Chapter 26. Animals.

Arthur typed and read furiously on his laptop, trying to find something. They would be moving into the capital soon and they still had two assassins to worry about. The two they were the most worried about. Granted, Arthur was still worried for Alfred and his part in the mission of taking the capital. He still had yet to iron that out. It hadn't even been a few hours since Roderich died, but Alfred didn't seem too badly affected by it. Perhaps he was just better at hiding his emotions than Arthur supposed. Now that he had grown used to having emotions, that is…

There was a knock at Arthur's door and Arthur paused for a moment, glancing at the time. Three in the morning. Who the bloody hell wanted to talk to him this late? If it was Francis bent on making a fuss over what had happened the day before…Arthur shook his head and walked up to his door. He had locked it a few hours prior and so he straightened himself out and unlocked the door. He blinked in surprise when he saw Alfred standing before him.

"You want something?" Arthur asked gruffly. He was tired and nowhere close to going to sleep. Even if he did sleep, he would still have a problem even getting to sleep. When he did, the nightmares followed, the only exemption being when he fell asleep with Alfred. Which wasn't happening again.

"Can I talk with you?" Alfred asked. He obviously was far from tired. He had gotten a good night's sleep the night before, there was clear reason to it. And Arthur knew just by looking at him that Alfred was someone who could go days without sleep if he needed to. Arthur sighed and nodded, allowing Alfred into his room.

"You should be asleep," Arthur sighed as the door closed. He leaned against it as he looked at Alfred, who stood at the center of his room, looking at him.

"Why did we go there yesterday?" Alfred asked simply and Arthur blinked at him. "We didn't need to go for some mission for the revolutionary army, we didn't even do anything but be found out and leave. So why did we go?"

Arthur sighed and glared at the ground for a while. Silence stretched between them as he tried to formulate something in his head. He could lie, easily, but Alfred would no doubt see through that in seconds and Arthur didn't want to have to deal with those consequences. Next came the ability to actually speak about who the man was. Talking about it with Francis was one thing. Arthur never had to explain anything to Francis, he just understood. Arthur hadn't even needed to tell Francis, the man had just somehow figured out that he was a slave. But now he had to explain it to Alfred?

Minutes of silence passed before Arthur looked up at Alfred, who was still patiently waiting.

"The man Roderich had killed," Arthur muttered quietly, but his voice seemed painfully loud in the quiet around them. The dying bulb blinked above them, only dully illuminating the space between them. It was times like this that Arthur remembered what happened between the two of them the day Alfred discovered his secret. Arthur coughed away the blush that appeared on his face. Why was he acting shy about something like that now? "He was the first person that…that…owned me." Alfred blinked. "Francis was the idiot that said it was a good idea. Getting closure. I don't know why Roderich and Matthew would have been there, either they discovered my secret and knew I would be there or this was Ivan's punishment for Roderich killing someone so influential and important, considering how many slaves he went through in his life…It was unnecessary and it cost one of your former teammates his life and I apologize for that."

"How long ago was that?" Alfred asked curiously and Arthur subconsciously flinched at the question. "The first one?"

Arthur chuckled humorlessly. "What kind of question is that?" Arthur scoffed. "He was the first. The second I no longer needed my mother, I was all his. He got bored and needed money so he sold me. End of story." Arthur could ignore the fact that his hands were shaking for now, as long as Alfred didn't press this like Arthur knew he would. Alfred was going to be delicate, sure, but he was going to press it. And Arthur wasn't sure if he could really handle something like that.

"I don't think that's the end of the story," Alfred said simply and Arthur twitched. He took a deep breath. He could handle this. He didn't need another episode to slow him down. He still had so much work to do that night, trying to figure out something for them to do regarding the last two assassins under Ivan's control, and hopefully that would involve keeping them alive.

"What else would you like to hear, then?" Arthur scoffed. "Do you want to hear about what I was forced to do, what happened when I didn't? Do you really want to learn about all of the skeletons in my closet or would you prefer to just pretend it didn't exist, go back to sleep, and allow me to return to work? You got the answer to your question, you can leave."

"Pretend it didn't exist?" Alfred asked. "Is that what you do?"

"It can't exist," Arthur let out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I can't allow it to, alright? I can't allow myself to be distracted by my own scars. If I do, I won't get anything done. Perhaps once we finish our revolution, then I can allow myself to be distracted. For now, I have important matters to attend to. I can't afford for what happened in the past to be real, at least for now." That was all too true. It was all pretend, what had happened. The scars and the pain. That made it easy to handle. It wasn't a good way to deal with it and he slipped up occasionally, yes. But for a lot of the time, pretending nothing happened worked. Alfred was the one that was coming around and ruining it.

"What, are you afraid of getting hurt?" Alfred asked and Arthur winced. "I can't pretend that my parents weren't killed and my arms and legs weren't cut off just so that I can keep going. Just so life can be easier. I can't pretend that I've watched people I care about be killed in front of me and I can't pretend I haven't killed other people's loved ones just because I have a hard time dealing with it."

"You don't have the same scars I do!" Arthur shouted before he could stop himself. He stood in shock for a moment before he continued. Alfred was going to stop trying to pry him open. "What happened to you was terrible, yes, but you don't remember a second of it. I remember every single thing that happened to me. I may not have killed people, but what do you even care? You were raised to have blood on your hands, to the point where death hardly makes you bat an eye. I was born to be a slave, yes, I was trained to do exactly as I was told. I was trained to remember! If you think for one damn second that you can empathize with me, then I dare you to glance at my scars. Try to go through what I went through and tell me that you can stand there and not pretend it didn't happen."

"Then show me," Alfred said, his voice calm and…gentle. At that moment, in the dying light of the cheap bulb, he didn't look like a killer trained nearly from birth to do the king's bidding. He looked like a normal man. And Arthur would bet anything he looked like a scared coward that wanted, more than anything, for someone to know all of his inner demons, to help him through them. But he wasn't that weak. He couldn't afford to be. "Arthur," Alfred stepped forward and looked right into his eyes. "You don't have to be afraid."

And Arthur's resolve shattered, just like that. Alfred was close enough that Arthur physically couldn't stop himself from clinging onto Alfred's shirt tightly, hiding his face in Alfred's chest as the tears poured without his permission. His face grew hot as he was helpless to the emotions that had wanted to come out for years, the stifled emotions that Arthur refused to acknowledge until that moment. He was quiet, yes, but he couldn't allow anyone to hear. He couldn't.

"Don't be ashamed of your scars," Alfred muttered, carefully hugging him back, though he was incredibly hesitant, to the point where Arthur almost laughed. Neither of them knew what they were doing.

"These are everything to be ashamed of," Arthur chuckled humorlessly. "I wasn't the kind of slave you had cleaning your house, or you send to get groceries."

"Then what did you do?" Alfred prompted and Arthur pushed away to look him in the eye, regardless of the tears making that near impossible.

"Whatever Master told me to," Arthur said simply, his voice cracking. "I would wait for hours in the bedroom until he wanted to see me and I would do what he said, regardless of the pain or if I even knew what I was doing. It didn't matter how old I was, as long as Master was happy. It didn't matter if I was left with scars, both mental and physical, it didn't matter if I was dirty, I would just get cleaned up later. As long as Master was happy." Arthur felt himself shaking. Sure, the first one hadn't done it often, though the second Master more than made up for it. That was all he was good for. He was weak, he was small. But he had his looks going for him. Alfred had this look of realization, as if he hadn't realized before. "The chains were for fun," Arthur muttered darkly. "At first, that was what I was transported with, all slaves move around with chains. But Master thought it was funny to dress me with chains."

"I didn't…" Alfred muttered, looking at a loss for words and Arthur nearly cried again, but he couldn't exactly stop now.

"And the whips?" Arthur laughed bitterly. "That was because I didn't fight back. I was the favorite toy. I wouldn't react when I was whipped, it was a fun game. I only reacted once, when the pain was too much. I cried out. Then the game became a punishment until Master was happy again. Are these enough scars for you? I can show you, if you want. This isn't something to talk about. This isn't something I can get over, Alfred! I have to pretend it didn't happen."

"Can I see them?" Alfred asked suddenly and Arthur blinked at him.

"What?" Arthur asked breathlessly.

"The scars," Alfred said, as if that cleared everything up. Arthur's back stung at the very mention of it and his breath hitched. "Let's see whose are worse."

"You'd lose that competition," Arthur laughed, just slightly. A real laugh. Alfred was ridiculous. Did he understand what kind of situation this was? And he was cracking jokes like that? It wasn't even funny, yet Arthur was laughing.

"Let's find out," Alfred said softly.

Arthur carefully moved his hands to the hem of his shit. Now this was something knew. He had never shown anyone, other than Master, of course, the scars. They'd grown and warped and, naturally looked grotesque due to lack of proper medical attention. But what did he have to lose? Arthur slowly and carefully raised the shirt over his head and tossed it haphazardly to the ground, slowly turning to show his back to Alfred. Arthur had never bothered counting how many lashes he got, they all blended together. He dealt with the pain, that was why he almost never reacted. He hardly looked at them himself, knowing it would do nothing but cause him the pain all over again. Just thinking about it made each, individual scar burn like hell.

A cold finger traced over a scar over his spine and Arthur jumped, letting out a small squeak. He looked back at Alfred, panic very evident on his face, but Alfred simply nodded to him. He was nervous, yes, but he looked like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Don't be ashamed of your scars," Alfred repeated himself. "They show that you fought hard in your battle. And, from the looks of it, you won."

"Have you won your battle?" Arthur asked simply, turning to face him.

"I don't even know what mine is," Alfred shook his head, smiling without any meaning. Arthur's hand betrayed him as it went to lightly touch Alfred's cheek. Alfred had been tossed around in this turbulent world since he was born. Who knew what his parents had done and then it was decided for him he would be an assassin for the king. Then Arthur had decided it would be a great idea to take him under the wing of the revolutionaries. Arthur knew his battle clearly. The king allowed a vile thing like slavery to exist and Arthur couldn't allow it any longer. What did Alfred really want to happen?

"I'm sorry," Arthur admitted. His past was horrible, yes, but it fueled what he was doing, allowed him to…move forward, even if he was stuck in the past. But Alfred had no idea what he was looking forward to. What was he fighting for? Did he even believe in the revolutionary ideals or did Arthur just manage to convince a naïve boy that his way was the correct way?

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Alfred said simply, his hand on Arthur's wrist to stop him from touching his cheek. And, in that moment, Arthur found that he didn't quite care anymore. He couldn't care less that Alfred knew more than anyone else, couldn't care that his bare back of scars and memories was out for the world to see, couldn't care that they were desperately low on time for their plan to be successful in the near future, couldn't care that he was painfully low on sleep.

And so, Arthur leaned forward and pressed his lips against Alfred's. Just the slightest contact was enough to take Arthur's breath away, once again, but he advanced the kiss before Alfred had the chance to. Arthur's tongue danced across Alfred's bottom lip, daring to ask for entrance. Alfred, inexperienced as always, allowed it and reciprocated the kiss easily, allowing not only for Arthur to explore his mouth thoroughly, but also exploring Arthur's to the fullest extent. The need for air was unimportant and Alfred's cold hands skated across the scars and Arthur gripped onto Alfred's hair like it was a lifeline. He couldn't stop the moan that escaped his lips as Alfred's hands kept a secure grip on his hip. Alfred had no idea what to do while Arthur's mind reeled at everything he had only known from the past, everything he didn't want to experience again.

Arthur discreetly moved them forward, distracting Alfred's attention with the battle for dominance in their mouths. Alfred let out a few groans himself as his inexperienced mouth never failed to amaze and surprise Arthur. Finally, they reached Arthur's bed and they clumsily fell onto it, though Alfred only faltered for half a second, if that, before he resumed moving his hands over Arthur's body. Arthur gasped as the fingers wisped over the scars over his chest and stomach. Arthur dared to move his mouth away from Alfred's just long enough to suck on a particularly sensitive spot on his neck, making Alfred almost whine and Arthur smirked. He was practically on top of Alfred, but the man still made it seem as if he was in charge, roving around any part of Arthur's body already made accessible to him. The scars around Arthur's neck, retracing the scars all the way down his back.

The bad memories flashed in front of Arthur almost constantly, however, the man in front of him, the man that had known pain, despite Arthur claiming he didn't understand. The man that only thought of him as a human, even after knowing his secret…He helped Arthur forget. No…that wasn't right. He helped Arthur accept that it happened. No more playing pretend. Arthur was facing all of his fears in that one moment.

And he was winning.

God, this chapter wanted to come out so bad! I really did! This scene's been planned out for a long time, along with another one that is actually coming up soon, be excited. The USUK actually managed to get off the ground, finally. It only took a massive spill of emotions and secrets coming from Arthur. Now we know a lot more, however, not that a lot of you didn't figure it out already. And this fic will be staying rated T, so the rest can be left for all of y'all's imaginations (and I know all of you have quite a lot of that). Anyway, not exactly action in this chapter, but we got some "action" so everything is fine.

So, please review! And I'll see y'all next time!