A/N: I know I haven't done one of these since the first chapter but I just thought I'd take a quick moment of your time. I want to thank you guys so much for all your kind words and reviews! They mean a lot and I never thought I would get such good feedback. I shall try hard to not leave such cliffhanger chapters for you! (I really will!) I hope that I will continue to see you in the following chapters!
"Will you take the road that's been laid out before you? Will we cross paths somewhere else tonight? Somewhere else tonight..."
Arthur almost couldn't believe what was happening. Almost.
Of course there was no denying it. All of the machines connected to Alfred had decided to shoot beeping alarms all at once. And then the doctors and nurses came running, checking his pulse and shouting orders back and forth at one another. The tears from just moments ago returned with a vengeance.
"What's wrong? Is he going to be okay?" His voice cracked as he continued to be pushed back from Alfred, he couldn't even see his face. Vaguely he heard the men telling him to back off, to get out of here so they could do their job...And then a pair of hand grabbed him by the shoulders as if they could just drag him away from what was happening. Because he realized all too well what was happening.
Alfred was dying.
So he began to fight, fight as if his struggle would renew that of that man's. He shoved past the people he knew were only trying to help, but he didn't care. There was no hope anyway. He had to see Alfred, had to see him alive. Even if it was just the last moment of the struggle. He broke through for just a moment to stand at Alfred's bedside.
His eyes were open.
They were that same brilliant blue, seeming brighter for the tears that fell down his cheeks. And still the doctors continued in their efforts to pry him away, he pushed them away as best as possible. Couldn't they see that Alfred was alright? He was going to be alright. He was going to be alright...It would be fine, his eyes were open. He was looking him right in the face, and he even had a strangely sad smile on his mouth.
The monitors continued their sporadic beeping. It was almost like a countdown. That's what it felt like at least. Alfred's hand, the one that he had held, it was shaking now as he reached out and grabbed pitifully for his own. At this, the doctors backed off, now offering privacy...Like they knew there was no hope and just wanted this to end peacefully. There were still other patients that demanded their care after all, they saw death on a daily basis, why not just let this man go the way he wanted?
Beep.
"Arthur." His voice was so faint, breaking. Nothing like that hearty timbre that had shocked Arthur out of his drunken haze. Hand grasped a little tighter, he felt the cool metal of that pocket-watch between their hands.
Beep.
"I'm so sorry Alfred. About everything. I'm going to make it up to you, I'm going to show you around London as soon as you get out of here!" They both knew that wouldn't happen. It was just another bout of empty words. All the same, Alfred conjured one of his most brilliant smiles. Both of the men cried without shame, Arthur's head leaned down to lay against Alfred's.
Beep.
"Arthur.." A rattling breath. "I got, I got the watch for you."
Beep.
"I can't take that Al."
Beep.
"Consider it...Consider it a heroic deed, okay?"
Beep.
"Okay."
Beep.
"Wasn't so hard, was it?"
Beep.
"Not at all."
Beep.
"I'm glad I met you Arthur."
Beep.
"I'm glad I met you too Al." Arthur looked down, not believing what he saw anymore. Those blue eyes had drifted shut. But he was still breathing, still holding his hand. "I'm so glad I met you. You're the best man I've ever met."
Beep. Beep. Beep.
****xxx****
Arthur Kirkland was, for not the first time in his life, speechless. He sat in one of the many hallways of the hospital in one of those unforgiving chairs with his head in his hands. His fingers entangled themselves through his blond hair and his bloodshot clover eyes were thankfully averted from any others wandering about.
All he wanted now was to be alone.
Be alone while he attempted to regather his life. He felt oddly numb, just so very empty. Like he had cried all of the tears it was physically possible to shed. He hadn't found it within himself to leave yet, he was all Alfred had here after all. The only sign that he had any connections to this world at all.
And he had failed him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered the sound of two female voices coming down the hall. He didn't bother to look up as they passed by, or at least, started to pass. Because they stopped one on either side of him. At that he was forced to drag his head out of his hands and expose his grief-stained eyes to these nosy women. He didn't speak though, didn't think he had the ability to do so.
"Arthur Kirkland." It wasn't a question, it was a blank statement from the woman that stood to his left. Tiny by the looks of it, with red hair and glittering green eyes. He shrugged in acknowledgment, a hand now idly toying with the pocket-watch that he had let settle in his lap. "You don't have much time in which to act." His brows drew together in confusion as he looked between her and the other female who remained silent, with eyes averted.
"I have nothing to act for, now leave me alone will you?" He hardly recognized his voice, it sounded like a dead man's voice. A zombies. Whatever other morbid creature he could possibly imagine.
"You have a debt to repay do you not?" Her voice had a sharper edge to it now, goading him with painful words. "A debt to a man by the name of Alfred Jones." He chuckled in a low, bitter way.
"Can't have a debt to a dead man." He didn't care how this woman thought she knew either of them, but it was none of her business anyway. The wound was still far too fresh. Didn't want to have anything to do with whatever this was.
"Oh it is very possible to have a debt to a dead man Mr. Kirkland." It was the other woman that spoke, she had soft looking brown hair and he couldn't quite tell what color her eyes were though. "Would you like to repay him? It's what a gentleman would do..." At that, Arthur jumped to his feet, the anger obvious in his mien.
"There is no way to fix this! Don't you see that?"
"There is always a way to fix what has been broken. And we are giving you that opportunity. Two things need to be mended, and there is little time in which to act. If you are a man of true character then it is hardly a question at all." He really couldn't make much sense of any of this, but he didn't like the way it sounded. The way it seemed so unreal. Whatever happened to reality? Had it been skewed just by his meeting a man in a bar?
"I would if it wasn't so bloody impossible! Don't you think I would do whatever I could to fix what I've broken? To return the life that I let be stolen?" The women passed a look between themselves, and then they smiled. It was the red-head that spoke this time.
"We knew we had made the right decision with you Arthur. Now, there are two things that you need to know." He had no idea what was happening, but he kept his mouth shut. Most of this sounded absurd to him already, he would just grin and bear it until these women wandered off to whatever strange place they had come here from. "Time is a delicate thing, you can only change little things. This means that you can't just come out and tell someone what you're about, the biggest decisions come from the most minor of details."
For some reason Arthur just couldn't walk away. No matter how crazy this now sounded.
"You only have forty-eight hours in any "segment" of time that you interrupt. Any longer than that and you'll kicked farther back. You might even get stuck, and that trust me, you do not want that to happen."
Okay, so he seriously wanted to cry bull on all of this talk. Was half tempted to just turn away and walk towards his car. Leave for the moment at least. To grab a drink and clear his head. Maybe get his life back into a sense of normalcy. He had gotten rid of Francis after all...It had come at a really painful price, but...In a way, was that the way it was supposed to go? There was no such thing as the "time-travel" that these women were suggesting anyways.
"I'm sorry about this ladies, I really am, but it's completely absurd." Arthur began to push past them and head down the way that he had come, their voices called after him in a strange unison. The sound of it sent shivers down his spine, but he didn't turn back. In fact, he started to run.
"It has already been set into motion Arthur Kirkland. When the clock begins to tick you will have no choice but to fall."
****xxx****
And so it was that Arthur found himself at the same place where it all began.
Sitting in the same barstool, with the same surly bartender, and the same burning drink lining his throat. He ignored the fact that Alfred wouldn't just magically show up and save him and took another drink. Already his head was pounding, his vision blurring. It was the sweet release of inebriation. Or, it was supposed to be. Of course the pain didn't just disappear. It was numbed though. Hiding just below the surface.
Like having a cut on the inside of his mouth, when all he wanted to do was worry it with his tongue.
The flare of pain to snap some sense into him throughout the day. It was a twisted logic and he'd be the first to admit it. His brows drew together in agitation when he looked down to realize that his glass was already empty. It felt like he had only just sat down, only just ordered the drink with the slightest hint of chagrin. He merely had to lift his head and the barkeep was over and pouring him another.
At least he seemed a little more compliant this night. Was it so obvious that he really needed it? That he needed to fall into that blessed oblivion after Alfred? He was a grand fool for having been bothered by those women. They must have just escaped from the psych ward or something. Nothing to have been so bothered over. Didn't care how they had known his name, had known anything.
It was probably just his imagination.
Maybe this was the same night. Same bar, different pain, same yearning. That yearning for an escape. Just something to take him away from all of this. The garbled words, the searing pain of losing one he hadn't realized he'd cared so strongly for. All he had to do now was to steal the bottle from the barkeep, had to get in that argument. And when he stormed out, he was positive that he would run smack into that warm chest.
That he would hear that boomingly cheerful voice.
He took another drink and pulled the watch from his coat pocket to check the time, forgetting already that it was broken. And then the hands began to move of their own volition. At a creepy rate. Had to resist the urge to throw it at the wall. But he couldn't do that, this had been a gift...An apparently creepy one.
The time now read ten minutes after eleven and counting.
With the first dull click of the second hand Arthur's vision blurred. He brushed it off as an early effect of the liquor, it did work fast after all. With the second click his head began to pound. Still blamed upon the drink, he pushed the glass subtly away from him.
Click.
It looked almost as if the ivy design was beginning to move and writhe around the clock face.
Click.
Arthur's hand gripped the bar for balance.
Click.
He began to fall.