[Sweethearts week]Little Soldier Boy
Title: Little Soldier Boy
Genre: friendship/fluff
Pairing(s): OldMan!US+UK
Word Count: 2008
Rating/Warnings: K, slight character death at the end
Summary: Mr. Jones was the old man on the first level who didn't know how to care for his garden and hummed a wonderful song. A song Arthur fell in love with and found comfort in.
AN: The song used is "Little Soldier Boy," from ATLA. (I've been listening to this song everyday and sing it...it found it's way here.
They first meet when Arthur was six and the man was sixty. The young boy’s curiosity was sparked by the old man tending to some flowers and humming a song. It reminded him of his own grandfather back in England. He had seen him before when they had first moved in, like any old person he seemed to be curious as to what was happening a few doors down from him. However, Arthur had never talked to the man and his song was interesting.
It was like nothing he had ever heard, and though it was just the tone of it being hummed, Arthur knew there were words. So he had trotted over and watched the man for a while before he was ever noticed. The old man seemed shocked but that he gave a kind old man smile. “Hello.” He greeted warmly.
“Hello,” Arthur said shyly, his mother’s words in the back of his head to not talk to strangers. “That’s a very lovely song you’re humming.”
The old man seemed surprised but then he chuckled. “I suppose.” He grinned, “you’re one of the new kids who moved in, aren’t ya?”
“Yes, sir.” Arthur answered politely.
“How does your mother keep you all in order?” Arthur shrugged at the question and the man laughed, placing the watering can behind a large plant. “And what’s with all this sir business, I’m Alfred F. Jones. What’s your name?”
“Arthur, Mr. Jones.” Arthur answered politely with a name now that he had one to work with.
“Mr. Jones?” The man gave a loud laugh holding his sides. “That’s my father, call me Alfred.”
Arthur finds he would much rather stick with Mr. Jones, than anything else. At least he knows his mother would approve of it. An awkwardness fall on Arthur and he figured his comment about the song was enough for an interaction with someone he didn’t know. “I should get going, don’t want my mum to worry.” Arthur said before shooting up the stairs and away from the man.
---- ---- ----
When Arthur was thirteen he found out punches to the face hurt, and Mr. Jones had fought in World War II. Bullet wounds sure as hell beat black eyes, but the old man had not told him to be quiet about his pain. It had been seven years since they first meet and somehow they sparked a friendship. Mr. Jones didn’t know how to take care of his small garden very well, and Arthur’s parents didn’t see any harm in Arthur helping him out. A friendship had ignited between them, and it was no real surprise to Arthur that he went to Mr. Jones first with his injury rather than home.
Mr. Jones’ house was old fashioned. Furniture that seemed to be from the late fifties, there were pictures on the walls of animals and some friends. Some badges were framed and hung with care. An old radio lingered in the corner, but the TV and recorded player where on the newer side.
Arthur was placed on the couch while Mr. Jones got up with a few snaps in his joints and headed to the kitchen to get something cold and a cloth. Arthur watched the man hobble into the kitchen, listening to him clank around in the kitchen. He returned with a bag of frozen peas and a two white cloths. He set the peas on the table as well as white cloth, before lighting dabbing at his head.
Arthur recoiled sharply at the pain with a hiss and the old man chuckled. “Relax, you just have a small cut that appear to have been bleeding.” Mr. Jones said as he dabbed lightly at Arthur’s eyebrow then around his eye a bit. “What did you do to get punched, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I told some…” Arthur paused to search for a correct word. “Bullies who wanted me to do their work for them, that I wouldn’t do it.”
“Well they don’t know how to make a deal if they punched you.”
“I punched them first.” Arthur said flatly and Mr. Jones though back his head and let out a hearty laugh.
For a second Arthur feared he would dead right on the spot from laughing so hard. “Oh that’s rich, sport.” Alfred said handing him the peas to put on his head.
They sat in silence for a moment, then Mr. Jones started humming the tone he always did, the tone that helped Arthur relax, yet yearn for the words. They stayed like that for a while, then a conversation picked up again and Arthur left when he figured his mother would started to get worried. Thanking Mr. Jones for his help and hurrying up the stairs.
---- ---- ----
His parents started fighting (only minor disagreements with a few shouting matches) when he was fourteen and his reaction to it only fueled their rage more. His brothers were old enough to disappear for the night or a majority of it, but Arthur wasn’t. He was prisoner during his parents arguments. However, even if it meant he would be scolded harshly, Arthur ran to Mr. Jones for shelter.
Mr. Jones seemed rather understanding and didn’t questions his clothes or his choice, he was just an open door. Of course he’s old and will sometimes fall sleep on the couch or on his favorite chair. Arthur doesn’t mind, he enjoys the silence and the oldness of Mr. Jones apartment. But Arthur can’t help but feel bad about knocking on the old man’s door late at night.
However this day Arthur needed to get away and he wasn’t feeling all to caring. Even if Mr. Jones hadn’t answered the door, he would have waited outside till morning because he needed someone to talk to. That nights arguing was about him and his current behavior and Arthur couldn’t take it. The finger pointing was too much for him to take.
Without fail, Mr. Jones answered the door with a tired smile and allowed him in. Arthur went to the couch and plopped down with a huff. Mr. Jones waddled into the kitchen to later returned with two mugs of coffee. He handed on to Arthur who placed it on the table and let out a huff.
“What’s wrong, Arthur?” Mr. Jones asked.
“Parents arguing about my current attitude.” Arthur said folding his arms and snuggling into the coach more. “They don’t like it and they can’t accept that it’s both their faults.”
Mr. Jones made a small sound. “It’s sad when parents can’t accept their children and their choices.” He said with a sad look on his face. A silence fell on them for a moment. Then Mr. Jones’ humming started. Arthur closed his eyes at the sounded, but then Mr. Jones did something he didn’t expect. “Leaves on the vine, falling so slow, like fragile, tiny shells, drifting in the foam~.” Mr. Jones’ sang softly. “Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, comes marching home~.”
It was the first time Arthur heard the words to the song he had only heard from Mr. Jones time. For some reason, his tears flowed till he fell asleep. All with Mr. Jones’ singing in the background.
---- ---- ----
He was sixteen when his parents split and he was to leave with his mother and go back to England. He doesn’t mind leaving America to go back to his birthplace, but he knows he’ll miss Mr. Jones. Arthur said his last goodbye to the man the night before he left. The old man was seventy then and his eye sight was almost gone, but his glass corrected that.
They promised to write, exchanging address seeing as how they were friends. Mr. Jones hummed his little tune. Something he learned when he had severed in Japan, the song was a simple English translation. Arthur sang the words in his head, not wanting to forget them. However later he wished he had remembered the sight of the seventy year old man who was happy to see him leaning heavily on his cane.
---- ---- ----
The nurses at the Veteran’s Hospital were slightly surprised to have a British army man in full uniform at their front desk asking to see a Mr. Alfred F. Jones. Arthur wasn’t all too surprised by their shock to him. However he was hoping he wasn’t too late, letters still traveled slow, and though Alfred’s letters had been rather happy and how they usually were, the handwriting was different. It was still male, but it wasn’t Alfred’s.
Arthur had hurried back over to the states as quick as he could. Joining the British army had need made the task easy, but with the right requesting and words, Arthur managed to get a week over in the states. Yet he hopes it’s all not in jeopardy because Alfred had passed away from age. He was seventy-eight, and the man had never married so there was no way to tell how healthy he actually was. Alfred had no family seeing as how he never married, though he spoke briefly of some nephews in Canada, they were too old themselves to see him and his brother had died a few years ago.
To Arthur’s relief however, the woman at the front desk grinned and him and told him some directions. She reminded Arthur that Mr. Jones hearing had gone and sight was fleeting. Arthur gave her a charming smile and hurried back towards the room like he might be just too late. He knocked on the door briefly, before entering the room Mr. Jones was supposedly in.
He was, and he was clearly older. His hair was white and seemed to retreating. His glasses were thicker than before, his hands shock and he was just old. As much his hearing was going, Mr. Jones clearly noticed the door open and turned to see who was entering. He seemed puzzled at who was entering. It had been eight years, Arthur was twenty-four and he had grown and filled out. His hair was still sandy and unmanageable, his eyebrows were still thick and his eyes were still green. However his skin was tanned slight from his times in the army. His shoes are military, not sneakers any more, and he isn’t dressed like a punk.
“Hello Mr. Jones.” Arthur greeted gently as he neared the bed and his face probably came into focus for the old American.
“Arthur?” The old man question and Arthur nodded. “You’ve grown up, sport.”
“It’s been seven years.” Arthur pointed out.
“I suppose it has.” Mr. Jones said with a smile, before motioning towards a chair. “Sit down, tell me what you can’t in letters.”
Arthur laughed, but he did just that. He talked about a charming champ he meet in college, and how his mother married another man. He talked for a good two hours with small complements from Mr. Jones. Arthur’s seven years had been more exciting than the old man’s seven years. He didn’t do much because he really never could do much in his grown age. Time passed smoothly, and Arthur brought up the fact that he would be sent overseas in a few months and Mr. Jones started his humming.
“Leaves from the vine, falling so slow, like fragile, tiny shells, drifting in the foam~.” Arthur sang lightly and Mr. Jones stopped and started at him.
“You remember the words?” Mr. Jones said astonished.”
“Hm…I’m not old like you.” Arthur snapped with a teasing tone. “Keep humming and I’ll sing.”
“Sounds like a plan, you have a nice voice.” Mr. Jones said with a laugh, before he started humming.
“Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, comes marching home~.” Arthur continued on for the rest of the visiting hours. He did the same things for the next three days, before Mr. Jones passed away peacefully in his sleep.
Arthur never forgot the song, and it was what he hummed or sang when times got hard.
AN: So I've fallen in love with the song Iroh sang to his son on his birthday. I'm so emotional from this song because its so sad and it just came up in here and was like "Sadness for everyone"
So any way, Alfred's an WWI Veteran, who never really found anyone he wanted to settle down with. I was going to have been love with someone a lot like Arthur and they would talk about reincarnation and stuff because Alfred learned a lot of eastern ideals when he was fighting in Japan and his love died six years before he meet Arthur and they were really close in personality. Arthur's just a cute little kid who grows up and cares deeply for Alfred because Alfred was always very willing to listen and not judge. I was going to have Arthur die in the end too, but decided against it and left it open.
Hope you all like, sorry if it isn't perfect, I'm being lazy again.
Genre: friendship/fluff
Pairing(s): OldMan!US+UK
Word Count: 2008
Rating/Warnings: K, slight character death at the end
Summary: Mr. Jones was the old man on the first level who didn't know how to care for his garden and hummed a wonderful song. A song Arthur fell in love with and found comfort in.
AN: The song used is "Little Soldier Boy," from ATLA. (I've been listening to this song everyday and sing it...it found it's way here.
They first meet when Arthur was six and the man was sixty. The young boy’s curiosity was sparked by the old man tending to some flowers and humming a song. It reminded him of his own grandfather back in England. He had seen him before when they had first moved in, like any old person he seemed to be curious as to what was happening a few doors down from him. However, Arthur had never talked to the man and his song was interesting.
It was like nothing he had ever heard, and though it was just the tone of it being hummed, Arthur knew there were words. So he had trotted over and watched the man for a while before he was ever noticed. The old man seemed shocked but that he gave a kind old man smile. “Hello.” He greeted warmly.
“Hello,” Arthur said shyly, his mother’s words in the back of his head to not talk to strangers. “That’s a very lovely song you’re humming.”
The old man seemed surprised but then he chuckled. “I suppose.” He grinned, “you’re one of the new kids who moved in, aren’t ya?”
“Yes, sir.” Arthur answered politely.
“How does your mother keep you all in order?” Arthur shrugged at the question and the man laughed, placing the watering can behind a large plant. “And what’s with all this sir business, I’m Alfred F. Jones. What’s your name?”
“Arthur, Mr. Jones.” Arthur answered politely with a name now that he had one to work with.
“Mr. Jones?” The man gave a loud laugh holding his sides. “That’s my father, call me Alfred.”
Arthur finds he would much rather stick with Mr. Jones, than anything else. At least he knows his mother would approve of it. An awkwardness fall on Arthur and he figured his comment about the song was enough for an interaction with someone he didn’t know. “I should get going, don’t want my mum to worry.” Arthur said before shooting up the stairs and away from the man.
---- ---- ----
When Arthur was thirteen he found out punches to the face hurt, and Mr. Jones had fought in World War II. Bullet wounds sure as hell beat black eyes, but the old man had not told him to be quiet about his pain. It had been seven years since they first meet and somehow they sparked a friendship. Mr. Jones didn’t know how to take care of his small garden very well, and Arthur’s parents didn’t see any harm in Arthur helping him out. A friendship had ignited between them, and it was no real surprise to Arthur that he went to Mr. Jones first with his injury rather than home.
Mr. Jones’ house was old fashioned. Furniture that seemed to be from the late fifties, there were pictures on the walls of animals and some friends. Some badges were framed and hung with care. An old radio lingered in the corner, but the TV and recorded player where on the newer side.
Arthur was placed on the couch while Mr. Jones got up with a few snaps in his joints and headed to the kitchen to get something cold and a cloth. Arthur watched the man hobble into the kitchen, listening to him clank around in the kitchen. He returned with a bag of frozen peas and a two white cloths. He set the peas on the table as well as white cloth, before lighting dabbing at his head.
Arthur recoiled sharply at the pain with a hiss and the old man chuckled. “Relax, you just have a small cut that appear to have been bleeding.” Mr. Jones said as he dabbed lightly at Arthur’s eyebrow then around his eye a bit. “What did you do to get punched, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I told some…” Arthur paused to search for a correct word. “Bullies who wanted me to do their work for them, that I wouldn’t do it.”
“Well they don’t know how to make a deal if they punched you.”
“I punched them first.” Arthur said flatly and Mr. Jones though back his head and let out a hearty laugh.
For a second Arthur feared he would dead right on the spot from laughing so hard. “Oh that’s rich, sport.” Alfred said handing him the peas to put on his head.
They sat in silence for a moment, then Mr. Jones started humming the tone he always did, the tone that helped Arthur relax, yet yearn for the words. They stayed like that for a while, then a conversation picked up again and Arthur left when he figured his mother would started to get worried. Thanking Mr. Jones for his help and hurrying up the stairs.
---- ---- ----
His parents started fighting (only minor disagreements with a few shouting matches) when he was fourteen and his reaction to it only fueled their rage more. His brothers were old enough to disappear for the night or a majority of it, but Arthur wasn’t. He was prisoner during his parents arguments. However, even if it meant he would be scolded harshly, Arthur ran to Mr. Jones for shelter.
Mr. Jones seemed rather understanding and didn’t questions his clothes or his choice, he was just an open door. Of course he’s old and will sometimes fall sleep on the couch or on his favorite chair. Arthur doesn’t mind, he enjoys the silence and the oldness of Mr. Jones apartment. But Arthur can’t help but feel bad about knocking on the old man’s door late at night.
However this day Arthur needed to get away and he wasn’t feeling all to caring. Even if Mr. Jones hadn’t answered the door, he would have waited outside till morning because he needed someone to talk to. That nights arguing was about him and his current behavior and Arthur couldn’t take it. The finger pointing was too much for him to take.
Without fail, Mr. Jones answered the door with a tired smile and allowed him in. Arthur went to the couch and plopped down with a huff. Mr. Jones waddled into the kitchen to later returned with two mugs of coffee. He handed on to Arthur who placed it on the table and let out a huff.
“What’s wrong, Arthur?” Mr. Jones asked.
“Parents arguing about my current attitude.” Arthur said folding his arms and snuggling into the coach more. “They don’t like it and they can’t accept that it’s both their faults.”
Mr. Jones made a small sound. “It’s sad when parents can’t accept their children and their choices.” He said with a sad look on his face. A silence fell on them for a moment. Then Mr. Jones’ humming started. Arthur closed his eyes at the sounded, but then Mr. Jones did something he didn’t expect. “Leaves on the vine, falling so slow, like fragile, tiny shells, drifting in the foam~.” Mr. Jones’ sang softly. “Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, comes marching home~.”
It was the first time Arthur heard the words to the song he had only heard from Mr. Jones time. For some reason, his tears flowed till he fell asleep. All with Mr. Jones’ singing in the background.
---- ---- ----
He was sixteen when his parents split and he was to leave with his mother and go back to England. He doesn’t mind leaving America to go back to his birthplace, but he knows he’ll miss Mr. Jones. Arthur said his last goodbye to the man the night before he left. The old man was seventy then and his eye sight was almost gone, but his glass corrected that.
They promised to write, exchanging address seeing as how they were friends. Mr. Jones hummed his little tune. Something he learned when he had severed in Japan, the song was a simple English translation. Arthur sang the words in his head, not wanting to forget them. However later he wished he had remembered the sight of the seventy year old man who was happy to see him leaning heavily on his cane.
---- ---- ----
The nurses at the Veteran’s Hospital were slightly surprised to have a British army man in full uniform at their front desk asking to see a Mr. Alfred F. Jones. Arthur wasn’t all too surprised by their shock to him. However he was hoping he wasn’t too late, letters still traveled slow, and though Alfred’s letters had been rather happy and how they usually were, the handwriting was different. It was still male, but it wasn’t Alfred’s.
Arthur had hurried back over to the states as quick as he could. Joining the British army had need made the task easy, but with the right requesting and words, Arthur managed to get a week over in the states. Yet he hopes it’s all not in jeopardy because Alfred had passed away from age. He was seventy-eight, and the man had never married so there was no way to tell how healthy he actually was. Alfred had no family seeing as how he never married, though he spoke briefly of some nephews in Canada, they were too old themselves to see him and his brother had died a few years ago.
To Arthur’s relief however, the woman at the front desk grinned and him and told him some directions. She reminded Arthur that Mr. Jones hearing had gone and sight was fleeting. Arthur gave her a charming smile and hurried back towards the room like he might be just too late. He knocked on the door briefly, before entering the room Mr. Jones was supposedly in.
He was, and he was clearly older. His hair was white and seemed to retreating. His glasses were thicker than before, his hands shock and he was just old. As much his hearing was going, Mr. Jones clearly noticed the door open and turned to see who was entering. He seemed puzzled at who was entering. It had been eight years, Arthur was twenty-four and he had grown and filled out. His hair was still sandy and unmanageable, his eyebrows were still thick and his eyes were still green. However his skin was tanned slight from his times in the army. His shoes are military, not sneakers any more, and he isn’t dressed like a punk.
“Hello Mr. Jones.” Arthur greeted gently as he neared the bed and his face probably came into focus for the old American.
“Arthur?” The old man question and Arthur nodded. “You’ve grown up, sport.”
“It’s been seven years.” Arthur pointed out.
“I suppose it has.” Mr. Jones said with a smile, before motioning towards a chair. “Sit down, tell me what you can’t in letters.”
Arthur laughed, but he did just that. He talked about a charming champ he meet in college, and how his mother married another man. He talked for a good two hours with small complements from Mr. Jones. Arthur’s seven years had been more exciting than the old man’s seven years. He didn’t do much because he really never could do much in his grown age. Time passed smoothly, and Arthur brought up the fact that he would be sent overseas in a few months and Mr. Jones started his humming.
“Leaves from the vine, falling so slow, like fragile, tiny shells, drifting in the foam~.” Arthur sang lightly and Mr. Jones stopped and started at him.
“You remember the words?” Mr. Jones said astonished.”
“Hm…I’m not old like you.” Arthur snapped with a teasing tone. “Keep humming and I’ll sing.”
“Sounds like a plan, you have a nice voice.” Mr. Jones said with a laugh, before he started humming.
“Little soldier boy, come marching home. Brave soldier boy, comes marching home~.” Arthur continued on for the rest of the visiting hours. He did the same things for the next three days, before Mr. Jones passed away peacefully in his sleep.
Arthur never forgot the song, and it was what he hummed or sang when times got hard.
AN: So I've fallen in love with the song Iroh sang to his son on his birthday. I'm so emotional from this song because its so sad and it just came up in here and was like "Sadness for everyone"
So any way, Alfred's an WWI Veteran, who never really found anyone he wanted to settle down with. I was going to have been love with someone a lot like Arthur and they would talk about reincarnation and stuff because Alfred learned a lot of eastern ideals when he was fighting in Japan and his love died six years before he meet Arthur and they were really close in personality. Arthur's just a cute little kid who grows up and cares deeply for Alfred because Alfred was always very willing to listen and not judge. I was going to have Arthur die in the end too, but decided against it and left it open.
Hope you all like, sorry if it isn't perfect, I'm being lazy again.