Iggycat A/N: Hello! I hope you're liking the story so far. Just as a reminder, the odd chapters will be written by me and will be told from Arthur's perspective. The even chapters will be written by Fakiagirl and will be told from Alfred's perspective. We hope you enjoy!


As strange as it sounds, the first word that came to mind after meeting Alfred was 'dog.' But there was no negative connotation with that word. No, it didn't come to mind because Alfred was dirtied or his hair was tousled, rather what I was thinking of was the ecstatic look on a dog's face when its owner returns from a day's work. The pet always seems to have an expression of sincere elation, and that's what I saw on Alfred's face. He gave the impression that he was genuinely glad to see me, and that was something I'd never experienced with a coworker before.

"So what kinda food do you like?" Alfred asked as I returned from the toilet. He was perched over his laptop, likely finishing an email or saving a file before lunch. When finished he leaned back up to full height and I was again struck by just how tall he was. Six foot one? Six foot two? Whatever the measurement, it seemed to dominate my five foot nine.

"Do you like Indian food? There's a bunch of ethnic restaurants around SF," Alfred piped up, and my eyes bolted open when I realized I'd been staring. This first day was certainly turning out dreadful. I'd already proved incompetent by showing up late this morning, and the last thing I wanted to do was make a mockery of myself by forgetting to speak.

"Of course," was all my mind provided, but it was enough. Alfred grinned as he rolled up his sleeves, getting ready to go out.

"Great, cause I'm a-hungerin' for some butter chicken."

I followed him out, past a distracted Gilbert very conspicuously on his phone. For I moment I wondered why on earth Golden Gateway would keep such a slob as a secretary, but I pushed the thought aside. I couldn't start judging people on the first day. If I did, how on earth would I make it through working here?

Alfred propped the glass door open with his toe and motioned me through. I nodded a thank you as I stepped into the sinful San Francisco sun.

"I know California in general is supposed to be hot, but I thought San Francisco was an exception to the rule," I mumbled mostly to myself, but it was quickly apparent that Alfred had heard me. There was a chuckle directly to my right and I turned to find him laughing.

"You're right. It's really just the southern portion that's known for the sun and palm trees," he explained to me as we by passed other well-dressed men and women on their own quests for nourishment. "San Diego, L.A., they're warm, but up here it almost never gets overwhelmingly hot thanks to the Bay. This summer's been unusually warm for some reason."

I glanced over at Alfred who now had small sweat stains creeping out from his underarms, not that I could blame him. It was, as he said, quite hot, and I too was feeling the heat. I quickly looked away from the perspiration coating his white dress shirt before he once again caught me staring.

"Mhm," Alfred said as he made some rather loud sniffing sounds. "Those gyros smell delicious."

I turned to my left, scanning the shop fronts, expecting to see some type of Mediterranean restaurant, but found nothing but a pharmacy and an electronics store.

"Oh, ha! They're over here, Arthur," Alfred said, pointing just to his right, where on the curb sat a large silver and white lorry, painted with what looked like Greek columns.

"Don't tell me you've never seen a food truck," he said with a look of what can only be described as dismay. "Do they not have them in England?"

I took a moment to process Alfred's question, but I couldn't bring up any images of a lorry handing out meals anywhere in England.

"I don't recall ever seeing one in Manchester," I said at long last and I could swear a look of pain flashed across his face.

"Well, one day we'll have to try one," Alfred commented. "I almost always get lunch at the food trucks, but I thought I'd treat you to something a bit nicer today."

As if Alfred had planned this, he uttered the last word right as we arrived in front of a small restaurant called Tandoor Palace. Gorgeous dark red curtains covered the windows, but before I could get a better look, Alfred ushered me in saying, "Smells good already."

As we stepped in, I had to take a moment to pause and just look at the decor. Various Indian paintings hung on the wall, and everything was bathed in so much color, I felt out of place in my black suit.

Alfred requested someplace quiet and the waiter led us to a small, round table in the corner of the restaurant. I took the seat closer to the back wall and Alfred sat down across from me. We both kindly took a menu from the waiter, but Alfred immediately put his down, already knowing what he would be having.

Five minutes later the two of us had ordered, and I sat awkwardly squeezing a bit of lemon into my water just to have something to do with my hands. Alfred was casually sipping at a soda, but even with such a relaxed atmosphere, my nerves suddenly started to get the best of me and I realized the enormity of the situation. I was eating lunch with my boss. The man who hired me, but who could just as easily fire me. I forced myself to sit up straighter, look presentable.

"Arthur?" Alfred asked me just a second later, his voice laced with concern. That didn't reassure me in the slightest and I still felt incredibly on edge as I glanced up to find him looking worried.

"Arthur, I can tell that you still seem kind of antsy today, and whether it's because it's your first day, or it's me-" Alfred started, but I immediately cut him off.

"It's not you. You've been nothing but kind to me," I told him, which was true. He offered me a small smile but still didn't seem convinced.

"Well, I'm glad it's not me, and I'll just chalk it up to being first day jitters, but I really do wish you would calm down."

I honestly didn't know what to say to that. Instead of responding I simply sat still, but that did not elicit a content reaction from Alfred.

"Really, Arthur, relax," he said as he reached across the table and put a hand on my shoulder in an attempt to calm me. "I like you, okay? So don't go thinking that I'm gonna fire you right off the bat," he smiled, squeezing my shoulder. "Unless of course you use the Xerox to photocopy your ass or something, but I just don't see you doing that."

He laughed and then grinned at me, a sweet and reassuring grin that somehow managed to take a load off my shoulders. I let a small chuckle escape at his joke as well, and slowly the tense wall I'd built up around myself dissipated.

"I think Gilbert would be much more likely to be caught doing something like that."

Alfred smiled and laughed in agreement. All at once I was flooded with memories of our Skype conversation and I pondered how I even managed to get myself so worked up in the first place. There was no reason to feel anything but at ease around Alfred.


The rest of the day went much smoother, and by its end I was on much better terms with Alfred. Even though I was his intern, Alfred never acted like I was below him. True to his word, I was not sent out for coffee even when Gilbert begged and pleaded.

"You're sure you wanna do this?" Alfred asked as I placed a small stack of manuscripts into my briefcase. I'd picked a select few that I thought might hold some promise, but that potential wasn't accurately reflected in their first few pages.

"Quite sure," I told him for what must have been at least the third time. Perhaps what I was doing was unorthodox, but I really did feel I owed it to the aspiring authors to give them a real chance.

I buckled the case's worn leather straps, and took my coat when Alfred handed it to me.

"How do you get home?" he asked as he threw both his sports jacket and leather coat over his arm.

Now that was a good question. I wish I'd been able to answer him directly, but part of the reason I was so ridiculously late this morning was that I couldn't find the train station.

"Well, I should take BART to and from the East Bay, but I think I may have gotten off at the wrong station this morning because I was walking for rather a long time." I didn't add the fact that I wasn't used to San Francisco's hilly streets and was out of breath after only a few blocks.

"Where did you get off?" Alfred ventured cautiously, and I forced myself not to be embarrassed as I replied.

"Um, I believe it was Embarcadero."

"Embarcadero?!" Alfred all but yelled in surprise. "Christ, Arthur that's like 20 blocks away!"

"Yes, well, I realized that after I got off this morning," I countered and then tried to defend myself. "I'd looked up the correct station last night. It was by a library, I remember. But I must've been nervous or distracted this morning, and I was worried I'd overshoot the station, but instead I-"

"You got off way too early," Alfred finished the sentence for me and I just smiled sheepishly at him. "I'll walk you to Civic Center, that's the closest stop. I don't want you to get lost again and be walking around town all night."

And that's exactly what Alfred did, even though halfway through the walk I learned that he drives into town and that the garage, and his car, were in the complete opposite direction of the station. I told him there wasn't really any need to escort me, but he insisted that he make sure I at least get to the closest station. He said I would have done the same if we'd been in Manchester.

After standing for a few minutes, Alfred asking all types of questions on if I knew where I was going or if I knew what line to get on, finally we said goodbye and I headed back to my new flat. Once there, I picked up something frozen from the convenience store about a block away and then made my way back to my tiny room.

I pulled out the first manuscript as my chicken alfredo warmed in the microwave and began to read. I'll be the first to admit the first three to four pages needed work. They didn't grab me like they needed too. They failed to excite, and if I'd been a customer, I wouldn't have been enraptured and bought the book, but would have easily returned it to the shelf. But that's not to say that there wasn't something there. I continued reading, and reading and I was about 40 pages in when I realized I'd left my food in the microwave.

It was easy enough to multitask. I pierced a broccoli crown and shoved it in my mouth as I continued, now very intrigued by the story of a firefighter and his respite after an accident left his leg burned and broken. He'd traveled to London and met a mysterious man there, who claimed to be an author. Fascinated, I read on, only occasionally stopping to correct a grammatical error, or write a small comment in the margin.

By midnight, I'd finished the book, and was very glad I'd decided to give it an extra chance. The story itself was brilliant, a tale of trust, love, and recovery, but it really forced me to think about all the other manuscripts; the ones that perhaps weren't so lucky as to receive a full read through, but still held beautiful tales and messages inside.

"It's such a shame," I said to no one in particular as I returned the manuscript to my briefcase, and emptied my mug of the last few drops of cold tea.

For a brief moment as I lay in bed, just before I fell asleep, I thought of what an intimate thing a manuscript really is. I'd never really considered it before, but with a manuscript you're telling a story, your story, and you're surrendering it to a publishing firm in the hopes that they'll like it and that you'll be able to share your world with others. A manuscript is someone's naked, raw, unedited work and with it they're entrusting someone like me or Alfred to pass judgment on such personal words.

I remember considering whether or not I would be able to send in a manuscript if I ever wrote one, and ultimately decided, that no, I didn't have the courage or trust in others to be able to do that. My words would forever remain private, just like the dreams that I slowly slipped into.


I woke to the sound of some trashy pop song the following morning. Even though I wasn't required to be at the office until 9:30, I had set my alarm to 5 AM just to make absolutely certain that there would be no chance of me turning up late again. This time around I would leave plenty of time in case I got lost... possibly 20 blocks lost.

After showering and eating a quick breakfast of toast and marmalade, I set out and successfully arrived at Golden Gateway by 7:00. I'd managed to get off at the correct station and quickly retraced the steps Alfred and I had taken last night. I was so proud of the fact that I'd made it on time, I wasn't even bothered by the fact that no one else had yet arrived... or the fact that I was locked out in the cool morning breeze until someone with a key did turn up.

I bundled myself up, burrowing my nose into my upturned lapels to keep it warm. Within the hour Gilbert rolled in, only turning to me to say, "Thanks for guarding the place, Rudolph." I supposed the attempt to keep my nose toasty had failed.

I did my best not to pay heed to the secretary as he held the door open, laughing boisterously. Walking briskly past him, I made my way to Alfred's office, which thank God, was unlocked. Whether all the offices in the building were unlocked, or Alfred just liked the 70's 'no barrier' attitude, I wasn't sure, but I quickly let myself in and took a seat in the old wooden chair Alfred had brought in for me the day before. I pulled out a new manuscript and made myself look busy in the hopes that Gilbert would not bother me again.

"First you take home manuscripts, and now you're getting here early? You really are the perfect worker."

I turned to find Alfred in the doorway, his laptop case between his legs as he removed his jacket. Underneath he was wearing a stunning navy suit with golden cuffs, a simple white dress shirt, and an alternating stripped tie of burgundy and dark blue. I struggled not to gape as I glanced from him back to myself in my much less impressive outfit which consisted of black slacks and a matching black waistcoat. After I seemingly overdressed yesterday, I'd made a point to wear something simpler today, but clearly that backfired.

"Navy suits you," I blurted out before I really had time to process the thought.

"Wow, and you compliment too!" Alfred said with a laugh as he hung up his coat and placed his laptop bag on his desk. "How is it you were ever unemployed?"

A shy smile escaped as I registered Alfred's flattery. I was grateful for the fact that he did not pursue my comment further, but just took it in stride. Had he questioned me, I honestly don't know what I would have said.

Once Alfred was settled, I returned to the manuscript I was currently working on, but not for long.

"In all seriousness, how's it going? You getting used to the office?" he asked as he dug into his bag and revealed a donut. I took a moment to think that one over, unlike my last comment, and finally settled on something to say as Alfred bit into the pastry and powdered sugar was sent flying.

"Doubleplusgood."

He looked at me with a quirked brow as I handed him a napkin that had been invading my half, or more like third, of the desk.

"Thanks," he mumbled just before wiping his mouth, but he was staring at me with a look of confusion. "Brave New World?" he guessed, as he folded his napkin and removed any stubborn sugar specks from his lips.

"1984, but good guess," I replied. "I'm surprised you haven't read that one."

"Would you recommend it?" he asked in an unwavering voice, and I was surprised at such a swift change in tone. Was Alfred truly that interested in my opinion?

"Well, yes. Especially for someone like you who so dearly loves historical fiction. It is a dystopian novel but there are several allusions to Stalin and whatnot, that I think you might enjoy."

Without a moment's notice the stern eyes were gone, replaced with Alfred's usual carefree appearance.

"Great. I'll have to pick it up then."

I nodded and tried not to think much more of it. Alfred worked for a publishing firm; of course he'd be serious about books.

Once our conversation had died down, I let my eyes wander back to a new manuscript, and slowly became absorbed in the new world. At some point I pulled out the story I'd been reading last night and eagerly told Alfred of its promise. He seemed more interested in me than the story though, only asking questions along the lines of "Why did you like it?" and replying with a shake of his head and, "Of course. That's just like you." I wanted to reply that he really didn't know what was "just like me" seeing as he'd known me less than a week, but I didn't risk it.

When that topic also exhausted itself, I returned to reading and Alfred busily typed away on his computer. I only engaged with him every once in a while when he asked a question, or more likely, told me some sort of awful pun.

"Hey Arthur," he said, sliding me a piece of paper. "Ask me this."

I took the small scrap in my hands and cautiously read out: "Alfred, do you like Kipling?"

"I don't know," he replied with a massive grin. "I've never Kipled."

I shook my head and tossed the paper in the bin, but there was no doubt I was smiling.

"You're terrible."

"I know," he answered, acknowledging the fact that the jokes were bad, but at the same time, letting me know that he had no plans to stop telling them.

"What would you say to some coffee?" Alfred asked just before he lost my attention. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was 2:30. We still had quite a ways to go so I figured some caffeine couldn't hurt.

We covered up and left the building, Alfred leading the way to the nearest Starbucks. Once there I ordered a standard cup of coffee and Alfred ordered something with so many Macchiatos and Chinos tacked onto the end of it, I doubted if it even contained any coffee at all. In the end he came away with a concoction that had both steamed milk and whipped cream, chocolate powder decorating the top. He stopped to grab a sugar packet before we sat down, and I must have sent him such an incredulous look that he just laughed and said, "Ha, yeah I know. Sometimes I even like a little coffee in my sugar."

There was one unoccupied plush seat in the corner of the store that Alfred insisted I take, and so he pulled up a wooden chair to sit next to me. We sat, calmly sipping at our respective drinks, chatting all the while.

"So did you have to leave anyone special in England? You know, besides your family," Alfred inquired as he licked some of the sugar-dairy mixture from his lips. He paused to look at me for just a moment before returning to his beverage.

"No, no one in particular," I remarked, because it was true. The closest thing I had to a friend was Francis but he went back to France years ago.

"What? No one?" he asked, unconvinced, but I just nodded in return and repeated myself.

"Not a soul."

"Well, those Englishmen and women are missing out," he said and then in the time it takes to blink, something happened. Alfred's eyes flashed and he nearly choked on his drink as whatever it was took hold of him.

"Arthur, do you have any plans for the weekend?" he asked after clearing his throat.

"Um, none that can't be rescheduled," I replied, because I really didn't want to tell Alfred my Saturday plans revolved around ringing my Mum.

"Great! Then what would you say to letting me show you around the city? We could hit up Fisherman's Wharf and maybe something else."

What did I say to that?

"Sure."