Chapter 25

The two weeks of Christmas break should have been a time for everyone to cool off and all the hype of the Hallway to die down. At least, that's what Alfred had been desperately hoping would happen. Arthur had gone home for the holidays, as had most of the students on campus, including Alfred.

It was his first time to be home for Christmas in the White House, and it was a never-ending stream of press engagements and appointments. His parents dragged him around everywhere—insisting it was owed to them because of his poor behavior choices that had called their parenting into question. Alfred hated it, but he felt guilty for getting arrested and hurting his father's reputation, so he did what he was told.

The story broke nationally, regrettably, when Alfred and his parents were on a popular talk show. His mother was promoting her agenda—health and fitness for Americans—while his father was there to toss out glib, polished talking points about the strengthening economy and how this holiday season would be one of the best yet for American families. The segment was supposed to end with them all working with the host to make a healthy version of a popular holiday dish while fielding questions from the audience.

At least, that's how it was supposed to go.

"So, First Lady, this all looks amazing. What White House recipe are you sharing with us today?" the hostess asked chipperly. Alfred and his father stood nearby the spread of ingredients, both dressed in cutesy holiday aprons, both of them wishing they were just about anywhere else. They both smiled, however, as if the prospect of spending all morning making butternut squash soup was the most exciting thing ever. As Helen twittered on about the nutrients found in squash, a few people in the audience began to check their phones. Alfred only noticed it because the show's manager was doing it as well.

Alfred could feel his father's sharp gaze honed in on the manager—he had good instincts and he could sense something was wrong. Obliviously, the talk show hostess and Helen continued cooking, but Alfred and his father exchanged a look of curiosity. In his pocket, Alfred's phone began to vibrate incessantly.

For some strange reason, Alfred thought for a split-second that it might be Arthur calling. He knew he wasn't even supposed to have his phone on him, much less check it during a live show, but his curiosity was burning as more and more guests started checking their phones, even passing them around to show other guests. Finally, unable to resist, Alfred pulled his phone out and saw it was Matthew calling him, but he had about 50 text messages from people at school.

Finally, Helen and the talk show hostess realized something was up. Smoothly, the hostess cut to an audience member with a phone.

"Has something happened? Everyone in the audience seems to be very interested in their phones all the sudden," she commented with a fake smile.

"Oh god," Alfred's voice said weakly. His father's hand gripped his shoulder tightly once Richard realized what his son was reading.

"Give me that," he demanded, snatching the phone and reading the text Alfred had been sent by Ashley, of all people, one of his old friends.

Alfie, ur ex's sex tape is blowing up! Did you know?

"Alfred, you have about five seconds to tell me that you did not make a sex tape with that fruity British kid," Richard whispered directly into Alfred's ear. Alfred was shaking his head wildly, almost knocking his glasses off, at the same time frantically trying to remember if somehow he and Arthur could have ever been taped during an intimate moment.

"Okay, so this is related to Alfred Jones, who of course, we just so happen to have here with us today. I'm hearing that we have the clip in question. Can we get it on the screen?" the hostess was asking. Helen, however, was shaking her head.

"Excuse me, but this is not what my family agreed to cover today. If some sort of scandal is breaking, we deserve to face it in the privacy of our home and come to terms with it as a family first," Helen argued. Alfred opened up his browser on his phone, trying to search for what was going on, but seconds later it became unnecessary. The talk show's partnering news station appeared on one of the set's television screens and broke the story.

"The world was shocked to discover that a video of Prince Arthur of Britain has gone viral this morning. Audiences may recall last year, when another video was released of Prince Arthur getting a controversial piercing. Now, it appears that a video of Prince Arthur performing a sex act has been released. The royal family could not be reached for a statement, but their press secretary has said they believe this to be the work of Prince Arthur's stalker, who still remains at large. The police are investigating, though many suspect it was Prince Arthur himself who released the video."

The clip ended and the audience broke out in conversations. Alfred could practically feel the cameras zooming in on his face to capture his every emotion. Much to Richard's embarrassment, it was almost instant tears. Alfred tried to hold them back, but the realization of what was happening—Arthur being violated again, in a whole new painful way—made him so emotional he didn't know what to say or do. For a few moments, he just stood as tears began to pool in his eyes.

The hostess of the talk show was on him in a second.

"Alfred, did you know about this? You look just as surprised as the rest of us. Are you on this tape?"

"No! I…we…this can't…I need to talk to Arthur," Alfred stuttered. Without waiting for permission, Alfred exited the stage, tearing off the stupid holiday apron as he did so. The camera crews rushed after him, even as their security team tried to shield him off, and his parents tried to protect his privacy.

When he called Arthur, it went straight to voicemail. He called again with the same result. He sent a hasty text that autocorrect mangled into something that didn't even make sense, only to try calling once more.

As if by a miracle, the third call went through. It rang twice before Alfred heard Arthur's voice. He sounded hurt and small.

"Did you…did you do this, Alfred? Did you do this to get me back?" Arthur asked quietly. Alfred slammed to a halt, causing one cameraman behind him to nearly trip and fall.

"No! Arthur, I don't know what's been released, but I would never do that to you! I love you. I love you so much. Please…Arthur," his voice cracked embarrassingly, "I wouldn't hurt you like this. You can't believe…that I could possibly…"

"How was I to know this isn't all just an attempt to drum up more hype for your Hero Club project? I did beat you up just a few days ago. I dumped you. I told the police as much. They say you'll be investigated. If I find out you did this—"

"Arthur! LISTEN to what you're saying! Are you crazy? I had nothing to do with this video getting out! I don't even know if I'm on the damned thing! One minute I'm making butternut squash soup on national television in a damned elf apron and the next minute I'm seeing it break on the news!" Alfred's passionate reply seemed to calm Arthur's suspicions, at least for the moment.

"I…believe you, I guess. And don't worry about yourself. I'm the only one being violated again. Only this time, it's by the whole fucking world," Arthur's final statement was so full of bitterness and fury that it made Alfred start crying all over again. Then the line clicked, and Alfred realized Arthur had hung up on him. He called back again, obsessively, redialing and redialing, but it was straight to voicemail each time.

At some point, his father and mother flanked his sides and navigated him out of the television studio and into a waiting car. Richard found the video. Helen hesitated a moment, watching Alfred curled up pathetically against his window still crying quietly, but moved to sit beside her husband and watch it.

"This is…sick. This is sick and twisted," Helen said after a few minutes.

"I'm not a huge fan of Alfred's choice in partners, but the kid didn't deserve this. Jesus fucking Christ…I hope they catch this guy soon," Richard muttered under his breath. The video didn't seem to be very long, but Alfred heard the damning sound right at the end—Arthur's voice, hitched in passion and anguish, calling out his name. It was intimate and private and it hit him straight in the gut. Alfred couldn't breathe. He was the only one who was supposed to hear Arthur's voice say his name like that…and now…now his parents and the whole freaking world were watching and listening…perverting it.

"At least…thank god…Alfred's not in it," Helen said quietly. She stared pityingly at her son, who looked so damned pathetic that it was impossible to do anything but attempt to comfort him. Helen switched seats again and lamely patted Alfred's shaking shoulder.

"I've met Arthur. He's a sensible, normal boy. He wouldn't have put a video like that out of himself, and I know you wouldn't have either. If it didn't have the footage at the end, I would have thought some random student might have done it…maybe out of jealousy or…or…I don't know. God, this is all so horrible. I'm sorry, Alfred. I truly am," Helen said. Richard, meanwhile, was on the phone already—apparently with his security team.

"This bullshit has gone on long enough. Nobody fucks with my son like this and gets away with it, do you hear me? I want the lead investigator on this case in my office by the time we get back to the White House!" Richard bellowed.

It turned out that his request for police was unnecessary. They were already at the White House when they arrived—to question Alfred.

Luckily, if good for nothing else, Alfred's parents were not the sort of people who were easily intimidated by anyone. One of the best lawyers in the nation was present and handling everything before Alfred had even gotten out of the car. His parents were on their phones talking a mile a minute, both to the press, to the school, to legal counsel, and to god only knows who else.

Once they reached the White House, it was a blur of people and detectives and paparazzi. Alfred found himself in a small office of the White House, with his parents and his new lawyer, facing the dreaded video on an officer's handheld device.

Images began to roll first, almost innocently…photos captured from earlier that year. Arthur in the hallway at school. Arthur sitting in the stands at one of Alfred's games. Arthur playing with Peter at the park. At least a full minute of rapidly flickering images of Arthur during times when anyone could have been hanging around him. They could have been snapped by a student with a phone, or just an average American with a camera on hand and enough celebrity knowledge to recognize Arthur. Curiously enough, though Alfred knew he'd been around in many of the scenes captured by the photos, he was not in any of them. Sometimes he'd see his arm, or part of his side, but never his face.

The images began flipping faster and faster and faster, hundreds of them, all of Arthur, until the last one showed him in stark black and white. Alfred knew this picture had been taken after the attack. Unlike all the others, where Arthur had been smiling, or his eyes had been dancing happily, in this one he stood alone. He appeared to be looking just a little right of the camera, and he must have been thinking about something sad, because his expression made Alfred's heart clench. It was obvious how much weight he'd lost. His eyes looked flat and expressionless. His strange, adult-like clothing made him look like a little boy playing dress up. A few students passed by in front of him, but they'd been blurred out. It was just Arthur standing still, perhaps having a moment in the middle of his day when he was thinking about what had happened to him, thinking about how much he hated the school, and the people in it, and the person who'd given him that hatred in the first place.

And someone had been there to capture that moment on film. Someone had been watching him closely enough to see just the moment that his defenses lowered, probably not even for more than a second or two, and had snapped the photo of Arthur's vulnerability and his sadness.

Alfred violently threw up, and they had to stop the video. Helen kicked up a fuss about it being too much and she refused to let the police harass him like they were doing, but after all the dramatics and some cleaning up, Alfred quietly told them to finish playing the video.

The first clip of footage began innocently enough. It was in their old room, though, and clearly shot before the attack. Remembering back to the layout of the room, Alfred could only assume it had been filmed from somewhere near the window. Despite that, there was audio. Alfred must have been brushing his teeth or something in the bathroom. Arthur was in the bedroom, still dressed in his school uniform. He looked tired, perhaps worn out by the day, and so his movements were slow and unhurried. First, he loosened his tie. He turned towards the window then, stopping to plug in his phone on the nightstand charger, before he began to unbutton his shirt. He focused on the buttons, going carefully, revealing his undershirt beneath. He then removed his tie and neatly folded it before placing it on the bed they had shared. He slipped out of his shirt next, and went about folding that just as neatly as he had done with the tie.

"Are you almost done, love? You're not putting on a ton of that horrid smelling skin lotion again, are you?"

Alfred's response could not be heard. Arthur, however, frowned at whatever he had said.

"You have beautiful skin as it is. You don't need all those painful, burning scrubs," Arthur muttered mostly to himself. He had stripped off the undershirt, which he took to the dirty clothes bin at the foot of the extra bed. Next, he unbuttoned his pants. Alfred was praying he would stop, because it occurred to him in that moment that this was the video the rest of the world was seeing—his boyfriend in a casual moment—undressing for bed. There was nothing overtly sexual about it, but it was clearly private. It was nothing more than a peeping Tom video. How could anyone think Arthur would have released it himself?

The pants came off. Arthur stepped out of them neatly and began to fold them, as he always did, smiling a little when the sounds of Alfred's muffled singing reached him. With that same amused little grin on his face, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and pulled them down. The video showed the curve of his backside as he bent over, and the shadow of his privates between his legs. Alfred had seen Arthur undress plenty of times, but now it was through the lens of a shaky camera. It made him furious.

Facing the window now full on, Arthur stripped out of his undershirt and, along with his underpants, tossed them into the dirty bin. Normally, Arthur would have then dressed in his almost prudish old-man pajamas (as Alfred fondly dubbed them) but on this particular night, he was clearly in the mood. He put away his folded clothing and dropped casually onto the bed. After a moment of rummaging around in the nightstand, he found the lube and called something flirtatious out to Alfred, who was still impossible to hear over the sounds of running water in the bathroom.

"If you stop that bloody awful singing, I'll make it worth your while," Arthur called out. Alfred's heart clenched painfully in his chest. It was hard to watch for the obvious reasons—he was in a room of both strangers and his parents, and though the naughty bits had been blurred out, he was essentially watching his boyfriend strip and stretch out on the bed for him. But it was bad because Alfred knew what was coming. He'd remembered that night, like so many others, back when they'd been happy.

Arthur had prepared himself before Alfred had finished up in the bathroom. Sure enough, for the whole world to see, Arthur began to stroke himself languidly a few times, biting on his lip, moaning playfully just to tease Alfred in the bathroom. He spread his legs, though thankfully the camera angle was from the side of the bed and not the foot of it. With practiced ease, he began to work his fingers in, stretching and twisting a bit on the bed, clearly enjoying himself. His pierced nipple glinted occasionally in the darkening room.

"Alfred…I'm waiting for you!"

Then the video changed dramatically, and Alfred was confused. Arthur's words began to repeat, over and over, "Alfred…I'm waiting for you!" played faster and faster until the footage changed, and now the viewpoint was high up in the corner of the room, but the room was different. Alfred barely recognized it—Arthur's new room at World Academy. The one without windows.

The sheet was over him now, but he was still obviously erect. He was biting down hard on his lip, fists clenching at his sides, clearly refusing to touch himself. Then, his willpower broke and he began to furiously pump his shaft under the sheet, his green eyes widened as Alfred's name escaped him, and he just as he quickly bit down on his fist, angry at himself for calling out for his ex.

"Alfred!" It was so pained sounding. Full of longing and denial and all that separated them and all that held them together. He was pleading for him and fearful sounding of him at the same time. Alfred thought he was going to throw up again if there was much more, but the video footage finally, finally, ended.

Except for a final line of text, in horrible red: You won't have to wait much longer. I'm coming for you…one step at a time.

"Oh god," Alfred moaned, gripping his hair and trying not to reel too badly from all the implications of the video.

Then the questioning began. While some of the questions were deflected by the lawyer, most Alfred stuttered out answers to without even thinking.

"Where were you on the night of October 18th?" A gruff police officer demanded.

"I was in California doing a commercial. I flew home on the 19th, as soon as Arthur called me," Alfred said.

"Was anyone there would could confirm that?"

"Michelle. My friend Michelle. We were doing the commercial together and we shared a hotel room."

"We'll verify that information," the cop stated as another cop came in. He presented the Jones family with a search warrant for Alfred's room.

"Go ahead. I have nothing to hide," Alfred said shakily.

"Oh, of course you don't sweetheart. This is all just precautionary. Though I wish they were focusing all this manpower and attention on finding the real person who did this to Arthur," Helen replied with a frosty glare at the interrogating officer. Alfred could tell she was holding back. Even in a crisis, she knew everything that was said or done would come back to reflect on Richard's political standing.

Eventually, the police got what they needed and cleared out. They left with Alfred's computer, his camera, and his cell phone in neatly marked evidence bags. At least they'd been nice enough to let him copy down his friends numbers before they took it.

Once everything had settled down, and while the police were ransacking his room at World Academy, Alfred tried calling Arthur again. Four times. He didn't answer, so Alfred sent another text.

The police just finished up here. They took my computer and my camera and stuff.

He waited, but no reply came. Feeling miserable, he called Matthew.

"Hello?" Matthew greeted, sounding nervous.

"Mattie, it's me," Alfred said in a miserable tone.

"Thank god! I've been getting so many calls from the press, but I kept answering because I thought you might call from an unfamiliar number. Alfred…this is horrible. I'm so, so sorry!"

"Yeah, it's pretty bad. Did you…did you see it?" Alfred asked.

"No. I won't do that to Arthur. None of us will. Besides, the police are working quickly. It's been shut down pretty fast. Arthur's not 18 yet, so it's considered child pornography in the states. They're making sure people know that so the search count for it has dropped pretty sharply."

"At least that's something. The police came here. I think I'm a suspect now."

"What? That's ridiculous!"

"Yeah, but they gotta explore every option. I don't blame them…it's just…they made me watch the video, with my parents in the room. That shit was scary, man. I'll be the first to admit it doesn't make me look very good. I'm not in it, but it still seems…I dunno…focused on me?"

"I'm sorry. Have you managed to talk to Arthur at all?" Matthew asked quietly.

"At the set of the talk show, a bit. He just basically wanted to know if I'd done it. That hurts pretty bad too, realizing he'd think I was capable of…"

"Yeah," Matthew agreed. "I did see the talk show footage. That was a hard time and place to find out."

"Fuck, Matthew. This is such a huge mess. I just want it all to go away."

"Imagine how Arthur must feel. There are people saying he's doing all this for attention."

"I want to kill this guy, Matthew. The police better find him before I do, because I swear to god that I'd kill him if I had the chance."

"They'll catch him, Alfred. Because of who Arthur is, you know the police are going to make this a priority. Plus, some of the wealthiest kids in the world go to World Academy, and they have some pretty influential parents. They aren't going to want a crazy rapist threatening their kids. I've already heard rumors the campus might not re-open after Christmas."

"Arthur needs to stay in England. I won't let him come back to the states," Alfred insisted.

"He came back once already. What if you can't stop him?" Matthew asked.

"Then…I won't let him out of my sight. I promised him I wouldn't let him get hurt by this asshole again and I've already let him down. I won't break my promise again!"

"I think, as hard as it's going to be, you can't do that, Alfred. You can't follow him like that."

"I know...fuck. I know," Alfred trailed off unappily. He knew he was helpless. He knew that perfectly well.

Neither the Jones family nor the Kirkland family celebrated Christmas that year. For the Joneses, so much was going on with the press and the legal battle that it consumed all of the couple's time. Alfred did pay a brief visit to Ivan, but that was the extent of his holiday. Thankfully, the police ruled him out as a suspect the day after Christmas, so that at least was some good news.

The bad news was that they didn't have much else to go on, so the investigation turned to Ivan. Arthur himself, however, butted in at that point and insisted Ivan was not his attacker. He knew Ivan, and he knew the size of his attacker, and he concluded with unwavering certainty that they were not the same. Alfred appreciated Arthur doing that for Ivan, but he'd been a little hurt that no defense had come for himself.

In a rather strange moment of sympathy and understanding, his mother finally made some time to check in with him. She sat across from him on his bed the day before school was re-opening.

"You know you don't have to go back, right?"

"I know. But if Arthur comes back then I have to be there…even if he hates me."

"So…what's the real story behind this hallway sit-in everyone is talking about now?" Helen asked. Alfred sighed.

"It was Francis's idea. Whenever I don't know what to do to get Arthur to forgive me, Francis gives me ideas. Arthur dumped me officially when he got back, so I went to Francis. Francis told me I should sit in the hallway every evening and, as the weeks went by, move closer and closer to Arthur's door."

"That's…a little creepy, Alfred."

"It was supposed to be romantic. I did feel a little weird about it…especially when it only seemed to make Arthur angrier at me…but everyone else was so positive about it. Michelle and Francis turned it into this big rape victim awareness thing, and it all kind of blew up in my face. Arthur got really mad when they started making T-shirts—I knew he was going to—and he beat me up in the hallway."

"I see. So why all the waiting in the hallway, Alfred? The boy was already being stalked. How was that supposed to help?" Helen didn't sound accusatory, merely curious. Alfred swallowed thickly. He hadn't really thought about it like that.

"It was supposed to be a show of patience, and sacrifice. If Arthur wasn't going to enjoy being a teenager anymore, then I wanted to show him that I wouldn't enjoy it either. If he didn't want me near him, then I'd give him space and wait. That part sounded like a good idea…until the T-shirts and the media and the popularity of it all pissed Arthur off."

"He is a rather private boy most of the time…exhibitionist piercings aside."

"Yeah," Alfred agreed.

"Has he talked to you since?" Helen asked. Alfred glumly shook his head.

"He stood up for Ivan, though. I guess he might have done that more for Yao's sake than for mine."

"I'm sorry about all this, Alfred. It's not easy growing up in the spotlight of fame. Your father and I both wish that we hadn't put you in this position. It's too much pressure. Being a teenager is hard enough already without all of this going on."

"Thanks, mom. Just thanks. You've never said anything like that before."

"You know we love you, right? Gay or straight, criminal record and all…we do love you."

"I know. I love you guys, too."

They sat quietly together on the bed for a few moments before Helen smoothed out the blanket a bit in front of her lap and then flashed Alfred a sad smile.

"I know you think you've haven't protected Arthur, but I think that what you're doing is very brave. Sitting in the hallway, whether you meant it or not, sends a very strong message to whoever is stalking Arthur. It says you're not afraid of him. I think that's why, maybe, he made that video focus on you, too."

"You…really think so?"

"I do. In fact, I think this hallway idea could be a really big way to strike back at this guy. Rapists don't want attention. They want their victims to feel shamed into silence. I think that's how Arthur feels, probably even more so after everyone has seen the video…but I think it's important you stay strong and keep sending the message that you believe Arthur can heal and get past all this."

"I don't know what else I can do," Alfred said. Helen smiled and fondly tucked some of Alfred's hair behind his ear.

"Just follow your heart. I don't know where you got such a good one from, but you are good, Alfred. Better than you know. What time do you start this sit-in of yours?" Helen asked briskly, breaking the sweet spell cast by her earlier words.

"Um…usually around six till nine."

"Then tomorrow, when you go back, I'll be there with you. Your father, too. You protect Arthur…and we'll protect you."

Arthur did return to campus. The paparazzi stalked him like sharks circling a wounded swimmer, but Arthur came back. He didn't cry, or act embarrassed, or talk about his feelings to anyone who asked. He was perfectly calm, perfectly stoic, and totally iron-willed.

There was a camera crew in the hallway that first evening, because it was not every day that the President and the First Lady visited the campus to sit in a hallway and lend their political clout behind a school cause. Michelle was ecstatic. Francis was ruthlessly pleased. In all the students' minds, the hallway sit-in became a way to express their outrage over what had been done to Arthur. The First Lady even wore the T-shirt.

Ignoring all the fanfare, all the extra students crowding about in the hallway, Alfred quietly took his spot (now on the fifth mark of tape) and waited quietly for whatever Arthur's reaction might be.

When Arthur returned from dinner, Mike offered him apologies.

"I should have thought to check the room for cameras," Mike said. Arthur sighed, glancing down the hall at the sight of all his friends, Alfred's parents, and Alfred himself…right where he'd left him before break.

"It doesn't matter, Mike," Arthur said lowly. He unlocked his door quietly, ignoring the cameras trained on him, and silently went inside his room.

Helen gave Alfred's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before she went to go make a statement about how their family would do all they could to raise awareness for victims of rape both at World Academy and on a bigger scale.

"This has been a horrible experience for my son and for our family. The stress has changed Alfred, and as his parents, we're dealing with the bumps in the road as best we can. We want only for him to be happy. We want his school to be safe place for both our son and every other child here. We want Arthur to know that we think he's very brave for confronting this, and that he does not have to do so alone. Sometimes we can't ask for help, but we need it all the same."

The camera crew moved on then to interview Michelle, who spoke honestly and calmly about her experience, and how it had broken her down when she was already in a pretty bad place. Alfred listened to them all and felt glad that they were doing what they needed to do, but in his heart, he just wanted to hold Arthur again. It killed him inside that more than just a hallway stretched between them now. While everyone around him talked, while the whole world watched, Alfred just missed holding Arthur's hand as he sat tiredly in the hallway.

A/N: The night is darkest before the dawn, and all that jazz. Thanks for reading, as always! I wanted to offer one note of explanation, for those of you who might be wondering why the focus is mostly on Alfred. It's for the simple reason that I've never been raped. I can research what victims have said it feels like, and I've tried to show glimpses of what Michelle and Arthur are going through based on that research, but the bulk of my experience with this topic comes from having been in Alfred's shoes. I don't know what it's like to be raped, but I do know what it's like to see a loved one go through that. I know what it's like to be a confidant, and to be that person's one supporter even when you don't quite know how to possibly offer that support. Sometimes, you don't do it perfectly, but I've learned at the end of the day that it's just about being there. Waiting. Giving your friend the patience to listen when they want to talk, and be there in other ways when they don't. It's not easy, and it makes you feel pretty damn helpless, but it's all you can do sometimes. So, that's why the story is mainly following Alfred. I hoped it would be more realistic and genuine due to having a foundation under it of personal experience.