Hospital Flowers- November

[kokoro2]

Title: November
Pairings: USUK
Rating: PG
Warnings: Vague mentions of car accidents and injuries
Summary:  A firefighter has done more than just save Arthur's life. He's giving him a whole new perspective on life.
This chapter: Arthur learns the value of being strong.

A knock at the door had me put down my newspaper I had been reading. It was a quarter after one in the afternoon. I wasn't sure who would be coming over seeing as I knew Alfred was at work and it wasn't time for the rent. Nevertheless I put aside my paper and wheeled over to the door. In the past two weeks I had managed to become rather superb in my wheelchair handling, if I do say so myself.

"Hey Arthur!" Alfred greeted with a wave.

My jaw dropped. "A-Alfred? What're you doing here? Don't you have work?"

"Naw," Alfred replied.

"What, but you told me you had work." Alfred walked in, placing a kiss on my cheek.

"Yup! Sos I could surprise you!" Alfred took my wheelchair and headed out the door. I grabbed the doorframe.

"What? Alfred, I hate surprises. What're you doing?" I looked over my shoulder at him.

"Nuh uh! You'll see when we get there." Alfred, the git, gave me a wink. I hate when he does that. I become flustered and let down my guard.

Alfred took that moment to wheel me down to his truck. As he helped me into the passenger seat, I thought of the past four weeks. We'd been dating for almost an entire month now. That wasn't terribly impressive, but given my last relationship had been three years ago and I hadn't even had a fling once since, well, I'm chalking this one up to being a record for me. Mainly for my ability to actually handle Alfred.

The man was someone I would have never normally gone for had we met under different circumstances, meaning if I was sitting at home and working on novels that were going nowhere and not getting my car squished under big American cars. The thought of knowing an accident drew us to meet bothered me in the pit of my stomach. Not only that but I was counting down the moments when we would break up.

I was not interesting in the slightest. I preferred to be alone and hardly talked in conversation. Most of the time I picked apart whatever Alfred said. But he smiled, kissed my cheek, and called me cute. If I was watching television when he was over he would shift to put his arm around me and comment on whatever was on. When I read he would do chores around the studio for me, only pausing to smile that smile at me. It would leave me breathless and confused. How could a man of such caliber like Alfred Jones care for me?

Seeing him try made me want to try, though. When we went out on dates I did my best to enjoy myself and not dread that he'd realize his mistake. If he was at work I worked to not fret he could be hurt, trusting him that he wasn't as stupid as he could be, especially when out at sushi and he stuck chopsticks in his mouth like a walrus (that grew old the third time around).

Then again there were moments like these as we drove to seemingly nowhere that I thought Alfred thought the same about himself. He did have dorky tendencies that annoyed me. He was bad at reading my emotions, creating a little friction between us at times. Unlike Alfred, I didn't say everything I thought off the top of my head. Just once I hoped he'd catch on to my actions rather than my words. But even when he didn't, I found I didn't mind as much as I thought I would. He was cute, to say the least.

But what was I to him? I didn't save lives or work out excessively or stumble over my sentences when I get nervous or show up unexpectedly to take him out on dates. Hell, I couldn't even bathe correctly without knocking my leg on the blasted bathtub.

"Here we are!" Alfred declared in a singsong voice.

Due to my tumultuous thoughts I hadn't noticed we had arrived. It was the park near downtown. It was rather brand new, so it was still fresh and popular. There were many walking paths around the recently cleaned pond. I think L.A. was trying to aim for their version of Central Park like in New York City, but it clearly wasn't working. Only a few months old and it was already tagged by graffiti and rubbish bins were dented by repeated abuse.

Alfred helped me into my chair. He was smiling more than normal. He pulled out what I seriously hoped was not a picnic basket.

"Alfred," I started, my tone flat. "We are not here to have a picnic are we?"

He laughed. "Yeah babe! We sure are!"

Without listening to my protests he wheeled me off into the park. Around us, children scampered along with high pitched giggles, birds sang, and couples planted themselves underneath any available trees. And then there was me, scowling at the Disney-like atmosphere. Even I couldn't write such sickening sweet scenes as this. And worse, this was real.

Alfred humming behind me only worsened my mood. I was not the type to enjoy the park while others were around. I preferred to go about when it was reaching dusk and children had to go home for meals and the gangsters hadn't started their drug deals. But Alfred cared not for the amount of people around us.

We went further into the park. Alfred stopped when we reached the top of a hill. He pointed to the pond just at the end, saying that's where we would eat. I was surprised at how little people had decided to gather around it. It was the focal point of the park, and yet most people preferred to stay away. Perhaps it wasn't as clean as the media made it out to be when it first opened.

Heading downhill, Alfred suddenly picked up speed. I looked down at the wheels, and then back at Alfred.

"What're you doing?" I asked.

"Put your hands in the air, Artie! It's like a rollercoaster!" Alfred laughed. He was running now.

I gripped the handlebars and stared ahead. What if he lost control? My legs might break again. I yelled in fear, but Alfred thought I was whooping for joy. He screamed in excitement.

"Come on, Art! Hands in the air! Trust me! I won't let you go!"

Slowly, my hands released their tight hold on the bars, and lifted into the air. The adrenaline slipping down my back raced to my heart. I felt a rush of the same thrill Alfred had. Somehow, I started laughing. I hadn't been on a rollercoaster in years, but I could recall the initial fear that jumps into your stomach, causing you to feel weightless for an agonizingly exhilarating moment. It was what made us all scream, and then laugh when we remembered to trust these machines that brought us our controlled ride of terror.

While Alfred was far from a rollercoaster, I trusted him. He had saved my life. He cared for me. He took me on stupid trips to the park for picnics and ran down hills with my wheelchair, promising me to never let me go.

The picnic itself was pleasant. We picked a spot under a small tree where I rested my back against the trunk and had my legs out before me. Alfred had brought along a blanket that we both sat on. He had made sandwiches and brought fruit for me, junk food for him. We talked about nothing in particular, but we didn't have to talk about anything in general. I quite liked the fact we could talk about books Alfred hadn't ever read, comic books I'll never read, movies we'd yet to see together, and the way our jobs worked. I was becoming an expert on firefighter slang and Alfred now knew the value of a comma.

While Alfred didn't have work in the midday, he did have work that night. I decided that I was tired and asked if we could go back to my flat. I helped Alfred as much as I could with cleaning up, but he was faster, and before I knew it we were heading back to the truck. Alfred noticed that near the parking lot were the public restrooms.

"Do you mind if I go?" Alfred asked, nodding at the bathrooms.

"No, go ahead."

He put my wheelchair at the edge of the grass overlooking the park. I smiled as I watched him leave. My smile faded as I looked back the park. I remembered hearing about this park being finished months ago, but never paid it any attention. To be honest I would never have come to visit the place even out of curiosity. I had no motivation to deal with coming downtown or being near what I considered a safe area of town.

Somehow, I was glad that Alfred had taken me here. My smile returned.

I felt someone shake my wheelchair then. I gasped, startled. Thinking it was Alfred I turned with a retort, but swallowed my words. A group of tough looking teenagers had approached me from behind. They weren't gang members, but they certainly tried hard to dress the part.

"Hey faggot, we saw you and that other faggot earlier," one of them sneered. He was wearing red and smelled of cheap alcohol.

I frowned at the wannabe-Blood. "That has nothing to concern with you."

"Yeah it does! You two was right in our field 'a vision!" another snapped.

"It was disgusting!"

"Why can't you gays jus' stay home and fuck? I dun wanna see it!"

I narrowed my eyes. "We have just as much right as anyone else to be out on a date. We were not hurting anyone."

"Sinners," the first teen growled. He pushed my wheelchair.

"I am firm in my beliefs, thank you," I said calmly.

The boys grew frustrated that I wasn't scared of them or reacting the way they wanted, whatever that was. Maybe if I cried and pleaded for them to not hurt me they'd leave. I wasn't going to. I had been in a car crash. Punks didn't scare me. And I stood behind what I said. Alfred and I weren't hurting anyone. We were just like any other couple on a date here at the park. The only difference was we were both males. And while it bothered me greatly to know that I couldn't snog my own boyfriend in public while a couple behind a tree nearby could, I was more upset at the fact these boys were upset by the sheer fact we were just sitting there.

Before I could react, the boys began pushing and pulling on my chair. I flopped about in my seat, unable to keep upright by the force of their jostling. I yelled at them to stop, but they laughed and called me crude names. Finally, I let go of the armrests and threw punches. One landed on a boy's face. He yelped out in pain.

The first boy that had spoken turned to me with a fixed stare. He then punched my left leg, right on the cast. I bucked forward as pain broke like glass across my entire leg and up into my chest. The boy landed another punch on my other leg. Tears sprung to my eyes and I leaned forward, holding both of my legs. The pain made my head fuzzy, and for a moment I thought I might faint.

I looked up threw my squinted eyes. The boys were laughing and coming for me again. I braced for another blow, when I saw Alfred come running from behind the group.

He put a hand on one boy's shoulder, turning him sharply and punching his jaw. He fell to the ground in a heap of tears. The group turned in surprise. Alfred punched the next in the gut, moving to give another an uppercut in the chin. He gave the final boy, the one who had injured me, a punch across the cheek. Not one of those punks got up and defended themselves. They sat on the ground in a sniveling mess.
Alfred didn't spare them any more of his time. He fell to one knee and touched my shoulder gently.

"Arthur? I'm gonna take you to the hospital now, okay?"

I couldn't talk, so I nodded. Alfred rushed me off to his truck. Being picked up and placed in the seat was excruciating and I screamed in a most pathetic way. But Alfred didn't say anything. He had an unusual sense of coolness to him. He drove to the hospital in silence while I cried myself into a pitiable state.

Once we arrived at the hospital he took me inside without the wheelchair, just carried me in his arms. If I had doubts that he was detached from my pain, the hard thumping of his heartbeat against me dissolved them. He rushed right up the front counter, demanding I get help. The nurses brought out a new wheelchair, and before I knew it, I was taken to X-ray. I was shown to a room that was very similar to the room I was in when I had first broken my legs. It was there that Alfred sat waiting for me.

The nurses gave me some pain killers, checked my blood pressure and temperature, and then left. The room was too loud despite no noise coming from either of us. The whirlwind of events had left a vacuum of silence. I found I couldn't look at Alfred. I felt like a right idiot. I had provoked those hooligans and gotten myself into this mess. Alfred must think I'm surely not worth his time.

But then his arms were around my neck, pulling my face into his chest. He shuddered a sigh of relief.

"Oh God, Arthur. Are you okay, babe?"

I blinked a few moments, trying to regain composure. "W-what?"

"When I saw those assholes… I could've killed them," Alfred whispered. He tightened his hold on me. "But I kept my cool because… I had to get you to the hospital."

"But…you seemed so…"

"Distant? Yeah, I went into my fireman mode." He kissed my cheek, pulling away slightly. His eyes were puffy and red. Had he cried while I was in X-ray? "I just was determined to get you here first."

I looked down at my lap. I didn't know what to say. He had most likely saved my life again. Those boys were getting rowdy. I doubted anyone else in that park would've stepped in to help me like Alfred had. And Alfred had been so upset to go so far as cry for me.

How humiliating.

The doctor came soon enough with good news; my legs hadn't broken again. There was mild bruising, but nothing serious. He instructed me to take it easy, rest for the remainder of the day, and expect my personal training to come a week later than I had originally planned. It wasn't terribly distressing news, but it still made my mood even fouler than before.

Alfred took me home and waited until I was settled to leave for work. We didn't say anything more. He looked upset by the entire ordeal and I blamed my silence on the fact I was tired. I didn't want to think anymore, so I turned on the television and planted myself right in front of it. I didn't move until my head bobbed onto my chest. I pulled out my bed and carefully got in.

The dark stillness of the room mirrored that of the hospital room. It was too quiet. I could hear my doubts resurfacing. How Alfred was amazing and I was not. How I didn't deserve such a brilliant man that saved me twice in a month. How he was out, right now, putting out fires and saving lives while I sat like a sad lump at home. How he might be dead come morning.

I bolted up in bed, a cold sweat forming on my forehead. I told myself to calm down. Alfred would not die. He would be safe. But I couldn't ignore that the nightmares of Alfred dying were increasingly getting more prominent. The worst was when I dreamt I was at the bottom of a burning building, looking up and calling to Alfred to jump. I promised I'd catch him. Only, when he jumped, he was swallowed up in the flames.

I was powerless to save him.

This nagging feeling of sheer helplessness endured for the remainder of the week. Alfred texted to check up on me, but claimed his schedule this week was too hectic to stop by. He worked odd hours sometimes, so I didn't feel as if he were avoiding me like I was him. If I really wanted to see him, I could simply ask for him to stop by regardless of the hour.

But I didn't want to see him. I was too ashamed.

A week later and Alfred came to find me. He found me hunched over my laptop, furiously typing away, though I wasn't really doing anything. It was more like I was slamming my fingers on the keyboard to make noise. The television was on in the background, but that was still too quiet.

When Alfred had arrived, I turned off the television and moved away from my computer. Alfred took a seat on my couch and I faced him, sitting in my chair. We were both looking at our laps. It was as awkward as the first time we met.

"Arthur, um…" Alfred was playing with his hands as he spoke. "Did I do something wrong? I mean… are you afraid of me?"

What?

"What?" I looked up, repeating my thoughts aloud. "What do you mean?"

Alfred rubbed the back of his head, much like he did our first time we met. I wanted to smile fondly and take his hand in mine, but it wouldn't be appropriate. Instead I sat there wondering how I could ever be afraid of a man like him.

"Well, ever since the park, it's just… I dunno. You act different now." Alfred sighed, looking at me finally. "I'm worried you want to break up with me…"

I shook my head, my mouth agape. "No… No I don't…"

"Really?"

I nodded. "Yes. How could I be afraid of you? You saved me."

Alfred sighed loudly, running his hands through his hair. "Well, I mean, I have a tendency to scare people, I guess. When I get angry I get…really angry. And I really do mean I could have killed those guys. I was just so worried about you."

Words failed me, as they often do when Alfred is near. I thought about the weight of his words. About how he cried for me in the hospital, how he was so worried we'd break up it stressed him enough to keep his distance from me for an entire week. Then I thought of the weight of my own words clunking around in my head.

The sheer magnitude of Alfred getting hurt tormented me to the point I had vicious nightmares. But there was nothing I could do about that. It was his job. Me whining about it would not make him quit, and I could never ask such a thing from him. It was obvious that he loved his job, despite the danger. The only other thing worming a hole in my stomach and confidence was the sheer inequality of the relationship.

"I don't deserve you," I admitted down to my hands.

"What?" Alfred sounded just as I had when he confessed his own worry.

"I don't…," I mumbled. "You're…a brilliant man. You save lives and rush into burning buildings. I just…sit here and do nothing. Even before you met me I wasn't much of a social butterfly. I just… I'm nothing."

There was silence between us. Then, Alfred placed his hand on my own. I stared at his hand, but not at him. If I did, I feared I might cry. The hard stress of my worries had formed into a rock, nestling into my chest right below my throat. I had to have complete concentration on my emotions if I were to make it through this moment.

"Arthur… You're the strongest guy I know."

I choked on a laugh, blinking back tears. My voice was unsteady, but I didn't care. The man had seen me cry once already, he could see it again. A tear slipped from my cheek onto his hand.

"No I'm not… You and all those men in your company… They are certainly…"

Alfred's hands cupped my face and lifted my chin to look at him. I stared into his eyes. So warm and kind. He was smiling, but it was different again. He had so many smiles. Was I that expressive?

"Arthur… There's a difference between being strong and being brave. I'm brave because I can kick down a door and know when it's safe to run into a burning building. But you're so strong."

"H-how…? I'm not strong... I couldn't even defend myself last week… And then I…"

Something inside me broke. The thought of Alfred getting hurt on my account or just hurt in general, it shattered me. I began to cry. My hands moved up to grasp at Alfred's wrists, pulling him closer to me. It was foolish of me to feel so emotional for a man I'd known only a month, but Alfred was more than that.

He had been more of a crash into my life than that car accident. He was becoming important to me. More important than any man had in my life before. He took me out and pushed my limits.

He scared me. When I got down to it, he terrified me. He was someone that should be off limits. He was a fireman, for God's sake. I should not have ever been able to have the privilege to meet him. But I had met him and he was still here, saving me from punk gang members and holding me as I cried and still being so wonderful.

"Arthur, if I had broken my legs, I'd never be the same. I'd be so crushed," Alfred said. He wiped my tears with his thumb, trying to get me to look at him. I only cried harder. "But look at you. You're still going. And fuck those guys. They weren't so tough! They picked on a handicapped guy."

"But I provoked them," I croaked.

Alfred kissed my cheeks. "No, babe. Listen to me. I heard you in the bathroom. You were telling them off. You were awesome. You did nothing wrong. Don't blame yourself. You know you didn't do anything wrong. Those assholes need to change their mind. I wonder how they'd feel if I told them I was a fireman."

I managed a laugh. "I wager they'd be right furious and say they'd rather burn than have you save them."

"Yeah, and then when their house burns down they'll beg for me to carry them out like a blushing bride."

We laughed together. Alfred handed me a tissue box, of which I used to dry my eyes. Alfred took my hand in his, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. It comforted me, that small gesture. I knew he was still there.

"Have you been thinking about this for awhile?" Alfred asked.

I nodded. "Pretty much since we met… I just don't see why you like me."

Alfred chuckled. "I could say the same about you. I mean, I only ramble. I've been told I'm really annoying. Matt says most guys and girls hate that I talk so much, and mainly about nothing."

"You do talk a lot," I started. Alfred blushed. I put my free hand on his cheek, smiling finally. "But I like that about you…"

Alfred blushed more, but smiled wider. "Yeah…? Well… I like that you're so different from me. I mean, sure you can't run into a burning building. Not everyone can. That doesn't make you less than me, babe. I can't write for shit."

Alfred paused. He averted his eyes to the floor. "Arthur… you know the wall with the pictures of people we saved? Well…there's another wall we have. It's in the garage."

"I didn't see it," I said.

"It doesn't have photos on it. It has names. It's of everyone we've lost."

I gulped. Alfred sighed, his own voice growing shaky. He kept his eyes on the floor as he continued, "It was one of my first times out. We weren't to go inside yet, but I heard word there was a kid in the house. So I went in anyways. Matthew warned me there might be backdraft."

"What?" I asked.

"It's when heat and heavy smoke are in an area that takes away the air, and then comes back making a sudden explosion."

I felt my face go pale. There was such a thing?

"Well, I didn't listen to my company. Bad rule," Alfred said. He closed his eyes. "I saw the kid. I reached for him, but sure enough, there was a backdraft. I was thrown backwards and was really hurt. But…the kid…"

Now it was my turn to watch someone cry. Alfred, for all of his bravado and charisma, collapsed into guilt and regret and tears. I held him as he mourned the lost child. I couldn't imagine the pain. And at such a young age too. It must haunt Alfred through-out his entire career. I remembered faintly that he had told me once he saved mainly children.

I pulled his face up as he had done with mine. I kissed and wiped away his tears in the same manner and gave him the tissue box. "Alfred, you said you weren't strong. And yet…you are."

Alfred shook his head. "Not like you."

"Alfred," I stared. Somehow I smiled. "Didn't you just say we shouldn't equate ourselves to each other?"

Alfred laughed. He ran his arm across his face, red from crying and a bit from embarrassment. "Yeah… You're right. Sorry."

"No need to apologize, dear," I said. "I'm the one to apologize. I put you through that agony, not to mention myself. I will try not to let that happen again."

Alfred kissed my right temple and sat back with a small smile. "Don't worry. We're only at our one month, Artie. We'll figure things out. Don't worry about it."

I nodded. I was bound to figure things out. Not with Alfred, but with myself.
I had been living in America for years now, but had never had a proper Thanksgiving. At least according to Alfred. I would make more food than I normally did on the holiday and then eat while watching the American football games that were on television. Alfred claimed, however, that Thanksgiving was being with family and loved ones. Seeing as I was practically disowned by my family and they were all still back in England, that was right out.

So Alfred took it upon himself to inviting me to the fire station's annual Thanksgiving meal. I arrived with my home made scones, unsure if that really fit the correct American tradition. Alfred said nothing about it, though he did seem alarmed when he first laid eyes on them. I reminded him that it's not about presentation. If it tasted good, which I assured him it would, then that was all that mattered.

The company was more than welcoming upon my arrival. Captain Carriedo took my contribution to the meal and smiled at them nervously. He set them on the far end of the table. I was surprised to see such an expansive table in the middle of the fire house. The food was still being cooked off in the kitchen far in the back. It seemed four or five firemen had crammed themselves into the small room to prepare the dinner.

Alfred steered me towards the television. The football game was on, but the men wanted to play video games with me instead. I didn't mind seeing as I wasn't fond of the American sport. Instead, Alfred and Matthew teamed up against me and another fireman, Jamie, in a fighting melee game. I had never played a game quite like this one before.

Alfred loved to tease me through-out the game, taunting me all the while. I suppose his ego got the better of him and he ended up losing. The other men howled in laughter when the red bold words "YOU LOSE" appeared on the screen. Alfred dropped his controller, staring at me. I merely gave him a smirk in return.

"Sorry Al, you lose," I said. Jamie gave me a high-five in celebration.

"Beginner's luck!" Alfred exclaimed.

He regrouped with Matthew, picking different characters, and took me and Jamie on again. It must have been just luck because we did lose after that. Alfred jumped on the couch in celebration, punching his fist in the air.

"Oh yes, celebrate because you beat a first timer. You're so amazing," I said sarcastically.

I found myself laughing and enjoying the company of all the men. Alfred joked, the men teased him, and I thought the day was turning out to be perfect. The men all signed my cast, something I thought was a childish thrill of mine. Alfred put his right where I could see it.

Property of Alfred F. Jones

"What's the F stand for?" I asked.

"No one knows," Matthew replied. He rolled his eyes. "Even I don't know."

Eventually dinner was served. We all oohed and ahhed at the golden perfection of a turkey. I had to admit to myself that I could never make something that glorious. Alfred was practically drooling as the rest of the side dishes were placed around the centerpiece meal. We all were served our drinks, soda as the men were still technically on duty, but I had a tiny glass of wine.

"It's time to say grace, everyone," Antonio said. "I believe Arthur should be the one to give it."

The men agreed and looked my way with enthusiastic smiles. I flushed, unsure of how to give a proper grace. Although, I suppose I could've said anything like they did in the movies. I dipped my head down along with everyone else and held my entwined hands before me.

"Um...well…," I sputtered. This was not going to go well. But then I remembered something. "…Dear God… Bless that these men will stay alive and well, so that they may fill more of the photograph wall as opposed to the name wall. Bless that those on the photograph wall are now safe and happy as well. And that those on the other are at peace as they lay to rest. We thank you for this meal to better serve these brave and strong men. Amen."

Everyone mumbled amen. I opened my eyes and looked over to Alfred. He was smiling at me, his eyes shining from tears threatening to appear. He took my hand in his, and leaned over to peck my cheek. I blushed. Across the way, one of the other firemen looked at us with wide eyes.

"Welp, now I've seen Al kiss a guy," he said jokingly. The other men laughed, as did Alfred and I.

Captain Carriedo was about to cut the turkey when the bell rang. Everyone froze. Alfred chanced a sad glance my way before he, like the other men, scrambled up. I watched as they all left everything the way it was and ran to their lockers to change. The speaker overhead announced the location of the fire and the type of fire. A "Class K".

Alfred came back to me, jacket and helmet adorning him just like I'd seen many times. He kissed my cheek in apology.

"What's a Class K?" I asked. "Is it bad?"

Alfred shook his head. "Naw. Kitchen fire. It shouldn't be long, but we might be out for awhile if it gets bad."

"Jones!"

"Right!" Alfred rushed to the garage.

In seconds the entire crew was gone, their sirens blaring, and I was left alone with a perfectly untouched meal. I looked at the table. I wasn't going to eat it alone. That would be very rude. And horribly lonely. Instead, I gauged the distance between the table and the kitchen.

"I guess…that'll have to do."

I must have fallen asleep some time later. My arms were on the table and my head rested upon them. I dreamt that the men had come home, their truck quietly parking in the garage. The men trekked inside, mumbling how sad they were now that their food was cold. Someone grumbled that the kid was stupid for setting the kitchen on fire in the first place. I heard Alfred's voice and relaxed. He was okay.

Then I dreamt the men entered the room where I was and saw the table. It had been cleared. I had worked the entire time taking every plate, one by one, to the kitchen, where I struggled to find Tupperware for them all to fit into. Then, once sealed, I placed them in the refrigerator.

"Wow, Al," someone said. "I hope you're not planning on lettin' this guy go."

"I'm not." I felt Alfred's hand on my back. This was such a wonderful dream. "Arthur? …Arthur, wake up."

It wasn't a dream? I opened my eyes, blinking at the light. Sure enough, it was real. The men had all returned safe and sound and Alfred, smelling faintly of burnt potatoes, smiled down at me. I lifted my head and yawned.

"Oh! 'ello!"

Alfred chuckled. He kissed me on the lips, a smile still on his. I kissed him back, a hand on his cheek. When we broke, I was blushing and giggling nervously.

"You put all the food away?" he asked, obviously knowing the answer.

I nodded. "Y-yes. I didn't know what time you would all be home. You can just heat it up. I didn't want it to go to waste."

Captain Carriedo came over to thank me, and the crew went to work reheating all of the food. Once again, it lay on the table in glistening perfection and we dug in, this time without saying grace. Alfred helped gather food on my plate for me, but understood I was capable of getting my own food. I figured he was doing it as thanks for all of my hard work. I gave him a smile in return and patted his leg.

The captain had stood with his glass in the air. "I propose a toast to Arthur. To all of you men. You were great out in the field today, as was Arthur back here at the station. Arthur, you are so dear to Alfred, as he is to us, and you've proven yourself despite your handicap. I declare you an honorary fireman."

The other men raised their glasses enthusiastically and cheered. Alfred clapped a hand on my back, smiling widely at me. I just hid my face, unused to such attention. But while I tried to hide the wide grin appearing, I was elated on the inside.

I had friends. I had a boyfriend. I belonged somewhere. I was actually important.

And I had done something despite my handicap. Alfred was right. I could be strong.

Slowly, things were falling into place.

And that night, as Alfred dropped me off back at my flat and we kissed just inside my door, my arms wrapped around his neck and his around my waist, I felt something inside click. It was wonderful and scary, but it was something. I tried to sleep it off, but when I awoke it was still there.

Finally, halfway through the following day as I tried to work through the amazing girth that I now carried, I figured out what it was. Ah yes, that old feeling that was always so fleeting with me. I hadn't had it since before I was disowned, possibly even before then.

It was self-confidence. It was returning. And with it came a brand new idea for a story. I stayed up late into the night typing away on my laptop. A whole new world was created by my fingers. I couldn't stop. Any writer will know that starting a new story is one of the most exciting things in the world, second to actually finishing it. I only paused to eat and use the washroom, but even Alfred had been slightly ignored in favor of my brand new story. I called my editor and let her know and she asked to come by and see what I had finished so far. Once I had been given the green light I continued my furious writing.

Then, I had received a call from my doctor. Starting next week, the first week of December, I would begin my physical therapy. My casts were coming off.
Hoshiko2's cents: Well, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! It's not as long as the previous one, but it has just as much as it. Again, much thanks to wisteria02 for her help on this chapter with Arthur's injury.

The Bloods of L.A. are one of the most ruthless gangs. Their influence has spread to the rest of the United States, but they are most notorious for being in L.A. Their main rival gang are the Cripes, which wear blue.

And no, I highly doubt there's a park like that in downtown L.A. There's no room, lol. I just made it up.