Chapter 15

Arthur stared out the passenger's side window of the small taxi. Rain beat endlessly against the glass and a heavy fog hung over the tall streets on London. As they trundled down the familiar road, Arthur watched the large townhouses roll by, trying to figure out why he felt so distant. It felt unbelievably wonderful to be back on English soil - Arthur had been hard-pressed not to make a stop to buy tea and biscuits - but there was something missing. He didn't have much time to contemplate as the cab pulled up to his house. Paying the driver, he stepped out onto the rainy street.

He took a moment to breath in the misty air before hurrying forward, fumbling with his keys which were - by the good grace of God - still in his jacket pocket, and opened the door. As he climbed the stairs, he felt his steps becoming heavier and as he reached the second landing, he had come to a complete stop.

The door to his apartment was only up another flight of stairs, he could see the brass '23' shining at him, and behind that was Alfred. Just fifteen steps, that was it, he'd have his whole life back. This thought brightened his murky feeling considerably and he almost ran up the last stairs, throwing the door open and announcing at the top of his lungs, "I'm back!"

There was a shuffling noise from the living room. Kicking his shoes off, Arthur slid into the den; fully expecting to see Alfred sprawled on the couch, a bowl of chips on his chest as he flipped through the channels, waiting for his lover to return.

Alfred was sprawled on the couch, but there was no bowl of chip on his chest and he seemed much more preoccupied with the man kissing him than the television. Sandy blond hair mixed with Alfred's golden locks as their mouth moved against each other. Arthur could only watch in silent horror as the large, pale hands slipped under Alfred's shirt, electing a small moan from the American.

It was that moan - response that only he, Arthur, was supposed to be able to coax out of Alfred - that prompted him to say, "Made up, have you?"

The large blond removed his mouth from Alfred's - which sounded a whole lot like a suction cup being pulled off a window - and sat up. "Who are you?" He asked in a heavily-accented voice. A heavily accented voice that Arthur had heard in the background of Alfred's calls. The dreaded Ivan.

"I'm Arthur bloody Kirkland." He said, folding his arms across his chest. He knew it, Alfred was just pulling back in. "And you must be Ivan."

Alfred's head popped up from behind the couch, face flushed and hair ruffled. "Art!" he said in a cheery voice, as if he was not making out at the moment on Arthur's couch in Arthur's house in Arthur's city no less, "You made it back! Look who came back too, Ivan!" He pinched the Russian' cheek.

Not sure what offended him more; the fact that Ivan was back and half-raping the American on his couch, or the way Alfred was not guilty at Arthur's arrival, but pleased, ecstatic even. That was the last straw. "Get out."

"Arthur, wait-" Alfred said, pushing Ivan off him standing. Behind him, the larger man wrapped his hands around Alfred's hips, placing his chin on top of the blond hair, "Just-"

Arthur unfolded his arms. "Get the fuck out." He said, closing his eyes, gesturing towards the now, "Before I fucking kill one of you." He heard Alfred whisper something to Ivan and felt them push by him and didn't open his eyes until the door closed. Once the footsteps had receded, Arthur sighed and leaned against the wall, rubbing his face, dumbstruck at his own stupidity. He stumbled into the living room and, after giving the couch a disgusted look for betraying him, and sat down in his favourite armchair.

He should've known. His gut had told him the minute he had picked up the phone that it sounded too good to be to true, but he had ignored it. And now look, he was single living alone in downtown London in a far too-big apartment. He exhaled deeply, sitting back in his chair, forcing his eyes closed, wishing the world away. His thoughts immediately turned to Rome. To the Dolce Vita. To Franc-

"Let me at least try to explain." A hand grabbed his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts. The voice was all-too familiar and he really wanted nothing more than to pretend he had not heard the American, but instead he looked up, catching the worried blue eyes with his.

"I don't even know why I came back." Arthur said, slapping the hand away. "I was having the best fucking time of my life in Rome but one call from you and I come crawling back…" He laughed, looking down into his lap, choking slightly, willing himself not to breakdown in front of his ex-lover.

"Arthur, I-"

"No." Arthur looked up again. Alfred was staring at him, blue eyes guilty as he smiled weakly. He felt his gut twist, stuck between bursting into tears and giving the American a good punch in the bracket. "I don't need your pity Alfred." He said quietly, trying to get to his feet, but Alfred kept a hold on his shoulder, pushing him into the chair.

"I still love you Arthur." He felt his heart freeze. Searching Alfred's face for any hint of a lie, but it was innocent and happy as always. "I really do." He leaned closer, letting their foreheads brush for a moment before pulling back, to gauge the Englishman's reaction, Arthur supposed. His cursed his cheeks for flushing.

"I bet." He said, trying to glare up at Alfred, but feeling his face not quite contracting properly. He could keep about himself half-drunk and lustful with the Frenchman, but the moment he was hurt, sober and thinking completely straight with Alfred, he was a blubbering mess. Was there any justice in the world?

Alfred fixed him with an almost unbelievably serious look. "No, really." He said, squeezing Arthur's shoulder, "Ivan was just something to get over us." As he said the word, Arthur felt his heart skip a beat and he was finding it hard to swallow. "I'll break-up with him right here and now if you'll stay." There was nothing but pure honesty in Alfred, and Arthur wanted nothing to do with it.

"Alfr-" The name was cut off as Alfred's lips covered his. Instinctively, he closed his eyes, leaning forward and opening his mouth, letting their tongues brush. Jolts of pleasure ran up his spine, making him breath in sharply. The sweet smell of fresh strawberries and charred meat filled him and he sighed from the familiarity. As Alfred's hand gently pushed him into the chair, pulling at his tie, Arthur's foot stretched out, hitting his suitcase. It popped upon and they broke apart at the noise.

Peering around Alfred, Arthur saw that his belongings were now sprawled over the floor. Alfred began kissing his neck, obviously intent on continuing, but Arthur's eyes had fallen upon another item that had burst out of his bag. A painful lump formed in his throat. What had he done for all of this?

A black turtleneck.

Perhaps thrown in during haphazard escape from Rome, or perhaps a sign from God telling him to get his head out of his own arse, stop being such a bloody dolt and get the fuck back to Rome. Arthur suddenly stood up, pushing Alfred off him. The American stared nonplussed at him. "Art? What's wrong?" He asked, reaching out a hand, touching Arthur's cheek, but the Englishman stepped away from the gesture, the calluses feeling nothing like the silky skin he yearned for.

"I have to go." Arthur said and went about stuffing all his clothing back into his case and closing it. This was it, no more Alfred, no more playing around, no more lying to himself and ignoring his own feelings. He started towards the door but stopped as Alfred bounded over the couch, standing between him and the hall leading to the front door.

"You can't be serious, I just confessed to loving you!" He said, placing one hand on his hip as the other ran through his hair. Fixing Arthur with disbelieving and slightly irritated look, he waited for an answer.

The green eyes looked slightly dazed. "Right. Love. I… I think I get it." Alfred smiled and shuffled forward; ready to pull the smaller man into a hug. Arthur sidestepped his arms, raising a bushy brow. Suddenly the American was the exact same as the first time they had met, annoying, boisterous and everything he hated. "Now, get out of my fucking apartment."

"Arthur?" Alfred asked, voice trembling slightly. He was trying to pull the 'you're hurting me Arthur' act but the want to see Francis again was overpowering any guilt he may have felt. "Please, don't leave…"

The British man pushed by him, slipping his shoes on and opening the door. He was unsurprised to find Ivan standing there. He glared up at the doleful violet eyes, all feelings jealousy suddenly gone. Arthur turned around, looking at Alfred. "And take your friend with you." He said, stepping into the hall and rushed down the stairs, back into the rain.

Throwing out a hand, he hailed and taxi and jumped inside, pulling the door shut with a bang. The driver turned around in his seat, "Where to?" He asked.

"Heathrow Airport as fast as you can please." Arthur said, slightly breathless. The cab pulled away and he turned around just in time to see two dark figures hurry out of his building, both jacketless.

The rain started to pour harder and Arthur could only smile.