It had been three hours since the once bloodied blonde and his "victim" had boarded the plane. No one was at the airport for once and for that the vampire was incredibly grateful because no one would question the blood that stained his pale skin and clothes. Not to mention, no one there to question why he was carrying an unconscious teenager with blood clotting that aged golden blonde hair. Not even the security guards stopped him out of pure curiosity or the gnawing feeling that something was wrong, but maybe that was due to the aura that the vampire let radiate off him: untainted fear and confidence to dominate any who crossed him.

The vampire was staring intently on the teenager on his bed, for it was his private jet they were on. "You're still as lovely as ever," smiled the vampire, "Though you have a little more fat on your bones, but I could care less about that because you are here now and that is what counts poppet. Everything about you is the same as my memory, even your exquisite blood – like the rarest of wines." Wandering emeralds kept looking up and down Alfred's sleeping figure until a pale hand ghosted against that bronzed skin, a rather harsh comparison between the two tones, and a soft thumb gently rubbing against the skin underneath Alfred's closed eye. "I have missed you," spoke the accented voice, "So, very, much." Every nerve in the vampire's body burned with a need that pushed the pale body to bend forward and kiss Alfred on his forehead. No sound of air being forced between thin lips or the brushing of softer skin against rougher skin.

However, as the kiss lingered movement underneath the whitened lips began slowly. At first it was a small jerk of skin creasing together. Then came the vocalized noises of a voice trying to form words, but only forming "Mmmmmmmms". Followed by limps moving to stretch out muscles that had gone a little over three hours of being unused, while eyelids squinted further shut at an attempt to wave off sleep. Finally, tanned lids opened to reveal the light sky blue eyes, but that moment lasted only a few seconds before those lids encased the blue once again. However, after another vocal noise and sound of movement as a muscular body pulled its self-up into a sitting position, those lids opened up again. Black within the unique blue moved from the left to the right, absorbing the surroundings. The sleeping daze that first captured the blue turned into eyes holding surprise and panic. Body movements followed because Alfred jumped out of the bed as quickly as he could, which wasn't all that fast with his head injury. "Where?" shot Alfred. "Who?" he questioned as his eyes darted frantically around the room and always came back to the vampire's lithe form.

A small smile curved it's way along the vampire's smooth and delicate lips. "You're on a private jet," Emerald never leaving Alfred's tottering body, "Poppet." A hesitant step was taken towards Alfred; hands gently spread shoulders length apart, if not more, and raised slightly to show that he meant no harm. "As for who I am, poppet, I am Arthur Kirkland." The sound of the "a" being dragged out slightly longer than an American accent and had an "ah" sound that covered the "r". The "th" was just annunciated enough to be heard, yet gently. As for the second "r" was heard and with the "u" before it created a light "uh" sound that contrasted greatly against an American accent. The paler blonde's surname was a different story, however. The "k" gave that familiar sound in both, English and American accents. While the "i" lightened the "r" sound to make a rounded sound of an "er" and returned to the strong pronunciation of the "k" sound. Then the second syllable of the vampire's surname sounded like the "a" was replaced with and "i". Altogether his name sounded like Ah-the Kerk-lind.

"Are you," he started but stopped for a moment as his head exploded from pain, "Are you British?"

A chuckle echoed from where the vampire stood, arms dropped by his side, and mouth agape revealing flawless, snowy teeth. "Of all things you pick up on with this first encounter, my accent. Oh my dear poppet . . . For you that is something that you would do." Wincing from the pain of the laughter, Alfred held onto his head. Dear God. Why didn't this hurt that bad when I first woke up? Those thick brows of the Englishman lifted until they seemed to touch his hairline, "Alfred, darling, you are not feeling well. Please lay back down and rest." Arthur had taken the last steps towards Alfred and helped the teenager lay back down. "Rest," he cooed as his pale, slender fingers ran through the aged golden hair. This small gesture of whatever Alfred could call it was enough to coax him back to sleep. Golden lids closed over sky blue eyes and soft breathing lighten more until Alfred had drifted back to sleep. "I'll be here," Arthur whispered so gently as if to a newborn child, "Waiting for you . . ."

The rich emeralds began wondering again, to the left, then the right, and finally to a door. Imaginative headaches began to pound their way through Arthur's skull. Please . . . Put it off, but procrastinate. I do not have to do it just yet. A contented sigh escaped it's way through the pale, thin lips. However, feels that resonated from that sigh quickly dispersed as another thought pulverized it's way through. I cannot procrastinate for it is not like a gentlemen to put off important work . . . Even if it may just end up with bickering and leading to no further resolve.

With great effort Arthur pulled himself up from his knees by Alfred's side and carried himself to that forsaken door. A door that was like any other door on a plane, though customized to fit the purpose it was intended to perform: Arthur had requested, no ordered was what he did, that the door be the most brilliant shade of red to establish a warning signal. Arthur had two more doors of the same fashion, though different style, in his other main houses that he resided in. Cold fingers hesitantly grabbed the doorknob that was even colder than a being that has gone without a heartbeat for over millenniums. Step by step the Brit walked inside. It was cold and the seat was even colder when skin sheathed in cloth touched it. "Bloody hell," he spoke lowly, "Why is this tortuous?" The question was obviously rhetorical and only meant for Arthur's ears as he opened his laptop. Fingers hummed for a few seconds before pressing own onto the power button. A small ray of light emitted from the device and then color exploded as the windows log in showed up. Fingers found themselves typing in a password and then the background of the laptop emerged, an image of Alfred. Again, fingers found themselves lightly stroking the delicately painted curvature of the drawing's cheek. "Even then, love, you were beyond words to describe," a gentle look tamed it's way over the stoic features of the vampire, "As you are today."

Pulling his fingers away Arthur clicked the cursor over the Skype button. Seconds ticked by then that all too familiar sound of Skype opening up was heard. A small groan rushed out of Arthur's lips, but soon a more furious rush of air burst out as the alert sound of Skype rushed out, one after another after another. "Bloody hell!" snarled Arthur. He watched as the number quickly skyrocketed on the notifications and then peaceful bliss. Pale lids closed over his eyes like the lid of a treasure chest over the riches tucked inside.

But then, "Bloop!"

"You have got to be bloody joking!" roared Arthur as his eyelids snapped open to reveal burning emeralds. They scanned at the source and he clicked on the first of his contacts: Allistor Kirkland. His fingers began typing furiously and then harsh hit on the enter key. 'Really you limey of a brother?! I'm obviously blood here. Now, speak or I will leave.'

The sound of someone calling rang aloud and Arthur quickly tapped on his mouse that made his cursor accept the call. The vampire peered at the door in hopes that Alfred did not wake, but his concern was cut short. "Limey eh?" questioned a thick voice, "If 'm the limey what does that make you, wee brother?"

"God save the Queen," muttered Arthur in quick prayer, "The bloody one that rules your Scottish arse. Now, what did you want git?"

Arthur's eyes glanced at the screen for the first time that evening and noticed how smoky it was where his brother was. However, the smoke did not disturb the same piercing emeralds as they glared through the screen at Arthur. Crimson hair was blurry as the figure moved his head and tapped his cigar ash into, at least what Arthur hoped, an ashtray. "Just because you overcame me does not make you the ruler, wee brother," Those last words spoken with extra menace packing behind them. "As for git I am not one. That is a title to Dylan, aye." Shaggy locks swayed under the movement of a hand as it combed through. "I wanted to know if you were okay."

"Does wee 'Scotty' have a little caring heart for his dear wee brother?" sing-songed Arthur mockingly.

Fire began to burn in Allistor's eyes, "I do when it deals with him and as for being a wee one then 'll beat the living shite out of you to prove 'm not." A dark puff of smoke emerged ungracefully from Allistor's mouth before he settled back in his chair. "Do you understand?"

Sighing to himself Arthur nodded his head. "Yes, I do. But rest assured I am safe and so is Alfred. As for the problem I do not know. He . . ." Arthur frowned at the loss of words, "He still has influence ov-over me." God I feel weak to admit that I was against him.

"I see." Allistor scratched his chin, bristle being heard as nails grazed skin and hair. Emerald eye's belonging to the elder brother glowing with fury. That bloody arse of a Frenchy has influence over you?! Think of all that he has done! Anger was radiating off Allistor as he thought quietly to himself and before Arthur could fully see his brother's image on the screen, after the latest movement, his Skype account notified him that the call was dropped.

Arthur just stared at the screen. It's not like he was that badly hurt from him . . . Or was it due to the involuntary effect of F-Fr . . . That bastard from taking away her? Heather was it? Maybe I should thank my lucky stars that Allistor got off, then again it is like him to be predicable. A light click came from Arthur closing his laptop. After a quick stretch and small moan of relief Arthur was back up and walked back into the warmth of the rest of the plane, closing the red door tight behind him.

The sleeping form of Alfred quickly became the center of attention to Arthur's eyes. Reclaiming his seat Arthur watched quietly. He enjoyed watching Alfred sleep because of the tiny details: from the little movement of his broad chest nursing on the air or the way eyebrows jerked a little while his eyes moved in motion to a dream that will forever be an unknowing dream to most. Emeralds continued to watch the sleeping form. "Just like when you were a child," whispered Arthur as quietly as he could. He remembered how Alfred could have slept through a storm or an atomic bomb, but those nightmares, which lessened with age, would come about and awaken the American as quick as lightning. Closing his eyes Arthur remembered how much he desire to be there to comfort him when a monster was in his closet or under his bed. That silly monster that was a sound or shadow or a piece of clothing out of place. Oh, how Arthur desired so very much to be able to leap through Alfred's window and be his hero by comforting him in any ways possib-l-e – "Dear God," Arthur spoke as his eyes widened, "I am a sick pervert."

Alfred moaned lightly and rolled onto his other side at the sudden sound of noise that had erupted form Arthur's mouth. "A-Artie," stuttered Alfred in his sleep.

Green eyes widened in surprise, "Alfred . . . You never cease to amaze me. You are remembering now, love, aren't you?" With an easy movement Arthur was on his feet and beside Alfred's side, while holding his hand. "I'm here. Let me see . . ." Emeralds were covered with porcelain lids as Arthur let himself evaporate into Alfred's dream.

It was nearing twenty-four hours since Alfred had disappeared and Matthew was in the middle of his search extensive search for his twin.

Matthew stopped for a moment, his back resting against an old and decaying tree. "Where are you?" breathed Matthew heavily, "Where? Al?" He had never thought that something like this would ever happen or if it did it would have happened to him and not Alfred. Violet-blue eyes looked up at the fading blue sky and all they could see were Alfred's eyes. "You damn goofball!" Matthew punched the tree besides the one he was resting upon. He winced slightly as he felt pain shoot up his nerves through his arm and then into his core. Pulling back his arm he examined his hand with the darkened light of the nighttime sky: blood was visibly seen on his pale knuckles and slowly oozing.

The stress was starting to become too much as the pain registered more and more. He had spent all day searching since the moment the news flew into one ear and out the out the other before sadly returning again. Matthew remembered running outside his door in blind hopes that it was all a lie, but fate is cruel that way because as the door was flung open there was Alfred's crushed Honda Civic. Metal bent at all angles from the weight and scratches lined the top portion of the vehicle from the asphalt. As Matthew inspected more of the vehicle he noticed that there was blood dried onto the tires and a copious amount had left itself engraved on the rear. The next stop was the spot where the car was found: there Matthew found traces of blood, but nothing about a struggle or Alfred being dragged away . . . There was nothing. As of now, Matthew was thinking that he was not too intelligent to just follow a trail nonchalantly, but his driving reason was for some hope to find his twin, his best friend, his other half, his other life.

Now, the skies have turned completely black except for those millions of stars helping to light an endless trail amongst them. Violet-blue eyes appearing fully violet now as they star up at the endless sea of black. "Shit . . ." groaned Matthew, "I need to get home." Sighing, the older stood up and started to maneuver his way back the way he came. The pathway that Matthew had taken earlier was now covered by the forever blanket of shadows at nighttime. Instead of turning left at a small bend the older twin remained going straight. Small noises escaped from the invisible hands of the nighttime shadows every few seconds, coming left and right, even behind and forward. Cringing at each sound Matthew kept pressing forward.

Then, the sound of what seemed like someone was behind him. Violet turned to look back at pitch black. Where is the moon? Shivering slightly, Matthew turned his head back and kept moving. However, when the sounds came he moved quicker and quicker until he was running. Where am I? I . . . Should know where I am! Running quicker than he would have for soccer Matthew heard a loud snap from his left and looked to see: a pair of cerulean eyes staring at him with a crazed look. However, a large object, most likely a tree, collided with Matthew's running form. A sickening crack echoed throughout the woods and ended the noises of the animals of the night. Matthew fell backwards and stared at the sky, his vision become blurred with each second passing. "Ughhh," escaped his pale lips. That was the most coherent thing that Matthew could muster as more pain ran though his body that originated from his left leg.

Long golden locks appeared within the older's fading sight, dangling there as the wind gave each strand a beat to move to. Even with a blackening world Matthew could see a grin curl against the pale skin laced with stubble against the chin. "I have you now, Alfred F. Jones," smiled a heavily accented voice. With the last remaining thought the older laughed to himself. Whoever he is . . . He sounds French. That "h" was silent . . . And just like that Matthew faded from the world into blissful unconsciousness.

The stranger remained still for a moment, looking intently at his prey. "My 'ow you remind me of yourself from zhen." Cerulean eyes following the trail of a wondrous scent, Matthew's broken leg. "You must 'ave ran very 'ard in order to damage zhat leg of yours like zhis." Pale hands rested against the spot of injury, a jerking motion was released even in Matthew's unconscious state, and the feeling of something warm coating the cool fingers occurred. Another grin appeared as the owner's hand examined his hand, "So delicious looking, mon cher." Without a second's hesitation the long haired vampire brought his hand to his lips and took a long lap with his tongue. The sanguine liquid calming the small fire that had started to rekindle in his throat. A small moan escaped the vampire's mouth at the sweetness of the fine sample. "So good, yet so betraying to know zhat you are against moi." Limbs graced in pastel silk grabbed onto Matthew's form and picked him up easily. "Be zhankful that I am ruining moi shirt for you 'uman. Zhough keep in mind . . . I will make you suffer zhe most painful fate imaginable because you should 'ave stayed dead. I guess zhat means zhat you did not learn your lesson from moi all zhose years ago, non?" Another smile stretched cynically against the stranger's face, "Oh, 'ow I will enjoy re-teaching you zhat lesson."

"Where am I?" questioned Arthur as he looked around himself. "Where?" Emeralds looking around quickly at the scenery before his mouth formed an "o" at the sight, "It-It can't be . . ." voice faltering as he ended his sentence. Around him was a tavern filled with small groans and laughter, but most chatting about the weather.

"I don't know if we'll make it," spoke a bearded man with hungry lightly clinging to his eyes, "Food is short and we were not ready for such a harsh winter to come bearing itself at us."

A young adult with bronze hair that was pulled gently back into loose ponytail looked at him, "The winter may be hard, but we must be stronger than the winter."

"You are not lying there," smiled a youth of no more than nineteen years of age, "We will beat this winter and live to see the greens of spring."

Tears started falling down Arthur's face as he reached a hand out to his past lover in Alfred's dream, "Alfred . . ." Bottom lip was being pushed hard against his elongated canines causing blood to spill. At that second those sky blue eyes turned and looked up at Arthur's face; the Alfred of the past retained that youthful figure around his face, eyes innocent and brimming with life, hair shinning off the rays of the sun itself. Arthur reached to touch the dream Alfred's cheek, but his hand passed through it and his eyes widened in surprise as he yanked is arm back to keep Alfred's form there. Those eyes kept baring towards Arthur's figure, but in the vampire's heart he knew that he wasn't staring at him, well not him of the present.

Behind himself, a clone of Arthur stood brushing off snow his black coat. His skin lightly reddened due to the elements. After a few seconds the clone looked up, emeralds looking almost lifeless, and searched through the crowd. "Innkeeper," the Arthur of then inquired, "Do you have a room open for the evening?"

"'m sorry lad, but I do not due to this weather, housing being destroyed easily and here being the only refuge." The innkeeper looked apologetic, but Arthur of then and now believed it to be the loss of business, seeing that Arthur looked the rich type.

Sighing, "It's fine. I'll manage." The past Arthur started wrapping his coat tight to his form, to ready himself for the elements of the winter yet again, however a voice broke out from the many in the inn.

"I can offer shelter if you would like," the past Alfred stood up from his seat and walked over, "I have a house with two beds and one is empty. So, to put it to use is a good thing, at least to me it is." A faint blush spread against Alfred's cheeks.

"No need to offer what you do not wish to kind sir," berated Arthur, "I am in no need of your charity."

Alfred placed his golden hand on the black coat and smiled kindly, "I'm offering because I don't think someone with your looks should be left to freeze outside in the cold. We need to be strong and share in order to live."

The smile knocked Arthur back a few steps as he blinked several times in order to fill the void of lack of speech. "Ummmm . . . I . . ." stuttered Arthur, "Alright . . . If you insist."

"God save the Queen!" shouted Arthur of the present, "I was such an idiot stumped by beauty and an easy meal!" Arthur kept shaking his head, but continued to watch the memory. He could even remember each word that was said on their first meeting.

"Well, whenever you wish to leave we will." Alfred smiled and left to gather his coat and pay his debt for the hot meal. He came back within a few minutes and still boar that smile: kind and open, warming and radiating hopes and reassurance.

Arthur smacked himself mentally, "If you are ready then I am as well."

"Alright," smiled Alfred, "By the way, my name is Alfred F. Jones and you?"

"Arthur Kirkland," responded Arthur quickly.

A nod of acknowledgement was made and Alfred opened his mouth to say, "Follow me then." The two left and journeyed the half mile walk to Alfred's cabin. Normally it would have been easy, but the snow layered thick and made the journey long and tiresome. Alfred would check Arthur every few steps and offer aid, even though Arthur would shake it off. It took over a half an hour to reach Alfred's cabin. Once inside Alfred went to the fireplace and stirred it before adding kindling to it. Flames started to engulf the small offerings until Alfred threw a heavier log onto of it. "There," smiled Alfred happily, "Home sweet home. What is mine is yours, though it is not much."

Arthur turned to look at Alfred, having been looking around the cabin since entering, "That is quite alright. Thank you for your kindness. I owe you for it." Dulled emeralds continued to look from the left to the right, observing their surroundings: a simple log cabin with a table and two chairs and a bookshelf filled with a small abundance of the little miracles. A desk lay tucked in the corner, a chair pushed in underneath the smooth surface of the desktop, and the top lined with papers, ink, and quills.

Standing up to his full height, cowering over Arthur, Alfred just shook his head. "No you don't. I'm sure you would have done the same if we were in opposite positions."

"I don't believe I would have," inquired Arthur.

"Never know though," chided Alfred, "However, your room is here," Alfred pointed to the bed by the fire."

Emeralds blinked, "Isn't that your bed?"

Alfred looked at it then back to Arthur, "Nope, for I sleep in the loft above." A slender index finger pointed to the space above."

"I see," blinked Arthur.

"Yes, now you should sleep as should I. Goodnight." Alfred nodded his head and went up the steps to his bed. Two thunks were heard, one after the other, and Arthur concluded it was Alfred's shoes hitting the floor. A shuffling noise was heard then silence after a small moan of comfort. Arthur listened a few seconds longer before slipping off his boots and sliding under the heavy covers to his bed. It was warm, something that Arthur hasn't enjoyed in a months, and it was welcoming. Drowsiness took over and before he knew it heavy lids slid over his eyes and small snores escaped his lips.

Shaking his head quietly, "I am pathetic." Arthur had relived this moment of his life over and over in his head and now that he had seen it after so long he thought he was going to die from embarrassment. "I am a helpless fool and to think I was planning on feeding from him then leaving. Though, I must admit, I am rather glad I never did." He looked around and took in the scenery. "This house that is now long gone . . . Memories created here that are irreplaceable and the most cherished ones I possess. Is this how you still see me Alfred?"

With that Arthur let himself fade back into reality. Once mentally there he hugged Alfred gently. "I hope that our love can still exist, even with the forever changing times."