Chapter 34
It was determined that Alfred should be taken to the emergency room, and only because his parents were stuck in the huge swarm of people in the stands, Arthur was the one who got to ride with him in the ambulance.
"So we've got the American President's kid here, right?" the paramedic asked with a friendly smile. "And you're Prince Arthur, huh?"
"Yes. He took a tackle from a huge player—"
"Yeah, we saw. We've been watching the game up front. Your boyfriend here isn't a very good rugby player, is he?" the paramedic joked, as they removed Alfred's padding and helmet. Arthur fumbled with his own helmet, realizing belatedly that he still had it on.
"He's just…a little awkward. He'll get it eventually," Arthur defended. "Why did he pass out?" Arthur asked, feeling cramped and terrified for Alfred's wellbeing.
"Likely a concussion," the paramedic pulled one of Alfred's eye lids back and waved a small flashlight over his blue orb. It responded to the light, and Alfred began to blink in alarm.
"Artie?" he asked, his speech slurred.
"That's a good sign. The longer they're unconscious, the more severe the concussion, typically." Arthur wormed his hand past the paramedic and gave Alfred's hand a comforting squeeze.
"I'm here, love," he said.
"Try to keep him talking. See if we can determine if there's memory loss."
"Memory loss?" Arthur asked in alarm. On the gurney, Alfred was wincing away from bright lights that weren't actually shining. Looking highly concerned, Arthur leaned over him, into his line of sight.
"Alfred, do you remember what happened?"
"Did you punch me?" he asked. "I know…you were mad…but damn!"
"I didn't punch you! Good grief, you took a tackle from the Falcon's biggest player…to protect me," he added, an exasperated smile fighting past his look of worry. Arthur brushed Alfred's bangs off his forehead tenderly.
"Are'ya still…mad…at…do I have skin?"
"Yeah…he's got a concussion. He might sound a bit loopy for a few hours. Just keep talking to him," the paramedic advised with a small grin.
Highly disturbed, Arthur returned his attention to Alfred.
"Err…yes, love…you still have skin. Are you…err…feeling okay?"
"Artie? Artie? Artie, where are you?"
"Alfred, I'm right here," Arthur said.
"What…what are you wearing?" Alfred asked, sounding highly confused.
"Rugby gear. We were just playing in the game, remember?"
"What game?" Alfred asked. Arthur held back an exasperated sigh.
"The rugby game, love. Your parents flew in, and mine came, too. We won—I think."
"Yeah, you kids won. Congratulations," the paramedic said. "We're almost to the hospital. We'll get him a Head CT just as soon as we get there," he added.
"I dun need another head…I've already got a head…Artie, Artie tell him I've got a head. Artie, I do…still have a head, right?"
"Yes, Alfred, you still have a head," Arthur comforted. Just then, Alfred rolled half-heartedly to his side and puked all over Arthur. He wiped the sick off his mouth and blinked confusedly at the mess he'd made.
"See? I gots a head. I just puked out of it."
"Yes, love…I'm aware of that," Arthur replied thinly. Rather uselessly, the paramedic extended a towel.
"Nausea—symptom of the concussion."
"Lovely," Arthur replied, wiping ineffectually at the stain.
"Now we're even! You…you puked on my suit last night," Alfred said, grinning as if proud of his achievement.
"Last night? What? Oh…he's talking about the holiday ball. That was nearly two months ago," Arthur said.
"He's just confused on his timeline right now. Hopefully, he'll become a little clearer in a few hours. Ah, here we are. I'm going to ask you to slide over there," the paramedic instructed. Arthur moved where he was supposed to and the ambulance pulled to a stop in front of the emergency room. Skillfully, the paramedic driving the ambulance and the one who had ridden with Alfred in the back unloaded the stretcher and wheeled Alfred quickly inside. Arthur struggled out of his soiled pads, stripping down to just the white T-shirt he wore underneath, and left the bulky padding alongside Alfred's in the ambulance.
Probably due to his fame, Alfred was admitted instantly and was taken straight to the room where they'd perform his scan. This was completed fairly quickly, and Alfred was already being set up in a hospital room as his parents and Arthur's parents arrived.
For a few moments, it was pure chaos.
"Is the poor dear alright? This is exactly why I detest rugby! It's just too rough," Mary fretted.
"Mrs. Kirkland?" Alfred asked confusedly. Before she could respond, Alfred's parents distracted him. His father filled up his vision, peering at him curiously.
"Son…son…that was the worst game of rugby I have ever seen in my life. How's your head?"
"Dad?" Alfred asked, appearing highly confused by the fact that now his parents were looming over him.
"Oh, Alfred, you look terrible. Your head is going to need stitches…it's close to your hairline, though, so hopefully the scarring won't be too visible," Helen commented.
"Mom?" Alfred said weakly. He kept wincing, as if someone was repeatedly blinding him with a bright light.
"Have they done a Head CT yet? Patrick had a concussion when he was twelve—"
"I was ten, mum," Patrick argued.
"He's confused and he's got a terrible headache, so you all just need to shut up!" Arthur roared, temporarily restoring calm. He returned to Alfred's side, and gently took the other boy's hand.
"Alfred, the nurse will be in here soon to stitch up the cut on your head. Your parents are here now, so I'm going to go to the waiting room—"
"Don't! Don't leave, Artie, please. I know I made you mad but I'll fix it, okay? Jus'…don't leave," Alfred begged. He sounded so confused and pathetic that nobody had the heart to argue with him. Only two people, however, could stay in the room.
"You stay with him, Helen. You're better at this sort of thing…not by much…but better than me, at any rate. Just keep me posted," Richard said. Helen rolled her eyes.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dick. If he pukes on me…" she trailed off warningly.
Arthur shot her a scowl.
"I think that should be the last thing you're concerned about right now. His brain could be bleeding for all you know," Arthur snapped angrily.
"Arthur…" Mary said nervously, eyeing the way Helen's eyes hardened coldly as she stared down her perfect nose at Arthur.
"Go on now, all of you out. So many people in here is just confusing Alfred. God knows that's easy enough to do on a good day, much less when he's concussed," Helen said coolly.
"Helen…" Richard said, mirroring Mary's warning tone. The well-wishers backed out of the room rather nervously all the same, eyeing the two forces of nature on either side of Alfred's bed as if they might spring forward and viscously attack each other at any moment.
"Arthur! My junk is itching! Matthew said it's the molt!" Alfred blurted out, breaking the tension. Helen looked down at Alfred in total confusion. Arthur rolled his eyes and sat at his bedside, gently taking Alfred's hand in his own.
"You're just a little confused, Alfred. That was last week. Matthew was just playing a practical joke."
"How is Matthew? I must admit, I'm a little surprised. Richard and I were expecting Matthew to be the one dating our son. After all, they seemed so close over Christmas break. I was rather fond of him—such a sweet, quiet boy," Helen mused. Arthur shot her a simpering smile.
"A pushover, you mean to say? No, they are close friends, but Alfred and I are quite happy together."
Helen grinned—it was the grin of a girl who had been queen bee all her life, who had money, fame, good fortune and success as a rule rather than the exception. It was a grin almost as ruthless as it was cold and calculating.
"Well, it's so adorable that you fancy yourself in love with my son, but you are a little young. These things don't last very long at your age," she said, sitting in the small chair next to Alfred's bed and crossing her long legs elegantly. "So I'll still hold out hope for Matthew," she added, rather cruelly. Arthur scowled.
"Err…Artie? This is my mom. Mom…this is my boyfriend," Alfred said, seeming to lapse into clarity for a single moment. Arthur glanced at him with a look of fond exasperation before frowning once more at Helen.
"We've met before, love. The pleasure is all mine," Arthur said, sarcasm obvious. Helen just smirked.
USUK
Aside from the stitches, the head scan revealed that Alfred had a minor concussion and no other injuries beyond the bumps and bruises. Though the hospital was a little reluctant to release him until he was perfectly lucid, considering who he was, a short four hours later he was being discharged with the instructions not to do any strenuous exercise, and that if he fell asleep, someone should wake him up every few hours and talk to him a bit to make sure he was functioning normally.
Jetlagged as they were, Helen and Richard checked into a hotel and Helen reluctantly left this duty to Arthur.
Alfred had slowly regained more clarity, and by the time they reached the dorm, he was walking fine and seemed to remember who he was and what had happened recently.
"That was…crazy," Alfred said. He still sounded incredibly sleepy. His arm was draped over Arthur's shoulders, and the smaller boy was using it as an excuse to cuddle against Alfred's side. Arthur was exhausted and irritable, and he'd be perfectly happy if he never saw Helen Jones ever again.
"Your mother was horrid," Arthur complained, rather petulantly. Alfred sighed, but he gave Arthur's shoulders a loving squeeze.
"She was just playing games with you and trying to tear you down—it's what she does when she feels threatened," Alfred replied. Arthur blinked in surprise.
"I think the concussion might have made you smarter," he said. Alfred grinned.
"I think so, too. I'm probably a genius now. Quick. Ask me something."
"What's the square root of 144?"
"Err...never mind," Alfred replied with a chuckle. Arthur stretched onto his toes and kissed Alfred's cheek.
"You're not dumb. It's 12, though, for future reference."
"I know she can be…difficult…at times, but try not to fight with her too much while she's here, okay? I love you like crazy, and nothing she says is going to change that. She'll warm up to you eventually. I think it's just weird for my parents seeing how much I've changed this year. They're gonna need some time to adjust," Alfred said logically.
"…fine." Arthur agreed, with a pouty frown. Alfred smiled charmingly at him and stole a kiss.
"Thank you, Artie. I love you," he said.
"I love you, too…even though you puked on me and passed out leaving me trapped in a room with your mother for four hours. She made fun of my eyebrows, and she heavily implied that I had split ends, I'll have you know," Arthur grumbled. For once, he was the one who sounded adorably insecure. Grinning, Alfred opened their door and stumbled gratefully towards the bed. He toed off his shoes and collapsed, his silky blond hair splaying over the pillow and his long arms stretching out all akimbo.
"Thinking 'bout your eyebrows in history the other day got me totally hard. You're so cute when you get all angry and you scrunch them up and frown—like a little storm cloud or something."
"I'm going to just pretend that's the concussion still talking," Arthur said, undressing down to his briefs before crawling into bed next to Alfred. He set the alarm on his phone and let his green eyes drift shut. Alfred's arm curled around his shoulders, loving and protective.
They'd officially survived the rugby season, and coming out to their parents, as impossible as both things had seemed. Both of them had definitely earned their three hours of worry-free sleep.
USUK
Lunch the following day was a completely weird affair. Alfred's father had insisted on taking him and his school friends out to lunch, to meet them all, and Alfred had insisted that Ivan come, too. It was the first time he'd ever stood up to his father, and watching the exchange was enough to make Arthur have a nervous breakdown.
"Alright, everyone ready to head out to lunch?" Richard asked, surveying the rag-tag group assembled outside the gates of the school. Alfred had cleared his throat.
"Not yet. Ivan and Yao aren't here yet. I told them earlier and they said they'd be able to make it."
"They might have gotten busy with other plans, dear. I'm sure they wouldn't want to hold everyone up," Helen simpered. Alfred turned his brand new look of determination on his mother.
"We're waiting for them, or we're not going at all."
"Alfred! That's quite a tone to take with us, considering we've flown all this way and—"
"Mom, it'd be really rude to leave them here after I invited them. You wouldn't want to be rude, right?" Alfred said. Inwardly, Arthur was cheering like crazy for him. He couldn't quite hold back the victorious little smirk that he shot at Helen. Richard seemed torn between upset that his wife and son were bickering, and pride that Alfred was actually standing up to her for once.
"Well, here they come now, so that solves that, I suppose," Richard announced, drawing attention to the approach of Ivan and Yao. Their arrival made their group eight in total—Francis and Matthew, Ivan and Yao, Alfred and Arthur, and Alfred's parents.
"So is Yao your only girl friend, kiddo?" Richard asked. Luckily, Ivan and Yao had not quite come within hearing range.
"Dad…Yao's a dude," Alfred informed, embarrassed for his father's mistake. Matthew hid a giggle behind his hand and Francis grinned.
"Gotcha. Okay, well…no buddies from the rugby team?" Richard asked. Arthur and Francis exchanged a glance, as if saying 'Is this guy for real?' His distaste for the friends Alfred had made was painfully obvious.
Helen, however, was giving Matthew so much attention that it was starting to freak him out.
"I love your outfit, dear. Not just anyone can carry Christian Lacroix," she praised. Matthew blushed, glancing demurely at Francis, who seemed to be equally interested in Helen.
"Um…I borrowed it from Francis, actually. He knows a lot about designers. I don't really know all that much by comparison," Matthew said bashfully. Helen smiled beautifully at him and Matthew was made uncomfortable by how intently she was staring at him. She certainly hadn't seemed so interested in him over Christmas break.
"Then you have a good eye, and an excellent stylist. Do you do your own hair?" she asked.
"Helen, they're supposed to be teenage boys. Can you give it a rest? You're embarrassing the poor kid," Richard complained. Helen glanced at him sharply before turning her angelic smile back on Matthew.
"Just ignore him, dear. He's really very uncultured—he has no appreciation for the fashion world."
"Such a shame. It is truly the most beautiful and innovative art form we have today," Francis said. Helen's attention shifted to him, her eyes lighting up at his accent, and Matthew sighed a bit in relief. Yao and Ivan finally reached them, and Helen and Francis's fashion discussion extended into the car ride—the spoke in French, thankfully, sparing the rest of them from the tedious topic (except Matthew, who pretended like he didn't understand so he didn't shift Helen's creepy focus back on himself).
While Helen and Francis lost themselves in name dropping and a discussion of French fashion, Richard finally got the chance to catch up with his son.
"So about that game…" Richard began. Alfred smiled in a way that was obviously fake and tried to shift the topic.
"I bet you wanna know how I met everyone! Well, I joined student council and that's where—"
"We gotta get you in a good football camp this summer, son. You were awful out there. What the heck was going through your head?" Richard asked. "Right before the half-time—"
"Oh! When he fumbled that pass at the goal line? Your dad is right, Alfred. That was bad—even for you," Ivan said. Richard's eyes flashed to the huge boy challengingly.
"We haven't been introduced yet. I'm Richard—you can call me Mr. Jones, though."
"I am Ivan. Nice to meet you…Dick," Ivan replied. "That is the American way of shortening that name, is it not? You Americans have such interesting naming customs. You see, when I was learning English, I was taught that dick was what you called your—"
"I'd prefer Mr. Jones," Richard replied, with a smile that was obviously displeased. Ivan just smiled cheerily. Arthur and Alfred exchanged a nervous look. Yao shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He whispered something quickly to Ivan in a mash-up of Chinese and Russian, but the bigger boy just grinned even more.
"So…Prince Arthur, right? How long have you been…err…with my son?"
"Oh, um, we've been together almost a month now," Arthur said. Alfred flashed him a smile.
"I'll be our one month anniversary in just two days! Exciting!" Alfred said with a sappy grin. Richard's eye twitched, and his smile appeared even more forced.
"That's…just great. Any chance it's, ya know, just a phase?" Richard asked.
"Excuse me?" Arthur replied. Richard cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.
"Not trying to offend boys. We've just…uh…never had a gay in the family before. I'm curious, that's all."
"Dad…can't we just talk about something else?" Alfred asked a little desperately. He was dark red, and he was glaring over Arthur's head at Ivan for chuckling at his discomfort. Matthew, who was feeling all the tension more than anyone, broke into a coughing fit and then pointed weakly at the tinted window.
"Weather! We…err…we've been having some, eh?" he said. Francis paused in his conversation with Helen to glance at Matthew as if he were a slow-witted child.
"Excuse him. He gets nervous easily," Francis said. Arthur, however, jumped gratefully on the topic.
"No, he's quite right. The rain has been dreadful for this late in January. I was rather hoping the game would be rained out—" Arthur came this close to actually slapping his hand over his own mouth, but it was too late. The damage had been done.
"Right! The game—like I was saying, son, when you go for those Springbok Loops ya gotta watch your left side. You can't—"
"I know, Dad. I'll close the line, next time. What restaurant are we going to?" Alfred asked.
"Don't think you can get outta this. I came to see your game, and we're gonna have a heart to heart about it before I leave. I don't know about the restaurant—your mother picked it. It's probably overpriced with tiny little portions."
"Dick," Helen warned, "I heard that," she said with a sweet smile. "You know I'm only trying to help you watch your figure, dear. You've been splurging on wheat bread for months now—all those carbs are going to go straight to your love handles," she simpered.
"I do not have love handles, Helen. I'm in the best shape of my life. Too bad the doc benched you, Al. I could have run some plays with you while I'm in town."
"Yeah…darn," Alfred said, sounding far too relieved. Arthur barely bit back a grin.
An awkward silence fell, only broken by their arrival at the restaurant.
"Thank god," Arthur whispered to Matthew. They were the last two to climb out of the car, and they had fallen behind the others. "At least now we'll have food as a distraction," Arthur added. Matthew nodded gratefully, his eyes huge and traumatized.
"Helen was…forceful…on her own, but the two of them together—it's like being dropped naked into a cage with two hungry tigers. I can't handle pressure like this! How did Alfred grow up with them?" Matthew whispered.
"He's lucky he grew up at all. I have a feeling that in the wild, mothers like Helen tend to eat their young," Arthur grumbled.
"Yeah! What the heck is up with her staring at me so much? I feel like she's raping me with her eyes," Matthew said. Arthur gave the nervous boy a gentle pat on his shoulder in comfort.
"She's decided she'd rather see Alfred dating you than me—though now she'll probably have her sights fixed on Francis. Too bad for her, Francis isn't entirely convinced yet that Alfred isn't a unique breed of hairless monkey."
"Arthur…Francis and Alfred are friends…kind of," Matthew defended weakly.
"Oh come off it. Francis takes Alfred for an idiot, and Alfred still hasn't forgiven Francis for putting the moves on me."
"Geez, this whole thing is just ridiculously awkward. I'm going to be busy the next time they visit," Matthew whispered. Then he sighed. "One of us needs to save Alfred—his dad's back on the game again," Matthew realized. Completely ignoring Yao and Ivan nearby, Richard was now gesturing wildly as he recounted the game with a play by play memory, lambasting Alfred for every fumble, misstep, and awkward pass. Alfred was just taking it, seemingly well-accustomed to how his father reacted to sports and, in particular, his athletic performances.
Arthur frowned. "I'll handle it—I can't believe this wanker has the entire American populace so duped."
"He's really a brilliant politician—just a lousy dad," Matthew said weakly. Arthur just shook his head and returned to Alfred's side, where he insisted the taller boy accompany him to the restroom.
"What are you—ten year old girls? I thought only women had to go to the restroom in pairs," Richard joked, though it was obvious he was annoyed by the interruption. Looking a little confused by Arthur's request, Alfred excused himself with a pleading look at Ivan not do anything stupid in his absence.
Ivan just smirked and waved.
As soon as Alfred and Arthur were in the bathroom, Alfred smiled. He actually smiled.
"It's going really well, huh?"
Arthur's mind boggled.
"…pardon?"
"Yeah! I mean, I can't believe my dad actually let Ivan come, and when he called him Dick I thought my dad was gonna punch him in the face. He's totally keeping his cool, though! He hasn't even yelled at me once! I'm super glad he's getting to meet all of you. I bet he's in such a good mood 'cause he's really proud of me for making so many friends this year."
"I…Alfred…" Arthur honestly didn't know what to say. To avoid having to say anything, he focused on his zipper and the urinal.
"And my mom! She totally loves Francis! And did you see how nice she was being to Matthew? That's a huge improvement since they last met. They're both trying really hard. It's nice, ya know?" Alfred continued. Arthur actually physically winced.
"Oh, Alfred…I'm glad you're having a good visit," he settled on saying. Some tiny, panicked part of his brain jumped to five years in the future. Would Alfred want to live in the states? What if he wanted to live near his parents? What if (oh god) they adopted a child some day, and then Arthur never got any peace from them? They'd take their little girl to a soccer game and there would be Richard—screaming in the stands and bickering with Helen over their ridiculous health food.
"Alfred…you know England has some of the world's absolute best universities, right?" Arthur said. His boyfriend (who had occupied himself washing his hands) blinked at him confusedly.
"Err…that's nice," he said. Arthur thought of his non-existent little six-year-old clutching her soccer ball and crying as Richard shouted at her and he spaced out at the urinal. "Artie? Earth to Artie? You still in there?" Alfred asked. Arthur just glanced at him, and did up his pants. He washed his hands, still with that uncomfortable look of mild horror on his face.
"I'm just thinking about something, that's all," Arthur said distractedly.
"Oh…'bout what?" Alfred asked.
"Nothing. Our future children," he said dismissively, drying his hands and leaving the bathroom. Alfred saw his own shocked expression in the mirror.
"Kids?" he mouthed incredulously. Racing out of the bathroom after Arthur, he only managed a quick, "Why are you already thinking about kids?" before they had to sit down and rejoin the table's conversations.
Finally, finally, the food arrived and Arthur was saved from having to make further conversation thanks to his tiny, over-priced entre. He'd never been so grateful towards a plate of food in his life.
A/N: lol, I gotta say, I really love Dick and Helen. They're such fun characters to write. God, they're just terrible. Even I feel sorry for Arthur after this chapter. And, as always, there's Alfred: completely clueless. Hope this chapter was fun in one of those 'zomg poor boys' kind of way. ;)