Suuuuuper long update for you guys! Sorry it took so long, I've been so busy!


I don't think in all my life I had been more desperate to hear the click of someone answering on the other line than I had at that moment. Despite all my talk of never giving in or resigning hope, I was tired and without even realizing it I had reached my breaking point. All the things running through my mind convinced me to give in to the temptation, despite the dire need to save the battery and knowing full well that calling someone would waste it. However, holding that small, heavenly machine in my hand reminded me just how far the need for a comforting, familiar voice could stretch, and I allowed myself to finally be weak, listening to the rings.

It wasn't until the third ring that the phone was picked up, and I could hear the hesitance in the voice coming from the other end. "Hallo…? Arthur…. Or…?"

I closed my eyes, a small smile breaking on to my face for the first time in ages. The deep, smooth, accented voice filled me with pleased warmth that I hadn't expected in the least, and I let out a wheezing yet grateful chuckle. How I had taken that voice for granted, I won't ever remember…. "I-It's me…"

"Kirkland," came the reply, his voice a bit hopeful. "If… You are calling, then… You are…?"

I blinked, my eyes fluttering back open as I reached up and pulled the blanket off of the stone bench with one hand, shuddering as I wrapped it around my body. The need to cry was overwhelming, but I held it in, whispering softly (partially past the lump in my throat and partially with how difficult it was to breathe), "Fr-Francis… I'm okay…. Buh-banged up a bit…"

A small, bitter laugh clawed itself through the wreckage of my throat, sounding more like a raspy bark than anything. "But okay."

I cleared my throat, wincing. So much pain… So, so much pain… All the same, I had no idea how much time I had before Ivan came back and, letting my guard down enough to call Francis… Hell, even hearing his voice… It may have been a bad idea, because by letting go of the grim stubbornness I held for so long had forced me into a panicky state… Like the one I had been noticing in myself through the flinching away from Alfred's touch or the jittery nature of my movements, though tenfold. I forced myself to hiss out a warning. "Li-listen…" I shuddered, a million possible outcomes flashing through my mind as I spoke. A small, questioning hum sounded over the line along with the sound of footsteps, and I fancied him pacing as I once more began to talk. "I m-may have called you, but…"

I shivered once more, almost dropping the phone as I muttered, "Bloody hell, it's cold," and, re-situating the phone, continued the warning. "But don't fucking call me… I-If my phone goes off and I-Ivan's in here…"

I trailed off; knowing we both knew what I was getting at. He responded slowly, the grimace on his face clear in his voice. You only need know someone for so long before you can read them as a favourite novel and, well, Francis was one of those people for me. We may have been and still are rivals, but always we have been brothers first and foremost (not by blood, no, and both of us were eager to point this out, but brothers all the same.) and if anyone knew how to keep me hanging on, it was he. But, I digress. The words that travelled through the line were tense, worried, and saddened. Instantly I felt the urge to comfort him, but waited for him to finish speaking. "M-Mon frère… I can hardly hear you as it is… You do not sound as well as you let on…"

He paused for a moment, a loud intake of breath sounding over the phone as if he had realized something. "Be certain to clear your call history after this call, Arthur." Francis' voice was urgent as he spoke. "I would not put it past Ivan to confiscate your mobile."

I assured him that I would, his concern and urgency getting to me in my vulnerable state. The tears I had been holding back slowly began their course down my ruddy and filth-covered cheeks, a small sniffle sound from me before I could stop the damned thing. "I-I'm okay… Just a bit winded… Wanker stomped on my chest… Wh-when I wouldn't scream."

I coughed with the effort of talking, thinking back to when I had willingly come here. So much was my courage and valor, a hero complex rivaling Alfred's shining from me like the gleam of light off of polished chainmail and armor. It almost hurt worse than the wheezing breaths forcing their way from my chest, realizing how far gone my pride was. "B-but enough of that," I said quickly, changing the subject as I always did when something bothered me. "How are you?"

A small, uncomfortable laugh came through the phone. He knew I was trying to keep up my proper British gentleman normalcy shite, and I knew he wouldn't follow it. Still, I tried. "Good… F-for that, though... I am proud to call you mon frère."

He paused for a moment, his voice becoming a bit gentler even as it shook with restraint. "I am in much better condition than you quite obviously. Et… Alfred… What has happened to the poor boy?"

Alfred. The reminder of my boy forced my guard even lower and I let out a tired sob. "Oh, Francis… I d-don't know, I… I… Oh, dear…"

Francis, as I knew he would, caught on to my distress and sighed softly. I wondered what my temporary breakdown was doing to him… What was going on in his pretty, pampered head? "I… See… Kirkland… Arthur, you need to bring him back…"

I could hear the hesitance of his voice. He paused for a long while, which did nothing but further my panic. In my mounting hysteria I could feel my breath shorten even more and I began to hyperventilate, my chest aching and my eyes beginning to shed tears in a faster rate. "You… are unfortunately the only one who can do it… If I were there… Mon Dieu… I would no doubt have broken long ago…"

My response came quick, shallow and rushed, my mind whirring as I barely realized what I was saying. The small, detached part of me screamed for me to calm, but I ignored the desperate plea and whined as I gasped for air. "I h-haven't broken… I h-haven't even screamed yet…"

I shuddered, thinking back on the day's events. My whole body ached, and I was so mentally drained… So far away from the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland that I had been… I was so weak; so bloody disgustingly weak. I could feel myself unraveling quickly, throwing my carefully built guards and defenses to the side the longer I spoke to him. It was disconcerting to know that such defenses could be so easily penetrated… "F-Francis," I admitted softly, trying to calm my breathing, "Francis I'm scared… H-he… Alfred… He's started calling me Comrade… S-stopped speaking… He's… He's thanked Ivan today… I… Oh, god…"

The little control I had gained over my breathing went away, leaving me to hyperventilate painfully as my vision swam and I tried desperately to keep my sobs inside. Speaking of Alfred's condition made it more real; drove it deep into my heart because by telling Francis, I was admitting it, and by admitting it I was inherently admitting my own failure. I focused on Francis' voice, using that as my rock. "M-mon Dieu… That… Poor boy…"

His voice was concerned, and I could only imagine what he thought of me at this point… We had once fought for 100 years, me winning almost every single time, and I had gone from that brutish, pig-headed, strong lad to sobbing to him over the phone. The shame I felt knew no bounds. "Arthur… I am afraid for you… If… If Alfred is that far gone, you may… have to abandon him temporarily…"

There was a slight pause, but what he had said next went over my head. I could never abandon Alfred. The thought made my heart sink and a quiet sob finally wrenched free of the lump in my throat; the straw that broke the camel's back. "I can't leave him…"

My voice was hoarse and brittle, cracking along with my dignity and pride. "The plan can't go into effect until… Until I can get him back…"

More tired and small sobs fell from my lips as I wheezed, quiet except for those sounds. I felt like so much filth, lying on that stone floor with nothing but rags and a blanket covering my battered body. "I-I apologize… I kn-know you hate me… for… this. Me wh-whining is probably… the last thing you want to hear…"

I choked on my words, continuing to let out those small, pained sobbing sounds. It was quiet for a moment, the only sounds either bouncing from the walls and made by quiet, pacing footsteps sounding over the earpiece or myself. "That…"

A small, hurt and frustrated huff came through, interrupting his pause, and I winced. Don't hang up on me, Francis; I need you, I thought desperately as I listened to that exasperated sound. I need you to help me pull through this thing. I relaxed (if only a fraction) when his voice came in a low murmur. "Non… Mon frère… I can… appreciate one who fights against his oppressors for l'amour. "

His words somehow made everything ground and sink in; everything I had worked so hard to forget was happening and to leave in the dust of that mirrored room… My crying, sniveling, and sobbing grew slightly louder in my distress, and I admitted something that, had I been in the right state of mind, would never have left my lips. "God... I never thought I'd… S-say this… But I… I bl-bloody miss you… You stupid fucking frog…"

A shallow, dry laugh sounded over the phone; a sound of disbelief and grief. "I am lost without my daily bothering of you, mon frère."

His voice lowered, sounding nearly as strained as I fancied mine to be. "Don't cry, Arthur, don't cry…"

Pulling the blankets closer around me as I shivered, I wiggled further back against the wall; sniffling miserably and returning the request with my own dry whisper. The sound of my tortured voice vaguely brought the sight of a cemetery in the autumn to mind, the picture of dead leaves rustling against gravestones in the wind burned into my inner eye. "God, Francis… I've… I've n-ever felt so we-weak… Not even… Not even then."

Visions of Alfred standing tall in a red, white and blue coat mixed with the cemetery and blurred together, the distant memory of musket fire and pain nearly stopping my breath. My worst memory was not nearly so bad as the present… I was interrupted from my reverie as that smooth, sultry voice cut through my thoughts once more. Damn that voice. Damn it to hell, and damn him too. Damn everything. Damn it all and just let me die… "Non, Kirkland. Do not think about then. You are not weak, mon frère. Torture is meant to do this. Please…"

His voice was strong and resolute, a slightly desperate edge to it. "You are stronger than you think… To not scream.... After only God know what has been done to you… Non… Non. To go voluntarily… It is beyond brave."

Another weak and hopeless sob fell from my lips and I dimly wondered if I sounded as hopeless and pathetic as I felt; a large and sudden burst of shame eating into my core. "I-I…"

I desperately tried to get my mind to stop whirring, to maybe make some sense and to hold on to the logic I treasured so much in myself. I was tactical, not emotional… "I apologize, c-calling you up like this…"

"D-do not apologize for something like that! Mon Dieu!"

I could hear his shaking breaths, and his murmured apology also hit my ears but secretly I was thankful for the sudden outburst. It woke me up a bit and I slowly began to once more calm myself, wiping at my bloodshot eyes. "N-no… I know, Francis…"

A heavy silence fell between us for a few moments, silence swallowing any words that yearned to be said. A scream echoed through the hallway and I snapped once more. "I'll bloody kill that fucking wanker!"

The words echoed off of the stonewalls, but I couldn't remember saying them even as I began to try and stand and once more beat at the heavy oak door. Scared pleading came through the phone but I couldn't tell you what was said as I fell back to the floor. "He's screaming--!"

Loud sobs came from me, jarring my broken body and forcing me to curl into a ball. It hurt so much, hearing those screams, and I couldn't do anything to stop them. My boy, my sweet, dear lad, was hurting and it was my fault for being so weak as to not be able to whisk him away as I had promised. A twisted mantra echoes both around my head and around the room as I repeated what I felt. "Take me instead…. Wh-why… why can't he… Take me instead… Leave Alfred alone… T-take me... Take me…"

The Frenchman (amazingly having not hung up on me yet, I thought—how the oddest things echo through your mind when the small detached part of yourself watches the rest of you shut down.) murmured soft, comforting things to me, and while I could not tell you what was said, his voice was an anchor and I held onto it for dear life. "Please… K-keep talking…"

I am sure this was just as hard for him as it was I, but he showed fortitude I could not at this point. He spoke, his voice gradually getting a bit frantic and panicked by the end of his small speech. All the same, the words calmed me a bit- his praise so ludicrous coming from him that it made me calm as I listened. "Euh… When in times of such… euh… Tragedy… We sing to raise moral, non? Ah… Distract yourself from the nightmare you are in. Mon frère… I have faith that your love will bring Alfred back. Don't give Ivan the pleasure of winning. I know you can do this. Long live King Arthur, non!?"

His last words even went so far as to wrench a small laugh from my raw and bleeding throat. "L-long live King Arthur? Oh, my ego."

The attempt was weak, but I was trying to sound as I used to before this hell had began. "Oui! Long live King Arthur! You earned such a title! And rightly place your ego highly! Mon frère, you are bloody fucking England. Bloody fucking Great Britain! Some Russian tosser could never kill you. I have faith, Lord Kirkland."

I held the phone so hard my hand was beginning to go numb. The British slang rolling off of his tongue in that accent was odd and hardly expected, but comforting. Francis, you goddamned frog, you're amazing. I'm glad to call you my brother. God, you do too much for me…Thank you, Francis, thank you so much… "Indeed, this Russian nancy doesn't have shit on me! Yes, yes, I'm so much stronger than this! After all, I was a bleeding pirate!"

We both knew my words were false confidence; simply talking of past achievements to try and remember what a fighting spirit was. "Ou-Oui. Oui… Oui. A b-bloody pirate to the core."

I could feel a shadow of confidence returning to me and I held on to it desperately, my tears stopping as I responded. "No one messes with the royal fucking British Empire."

The air fell silent and I listened to his breathing, eyes fluttering open as I pulled the blanket closer. My body shivered violently, the small window at the top of the cell saying whispers of the night. "Francis…"

His voice was soft and soothing as he answered, and it brought a smile to my face. "Oui… Mon roi… My King… I am still here."

"You do too much for me…"

Francis, as I had stated, was a good friend and a brother as much as he was my rival. There is no England without France around to piss him off, Ireland had said to me once. There could not have been a truer statement ever uttered. He jokingly, and… well, characteristically even… asked me for something inappropriate to repeat. I shook my head, laughing a bit. The sound was odd, having not heard or uttered even a chuckle in… Days? Months? Years? I didn't know anymore. "Even if you were serious, there's nothing sexy about shivering in a Soviet jacket whilst wrapped in a wool blanket."

We went back and forth with small comments, until he paused and murmured, "Everything will be made right again…"

"I certainly hope you're right, frog…"

I smiled slightly, remembering a happier time not so long ago. I had gotten drunk and Francis was hanging around, and he had found me pissed. So, he did what any frog would do- Threw me into the shower at a freezing cold temperature and then brought me to my bedroom, hugging me to keep me warm after helping me change out of my sopping wet clothes. "God… Remember… That time I got drunk… And you threw me in the shower? And then Alfred found us on the bed?"

I closed my eyes, remembering how Alfred had kissed me. He was insanely jealous, even though it was apparent that nothing had happened… The damned frog was just being a good brother again. My eyes began to sting once more. "You laughed at me all night until you fell asleep… Because I kept complaining I was hot…"

I could feel myself relaxing, though I felt even sorer from my muscles having been tense for so long. "H-how long ago was that?"

"Mon roi… That was not long ago… It… Must have been under a month."

Well, I'll be damned. I sighed softly, replying, "It feels like years…"

"Mon Dieu… Désolé."

A quiet yawn tumbled from my lips and I murmured what we both knew, to which he replied with something sweet. For a while we talked like old friends but, as we all know, all good things must come to an end. Footsteps began to echo down the corridor, but there was no sound of dragging or another pair of feet… And so my stomach turned in knots and my muscles tensed once more. "He's coming for me, Francis. I have to go now."

"I… I'm sorry, mon frère. I love you, little brother. Don't get caught… Call me whenever you can."

I assured him that I would and hung up quickly, turning off the phone and chucking it under the stone bench as I waited for my fate to show in the door. Resolve strengthened, I was ready to take on anything… Especially that Russian and his bloody pipe. I vowed to give him hell for hurting Alfred and would risk anything to hurt Ivan… Even my life.

The door swung open to reveal the bulky silhouette.