Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Some people are curious when this will end so I'm letting you all know that there are planned 14 chapter in all. So only five chapters left!
Here I am 09
XX
Arthur tossed and turned in his giant, four-poster bed. A single man should never have a bed so big. It felt too lonely. It even made the room feel darker at night. How could he sleep like this?
He had been thinking a lot about Alfred, about that time when he had seen him for just a second before America had pulled him back. It felt as if his life had flashed before his eyes. He had almost died and, that time on the ship, he had almost drowned.
Was that it? Did he have to put his life in danger to cross through the world again? Arthur gripped the sheets in his fists. What if he was wrong and it was something else entirely? The problem with his theory was that, if he was wrong, he would be dead.
But he wanted to see Alfred.
And this theory did make a lot of sense.
Was he suicidal now? Had he totally lost his wits? Arthur wondered if he should wait until the morning to discuss his thoughts with Japan – maybe a sane individual would tell him just how truly crazy he really was – but he had a feeling that Japan would only try to discourage him from it.
Forcing himself to his feet, Arthur quickly dressed and sneaked downstairs.
The house trembled with silence. Distantly, he could hear the whine of cars rushing to be home before dawn arrived. Pulling on his coat and slipping into his boots, Arthur hesitated at the door handle. Was this really a good idea? He glanced back at the dark and empty corridor.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Arthur left the house and plunged into the bitterness of the night.
XX
That was how Arthur found himself staring down at the murky waters from a bridge above a river, griping his gloved hand around the cold railing and trying to tell his nervous heart that he knew perfectly well what it was he was doing.
His theory was correct, wasn't it? He sincerely hoped that his theory was correct at least.
"There's nothing to it," he told himself, shivering from the cold and not because of any sort of fear. He hauled himself over the railing so that he was standing on the outside ledge and looked down. His eyes squeezed shut. Well, this was it.
"What are you doing?"
The sound of America's voice alone, nearly surprised him enough to make him lose his balance and fall. Fortunately, he managed to keep his grip on the railing and turn around to stare at America's sceptical, deeply unimpressed face.
"I…" Arthur faltered. His one thought holding him back from testing his theory – apart from his death if he was wrong – was that thought of leaving America behind. He did not know why he should be so attached to someone he liked to be cold and insult him and he did want to return to Alfred. He wanted to return so desperately.
However, a part of him felt ill at ease leaving America as he was. He felt like a mother sending her only son off into the world while knowing that he was still missing a vital something. Arthur was not sure what that vital thing was, but it pained him to be unable to watch over America when he was gone.
Shaking his head of such thoughts – America would surely think that he was being pitied if he knew – Arthur gulped. "I…I think that I've worked out how to go back, but I need to jump off of this bridge to do it," he explained.
America stared at him.
Arthur blushed.
A moment of silence passed between them before America sighed aloud. Rubbing his gloved fingers together he grumbled; "It's freezing. Let's go back."
"But - "
"You do realise that if you're wrong then you'll just die," America looked at him as if he was an idiot, which was nothing new, Arthur supposed, though he wished that America would kick that annoying habit of patronising him at every turn.
"I know that, but - "
"Fine. Go ahead and die. Want me to push you?"
Arthur looked at him sharply.
"Alright then!"
America stumbled back with surprise. "W – What?"
"I'm ready. Push me!" Arthur cried, balancing on the ledge so that he could let go of the railings and spread his arms wide without falling. However, all he needed was a gust of wind, just a small push and he would topple into the river.
"I – I was just joking! God!" America spluttered, turning red with embarrassment. "You really want to see him that badly?"
"You know I can't stay here forever," he said.
"So you're saying that this Alfred is better than me?" America snapped.
"That's not what I'm saying."
"But you prefer him, right?"
"Well…"Arthur blushed and gripped the side of the railing again, "he is my…lover…"
The fact that America did not say anything in reply made Arthur feel even more self-conscious. He was also quite aware that he was still perched on the edge of the bridge, ready to fall off at any moment as soon as he let go of the guard rail.
"B – Besides, if I don't go then England will never be able to come back," he continued to stutter, flushing slightly.
"That's fine by me!" America snorted.
"England's probably with Alfred. I hope that idiot's not cheating on me!"
"With England? No way!" America looked both disgusted and incredulous. That such a thing could happen, that England might fall in love with Alfred was just as ridiculous as America falling in love with Arthur…wasn't it?
"Besides, I don't think that you should go. It's a bad idea. All of your ideas are bad ideas," he grumbled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket.
Arthur could not help but smile at America's petulance. He reminded him of a giant kid sometimes. "Don't worry. England will be coming back so you won't be lonely," he teased.
America scowled at him. "Like I said, I don't want England to - "
Before he could move away, Arthur leaned forward. Cupping the side of America's face in his hands, he planted a soft, chaste kiss on his lips.
"Bye," he whispered, and pushed back until he was falling down.
America's eyes widened. Arthur started to fall.
"Wait!" he yelled. Without thinking, he jumped over the guard rail and flung himself in the air. Grabbing Arthur around his waist, they both plunged like a brick straight into icy – and probably quite dirty – river water.
Arthur felt the water rushing around him. His mouth opened, letting a flood of river water in. He felt the blood pounding in his ears. He gasped for breath and flailed instinctively but, no matter how hard he tried, he could not pull himself up. He struggled and gasped but only more water filled his mouth.
"Alfred?"
Arthur bolted upright. Sweet air filled his lungs., but it was just as dark. It took a moment for him to realise that he was no longer in the river but sitting on a soft bed.
He was in the spare room they reserved for guests. Arthur looked around just to be sure but yes, his suspicions were confirmed; this was definitely their spare room.
Jumping out of bed, Arthur raced through the dimly lit room to the main bedroom.
"Alfred!" he cried, grinning from ear to ear as he barrelled into the dark room.
Alfred was lying asleep, wrapped up in the sheets. At the sound of Arthur's voice, he turned over groggily and rubbed his eyes. He stared at him blearily, as if he was still watching a dream but, as Arthur approached the bed and knelt down next to him, he seemed to grow more alert to what was really happening.
"A – Arthur?" he sat up, hardly believing what he was seeing. He grabbed Arthur's hands, smiling on the verge of tears. "A – Arthur, it's really you, isn't it?"
Arthur nodded. He opened his mouth to speak but water filled it again. Suddenly it was cold and wet. And a pair of strong arms was hauling him up.
He broke through the surface of the water, gasping for breath. Besides him, America supported his weight, also breathing heavily.
"W – Why did you do that? I was there! I was home! Why the hell did you have to pull me out?" he cried.
"You were drowning!" America insisted.
"I was where I belonged!" he shouted, feeling the beginning of tears pooling around the edges of his eyes. He liked America. Despite the brashness, despite the rudeness and the cold gazes, he had come to understand America a little more but this time he wanted to punch him and yell and scream for all he was worth.
"Sleeping with the fishes you mean?" America snapped, somehow put on edge by the sight of Arthur's tears, though he might have told himself that it was just the water.
"America," Arthur gained control of his emotions a little more and took a deep breath to steady himself. "I think that you're a good person, I really do. I like you, America, but I can't stay here. Why do you want me to stay so much?"
America's defences spiked. "What are you talking about? I'm just being a hero and stopping you from suicide!"
Arthur shook his head furiously. He had been so close. Then again, what was stopping him from jumping into a river the next time?
XX
By the morning, American was unwillingly awoken by Japan pushing him to get up from the couch where he had slept upon returning with Arthur the previous night. They had not spoken much since then. Arthur had trundled upstairs and, apparently, went straight to bed, while America stayed downstairs, washed the river-water away in the kitchen and then fell asleep on the couch in the living room.
Now Japan was urging to get up. His brows were knotted in an expression of concern. "America-san, I think Arthur-san has a fever. He's not looking too well."
"Oh, really?" America sat up groggily, trying his best to try to look unconcerned.
Japan hurried to the door, America following behind him, yawning.
"I'm going to be some leeks. Leek and mushroom soup is good for colds. Can you watch over him for me?" Japan asked as he wriggled on his shoes.
"Sure thing."
The door closed.
America spent all of five seconds staring at it before he managed to blink. Sighing to himself, he glanced at the staircase. Surely he was not scared of ascending a handful of steps?
Pulling his courage together, America braved the first step. The creak of wood as he put his weight on it would have made him jump but, with all his determination, he surmounted the first obstacle and continued to climb.
Arthur was currently occupying England's bedroom. It was dark inside. Slowly pushing the door open, America peeked his head around the corner before creeping in.
He leaned over the bed to glance at Arthur's face. His cheeks were flushed and he was sweating a lot, his eyes were closed but his brows were furrowed with discomfort.
America slapped a hamburger on his head. "You're an idiot."
Arthur's hand touched the hamburger. Realising what it was he almost threw it off, shooting America the strangest look he had ever received, though, fortunately, he did not say anything.
"S - Shut up. Who's fault do you think this is?" his hoarse voice rasped.
"Yours. You jumped in that damn river."
"Very funny," Arthur coughed.
America tentatively put his hand against Arthur's forehead, but he quickly withdrew it just as their skin touched. He imagined that that was the kind of stuff Alfred would do, but he was certainly not Alfred.
Sinking down, he sat on the floor by the bedside, resting his back against the bed. He glanced around the room; it had been so long since he had been in England's room but nothing had really changed.
England held on to tradition and memory far too much to really change things; the drapes were Victorian, the porcelain figures on the shelves dated all the way back to Elizabeth's reign. There was even a piece of framed tapestry from the Middle Ages. England never changed. He never forgave either. Or forgot.
"I know that you can't stay here. Yeah, of course I know, but I don't want England to come back," he said with unusual quietness.
"Why not?" America could hear Arthur turn over, sheets rustling between his legs. "If he really hates you that much then he won't talk to you. Nothing will have changed, right? You two will just go back to the way you were before."
"Well yeah, but…" America sighed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. How could he explain it? It was so hard to put into words exactly what he felt. "It's your fault! You keep on saying how great Alfred is! I just know when England gets back he'll think I'm pathetic in comparison! He'll laugh right in my face and won't ever let me live it down!" he cried.
Arthur sighed aloud. His voice was weak. "Then let him. Why should you care?"
"Because - "
"You really like England, don't you?"
"I don't," America grumbled.
"How much do you like him?"
"Are you deaf, old man? I said that I don't like him!"
"…Really?" Arthur sounded tired and unconvinced, and America knew that it was no good. Maybe that meant that he was also no good. Either way, it was no good. It would not work.
"You've got to go, haven't you?" he realised, and hated the fact that he did not really want Arthur to leave.
XX