Author's note: I had troubles with finding the "moment" of this chapter, but then I broke my knee and got inspired. :'D

Fortune of Our Misfortune

Moment two

Michelle watches him with a mildly exasperated frown on her pretty, tanned face. "So you say it's okay?" she asks Arthur. "You don't need to go to A&E because of a small bruise like yours, huh?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Arthur calmly confirms.

"Arthur," she says, unimpressed. "Your ankle is twice the size of a trunk, purple, and obviously quite painful. You sure you don't want to go?"

"I'm sure."

"Bullshit," Michelle states quite bluntly, as is so typical of her. "Who's your In-Case-of-Emergency? I assume he has a car?"

Arthur grits his teeth and makes an attempt to rise up from the pavement. "There's no need- fffuck!" He slumps back on the street, biting his teeth together so tightly that his jaw begins to ache. "Fuck! Fuck the fucking fucker of all fucks!"

Michelle winces sympathetically. "Ouch."

"Fine," Arthur hisses through his teeth. "I'll go to A&E."

"Finally." Michelle rolls her eyes. "Now call your ICE, it's getting chilly here."

A defiant expression, Arthur's favourite, makes a home of his face. "No."

All sympathy drops from Michelle's eyes. "Arthur, you are such an annoying idiot," she sighs. "Give me your phone."

"No."

She narrows her eyes. "Let me rephrase that." By now, they are getting odd and curious looks from occasional passers-by, but, as the situation seems to be in control, no one dares stop and offer their help.

"You will give me your phone," Michelle commands and smirks. "Or I'll kick your ugly swollen ankle."

Arthur snorts; he knows this trick. "You wouldn't."

She does. Only lightly, though, but just enough to convince Arthur to quit being an idiot and do as she says. "You evil woman," he hisses at her.

Michelle remains unaffected and only extends her hand. "Your phone, please."

Grudgingly, Arthur fishes his phone from his jeans pocket and, muttering curses, tosses it to her. He would much rather hop on his injured leg the whole fucking way there and back again rather than have him help him out.

Michelle selects the contact from the list and presses the green button. Arthur can tell the exact moment that Francis answers, because suddenly Michelle's smile drops and is replaced with an angry frown. Now it's Arthur's turn to smirk; that's her reward for threatening him.

"Excuse me?" she snaps into the phone, and Arthur smirks again, now imagining Francis' face when he realises that he insulted a girl instead of Arthur. "Shut up, I don't care. Here's th- I said, I don't care. Do you have a car? Marvellous, we need your ass here, the sooner, the better. What? Wait, you are aware of being Arthur Kirkland's ICE, aren't you? Yes. Yes, he's fine. Because he's an ass and refused to call you himself (I can now see why, though). No, just his ankle. Get here. Good. Thanks. Bye."

She ends the call and casts a look at Arthur. "Who is he?"

Arthur shrugs. "A childhood... friend," he says, and explains a bit defensively, "He was the only person I knew here when I moved in London, so..."

Michelle snorts. "Didn't sound like a childhood friend by the way of his greeting."

"Well, yeah, he's an arsehole."

"He did sound adorably concerned though, when he heard it's about an emergency," Michelle points out and sits down on the pavement beside Arthur. "He'll be here soon."

"Can't wait," Arthur mutters grimly.

She looks confused. "How come you seem to dislike him so?"

Arthur shrugs again, unable and, more importantly, unwilling to elaborate his relationship with Francis to anyone. So he settles for a simple answer. "He's a prick, that's why. You'll see when he comes." He eyes Michelle suspiciously. "Or maybe you won't. He knows how to blind women."

Michelle lifts her brows at him and laughs. "Don't underestimate me, Arthur."

"Beware." Arthur shifts one the pavement, uncomfortable on the cold stone, and wonders what he would answer is someone demanded a real answer from him one day, concerning Francis and him. What could he say? They grew up together, laughed together, fought together (or rather, fought each other). At some point their innocent childhood friendship turned into something else that has no shape, no solid form. They are not friends, nowadays, not really, but they know each other inside out and to the core. Arthur sometimes feels as though they are both dancing in circles, most of the time trying to elbow or trip one another, but occasionally taking a couple of steps together, too.

"I don't get it," Michelle states, curious. "Why haven't you changed your ICE if he's that bad? I mean you do have other friends, too."

"Well, it's..." Arthur resist the urge to shrug once more, because he knows that Michelle will get stupid ideas if the does that. "You know what they say: we can't change geography. It's the same with us. We co-exist, since childhood, and he knows my parents if something serious happens. Besides -"

At that moment a small, once bright crimson car drives past them, then slows, makes a U-turn, and parks beside them at the pavement. Arthur spots Francis' blond head through the window and grimaces out of habit.

"Is it him?" Michelle asks and hops on her feet to step forward and greet Francis as he gets out of the car. The Frenchman shakes his head when she explains the situation to him and looks at Arthur with his hands on his hips. Arthur meets his eyes defiantly and suppresses a sudden urge to stick his tongue out.

"Naturally you must pull a trick like this just when I'm serving the prettiest customer of the day," Francis snorts and extends his hand for Arthur.

"Well you didn't have to take the call, did you?" Arthur snaps back at him and grabs the hand, letting Francis hoist him up. "Naturally you attempt flirting even in your work time, frog."

Francis frowns at him, holding his elbow to keep him in balance. "Lucky for you I did take the call," he states with haughty dignity and turns to Michelle. "Because of it, I got to meet this lovely lady here. I apologise for you having to cope with him alone this whole time."

Michelle is about to answer, but Francis turns to open the car door for Arthur, then frowns at him. "Nevertheless, I'd appreciate it if you had the decency to call me yourself when something like this happens. I don't want to explain to your mother one day that you froze to death in a ditch just because you're too stubborn to ask for help."

Arthur plops down on the passenger's seat in an ungraceful motion and cringes at the ache in his ankle. "I'm sure she'd understand me perfectly if it came to that," he grunts.

"You are such a child, Arthur," Francis utters with a roll of his eyes and slams the door shut to prevent Arthur from answering. The Englishman hears Francis asking Michelle whether she's accompanying them to the first-aid station, but she, looking from the Frenchman to Arthur, smiles and shakes her head. When she declines the offered lift home, as well, Francis walks around the car and sits on the driver's place. Michelle gives Arthur an encouraging thumbs-up and he scowls at her through the window.

Why does Arthur still have Francis as his ICE, Michelle asked. He throws a glance to his right, where the Frenchman is fastening his seatbelt and complaining about getting troubles with his boss because of Arthur, and Arthur allows himself a tiny, barely noticeable smile.

Why, he thinks. Because I know Francis will be there.

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