Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. I don't own Graceland, Rockabilly Hall of Fame, Memphis Zoo, Dinosaur World, Rolling Stone's Wildhorses, Dixon Gallery and Gardens, Mel Tillis's I Got the Hoss (And She Got the Saddle), Fort Necessity and its website, Family Pie Shop, the Texas National Videogame Museum, Star Wars, James Bond, Mission Impossible, Rosebriar Dining in the Country, Three Musketeers or Starbursts (which supposedly are two leading Halloween favs when it comes to Texas and candy, or Romeo and Juliet.
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, and grammatically). Being mean to the Irish and the Irish being mean back.
AN: Special thanks to my reviewers for the last chap! I know it takes extra time to comment and I appreciate it. Good Lord it took me an era and a half to get this one done and I have had internet issues up the wahzoo. To the Guest: Hrmmm. I think Arthur was probably in his early to mid-teens during the crusades...so I'm gonna say 19-20ish when Al was born in the 1580s, 21 in the 1650s when they met, and then 23 by the end of the Revolution. Unasked for but Spain was probably 18-19 when he first started colonizing the Americas.
Chapter 41: Sunshine and Sprinkles
Texas was antsy.
Canada point blank asked if he had ADHD.
Thankfully, Congress had also asked him that question on and off for the last two decades so he was able to suppress the strong urge to punch him for it.
It wasn't a terrible road trip...no, their Pony Express-orphan-misadventure would always clench that spot easy. Still, it would've been better if it were just him and Al.
When it was just them, they could flip a coin when it came down to running out of time and choosing one's attraction of choice over the other's. (And if one found himself overly lucky in consecutive draws, they usually picked the other's cuz...that was just how they rolled.)
Here, there were too many people. Al would kick his butt for saying so, but...it required too much democracy.
Yeah, they'd still had some fun breaks and detours along the way, like Graceland and Rockabilly Hall of Fame.
But Papi and Rico had downvoted a visit to the Memphis Zoo. Matt and the U.K.-ers championed and got a boring morning trip to the Dixon Gallery and Gardens and foisted a snooty tea party on them a few hours later.
Thankfully, he, Hawaii, and America were able to secure a side visit to the Dinosaur World in Kentucky...even though there'd been one in Texas they could've gone to! (Had flippin' been on the way!) There were plenty of photo-ops there, though he'd taken care to upload only the pictures Al approved.
Al was kinda vain and always wanted final say on that stuff. If they weren't flattering enough, his baby bro would pitch a fit or quietly sulk and it would guilt him into taking them down.
When asked, Tex insisted that his nerves were on edge because he hadn't gotten to drive. It wasn't a total lie. It was weird sharing the wheel with others and weirder having to scuttle into the backseat. If he wasn't driving, he was usually riding shotgun.
But the newcomers didn't know that...and they didn't follow their rules. Like when it came to music and how the upfront passenger usually got to rule the radio (with the driver having the power of veto).
It was a driving dictatorship on this trip; both vans insisted on the driver getting the pick of playlists which...sucked when Papi or Alistair or Rhys was at the wheel but worked out for him now...
He was speeding along I-64 and caught Alfred's eye in the mirror as Rolling Stone's Wildhorses played.
That was just one of their special songs.
Because out on the plains Tex was always getting distracted by mustangs. They were so goddamn majestic. Turned his head every time. Al would glare at him whenever he zoned out of their briefings to glimpse the horses.
Even after the Civil War, he'd take advantage of Alfred's good memory and sense of duty to re-explain missions for him.
In their early days, he'd depended on Al's fluency in English and that he knew a ton of synonyms so whenever Tex stumbled on words he didn't know, Al had a substitute and jackpot, Tex swiftly mastered new vocabulary terms.
Then, he got to liking Al's version of things better than their superior's because Al had a better sense of humor. And he always loved hearing Al's deadpan delivery of "And then we'll run like chickens with our heads off and hope for the best, soldier."
He'd complained a lot about Tex's distractibility and his inability to prioritize.
"They're just horses, Tex."
And that had made for a nasty argument.
Because Al just didn't understand what they and their wild sense of freedom meant to someone like him. By the time they were done, things were pretty sore and sour between them.
Tex eventually calmed down. There was something about being alone in their tent and not seeing him at mealtimes and not drinking coffee or sneaking alcohol or pitching pennies into cups during their off hours (so they'd win at fairs) made him lonesome.
And if he cooled off, Al got downright frosty.
Whenever they did meet up for a drill or exercise, Al wouldn't react at all...he'd treat Tex like a total stranger.
And if that wasn't enough to leave Tex low, he'd often let the other boot drop a few days later when the divvying of missions came.
He'd braced himself for latrine digging duties but…
His brother threw him for a loop.
Al pulled some strings alright and got him a mission that would let him travel south to a climate he was better suited for and along rivers that would bring him close to the mustangs' habitat.
The only drawbacks being he'd have to go through Indian territory and...they would be separated.
Al had secured Tex's mission by accepting a position in the Nebraska territory manning a fort. And he realized what Al had really been arguing about and the minute it did…
Tex felt a grin come over his face.
The minute it did, he called him out on it. Hoo boy, right in front of the whole regiment.
Alfred smiled as Tex sang the chorus to him.
It was during Mel Tillis's I Got the Hoss (And She Got the Saddle) that England dryly remarked, "I see the pattern. Now, let someone else choose a song or I'll kick the back of your seat until we crash."
He scowled. Tch. No appreciation for classics. And that song wasn't really about horse riding. But he wasn't gonna get into that. He was pretty sure that would shock Al, too.
"Finefinefine. Aaaaaal, you pick."
And that's how they wound up with the soundtrack to Star Wars.
And it served the limey right.
He gave a mean smile when Arthur's eyebrows twitched.
His takeaways thus far were that island nations could not handle long car trips. Puerto Rico kept playing with the door locks and the U.K.-ers got surly real fast in close quarters.
Hawaii was clearly an exception to the rule, or maybe it was that she'd traveled around the mainland in a covered wagon before. It did a hell of a lot in increasing one's sense of patience; an hour in a wagon versus an hour in a car? Your butt could tell you the difference easily.
Or maybe it was cuz the U.K. gang were just so prissy so nothing ever really made them happy.
Except maybe spoiling other people's joy. They'd nixxed Tex's suggestions (before they'd left his state to drop by the National Videogame Museum. They'd also downvoted Sky Zone.
The only thing that he'd gotten to pick out special was visiting the Family Pie Shop in Arkansas.
Everything else was shot down almost as soon as it left his mouth.
He'd pretty much accepted that they were no-fun-sourpuss-sticks-in-the-mud with Rhys being the most inflexible of the bunch (he actually used a pocket flashlight to check that everyone in both vans had their seatbelt on) and would read the ingredients on stuff and inspect hotel rooms for bugs and mold and disagree with Tex's tastes in just about everything. It was always a relief when, during their musical chair like van arrangements, he didn't end up in a vehicle with him.
Still, it threw him for a bit of a loop that Alfred (for all his complaints over the years about United Kingdom stuffiness) really didn't mind them and their antics.
Alfred tugged him over to the side after they were parked and heading into a fast food joint. "I know. I know. They're getting your goat. But...dude, they're old. They're all...really oooold. They're gonna be crotchety. You gotta roll with it. Daaad's the youngest of the bunch. C'mon, there's your sign."
And he insisted that they DID have a sense of humor, it was just different...and yeah, usually at someone's expense. And if that wasn't the case, it usually involved trains. Yeah, trains.
"They're island-dwellers, Tex. And it's rainy and miserable 99 percent of the time. They had to find something to tickle themselves with...it's trains. And making fun of the French."
"Well, that's just easy to do," Tex shrugged.
Ugh. Europeans. His dad was just as bad. There was just something "ew" about a man who preferred mass transit over automobiles...over having a steering wheel, the modern reigns in his hands! Highways were meant to be made and driven on. Trains were meant for freight, not folks.
And maybe he'd been in too many crashes to like them.
Papi had asked him not too long ago when he was sick why he didn't like taking them.
Tex couldn't remember how it came up.
Spain was all for them because blah blah blah, Madrid Metro.
Tex was against them.
Because communism.
That's why.
Papi let it go after that with a cheerful, "Okay, Toni. I think it's medicine time, now."
He'd have to set him straight on the matter at some point. Because if he couldn't ride a horse somewhere than motorcycle or a truck were the next best thing.
Damn.
He was getting all worked up.
He needed to escape all the Euros.
He thought he'd get the opportunity a few hours later when they pit stopped for lunch.
He and Al were heading to a booth at the end when they caught sight of Rhys sitting at a table with a pant leg rolled up, rubbing his bruised shin.
England was standing a few paces away, shaking his head. "I told you to make him sleep on a cot or better, the floor. But-"
"I could've bunked with Uncle Reilley," Alfred asserted. "Or he could've been moved over with Hawaii and me. She'd have won-"
"No," Rhys murmured gravely. "That would've been cruelty. Just...appreciate my sacrifice for your continued wellbeing."
Alfred laughed and skipped over to his Welsh uncle and whispered loudly, "We could tape a 'No Irish Need Apply' to the door?"
"I HEARD that, you rossie!" Reilley tried to box Alfred's ear but Arthur snatched his wrist before he completed the action.
"They're a violent people," Alfred stated solemnly.
Rhys's lips twitched.
Which surprised Tex, since Snobby just wasn't the smiling type.
He was even more taken aback when Al crawled onto Rhys's lap; his bro's reasoning being that the booth was too cramped to accommodate them all even after Scotland and Northern Ireland dragged over more chairs and arranged them at the end.
Tex tapped a toe against the floor's tiles. He'd kinda assumed that he and Al would take a table elsewhere so they could discuss the folder Stuart dropped off.
Turned out Stuart wasn't playing along with their James Bond Mission Impossible sense of humor. The file was marked TOP SECRET because it was.
Alfred's spirits had been flagging because of it. Sure, he'd tried to be all smiles but he was off...and that made Tex even antsier.
They'd expected Colonel Harris's signature to be on it, but it was the other two names on the photocopy of the old paperwork that had them questioning everything they thought they knew.
He'd planned on them discussing that over fries and milkshakes but…
He watched Arthur slide in beside Rhys and Al and head him off at the pass. Great. Now, he couldn't even sit next to his little brother.
Antonio waved from the next booth over, "¡Oye, mijo! We are right here. I already got us napkins! Now, sit with your hermano and I will take a picture of you two for my Facebook cover."
He glanced back at Al's cramped booth. Mathieu was showing them a video on his phone and they were all crowding in to see.
Dammit...he just couldn't shake the feeling that he was losing America to his pre-Revolution family.
And Tex's own melodramatic, loser relatives were ready to re-absorb him.
And it all boiled down to them being pulled apart like that one...uh...Shakespeare play with the Reds and the Blues? Dammit, he was usually awake for the first ten minutes of that one.
He looked at the Spanish table then back at the British one and then back again.
He shuddered at the idea of being cramped on some uncomfortable set of bleachers with his whole stupid family drunk off their asses with tequila watching a stupid soccer game during a downpour of muggy rain.
"Mijo, you cold? ¿Necesitas tu chaqueta?"
Dammit! He didn't wanna be with the Reds!
"Baby? You okay?" Hawaii asked while holding a tray of food.
Arthur was warming up to this whole "road trip" concept. It was definitely a looser ship to be sure, but the appeal was there. More relaxed. There was an ebb and flow of sorts. One chose attractions as they went along and, given they weren't too far off from the main route, detours were made.
By the grace of the internet and satellites, one could see a wide array of palatable options. And he'd been able to phone Rosebriar Dining in the Country two days before they traveled through. They had been able to add their party to an afternoon tea that was already in the works.
And while it may have been arrogant to think so...he privately thought his accent had persuaded them to be so accommodating.
It was heartening to see that some American establishments still valued the elegance of tea time. He could tell his brothers had appreciated the bit of normalcy. And there was just something about seeing Alfred holding a floral print teacup. Sure, it was filled with milk and honey rather than tea but…
O, it just sent his heart aflutter. Rhys sent him several pictures to cherish the moment.
Speaking of the child, Arthur readjusted his hold on the steering wheel and turned the air conditioning down because Alfred's teeth were chattering and it was only a matter of time before it jolted him out of his restful slumber.
The boy needed a blanket but he was reluctant to put Mathieu, who was also kipping, to the task.
Since being made aware of the lad's insecurities, he was hesitant to make requests that could come across as him being more concerned about one than the other.
And so it left...
"Texas," he hissed softly.
Spain gave him an odd look but aided him, "Mijo!"
"Huh? What?" Tex pulled an earbud out.
"England," Spain prompted.
"Fetch one of the blankets I packed in that box won't you? For Alfred? He's cold."
"Get one for you as well, Toni."
Texas looked over at Alfred for a beat and then immediately undid his seat buckle to reach for the box.
"Toni!" Antonio yelped.
Trust Arthur's brothers' vehicle to pull alongside them then.
Reilley rolled down his window and flicked him the V's while Alistair revved the engine.
Hawaii gave them a "rock on" gesture.
Arthur gripped the steering wheel feeling the age old hard tug of sibling rivalry.
"Don't you dare, Inglaterra," Spain hissed from the passenger seat. "We have all the niños! And mi hijo is-"
It was rare that he felt grateful for the other man's presence. And an uncommon occurrence for him to be the voice of reason.
He was quite right.
Arthur let the other vehicle speed away, watching Reilley give them a parting rude gesture and leaning half out of a rolled down window.
He'd fix them alright. "Text them that they're now in charge of checking us all in at the hotel."
"Son bárbaros," Spain agreed as he pulled out his phone.
Tex glanced up at a woodpecker pecking a metal pole, and was pretty sure judging from the stream of French leaving Matt, who was doubled over with his hands on his knees, that he too was praising the lord that they'd managed to survive Rico's turn at the wheel that morning.
Al's verdict had been: "Dudes, that was pretty exciting."
Tch. In the worst way.
Needless to say, Rico was now banned from driving.
"Why were you trying to kill us?" Antonio demanded as Rico stomped past in a sulk.
"I was just driving!"
"Like a bloody lunatic," Arthur sniffed.
Tex snorted loudly at that, "Like you got any room to talk."
At first Arthur dared to look affronted and then Tex reminded him, "Side-wall skiing."
He had the grace to get a little flustered.
Still, at least there'd been no fender benders so Tex was willing to let it all slide, granted that Rico was banished to the back-backseat indefinitely.
Unfortunately, Wales was a slow driver and now, thanks to Rico, they had time to kill while the other van caught up. So, they stopped for gas and snacks.
The entrance door of the gas station chimed as Texas entered. The fact that it was an electronic one over an old-fashioned bell, was a subtle signal that this place was fairly well off and that more of the food in this spot would be fresh.
But the prices of everything would be steeper.
It must've been an Old World thing; their parents always went for higher line stuff even though there were cheaper places around (you just had to be savvy at those places, and never pay with cards).
He'd teased them last night about the swankier hotel the lot of them had chosen—far roomier and plusher than the motel Tex had secured on their first night.
"We are old, mijo, softer mattresses are a must."
"We're about to go camping, Papi. Ya know? On the ground? Hard and flat? Roughing it?"
"That is why I pack air mattresses...and you shouldn't choose shady motels, mijo."
"Papi, I'm Texas-tough. I can handle drug lords, and banditos, and-"
"Why would you choose to sleep where these people are present!?"
Tex blinked. For a long time, his and Al's budgetary needs hadn't made alternatives feasible and later...well...he and Al were super strong and they liked adventuring.
But when he said all that Rico shook his head and smirked while Spain crossed himself and thanked the Virgin for guarding Tex as well as she could.
Rico clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Tch. You are so dumb. Maybe Mex lost on purpose to get rid of you?"
He huffed and scoured his surroundings.
It was seeming like a candy bar, maybe a Three Musketeers or some Starbursts, would be his best bet for improving his mood until movement out of the corner of his eye snagged his attention.
It was torture...pure and simple...watching Alistair move before a cigarette display.
"Aye," the Scotsman nodded to the attendant and gave the glass a hard tap. "Tha's the one."
Marlboro. Tex shifted from foot to foot. He licked his lips. Good choice.
A warm puff or ten of one of those could ease his nerves.
And the first cigarette after a long time of abstinence always gave the greatest buzz. He'd feel alert and at ease at the same time—poised to seize the day, roll with the punches, and come out on top.
It was forbidden and exciting and terrible.
It was a weird kind of hunger. Feeding it or starving it never made it go away.
You could get it to sleep and that was just about it...and it was always ready to wake up.
He stared at the logo.
He already knew the taste would let him down because...as soothing as it was, it always ended up frustrating him in the end. They paled in comparison to the cigs he used to get, the best ones, the ones he'd never get again because Al closed shop. Even though it was lucrative. Even though it was one of their best avenues of income. Even though Al's salary as a baker never compared.
And all because one morning, Texas had sat down for breakfast and coughed and spat and choked and gurgled. And when he'd reanimated, all of Al's tobacco plants were piles of ashes.
And he could never be motivated into the business again.
Tex took a deep breath and swiveled on his heel to get a hold of himself and—
Found himself barely an inch away from Antonio.
"Eep."
"You want an ice cream?" the man blurted, green eyes blazing with an almost unholy gleam.
"Uhhh, sure?"
He was nearly dragged to the other side of the store to select a dessert.
Rico's jaw dropped. "He gets an ice cream?!"
"You said you wanted chips!" Antonio snapped.
Tex willed himself not to look out the window where Alistair was enjoying his "treat."
England was scrolling through messages on his phone while he waited for the van's tank to fill with petrol.
Olivia was alerting him to Jake's latest dangerous stunt: base jumping.
Good God, the lad was trying to kill him with worry.
It wasn't even legal in Australia.
Just when he was getting Canada and America both safely tucked underwing, another went and endangered himself.
Was his risk-taking a cry for attention?
He'd need to call him and sort this nonsense out.
Before he could dial, he was abruptly confronted by Texas in low tones. It was strange how a young man with an ice cream cone could be vaguely threatening yet the boy managed.
"Are you going to be a butt?" was the query.
He was strongly tempted to answer 'Yes' for no other reason than that the lad had to be goading him, but he exercised inhuman restraint and merely raised an eyebrow.
The Texan crossed his arms and huffed. "I...I wanna do a nice thing for Al. Don't look at him."
Too late.
Al had already reentered the van after visiting the loo and getting a snack (under the condition that he didn't eat the entire tube of Pringles) and was watching them from his booster seat and struggling to undo his restraints to better snoop on them.
"IwannatakehimtoFortNecessitydon'ttellhimit'sasurprise."
Arthur blinked.
Fort Necessity?
Fort Nece-
Oh! He barely bit back a groan of exasperation. Bloody hell, that was a Washington tourist site!
He reflected over Texas's proposal and translated: Arthur, dear boy, would you be terribly inconvenienced if we made a jaunt to jolly old Fort Necessity to boost Alfred's morale? Even though it dredges up painful memories for you?
It hadn't escaped him that Alfred seemed worse for wear.
He was getting more listless as they approached their destination, his smile turned more plastic.
Arthur would have to assure him that they were family, not guests, everything didn't have to go perfectly for them to have a pleasant trip.
Or perhaps it wasn't that at all.
He frowned. Maybe he was having flashbacks of his time with Osha? Did he have to travel through these woods to get to Virginia and was only remembering now?
Tex moved himself in front of the window to block them from view.
"He's gettin' better with readin' lips," he replied as an explanation. "It's just…" he lowered his voice. "If you come and you're a jerk, he'll try to be happy for me and just ignore you. And if you don't come, he'll still try to play it off like he's all sunshine and sprinkles. And he'll say it doesn't matter and we'll all pretend like that's true but he'll be sad inside. And the nice thing I tried to do will be ruined and it'll be your fault. And you better sleep with an eye open-"
Arthur shifted his weight.
It was...actually a little embarrassing now.
He'd made such a bloody fuss over the Revolution for so long...no one believed he was over it. Naturally, it would always be a sad memory for him as an Empire and father and he'd always question alternate ways it could've played out.
But it was hardly the injury it had once been.
Everything was different.
The circumstances, Alfred's viewpoints, the reality of Arthur's own obstinacy…
They were reconciled!
It was laid to rest.
Still, he bristled at the insinuation that his son's happiness caused him pain. And that he would act in a manner to deliberately sabotage it.
Thus, three hours later found him at Fort Necessity enduring the praises of Washington...the upstart.
He took great care not to complain about anything as he maneuvered past historically garbed mannequins and dumbed down bullet point summaries of his and France's rivalry. He and Rhys shared a scoff over the highly sympathetic rendering of George Washington's social climbing endeavors. But they did so only when Alfred was far out of earshot.
There really wasn't much to see out of doors, in Arthur's opinion, but Alfred did look "right" here.
Perhaps, it was an odd thing to think so, given how desperately he'd tried to keep the boy out of the often disputed and dangerous territory during the 1700s but...
Sunlight gleamed on his son's wheat hair and the swaying meadow grasses made the years melt away.
Alfred grinned and posed with the Junior Ranger Badge he'd earned by completing a set of children's activities.
Arthur pulled out his phone to snap a picture...or five.
They avoided the bookstore as preemptive measure because Alfred sighed "bookcases keep triggering me." England was rather relieved to not have to survey the souvenirs with feigned interest.
England half-wished the museum (which wasn't open anyway since it's operating season began May 1st) was still a true tavern because he could use a stiff drink after enduring several hours of concentrated American patriotism with a pleasant expression on his face. Particularly, when it seemed very much like Texas was trying to provoke him into acting out.
Still, seeing Alfred buzz around with a genuine smile that brought out his dimples and made his eyes shine with undiminished awe of a leader left Arthur feeling a bit conflicted.
The first emotion was easy to identify: jealousy.
He'd always begrudge the human for having such an effect on his offspring and unseating him as the boy's most highly esteemed mentor.
The second emotion was also...jealousy. It must've been nice to be so tall and broad and impressive. Arthur had been tall for the middles ages. Why, he'd been fairly tall for the 17th and 18th centuries! But he just...didn't cut the same heroic figure as that man had. Alfred no doubt noticed.
The third was...grief.
Alfred's adoration was so familiar and it inspired his aching over Elizabeth again.
All the faithful service he'd given Good Queen Bess.
All the hopes he'd shared in confidence with her.
How could she have used him thus?
His hand was patted softly, almost nervously, and Arthur caught the fingers with his own, intending to assure Alfred for the fourth time that he was perfectly alright.
Alfred spoke first.
"You're still allowed to like her," the child stated.
Arthur froze. "Wot?"
A pox on errant thoughts.
'Her'...how much had Alfred picked up?
Alfred's fingers curled around his. "It's…it's like what you were saying about us not being perfect. We're...we're people…"
Arthur blinked. Sooo, that was still a fascinatingly new concept to Alfred.
"We make mistakes and how that's okay if we use them to get better, right? Like how you said, you're a better person now that you're...a dad rather than...who you were."
Arthur nodded hesitantly, not quite sure where this train of thought was headed.
"Humans aren't perfect either."
Arthur stared. Alfred had a real talent for twisting his words. It was like what he said got fed immediately into a blender and then was splattered on a canvas like some rubbish Pollock painting.
"It was a bad thing. What she did...to us."
Easy, Arthur ol' boy. He's seven...he's seven years old and he's trying to make sense of it all. Breathe.
"But yeah…" Alfred nodded. "Elizabeth did bad things. I mean, Mary Queen of Scots got beheaded, right? And she'd been a guest...what a sucky host. People got imprisoned on whims and stuff? Conspiracies? Looting sea dogs...Doesn't mean she didn't do good things too. For the arts and trade and exploration...she was a person."
Arthur tensed. He was NOT ready for this conversation to resume.
Because not telling one's trusted advisor, protector, FRIEND! that he'd fathered a child, not sending aid to said child who'd only been in constant mortal peril, and then attempting to cover up that poor neglected child's seeming death and existence…
There was a small hand in his so he couldn't afford to tighten his grip.
He swallowed and forced another breath.
..1...2...3...4...
"Like Andrew Jackson!" Alfred chirped.
Arthur grimaced.
5! 6! 7! 8! 9! 10!
"Yeah," Alfred snickered. "But Andrew Jackson's a good example. I mean, Trail of Tears. Dude, full stop. And then there was his war on the bank which was…yeah. But a war hero through and though. I mean, he was a freedom fighter despite being an orphaned little kid in the Revolution."
Arthur breathed hard through his nose and prayed for patience.
"-Dad was dead. Mom died because of that war. Both of his big brothers died because of redcoats. Didn't scare him away from the frontline. He's famous for the Battle of New Orleans. And then, when he lost his first run for the presidency cuz there was the Corrupt Bargain, he didn't give up. He ran again later and succeeded. He really championed the common man and fought the status quo. And that's just some stuff that gets bulleted down in books and on blogs. He was an orphan with a soft spot for orphans."
Arthur watched the child's face soften.
"He adopted his nephew and raised him. That was his kid. Hell, the way he acted. They were all his kids. See, he was the legal guardian of tons of kids. Your dad died? BAM! Your new dad is Jackson. Even if your bio mum is still alive. And then there were grandkids, too. There were always kids running around, man. He was totally cool with Tex and me being two teen boys with no home and no manners and inviting us in. Even though, he knew and…well, you can guess...we were trouble with a capital T-"
"For Texas!" the other boy threw in from across the room.
"You don't even know what we're talking about!" Al snapped over his shoulder, but his face gave way to a fond smile. "Interrupter!"
Tex stuck his tongue out.
Alfred chuckled. "Yeah, we've still got no manners. Anyways, Tex smoked hard and drank harder. I drank and gambled. But when we stayed with him, we had to reign ourselves in and clean ourselves up. Uncle Andy took no excuses and when we missed curfew, we earned babysitting duty."
Alfred made a face and then broke off into happy reminiscent laughter. "That was such hell...and with hangovers..." Then he smiled into the sunshine. "People are complicated. So, Elizabeth was good and bad. That's…that's allowed, right?"
In a perfect world where he'd lived a different life, he would agree.
His voice was deep and low. "Her actions hurt-"
"-You a lot. I get it. I do and I'm sorry for it." Alfred squeezed his hand and turned to him. "I just mean, I don't want you to cross off all the good times. I mean, I know your outfits were awful and everybody probably smelled like feet and wore tons of lead makeup but you prize the Elizabethan Era. I know it! It's special. Your Shakespeare and your ships and your history and her! You have tons of paintings of h-"
He laughed darkly in response.
"O, sweet." He reached with his free hand and set his fingers over those soft, wheat-gold locks. "If it were only me she wronged, it would be forgiven."
He wasn't lying.
Alfred frowned in puzzlement.
In a heartbeat.
If it were only him...
Arthur knelt down and enveloped him in a tight embrace.
"Her choice hurt you."
And despite all the centuries of sermons he'd heard in Celtic Christian Mass, then Catholic Mass, and then Protestant…
No.
He couldn't turn the other cheek.
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