One Night; Maybe More [2/2]

[semebay]

Title: One Night; Maybe More
Genre: Smut, General, Angst
Rating: R18
Warnings: Sex. Violence. Etc.
Original Publication Date: March 24, 2011
Summary: Curiosity was what took Arthur to the alleys in search of something different. What was only meant to take place on one night went above and beyond what he had expected to find there.
UKUS, Prostitute AU. Request by C

Part One



Arthur had dug through the center console in his car while he drove, and he managed to find aspirin to give Alfred. He knew that it wouldn't drive away the pain of broken fingers, but there was the hope that it would at least take off the edge.

If it didn't work, Alfred didn't say anything about it. He just smiled and admired the interior of the car in the daylight, and Arthur had to concentrate to keep his eyes on the road. Alfred's hands were hard not to look at, and Arthur tightened his own around the steering wheel. He felt a pain in his own fingers when he tried to imagine what could have happened, and he made a point not to look. He kept his eyes straight ahead, and ignored how Alfred touched the cloth around his head and the buttons on the door.

Arthur saw the surprise on Alfred's face when they pulled into his driveway. He didn't live in an extravagant house, but the gardens were well-tended. It wasn't terribly big, either. It was nestled in among trees and mostly hidden from the road, save for the winter when the leaves fell and stopped shielding him from public eye.

Of course, it wasn't a very interesting house either. It looked small from the outside, a one-story house with an attic and a front porch that stretched around the corner of the house. Arthur didn't have a garage for the car, but pulled it up to the front porch where he parked it. He reached across the seat and pushed the door open for Alfred so that he wouldn't have to move his fingers, and then he climbed out and walked around to meet him.

Alfred climbed from the car and looked back at the seat, and he frowned. “I got some blood on the-”

“Don't worry about it.” Arthur pulled Alfred back by the arm and steered him towards the steps to the porch after he shut the door. He let Alfred step ahead of him so that he could see the back of his head, and the blood that stained the fabric there. “What the hell happened, Alfred?”

Alfred remained silent while Arthur unlocked the front door, and walked inside before Arthur.

Alfred moved slowly through the kitchen, and took the time to look around at the interior. While the outside looked slightly aged and rustic, the inside was far from old. It looked as though the appliances were all new, though the oven looked well used. It had lost the shine that the rest of the steel appliances had, and the linoleum in front of it was gray instead of white like the rest of the kitchen. It looked almost like something had burned part of floor, and he was going to ask Arthur until he saw that the other man was on his phone.

“Just a favor,” Arthur was saying, and he gently nudged Alfred's back to send him down a short hall to a bedroom. “He can't go to a hospital. His insurance won't cover it. It's not too terrible. He needs some stitches in his head, and it looks like he has a couple broken fingers.”

Alfred looked around the room while Arthur searched through the closet and answered the doctor's discomfort with Arthur downplaying the situation. Alfred sat down on the bed and let his hands rest on the comforter. He winced when one of his broken fingers shifted, and Arthur paused where he stood by the closet. He had stopped talking to give the doctor on the other end time to reply, and Alfred looked back to see that Arthur was watching him.

Alfred bounced a little on the bed, and Arthur let one corner of his mouth rise hesitantly.

“This,” Arthur mouthed when he adjusted the phone between his shoulder and cheek, and he held up a blue t-shirt. Alfred nodded and Arthur dropped it on the bed. “I'll help you in a minute,” he mouthed again, and searched for a pair of sweats that he thought would fit. He knew that any other type of pants he had would be too small.

“Listen, help me out, and you may get a bit lucky in the near future,” Arthur said when he returned to the phone call. “I'm not saying anything more than that. You know where I live, I need help.” Arthur waited a moment before he ended the call, and he set the phone on a small table by the door.

“Don't touch that,” Arthur said when Alfred moved for the shirt, and he snatched it up before Alfred could reach it. “I'll help you. You don't need to mess up your hands.”

Arthur hesitated when he looked at Alfred. He knew he had to take off his shirt, but it seemed like such a daunting task.

Sure, they had had sex quite a few times. Arthur wondered why he hesitated, when those times were supposed to be far more intimate than him helping Alfred change his clothes. Maybe it was the fact that the sex had been casual, and they had been somewhere that they had no real connection to. At that moment, they were in Arthur's house, in his bedroom, and Arthur needed to stop thinking about that and help Alfred change.

Arthur was wary of Alfred's hands when he pushed up his shirt, pulling it off over Alfred's head and recoiling. Alfred's entire chest was simply a mass of blue and black, and he felt physically ill at the implications of what could have caused all the damage. Alfred had looked away, at a hanging portrait of a beach on Arthur's wall, and Arthur hesitated. He wanted to reach out and touch the bruises and try to find some skin that wasn't marred, but instead he grabbed the blue t-shirt and slipped it over Alfred's head.

Alfred didn't speak. Arthur didn't know if it was shame or if he was trying not to let out any undesirable noises. Arthur was sure it hurt like hell, and he was also quite sure that Alfred was rather put out by the fact that Arthur was doing so much in a situation where Alfred couldn't pay him back.

Arthur pulled the shirt down and stepped back to look at Alfred. Alfred looked down at the shirt and frowned, and Arthur had to agree. While it was one of (maybe the) biggest shirts Arthur owned, it obviously didn't fit Alfred. It was more than form fitting, and put every detail of Alfred's chest on display.

Arthur was going to retrieve the sweatpants he had found, but stopped before turning away. Instead, he reached forward to press his hand against a bump on Alfred's chest, shocking the other into stepping back.

“What's this?” Arthur demanded. He hadn't noticed it when Alfred's chest had been bare, but it was rather obvious with the tighter blue shirt.

“Just a bruise,” Alfred said, and Arthur didn't fail to notice how his voice trembled.

“Bullshit,” Arthur muttered. “Lay down. You're going to a hospital.”

“You can't force me to go to a hospital if I don't want to!” Alfred snapped, but Arthur wasn't about to take “no” for an answer.

“I'll work out the details. You just lay down. I'll get you some ice and something to get the blood off your face.”

“Arthur, look at me!” Alfred demanded, and Arthur looked back from the door that he had been about to leave through. “You don't need to be connected to me. What d'you think'll happen if they take a look at me? They'll know these aren't my clothes. And they'll know exactly what I am, and what I'm doing with you!”

“Will you shut up?” Arthur huffed and crossed his arms. “I told you I'd take care of the details, so stop worrying about it. You're being a bloody fool.” He paused and looked at Alfred's head. “Literally and figuratively, of course.”

Alfred simply gaped at Arthur, and then dropped down on the bed. Arthur noticed his discomfort that time, and opened his phone to place another call.

Toris's arrival was the start of another argument. Alfred had to sit back and listen while Toris demanded x-rays and Arthur demanded an underground hospital. Toris didn't really look like the kind of guy that could really assert himself, but apparently he was passionate enough about medicine to speak up when he felt things weren't going in the right direction.

In the end, Arthur got his way. Their destination was the underground hospital that one of his contacts had supplied, and Toris had to deal with the older equipment. Toris was taking Alfred's care a little too seriously, and Alfred suspected that the book he wanted to publish had become part of a deal between them.

Considering the underground status of the hospital and lack of funding, it came as no surprise that the older x-ray machine wasn't in very good condition. Toris was quite disgruntled with that fact, as it meant that he had to wait far longer for results, in addition to arguing with the staff there so that he could be the one to do the tests. Arthur's promise to pay for the services used was helpful in getting Toris permission, and the staff were rather pleased that they would still get paid despite not doing anything.

The long wait for the machine to start up gave Toris enough time to stitch the gash on the back of Alfred's head closed, and when Alfred found out how long it would be to get the x-rays taken (when he finally for into the room), he looked to Arthur. Alfred had decided that he wanted his cats, and he wanted them as soon as possible.

Arthur may have won the argument against Toris, but Alfred was another matter entirely. So annoyed by his complaints and constant talking, Arthur had considered stuffing a roll of gauze into his mouth to shut him up. However, when Arthur saw the cut on his tongue (probably from when somebody punched him in the jaw), he reconsidered and decided that it probably wasn't the best idea.

Despite Arthur's reservations about leaving them alone together, he ended up leaving Alfred and Toris to retrieve Alfred's cats.

The drive to Alfred's house seemed to take forever. Arthur could only worry about Alfred's injuries, and the x-rays, and the chance that Toris might realize that something was going on. Things were already bad enough; with the need for absolute secrecy and the fact that Alfred had been beaten quite thoroughly, it was quite obvious that something was going on that probably looked illegal.

Admittedly, Arthur didn't know Toris well enough to know that the man would or would not start digging for information. If Toris knew what was good for him (and the future of his book), then he would keep his hands to himself and not pry into anything.

Arthur arrived at Alfred's trailer thoroughly peeved, and becoming more concerned with every passing minute. He fished the key that Alfred had given him out of his pocket, and then had to struggle to climb into the front door. He didn't know why Alfred hadn't fixed the steps. It would have been an easy thing to do.

Arthur didn't think about that for long. Alfred had his own reasons for what he did and didn't do. Arthur had no business judging. The only thing he needed to do was find the cat carrier Alfred said was in his closet, find their food, and finally find them.

Finding the cats was easier than Arthur had thought it would be. He had imagined chasing the little buggers through the house, searching through cabinets and behind furniture. As it was, he saw the cats as soon as he entered the house. Both were lying on a battered couch that was pushed up against a window, and they were staring at the television that had been left on.

Well, the larger cat was staring at the television. The other one was curled up and sleeping.

Arthur looked over at the kitchen and frowned at the mess on the table. There were papers everywhere, as well as old McDonald's bags that were overflowing the trashcan. The table had a broken leg that he been fixed with duct tape, and the fridge (it looked like it should have been white) was a shade of yellow.

Arthur swallowed and walked through the kitchen and down a short hall. He passed a room filled with boxes and miscellaneous items, and a bathroom that was surprisingly clean considering its size and the fact that it had a washer and dryer crammed inside. He made it to the bedroom to find that it didn't look any better than the living room, and was forced to dodge around clothes strewn about on the ground.

Arthur reached the closet door and pushed it open, trying to locate the large bag of cat food and the carrier inside. His eyes fell on them almost immediately, at about the same time he noticed the leather ensemble hanging on a hook right in front of him.

Had it been any day before he found Alfred, he probably would have been extremely turned on by the thought of Alfred in leather chaps and a cowboy hat. However, the knowledge that Alfred had been beaten to shit because of his job (which consisted of wearing clothes like that) made him look away. Any other day he might have liked Alfred in those; at that moment, the thought simply repulsed him.

Arthur grabbed the food and carrier (as well as a change of normal clothes) and left the bedroom. He didn't feel at all comfortable in the house, and would rather take the cats and leave than spend any more time there.

Alfred had told him to put both cats in the same carrier, and that they would be perfectly fine together. He grabbed the one that was sleeping first and shoved it in the crate before it could wake. The other cat, alarmed, tried to bite him when he reached for it. Arthur spent the better part of ten minutes trying to keep one cat in the crate while he tried to control the other.

Scratched, tired and slightly hungry, Arthur locked the carrier (both cats inside), shoved the cat food and clothes into a bag he found lying around, and then climbed back out of the house. He shut the door and locked it once the cats were in the car (both whining like little beasts), and then he started out, back to his house to drop off the cats before he returned to the hospital.

When Arthur reached the end of the Alfred's road, he watched a car turn into Alfred's driveway. He didn't move from his spot and waited to see what would happen.

When one of the men used a crowbar to open Alfred's front door, Arthur pressed his foot down on the gas pedal and moved on as though nothing had happened. He had seen nothing, had simply been visiting a friend. No one had seen him at Alfred's (hopefully), and he was simply returning home.

The greatest problem Arthur had to deal with when he returned to his home was what he was going to do with the two beasts in the back seat, and what he was going to tell Alfred.

If he told Alfred anything.

Arthur had locked the cats in the guest room with food, water and newspaper before he left for the hospital.

When he returned to the hospital, Arthur had arrived just in time to see the results of Alfred's x-rays. Alfred was sitting on a hospital bed and staring at his hands. The pinky and ring fingers on both hands and the middle finger on his left hand were all splinted, and Alfred frowned at them.

“No fractured ribs,” Toris said when Arthur returned, and he pointed at the x-rays that were on a screen. “A lot of bruising. Both pinkies and the middle finger on his left hand are fractured. He's going to have to watch his head when he showers. Try not to get the stitches wet.”

“Does he have a concussion?” Arthur asked as soon as Toris paused, and Toris shook his head.

“It's a bit hard to tell with the equipment here, but he's not showing any signs. Honestly... You're in good health, considering what... Well, what probably happened.”

Arthur looked at Alfred and nodded. He wanted to ask if Toris had looked further into Alfred's injuries so that he could figure out if Toris knew something, but from Alfred's lighthearted expression, he was sure that nothing had been looked into.

Toris followed Arthur's gaze and swallowed. Arthur was brought back to attention, and realized again how suspicious the situation was, and how odd Arthur was probably acting.

“I hope you'll look back over my draft,” Toris told Arthur, and he didn't look again at Alfred. “As it is, I have to get back home. I'm on call, and I'd rather not be seen in a place where my reputation could be...” Toris didn't finish the thought. He turned away and hurried towards the nearest exit, avoiding the people he passed. Arthur grimaced and sighed.

“I'm sure he won't talk,” Arthur muttered. He looked at Alfred meaningfully. “We should probably be going. Your cats are probably tearing apart my furniture as we speak.”

Though Arthur had expected to return home to a room filled with only wood shavings and pieces of fabric, he was surprised to find everything intact.

At Alfred's insistence, they had stopped at a store to find litter and a box, much to Arthur's relief. Alfred had laughed outright at the fact that Arthur had put down newspapers for the cats, and had proceeded to tell him the benefits of litter and the foolishness of paper.

Arthur was relieved by the new information, but also put on edge. It wasn't until he returned home to find there were no messes that he finally relaxed. He helped Alfred get in through the doors without banging around his hands, and then introduced him to the television.

Alfred was quite obviously uncomfortable.

Arthur had let the cats out of the bedroom so that they could hang around Alfred and cheer him up, but Alfred was rather listless. Arthur was glad he hadn't told Alfred about the strangers at his house; it could have made him even more depressed.

Alfred tugged at his shirt with the fingers that weren't splinted, and tried to pull it away from his chest. Arthur hesitated, and wondered if he should get one of the shirts he had taken from Alfred's closet. He tried to figure out how Alfred would get it on, and could only imagine that he would have to help Alfred put it on considering the state of Alfred's fingers.

Arthur was sure Alfred wouldn't care for being cared for like a toddler.

“C'mere Scotch,” Alfred crooned, and the smaller of the two cats purred before crawling into his lap. Alfred attempted to call the larger cat to him, but Hero was too busy watching Arthur start his search through cabinets for Toris's draft to care.

“Want me to bring him over?” Arthur asked when Hero bumped his leg.

“Nah.” Alfred scooped Scotch up in his arms and walked over to Arthur. He knelt and used one arm to coax Hero closer, then maneuvered Scotch so that he could hold both cats. Then he returned to the couch, and scratched at the cats' fur. “I'm good.”

Arthur pulled a large binder from the shelf and opened the cover, frowning as he did so. He flipped through the pages and clucked his tongue, then dropped the binder on the floor and searched for another. The loud bang sent Scotch skittering out of Alfred's arms, and Arthur looked back.

“Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it,” Alfred said, though he looked a bit put out. He rubbed Hero's ear with his index finger and Arthur made a conscious effort to be more quiet while he searched through other binders for the draft. “What're you doing?”

“Trying to find Toris's draft.” Arthur set a second binder down on the floor quietly, and opened a drawer to find yet another binder.

“You keep everything like that?” Alfred asked, and Arthur shrugged.

“I don't like throwing things away when I might need them later. Lucky call, considering we needed Toris's draft.” Arthur flipped open the binder he found and made a noise of victory when he finally found the title page to Toris's project. He kept the heavy binder open in his arms and walked back to the couch, and carefully settled in beside Alfred.

They didn't say much to each other. Alfred kept his eyes on the television while Arthur read, and only looked over when Arthur jotted down notes with a pen. Arthur only looked up when Hero decided to claim his lap, and then he split his attention between petting the monster of a cat and reading.

When the sky outside began to darken, Arthur carefully pushed the cat off his lap and onto the couch. Hero immediately jumped into Alfred's lap to join Scotch (who had returned some time before), and Alfred laughed when the cats had to readjust themselves to fit comfortably.

“Do you want a sandwich?”

Alfred looked up quickly, and a grin lit his face. “That'd be great!”

“I'm afraid I only have bologna.”

Alfred didn't at all mind the lack of lunch meats, and even nudged the cats from his lap so that he could follow Arthur out to the kitchen.

“If I could cook, I would make you the best burgers around,” Alfred informed Arthur. “I'm awesome at burgers. Worked at McDonald's when I was a kid.”

“Way back then?” Arthur asked in mock surprise.

“Shut up,” Alfred groused. He sat down at a bar stool next to the counter and watched while Arthur searched around the kitchen for ingredients and plates. It wasn't long before a plate was set before him, and he raised an eyebrow at how the sandwich had been cut into quarters.

“Easier on the hands,” Arthur offered as an explanation, and Alfred didn't question it. He played around with one of the quarters before picking it up and popping it into his mouth. He hummed his contentment while he chewed, and soon moved onto the next piece.

Arthur watched Alfred eat with a frown. While it was messy and Alfred was dripping mustard on the counter, the thing that bothered him had nothing to do with the mess. He was more worried by Alfred, and the thought that he hadn't eaten since who-knows-when. He was prepared to ask when Alfred had last eaten, but Alfred beat him to it.

“Haven't had anything since lunch yesterday,” Alfred said when he took a break from eating to breathe. “This is good. You should run a deli or something.”

Arthur chuckled at that and looked down at his sandwich. He pushed the plate across the table to Alfred, and moved to make himself another sandwich.

“I think right now you'd eat anything, so I don't think I can trust you,” Arthur said bluntly while Alfred nodded his thanks for the second sandwich.

“Maybe,” Alfred said through a full mouth. He licked a spot of mustard off his thumb. “Maybe not.”

“If you need anything, feel free to come get me,” Arthur said while he arranged the sheets on the bed. Alfred was standing awkwardly behind him, staring at the clothes that Arthur had set out on a bureau. He picked through the layers of folded fabric, and caught Arthur's eye with a sheepish grin.

“So... You went through my closet.”

“You needed clothes.”

“Did you like what you saw?”

Arthur hesitated, and set the pillow he had been fluffing down on the bed. “I'll admit you had some interesting things in your closet. Something for a client, I assume?”

“Yeah.” Alfred grinned and pulled a pair of pants from the pile. He dropped them on the top of the pile, and moved to pull off his shirt, but then remembered that Arthur was in the room. He stared at the back of Arthur's head when he continued adjusting the blankets, and swallowed. “You, uh... You want me to-”

“You need help changing?” Arthur cut in before Alfred could finish. Alfred shook his head, and Arthur stood straight. “Well, your bed's done. If something happens, come get me.”

“Will do,” Alfred said, and Arthur left the room.

Arthur returned to his room and left the door ajar in case Alfred needed him, and had difficulty with the knob. He climbed into bed and switched off the light, and lay silently in the darkness. He could hear Alfred's faint grunts while the man fought the clothes Arthur had retrieved, and waited until everything was silent before he finally let his eyes fall closed.

It was only three in the morning when Arthur woke, disturbed by movement on his bed. He remained silent and motionless while the weight shifted, and then a head peered around the bump in the blankets to look him in the eye.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the head, and the cat meowed loudly before pressing its head against Arthur's cheek. Arthur nudged it away and wondered if he should return it to Alfred when it suddenly lunged at his blankets and then disappeared beneath them.

“Hero!” Arthur hissed, but the cat was already settling into the warmth under the blankets. He lifted the blankets to look at the beast, but Hero was unperturbed. The cat simply yawned at him and burrowed deeper under the blankets.

Arthur let the blankets drop back into place. He was too tired to do anything about it anyway.

Alfred sat at the counter again the following morning, reading the newspaper while Arthur fought with breakfast. Neither said much; Alfred was trying to figure out how he would work, and Arthur was thinking about how he would help the other while juggling a full-time job and trying to cook food that wouldn't make his guest violently ill (he had never had a problem eating his food, but Ludwig had visited on occasion and insisted that he never touch the oven. He had felt off, letting his guest cook dinner, but Ludwig had been so adamant about it).

“I'm done,” Arthur announced, and Alfred looked above the paper. Arthur couldn't see anything below his nose because of how the paper blocked his face, but he could see how Alfred's eyebrows rose and hid under his bangs at the sight of the smoking mass of something that was supposed to be an omelet.

“Awesome,” Alfred said, though his words lacked the enthusiasm that they had held the night before. It seemed he finally understood what Arthur had been talking about during dinner.

Arthur tried to ignore how Alfred nudged at the food with his fork, poking at it and opening it up to see if it had actually burned all the way through. Alfred moved back to his paper, most likely to distract himself while he began to eat what could have been the last meal of his life.

Whether Arthur was aware of that fact or not, they wouldn't know. When Alfred raised a rather clumsily-held spoon to his mouth, he choked before it had even passed his lips.

“Alfred?”

“My house,” Alfred said before Arthur could say any more. “That's my house.”

Alfred's voice, distant and shocked, brought Arthur to his side immediately. Arthur was shocked to see a picture of Alfred's trailer, burned so that only the skeletal black frame remained. There was nothing left, and Alfred set down the spoon before lying the paper flat on the counter.

Arthur's throat caught and tightened, and he had to force the words from his mouth. “I saw someone there when I grabbed the cats. Two people.”

Alfred turned quickly, and his wide eyes seemed to stand out from the tan of his skin. “Did they see you?”

“I don't think so.”

Alfred stared at Arthur for a long time, as though he wanted to be sure that Arthur wasn't lying. “If they saw you, then-”

“I was already on the road when they came,” Arthur was quick to interrupt. “They weren't looking.”

“You could get hurt!” Alfred looked down at his hands, then he stood up. He didn't waste any time in hurrying to his room and searching for his shoes. “I shouldn't be here. Sorry for the trouble, thanks for the help.”

Arthur followed Alfred to the bedroom and watched while Alfred tried to figure out the best way of getting into his shoes. “What do you think you're doing?” Arthur demanded.

“I'm leaving. You're in trouble while I'm here, and I still need to work and you don't have to deal with that and-”

“God damn it, Alfred.” Arthur pulled Alfred up by the arm and pushed him towards the bed, the action made easier by the fact that Alfred didn't bother resisting. His chest probably still hurt as well, so putting up a fight would hurt more than it should.

“There's no way you're working like this,” Arthur snapped. He took a step back. “And there's no way you're leaving! In case you haven't taken a look at yourself and your situation, it's not good. I hate to be blunt, but you're homeless and look like death, and there is not one person that will pay to have sex with you like this!”

Alfred mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “I can name three,” but Arthur ignored it in favor of continuing his tirade.

“As it is, you're in my house now. You won't be working, you won't be whoring yourself out. You'll be recuperating, and staying out of public. Do I make myself clear?”

From the look of shock and disbelief on Alfred's face, an appropriate response would be “crystal.” Except that Alfred had started shaking his head, and stood up again as though he was going to challenge Arthur or something equally foolish.

“They burned down my house,” Alfred started. “Did you forget that or something? They might be coming here right now to-”

“I already told you they didn't see me!” Arthur shouted, and he swore he heard a thud from the other room. “And what are you going to do with your cats if you leave? Are you going to carry that damned crate around with you, and maybe hope that you can find a motel or a cheap apartment somewhere that will let you keep them?”

Alfred said nothing. He was staring at Arthur and unable to think up a response to Arthur's shouts and questions. His silence gave Arthur a chance to collect himself, and Arthur took a breath.

“Stay here and recover,” Arthur said once he had caught his breath. “I like to think the security system installed isn't only for looks. I also like to think that this place doesn't have a giant beacon outside with your name on it.” Arthur gently pushed Alfred back into a sitting position on the bed and sighed. “You're my friend, Alfred, and I'm not letting you go out and get yourself killed. And before you decide to interrupt me, I can take care of myself. And right now, you can't.” Arthur moved so that he was standing in front of Alfred. “I can take care of you. I can give you a place to stay, food to eat, and a bed to sleep in. I trust the neighbors enough to call the police about strange cars. You're safer here than you'd be anywhere else, unless you felt the need to seek federal protection or something. Not that they'd give it to you.”

Alfred leaned back slightly and frowned at Arthur. It was obvious he wasn't going to get his way.

“They were debt collectors,” Alfred muttered.

“Are they reasonable?”

“When they have their money.”

Arthur sighed and took a step back. “It'll work out somehow,” he muttered. He didn't look at Alfred again when he left the room.

Arthur returned to work the following day, after going to the store to buy microwavable ramen and other meals that would be easy for Alfred to make. He had stuck to his unspoken promise and added Toris to his queue, and had sent out e-mails detailing the schedule changes he would have to make. He had gone through to try and find more time at home so that Alfred wouldn't be alone all the time, though his worries were probably unnecessary and meddlesome. Then again, he had to make sure that Alfred didn't take any stupid risks, though Alfred seemed to understand that Arthur was unwilling to let him screw things up.

When Arthur had finally returned home, it was to the cats racing across the floor while Alfred chased them, and Arthur had to remind him that the stitches in his head were not ideal for running.

Alfred had barely slowed down, and Arthur had been forced to sit back and watch with a tight chest and a first aid kit. Occasionally he called out things like “I don't want blood on my floors,” but Alfred had ignored him and continued racing around the house.

Alfred had only stopped when the cats decided to eat, and then he'd collapsed on the couch. Arthur had started on work from the office, and Alfred had played with the television to find a movie to watch.

Arthur attempted to find out more about Alfred's debts, to find if there was a way to somehow help him, but Alfred wasn't biting. He was smart enough to know when not to talk when it concerned his house.

They repeated the process for days. Arthur tried to get something out of Alfred while Alfred avoided every questions. At the same time, Arthur was trying to catch up with work he had missed while taking care of Alfred. He had only missed an afternoon, but it wasn't easy to reschedule everything while cutting back. He brought more and more work home, and even Alfred seemed to notice.

Arthur thought he had hid it well enough. It was obvious he had extra work, but he made sure not to complain about it. He dismissed it as normal, and only later did he find out that Alfred had been paying more attention than he had let on.

“Later” being that night, when Alfred sat on his bed.

Arthur hadn't been able to sleep, and Alfred's presence woke him completely. He stared in shock and surprise at the man on his bed, and Alfred hadn't looked at him when he spoke.

“I can pay you back for everything,” Alfred muttered. “I mean, I don't have anything else, but I can-”

“You're an idiot,” Arthur decided before he grabbed Alfred by the arm and carefully pulled him down. Alfred looked confused when Arthur pulled the blankets up to cover them both, and then Arthur shut his eyes and pushed his other pillow over. “Moron.”

Alfred didn't move. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to Arthur's actions, and wasn't sure what Arthur had meant. Whatever it was, Arthur seemed far more interested in trying to sleep (though he was obviously failing).

Alfred tried to relax. It was difficult. He had only ever shared a bed with his cats, or with men in old sleezy motel mattresses, and Arthur's bed was far from either of those.

When he finally found a position that was comfortable, Alfred just stared at Arthur.

Then he talked.

Arthur was overjoyed that the weekend had come. Sadly, it had nothing to do with the fact that he didn't have to go to work. He still had to edit drafts and submit proposals and figure out how to get a rather annoying and flamboyant author to get back to him.

The weekend was more important because he finally had time to sit down and figure out how the thing with Alfred was going to work.

There was also the fact that Alfred had finally told him about his debt. It wasn't going to be an easy solution, but Arthur had ideas.

They sat down at the kitchen counter and planned. Alfred had looked into his meager life savings, and Arthur had looked at property values. It was easier to have the debris on Alfred's plot removed and the land sold without anything on it. It would be worth more, and would make a rather large dent in the debt if it was sold. Alfred's checking account would help a great deal, and Arthur had tried to think of something for the remaining debt.

Arthur hated the idea that all of Alfred's money (in addition to the land) would almost completely cover the debt. He hated that the thought crossed his mind. He didn't want to think about how well it would work out, when it would destroy Alfred's life. Alfred really would have only his name and his cats, and his name would be worthless at that point in time.

When Arthur finally said what he was thinking, Alfred understood. Either way, it was his life. They collectors had waited long enough, and when they found out that he wasn't going to be working (probably from one of the other guys or girls in that alley), they had decided they would collect everything at once to make sure they didn't get cheated.

“I can put in six thousand,” Arthur told him. “Two more than they want. Might give them more initiative to leave you alone after it's all paid.”

“Right,” Alfred said, though he didn't sound very enthusiastic. It still meant he had to give up everything he had.

“I'm not telling you to live on the streets.” Arthur stretched his arms above his head and climbed off the stool to heat some water for tea. “You'd stay here. We wouldn't be living extravagantly, but I think I'd be able to pull some strings so that we could live comfortably, at least.”

“I don't want to force you into more work,” Alfred grumbled.

“You'd be out searching for work as soon as you healed,” Arthur pointed out. “Besides, I've been thinking of taking on more authors. More clients, more money.”

Alfred didn't look at all content with the idea, but he gave in. He knew it was the only choice to solve his immediate problems. He hated that he would have to rely on Arthur even more, but knew that he was screwed no matter what he did.

Alfred had taken to cleaning the house, a task he hated but performed to fight off complete boredom. The cats were apparently bored by the lack of toys, and ended up dancing around his feet and arms whenever he tried to get things done. Arthur had covered the costs for cleaning up his property, and it had been placed on the market.

Of course, no one was buying. It was in a shitty location, surrounded by shitty people, and probably still had bits of ash on the land.

Alfred had also gone out and closed his bank accounts. He had closed everything and walked out with cash, that he had later hidden in Arthur's safe. Arthur had also taken cash out of his own account, bit by bit, so that what the property sold for would be the only thing left to add in.

Alfred fretted over how long it took to sell the land, when in reality it took just over a month. A month of awkwardly avoiding the topic of longer work hours, some all-nighters, and days when Arthur would stagger home with folders in hand and collapse into bed. Alfred checked on him sometimes, and fixed the covers so that he wouldn't get cold. Then he would return to the living room and watch more movies or do more chores. It had become easier since Arthur had taken him to a local doctor to make sure his hand was well enough to remove the splint. The stitches had also been removed, and showers were less awkward since he didn't have to worry about getting them wet.

Of course, Arthur wasn't willing to let him get a job. He was convinced that while the sharks were still wandering around and his debt was unpaid, Alfred was completely unsafe.

When the land finally sold, Arthur managed to get a hold of the collectors. Without using names or any information that could incriminate him, he managed to arrange some sort of drop. He refused to tell Alfred the details, except to say that he had it under control.

Alfred had refused, but Arthur had made it clear that things were going his way, and that there would be no arguing.

Arthur had left, and Alfred had settled in front of the tv (and the phone) to wait.

Alfred paid for it that night. Curiosity had led him to some horror movie channel, and when Arthur didn't return until nine (when the sun had long set), he had begun to feel pangs of panic. The cats had terrified him by walking through the room too often, their claws clicking on the floor in the kitchen and digging into the carpet in the living room. He could only imagine that Arthur had met an untimely fate and that he was next, even after Arthur had finally walked into the house and told him that he was going to bed.

Alfred had crawled into bed beside Arthur, something he hadn't done since that first time when he had been stupid and tried to “pay” him. Arthur had accepted him and had ruffled his hair with a hand, and again he listened.

The debts had started with his father's funeral.

He had tried to work to pay them back. He had jumped from restaurants to gas stations to factories, sometimes taking on three jobs at a time in an attempt to catch up. He had fallen further and further behind, until he was up to his neck in unpaid bills.

Sex had been easy. For an hour of his time, he could get a hundred dollars. Kinky shit cost extra. He couldn't do it every night, and his debts were always out of reach, but he didn't fall as far behind as he would have with a normal job.

Arthur hadn't spoken until it sounded like Alfred was about to sleep, and he only asked if Alfred had regretted it.

Alfred had looked at him then, wide awake and with bright eyes. “Well, I met you.”

It was different that time. It was nothing like the nights spent in a dingy motel room, listening to the mattress creak while the metal springs threatened to burst through the padding and into someone's back, or hand or leg.

It also wasn't planned. There was no exchange of money (not really). It had started as an embrace, shifted into slow touches, and then moved into sex. It was slow, enjoyable, and there was no guilt (though there may have been a bit of embarrassment, which was surprising considering how tame the sex was compared to before). Arthur had found the condoms in the bathroom, annoyed by the distance from the bedroom, and had returned to crawl in bed on top of Alfred.

Alfred had kissed him then, had tried to hold onto Arthur's mouth, and Arthur had realized something. They were crossing barriers. Lust may have played some small part in that moment, but everything was driven by emotion and their evolving relationship. Kisses were allowed, given and taken. Alfred didn't make a sound when Arthur pushed inside, and after a minute they matched their paces as best as they could.

Alfred tried to drown his cries with Arthur's mouth, and Arthur was willing to help him do that, between leaving marks on his neck.

Alfred came with a cry that was silenced by Arthur's lips. He reached for Arthur's hair and pulled him closer even while Arthur finished. He tried to pull him closer with heavy arms and legs, and neither moved in the darkness.

Things would probably never be perfect. That was accepted. There would also be hardships, whether it was the looks they received in public, or the fear that someone would know about them, and their beginning.

Arthur hadn't outright demanded it, but Alfred went (alone) to be tested, and had refused to tell Arthur. Arthur only discovered later, when Alfred revealed that his paranoia during his time as a prostitute had paid off with him not becoming disease-ridden and a major threat if a condom happened to break.

Alfred had also managed to find a job. It was factory work and boring as hell, but it was a steady income. It also gave him time for night school. GED had a nice ring to it, and community college didn't look half bad either. Arthur was a slave driver whenever it came to English assignments and reports, and Alfred was pretty appreciative of the fact that he was living with the guy that had managed to help put out some of the books in his classes.

The cats claimed Alfred's old room after he had fully moved into Arthur's bed. Arthur acted like he was pissed when he found cat hair all over the “fresh” sheets, but he was joking.

Probably.

Toris got his book. It didn't sell that well, but it opened the door so that he could write more, which was apparently what he wanted to do.

Once, Ludwig had talked to them. He was positive he had seen Alfred somewhere, but he couldn't remember.

Arthur had told him it was probably a mistake.

Nothing was perfect, but that was good enough.