic...yet.
"I don't understand. Is he aggressive to your child?"
It would be so easy to vilify him.
"He's an aggressive person," Arthur stated readily.
His first instinct was to share some of his brother's waspish moments from Yule.
But…
Against his will he also remembered how swiftly Alistair volunteered to hunt down the bodoach. Or how willingly he came to America's aid during Osha's plot. Talked his government into lifting the ban they'd placed on England traveling.
Or...
"Dinna fear…" was the familiar whisper on a stormy night. "I am here, yet."
Or…
Seeing him steal across the room in the shadows of Roman pillars.
"Albion," He breathed. Then knelt and beckoned him over.
How Albion nearly tripped over his own sandals sprinting over to him. And how he'd clung to his brother so tightly he'd felt his brother's back crack. And he didn't complain.
The joy was short lived as a Roman soldier's shadow fell over them both.
Arthur's mouth twisted. "But I don't think...he'd deliberately injure him...though he has a temper..."
"Is he careless? Or-"
"Tactless is more like it. Stupid could be even closer." He huffed and crossed his arms.
"Has your son vocalized a preference in instructor?"
Thick eyebrows raised in surprise. "Wot? Er...well...I haven't made him aware of his uncle's offer."
His counselor didn't quite frown but he did look displeased at that information.
Feeling frustrated, Arthur explained. "This is an opportunity for us three, Mathieu, Alfred, and myself, to bond."
"And you feel your brother's trying to infringe on that?"
"Yes and…"
Maybe it was his ability to keep secrets that had Arthur so...vexed…
All these years...so many opportunities...lost...because his damned brother never shared what he knew. He didn't think he could forgive him for it. When...his actions helped prolong the damned estrangement!
"Does he have your child's trust?"
And those were the words that twisted the knife.
"I understand that you and your brother have a longstanding history and good reason for anger and distrust. But...I don't think it's fair to Alfred to be used like this."
Another sharp twist…
Of course he didn't want his son to feel like a pawn between himself and his brother.
"No," He agreed gruffly.
He wasn't like Osha…
Something must have shown on Arthur's face then because the man's eyebrows lifted with an epiphany. "Do you...do you fear your son favors him?"
Over me? Arthur thought and he looked down. Yes. Yes. He did. At times...
Alistair, who was greeted with hugs. Whose exploits were listened to with great admiration. Even the Scotsman's foulest moods were easily forgiven if he tossed a large bag of Doritos to Alfred.
Arthur finished the session with a lingering sense of frustration.
He was being given more journal exercises, this time about insecurities, when what sounded suspiciously like a kitchen timer dinged from somewhere in the hall.
There was the sound of running feet and then the door opened.
Alfred was slightly out of breath, but smiling at least until he realized the screen was still on.
Displeased with the direction of the last session, Arthur gave the doctor a bit of a brushoff.
Even as the man remarked, "So, he still waits for you after every single session?"
It was a soft prod to recognize the love there, mixed in with the fear and paranoia.
He knew that. He knew also, that Alfred wouldn't bother with this if it was Alistair.
And so the attention stung of perceived weakness and it hurt his pride.
Alfred's countenance cheered up considerably when he closed the laptop.
When Arthur commented on it, the child sighed.
"I just…"
"I'm perfectly safe," He assured.
Yes, he'd needed the young nation's help during the World Wars but...was he forever to be judged on those occasions and not the plethora of times he'd guarded and aided him before?
Alfred gave a grudging nod.
Arthur thought the child was going to brood but he surprised him by reaching out and grabbing Arthur's trouser leg. "I-I know I seem crazy!"
"Nono love, that's not-"
"But I was just the same! I wanted to believe they could make me better. That they'd see stuff I couldn't. That they'd help me. Same as you. The same! Only that's not what happened. So how can you be so sure? After what happened to me, how can you be so sure it won't happen to you?!"
For a moment, Arthur was stunned.
After so many weeks of shrugs and brush-offs. That he was being so open...honest...
That he saw a lot of himself in Arthur…and his vulnerability now made him more relatable.
He reached for the hand gripping his leg and held it—admitting quietly, "No one can ever be one hundred percent sure of anything."
He'd never thought he'd lose his thirteen colonies, never thought the sun would set on his empire, never thought contraptions like airplanes would dominate the skies, or fathomed a world where nuclear energy would even materialize.
Discontent with that answer, Alfred pressed. "He could learn things about you. Use them against you."
Arthur rubbed his hands along the child's shoulders to try and comfort him. But before he could say more—
Alfred sat down heavily on a cold linoleum floor hopelessly dizzy—leaning into the corner made by a wall and a vending machine.
The machine was thrumming, the wall was peeling, and the fluorescent lights flickered constantly. Had this place been properly inspected?
It was a random thought but...where were the fire extinguishers? The light-up EXIT signs? The framed emergency evacuation map that buildings were supposed to have posted in multiple areas?
"Come walk outside. The sun and the air will help you." She'd been making him do that a lot lately.
He shook his head.
"You suffer because you are too connected to things. You are weighed down. Come to me." Her bracelets jangled. "We will walk where the sky will smile on us."
Joyce Carol Oates' Where are you going, Where Have You Been? flitted through his mind. Of going out, out, out into the world. But he didn't know why.
Something was smothering the "why" down, so it wouldn't bother him.
She beckoned again.
No. He didn't want to.
He wanted to stay. He huddled next to the snack machine—feeling the warm exhaust of the unit.
His speech was slurred. Yeah, there was definitely something at work in the smoothies they were giving him. Cleansing health food his ass! He'd need to put his foot down.
"S-s-someone might come to...visit me…today..." He forced out. Even if they hadn't yesterday, or the day before that, or the week before that…
He had...letters from...Arthur.
He pulled one from his pocket. And frowned. One? Only one?
His head hurt. Weren't there more?
Didn't know where the rest had gone. He twisted his fingers around the bookmark. Did he throw them away?
It made bile rise to his throat.
No! Never. But maybe they did. He never threw them away!
A strong urge to search the trashcans filled him but he batted it down.
Maybe she was right? Maybe he should go outside. Away from the quiet, here.
Quiet?
Quiet?
Was it supposed to be quiet here?
Yes. Clinics were supposed to be quiet. That made them tranquil.
No. Wait. Where were the other doctors? The other patients?
It was cleared especially for his use, she replied…
Right.
Just for him…
Just for him?
She pulled at his elbow.
No! He had people coming!
Brown eyes…
Violet eyes?
Green eyes?
"No one is coming," She murmured with finality.
And it's weird because he swore even if that was what he'd been despairing over...when did it leave his lips?
And suddenly it's 1826 and he's a fledgling nation standing in a graveyard, watching humans who were allowed to stand closer to the coffin. because they aged and he didn't, leave.
It doesn't really matter. Standing here or there or anywhere.
All his founding fathers are dead.
And he's so bloody alone.
And there's no one anywhere that cares. That really cares about Alfred and not America.
It's freedom in its ultimate form; without limit and reason and there's nothing to cling to.
It feels like falling or drowning or both. And there should be rage or fear or sorrow or something! And he knows it's never the fall that kills you. It's the landing. But the coldness in him rises up to meet it all. And if it happens, the dreaded landing, he doesn't feel it.
The warmth of sunshine is on his skin and he can't remember when he left the automatic sliding doors behind him.
But it doesn't matter. Because she's right:
No one is coming.
Tex frowned at a weird abstract painting that was apparently made by Wy according to the scribbled signature in the corner. He'd bumped it while coming out from the toilet and the thing fell off the wall. He was trying to use the mounting on the back to figure out how it was supposed to hang.
But it's wire was almost perfectly strung through the middle. So it was a fifty-fifty shot.
Aw hell with it. He set the weird thing (loops of blue and green) back up onto the wall and returned to his quest: tracking down Al.
After all, Al being unaccounted for in December, led him to befriending a bad-news-bogeyman. They did not need a repeat of that.
He checked rooms systematically.
Yesterday, he and Mathieu shared some words after his and Al's tour with Gray. He'd been rearranging his room because the place was just so damn impersonal: bed, drapes, dresser, closet. When he'd found Matt leaning against the door frame.
"I don't want to fight with you," The Canadian murmured.
He'd tried to say something similar when they were seated together in the car, but Tex had tuned him out.
"Tch. I wouldn't wanna fight with me either. But here ya are. Ya shoulda thought of all that before ya-"
"This is an opportunity for all of us to-"
"No. Don't waste your breath on that positive buzz word bullcrap with me."
Violet eyes widened.
"And don't give me that 'I'm looking to you for advice' bit either. I gave it. You didn't take it."
"Texas, I'm trying to make amends-"
"Try harder."
"...I...I don't know exactly...how to…"
Maybe it was because it was so friggin' obvious that 'Dude, I'm sorry I was a jackass to you' was a good place to start and Matt was so oblivious to that...
That Tex's train changed rails. "Ya know what? Ya know whaaat? Okay. Okay." He tried to keep a spiteful smirk from crossing his face. "I'll think of something. Keep you posted."
Matt blinked and seemed to relax.
Still it'd be good to have Al on board with his plan before it pulled out of the station and so he began hunting him down.
He found him in the kiddie room...with Arthur.
They were in the rocking chair and the Briton was speaking in soft, solemn tones.
Clearly, something traumatic had happened.
He felt irritated. Why didn't Al text him that he needed him?
"What's all this?"
Alfred straightened and rubbed his eye. "I...I was telling him about...when I was in the clinic and she…was messing with me. My head...how she got me to leave..."
Osha…
He immediately sat down on the couch in concern. Alfred had been so tight lipped about the experience...he didn't dare act up. It could get Al to clam up. Their problems had to take a backseat.
The rocking chair resumed rocking.
Alfred frowned. "It was like she was water and could just find all the cracks in me and widen them. It...sucked."
Tex and Arthur nodded. She was a real witch and she'd done a real number on him.
"She knew how to prey on...my fears that no one was coming for m-"
"But she was wrong," Tex asserted immediately.
Alfred gave a shuddery sigh of relief and tiredly smiled. "Yeah...she was wrong."
His little brother went quiet not long after that and relaxed into Arthur's hold even more. He gradually grew aware of the T.V. and wanted Arthur to turn the volume up on The Sword and the Stone. Even while Arthur complained that it was nothing like the truth in any shape. To which Alfred rebutted: "Why do you own it then?"
Tex slouched; he ought to have been glad his brother was finally opening up...and he was but...it was just…
It was...supposed to be to him first….
Him first and then...THEN the rest of 'em.
He was left dealing with a sickish feeling in his stomach and eager for a distraction, picked up his phone after the first ring...without really thinking or checking.
"Hola mijo."
"H-huh?"
"Inglaterra texted me just now that you seemed upset." He paused a beat. "Tell Papi what's wrong."
Texas glared at Arthur, who held his gaze coolly. The Lone Star State held the phone to his ear and moved to the edge of the room so his conversation wouldn't interrupt Al's movie.
"Nothing's wrong, Papi."
"I know mi hijo, that's what I told him. That you and I had come to an understanding. You tell me when I'm needed and THEN I come and destroy your enemies. But...well…" He laughed lightly. "He got me to worrying about you."
"Uh…" Tex shifted uncomfortably.
"I know, I know. You are big and strong now and don't need me mothering you like a baby chick."
"Y-yeah." He needed to end the conversation quickly without seeming like he wanted to end it quickly and arouse his father's suspicions. "You know England, there's...just so much drama here. It's hard for him to believe I don't have any."
"Hmmmm."
He could practically picture Spain's wheels turning.
"You know...you could come here? There are many places, I still wish to take you if you'd like to visit. You left early last time..."
"Huh?"
"If you want to be away from the drama…"
He stiffened. No sir! That would play right into Arthur's hands.
"Nah, Al needs me here."
"I see…" He sounded disappointed.
Tex shouldn't have felt anything but a tiny twinge in his stomach made him feel pretty rotten. Even though he really didn't owe this guy anything.
He scuffed the toe of his boot along the floor. "Y-yeah…"
"¿Estás segura de que no necesitas nada?"
"Nah, I...It's fine. Sorry to getcha all riled up. I'm sorry you were bothered."
"Never."
"Huh?"
"You are not a bother to me. Never."
Great. Now things were hella awkward. Maybe he should just hang up? Maybe a quick 'Thanks' for formality's sake and then drop the call like something poisonous.
"Tejas? Are they being kind to you?" The tone was super serious.
"Uh, yeah, yeah, sure. Why?"
"...There is something missing in your voice."
Subtlety was never Spain's strong suit but neither was reading the mood. So even though he wasn't sure what the lack was...he could hear it...and he was bold enough to comment on it.
So Tex gave a crumb; a teensy truth that wouldn't jeopardize anything: "It's cold and dark and I miss the sun."
He knew Al was missing sunshine too. His brother had sighed a ton during their ride over— looking out into grey skies.
Spain then chalked it up as "ennui" and invited him again more vigorously, even if it was just for a short visit on the coasts where the temperature would be higher. He would rouse Tex's spirits and then they could head back to Texas' state for Easter.
He was persistent; he had to give him that and now he was trying to lengthen the time of the not-agreed-upon trip.
"Papi, I got floods and storms and Eas-"
"I saw in the news! Do you need me? You want me to come to you now? I-"
"I'm good, I'm makin' it-"
There was a frustrated silence; Spain was a man of action and didn't like being benched.
"Tejas, sabes que te quiero."
Tex flushed and fidgeted and chewed at his lip. "Yeah, I know."
"If there is anything you need, I will get it to y-"
"Ya know...there is something. A-a dish you made! The one I really liked with the rice and the prawns-" There. That ought to get him off the hook. Antonio could feel fulfilled and Tex might even pick up something semi-useful.
He could practically hear Spain lean forward. "Paella?"
"Yeah, that."
"Paella."
It took him replying the word back to Spain three times with the correct pronunciation before the man started bombarding him with the recipe in Spanish.
"Whoa there, cowboy, you're at a full gallop and I ain't even walked my saddle over to the horse."
"Sorrysorrysorry, right. En inglés-" It was interesting; it was the first time, Spain sounded a little annoyed to be speaking in English. He usually made out like it was no big deal to communicate that way.
Though...he did take every opportunity he could to prompt Texas to speak with him in Spanish...even though Tex was rusty as hell. And it was a toss-up whether he'd pronounce with "s" or "th" on certain words.
Sometimes he'd humor him and he'd let the Spaniard go and talk circles around him. But he'd eventually realize Tex only got a portion of it and he'd speak in English again.
"Yup, if you could type it up in English, that'd really help-"
"Wait! I have a better idea. Mijo, you get the ingredients and tomorrow, set up your computer and Papi will walk you through. Like a cooking show! We will be cooking and talking and seeing each other. We will have fun!"
Stunned silence was taken as consent and Spain delightedly began listing what they'd need.
Alfred's legs kicked back and forth and he took another sip of hot chocolate and then placed it down on a small side table that was set next to his desk.
Now this was how learning was s'posed to be: relaxed.
The nursery was their official classroom and the Kirklands had spent part of the morning hooking up a projector and screen against one wall.
It took them until mid morning to finish because they were old and technology was an enemy and they wouldn't listen to him until Reilley rage-quit the endeavor.
Alfred casually jotted down notes in shorthand cursive as his father and uncle lectured on about: MAGICAL SAFETY.
The best part by far were the crude stick figures incorporated into the powerpoint (courtesy of Alistair and Reilley). They got Rhys's mouth to twitch into an almost-smile more often than not and lessened the 'Red Asphalt' feel of the content.
They'd gone over Suspicious Magical Activity: where the caster or spell was unidentified and the importance of relaying such information to trusted fellow casters was vital.
Alfred knew that was a less than subtle poke about him not telling them about the elferingewort that had ringed the estate. Whoops.
They went over what items and charms could protect against or drive off malevolent fae.
Alfred held up the iron ring hanging from his necklace chain. His uncle and father both nodded approvingly.
They also covered magical boundaries...like running water, which could either signal that you were entering a magical realm or offer protection from certain types of spellcasting and creatures. Though there were also water dwelling creatures that could be dangerous loitering there. Ya know, out of the frying pan and into the fire.
It was pretty straight forward. Alfred looked over to where Mathieu was taking down notes. They both had desks but Alfred was settled in a child-sized desk and chair while Mathieu was in an adult one.
When Rhys concluded the lecture, Arthur turned the lights back on.
"We now have some worksheets regarding the information you've just learned."
Alfred loved them; there was a word puzzle, a list of matching, and then fill-in-the-blank exercises for key terms.
Then there were three connect-the-dots; the first was easy: Shield Knot (though he learned through the heading of the paper that it could also be called a Quaternary Knot and he saw in two squares at the bottom there were different designs you could use that would also work.) In his off time, he might follow that up and see which one he could do the best, which one he could do the quickest, and which one he needed to write off.
Next up was the Trinity Knot which wasn't too hard. And it was cool in that it could be used to drum up energy for Art, for Healing, and for Metalsmithing.
The last one was super hard and he had to erase a bunch. When Arthur's shadow loomed over him, he felt his face grow hot.
He wasn't sure how to feel when Arthur murmured, "The Dara Knot is difficult. Particularly, this version where it's a more literal oak invocation. There's an alternate circular version that I find quite a bit easier. Though...you've got the roots down perfectly."
"It's the top half that's hard," He muttered.
Arthur's hand pet his hair gently. "You're doing very well."
He calmed down a lot after that and was quick to show Arthur the final project—leaving his seat to walk over.
"That's wonderful, Sweet," Arthur praised.
Alfred smiled back and made to return to his desk only...he saw Mathieu still hard at work.
Maybe he was having trouble with the connect-the-dots, too. Blue eyes scanned his brother's papers and he stiffened.
They were different.
Entirely different; Mattie's papers were covered with question and answer styled work and exercises. And from the look of it, his papers had a picture of the different knots and a box for Mathieu to recreate them in.
So…
So then…
Alfred had the "Baby version" and Mathieu...
"I need to go to the bathroom!" He announced loudly—setting his papers on his desk and leaving the room.
He went down to the kitchen for a snack to ease his nerves as he contemplated ditching the class altogether. It was supposed to go until noon, break for lunch, and then continue until two but…
His heart just wasn't in it now.
He was surprised to find an amused Aoife sitting at a small wooden table piping icing over thumbprint cookies. The completed ones were on a large plate.
She looked up. "Ooh, what a thundercloud. S'matter my duck?"
"N-nothing!" He blurted.
She scoffed and pushed forward the cookie plate.
He started to reach for it but she pulled it back.
"Want to try again? S'matter, luv?"
"My lesson's not going good," He admitted. "Er...well."
She made a sympathetic sound and pushed it back towards him—letting him take one this time. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Here, sit for a tic and enjoy the show. I am. He's got no patience; that one."
Texas had his laptop plugged into a socket and balanced on one of the counters. He was frowning as he took instructions from a lively Spain, who was wearing a bright red and yellow apron and whose kitchen was impressively clean and organized.
Texas's counters were noticeably less pristine: with splashes of sauces and rice and seafood shells. It was going as well as Alfred had expected (when his bro had told him about his plans he'd saluted and wished him good luck). It wasn't that Tex was a bad cook. No. Not at all. It was just...if Tex didn't like getting directions when he was lost in a desert...naturally, he wasn't going to take orders from his ex-boss too well.
"Bueno. Now add, paprika, tomatoes, and the garlic cloves."
"Right, I'm on it. Now when do I add the lemon juice? Now?"
"Nononono. Wait. That is near the end. There is still much to do. Let it cook 5 minutes."
"Tchhhhh. Fine. This takes forever." Tex set the pan back down onto the burner.
"Mijo, we do not rush cooking or eating. Remember? What I was telling you about when you were visiting? Sobremesa."
"Yeah, yeah," Tex stretched and looked to the side and caught sight of Alfred. "Hey you! I thought you had class. You finish up early? Lunch ain't done yet, I'm hoping some time this century but I can't really promise. I...hey...wha's wrong?"
Alfred hesitantly shuffled forward. "Nothing."
Brown eyes narrowed and he repeated himself. "Wha's wrong?"
"Texas..." He gave a discreet shake of his head; he didn't want to get into this with Spain and Aoife right here. "Teeeex."
His brother's nostrils flared. "Fine."
"America."
They both started, surprised to hear Spain sound so displeased. "Why do you always butcher his beautiful name?"
Texas tensed. "Papi. Don't."
"Tejas," Spain scolded. "I am asking America."
Alfred slowly faced the screen.
"NO! No. We have rules," Texas argued.
Alfred looked from Texas to Antonio and back to Texas.
"Don't do it," Tex muttered.
Alfred sucked in a breath, faced Spain and said—
"Tea House."
Aoife howled with laughter at the back of the room.
Dammit.
Alfred tried again. "Taste? Tayest?"
The cook started snorting.
"This is why we have that rule!" Texas moaned.
"T-"
Texas covered Alfred's mouth with his hand. "Shhhhhh. God, I love you but shhhhh. You can't say it. It's fine. Texas is good. Texas is perfect."
Alfred's gaze tentatively went back to Spain.
He wore a flat expression as he studied Alfred. "I may have to punish you."
Texas put his hands on his hips confrontationally. "Papi, don't be like that. It's not personal. There's lots of words he can't say. This is one of 'em."
Spain then abruptly changed the subject to...Easter.
Alfred blinked and looked at his brother. Dude. Even they hadn't planned anything definitively yet.
Tex rolled his eyes. "You're not gonna let the Easter thing die, are ya Papi?"
"Well, I saw England posted that you're all camping for May Day?" He seemed to be waiting for an invitation no matter how grudging but...
Both Jones had stiffened.
One; because England had now broadcast their plans to friggin' everyone.
And Two; Dude, England had Spain as a friend on Facebook?
Tch. God. They were such frenemies. Did his dad have France on his list too?
"Halloween...technically. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's," Spain ticked off the holidays on his fingers. "All spent with the pirata."
Tex frowned and set the burner to a lower temp while they argued.
Spain noticed and told him to add the rice.
As Texas stirred it in, he said. "Oi, you were there for three of those. Technically."
"I want to see your ranch. Be in your house or you be in mine."
"Why?"
Spain began trying to explain what hospitality meant to him. And how Texas choosing England's household over his own caused him 'much distress.'
Alfred stared. It...it kinda sounded like Spain was a little...jealous. Or frustrated or something.
It was interesting. The snippier he got, the more he sounded like Tex when his bro wanted to argue with him over where they were gonna eat and he wasn't feeling like pizza.
"Sooo….you now feel entitled to Easter?" Tex remarked—trying to figure out his dad's logic. "Because of your rivalry with Arthur? Am I gettin' that right?"
"Yes!" The man's face lit up. "You understand."
Alfred...kinda envied how easily that man could open up.
"Yesyesyes. It bothers me. It didn't for a while. But then Romano pointed out, he said 'Spain, does it not bother you that your son prefers to be over there? Far away from you?' He cursed more, but I know you are delicate to that."
Tex flushed. "I ain't delicate!"
"It is alright. I like this about you. Mijo, you were the only colony I had who could catch a butterfly without harming it. Gentle. It is good. Anyway, Romano and I were talking about you-"
"Yeah, that's what I want to hear," Tex grumbled. "Behind my back. Stupid Romano-"
"Be nice about Lovi. Anyway, he says 'Spain have you lost your touch? Are you bad company? Is this why Tejas does not come?'" Spain paused and waited for Texas to answer.
"Papi, we're just busy! Al's got his...stuff. And I'm supporting him!"
"Who is supporting you?"
"Me!" Alfred interrupted. He felt more than a little miffed at the accusation that Texas was being neglected. "It's just. He opted out of rodeo this year, so we didn't leave for March competitions."
Spain looked a little uneasy. "You… you rope?"
"No Papi, bull riding."
The man went rather pale.
"Tch. Oh don't even, you got all that 'running with the bulls' stuff. I don't wanna hear it's dangerous when I watched you bullfight."
Spain looked surprised at that, then his green eyes narrowed shrewdly. "You snuck out of bed."
"Damn straight, I did."
"Stir in the broth now."
"Kay."
Antonio sighed. "We can talk more on bulls later. Easter. I say, we can celebrate it at your San Fernando Cathedral. I do want to see it after so long. We can go to Mass and I can meet with your minister. Which reminds me!"
The Spaniard picked his own laptop up and carried it over to some kind of home altar Antonio had set up; the table was covered in framed pictures and paintings.
Spain angled the camera down and Tex blushed embarrassedly as an old painting the size of a dinner plate came into view.
"Soooo cute!" Antonio gushed. "America! Look at Junior!"
"Awwwww," Alfred grinned and parroted: "Look at Junior."
His brother was around ten or eleven and dressed up in some bright, tightly tailored yellow jacket that was decorated in bold red beading and flowery embroidery. He had on a bright teal blue neckerchief with a matching rosary, and a thin iron set of glasses.
"Ugh, I look so stupid," Tex groaned.
"No. You are adorable!" Spain announced in a tone that brooked no argument. "Look at your sweet little smile!"
"Think you can photocopy that for me?" Al asked a bit too innocently.
"Al!" Tex frowned.
"Of course! Of course! Of course!" Antonio beamed. "But this mijo, is what I forgot to-"
Tex's eyebrows raised and his mouth opened a bit. If he'd been balancing straw or a cigarette, he'd have dropped it.
Alfred's eyes narrowed. There on the corner of the piece was a turquoise set of rosary beads.
Alfred blinked. Whoa! If those were the same ones in the painting they were in hella great shape!
"We can meet for Easter and I will return them to you!" Antonio proclaimed...like it was the best idea ever...at least until he realized the necklace was a little...small.
"Geez, I haven't worn that one since I was a scrawny fourteen or fifteen-year-old?" Tex scoffed.
"Hmm, I will get a longer, stronger string. Add some more detail, yes! Yes, leave it to Papi. It will be perfecto, I promise."
Tex looked over the altar again and clucked his tongue. "I didn't even know I was in there. I mean, I saw you had that set up when I was over but-"
Spain turned the screen back around and looked hard at Texas like he'd said a foul word during service. Alfred shrunk back a little.
Tex fidgeted. "I mean, it's just...I…kinda expected the boot after Mexico and I...and ya know annexation and 'dissolving.'"
"Of course you are there," The Spaniard's voice went harsh. "Before when I thought you were...I didn't even know if you'd had last rites!"
And suddenly Alfred grasped something that had been dangling just out of reach—
"Oh. My. God. You haven't told him?" Alfred gasped—giving his brother a hard poke in the ribs.
"Told me what?" Spain blinked in confusion at the outburst.
"Al," Tex warned.
Alfred's jaw dropped. "You haven't!? How did that NOT come up during your visit with him?!"
Figuring he wasn't going to get a straight answer, Spain frowned and decided to continue. "You cannot know the grief I felt combined with the torment of not knowing if your salvat-"
"Dude! Band-aid Quick!"
"Al!"
"Dude, learn from me. Band-aid Quick. Before it festers or snowballs or-"
Texas sucked in a big breath and blurted out quickly and quietly: "I'mnotCatholicanymore."
There was silence.
It could almost have been taken as a good omen except—
The hair on Alfred's neck stood on end. "Dude, his head-"
"Yeah, that was pretty Exorcist." Tex agreed.
Spain's green eyes were bulging and his mouth was aghast. "¿Puedes repetir, por favor?"
Alfred couldn't understand a lot of Spanish that wasn't related to food and he'd admit that he wasn't always the most observant guy in the world but…
Even he could recognize a meltdown.
Tex sighed and shared a look with Al. "See? This is why I didn't wanna tell him."
"And this is why we do it over the internet, Tex. It's safer this way."
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