Past-Part Fills Post 1 -- CLOSED
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Long request is LONG, but the gist of it is this: France has fallen for England but thinks he'll have to get around America to get to him. America, in reality, is all for setting the two up. Of course, this is America we're talking about. OP, I hope you like it. Prepare for general insanity and an attempt at earning some bonus points.
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Francis turned his head to the right and looked at his clock. The glowing blue numbers read 2:21. It had been midnight when he'd gotten into bed. He sighed and rolled over until his face was in the pillow. This was turning into a bigger problem than he'd expected.
It wasn't hard to figure out, really: he was in love. And he had been for far too long. And really, he should have made a move some time ago. Actually, to be fair, he had. It had just been...well, they had been at war, to be honest, and by the time that was over he had his own problems to deal with, with a revolution that had made his hair start falling out, among other things. But then, when his people had finally calmed down, there was a very obvious, very irremovable obstacle standing firmly in his way.
Because he'd had the rotten luck to fall like a rock for England. And now America was standing in his way like a permanently happy, bespectacled brick wall.
He idly punched the pillow beside him in frustration. This wasn't the first time his own stupid mind had kept him up entirely too late. He eyed the cell phone on his nightstand before launching himself up, throwing the covers off of his top half, and flipping the cell phone open to the world clock.
Alfred was living in Los Angeles now (he liked to move at least once a year), which meant it was 5:30 in the evening where he was. Perfect.
He scrolled through his phone book and pressed the call button. It was time he did something about this.
After the second ring, just long enough for Francis to get nervous, Alfred picked up.
"Hello?"
"Yes, Alfred. This is Francis."
"I know; my new phone shows a picture of who's calling. It's really cool."
"That sounds...wonderful," Francis rubbed his forehead. What made him think this was a good idea? Why did he even call him in the first place? "Ah..." He sighed. "Alfred, are you busy on Tuesday?"
"Not really. What's up?"
"I--" He sighed again. He was going to hate himself for this in the morning. "I was wondering if I might pay you a visit, sometime that afternoon?"
"Oh, sure! It's been a while since you've come over, hasn't it? How about....four-thirty?"
Francis took the notepad on his nightstand and wrote down the time to make sure he didn't forget. "Four-thirty sounds excellent. Thank you."
"Yeah, no problem. Speaking of time, though," Through the phone, he could hear the sound of computer keys clicking, "what time is it where you--oh my god. Francis, are you okay? Is there something I should know about? Do you need help?"
Oh, Alfred, Alfred, always worrying about everyone else. Always wanting to help. Always worried. You are entirely too nice for your own good sometimes. "Alfred, I'm just fine." Lies. "I had a bit of extra work tonight. I had intended to call you earlier, but I'd forgotten until just now." Smaller lies. "I take it you're still at the same address in Los Angeles?"
"Yep. I was thinking about moving, but...well, it wouldn't really help too much right now."
Francis could tell this was something Alfred wasn't going to want to talk about, which was good, because his brain was finally starting to relax.
"Excellent. I'll meet you at your house Tuesday at four-thirty?"
"Awesome. Get some sleep, man. See you then."
"Oh, I will." Francis hung up the phone and placed it on his nightstand, letting himself fall back against the pillows with an audible thwomp as sleep finally deigned to show her face.
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For all that his people usually described the country with a plethora of expletives, America was a lovely country. None of the regions were exactly like the others, and sometimes Francis wondered how Alfred managed to keep up with it all. Francis had technically arrived in California on Monday, but in order to account for the time difference, he had booked a hotel room and spent his time enjoying Los Angeles before his meeting. Now that he was headed towards Alfred's house, a feeling he knew well to be dread had taken root in his stomach, and he suddenly had no idea what he was going to say to the nation when he saw him.
He arrived right on time. He had called Alfred earlier that day to confirm the time, and Alfred had replied with a text message that gave him this month's combination to the lock on the front door, "in case I'm back in my office or something and don't answer when you knock".
Sure enough, Alfred hadn't answered, and Francis never was one to stand around waiting, so he punched in the combination and let himself in.
He could hear the sound of shuffling from the living room as he closed the front door behind him. Wondering if Alfred was perhaps moving furniture, he followed the noises, deciding it would probably be a good idea to make his presence known.
"Alfred, it's Franc...is..." He stood in the doorway to the living room, watching in a mixture of shock and amusement, unable do decide what exactly he should do.
Alfred was in his pajamas (well, in his pajama pants, anyway), headphones in his ears, iPod in his hands, back to Francis, dancing like a fool. He held the iPod like a microphone and started singing along to the music (well, more like vocalizing, because there weren't any actual words, just a bunch of whooah-ooohhhs). It wasn't until he'd turned himself completely around and seen Francis standing there that his eyes shot open and he tripped over his own feet, landing on the couch behind him with an unceremonious flop.
"F-Francis!" he turned off his music quickly. "H-H-Hi! I, ah...I thought you said you'd be here at four-thirty."
"I did," Francis pointed at the clock, which read 4:32.
"...Oh," was Alfred's eloquent reply. "Well...well, then. I...ahahahaha...I guess there's really no way for me to salvage my dignity after that, so...ah!" He seemed to just notice he wasn't wearing a shirt, and ran down the hallway for a moment, emerging in a t-shirt maybe two sizes too big that had the logo for some soda company on the front.
"Please, sit down!" he motioned to the chair behind Francis. Francis sat, running an anxious hand through his hair. This was what he was up against? A man who danced around with no shirt on singing into his iPod?
He was doomed.
"So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?" Alfred said, sitting back down on the couch with a little more grace this time. Francis could see the tinge of concern behind those blue eyes, and it almost hurt, because Alfred's intentions were always so noble, even if his methods were downright stupid sometimes...
"Alfred, I'm afraid I may become your rival very soon," he said.
"Huh?" Alfred jumped slightly. "Rival in what? If this is about that California vineyard, I'm pretty sure they were just joking--"
"Not a political rival, not a business rival, and not a rival in any national sense," Francis looked up at him. "I mean a rival in a more personal sense."
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Now all he had to do was find a way to explain that.
"It's not because of you, Alfred. Not directly. It's just..." he ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath. "I love Arthur, Alfred. More than anyone else in the world. And I have since before he even had the idea to try and colonize half the world. And I'm afraid I won't let him get away from me again, which is why--"
"But what does that have to do with me?" Alfred cocked his head to one side and completely cut off Francis's train of thought.
"--a-ah," Francis tried to think of a response to such an obvious question. "You-you're his...you're with him..." His eyes widened as Alfred looked even more confused. "Aren't you?"
"Uh," Alfred raised an eyebrow. "No. Unless you call him ranting about how he wants to end my existence whenever he gets drunk being 'with him'. Arthur's like an irritating big brother to me, you know? Besides which, he like...raised me."
Francis's eyes threatened to consume the top half of his face. There was no way. Alfred was teasing him. This was all some kind of elaborate joke. There was just no way.
"But I mean, that's great! I mean, Arthur really deserves someone like you! I mean...don't get me wrong, I think he's annoying, but even annoying people deserve to be happy!"
Alfred was grinning now, and some small, overly optimistic corner of Francis's heart was starting to believe this was real.
"But," Alfred began, and the bottom of Francis's stomach dropped out. "Arthur's kind of--no, not even kind of, he's really oblivious about that kind of thing. Like, he'll stay in denial for years and years. So you're gonna need some help."
Francis had to nod in agreement. As much as he loved Arthur, the man had the profound ability to completely miss the most obvious things. He stopped, however, when he heard Alfred's last sentence.
"You don't mean..." he said under his breath.
"That's it!" Alfred smacked his fist into the palm of his other hand. "It's time Arthur stopped ignoring what's right in front of his face! Francis, from now on, I'm dedicating myself to getting you together with Arthur!"
Part of Francis was overjoyed at not having to take on the brick wall he had dreaded so much. It was a very small part. The rest of him was slightly afraid of what Alfred's definition of "help" might be...
Dear lord, what have I gotten myself into...?
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hahahah...I have no idea where this is gonna go...guess I'll make it up as I go along, it's what I usually do...
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I have a feeling I should probably be worried about this resolve to help France, but I'm kind of too distracted by the cute to give it full attention.
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It was about a week later that he and Alfred actually started making plans. This phone call was at a much more humane time for the both of them. Francis was making dinner and Alfred was apparently watching something on TV, claiming the background noise helped him think.
"So I was thinking," Alfred began.
Silence after that.
"Yes?"
"I was thinking," the man said again, "What's his name...that Darwin guy...he was from England, right?"
"I...yes," Francis had absolutely no idea where this was going.
"Sweet, 'cause there's this movie that just came out over at his place that's like, his life or something, and I know he was really looking forward to it, so why don't you take him to go see it?"
"...Okay..." Francis had heard about the movie, but somehow he didn't think it would be the ideal date movie...especially for the first thing they did together in ages that didn't involve alcohol and an eventual brawl.
"Okay cool," from the sounds in the background, it sounded like Alfred was playing a video game. "I can't buy tickets since it's not showing here until December, but you can like, ask him to go with you. Or something. And then you can go to dinner maybe? That sounds like a nice start, don't you think?"
"Mm-hm," and indeed it did. Maybe he had been jumping to conclusions when he'd spent the last week wondering if it would have been a better idea to just not tell America anything at all and fend for himself.
"Awesome! Let me know where you're eating dinner, so I can make sure everything goes right! I'll be in the back wearing something different than normal, but I'll take someone else with me, so England doesn't suspect anything, 'kay?"
Or maybe not.
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I'm curious to see who is with America, too.
I can't wait to see more!
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