Things had improved marginally since Arthur's admission of trust. He was still scared and confused, hopelessly lost in the new life that had been forced upon him, but he managed. Or that's what he liked to think. His time in captivity had made more of an impact than he had initially thought. He still wasn't used to Alfred's kindness, and it showed. He still hadn't overcome his initial fear that this was all a test, a cruel game of some sort, and that he would wake up one morning and Francis would be leering at him, whip in hand, and the torture would start again. Worse yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that Alfred was hiding something. The American would get nervous and jumpy whenever a visitor came to his door.

Of course, the discovery of this paranoia was less than pleasant. After Arthur's wounds had been bandaged, Alfred had gone downstairs of some breakfast. The very thought of food had Arthur salivating, and he had followed, not knowing what else to do. They had just reached the root of the stairs when the postman had rung the doorbell, peering in through the window to see if the businessman was home. Alfred had shoved the Brit back up the stairs, hissing angrily for him to stay silent and motioning for him to hide. Arthur had hurried back to his room and crouched under the bed, afraid of a beating. He stayed, tucked away in the cramped, dark, space for what seemed like an eternity, ignoring the slam of the door and Alfred's call for him to come out of hiding. He had pressed himself against the back wall, fearing the worst, and that was how Alfred had found him. It had taken several strong reassurances from the American to get him to come out.

Meanwhile, the postman merely wanted Alfred to collect a package that had been too large to fit in the letterbox.

Now, the two sat side by side on the bed, silently contemplating the events of the morning. Alfred, silently cursing his stupidity, and Arthur mentally berating himself for his weakness. It didn't help that Arthur was still naked, save for the stupid collar. He kept restlessly shifting his position, trying to find a way to cover as much of himself as possible without looking too odd. Alfred, as usual, was oblivious. Thankfully, the American had let him clean himself up after the incident in the bathroom, but the slimy, dirty crawling under his skin persisted. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to shake the feeling of dread that kept clawing up his throat. He had been purchased as a slave, and no matter how odd the American acted around him, he had purchased him with a specific intent in mind. Arthur had yet to figure out what it was.

Still, the kindness Alfred showed him was surprising. Even now, the simple act of keeping his eyes firmly trained on anything but Arthur's naked form was a small blessing, one that he would never have thought possible from an owner. He just couldn't understood the American's motivation, his reasons for dragging a filthy, haggard, slave into his home and doing absolutely nothing, simply talking as if they were equals. Maybe he had some weird fetish. Maybe he was waiting, luring him into a false sense of security so that when he finally did break, he could savor the moment. Arthur sighed, realizing that he would just have to wait and find out. It wasn't as if he had a choice.

Still, regardless of the dread curling in his stomach, Arthur liked to think he could trust the American. He already did, to a certain extent. It was just a matter of extending that trust so that it covered more than spur-of-the-moment happenings, so that he could finally be free of that nagging voice in his head that reminded him of his position as a slave. Pulling his attention back to the despondent American, he gave a small cough, hoping the American would break the tense silence.

Alfred stood, a thin smile gracing his lips. "Sorry about that." Arthur muttered that it was no problem, that he should have known better than to have followed him downstairs. Alfred turned to face him, cupping the Brit's despondent face in his hands as he stared into his shining emerald eyes. "You have nothing to apologize for. I panicked when I shouldn't have, and you reacted in the only way you know how." He paused, gaze shifting to the floor before continuing, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm going to change that, don't worry. One day, you're going to stop being afraid." Arthur wanted to tell him that he wasn't afraid, that he was just trying to avoid causing any more unnecessary trouble, and that he had no right to become so protective, but the words died in his throat upon seeing the look on the American's face. He looked utterly miserable, his usually bright blue eyes dull and glossy. Hesitantly, he placed his palm over the American's knee, anxiously watching for a reaction. Alfred met his eyes again, sighing before continuing. "I know I probably scared you. I'm really sorry, it's just that there's this guy…never mind. It's not important." He bit his lip, refusing to look at Arthur.

Arthur sighed, cursing the idiot for not finishing his sentences. "Look, I'm not afraid of you. I'm not a bloody glass doll; I can take care of myself. If something's bothering you, do the world a favour and tell me instead of clamming up! Because now that you bloody own me," he spat the last few words angrily before continuing, "Anything that concerns you becomes my concern too."

Alfred smiled slightly, clasping the Brit's hand in his own. "Thanks Arthur. That means a lot, coming from you. And you shouldn't worry, I'm not going to keep secrets from you. Well, nothing concerning you anyway. I don't think you want to know every detail of my day." He gave a small laugh before pulling Arthur to his feet, ignoring the rosy blush that started up the man's cheeks as he did so. "Come on, let's get some breakfast." He started toward the door; stopping when he realized the Englishman wasn't following. "What's the matter? Not hungry?" Arthur had turned a nice shade of lobster red by this point, acutely aware of the American's penetrating gaze. How could the idiot be so dense? He made a non-committal grunt, unsure of whether he was allowed to ask for some clothes. Maybe this is why Alfred had purchased him. Maybe he was to be a sort of living sculpture in his household? Alfred finally noticed the heavy blush covering the majority of Arthur's skin, taking in the Brit's appearance for the first time. "Oh. Um, sorry, I hadn't really noticed…er, what I mean is, um, we should get you some clothes." He cursed himself for being unable to speak properly. His gaze flicked over the pair of tight leather shorts still resting on the bed. Those would never do, especially since he was trying to get Arthur to trust him, not kill him. He noticed Arthur following his gaze and smiled sheepishly. "I suppose you'd need something other than those, huh?"

Arthur stayed silent, unsure of what to say. Of course he'd want some new clothes, the shorts were unbearably revealing, much too tight on his sore skin, and to top it off, they chaffed horribly. However, as horrible as the shorts were, he wasn't about to do anything to displease Alfred. It was strange; has this been any other household, he would have fought and kicked, burrowing under the bed sheets to hide from the accusing glares thrown his way. He could recall his training, where he had been first stripped of his clothes, and therefore his dignity. He remembered being whipped for hiding his body, for trying to retain what little semblance of humanity he had left. And then Alfred had found him, and his world had changed. He wasn't about to throw that away over something as petty as clothing. Alfred seemed to understand his silence, and threw open the wide closet doors, rifling through various outfits to try and find something suitable for his new houseguest. "I think green would go nicely with your eyes, but I'm not sure I have anything in that colour that would fit you."

Arthur managed a weak smile. Green was his favourite colour. "Whatever you have is fine…thank you."

"No, I'm going to try and find something that you like. This is your new life, remember? That means new clothes, new food, the whole deal. Tomorrow we can go shopping and pick out some new clothes, but I don't think you want to wander around naked until then." He continued pulling clothes from the closet, discarding a vast majority because they were too big for the lithe Brit. "Sorry this is taking so long," Alfred muttered over his shoulder. "It's just that, well, nothing fits. I mean, no offense, but I'm a little bigger than you."

Arthur looked down at his skinny body. It was true. The slave drivers hadn't fed any of the captives well, and because of his disobedience he had often gone hungry. He hadn't realized how thin he had become until Alfred had pointed it out. He traced his hands along his torso, eyes widening as he felt the pronounced bump of each individual rib. Suddenly self-conscious, he sat down on the bed, pulling the blankets up to his neck to hide his body as he nervously watched his new master.

"Don't worry Arthur, after a week with me you'll wish you were skinny! We're having cheeseburgers as soon as we find you some clothes." Arthur rolled his eyes at the American's enthusiasm, but he was secretly glad to be given the opportunity to eat. He hadn't had a cheeseburger in what felt like forever, and while he used to despise the greasy food, he now found that he couldn't wait for breakfast. Anything would be better than the slop he was used to. Finally, Alfred managed to find something that would fit Arthur. Grinning triumphantly, he shoved a pair of black pants in the Brit's face. "I know they aren't much, but these pants are the only pair in the closet that might fit you. You can just borrow one of my shirts or something after breakfast." Arthur dumbly nodded, blushing as Alfred and into his bedroom only to return with a pair of boxers, a plain white dress shirt, and some socks. "Are these good enough?"

"Yes, thank you." He replied, hastily pulling on the boxers and forcing his legs into the pants as quickly as possible. Only when he was sure he was covered did he look up, smiling slightly at the hopeful expression on Alfred's face. "These are perfect," he murmured, buttoning up the shirt. When he reached the shirt's collar, he found it wouldn't close. Seeing the Brit's confusion, Alfred stepped in nervously. "Um, you still have the collar on." Of course. The collar. No wonder it wouldn't do up. He stared at Alfred, wondering what to do. Should he just leave the shirt undone?

"Here," Alfred murmured, coming up behind the Brit and fumbling with the collar. "You don't have to wear this anymore." He pulled a small key from his pocket, swiftly undoing the lock and unwinding the thick leather from Arthur's neck. Arthur smiled then, truly smiled, and hugged the American, whispering a small "thank you" before buttoning up the shirt.

"You don't have to thank me. I told you, this house is just as much yours as it is mine. I'm the hero, remember?" He flashed a bright grin at the Brit before skipping out of the room, eagerly planning out their day. Arthur followed, padding down the stairs and entering the American's massive kitchen. Alfred had already managed to get most of the ingredients out of the storeroom, and was eagerly slicing tomatoes. Arthur watched him cut for a while, licking his lips hungrily when Alfred popped a slice into his mouth. "Want one?"

"A-Are you sure?"

"Of course! You must be starving!" It was hard to believe a single slice of tomato could taste so good. Even so, Arthur was convinced that he had never tasted anything quite so delicious.

Lunch was fairly predictable, aside from Alfred's petty sulking when Arthur finished his second burger before Alfred had finished his first. The Brit had smiled sheepishly, apologizing even as he reached for yet another, laughing as Alfred rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. In reality, he was just happy the Brit was eating something. Alfred was relieved that Arthur was opening up; even the small victories, like when he had stolen a few sips of Alfred's milk when he wasn't particularly paying attention, brought a smile to his face. It seemed like Arthur was getting some of his courage back. After a few hours with him, Alfred could already see the difference in his attitude. He would still tense at loud noises, or avoid windows for fear of being seen, but he would also laugh more, allow Alfred to touch him without going on the defensive, and even make the occasional sarcastic comment to put the American in his place. Alfred was shocked to discover that even after a few short hours of living with the Englishman, he was becoming addicted to the crisp, clear, laugh he possessed. He made it his mission to hear it more often.

It was only when the two were doing the dishes, (more accurately, when Arthur was doing the dishes while Alfred 'supervised') where things began to go wrong. Alfred had splashed some suds from the dish soap in Arthur's face, to which the Englishman had retaliated by scooping a large handful of the bubbles from the sink and throwing them in the American's hair. The two had proceeded to have a small water fight, splashing the lukewarm suds across the kitchen and giggling like small children. Soon the pair had collapsed in the centre of the expensive hardwood floor, –now covered in soapsuds and water- laughing uncontrollably. Which is how Ivan Braginski had found them.

"Comrade Alfred," his voice rang out through the kitchen, cutting through the happy laughter like a knife.

The room was instantly silent. Cautiously, Alfred detangled himself from Arthur's limbs, pulling himself off of the floor as he turned to face Ivan. "Ivan! What are you doing here? Don't you know how to knock?" He spat, glaring warily at the large Russian.

"I was just coming to congratulate you on your purpose, and to offer you some help in his training. I know vermin like him are often hard to control. But I see you already have things…under control."

Alfred growled, slowly advancing toward the Russian. "For one, his name is Arthur. And he's not vermin. I don't know what you commies do in Russia, but in America, we knock before inviting ourselves into people's homes. And I don't need any help 'training' him, thank you. You can go now."

Ivan merely smiled, withdrawing a rusty faucet-pipe from his coat. "I am sorry comrade Alfred, I did not mean to intrude. I was just so…intrigued by the activities from last night; I thought I would see if you needed any help. You can hardly blame me, you saw how Arthur behaved onstage."

"Well, I've got everything covered, thanks, so you can leave. We're kind of busy here." He slowly edged backward, keeping himself between the Russian and Arthur, who was still on the floor, watching the proceedings with fearful eyes.

Ivan chuckled darkly at Alfred's insistence that he leave. He calmly strode past the American, casually shoving him into the wall as though he weighed nothing and crouching down next to Arthur. He grabbed a fistful of the Brit's sandy hair, ignoring his cries of pain and pulling him to his feet. "So, you are Arthur, da?"

Arthur glared at the Russian, refusing to talk. There was no sense in replying; the Russian would do whatever he wanted regardless.

Ivan carried on as though nothing was out of the ordinary. "I am Ivan Braginski, the man who almost purchased you last night." He twisted the Brit's head painfully to the side, tracing the pipe down Arthur's pale neck. "Hmm, you seem weaker than you were on stage. Maybe Alfred is not as bad a master as I thought."

Alfred perked up at the mention of his name, forcing himself to stand and approach the large man once more. "Leave him alone Braginski, he's not your slave." Ivan struck out with the pipe, not even looking as it connected with flesh, striking the American twice in the ribs and giggling gleefully as he collapsed on the floor, struggling to breathe through the pain. He turned his attention back to Arthur, failing to notice the subtle tightening of the Brit's muscles as he stared him down. "Such a weak boy, it's a pity I had to break him. And look at you, you useless boy. Your master is lying on the ground and you can only stare. What a pathetic coward. You can't even save the only person who cares about you." Arthur growled, and Ivan's eyes widened in the fraction of a second before Arthur ripped his head out of the Russian's grasp, ignoring the sting in favour of grabbing the large vegetable knife from the sink. Leveling the blade at the Russian, his gaze flicked worriedly from Alfred to Ivan, internally panicking at how easily Alfred had gone down. "Get out." The knife was the only thing keeping him from ending up like the American, or worse -dead. He was a slave after all. There would be no punishment if he were murdered.

"Comrade, you are starting to annoy me." Ivan growled in warning, a dark aura seeming to permeate the air around him. Arthur didn't back down, advancing slowly on the Russian, determined to protect Alfred. After all the American had done for him, it was the least he could do to pay him back. Besides, if he had to die, he might as well do so by taking down one of the most evil men on the planet. Arthur was surprised that he could call him evil, having only known him for five minutes, but he knew he wasn't wrong. There was no mercy in Ivan's cold violet eyes.

Ivan seemed to sense his aggression, and he reluctantly backed out of the kitchen, his arms raised in a motion of surrender. Only when he was outside the threshold did Arthur lower the knife, preparing to lock the heavy oak door and be done with it. As soon as he dropped his guard Ivan reacted, cupping his chin in a cold hand and venomously spitting in the Brit's face, "You may think you're free, slave, but you are wrong. You will be mine, and you will suffer for your actions today." With that he was gone, striding down the path away from Alfred's manor. Within minutes he was lost from Arthur's sight.

Arthur's hands shook as he slammed the heavy door, checking the lock before trotting back to the kitchen to examine the injured American. When he arrived, Alfred had pulled himself into a sitting position and was holding a cold cloth to his bruising ribs. As if sensing Arthur's worried questions, he smiled, patting the floor and motioning for Arthur to come sit next to him. Arthur slid down the wall, already reaching for Alfred's torso. "It's alright Arthur, it's just a few bruises." Arthur nodded silently, Ivan's words replaying in his mind. Weak. Useless. Coward. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, feeling the familiar guilt beginning to pool in his stomach. Why couldn't he do anything right?

"Hey, it's not your fault. You stood up to him, Arthur. You made him leave when I couldn't. You're a hero." He pulled the despondent Brit into a tight hug, ignoring the ache in his protesting ribs. Arthur nodded silently, grateful for Alfred's presence. Alfred continued on, stroking his back gently, calming him down from his scare. "Don't worry Arthur, he just does these things to scare people. If you just ignore him, he can't hurt you." Arthur glanced at the American's bruised ribs, a skeptical look crossing his face. Alfred had ignored his taunts, only attacking the large man when it was absolutely necessary, and look what happened. Alfred continued, determined to reassure the Englishman. "He plays mind games, Arthur. Whatever he said, you have to ignore it. If you don't, you're playing right into his hands. If you just trust yourself, everything will be fine. Besides, I'm not going to let him anywhere near you ever again. I'm the hero, remember? It's my job to protect you." Arthur nodded, too exhausted to point out the fact that he had been the one to save Alfred, and that he was perfectly capable of fighting his own battles. He buried his face deeper into Alfred's chest, Ivan's words still replaying themselves in his mind.

"You will be mine…"

And there's chapter 4 up :D
Thanks for the reviews, they're my motivation to keep writing! (Well that and the fact that I've taken quite a liking to this little story)
I might not be able to update every day during the week. Just 'cause, you know, I have a life. As in loads of school and hockey. Not much time for anything else :P

Let me know what you think, and If you have any ideas for future chapters, let me know!
-Meg