[Secret Santa Fic] In Such a State [3/5]
Title: In Such a State [3/5]
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
A/N: Merry Christmas everyone!
I’m sticking another author’s note up top this time! Last chapter, clover_elf_kin had asked about Arthur, so I figure I’ll just explain some things for everyone’s sake really quick (read: not very quick at all).
Now, I don’t know much about dolls at all, and I’m not into BJD or anything, so please bear with me if my ignorance shows. Due to time constraints, I didn’t get to put as much research into this as I would have liked, so, unfortunately, there are a few magic-makes-this-possible moments since I didn’t quite grasp all of the facts before sitting down to write this.
Arthur has managed to turn himself into a life-sized, strung and ball-jointed bisque doll, made entirely of porcelain. Because he’s sort of enormous and all bisque, this would mean that he’s going to be very heavy and also very fragile, but as he’s transfigured himself via magic, it’s going to have strengthened and lightened him more than your average doll. This is why the vase in Chapter 1 didn’t shatter his head along with itself. (Also, my headcanon tells me that regardless of whether he’s nation or human, Alfred is very strong and doesn’t always think things through, so the idea that he could just hoist Arthur over his shoulder and not think about the fact that tiny Madeleine would never be able to pick him up wouldn’t be so farfetched-even if Arthur didn’t weigh less than he should already.)
Lily (who is, of course, Liechtenstein) and all of the other life-sized dolls that Francis makes only have porcelain heads, hands, and feet, making them lighter. They’re still not really meant for any sort of vigorous playtime, but more for dressing up and the like, and definitely for wealthier children that would have other, smaller toys to bear the brunt of any wear and tear.
French and German bisque dolls were very popular during the 1860s to the 1880s (this fic takes place from December 1863 into 1864), though baby dolls were becoming more the in-thing than adult-looking dolls.
I hope that clears things up, but if you’ve got any other questions, ask away. I’d be more than happy to answer them ^_^
Now that this ridiculously long author’s note is done, I’m off to reply to last chapter’s comments since I totally ran out of time T_T
The next week passed rather quickly for Arthur. After he and Alfred had found him some clothes and gone to retrieve his materials from the empty building that night, he had hardly done anything but work and occasionally fend off questions from his host for the next several days.
“So, Arthur… What’s your surname? You never told me.”
Arthur didn’t bother looking up from the complicated circle he was sketching, which was infinitely more difficult now that his hands were porcelain. “Just Arthur,” he answered. The last thing he needed was word getting out to the general public about what had happened to him-and especially not to his family.
“Arthur JustArthur. That’s an odd name. MacArthur, sure, but JustArthur is weird.”
He finally looked up to find Alfred grinning at him, leaned back in his slightly shabby desk chair and twirling a pen in his fingers. “You’re an idiot,” he told him matter-of-factly, and Alfred only smiled wider.
Their afternoons were usually spent this way, except for the days when Alfred would be out on business (doing what, Arthur had no idea). They’d established the study as Arthur’s base of operation, since Alfred had forbidden his housekeeper from ever setting foot over the threshold (he had a peculiar ‘filing system’ that seemed to offend her, though Arthur had refrained from telling him that teetering stacks of paperwork piled in various corners of the room didn’t really count as a filing system in the first place), and it’s where they were now. Arthur was at his makeshift drawing table on one side of the room, and Alfred was at his own desk opposite, though he’d abandoned his own work about an hour before in favor of chatting with (bothering) his guest.
Arthur had to admit, however, that for all his faults, Alfred had really been a great help to him so far. He’d done more than give him a place to stay and surprisingly decent company; once he’d gotten past the claimed absurdness of Arthur’s research, Alfred had actually offered to help with that as well, and his scientific way of thinking had already gotten Arthur past a few rough spots as he searched for a way to reverse the effects of his botched spell. Working out Arthur’s issues always seemed to be a welcome break from whatever it was Alfred was doing, too, as all the numbers and figures tended to leave him as stressed and as out-of-sorts as was possible for such an inexhaustibly optimistic person.
(It had taken a little prying, but he’d managed to get Alfred to confess to having been through a few years of medical training before he’d left America, though the way he spoke about it left Arthur with the feeling that it was a very uncomfortable topic for him. He was awfully curious about the whole thing, but neither of them had brought it up again, so Arthur had to content himself with knowing that he at least had someone educated in biology and chemistry to discuss his ideas with.)
With an enormous yawn, Alfred sat up straight and started to shuffle the papers on his desk into some semblance of organization, either not noticing or just ignoring how Arthur had dodged the question about his name. “I’m thinking of going to get a Christmas tree today,” he said. “Y’know. For Maddie. Do you need me to pick anything up for you?”
Arthur considered it for a moment, the thought of Christmas decorations making him question how useful a bit of holly would be, but then he wondered what Alfred would say about him crushing up a lovely new wreath for magical purposes. The man had been on a mission from the first day Arthur had stayed with him, using his spare time in the evenings to add as much holiday cheer to the home as he possibly could, whistling carols as he strung up evergreen garlands and paper snowflakes. Arthur had learned not to question it after a lengthy speech on the wonders of Christmastime… and the sheepish confession afterwards that Alfred just wanted everything to be perfect for his sister.
And speaking of Madeleine… “No, thank you, but why haven’t you gone back to the doll shop yet? You don’t want the Frog to sell out, you know.”
Alfred’s hands stilled on the desk, and his smile seemed to slip a bit. “I’ve got plenty of time,” he said, sounding unconcerned, but there was something false about the brightness of his voice, and Arthur wasn’t prepared to let it go.
“You’ve only got four days until Madeleine arrives, Alfred, and then it’s only a few more to Christmas after that. You’ll be so busy with her here that you won’t be able to sneak off to get it.”
“Oh, come on, Arthur,” Alfred said, keeping up the forced grin and picking at that same hole in his shirtsleeve as before. It seemed to be a nervous habit of his. “Don’t act like my nanny. I manage just fine without you telling me what to do.”
Arthur made a disbelieving noise and set down his pencil to level a serious look at him. “Look, you’re going out to get the tree already. Why can’t you just pop in the shop and stop procrastinating? What’s the issue here?”
The smile disappeared entirely, and Alfred gave him an unbecoming glare of his own. “The issue is you not knowing how to mind your own business. It’s not your problem, so I’d appreciate it if you just left it alone.”
His tone was completely unlike his usual, cheerful self, and it caught Arthur totally off guard. Once he’d recovered, however, it only added to his ire, and he shot back, “Well I was minding my own business until someone came and plucked me out of the garbage, thank you. It’s not as though I’m asking for my sake. I thought this was supposed to be important to you, but I can see that I was wrong. I probably should have guessed it from a man that shops for his own little sister out of the bin.”
Arthur realized what the problem was the very moment he’d said it, and he instantly regretted his harsh words. The badly patched holes in Alfred’s clothing, the lack of household staff, his thinly veiled frustration as he went over his accounting ledgers constantly… It was too late, though, and the damage had been done.
Alfred had stiffened in his seat, staring at the desk in front of him almost hard enough to bore holes in it. The pen still in his hand gave an ominous crunch, and when Arthur saw ink seep from between his fingers, he quickly tried to get an apology out-Alfred, I-but he was cut off when those blue eyes met his. The expression was hardly what he’d expected.
Alfred wasn’t angry. He looked utterly miserable.
“I’m… damnit, I’m broke, Arthur,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m poor. I didn’t have enough for the stupid doll in the first place, and I sure as hell can’t afford it now. And even though you won’t tell me who you are, I know that you’re rich-you don’t hide it very well, y’know-so I don’t expect you to understand how this feels.”
His head hit the desk with a thud, and Arthur felt overwhelmingly guilty. He had no idea how to make up for it, or even how to comfort him, but he found himself edging over to him anyway and resting a hand on Alfred’s shoulder uselessly.
“Listen, Alfred,” he said, “I’m really very sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”
There was no response, so he shook him a bit and crouched down closer.
“Look at me, please.”
Reluctantly, Alfred pulled his head up, and Arthur cringed at another fresh wave of guilt from the wretched look on his face.
“You’re right,” he continued despite how awful he felt. “I’ve never had to worry about financial matters, thanks to my family, so… well, you’ve been so helpful this past week, so why don’t you let me help you?”
Alfred looked stricken, and sat up straight in his chair. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t need your charity. I don’t want it.”
“But I’ve stayed here, slept in one of your guestrooms, used your study… I even sort of melted one of your stock pots, if you recall. I should at least give you some sort of payment for rent,” Arthur countered, but Alfred only leaned back and pulled out a threadbare handkerchief to wipe at the ink on his palm.
“Seriously, Arthur,” he said, “it’s not necessary. I’m letting you stay as a favor, and it’s not like you even eat anything. Besides, I told you I don’t want it.”
The stubborn fool, Arthur thought to himself. Fine then. He’d just have to be a little more persuasive.
“You may not want it, but isn’t it rather selfish of you to deny Madeleine a nice gift for the sake of your pride?”
He knew it was a rather low blow after what he’d said earlier, but it seemed that Alfred was considering it now (and he didn’t look angry or hurt), so Arthur kept at it.
“Think of it as a Christmas gift from me to you. You’re letting me stay here as a favor, and that’s very generous of you, so let me return the favor,” he said. Alfred looked up at him, and Arthur knew he’d given in. But just to be certain… “Please, Alfred.”
Alfred hesitated, “… It’s really expensive.”
“I’m sure it will be worth it.”
Another moment or two passed, then Alfred’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine,” he said, then quickly added, “but thanks. Really.”
Arthur gave him a small smile and replied, “It’s my pleasure. Really.”
“Arthuuuuurrrrrrr!” Alfred called from the bottom of the staircase, and Arthur rolled his glass eyes (he didn’t think he’d ever get used to that particular sensation) before walking out of the study and looking down over the railing.
“Don’t shout at me, you insufferable dolt,” he called back, and rolled his eyes again at the way Alfred beamed up at him. “What is it?”
“My cab is here! I’ll be back with Maddie in a bit-” his grin widened even further somehow “-so make sure you keep outta sight in the study like you do when Mrs. Jacobs is here cleaning.”
Arthur dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, I know. Go on now. I know you’re dying to see her.”
“I’ll see ya later,” Alfred said, buttoning his coat, wrapping a scarf around his neck, and pulling on his hat, but before he could make it out the door, he stopped and turned back around.
(At this point, Arthur suddenly realized that he’d been standing there watching the man leave the whole time, but for what reason, he had no idea.)
“Oh, and don’t worry, Arthur,” Alfred said, snapping him out of his thoughts, “I’ll stop in and check on you every so often so you don’t have to sit in there all by yourself all day. I know Maddie’ll be here, but you’re still important to me, and I’ll make sure I take care of you, too.”
With one last smile, he waved and was gone.
For the past week and a half, Arthur had gotten used to not feeling much of anything physically, once he’d gotten over his initial soreness. Being made of porcelain had sort of dulled his nerves (if he even still had them-he wasn’t quite sure how it all worked), and having an abdomen full of nothing had mostly eliminated any sort of feeling from insides and organs that he no longer had.
So, considering all this, it came as quite a shock when Arthur felt a not-entirely-unpleasant flutter somewhere around where his stomach would have been, and he could have sworn that the heart that wasn’t in his chest anymore skipped a beat or two.
It took Arthur all of three minutes to remember how his legs worked and stumble back to the study.
For reasons unknown, Arthur found himself unable to really focus on his work that evening, or even through the next few days. It may have had something to do with Alfred’s frequent outbursts of laughter and poorly-sung carols carrying through the corridors, although he’d yet to hear as much as a peep from Madeleine. Even when he’d snuck downstairs this morning to watch her finally open her doll under the Christmas tree, she’d only gasped and wrapped her little arms around Alfred’s neck. He’d mouthed a heartfelt, Thank you, to Arthur over her pale curls, and it was all Arthur could do to give him a sappy smile back through the crack in the door.
It was obvious that his host was wrapped as tightly around the little girl’s finger as was possible, and even Arthur could see that she was absolutely adorable, but if he was being honest, he didn’t quite understand it. He had several older brothers, but not a one of them had ever expressed any interest in him in any manner other than as a punching bag, and his one younger brother was a cheeky little thing that he avoided at all costs. Of course, he was sure that his own family situation was nothing like Alfred’s had been growing up, but when Arthur stopped to wonder if things would have been different had his brothers not spent their childhoods competing for attention and inheritance, it left him feeling sort of hollow and, well… a little jealous, really.
But he couldn’t resent either of the Joneses for that. Alfred was too… Alfred, and he hadn’t even really met poor Madeleine.
“And how are you this evening, Lord Kirkland?”
Arthur glanced up from his calculations to find Alfred curtseying at the door, an obnoxious grin on his face. “Oh shut it, you,” he tossed back, but without any real venom.
(Unfortunately for Arthur, sending Alfred to the bank for him had entailed giving his whole name, and more unfortunate still, Alfred had recognized it from the newspapers a few months ago when he’d inherited his father’s title and estate. Naturally, Arthur still hadn’t heard the end of it.)
“Well hello to you, too, cranky,” Alfred said. “Maddie’s all tucked in, so I’m yours for the rest of the night. Whatcha working on?” True to his word, he’d had been spending a fair portion of his time in the study with Arthur during the day, and after Madeleine had been put to bed, the two of them would stay up late into the night working or, more often, just talking.
With a sigh, Arthur pushed back from his table. “Nothing really… I’m having a little trouble concentrating,” he said. “I suppose I could do with a break.”
“Yeah, me too, and I haven’t even started mine yet,” Alfred said as he plopped down in his chair and glared at his paperwork. “I really can’t stand this stuff.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what is it you’re having trouble with? My mother seemed to think I’d wind up an accountant for some reason, so I had a fair bit of schooling before I managed to convince her otherwise. I might be able to help you.”
“Are you serious?” Alfred’s face lit up, and he quickly pulled a chair over beside his, motioning for Arthur to sit next to him. “This is great! I mean, I can handle the math fine, but I haven’t been able to get anything else right since I started doing this.”
As he waited for Alfred to gather up all his ledgers and records, Arthur made himself comfortable at the desk and let his eyes wander over the walls of the study again, taking in paintings of who he assumed were Alfred’s father and grandfathers, judging by the resemblance, and two portraits of very different women on either side of the door. The older of the two must have been Alfred’s mother-her clear blue eyes, wavy golden hair, and mischievous little half-smile confirmed it-but Arthur couldn’t seem to place the other. Her curls and complexion were much fairer, and her eyes were a peculiar shade of almost violet blue that he was certain he’d seen somewhere before…
The door opened a bit, and Arthur suddenly realized who the woman was as his gaze settled on an identical set of eyes peeking in through the crack. She was Madeleine’s mother.
… Then, of course, he realized that Madeleine was there and looking straight at him, so he promptly panicked and froze in his seat, trying to leave a neutral expression on his face.
“So here’s the past three months’ records, Arth-”Alfred paused himself when he looked up at him, brows scrunching up in confusion. “What’s with that look?”
Arthur gave the tiniest nod past him towards the door, but then had to resist the urge to strangle him when he missed the gesture entirely.
“What? What is it?” Alfred said, oblivious.
Thankfully, Madeleine chose that moment to open the door further and speak up, rubbing at her eyes sleepily.
“Alfred?” she said, and Arthur was shocked at how meek and quiet her little voice was compared to her brother’s-and Alfred was shocked at the sudden noise and jumped nearly a foot out of his chair.
“M-Maddie!” he stuttered, spinning around to face her and clutching at his heart. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
She looked down at her feet, mumbling, “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to get in bed with you, but you weren’t there.”
Arthur could almost feel Alfred melt next to him, and he had to keep from rolling his eyes at the way he nearly cooed back, “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry!”
But then her attention shifted, and Arthur stiffened as she stared right at him intently. “Oh, but Freddie!” she breathed, excited. “You got one for you, too?”
Alfred looked confused for a moment, but when he followed her gaze to apparently-doll-Arthur, he just plastered on a grin and said, “Oh… Oh yeah! I… uh… You know I get lonely when you’re at school, so… yeah.”
“What’s his name?”
“Um… Artie?” (Had Arthur still possessed a tongue, he would have needed to bite it at that.)
“And you were talking to him just now, weren’t you?” she asked. “That’s so cute! We should have a tea party tomorrow with him and Lily! Can we, Freddie? Please?”
“Uh, I… um…” Alfred stalled, sending a panicked look in Arthur’s direction, who did his utmost to convey murderous intent through his glass eyes while keeping his face motionless.
Unfortunately, however, his Glare of Death was no match for Madeleine’s adorableness, and Alfred was weak.
“S-sure! That sounds great!” he said with a nervous laugh, then jumped up and yawned. “Wouldja look at the time! Let’s just get you back to bed, Maddie!”
He hurried her out the door, but before he could close it behind them, Arthur heard her tell Alfred to stop.
“Aren’t you bringing Artie?” she asked from the hallway.
Alfred glanced back in the door, and since Madeleine couldn’t see in at all, Arthur furiously scribbled, You’re a dead man, on a piece of paper and held it up for him to read.
Alfred gulped. “He’ll be fine.”
“He’s not sleeping with you? But he might get lonely.”
Suddenly, Arthur’s strange stomach lurch returned, and though he couldn’t feel it, he was certain that his face had flushed; looking up, he saw that Alfred was bright red as well, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly a few times, but then he managed to blurt out, “He’ll be fine! Night, Artie!” and slammed the door.
Later that night, after Arthur had crept down the hall to his bedroom, pulled on a too-large set of Alfred’s nightclothes, and crawled into bed, he still couldn’t seem to fight off that odd fluttery feeling somewhere in his chest.
In the almost-silence of the house, he heard the creak of a door, footfalls on the ceiling above him, and then a rustling of linens and the shifting of a bedframe-Alfred, finally getting to bed. Arthur stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling between them… and then shook himself physically to distract from the infuriating pangs in his chest.
Ridiculous, he told himself as he flipped over onto his stomach, joints rattling and twisting the sheets around him uncomfortably. He’d been too lax with his work lately, and he’d have to correct that, starting tomorrow. If all these strange sensations had done anything for him, it was to show him just how accustomed he’d become to his condition, how complacent he’d become in his state. He’d been so used to feeling nothing at all that normal, human-feeling things were distracting him so. The sooner he got back to normal, the better.
Arthur spared one more glance up at the ceiling, then buried his face in his pillow and drifted off.
A/N2: Nitpicked by my buddy at work, like usual.
Only two more chapters to go, but I’m still crossing my fingers on the time issues… Wish me luck!
Coming up next: Maddie goes back to school, and both Alfred and Arthur are 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
A/N: Merry Christmas everyone!
I’m sticking another author’s note up top this time! Last chapter, clover_elf_kin had asked about Arthur, so I figure I’ll just explain some things for everyone’s sake really quick (read: not very quick at all).
Now, I don’t know much about dolls at all, and I’m not into BJD or anything, so please bear with me if my ignorance shows. Due to time constraints, I didn’t get to put as much research into this as I would have liked, so, unfortunately, there are a few magic-makes-this-possible moments since I didn’t quite grasp all of the facts before sitting down to write this.
Arthur has managed to turn himself into a life-sized, strung and ball-jointed bisque doll, made entirely of porcelain. Because he’s sort of enormous and all bisque, this would mean that he’s going to be very heavy and also very fragile, but as he’s transfigured himself via magic, it’s going to have strengthened and lightened him more than your average doll. This is why the vase in Chapter 1 didn’t shatter his head along with itself. (Also, my headcanon tells me that regardless of whether he’s nation or human, Alfred is very strong and doesn’t always think things through, so the idea that he could just hoist Arthur over his shoulder and not think about the fact that tiny Madeleine would never be able to pick him up wouldn’t be so farfetched-even if Arthur didn’t weigh less than he should already.)
Lily (who is, of course, Liechtenstein) and all of the other life-sized dolls that Francis makes only have porcelain heads, hands, and feet, making them lighter. They’re still not really meant for any sort of vigorous playtime, but more for dressing up and the like, and definitely for wealthier children that would have other, smaller toys to bear the brunt of any wear and tear.
French and German bisque dolls were very popular during the 1860s to the 1880s (this fic takes place from December 1863 into 1864), though baby dolls were becoming more the in-thing than adult-looking dolls.
I hope that clears things up, but if you’ve got any other questions, ask away. I’d be more than happy to answer them ^_^
Now that this ridiculously long author’s note is done, I’m off to reply to last chapter’s comments since I totally ran out of time T_T
The next week passed rather quickly for Arthur. After he and Alfred had found him some clothes and gone to retrieve his materials from the empty building that night, he had hardly done anything but work and occasionally fend off questions from his host for the next several days.
“So, Arthur… What’s your surname? You never told me.”
Arthur didn’t bother looking up from the complicated circle he was sketching, which was infinitely more difficult now that his hands were porcelain. “Just Arthur,” he answered. The last thing he needed was word getting out to the general public about what had happened to him-and especially not to his family.
“Arthur JustArthur. That’s an odd name. MacArthur, sure, but JustArthur is weird.”
He finally looked up to find Alfred grinning at him, leaned back in his slightly shabby desk chair and twirling a pen in his fingers. “You’re an idiot,” he told him matter-of-factly, and Alfred only smiled wider.
Their afternoons were usually spent this way, except for the days when Alfred would be out on business (doing what, Arthur had no idea). They’d established the study as Arthur’s base of operation, since Alfred had forbidden his housekeeper from ever setting foot over the threshold (he had a peculiar ‘filing system’ that seemed to offend her, though Arthur had refrained from telling him that teetering stacks of paperwork piled in various corners of the room didn’t really count as a filing system in the first place), and it’s where they were now. Arthur was at his makeshift drawing table on one side of the room, and Alfred was at his own desk opposite, though he’d abandoned his own work about an hour before in favor of chatting with (bothering) his guest.
Arthur had to admit, however, that for all his faults, Alfred had really been a great help to him so far. He’d done more than give him a place to stay and surprisingly decent company; once he’d gotten past the claimed absurdness of Arthur’s research, Alfred had actually offered to help with that as well, and his scientific way of thinking had already gotten Arthur past a few rough spots as he searched for a way to reverse the effects of his botched spell. Working out Arthur’s issues always seemed to be a welcome break from whatever it was Alfred was doing, too, as all the numbers and figures tended to leave him as stressed and as out-of-sorts as was possible for such an inexhaustibly optimistic person.
(It had taken a little prying, but he’d managed to get Alfred to confess to having been through a few years of medical training before he’d left America, though the way he spoke about it left Arthur with the feeling that it was a very uncomfortable topic for him. He was awfully curious about the whole thing, but neither of them had brought it up again, so Arthur had to content himself with knowing that he at least had someone educated in biology and chemistry to discuss his ideas with.)
With an enormous yawn, Alfred sat up straight and started to shuffle the papers on his desk into some semblance of organization, either not noticing or just ignoring how Arthur had dodged the question about his name. “I’m thinking of going to get a Christmas tree today,” he said. “Y’know. For Maddie. Do you need me to pick anything up for you?”
Arthur considered it for a moment, the thought of Christmas decorations making him question how useful a bit of holly would be, but then he wondered what Alfred would say about him crushing up a lovely new wreath for magical purposes. The man had been on a mission from the first day Arthur had stayed with him, using his spare time in the evenings to add as much holiday cheer to the home as he possibly could, whistling carols as he strung up evergreen garlands and paper snowflakes. Arthur had learned not to question it after a lengthy speech on the wonders of Christmastime… and the sheepish confession afterwards that Alfred just wanted everything to be perfect for his sister.
And speaking of Madeleine… “No, thank you, but why haven’t you gone back to the doll shop yet? You don’t want the Frog to sell out, you know.”
Alfred’s hands stilled on the desk, and his smile seemed to slip a bit. “I’ve got plenty of time,” he said, sounding unconcerned, but there was something false about the brightness of his voice, and Arthur wasn’t prepared to let it go.
“You’ve only got four days until Madeleine arrives, Alfred, and then it’s only a few more to Christmas after that. You’ll be so busy with her here that you won’t be able to sneak off to get it.”
“Oh, come on, Arthur,” Alfred said, keeping up the forced grin and picking at that same hole in his shirtsleeve as before. It seemed to be a nervous habit of his. “Don’t act like my nanny. I manage just fine without you telling me what to do.”
Arthur made a disbelieving noise and set down his pencil to level a serious look at him. “Look, you’re going out to get the tree already. Why can’t you just pop in the shop and stop procrastinating? What’s the issue here?”
The smile disappeared entirely, and Alfred gave him an unbecoming glare of his own. “The issue is you not knowing how to mind your own business. It’s not your problem, so I’d appreciate it if you just left it alone.”
His tone was completely unlike his usual, cheerful self, and it caught Arthur totally off guard. Once he’d recovered, however, it only added to his ire, and he shot back, “Well I was minding my own business until someone came and plucked me out of the garbage, thank you. It’s not as though I’m asking for my sake. I thought this was supposed to be important to you, but I can see that I was wrong. I probably should have guessed it from a man that shops for his own little sister out of the bin.”
Arthur realized what the problem was the very moment he’d said it, and he instantly regretted his harsh words. The badly patched holes in Alfred’s clothing, the lack of household staff, his thinly veiled frustration as he went over his accounting ledgers constantly… It was too late, though, and the damage had been done.
Alfred had stiffened in his seat, staring at the desk in front of him almost hard enough to bore holes in it. The pen still in his hand gave an ominous crunch, and when Arthur saw ink seep from between his fingers, he quickly tried to get an apology out-Alfred, I-but he was cut off when those blue eyes met his. The expression was hardly what he’d expected.
Alfred wasn’t angry. He looked utterly miserable.
“I’m… damnit, I’m broke, Arthur,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m poor. I didn’t have enough for the stupid doll in the first place, and I sure as hell can’t afford it now. And even though you won’t tell me who you are, I know that you’re rich-you don’t hide it very well, y’know-so I don’t expect you to understand how this feels.”
His head hit the desk with a thud, and Arthur felt overwhelmingly guilty. He had no idea how to make up for it, or even how to comfort him, but he found himself edging over to him anyway and resting a hand on Alfred’s shoulder uselessly.
“Listen, Alfred,” he said, “I’m really very sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”
There was no response, so he shook him a bit and crouched down closer.
“Look at me, please.”
Reluctantly, Alfred pulled his head up, and Arthur cringed at another fresh wave of guilt from the wretched look on his face.
“You’re right,” he continued despite how awful he felt. “I’ve never had to worry about financial matters, thanks to my family, so… well, you’ve been so helpful this past week, so why don’t you let me help you?”
Alfred looked stricken, and sat up straight in his chair. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t need your charity. I don’t want it.”
“But I’ve stayed here, slept in one of your guestrooms, used your study… I even sort of melted one of your stock pots, if you recall. I should at least give you some sort of payment for rent,” Arthur countered, but Alfred only leaned back and pulled out a threadbare handkerchief to wipe at the ink on his palm.
“Seriously, Arthur,” he said, “it’s not necessary. I’m letting you stay as a favor, and it’s not like you even eat anything. Besides, I told you I don’t want it.”
The stubborn fool, Arthur thought to himself. Fine then. He’d just have to be a little more persuasive.
“You may not want it, but isn’t it rather selfish of you to deny Madeleine a nice gift for the sake of your pride?”
He knew it was a rather low blow after what he’d said earlier, but it seemed that Alfred was considering it now (and he didn’t look angry or hurt), so Arthur kept at it.
“Think of it as a Christmas gift from me to you. You’re letting me stay here as a favor, and that’s very generous of you, so let me return the favor,” he said. Alfred looked up at him, and Arthur knew he’d given in. But just to be certain… “Please, Alfred.”
Alfred hesitated, “… It’s really expensive.”
“I’m sure it will be worth it.”
Another moment or two passed, then Alfred’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Fine,” he said, then quickly added, “but thanks. Really.”
Arthur gave him a small smile and replied, “It’s my pleasure. Really.”
“Arthuuuuurrrrrrr!” Alfred called from the bottom of the staircase, and Arthur rolled his glass eyes (he didn’t think he’d ever get used to that particular sensation) before walking out of the study and looking down over the railing.
“Don’t shout at me, you insufferable dolt,” he called back, and rolled his eyes again at the way Alfred beamed up at him. “What is it?”
“My cab is here! I’ll be back with Maddie in a bit-” his grin widened even further somehow “-so make sure you keep outta sight in the study like you do when Mrs. Jacobs is here cleaning.”
Arthur dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, I know. Go on now. I know you’re dying to see her.”
“I’ll see ya later,” Alfred said, buttoning his coat, wrapping a scarf around his neck, and pulling on his hat, but before he could make it out the door, he stopped and turned back around.
(At this point, Arthur suddenly realized that he’d been standing there watching the man leave the whole time, but for what reason, he had no idea.)
“Oh, and don’t worry, Arthur,” Alfred said, snapping him out of his thoughts, “I’ll stop in and check on you every so often so you don’t have to sit in there all by yourself all day. I know Maddie’ll be here, but you’re still important to me, and I’ll make sure I take care of you, too.”
With one last smile, he waved and was gone.
For the past week and a half, Arthur had gotten used to not feeling much of anything physically, once he’d gotten over his initial soreness. Being made of porcelain had sort of dulled his nerves (if he even still had them-he wasn’t quite sure how it all worked), and having an abdomen full of nothing had mostly eliminated any sort of feeling from insides and organs that he no longer had.
So, considering all this, it came as quite a shock when Arthur felt a not-entirely-unpleasant flutter somewhere around where his stomach would have been, and he could have sworn that the heart that wasn’t in his chest anymore skipped a beat or two.
It took Arthur all of three minutes to remember how his legs worked and stumble back to the study.
For reasons unknown, Arthur found himself unable to really focus on his work that evening, or even through the next few days. It may have had something to do with Alfred’s frequent outbursts of laughter and poorly-sung carols carrying through the corridors, although he’d yet to hear as much as a peep from Madeleine. Even when he’d snuck downstairs this morning to watch her finally open her doll under the Christmas tree, she’d only gasped and wrapped her little arms around Alfred’s neck. He’d mouthed a heartfelt, Thank you, to Arthur over her pale curls, and it was all Arthur could do to give him a sappy smile back through the crack in the door.
It was obvious that his host was wrapped as tightly around the little girl’s finger as was possible, and even Arthur could see that she was absolutely adorable, but if he was being honest, he didn’t quite understand it. He had several older brothers, but not a one of them had ever expressed any interest in him in any manner other than as a punching bag, and his one younger brother was a cheeky little thing that he avoided at all costs. Of course, he was sure that his own family situation was nothing like Alfred’s had been growing up, but when Arthur stopped to wonder if things would have been different had his brothers not spent their childhoods competing for attention and inheritance, it left him feeling sort of hollow and, well… a little jealous, really.
But he couldn’t resent either of the Joneses for that. Alfred was too… Alfred, and he hadn’t even really met poor Madeleine.
“And how are you this evening, Lord Kirkland?”
Arthur glanced up from his calculations to find Alfred curtseying at the door, an obnoxious grin on his face. “Oh shut it, you,” he tossed back, but without any real venom.
(Unfortunately for Arthur, sending Alfred to the bank for him had entailed giving his whole name, and more unfortunate still, Alfred had recognized it from the newspapers a few months ago when he’d inherited his father’s title and estate. Naturally, Arthur still hadn’t heard the end of it.)
“Well hello to you, too, cranky,” Alfred said. “Maddie’s all tucked in, so I’m yours for the rest of the night. Whatcha working on?” True to his word, he’d had been spending a fair portion of his time in the study with Arthur during the day, and after Madeleine had been put to bed, the two of them would stay up late into the night working or, more often, just talking.
With a sigh, Arthur pushed back from his table. “Nothing really… I’m having a little trouble concentrating,” he said. “I suppose I could do with a break.”
“Yeah, me too, and I haven’t even started mine yet,” Alfred said as he plopped down in his chair and glared at his paperwork. “I really can’t stand this stuff.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what is it you’re having trouble with? My mother seemed to think I’d wind up an accountant for some reason, so I had a fair bit of schooling before I managed to convince her otherwise. I might be able to help you.”
“Are you serious?” Alfred’s face lit up, and he quickly pulled a chair over beside his, motioning for Arthur to sit next to him. “This is great! I mean, I can handle the math fine, but I haven’t been able to get anything else right since I started doing this.”
As he waited for Alfred to gather up all his ledgers and records, Arthur made himself comfortable at the desk and let his eyes wander over the walls of the study again, taking in paintings of who he assumed were Alfred’s father and grandfathers, judging by the resemblance, and two portraits of very different women on either side of the door. The older of the two must have been Alfred’s mother-her clear blue eyes, wavy golden hair, and mischievous little half-smile confirmed it-but Arthur couldn’t seem to place the other. Her curls and complexion were much fairer, and her eyes were a peculiar shade of almost violet blue that he was certain he’d seen somewhere before…
The door opened a bit, and Arthur suddenly realized who the woman was as his gaze settled on an identical set of eyes peeking in through the crack. She was Madeleine’s mother.
… Then, of course, he realized that Madeleine was there and looking straight at him, so he promptly panicked and froze in his seat, trying to leave a neutral expression on his face.
“So here’s the past three months’ records, Arth-”Alfred paused himself when he looked up at him, brows scrunching up in confusion. “What’s with that look?”
Arthur gave the tiniest nod past him towards the door, but then had to resist the urge to strangle him when he missed the gesture entirely.
“What? What is it?” Alfred said, oblivious.
Thankfully, Madeleine chose that moment to open the door further and speak up, rubbing at her eyes sleepily.
“Alfred?” she said, and Arthur was shocked at how meek and quiet her little voice was compared to her brother’s-and Alfred was shocked at the sudden noise and jumped nearly a foot out of his chair.
“M-Maddie!” he stuttered, spinning around to face her and clutching at his heart. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
She looked down at her feet, mumbling, “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to get in bed with you, but you weren’t there.”
Arthur could almost feel Alfred melt next to him, and he had to keep from rolling his eyes at the way he nearly cooed back, “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry!”
But then her attention shifted, and Arthur stiffened as she stared right at him intently. “Oh, but Freddie!” she breathed, excited. “You got one for you, too?”
Alfred looked confused for a moment, but when he followed her gaze to apparently-doll-Arthur, he just plastered on a grin and said, “Oh… Oh yeah! I… uh… You know I get lonely when you’re at school, so… yeah.”
“What’s his name?”
“Um… Artie?” (Had Arthur still possessed a tongue, he would have needed to bite it at that.)
“And you were talking to him just now, weren’t you?” she asked. “That’s so cute! We should have a tea party tomorrow with him and Lily! Can we, Freddie? Please?”
“Uh, I… um…” Alfred stalled, sending a panicked look in Arthur’s direction, who did his utmost to convey murderous intent through his glass eyes while keeping his face motionless.
Unfortunately, however, his Glare of Death was no match for Madeleine’s adorableness, and Alfred was weak.
“S-sure! That sounds great!” he said with a nervous laugh, then jumped up and yawned. “Wouldja look at the time! Let’s just get you back to bed, Maddie!”
He hurried her out the door, but before he could close it behind them, Arthur heard her tell Alfred to stop.
“Aren’t you bringing Artie?” she asked from the hallway.
Alfred glanced back in the door, and since Madeleine couldn’t see in at all, Arthur furiously scribbled, You’re a dead man, on a piece of paper and held it up for him to read.
Alfred gulped. “He’ll be fine.”
“He’s not sleeping with you? But he might get lonely.”
Suddenly, Arthur’s strange stomach lurch returned, and though he couldn’t feel it, he was certain that his face had flushed; looking up, he saw that Alfred was bright red as well, opening and closing his mouth wordlessly a few times, but then he managed to blurt out, “He’ll be fine! Night, Artie!” and slammed the door.
Later that night, after Arthur had crept down the hall to his bedroom, pulled on a too-large set of Alfred’s nightclothes, and crawled into bed, he still couldn’t seem to fight off that odd fluttery feeling somewhere in his chest.
In the almost-silence of the house, he heard the creak of a door, footfalls on the ceiling above him, and then a rustling of linens and the shifting of a bedframe-Alfred, finally getting to bed. Arthur stared up at the wooden beams of the ceiling between them… and then shook himself physically to distract from the infuriating pangs in his chest.
Ridiculous, he told himself as he flipped over onto his stomach, joints rattling and twisting the sheets around him uncomfortably. He’d been too lax with his work lately, and he’d have to correct that, starting tomorrow. If all these strange sensations had done anything for him, it was to show him just how accustomed he’d become to his condition, how complacent he’d become in his state. He’d been so used to feeling nothing at all that normal, human-feeling things were distracting him so. The sooner he got back to normal, the better.
Arthur spared one more glance up at the ceiling, then buried his face in his pillow and drifted off.
A/N2: Nitpicked by my buddy at work, like usual.
Only two more chapters to go, but I’m still crossing my fingers on the time issues… Wish me luck!
Coming up next: Maddie goes back to school, and both Alfred and Arthur are Not Prepared.