[Secret Santa Fic] In Such a State [2/5]
Title: In Such a State [2/5]
Author: 9mm_meg
Recipient: seraphic_dream
Rating: PGish
Warnings: 6-year-old Fem!Canada?
Summary: Alfred is just after a Christmas present for his little sister, but when he finds a life-sized, broken doll outside a shop and takes him home, he gets quite a bit more than he bargained for. Victorian!AU
The damage wasn’t nearly as bad as Alfred had feared, and now, the doll was sitting upright on his desk back at home in his study, stripped of its filthy clothing and broken arm back in its proper position. A dampened rag to its face had taken care of the dirt, and now it looked good as new.
It was really sort of strange, he thought, that Bonnefoy would have thrown it out just for that slight defect… If he could fix it so easily, he was sure the doll maker could’ve done so himself.
But it didn’t matter so much, because now it was his-well, Madeleine’s-and it looked fine.
The only thing left was its clothing. The suit could be laundered, and… he’d just, uh, toss out the cloak thing. He didn’t need that anyway… sort of a weird thing for a doll to have, really.
And speaking of clothes… Alfred sat down at his desk and pulled out his record books. Now that he didn’t have to buy the doll, maybe he could use the money he’d set aside for Christmas on more clothes and whatever else little girls want for their dolls. He let a grin spread over his face again and started running numbers.
Arthur’s head was positively swimming as he came to.
He’d known that something wasn’t right as soon as he’d stepped into his chalk circle, but it had been too late to turn back. Though he’d already started the incantation, he’d tried his best to alter it as he chanted and minimize the damage, and now, from what he could tell so far, he was still mostly in one piece.
He blinked a few times, too sore to really move around much (lord, how his head hurt), and brought a hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose-
Arthur froze, staring at his neatly jointed, not at all human fingers. Human-shaped, yes, but they were hard, cold porcelain… and a glance down confirmed his fears. The rest of him was in a similar state.
It only took a moment to for him to realize what had actually happened, and his thoughts went back to the doll he’d been trying to animate. Of course… but how in the world had he reversed it this way?
He didn’t have much time to think on it further, though, as he panicked at a sudden voice behind him.
“Nononono, that won’t work… I’ll have to cut back somewhere else…”
As quick as he could, Arthur took a furtive look around, noting the obvious fact that he wasn’t in the same building as before, he was sitting on some sort of desk, and he wasn’t alone.
Wait. Was he naked?
(It took all of his willpower not to let out a shriek when he caught sight of the quite noticeable lack of anything between his legs-aside from the heartbreakingly blank expanse of porcelain.)
It was a man seated behind him, hunched over and digging through the file cabinet behind the desk, completely unaware that he was conscious. Arthur had no idea how he’d wound up in this situation, but he was certain that he didn’t want to stick around to find out. How to escape though…
His kidnapper sat up without any warning, flipping pages in a ledger in his lap, and Arthur decided it was time to make a break for it. He grabbed at his cloak thrown over the edge of the desk and leapt down, only to lose his footing at the odd feeling of his not-flesh feet meeting the rug, and then crashed to the floor.
The man was sure to have heard it, and Arthur was forced into another split-second decision, holding his breath (and realizing for the first time that he actually wasn’t breathing at all-but it felt right to hold his nonexistent breath regardless) and lying as still as possible, praying that whoever this was would assume that he’d just fallen off the desk and give him another chance to run as soon as he turned his back again.
He winced at the crash of books meeting the floor on the other side of the desk, and waited, desperately trying not to blink.
The unexpected noise jerked Alfred out of his number-induced daze and sent his records flying, and he spun around in his chair, breathing hard. He knew he was alone in the house, his housekeeper having gone home for the evening, and a prickle of fear started to sneak in at the edge of his mind. He’d never really come to trust this creepy old house in the year he’d been in it; it wasn’t as though he thought his father would haunt him, but he didn’t know who or what else could be lurking around waiting to bring about his untimely demise…
It took him a minute, but he finally realized that the doll was missing-though it didn’t comfort him in the slightest. He didn’t think it could’ve just fallen off the desk like that on its own, and he shivered to think of what could have knocked it over.
Steeling himself, Alfred took a deep breath and slowly stood from his chair, leaning over the desk in front of him. It was there on the floor, sprawled haphazardly over the rug with that nasty cloak draped over most of its lower half-
And Alfred could’ve sworn those green, glass eyes flicked back up when his own did. Oh no… oh nonono... His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, but then he remembered his father always telling him to face his fears and be a man... so he gulped and reached down with shaking fingers, stretching himself over the desktop.
Just a doll, it’s just a doll, he thought over and over, trying to convince himself that the subtly-painted blush on its cheeks wasn’t getting darker as he got closer, that its eye hadn’t twitched, that it didn’t look like it was holding its breath because dolls don’t breathe stop being such a little girl about it!
He paused, finger hovering above an unmistakably pink porcelain cheek for what felt like an eternity, and then he touched it.
The response was almost immediate, and, to his intense horror, its face twisted into an indignant scowl that Alfred was absolutely certain he was not imagining.
“Mind you watch who you’re prodding, you idiot!”
It certainly wasn’t the reaction he’d expected, but Arthur supposed it wasn’t such a surprise that the man had run screaming from the room after his little outburst. Dolls don’t normally shout, of course, but it had been sort of an automatic reaction after the impolite poke to his face.
Regardless, it had given him the opportunity he’d been waiting for, and he wasted no time in wrapping himself in his cloak and rushing down the hall and staircase towards freedom (pointedly ignoring how he rattled with every step).
It was only once he reached the front door that he realized the true extent of the predicament he was in. As soon as he’d stepped over the threshold, he discovered an unfamiliar street and rows of houses that all looked alike, so he quickly popped back inside and shut the door.
Of course he had to find some way of returning himself to normal, and to do so he’d have to retrieve his books and tools from the abandoned building. But who knew how long it would take for him to work out the proper reversal spell, and, more importantly, how was he to make it there? He had no idea where he was, and he had no money to pay for a hansom… not to mention the fact that he was a doll. Who’s to say that the first person he came across to ask for directions wouldn’t flee in horror as well?
Arthur stood at the door, staring at the handle as he considered his options. He couldn’t walk it on his own, he couldn’t get a cab, and as much as he did not want to ask for help, he couldn’t even manage that without terrorizing the neighborhood or landing himself in some sort of side show attraction.
Reluctantly, his thoughts returned to the owner of the house. Arthur wasn’t sure what sort of a man he was, (though the fact that he’d stripped him down and just left him sitting there didn’t really speak volumes of his character, in his opinion). He didn’t have much choice in the matter, however (and it seemed as though he was more afraid of Arthur than the other way around anyway), so he pulled his cloak a little tighter and wondered where the man might have gone.
The kitchen was empty, and so was the pantry, and the dining room, the sitting room, and every other room he looked into on the first two floors of the house. He was sure he’d at least find a servant or someone about. After all, the house wasn’t nearly the size of his family’s manor, but it was large enough to employ at least a small staff of two or three, and the guestrooms were dust-free despite looking a bit disused. There was no sign of life, however, until he climbed the stairs to the uppermost level.
The first bedroom he looked into was empty, but furnished for a little girl. There was a pile of stuffed animals on the bed, along with a few baby dolls, and Arthur suddenly wondered if he’d been meant as a gift, what with his being a doll and Christmas being just around the corner. It still didn’t answer the question of how he’d been acquired, but when he finally came upon an apparently lived-in master bedroom, it seemed as though he was about to find out.
It was the wardrobe’s quivering that gave away its occupant’s hiding place, and Arthur hesitantly stepped up to it before knocking on the door.
“Pardon my intrusion,” he said politely, but before he could get any further, the wardrobe gave an almighty lurch.
“LEAVE ME ALONE!” came the muffled reply from within, and Arthur sighed. Perhaps this would be harder than he’d thought.
“I’m terribly sorry for shouting at you earlier,” he started, tone placating, “but I was hoping you might be willing to assist me. I haven’t any idea where we are, and I would just like to go back to wherever it was you happened upon me-”
He stopped as the door opened a fraction, and a pair of bright blue eyes behind wire-framed glasses peered out at him suspiciously.
“Oh, hello,” Arthur said, attempting a halfway pleasant smile.
The eyes narrowed. “You’re just trying to lure me out of here so you can eat me or something.”
The accent was American, but what he’d said was so ridiculous that Arthur paid how he’d said it no mind. “Hardly,” he snorted. “In fact, I’m not even certain I can eat anything in this state… but that’s what I’m trying to fix, you see.”
The door opened a bit more, revealing a scowling face that was younger than he’d expected and a head of dark blond hair. “So,” he said, and gave Arthur a skeptical look, “you wanna lure me out of here so that I can help you eat me.”
“Oh for the love of-” Arthur backed away a few steps, holding up a hand in a gesture of peace (the other was keeping his cloak closed around him, of course) “-there now. I’m all the way over here. My name is Kir-well, Arthur, and I swear to you that I mean you no harm whatsoever. I don’t want to be a bother. I just want to leave, but I can’t do it without your help. Now will you please come out?”
“You don’t wanna eat me?”
“Not in the slightest. And, good lord, it’s ‘want to.’”
Finally, he climbed out, knocking a few garments off their hangers with him. He didn’t take his hand off of the door, though, and he still eyed Arthur cautiously. “Alfred Jones,” he said, then gave him a careful once-over. “What are you anyway?”
“I’m a person, of course,” Arthur said irritably. “I just had a… mishap. I mean to correct it, however, so if you wouldn’t mind calling a cab or telling me how to get back to wherever it was that you found me…?”
Alfred still didn’t look convinced, now crossing his arms. “Mishap? When I tripped and fell down the stairs this morning, that was a mishap. You’re a talking doll. Explain that one to me.”
Clearly this conversation wasn’t going to be an easy one. Arthur repressed an automatic sarcastic reply and tossed around a few ideas on how to briefly tell him what had happened without going into too many details, but not coming up with any fantastic ideas. Of course, Alfred wouldn’t be versed in any sort of magical theory, so, really, he didn’t have to explain himself much. It was just a matter of introducing the topic, and once his reluctant host started to fidget impatiently, Arthur decided it was best to just be out with it.
“I’m a practitioner of certain magical arts,” he said, ignoring Alfred’s raised brow and disbelieving huff, “and a spell I was attempting went badly wrong somehow, as you can see. I suppose the backfire left me unconscious, and I knew nothing more until I woke up there in your study a few minutes ago.”
“You can’t be serious.”
And that was to be expected, though it didn’t lessen Arthur’s irritation at all.
“You’re right. It was the Queen of the Fae who cast this charm on me, never to return to my mortal form until I find my True Love or some other nonsense,” he said scathingly. “Of course I’m serious!”
“But all that magic business isn’t real. It’s not scientifically possible,” Alfred argued.
“And the fact that I’m standing here speaking and made of bloody china wouldn’t be any evidence to the contrary. None at all.”
Alfred frowned and looked down, pulling at a little hole in his shirtsleeve. “So you might have a point there…” He quickly glanced back up, though, saying, “But I’m not totally convinced, just so you know. But, uh… let’s say that, hypothetically, if we’re acting like this sort of thing is even possible in the first place, then what would you do to fix it?”
Arthur shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his cloak. “I’m not exactly certain. It would take a great deal of research and time, but first of all, I would need to get back. Where did you find me, anyway, Mr. Jones?”
“Just Alfred. You were in the trash behind that Frenchie’s doll shop.”
“Ugh. Bonnefoy’s?”
“Yeah, that one. I thought that he’d just thrown you out, and I… well, I sorta…” he trailed off, looking away and poking his finger all the way through the tear in the fabric absently.
“You sort of what?” Arthur asked. The guilty look on Alfred’s face was a bit suspicious, but it quickly gave way to embarrassment.
“I sorta thought you’d make a good Christmas present for my little sister,” he admitted.
So Arthur had been right. As much as he wanted to be angry with Alfred for trying to give him to a little girl for dressing up and tea parties, he knew he really shouldn’t be. There was no way that Alfred could have known, after all.
Of course, this didn’t mean that Arthur wasn’t angry with him.
It must have shown on his face, because Alfred cut him off before he could even open his mouth, “But didn’t you say it would take a while for you to work it out? Where were you… magicking… or whatever?”
“The empty building next to the shop. Why should that matter?”
“By yourself?”
“Naturally.”
Alfred thought on it for a moment, sitting down in an armchair next to the window (and rudely neglecting to invite Arthur to have a seat as well) and still fiddling with his shirt. Finally, he seemed to come to some sort of conclusion.
“So… who’s to say that something like this won’t happen to you again?” he asked, looking strangely concerned as he met Arthur’s eyes again. “You said you could be on your own for a long time, and what if you got hurt or something? I mean, who knows what else you could screw up?”
“Oh? Well, what else am I supposed to do then?” Arthur sent him a glare and collapsed onto the bench at the foot of the bed, not caring about propriety anymore.
“You should stay here with me,” Alfred said.
It was Arthur’s turn to be skeptical, but the look on Alfred’s face was completely serious, and when Arthur couldn’t seem to come up with a response, he walked over and sat down next to him.
“Really,” he said. “It’s just me here, and I wouldn’t bother you. You could use one of the guestrooms and do all the experimenting you need, and if something happens, well… I’ll be here to help you out. You don’t need to worry about anybody sneaking in and walking in on you while you’re working, and… to be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t mind having someone around. It’s pretty sad around here with my sister away.”
They were all sound arguments, Arthur supposed. He didn’t much care for the idea, but it would be much more convenient staying here… and he still didn’t know how he’d made it from the building to the bin outside, so maybe it would be safer, too. Not to mention the fact that he was starting to feel exceptionally exhausted, and the thought of a clean, made bed was too appealing, regardless of whether or not he’d be able to sleep or appreciate bed linens in his state.
“I’d hate to impose,” he said, but Alfred shook his head.
“Nah, you’d really be doing me a favor.” A thought seemed to cross his mind, and he suddenly added, “Though if you really want to help me out, you could still be Maddie’s Christmas present when she gets back.”
Arthur shuddered. “I’ll take you up on the offer, but,” he said, then raised a finger, “with one condition.”
“What’s that?”
He looked over at Alfred with his best Not-Amused expression and said, “You go back to that shop and buy your sister a proper doll.”
A/N: As usual, nitpicked by my not-interested-in-fandom Hetalia fan buddy at work. (Meaning that any and all mistakes can be totally and completely attributed to her negligence because she’s not around to defend herself. Muahahaha.)
No notes for this chapter!
Coming up next: Maddie comes home, and Arthur is Not Prepared.
Author: 9mm_meg
Recipient: seraphic_dream
Rating: PGish
Warnings: 6-year-old Fem!Canada?
Summary: Alfred is just after a Christmas present for his little sister, but when he finds a life-sized, broken doll outside a shop and takes him home, he gets quite a bit more than he bargained for. Victorian!AU
The damage wasn’t nearly as bad as Alfred had feared, and now, the doll was sitting upright on his desk back at home in his study, stripped of its filthy clothing and broken arm back in its proper position. A dampened rag to its face had taken care of the dirt, and now it looked good as new.
It was really sort of strange, he thought, that Bonnefoy would have thrown it out just for that slight defect… If he could fix it so easily, he was sure the doll maker could’ve done so himself.
But it didn’t matter so much, because now it was his-well, Madeleine’s-and it looked fine.
The only thing left was its clothing. The suit could be laundered, and… he’d just, uh, toss out the cloak thing. He didn’t need that anyway… sort of a weird thing for a doll to have, really.
And speaking of clothes… Alfred sat down at his desk and pulled out his record books. Now that he didn’t have to buy the doll, maybe he could use the money he’d set aside for Christmas on more clothes and whatever else little girls want for their dolls. He let a grin spread over his face again and started running numbers.
Arthur’s head was positively swimming as he came to.
He’d known that something wasn’t right as soon as he’d stepped into his chalk circle, but it had been too late to turn back. Though he’d already started the incantation, he’d tried his best to alter it as he chanted and minimize the damage, and now, from what he could tell so far, he was still mostly in one piece.
He blinked a few times, too sore to really move around much (lord, how his head hurt), and brought a hand up to rub at the bridge of his nose-
Arthur froze, staring at his neatly jointed, not at all human fingers. Human-shaped, yes, but they were hard, cold porcelain… and a glance down confirmed his fears. The rest of him was in a similar state.
It only took a moment to for him to realize what had actually happened, and his thoughts went back to the doll he’d been trying to animate. Of course… but how in the world had he reversed it this way?
He didn’t have much time to think on it further, though, as he panicked at a sudden voice behind him.
“Nononono, that won’t work… I’ll have to cut back somewhere else…”
As quick as he could, Arthur took a furtive look around, noting the obvious fact that he wasn’t in the same building as before, he was sitting on some sort of desk, and he wasn’t alone.
Wait. Was he naked?
(It took all of his willpower not to let out a shriek when he caught sight of the quite noticeable lack of anything between his legs-aside from the heartbreakingly blank expanse of porcelain.)
It was a man seated behind him, hunched over and digging through the file cabinet behind the desk, completely unaware that he was conscious. Arthur had no idea how he’d wound up in this situation, but he was certain that he didn’t want to stick around to find out. How to escape though…
His kidnapper sat up without any warning, flipping pages in a ledger in his lap, and Arthur decided it was time to make a break for it. He grabbed at his cloak thrown over the edge of the desk and leapt down, only to lose his footing at the odd feeling of his not-flesh feet meeting the rug, and then crashed to the floor.
The man was sure to have heard it, and Arthur was forced into another split-second decision, holding his breath (and realizing for the first time that he actually wasn’t breathing at all-but it felt right to hold his nonexistent breath regardless) and lying as still as possible, praying that whoever this was would assume that he’d just fallen off the desk and give him another chance to run as soon as he turned his back again.
He winced at the crash of books meeting the floor on the other side of the desk, and waited, desperately trying not to blink.
The unexpected noise jerked Alfred out of his number-induced daze and sent his records flying, and he spun around in his chair, breathing hard. He knew he was alone in the house, his housekeeper having gone home for the evening, and a prickle of fear started to sneak in at the edge of his mind. He’d never really come to trust this creepy old house in the year he’d been in it; it wasn’t as though he thought his father would haunt him, but he didn’t know who or what else could be lurking around waiting to bring about his untimely demise…
It took him a minute, but he finally realized that the doll was missing-though it didn’t comfort him in the slightest. He didn’t think it could’ve just fallen off the desk like that on its own, and he shivered to think of what could have knocked it over.
Steeling himself, Alfred took a deep breath and slowly stood from his chair, leaning over the desk in front of him. It was there on the floor, sprawled haphazardly over the rug with that nasty cloak draped over most of its lower half-
And Alfred could’ve sworn those green, glass eyes flicked back up when his own did. Oh no… oh nonono... His stomach gave an unpleasant lurch, but then he remembered his father always telling him to face his fears and be a man... so he gulped and reached down with shaking fingers, stretching himself over the desktop.
Just a doll, it’s just a doll, he thought over and over, trying to convince himself that the subtly-painted blush on its cheeks wasn’t getting darker as he got closer, that its eye hadn’t twitched, that it didn’t look like it was holding its breath because dolls don’t breathe stop being such a little girl about it!
He paused, finger hovering above an unmistakably pink porcelain cheek for what felt like an eternity, and then he touched it.
The response was almost immediate, and, to his intense horror, its face twisted into an indignant scowl that Alfred was absolutely certain he was not imagining.
“Mind you watch who you’re prodding, you idiot!”
It certainly wasn’t the reaction he’d expected, but Arthur supposed it wasn’t such a surprise that the man had run screaming from the room after his little outburst. Dolls don’t normally shout, of course, but it had been sort of an automatic reaction after the impolite poke to his face.
Regardless, it had given him the opportunity he’d been waiting for, and he wasted no time in wrapping himself in his cloak and rushing down the hall and staircase towards freedom (pointedly ignoring how he rattled with every step).
It was only once he reached the front door that he realized the true extent of the predicament he was in. As soon as he’d stepped over the threshold, he discovered an unfamiliar street and rows of houses that all looked alike, so he quickly popped back inside and shut the door.
Of course he had to find some way of returning himself to normal, and to do so he’d have to retrieve his books and tools from the abandoned building. But who knew how long it would take for him to work out the proper reversal spell, and, more importantly, how was he to make it there? He had no idea where he was, and he had no money to pay for a hansom… not to mention the fact that he was a doll. Who’s to say that the first person he came across to ask for directions wouldn’t flee in horror as well?
Arthur stood at the door, staring at the handle as he considered his options. He couldn’t walk it on his own, he couldn’t get a cab, and as much as he did not want to ask for help, he couldn’t even manage that without terrorizing the neighborhood or landing himself in some sort of side show attraction.
Reluctantly, his thoughts returned to the owner of the house. Arthur wasn’t sure what sort of a man he was, (though the fact that he’d stripped him down and just left him sitting there didn’t really speak volumes of his character, in his opinion). He didn’t have much choice in the matter, however (and it seemed as though he was more afraid of Arthur than the other way around anyway), so he pulled his cloak a little tighter and wondered where the man might have gone.
The kitchen was empty, and so was the pantry, and the dining room, the sitting room, and every other room he looked into on the first two floors of the house. He was sure he’d at least find a servant or someone about. After all, the house wasn’t nearly the size of his family’s manor, but it was large enough to employ at least a small staff of two or three, and the guestrooms were dust-free despite looking a bit disused. There was no sign of life, however, until he climbed the stairs to the uppermost level.
The first bedroom he looked into was empty, but furnished for a little girl. There was a pile of stuffed animals on the bed, along with a few baby dolls, and Arthur suddenly wondered if he’d been meant as a gift, what with his being a doll and Christmas being just around the corner. It still didn’t answer the question of how he’d been acquired, but when he finally came upon an apparently lived-in master bedroom, it seemed as though he was about to find out.
It was the wardrobe’s quivering that gave away its occupant’s hiding place, and Arthur hesitantly stepped up to it before knocking on the door.
“Pardon my intrusion,” he said politely, but before he could get any further, the wardrobe gave an almighty lurch.
“LEAVE ME ALONE!” came the muffled reply from within, and Arthur sighed. Perhaps this would be harder than he’d thought.
“I’m terribly sorry for shouting at you earlier,” he started, tone placating, “but I was hoping you might be willing to assist me. I haven’t any idea where we are, and I would just like to go back to wherever it was you happened upon me-”
He stopped as the door opened a fraction, and a pair of bright blue eyes behind wire-framed glasses peered out at him suspiciously.
“Oh, hello,” Arthur said, attempting a halfway pleasant smile.
The eyes narrowed. “You’re just trying to lure me out of here so you can eat me or something.”
The accent was American, but what he’d said was so ridiculous that Arthur paid how he’d said it no mind. “Hardly,” he snorted. “In fact, I’m not even certain I can eat anything in this state… but that’s what I’m trying to fix, you see.”
The door opened a bit more, revealing a scowling face that was younger than he’d expected and a head of dark blond hair. “So,” he said, and gave Arthur a skeptical look, “you wanna lure me out of here so that I can help you eat me.”
“Oh for the love of-” Arthur backed away a few steps, holding up a hand in a gesture of peace (the other was keeping his cloak closed around him, of course) “-there now. I’m all the way over here. My name is Kir-well, Arthur, and I swear to you that I mean you no harm whatsoever. I don’t want to be a bother. I just want to leave, but I can’t do it without your help. Now will you please come out?”
“You don’t wanna eat me?”
“Not in the slightest. And, good lord, it’s ‘want to.’”
Finally, he climbed out, knocking a few garments off their hangers with him. He didn’t take his hand off of the door, though, and he still eyed Arthur cautiously. “Alfred Jones,” he said, then gave him a careful once-over. “What are you anyway?”
“I’m a person, of course,” Arthur said irritably. “I just had a… mishap. I mean to correct it, however, so if you wouldn’t mind calling a cab or telling me how to get back to wherever it was that you found me…?”
Alfred still didn’t look convinced, now crossing his arms. “Mishap? When I tripped and fell down the stairs this morning, that was a mishap. You’re a talking doll. Explain that one to me.”
Clearly this conversation wasn’t going to be an easy one. Arthur repressed an automatic sarcastic reply and tossed around a few ideas on how to briefly tell him what had happened without going into too many details, but not coming up with any fantastic ideas. Of course, Alfred wouldn’t be versed in any sort of magical theory, so, really, he didn’t have to explain himself much. It was just a matter of introducing the topic, and once his reluctant host started to fidget impatiently, Arthur decided it was best to just be out with it.
“I’m a practitioner of certain magical arts,” he said, ignoring Alfred’s raised brow and disbelieving huff, “and a spell I was attempting went badly wrong somehow, as you can see. I suppose the backfire left me unconscious, and I knew nothing more until I woke up there in your study a few minutes ago.”
“You can’t be serious.”
And that was to be expected, though it didn’t lessen Arthur’s irritation at all.
“You’re right. It was the Queen of the Fae who cast this charm on me, never to return to my mortal form until I find my True Love or some other nonsense,” he said scathingly. “Of course I’m serious!”
“But all that magic business isn’t real. It’s not scientifically possible,” Alfred argued.
“And the fact that I’m standing here speaking and made of bloody china wouldn’t be any evidence to the contrary. None at all.”
Alfred frowned and looked down, pulling at a little hole in his shirtsleeve. “So you might have a point there…” He quickly glanced back up, though, saying, “But I’m not totally convinced, just so you know. But, uh… let’s say that, hypothetically, if we’re acting like this sort of thing is even possible in the first place, then what would you do to fix it?”
Arthur shrugged his shoulders and adjusted his cloak. “I’m not exactly certain. It would take a great deal of research and time, but first of all, I would need to get back. Where did you find me, anyway, Mr. Jones?”
“Just Alfred. You were in the trash behind that Frenchie’s doll shop.”
“Ugh. Bonnefoy’s?”
“Yeah, that one. I thought that he’d just thrown you out, and I… well, I sorta…” he trailed off, looking away and poking his finger all the way through the tear in the fabric absently.
“You sort of what?” Arthur asked. The guilty look on Alfred’s face was a bit suspicious, but it quickly gave way to embarrassment.
“I sorta thought you’d make a good Christmas present for my little sister,” he admitted.
So Arthur had been right. As much as he wanted to be angry with Alfred for trying to give him to a little girl for dressing up and tea parties, he knew he really shouldn’t be. There was no way that Alfred could have known, after all.
Of course, this didn’t mean that Arthur wasn’t angry with him.
It must have shown on his face, because Alfred cut him off before he could even open his mouth, “But didn’t you say it would take a while for you to work it out? Where were you… magicking… or whatever?”
“The empty building next to the shop. Why should that matter?”
“By yourself?”
“Naturally.”
Alfred thought on it for a moment, sitting down in an armchair next to the window (and rudely neglecting to invite Arthur to have a seat as well) and still fiddling with his shirt. Finally, he seemed to come to some sort of conclusion.
“So… who’s to say that something like this won’t happen to you again?” he asked, looking strangely concerned as he met Arthur’s eyes again. “You said you could be on your own for a long time, and what if you got hurt or something? I mean, who knows what else you could screw up?”
“Oh? Well, what else am I supposed to do then?” Arthur sent him a glare and collapsed onto the bench at the foot of the bed, not caring about propriety anymore.
“You should stay here with me,” Alfred said.
It was Arthur’s turn to be skeptical, but the look on Alfred’s face was completely serious, and when Arthur couldn’t seem to come up with a response, he walked over and sat down next to him.
“Really,” he said. “It’s just me here, and I wouldn’t bother you. You could use one of the guestrooms and do all the experimenting you need, and if something happens, well… I’ll be here to help you out. You don’t need to worry about anybody sneaking in and walking in on you while you’re working, and… to be perfectly honest, I wouldn’t mind having someone around. It’s pretty sad around here with my sister away.”
They were all sound arguments, Arthur supposed. He didn’t much care for the idea, but it would be much more convenient staying here… and he still didn’t know how he’d made it from the building to the bin outside, so maybe it would be safer, too. Not to mention the fact that he was starting to feel exceptionally exhausted, and the thought of a clean, made bed was too appealing, regardless of whether or not he’d be able to sleep or appreciate bed linens in his state.
“I’d hate to impose,” he said, but Alfred shook his head.
“Nah, you’d really be doing me a favor.” A thought seemed to cross his mind, and he suddenly added, “Though if you really want to help me out, you could still be Maddie’s Christmas present when she gets back.”
Arthur shuddered. “I’ll take you up on the offer, but,” he said, then raised a finger, “with one condition.”
“What’s that?”
He looked over at Alfred with his best Not-Amused expression and said, “You go back to that shop and buy your sister a proper doll.”
A/N: As usual, nitpicked by my not-interested-in-fandom Hetalia fan buddy at work. (Meaning that any and all mistakes can be totally and completely attributed to her negligence because she’s not around to defend herself. Muahahaha.)
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Coming up next: Maddie comes home, and Arthur is Not Prepared.