Blindsided 14b/?
anonymous
February 12 2011, 22:52:37 UTC
The house was silent.
Far too silent.
Arthur glanced up from his book to where Matthew had dozed off on the settee, and frowned.
He had known his former colonies for a very long time-- and even if they had both changed so drastically since-- well. Arthur had never known Alfred to be so quiet for this long-- even since they'd been reacquainted. And... there was this nagging horrible feeling that he was getting.
“Matthew,” Arthur set his book aside, and stood. “Where did Alfred say he was going?”
“To find his radio, I think.”
“It shouldn't have taken him this long.” Arthur frowned, “He should know where it is by now--”
“He should have been back by now.” Matthew agreed with a frown. “But you know how he is--”
“I'm going to go find out what's taking him.” The growing sense of urgency had taken root in a knot just below Arthur's stomach. Matthew paled visibly before Arthur could turn to the door.
“Matthew--”
“Fucking idiot-- he--” A visible wince. “He's unconscious. And cold--”
“He went outside? In this weather?” Arthur could feel his voice rise a couple of octaves. “The garden.”
Matthew winced, but nodded.
Arthur didn't even wait for him to get up-- didn't bother to do more than grab a blanket from the sofa, and a jacket from the coat rack near the door that led to the garden.
Winter's biting chill almost pushed him back into the house.
“That idiot--” Arthur forced himself out the door, and down the treacherous path that had only gained an inch of snow since the last time he'd looked at it. A faded set of footprints showed the way that someone had walked from the house-- cautiously staying close to the hedges...
Alfred.
There was no return set.
Arthur picked his way through the dusk lit path, following the footprints to the end. He nearly tripped over the wooden cane that had somehow been tossed aside-- nearly slipped on the ice, but for the obvious way in which it had been cleared, and the wind had yet to cover up the place where someone had crawled away from it. Or to cover the far too still form with more than a light dusting of snow.
“Alfred!” Arthur stumbled to his knees, hastily snagged blanket catching the wind and spreading as he reached to touch the pale cold face. “Alfred!”
There was no response.
All Arthur could do, was wrap the blanket around the boy's body, and carefully lift him.
Matthew was only a few steps behind with another blanket, and an expression of utter panic that reminded Arthur of days when the boys were colonies, and Alfred had gotten them into trouble again--
“Inside, Arthur.” Matthew steadied his arm, his walk, so that the ice would not claim any more victims this night. “We've got to get him warm. He might be a Nation, but--”
“I know all too well.” Arthur murmured into the mop of blond hair against his shoulder, the weight in his arms suddenly feeling far too light-- “It means he'll recover, not that he's immune to harm.”
And God knows, America didn't need any more harm to come to him.
Far too silent.
Arthur glanced up from his book to where Matthew had dozed off on the settee, and frowned.
He had known his former colonies for a very long time-- and even if they had both changed so drastically since-- well. Arthur had never known Alfred to be so quiet for this long-- even since they'd been reacquainted. And... there was this nagging horrible feeling that he was getting.
“Matthew,” Arthur set his book aside, and stood. “Where did Alfred say he was going?”
“To find his radio, I think.”
“It shouldn't have taken him this long.” Arthur frowned, “He should know where it is by now--”
“He should have been back by now.” Matthew agreed with a frown. “But you know how he is--”
“I'm going to go find out what's taking him.” The growing sense of urgency had taken root in a knot just below Arthur's stomach.
Matthew paled visibly before Arthur could turn to the door.
“Matthew--”
“Fucking idiot-- he--” A visible wince. “He's unconscious. And cold--”
“He went outside? In this weather?” Arthur could feel his voice rise a couple of octaves. “The garden.”
Matthew winced, but nodded.
Arthur didn't even wait for him to get up-- didn't bother to do more than grab a blanket from the sofa, and a jacket from the coat rack near the door that led to the garden.
Winter's biting chill almost pushed him back into the house.
“That idiot--” Arthur forced himself out the door, and down the treacherous path that had only gained an inch of snow since the last time he'd looked at it. A faded set of footprints showed the way that someone had walked from the house-- cautiously staying close to the hedges...
Alfred.
There was no return set.
Arthur picked his way through the dusk lit path, following the footprints to the end. He nearly tripped over the wooden cane that had somehow been tossed aside-- nearly slipped on the ice, but for the obvious way in which it had been cleared, and the wind had yet to cover up the place where someone had crawled away from it. Or to cover the far too still form with more than a light dusting of snow.
“Alfred!” Arthur stumbled to his knees, hastily snagged blanket catching the wind and spreading as he reached to touch the pale cold face. “Alfred!”
There was no response.
All Arthur could do, was wrap the blanket around the boy's body, and carefully lift him.
Matthew was only a few steps behind with another blanket, and an expression of utter panic that reminded Arthur of days when the boys were colonies, and Alfred had gotten them into trouble again--
“Inside, Arthur.” Matthew steadied his arm, his walk, so that the ice would not claim any more victims this night. “We've got to get him warm. He might be a Nation, but--”
“I know all too well.” Arthur murmured into the mop of blond hair against his shoulder, the weight in his arms suddenly feeling far too light-- “It means he'll recover, not that he's immune to harm.”
And God knows, America didn't need any more harm to come to him.
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