I'm back, finally, after such a long wait. Sorry followers, I just could not find the inspiration for this, and putting thoughts into words was a pain in the ass.
But here we are!
acrazyfangirl4: Oh my gersh, thank you for pointing that out! It completely slipped my mind, I swear I am so ridiculous sometimes. Thank you, and if you look back at the previous chapter, you will see that I edited that. :) Nice catch.
Zeplerfer: Holy crap. You're actually reading my story? Holy crap, I'm sorry. I can't. I'm so glad that you find this worth your time, I adore all of your stories and follow you on a separate account and oh my God, thank you. Also, I see your points, and I've tried to address them in this chapter, but there will be kinks i"m going to have to work out later. Thank you for pointing those out. Gah, this is crazy, I don't know what to do. Thanks!
Other reviewers whom I adore just as much: Thank you for showering me with compliments, I can no longer fit my head through my doorway. ;)
I am actually legit not very happy with this chapter, but please enjoy it. Or hate it. Whichever way you wanna go.
Painted Stories
"It's good to let God pick a man for you. We don't do so well when we pick them ourselves. They end up lipsticks in a drawer, all those wrong colors you thought looked so good in the package."
―Deb Caletti, The Queen of Everything
Arthur woke the next morning to the sound of Alfred snoring, the smell of mangoes, and the feeling of a heavy head restricting some of his own breathing. Crunching his neck, he peered through half-lidded green eyes at the mess of light gray hair sitting a couple inches down from his chin. His fingers moved of their own will to comb a path through the strands of hair, curving down to circle Al's nose and trace his cheekbones before dropping to the mattress. The mango smell must be coming from Al's hair, which would mean that that's the smell of his shampoo. Arthur couldn't help but to smile at that thought.
He knew that he should be more concerned at the moment. For starters, he had a major mission that he ought to be taking care of. Getting so distracted was detrimental to the entire operation. But there was something delightful about Alfred. Arthur liked being around him, he liked how the younger man made him smile. He liked how he got to laugh, the emotion he was allowed to volunteer. He liked to be just slightly carefree.
He sighed and carefully moved Al's head from its position on top of him. The American grumbled something before his arms wound around Arthur's bare waist and he snuggled into Arthur's shoulder. The British man smiled, closing his eyes a moment before opening them and peering about the perimeter of the bed. Luckily for him, Alfred's pants were just hanging off of the edge of his side of the bed. A bit of wriggling later and Arthur was digging through their pockets, his fingers hitting upon the leather wallet that Alfred had in his pocket and sliding the smooth material out. Flipping it open, Arthur peered inside hoping to be greeted with the sight of some form of ID concerning Alfred, but he found nothing. Furrowing his eyebrows, he gently put the wallet away and eyed the bedside table. With great care, his right arm reached out to gently pry the drawer open. He ducked his hand over the edge and began to sightlessly dig through the conglomeration of objects inside of the drawer. There was a button, a string, and some condoms, then his fingers slid along the firm plasticness of a card. His fingernails scratched slightly on the bottom of the wooden drawer before he pulled the ID out.
It was pristine, unscratched, and clearly hadn't been used since the day it had been gotten. Alfred's beaming face shown through the grainy black-and-white image on the license, his eyes tinted ever-so-slightly with the hopeful blue that was in Alfred's real baby blues.
Alfred's lips brushed a kiss to Arthur's shoulder blade and the Briton turned to peer over his shoulder at his companion. Al's sleepy eyes greeted him, still foggy with slumber. A half smile was on his face, and a hickey or two peeking out from the pale gray skin of his neck.
Arthur managed a smile of his own before returning his attention to the driver's license. Slots of information were filled out on the right. The fact that Alfred had blue eyes was clearly listed in one of these columns, but Arthur made no comment. The duffer must have forgotten about it in his haste to get eye colors the previous day. His birthday was July 4, 1995, meaning that he was going to be turning 19 in a week.
Apparently his soul mate was 5' 9.6", roughly 177 centimeters in the rest of the world but that was beside the point. Arthur himself was only 175 centimeters, or about 5'9". It irked him slightly that Alfred was taller, but he could get over it. Height didn't account for authority by any means of the term.
He slid the card back into the drawer and took his time shutting it. The lube he was pretty sure they had used the previous night was laying atop the side table, some of its substance leaking out onto the wooden surface.
Arthur opted to not clean that up, preferring to leave the task to Alfred, and relaxed back into the American. He could get used to this, though he was going to try and avoid entertaining such fantasies as lazy Monday mornings.
Al's cold nose dug between Arthur's shoulder blades and the Briton couldn't help twitching away from it. Eventually, he turned around so that his own colder nose was pressed against Alfred's, green eyes peering into corresponding blue.
"You are aware that we are both naked, correct?" asked Arthur, one hand moving to press against the solid bone of Alfred's collarbone. Alfred snatched up Arthur's hand and kissed the fingertips in such a helplessly romantic gesture that the Brit did nothing but raise his eyebrows in response, refusing to be so easily wooed.
"I know. But it's not a big deal, right?"
"So you've slept with other people, then?"
"Er…" Alfred's face paled then, but a dark flush was rapidly coating his cheeks. Ivan's face was imposing itself on Arthur's. Alfred felt guilty, he should just be thinking of Arthur at the moment, but it was hard to not consider Ivan. The man had been the only guy he'd ever slept with, plus he'd really liked him. He barely knew Arthur.
"I'll take that as a yes. And based off of your inexperience, I'd venture so far as to say that you have only ever been with one person, and with them at most twice. Ivan, seeing as he's the only person you have dated." His head throbbed duly at thinking so much so early and just after being semi-intoxicated, but he pushed it away. He shouldn't be so angry at Alfred, honestly. It wasn't as if Arthur was a blushing virgin himself. But the problem was, Alfred had slept with someone that he'd really cared about. That had never been the case for Arthur, any sex always involved work and a mission, no affection in the movements and kisses. It was always cold and clinical.
Alfred blinked at Arthur, his mouth working open and closed before he unwound his arms from Arthur and scooted off the bed. He said nothing, falling unnaturally silent, and made his way butt-naked to his closet. Arthur tried to swallow down his guilt, but it was ever present. Sighing, he turned onto his back and sprawled out on the bed, leeching a couple more minutes of relaxation.
"It's not like you've never slept with anyone either," he heard Alfred say, the response a grumble of repressed anger before he left the room.
Arthur groaned and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes before sitting up and beginning his search for his clothes.
After pulling on his earlier outfit, he sat on the edge of the bed and worked his fingers into his hair, peering at the worn combat boots that were his shoes. He took a mental log of what he still had to finish. He still needed to get that telephone to the associate across town. One hand fell to those combat boots and fished out the vial he'd picked from the good will box in the souvenir shop. Its light gray liquid sloshed up and down the sides, light from the partially opened blinds bleeding through it and stabbing at Arthur's eyes.
The Briton grimaced and slid it back into his boot. He didn't know exactly what its purpose was, only that he needed to keep it close at hand until he reached the colleague with the required telephone. He logged where the other items he'd picked up were in the room before standing, stretching, and pulling the door to Alfred's room open. He peered up and down the hallway before sliding his way down the stairs, his right hand falling on the railing and helping him slide down at an even faster speed.
Entering the kitchen, he was greeted with the familiar view of shoulder-length light gray hair. A French accent clogged the air. A boy who looked similar to Alfred sat at the table, with Alfred sitting across from him. A coffee mug was in front of the American, which he seemed to be nursing with great alacrity.
Matthew, as Arthur could remember being told of him, was watching Francis with adoration in his light gray eyes. Arthur's lips crinkled in distaste and he quickly took a seat next to Alfred. Matthew turned to him then, those eyes rapidly hardening.
It appeared that Al's twin was protective of him. Francis, being the good retired spy he was, could sense the change of atmosphere and turned with spatula still in hand to check the situation.
When he saw Arthur, there was some obvious physical effort put into his restraint. The hand not holding the spatula fisted, the eyes that were a lighter gray than Matthew's narrowed, and chords of bone and muscle stood out starkly from his neck.
Arthur managed a sickeningly sweet smile. "Bonjour Francis, it has been too long," he said, noticing the rapid confusion and hurt that Matthew shifted with. Interesting, that he was so possessive of the Frenchman. He supposed that it was only logical Francis wouldn't tell Matthew about him. He wasn't planning on telling Alfred, after all.
The temptation to ruin Francis's perfect relationship was dangling just in front of Arthur's eyes. He wanted to bite it, he did, but there was one problem. Whatever he said that could hurt Matthew would also very likely hurt Alfred. It appeared that he and Francis were in the same boat.
Alfred's innocent eyes were watching him with curiosity and wariness. Arthur had insulted Alfred earlier that morning, it was best to not push his luck by telling the entire room of what he and Francis had been once upon a time.
"Bonjour Arthur," said Francis through gritted teeth, the words slightly muffled. "What has you pestering us so early in the morning?"
"Ah, why Matthew's beautiful, delicious brother of course," responded Arthur, looping an arm around Alfred's waist and tugging the taller man's chair closer. Alfred made a noise of protest and smacked his hand from where it was resting on his hip.
"Alfred," said Arthur then, kind of hurt by the action, "that is no way to treat your soul mate."
A flicker of guilt crossed Alfred's clear blue eyes, easy as they were to read, and the boy eventually sighed and stood before moving into the kitchen. "What would you like to drink, Arthur?" he asked, still pouting from Arthur's earlier waspishness.
Arthur resisted a sigh of exasperation. He knew that Francis was just waiting for a fight to erupt between Alfred and himself. He wasn't intent on giving the disgusting frog the satisfaction. "Tea, thanks," he said, settling back in his chair and peering out of the corner of his eye at Matthew.
The Canadian was wearing round, circular glasses that magnified his light gray eyes to two times their size. He had the same shade of hair as Alfred, though he had a large curl springing from the mass of strands. A sweater with the Canadian flag on it was hanging on his lanky frame. He wore a pair of flannel pajama pants and was completely barefoot. He was monitoring Arthur through his own light gray eyes, and not for the first time Arthur felt like he should be polishing up his act a little bit. Make a good impression and whatnot. (Thinking back on that months later, he would discover that Matthew was very good for Francis.)
But then again, that would require a desire to get closer to Alfred's family, and that was an aspiration he found himself to be distinctly lacking in.
A mug of tea was slid in front of him, and he gratefully wrapped his fingers around its warm circumference.
"What has you in America, Francis?" he asked after blowing a bit of air on his steaming tea. It was just a tad too hot to drink, and he had to force down his irritation at the liquid being placed in a coffee mug instead of a teacup. Such uncivilized human beings, Americans could be.
"Ah, you know. Business," was Francis's breezy response, followed by a telltale waving of a French hand in the air. As if he were just shooing off a pesky fly rather than a reasonable question.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
Interesting.
"Well, I've never known you to be so vague before! For one so attuned to flimflammery as you, I would expect a keener answer."
He took a tentative sip of the tea, momentarily surprised at the okay-ness of it. It was a little over-steeped, but that could be forgiven. Apparently Alfred was good at making beverages.
Francis made a face and turned back around. "That is none of your business, Arthur, and we both know that," there was an underlying meaning to his words, a meaning that only Arthur and Francis would understand.
Arthur chose to pay attention to this suggestion and let the issue drop. He was confident he could get it out of Francis later, when they were in the company of fewer people.
Alfred finally settled back down into the seat next to Arthur, a breeze smelling of sleep, toasted bagel, and coffee following him. Arthur wanted to lean into that smell, really absorb whatever aroma it was that Alfred was wearing; however, he understood that Alfred wouldn't want that, would be completely against it as a matter of fact, and so he refrained.
Alfred, on the other hand, was a little keener to be close to Arthur, and Arthur noticed the way Alfred's head tilted as he inhaled whatever it was that Arthur smelled like at the moment. Alfred wasn't dumb, that much was obvious, and Arthur was beginning to get the sensation that Alfred as catching on to something. But he would let the American voice his suspicions before he said anything. Best to force Al to think it out. Art knew that he would have to tell Alfred eventually; his best hope was that Al would be able to guess it on his own, so they might avoid the awkward conversation altogether.
Arthur watched Alfred after this brief encounter. There was a curious trait to the American. He seemed very brash, very loud, but it didn't all feel real to Arthur. No one laughs that loudly over a terrible joke. No one can possibly be so chipper all the time. Alfred was covering up some pain of his own, hiding some memories.
Arthur decided that it wouldn't be a terrible mission to uncover what exactly was bugging his soul mate.
A plate of bacon and eggs was slid in front of Arthur at that point, knocking into his mug of tea. Glaring up at the petulant Francis, all he got was an angelic smile before the man moved on to deposit breakfasts in front of everyone else.
Unsurprisingly, Arthur was the one with the smallest portions, but that was okay. He could get something to eat on his way across town, there were plenty of street vendors in New York City, and he'd heard of a pretty fantastic one over near where his colleague was.
Once both he and Alfred had finished (incredibly at the same time) they both headed back towards Alfred's room. Arthur wasn't exactly sure what to do from there. He knew that Matthew had seen some of the dark bruises along Alfred's throat. The man didn't know what secrecy meant, that was for sure. He knew that Francis could probably smell the sex on both of them (though he could too). He knew that he was getting in way too deep way too early. He knew that sleeping with one another was a terrible decision so soon after meeting. He knew that he hadn't been half as drunk the earlier night as he'd pretended he was. He also knew that Alfred hadn't been either.
There's something to be said about falling behind actions in favor of speaking words.
The minute the door to Alfred's room closed, Arthur was moving about the room in search of the items he'd brought with him yesterday.
Alfred's blue eyes watched him, seeking out Arthur's green to no avail. Arthur was focused, and he wasn't interested in distracting himself with Alfred just yet.
Once he'd located the separate objects, covered the ones that were a little suspicious, and amassed them in a pile on the bed, he finally turned towards the American. An awkward stillness settled between them, unbudging and seeming to layer itself over both of their mouths.
Alfred spoke first. "Will you be coming back?"
The question surprised Arthur. It was one that he hadn't even considered would be an issue. Why wouldn't he come back?
"Well, yes, of course I'm coming back…" he said, trailing off so that Alfred might read confusion into his words, because he was confused. He wouldn't run away. Why would Alfred think that he'd run away from his soul mate? How much of an idiot did Alfred think he was?
Alfred, for his part, seemed to exhale a breath of relief. "That's good," he murmured under his breath, seemingly unaware that Arthur was paying attention and listening. "Where are you going today?"
Arthur smiled then, moving closer to Alfred and sliding his hands along the other's well-shaped arms, settling them at the upper arm and holding there. "It's nothing to concern yourself with, Alfred. I promise I'll be back, though. I just have some business to take care of, and it's boring government business." He leaned forward and stood slightly on his toes to kiss Alfred's forehead. "What do you have planned today?" He was being so disgustingly sweet, it almost made him want to hit something. But he felt that he had to be, though he wasn't used to being so affectionate. Alfred was unsure about him because something had happened a while ago. He might as well ensure that Alfred knew that he cared about him, even if it was only because he was his soul mate at the moment.
Alfred beamed then, his teeth stark and white compared to the grayness of his skin and hair and clothes. "I'm actually getting my plane tickets for college," he said proudly, his chest puffing out ever so slightly.
"That's wonderful, Alfred!" he praised, stepping back and moving towards the bed so that he could gather the objects close to him. "You don't happen to have a bag for these things, do you?" he asked, shrugging helplessly with the items cluttering his arms. He, to be quite frank, didn't much care that Alfred was getting his papers to go off to England. It had utterly nothing to do with him at the moment.
Alfred eyed the items a moment before snapping his fingers and disappearing into a room across the hall. A moment later, and with the door clicking shut once more behind him, he handed Arthur a black gym bag.
"There," he said, "that should save you from any prying eyes." He winked knowingly at Arthur's surprised expression. "You don't get into one of the top Genetics schools in the world without knowing at least a little thing or two about how people work." Alfred explained modestly before moving away to tidy up the bedside table that Arthur had been shuffling through earlier that morning.
Alfred held up the leaking bottle of lube, peering at it with confused eyes. "I don't recall you using this…" he trailed off, raising one eyebrow in Arthur's direction.
Arthur shrugged and struggled to hold back a flush. A dark hickey of his own was peeking out at his collarbone, though he'd done his best to cover it with the collar of the button-down shirt he was wearing. "It's the thought that counts," he supplied uselessly.
Alfred snorted and put the lube away before casting around for his shirt from yesterday, and wiping the top of the table with it.
Arthur had to give points to Alfred for ingenuity.
"How old are you?" asked Arthur. He did know Alfred's age, from their conversation earlier about how Alfred was going off to school in England, and from the driver's license he'd memorized earlier that morning. But he might as well ask straight out, just in case he'd gotten the age wrong or something.
Alfred peered at him through laughing blue eyes, and Arthur fought back yet another urge to blush. Honestly, he'd never felt so out of control. The Briton coughed awkwardly and attempted to look authoritative as he gestured for Alfred to answer him.
"I'm eighteen, about to turn nineteen. You can get your panties out of a twist, alright?" teased Alfred, sitting on the bed and pushing the gym bag of interesting items away from him so that he could prop his feet up on the end. The sheets were still rumpled and not entirely clean, the pillows tossed about all over the mattress.
The room smelled distinctly of Alfred, an aroma that consisted of coffee, whatever the boy had recently eaten, and Old Spice body spray.
Just to confirm the brand of body spray, Arthur disappeared into the bathroom and emerged with the bottle of, indeed, Old Spice. He didn't associate that brand of body spray with a boy Al's age, but with an older man. He held it up and raised both heavy eyebrows at Alfred, noticing the way the American blushed and shrugged.
"What can I say, I like spicy old things," was Alfred's flirty response as he gazed at Arthur through his eyelashes.
Arthur swallowed and returned to the restroom, this time closing the door after him. Honestly, such an un-sexual string of words should not have him wanting to fuck Alfred into the bed, but there it was.
He wasn't that old.
Arthur splashed some water on his face in an effort to cool himself down and watched in the mirror as the water droplets raced one another down to his chin before falling to the porcelain sink that he was leaning on.
Alfred's toothbrush was seated in a white cup, accompanied by the tube of toothpaste splayed out on the back corner of the sink. Toothpaste was leaking out of that too, slightly grayer than the white porcelain of the sink it was seated upon. Kid's Crest could be read along the side, and Arthur could recall Alfred telling him about that. When he picked up the toothbrush because fuck it he's a snoop, he was greeted with the sight of a little red dragon for the handle that was breathing fire upwards in the form of the long stalk that ended in tooth brushing bristles.
He carefully put it back down, struggling to hold back a smile at the apparent childishness of his soul mate. God bless Alfred, the man was too amusing.
A further investigation of the bathroom uncovered a shower hidden back in the corner, a tiny one-person thing, and a toilet situated just next to it. It wasn't a very large bathroom, by any standard, but it clearly worked well for Alfred.
Arthur finished his investigation, used the restroom, washed his hands with Alfred's Sugar cookie scented foamy hand soap before exiting and peering about for the very American that was equal parts vexing and pretty.
There was no Alfred there to greet him, however, and Arthur forced himself to swallow down the disappointment before looping the strap of the gym bag over his head and beginning to move out of the apartment. Matthew was arguing with Francis in the living room, both using equal parts English and equal parts French. Arthur did his best to tune their debate out—both languages of it—as he searched for Alfred.
He finally unearthed Alfred at the front door. The man was bouncing on his toes, fingers stuffed into the pockets of his cargo shorts. Those shorts fit him very nicely, and brought certain assets to Arthur's attention.
He coughed and forced his eyes up to Alfred's face, noting the amused knowledge in those clear blue eyes. They weren't a pale blue, but very filled out in their color. There was something wistful about them, and yet something not. A darker thing was ruminating behind the pupils, Arthur could see that. Blue eyes are easy to read, after all. Alfred's eyes held innocence and horror in equal parts, the cold of ice and the welcoming embrace of a downy blue blanket. Arthur wanted to tug him close and kiss him senseless, but wasn't sure how that would go over. Sure, they'd had sex, but they were both technically drunk at the time.
Arthur shook his head and opened the door, gesturing for Alfred to leave before him. Alfred flushed, blubbered out a thank you and trotted out the door. Arthur followed not far behind and shut it. He was sure Francis and Matthew could handle themselves (more accurately Francis) and so he began to walk off with Alfred without worrying about whether or not to lock the apartment.
Alfred was chattering up a storm about his most favorite superhero ever, Batman. Arthur gave as much of his attention as he could afford. There was no safe place for one in his line of work, so he constantly had to be alert and watching. His eyes crawled over license plates and faces and clothes and bags, took in the way people walked, how long cars idled, when doors opened and closed, his ears listened to conversations and footsteps.
Alfred finished his mini narration at about the point they reached the nearest subway station. Both slid through the turnstiles after swiping their respective cards. Arthur was expecting an awkward goodbye with maybe an even worse hug and then awkward standing until Arthur or Alfred's train arrived.
What Arthur wasn't expecting was for Alfred to hug him so randomly and with such desperation. The American's face was buried in the shoulder of Arthur's button-down shirt, nuzzling the area a moment before he pulled away. "I'll see you soon, right?"
Arthur smiled and awkwardly patted Alfred's back. He wasn't sure how to handle this situation; he honestly doubted he would ever know what to do when it came to Alfred. The man was a confusing mess. After a moment of silence, where Alfred somehow managed to extricate himself from Arthur, the subway arrived, and Arthur hopped in, tossing a small smile over his shoulder before the doors rapidly shut. He watched Alfred's gray face, those wide, colorful eyes flickering from one person to another in the station before the train turned a corner and Alfred was whipped out of sight.
Arthur sighed and turned away then, tuning himself back into the world around him. One hand moved up to hook on one of the numerous gray straps hanging in loops from a central rail.
-.-.-.-
Alfred tore his eyes from the train the minute that Arthur stepped on. He didn't want to look like some loser, constantly clinging to Arthur. That was a terrible thing, and he'd heard from his friends what dating those kinds of people is like. He didn't want to be one of them. So, he tore his blue eyes from the train and watched the people waiting around him. They were in varying stages of distress or relaxation. One woman was chattering away on her phone, something about Gilbert and stupidity. Come to think of it, she was the same woman he'd seen in Starbucks yesterday. She was wearing a pretty, light gray dress with pale gray flowers in her slightly grayer hair. Her skin was a gentle gray, implying that she was tanned, her eyes wide and a shade of gray all their own.
His eyes skipped quickly on to the next victim. This man was towering and had a face of stone. His glasses were sitting low on his nose, his hands tucked into the pockets of his deep gray pants. The ends of those pants were shoved down into black combat boots. A tight-fitting white shirt marked out his fitness levels, leaving little to the imagination as far as musculature went. His cold, light gray eyes were gazing blankly out into space, one hand fiddling with a phone in his pocket.
Alfred's eyes skipped once more to where a scruffy man was seated on the subway steps. His long, dark gray beard was traced with threads of light silver and longer, equally gray hair gnarly with knots and tangles. His face was dirt-grimed, fingernails filthy and blackened. His clothes were in tatters, barely hanging on his frame, which was dangerously emaciated. No shoes adorned his feet, just a pair of ratty woolen socks. But the music he was creating, the music that was floating angelically from a pristine silver flute that was hovering near his lips was golden. Alfred levitated near and let a few dollars slide into the open flute case at the man's sock-adorned feet. It was all he could do, but he hoped that it would help, at least a little. The man halted his playing a moment to offer Al a snaggletooth smile before resuming his playing.
Something told Alfred that Arthur, even Matthew, wouldn't have approved of that action. Mattie never much liked associating with people in the subway. He didn't have a lot of faith where others were concerned, and had never really been very sociable in the first place. Arthur just read as that paranoid type to Alfred, the one who would constantly be checking over his shoulder with a knife held tightly in one hand.
Alfred shook such silly thoughts from his mind when he heard the telltale whistle and whine of the train pulling up. He checked the color and number before getting on and selecting an out-of-the-way spot towards the back of it for a permanent place of residence throughout the ride. Other people streamed on, including the girl from the coffee shop, and the train rocketed off.
Alfred took his phone out and checked the time, and temporarily mourned his forgetfulness in asking for Arthur's phone number. There was no rush, and he could probably afford to stop off for a donut or a churro at one of the street vendors. But he was too amped up for that kind of thing, so he pushed his phone back into his pocket and waited for the train to arrive at the station.
-.-.-.-
Arthur stepped lightly off the subway, his green eyes cutting sharply across the gray and black and white layers of the station. The stairs were leading out straight ahead of him, and he made his way through the turnstiles once more before springing into freedom. There was a smaller amount of people here, no doubt because it looked to be a wealthier side of New York City. The Upper east, now that he recalls the exact address.
Weaving his way along the streets was more of a stroll than anything else. Luckily for him, he was dressed pretty, so he didn't get too many suspicious glances. The gym bag was the only tiny issue, but that could be easily explained away. Arthur had a cover story ready and set, and one that he would be able to repeat verbatim later on if necessary. That was the thing about cover stories, it was imperative that they remain completely accurate through every single retelling. No loose threads.
Arriving at the house, he peered about for a doorbell, found there wasn't one, and settled for slamming the knocker up and down and waiting for a butler or someone to open it. The knocker itself was overdone, a lion holding a crown in its mighty jaws, its glistening jewel eyes peering at the visitor without feeling.
The door was pulled open by, sure enough, a butler. He was dressed professionally, implying that he took the job very, very seriously. He was not one who would accept a bribe that was for sure. Arthur sighed and resigned himself to his fate. The only way out of this situation, if it did turn bad, was an offensive.
As the butler guided him to where he was supposed to meet this difficult colleague, he could only hope that it didn't come to that.
-.-.-.-
Alfred had finally worked up the gumption to talk to the girl from the coffee shop. He wasn't entirely sure if it was because he was still attracted to her or if it was because she looked awfully lonely, but all the same.
He was reluctant to get off the train when he reached his stop, but get off he did after exchanging phone numbers with the young woman and hugging her goodbye. Arthur wouldn't be pleased about it, but to hell with him.
Damn possessive Briton.
Alfred took a moment to check his pockets and make sure nothing had been nabbed before exiting the subway station. Luckily for him, the station was directly under City Hall Plaza, so he didn't have to walk very far until he made it to the federal office building. He was given the location of the office he was supposed to be meeting in before he meandered his way in that direction. He wasn't terribly fond of office buildings. They always smelled terrible, like paper and sadness. Although he didn't see color, he could tell that there wouldn't be much color in a place like this anyway. There was no lively laughter or chit chatter, no whispered words or muffled snickers. Nothing but the sound of nails and fingers clacking away on keyboards and the ever-present echo of metal drawers being pulled open and slammed shut, the riffle of paper against paper, the tone of the scanner and the copy machine, the gears of the printers grinding and working. Nothing vivacious, nothing remotely exciting. Just monotonous, boring.
He knocked hesitantly at the brown door he'd been told to go to. A name was spelled out in fancy, light gray script along a dark gray, wooden plaque. Apparently he was supposed to be meeting with a certain Mr. Randy Wayne. He knew that the person on the other side of the door most likely was not Batman, but the boyish side of him refused to be put down. That last name was surely not a circumstance.
A muffled 'come in' echoed from the other side of the door, and Alfred obliged it, clicking the door open and pushing it inwards. The man on the other end wasn't in the best shape, all things considered. He had a bit of a potbelly going, causing the lower buttons on his shirt to bulge. There were no stains on the outfit, however, so there was that much to commend. His eyes were small in the circular, rather ballooned shape of his face. He had a balding head, with strands of graying hair pulled across the bald spot in the middle of his head in an effort to pretend that it didn't exist. Needless to say, the effort didn't work.
"Hello Mr. Jones. I'm Mr. Wayne, in case you didn't read that sign on my door. You've come to check over your passport request, correct?"
Alfred nodded his assent, surprised by the deep voice that came out of such a mousy-looking man. It was slightly unnerving.
"Wonderful. I'm pleased to inform you that you have been cleared," with this he slid the passport across the desk towards Alfred. "And you have your necessary visa. If you wish to apply for dual citizenship, that will be another issue altogether. Are you interested in pursuing that recess?"
Alfred took a moment to mull over that one. He knew that Arthur lived in the United Kingdom. He knew that Arthur worked for the English government. It would be for the best that he obtain dual citizenship. Slowly, he nodded. "Yes, I'm interested."
"Very well," said Mr. Wayne, "we will get started on that right away. May I ask what inspired this change? Not a month ago, you were insisting that it only be a student immigration Visa. Now you are asking to apply for dual citizenship."
Alfred shrugged. "You meet people," he told Mr. Wayne, noting the way the man grew a little bitter.
"So you found your soul mate, then? A Briton, I presume. Ah, well you're a lucky one. I've heard about them. Tigers in the bed, if you know what I'm saying," he winked, not aware of how red Alfred was turning.
Alfred was indeed turning red, and his cheeks felt like they were on fire. He knew that if he pressed his fingers to the burning skin, little while marks would be left where each finger had been pressed. His fingers drifted to where the edge of one of the many bruises Arthur had left behind was peeking out of his shirt collar.
Luckily for him, Mr. Wayne didn't appear to have noticed, and he left the room with his passport in hand relatively scotch free. The incident was over, for now, and he hoped that he wouldn't have to return to the creepy old man anytime soon.
Leaving the building, Alfred decided to walk back to the apartment. Sure, it wouldn't be a short one, but he had nothing better to do. He was pretty sure that Arthur would be busy the rest of the day, and besides, he wanted a donut.
-.-.-.-
The butler-who still hadn't given his name-opened the door and Arthur was ushered in. He was greeted by the sight of millions of different beakers and graduated cylinders, a fuming something here, a bubbling something there, there was a glass corner in the room where something particularly vile was being tinkered with, judging by the gaseous cloud that was blocking the view of much of whatever the hell the thing was.
The man he was supposed to be meeting in a serious business form of atmosphere rolled by on a swivel chair, laughing and careening about before stopping just short of a particularly intricate setup of tubes and wires and thermometers.
"Arthur!" chirped the man, making Arthur wince. The whole idea with the codenames was so that they might keep their real identities secret. But it appeared as if the man already knew who Arthur was, so there was no real point to it now.
Arthur forced a smile.
"Antonio," he said graciously, bowing his head. Since his real name had already been used, he figured he might as well return the favor. Antonio sat up straighter in the chair and stuck his tongue out playfully in Arthur's direction.
"It's been a long time, mi amigo," he said then, bipolar as always. Arthur felt a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. He was always all about staying serious when business was being conducted, but that was hard to manage around the effervescent Antonio. There are some people it is impossible to be a grump around, and Alfred and Antonio fit in the same category there.
"Do you have the telephone?" asked Antonio.
Arthur zipped open the gym bag and plucked it from the top. It was still in its Christmas-y gift wrapping, laughing Santa Clauses dotted all over the light gray, crinkly paper.
He handed it over carefully, hoping to God that Antonio would be able to glean the information needed from it. They just needed whatever trace the previous user could have left. Be it sweat, a fingerprint, dead skin cells, anything. They needed something to identify, to have a starting point. Then, finally, the real operation could start. Arthur wasn't sure if he would be the one finishing it or not. He was still a new operative, only having been accepted in roughly three years ago. He was still enduring training. It was highly likely that the mission would be passed on to a more seasoned operative.
While Antonio did his thing, Arthur wandered about and looked at the different gadgets and liquids lining the space. He'd heard that laboratories were generally black, gray, and white, so he knew he was probably missing little in the color spectrum here; however, he still ached to know what color those potions were.
But then again, he wanted to know a lot, and limiting that desire to potion colors was almost obscene.
Eventually, Arthur lost his patience and made his way back over to the Spaniard. "Antonio, what is taking so long?" he asked, thoroughly exasperated and not quite aware of how delicate an operation Antonio was undertaking.
Sure enough, Antonio turned to glare at his green-eyed companion. "This is going to take at least a day to pick out sufficient DNA, and no doubt longer to identify who's it is. And even then we don't know if that is the actual person. The organization you are trying to take down is not sloppy. It is highly likely they could have framed someone." He cast careful, light gray eyes over Arthur, the same light gray as Arthur's own when he looked in the mirror. "Have you found your soul mate yet?"
Arthur took a moment to answer, unsure entirely why Antonio was asking such personal questions. "Yes."
"Get him safe. Once you identify the troublers, things are going to get ugly." Antonio turned back around after imparting that bit of advice.
"They aren't likely to know about Alfred," was Arthur's reasoned response. Antonio took one more minute from his project to reply to that.
"If you are the lead operative on this mission, which I suspect that you will be, than they will know, and they will know very quickly. Either get that man into a government organization of his own, or offer him some of your own training. There is no in between."
Finally, he waved Arthur away. Antonio may be a goofball every other day of his life, but he didn't fuck around when it came to important matters such as this. The information they were trying to extract was requiring the cooperation of most of the world's governments. It was imperative, absolutely imperative, that they keep the sample pure so that proper identification can be managed. And that required complete concentration.
Arthur saw himself out. The bottle of whatever it was still rested in his boot. He knew he should have taken it out when he got here, should have handed it over to Antonio. But he was curious about it; he wanted to know what it's purpose was, what it did. And besides, his orders were to hand the bottle over once sufficient DNA had been extracted. As of yet, that had not happened.
The bullet was nestled comfortably in the bottom of the bag, wrapped in a floral pink scarf and the sticky gloves he'd picked out in the goodwill pile of that terrible souvenir shop yesterday. He still wasn't positive what any of the items were for, especially the scarf, but he didn't question it. He made his way to the subway station and caught the train he needed to get back to roughly central New York City. All the while the train clicked on, Arthur struggled to think of how to explain the situation to Alfred. Technically, he didn't have to. It was highly unlikely he would be selected for such an important mission, and so there was no need to scare Alfred away so early on in their fledgling relationship.
But all the same, Arthur found that he didn't want to risk losing Alfred. The man was his chance to see color, his chance to love.
He was at a crossroads.
When he arrived at the apartment, he was greeted with the very, very, very unfortunate sight of Matthew and Francis going at it on the couch. Groaning and covering his eyes, Arthur crept silently by, thanking the Lord for the training he'd been forced to go through. He got by without a sound and quickly locked himself in Alfred's room.
The shriek of horror that echoed from the door he'd just left was all he needed to know that Alfred had returned. Francis's obnoxious laughter accompanied this dismay, and the hushed voice of Matthew tried to soothe things over, but the damage was done. Alfred was in his room faster than Arthur could blink.
Alfred turned around then, his eyes wide and mouth parted slightly. "That," he murmured, holding a hand over his heaving chest, "was terrible."
Arthur snorted and struggled not to laugh. People do that, when they love each other. Hell, Alfred and himself were doing that just the last night, though not in such a public setting.
But Arthur wasn't going to try to explain that. He understood the disgust that Alfred must be feeling; he'd caught some of his own siblings going at it with their soul mates a couple times, after all. It's far from pleasant.
Before he could say anything else, however, Alfred was talking.
"You know, dude, I was thinking. Why did you sleep with me if you didn't know how old I am? I mean, it's kind of illegal to sleep with a minor. Are you trying to use me for nefarious purposes? Because honestly, you shouldn't have let us get so far last night, you're the adult in this situation."
Arthur was more than a little affronted, and he made sure to cut in the minute Alfred stopped for a breath. "I was perfectly aware of your age! You yourself stated that you are going to your first year of college in August. That would mean that you would have graduated high school, which would mean that you are a legal adult in the United States of America. What you should be wondering is why I let you drink alcohol, as you are not twenty-one yet." Alfred looked a little guilty by this point, but Arthur was far from finished. "I'm twenty-three, if you must know, and there is no purpose that I could possibly come up with to use you for. In addition to that, the fact that you are blaming what we did last night on me is blasphemy all its own. You were perfectly content to let what happened happen. You initiated most of the contact, and when I tried to back off, you told me that 'no' you wanted this. So don't you fucking dare accuse me of anything such as rape, because we both know that what we did was not even close to rape." His eyes were flashing, though he wasn't sure to what extent he was scaring Alfred, he could tell that he was being at least a little intimidating, judging by the fact that the American was backing up, hands raising in a surrendering gesture.
Practically vibrating with his rage, Arthur slid his phone from his pocket and furiously tapped at the screen. "When is your flight to England?" he bit out, pausing only to glare up at Alfred as he waited for an answer.
"Er," Alfred fumbled quickly with his phone before pulling the calendar open and confirming the date. "The fifteenth of August, 9:00 PM."
Arthur nodded and turned his back to Alfred, quickly typing something into his phone and muttering something about a guy named Antonio under his breath.
Alfred walked tentatively forward and placed a hesitant hand on Arthur's right shoulder. He noticed the way the Briton tensed before relaxing and lowering the phone.
"I'm sorry," said Alfred, his voice truly apologetic. Arthur gradually sighed and turned, taking Alfred's hand and squeezing it before letting it fall. "I shouldn't have said any of that, and it was wrong of me to accuse you of preying on me or something. I didn't mean it, I just don't know what to do right now. I don't know how to handle our situation."
"It's alright, Alfred. Just… think about what you say before you say it, alright?" Arthur sounded exhausted. He was still trying to piece together different issues. Namely, how he was going to get everything done in time to leave America. Also, how he was going to keep Alfred safe.
Honestly, it was too much for him to actually want to think about.
"Well, I'm starved," he murmured, beginning to turn away until Alfred caught him and forced Arthur to face him again.
Before Arthur really knew what was happening, Alfred was kissing him. Upon that realization, Arthur discovered that Alfred tasted delightfully like coffee and the sugary sweetness of donuts. Arthur rapidly took the opportunity to try and take control, but found that Alfred was not going to relinquish it.
The Briton was going to make a comment on how irksome that was, but quickly discovered that the ability of thought was leaving him. Honestly, this was going to become a problem in the very near future.
That problem was realized as soon as he hit the bed and heard the sound of the bottle slipping out of his boot and hitting the wooden floor.
Thanks for reading, I hope that all of you enjoyed this newest chapter. I toiled for days over it, and have at least five drafts that I discarded because they were terrible.
If you see any flaws in things, please point them out. I need help in everything I do, but writing is one of the more prominent.
I hope my American followers had an awesome Thanksgiving break, and I hope all of my followers have had a wonderful week!