Chapter One: All But Lost

A/N: The RP that's spawned this fan fiction is finally finished, so I can begin typing. I do hope the prologue wasn't misleading and kept your interest, and sorry for the gap between that chapter and this one. To avoid any confusion, I've started this fiction like a Quentin Tarantino movie, placing a glimpse from a random story as the prologue and then going back to start at the beginning. So here goes, I do hope you enjoy. Also, so you're aware, the fic is in Arthur/England's POV.

Warning: Human names used.

Disclaimer: Don't own. :T

--SadoMasochist



The date is October 15th, 2009 at roughly 3:00. Not a particularly important date by any means, in any country so far as I know. Being always punctual, I had gone to sleep at my usual time of 22:00, though a particularly nasty storm had woken me from my slumber and now I couldn't sleep. Naturally, the first thing I went to do was to put the kettle on.

Leaning against the counter, I mused to myself aloud. It may be a sign of insanity, though truthfully I could care less. No one was around and it was a habit I had picked up around the early 18th century; something more than two centuries old would not die so easily. "I wonder.... I'm... Let's see, five hours ahead of where Alfred's house is? So it's roughly ten o'clock there, and knowing the insufferable git he's still on his computer talking to Gilbert or Matthew."

I sighed softly, looking down to the kettle and waiting for it to sound. "I suppose he wouldn't want to talk to me before going to bed..."

I blinked as a rather sleepy faerie buzzed by, arms crossed behind her head lazily and her eyes half closed as she fluttered in the air. "Oh, bugger it."

Pushing off of the counter, I stretched and yawned, scrunching up my face. "It's not like I have anything else to do," I muttered to myself once I steadied. "Besides, maybe talking to him will make me tired enough to where I'll be able to doze off later."

Padding over to the parlour, I sighed softly and, still blinking the sleep from my eyes, scanned the room for my computer in the semi-darkness. It was, of course, in its usual spot and I found it easily. "Hopefully this blinking thing is charged," I muttered to myself as I brought it with me out into the kitchen. Of course, there was no way it possibly couldn't be as I left it on the charger cord every night before I went to bed. Still, my voice was a bittersweet company, you understand. It made me feel not quite so alone.

The kettle sounded just as I prepared to sit down and I groaned slightly, pressing the power button on the laptop before trudging over to the stove. In all actuality it was quite pleasing to hear the kettle sound, and while I was grousing to the air I was actually quite content. The linoleum was cool beneath my bare feet and the promise of a nice, warm cup of earl grey to sit between my frosted fingers was soothing. It was early mornings like these that made life more bearable.

Going about fixing the drink, I sighed softly, thinking. Things between Alfred and I had been a great deal less tense lately, and we had even begun visiting at the very least once a month to the other's house. I was looking forward to him coming over in a few days' time; just under a fortnight left before Halloween and, as always, we were planning on trying to out-scare each other. A small, confident grin spread across my face at this thought because, as always, I planned to win. I always won.

Bringing the tea to my seat at the supper table, I took a small sip and let out a long, contented sigh. I supposed I lived for peaceful nights like this, away from all the raucous bustling of the world meetings and all the noise of the creatures that resided in my home. I could easily listen to a nice, slow violin quartet through my speakers during one of these times and truly just relax.

In the hopes of doing just so, I clicked on the small icon indicating my music player and pressed play once the program loaded, sighing and listening to one of my more pleasant pieces of music. After that, I clicked on another icon, the only other one on my desktop (Which, by the way, had a photograph of Francis, Matthew, Alfred, and I standing in front of Matthew's Niagara Falls. Oh, how sentimental my old heart could be.) and waited for the program to load.

My suspicions of Alfred still being awake talking to Gilbert were proven, as a small box popped up onto my screen. Reading it aloud to myself, I smiled. "Hey, Arty! Aren't you usually sleeping by now? You old man, it's only ten."

Chuckling I replied, telling him to mind the time difference and how it was 3 in the morning. Our conversation was light and flighty, teasing each other and talking about his ever-nearing visit. Sometime around 6:00, the other declared it was his bedtime. I smiled slightly, typing out a reply. "Yes, you stupid git. It's 2 in the morning there, am I right? You should have well been off at least two hours ago!"

His sarcastic reply made me smile and I sighed, replying once more. "Well, I should be off anyway.... I've chores to do. And next time I can't sleep, don't let me keep you. Good night, sweet dreams, and see you on Saturday."

As we said our goodbyes, I smiled. Today would be a good day, I decided. Oh, if only I had known how wrong I was.


As soon as I closed the door to my home, I leaned against it and sighed. My eyes were the smallest bit closed, and I was rather exhausted. I was the smallest bit concerned because I hadn't heard from Alfred all day. Usually he called me at some point to irk the living piss out of me and we'd have a fight. Or, if he were in a bad mood, to get some comfort. It was extremely rare that I didn't get a phone call from the lad, and being that it was nearly 8 in the evening I didn't expect to get one anytime soon.

Being that I had been forced into a dinner with Francis, I wasn't hungry in the least and so I decided to see if Alfred was online. My phone was dead, anyway, and I didn't have the slightest motivation to go all the way upstairs just to get the charger. With nothing but rest in mind, I sat in one of my rather large easy chairs and booted up my computer. Once it loaded up, I clicked on the messenger to see if he was on. Disappointingly enough, the boy wasn't, and I was left to wonder.

Sighing, I logged into my art account on this rather nifty website called deviantArt. While I wasn't as good an artist as the frog or that Italian, I could draw decently and I had decided to share my work once Alfred convinced me to. Of course, and though I'd never admit this anywhere in my thoughts, I am terrible at technology and Alfred showed me how to use the website and what to do with posting up the pictures. But, I digress.

When I logged into the account, there was a polaroid that made my heart stop in its course once I clicked onto it. It was a picture of Alfred.... Yes, Alfred, laying on the ground unconscious with Ivan's faucet pipe against his head. Someone's jerky, scrawled handwriting across the bottom said in English, "What pretty colors, da?"

Without hardly a second thought, I grabbed a few precious things and got them ready for flight.