Title: Two Birds with One Stone

Pairing: USxUK. (Alfred F. Jones/ Arthur Kirkland)

Summary: Revolutionary War AU. Two soldiers fighting the same war, only on different sides. When the redcoat saves the rebel's life, their futures soon intertwines themselves with each other. The Briton starts to think that maybe… if they get out of this war alive… they could make things work.

Rating: T, M for later chapters

Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me. Neither does the American Revolutionary War. I own nothing but the plot.

Chapter Three

When Arthur first woke up, he noticed two things. The first, the most obvious, was that he was nowhere near his fellow British soldiers. The second, was that there seemed to be only one other person with him, wherever they were right now. And he darn well knew who that man was. Alfred had his back to the English man, and Arthur was incredibly happy to find his clothes intact, his musket lying beside him.

Swiftly, the older man grabbed the musket and made his way to the American. The rebel seemed to just have seen battle, or perhaps he had just clumsily tripped over a stone and tumbled his way down an incredibly steep hill. The blue eyed man had his darker blue coat sitting beside him. His white shirt was stained red, with his blood or another man's, the Briton doesn't have nor want to know. And when Arthur finally got behind the other man, he held the musket up, pointing it downwards towards the American. "Move and I will not hesitate to shoot," Arthur glared down, and paused for a while before adding, "Rebel."

Alfred didn't have to turn his head to know who said that. Though he did chuckle and followed the Briton's orders. "Alright, alright." The American said, with a roll of his devastatingly blue eyes that barely went unseen by the other man. "What were you planning to do with me?" Arthur asked, his voice firm, yet his eyes betrayed the sound. The green pools that resembled the grass had a swirl of panic in them, which Alfred did not mirror as his eyes still had that beautiful sparkle.

Arthur glared at the other man fiercely. "Answer me, damn American! Tell me," He hissed. "What did you expect to do to me when I wake? I can see that you have not deflowered me, at least, not yet. And I must say that even though I am incredibly touched," Arthur said, the sarcasm dripping like venom. "I cannot tell you that you will get away from it."

"So tell me, and I will not ask again, why am I here?" Arthur said, trading his musket with his knife and pressing the blade ever so slightly onto the other man's throat. "Tell me, Alfred." Arthur said; his voice that was strong and demanding a few moments ago was reduced to a low whimper that seemed very much unlike him.

"Arthur…" The American said, his hand reaching out to capture the Brit in an embrace, but thought better and dropped the arm limply. "Don't go near me, Alfred…" Arthur said, his voice soft and low and oh-so heartbreaking. "Please don't kill me…" The Briton looked up, and Alfred's eyes widened at the tears that left marks on his cheeks that had red splotches on them due to the crying.

"Arthur…" The American started again, this time brushing his right hand lightly on the green eyed man's cheek. "I'm not going to kill you… You know that, right?" Alfred said, glancing at the Briton again. When Arthur didn't answer him, he pursed his lips. "Perhaps I just needed someone to treat my wounds?" He joked a bit, a nervous grin showing itself onto his face. Arthur smiled a bit at that last line, and then his tear-filled eyes had taken a new emotion to them: worry.

"You hurt yourself? Was it because of that cat and mouse chase we had…? Goodness, Alfred, how long was I out?" Arthur turned frantic again, and Alfred tried to make an attempt to calm the redcoat down, but did it unsuccessfully so. "Calm your horses, Arthur. I just picked you up a few hours ago. You were dehydrated- almost dropped dead like a fly. You're lucky I was there, you know." Alfred said, and then passing him the canteen of water Alfred had found in his pack and refilled.

"What is this business with horses? And…" The Brit trailed off, accepting the canteen. "I think I should thank you, I suppose. So… thank you, Alfred." He raised the container to his mouth and sipped at it hesitantly.

It tasted nice.

Refreshing.

And not at all poisoned.

And waiting a few moments to make sure that the American really didn't try to poison him, he drank the water again and again, until he drained the canteen of its water. "I apologize, Alfred. It seems that I finished all the water." Arthur said, looking incredibly guilty. And at that moment, the American chose to laugh that boisterous, obnoxious, yet devastatingly charming laugh of his. Arthur couldn't choose whether to yell at the boy for laughing when he was apologizing (God knows how rarely that happened), or to turn red and flail his limbs.

Instead of shouting out strings of curses, or blushing like a young lad that had his pants pulled down in school (which had happened to Arthur a lot), Arthur did both. And so with an ungraceful flail of his arms and the heat quickly rising into his cheeks, he sputtered indignantly, trying to get some words out but failing. Arthur was known for his never-ending vocabulary of curses or anything that involved sarcasm, but here he was, with absolutely nothing to say. Not that he didn't want to say anything, of course. He just… couldn't.

Alfred was still grinning like a mad fool, unaware that Arthur could very well shoot him right now, though; Arthur supposed that the American knew by now that Arthur could never bring himself to shoot anybody. Or else the American would have already lain dead in a pool of crimson that belonged to nobody else but himself.

"I- I'm sorry, Artie." The American breathed out, still recovering from his sudden burst of laughter. Arthur narrowed his eyes at Alfred, and poked the man's chest. "Don't call me that. I'm Arthur. Not Art or Artie or anything else." Alfred smiled; the man seemed to have returned to his normal self. "So, Arthur… I reckon you're not going to kill me now, right?" The blue eyed man fidgeted slightly. The Briton looked up, emerald eyes trained on the American. "I don't see any reason to, so I suppose…" He trailed off. "Is this even allowed?" Arthur said, cocking his head to the left.

Alfred chuckled. "Well, err, no." He rubbed the back of his neck, and cringed when there was blood on his fingers. Arthur noticed this and his eyes grew wide with alarm. "Alfred… Are you hurt?" The Briton reached over to look at the other man's wounds. "Bloody hell… You have to change the bandages, you idiot." Arthur muttered, getting the blood stained shirt off of the American and carefully unwinding the bandage that he'd placed two days- was it two?- ago.

Alfred was humming softly while Arthur worked, the Briton's long, pale fingers ghosting over the American's bare back, treating the slowly-healing wound. "This might not heal properly, Alfred." Arthur said, a frown embedded deep on his facial features. "It's too deep, even though it isn't very wide. You might need stitches, you know." He said, while wrapping new, clean linen over the wound.

"And you're lucky it's not getting worse, too. Honestly, don't you Americans know anything about First Aid?" Arthur mumbled to himself, finishing up. "Now doesn't that feel better, Alfred?" Arthur said, as soon as the bandages were perfectly in place.

"I swear Artie-"

"Don't call me that!"

"Okay, okay. I swear Arthur; you act more like a mother rather than an enemy." Alfred chuckled.

Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow. "What you're saying is that, you want me to act like an enemy instead? I'll be very okay with that, you know." Arthur said, hand on his knife. "What? Oh, no! No, no! That wasn't what I meant." Alfred said good-naturedly. Arthur eyed him warily, and cautiously took his hand off of the knife's handle.

"What do you suppose we should do?" Arthur asked, his fingers tracing the bark of the tree his clothed leaned on. He only had his white shirt and dark pants on; the supposedly blood-stained redcoat- that maybe Alfred had washed for him because it looked very clean- was abandoned beside him as well as his musket. Alfred just shrugged. "I don't know. Honestly, I'm expecting somebody to just barge in on us and stab me to death for just talking to you." The American said.

"Same goes for me, Yank." Arthur said, closing his eyes for a moment. He tried as well as he could to savor the lovely scent of grass and the existence of peace in a time where it was scarce. But Alfred wasn't going to let him do that, no.

Just as he was about to nod off for a short nap, a finger jabbed his rib. Arthur's eyes flew open and he groaned. "Alfred, can't you just leave me a-" The words died in his throat as he realized how close the American was. Close enough to kiss. Arthur thought.

The Briton felt his cheeks heat up and quickly pushed Alfred away from him. "Don't do that." He muttered, turning his face away from the American. "Do what, Arthur?" Alfred said- voice a bit too husky, distance a bit too close. No, actually, a lot too close. And what Arthur wouldn't give to just wring his skinny pale hands around that well tanned neck and press their lips together and-

"Arthur?" He heard Alfred's voice in the distance. The Briton turned his gaze towards the voice, brows furrowing over green eyes as he saw Alfred rather far away. Had he been imagining things?

"Um, oh, ah… Alfred! Ah, err. Yes. Yes? Why did you call, lad?" Arthur said, clearing his throat, aware that he was still blushing. "You okay? You look really red. I thought you might pass out or something. Here, have some water. And also, I think you shouldn't have the right to call me a 'lad' I'm twenty-one this year." Alfred said with a grin, taking long strides to reach the Briton, then handing him the same flask, but filled with water. "Uh… Thank you." Arthur said curtly, taking a nice, long sip of water. He hadn't realized how dry his throat actually was when the water sent a pleasant, cool sensation as it made its way down the Brit's throat. "Mmmm… Oi, Alfred!" Arthur called out, his eyes trained on the other man's back that was still unclothed. Arthur bit his lip when he saw blood already seeping through the white linen wrapped around the man's lower back. That's not very good… He must be in pain.

"Yes, Mr. Kirkland?" The American turned around. Arthur stood up from his spot and made his way towards the small lake Alfred sat beside of- if it could be called one. It looked a lot like a miniature lake- perhaps, a pond. "Your wound's not going to heal very well, Alfred." He said with a deep frown. Despite the seriousness in the Brit's voice, Alfred still laughed. "Relax, Arthur! I'm fine. Really, I am." Alfred said, masking his pain with a grin. He hoped Arthur couldn't see through the fake quality of the grin.

But Arthur did.

"You're in pain, aren't you, Alfred?" Arthur asked, his voice laced with worry, green eyes seeking the truth from Alfred's own blue ones. Alfred's shoulders slumped down, his façade crumbling as he showed the Briton- that he barely knew- his real state. And just like that, Arthur could see everything.

His green eyes were filled to the brim with worry and concern for this almost-stranger-barely-friend, and he carefully put an arm around the taller man's shoulder, to comfort him. "A-Alfred… If you want to- and if you can get the materials… I'd gladly stitch up your wound for you. It's the best I can do to repay you for… well, dragging me to safety." Arthur said, in a small voice, his accent sounding thicker than ever- or maybe it was just Alfred's splitting headache that made it seem that way.

Arthur was still looking at Alfred with those dapple-green eyes and dark, thick brows furrowed in the most adorable way ever- not that Alfred would dare say that out loud. The pain suddenly felt a bit- okay, a lot worse when Alfred actually showed it to Arthur- and he was pretty sure it would be the first and last time he'd do this. Ever.

It's not because he doesn't like it when Arthur looks so motherly concern and when the Briton stayed by his side, telling him that if he could get the materials- a needle and some thread, and more alcohol because they were running out- he would be able to fix the hell of a wound and get Alfred back to his normal state. Wait no, actually, he hated the latter. He doesn't like it when people took care of him because it made him look and feel weak.

And if Alfred was to be described with words and stereotypes, he is not weak, nor is he a coward either. But when weakness is one thing, cowardice is another, and he thinks that he'd rather be called a coward than weak- because, well, sometimes, being a coward is being strong.

But that's beside his point. Because right now, Arthur was treating him, him, Alfred F Jones, like a weak link in their sort-of-truce when Alfred was actually the one who'd basically saved the British bloke from impending death. Well, okay, the Briton had taken care of the very same wound that he's taking care of now, but still.

So Alfred voiced his thoughts as he usually did, as loud as he could. Which was still, despite his current state- which was horrible as Arthur pointed out more than a few times by now- very loud. "You know Artie; I don't like it when people do this kind of stuff to me." He said with a tilt of his- perfect, Arthur noted- lips.

"What kind of 'stuff'?" Arthur asked, his head cocked to one side. Like a confused puppy. Alfred thought. "Well, this kind of stuff. Y'know… Takin' care of me when I clearly don't need to be taken care of, like they think that I'm… weak or something." Alfred whispered that last part, only saying 'or something' so that Arthur wouldn't know that he really meant the 'weak' part.

"Alfred… Just because someone is taking care of you does not mean that they believe you are weak." Arthur insisted. "Now, let's get you some sleep. I'll take first watch." Arthur said, and then that was when the American actually realized that it was already getting quite dark- the sun had set, the sky was already progressing into a darker, deeper blue. It was funny how time flew so fast with good company. Wait, did he actually think that? Oh.

The Briton said more words that Alfred had zoned out on, and then suddenly the American felt himself being hoisted up from the ground, which left him a bit stunned, until he realized it was Arthur's arm that had latched itself onto Alfred's and tugged his 'lazy arse' off of the earth. Alfred was more than a bit surprised at the amount of energy the small-framed Brit had, but walked- more like shuffled- towards the makeshift bed, which really was more of a sheet over cold, hard dirt than a bed. And it took Arthur some coaxing and pushing to get the other man to actually lie down, until finally Alfred was sleeping on his side.

"Now, you sleep tight, and I'll wake you up in the morning." The Briton said, in a tone that clearly meant he didn't want the American to argue with him. Yet Alfred couldn't stop himself from opening his mouth to speak. "But Arthur… You have to get a good rest too, you know. Besides, I ain't sleepy yet, anyway. I'll stay up with you." The American said, groaning as he turn to lay on his back, and giving out a sharp hiss as his wounded back made contact with the sheet-covered ground. Then he slowly progressed upwards to sit up.

He looked at Arthur with his blue eyes- darker in the night, but still glinting familiarly, and Arthur just couldn't say no. The Briton groaned in frustration. "Fine," He said gruffly- rather out of character, because he was not a rude or rough man. "But don't blame me if you're too tired to get your needle, thread and alcohol from your- do you travel in regiments? -regiment or something, tomorrow." Damn those sparkling blue eyes. Arthur cursed in the back of his mind.

For a moment, Arthur thought he saw Alfred's eyes light up with happiness, and his heart fluttered at the sight, before those blue eyes- that should be happy and jovial and everything positive- turned sad and desperate and scared. Alfred laughed, anyway. "Alright-y, Arthur!" He said, grinning. Arthur felt himself grin, too, seeing the American so happy and so young, and not deserving to fight this war.

Arthur sighed, not in relief, not in exasperation, but maybe it was a content sigh- and he offered a hand to pull the other man up, and he nearly, nearly, yelped when he saw that Alfred was already standing upright, positively towering over his small stature and a grin on his face, his eyes lighting up like it was Christmas morning. "We can talk by the lake-pond thing, whatever it is." Arthur said, already on his way to said place. "Okay!" Alfred said, his voice a bit too excited, his grin still plastered on that beautiful- handsome- face.

"Shush, Alfred… There's a chance that my regiment or yours would be near us, you know." The Brit said, patting the space beside him, gesturing for the American to sit. "Oh, oh. Sorry, Artie." Alfred whispered, and it was followed by a very unmanly giggle. Arthur sighed again, and rolled his eyes. "Don't call me that." He said sternly- voice still low, however- and he proceeded to smack the back of Alfred's head, causing a string of curses to run out of the rebel's mouth.

The mouth that he so desperately wanted to kiss.

But Arthur ignored that thought and smiled mockingly. "Next time it won't be that considerate." He said, taking his boots off, rolled up his pants, and dunking his two feet into the nice, cool water. Arthur hummed with pleasure, and glanced at Alfred.

"What?" The American said, blush creeping onto his face- and he hoped, hoped so desperately, that the Brit couldn't see it in the darkness. "Don't you want to put your feet in, too?" The words left Arthur's mouth as he couldn't think of another reason for looking at Alfred. "Oh. Oh, right. That's a really good idea, Arthur!" Alfred said, his voice sounding utterly confused, but he took off his boots and imitated the older man's actions, anyway.

So they sat in the silence together. The moon is high up in the sky, giving off beautiful light that glinted off the American's shiny blond hair. Light that let Arthur see just a bit of the blue in his eyes, a bit of the flash of white that his teeth was, and shining at that oh-so wonderful toned body. The water would be still, if not for Alfred's feet moving, causing small waves to form, to the American's delight. This was the true definition of beauty, for Arthur.

The moon, the starts, the earth, and the sparkling blue water, this was beauty. And the American Adonis beside me. Arthur added. "Hey, Arthur?" Alfred's tentative voice broke the silence, it was a tiny whisper, barely audible, and Arthur's gaze turned away from the water that mirrored the night sky towards the American, whose eyes were shining like stars. Cliché, but it's the truth.

"Yes, Alfred?" Arthur answered, voice as soft as Alfred's only reaching the American's ears because the wind had captured the words and brought them forth. "Why… Why do you fight in this war? Why do we have to… fight?" The rebel said, his eyes staring into Arthur's own, seeking an answer from the British man. "Well Alfred… Many people fight for many reasons. I… I do it because I'm a loyal man." Arthur said, biting his lip. And I have to prove to my father that I'm just as good as my brothers. He said to himself.

"Why do you ask?" He murmured, green still locked with blue, and he decided that he was entranced by the color- that color- blue, and it was now his favorite. "N-no reason… I just wondered, is all…" Alfred sighed, averting his eyes, breaking their eye contact and looking down to the ground.

"How about you? Why do you… fight? You're still young, you shouldn't do this." Arthur's fingertips brushing against the other man's fingers. He blushed.

"I guess I just want our country to be free. I don't know, Arthur. I'm not sure about anything, anymore, now." The America said, voice sounding almost sad. "But Alfred… If you weren't sure, you shouldn't have signed up, then. You shouldn't risk your life for this, you know." Arthur frowned, brows furrowing, creating a dimple in the middle of them- a dimple that Alfred so desperately fought the urge of to kiss.

"Hey, if you're telling me that I shouldn't have signed up for this war, why did you sign up?" Alfred asked with curiosity. "I- I told you already. I'm a loyal man." He sighed, running a hand through his sandy blond locks. "And it was my father who did it, anyway." He muttered under his breath. Sadly, the American's ears picked up his words.

"So you were practically forced into this?" Alfred said- voice rising- in definite anger, though at Arthur or Arthur's father, the Briton was unsure. "W-well, to a certain extent, yes. But-" Arthur's words died when the American's face was only inches from his. Oh lord, please don't let this be some stupid dream or a hallucination or-

Warm lips were pressed onto Arthur's own lips, and as quickly as it happened, the quicker it stopped. The American looked at the loyalist rather awkwardly. "Uh- um… Sorry." He said, hand rubbing the back of his neck- which Arthur had learned was how he expressed his discomfort. Arthur was still in a daze- from the shock of actually being kissed, and he could not answer the rebel. Taking his silence as rejection, Alfred tried to scramble away from Arthur, when he felt a firm grip on his wrist.

"D-don't go." Arthur blurted, green eyes glazed over with an unfamiliar emotion. "I-I mean… There's nothing to be sorry for. I-I think I… Um…" He couldn't say the words, so he lunged at the American and pressed his lips onto Alfred's. He did it quickly, much like the kiss Alfred gave him, and then when he pulled away he was absolutely, positively blushing. "I hope that explained enough, twat." Arthur said, a scowl planted on his face, though he couldn't hide the glee that danced in his green eyes.

"If it meant that you like me as much as I like you, then it did." Alfred chuckled, relaxing a bit.

When Arthur didn't respond to that, Alfred glanced at the Brit. His Brit. Arthur's eyes were still wide- and it was so cute like that- and his fingertips were lightly pressed onto his lips, as if he hadn't believed that they'd just kissed. Twice. "Hey, Arthur?" Alfred called out softly; fingers grabbing the other man's chin lightly, turning his head to look at the Briton.

Arthur was snapped out of his daze, and he focused his eyes on Alfred. The Alfred that he just kissed. "Huh?" Was the intelligent comment that left his lips; lips that still tingled from the pressure of the American's wonderfully soft pair.

Alfred laughed, clear and beautiful- like church bells, and Arthur would scold him because it was foolish to laugh at this time in the night. But Arthur never did. In fact, a small smile graced the Briton's lips, and as Alfred spotted it, he reacted similar to the Briton when he had seen Alfred's grin. He smiled, too.

The time dragged on, they spent it in silence, both of them happy and content. And as they both dragged each other to their makeshift bed, they spent the night in each other's arms.

For the first time in his life, Arthur felt loved.

For the first time in his life, Alfred was truly happy.

And for the first time since this war, everything was beautiful.

Erm... Sorry for taking quite long to update. Had a bit of writer's block in this chapter. (Sorry if it shows, too) Anywayyy.. review! It means a lot! And see you soon! (Hopefully...)

Now I'm off to the treadmill, and to read some USUK.

Bye!

Love, Jan.