(no subject)
Title: Just the same ash sky.
Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine.
Paring:Alfred/Arthur, Elizabeth´s father/Arthur (kind of), Feliks/Toris and Ivan/?
Warnings: Male/Male and the rating is for something just not yet though.
Genre: Romance.
Author notes: Dunno what to say… (Ahm yeah, I´m that eloquent)
i/. It marks beginning of flashback and end of flashback.
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Chapter 2: Down where the sea and skyline meet.
o
"You should at least have told me…" Antonio looked at the ceiling -sprawled unceremoniously in the floor- eyes blank and unfocused. "Not that we were trying that hard but," The Spanish man trailed off. "Me hubiera gustado cambiar." He finished in his natal language, accepting fully the blame for somewhat, he shouldn't be condemned entirely -not alone at least.
"What about Elizabeth?" Arthur asked kneeling quietly at the other's side in rare occurrence of mutual understanding -Antonio wasn't really here and wherever he was Arthur didn't meant to intrude either-
"Isabel?" The previous country known as España asked after a while.
"I would like to visit sometimes…" He said and turned to face Arthur for the first time in what they had been holding as a conversation. "But what good would that bring us?" He smiled tiredly at the other and Arthur shuddered cold.
Antonio knew -a mirror in which their luck had reflected, it seemed.
"Have you ever played in a swing set?" Arthur inquired rather miserably then, avoiding his gaze.
Antonio closed his eyes and stayed silent, breathing softly.
At the silence, Arthur elaborated "When you start it is a bit scarier, I shall admit but then you come to trust it and it takes you so high…"
"Even if you fall afterwards... It feels like you are almost reaching the sky. " The British finished softly.
"And you have always wanted to cage it, don't you?" Antonio replayed not really withholding ill intentions; it was most out of… '¿Como expresarlo?' "The sky…" The Spanish wondered briefly, how much time, Arthur would keep feeding his own foolish longing towards the empyrean.
"You should go." Antonio encouraged, shrugging it off… he wished good things for his old pal -rival- and now -what was Arthur to him now?-
He didn't love England -whatever they were nowadays, AEU or UNION, something of what they had been still remained, for him, England would always be England -
Things happened. Hot breaths, flesh against flesh, slick heat engulfed in tight muscle, intertwined limbs melted and all. Things happened, Isabel happened, the allure of something so similar yet so distant as well -Arthur was a walking contradiction- happened. Just that, he was fine with things happening in the end.
For the time being, he was going to lay off and watch it play…
The rustle of Arthur moving from his spot on the floor, was like a forgotten echo in a very noisy room. Antonio streched. Such a repetitive painting, this was…
He knew.
"I will be departing, then?" Arthur inquired from new his position, still standing close to him.
"¿A menos que quieras quedarte?" He said knowing the other had no idea of what Spanish language meant.
The British titled his head. "Pardon me?"
Antonio only shook his head, smiling faintly -lazily- "You should get going" repeating himself.
Arthur only waved his hand in good-bye form and then Antonio watched him go.
He didn't love England.
The door slammed shut cautiously -leaving him own his own. He had a child named Isabel, even though he had wanted to call her, Catalina or Eliza… and yet this wasn't about love, just as Arthur wanting to cage the sky wasn't either.
The sea.
It was about wanting it complete -whole and one- he knew England ached to hold the sky but was settled in deep fragmented waters way before even Alfred came to the picture. He had been there, keeping the other segments, after all.
The sea and the sky wouldn't merge, ever.
He didn´t love England but he did love the sea -had loved it for a while now. Still, he will wait and see… for now.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i./
The slap, he thought, wasn´t meant to cause damage -not a war, certainly- just a raw hit, he hoped Alfred would not forget in a very long time. He wanted blood; he wanted to wound him so deep. He wanted revenge.
"You hate me that much?" Alfred asked - blue eyes shining dull and chap red.
And here he had thought way before that, the American couldn´t feel something so trivial. He had never watched him cry -get scared of silly things perhaps…
But never grieve -you were always smiling-
He had told him many times, I hate you, so why now would it matter at all…
"Don´t please" America said fisting his hands and looking away. "´S not like that, old man… please."
"Don´t cry." He ended dejectedly in a mumble, giving up just a bit.
England looked at him, incredulously -he wasn´t crying. Just who this git thought he was? He would not cry for him... again, never again. "You, foolish arrogant little brat" Arthur started, surprise quickly whirling at wrath. "I know, what I sow"
"Don´t you come here and try to make it better" He continued enraged -and still his bloody cheeks were wet.
And it could have been worse than England believing this was a dream his fairies had arranged, since there was just no way…
He was wrong however. Alfred kneeled -and he realized they were face to face now, which meant he was also in the floor. How had he arrived there, he didn´t even know-
The United States of America kneeled, his lover once a child he had took in. And he wanted to scream right then because it was just as awful as knowing, she had been telling the truth or else Alfred wouldn´t have anything to apologize for.
"You really did it."
"I am sorry" Alfred said carefully -this serious and regretful tone that didn´t belonged at his voice, standing out-
"I am sorry, old man" He repeated bringing him close in a thigh hug. "I am sorry" Alfred reiterated once more at his ear.
England refused to break his heart anymore, than it already was. He didn´t want to know the details -he was about to push him away but...
"Ya don´t know how much…" Alfred sustained. "I will do my best tough…" And England widened his -damp emerald green, hard shining steel green- eyes at the force of the hug that was almost crushing his bones by the time.
"So, it won´t come to this anymore." He heard the promise and yet didn´t manage to understand.
And then Alfred let go…
The hug banishing -alongside with other things Arthur hoped he would hold forever.
The sun was high, yellower than any other noon he had ever seen and the sky, it was blue… oh so damn glorious blue. And Arthur remembered they were outside of their house. In their garden… the one he had took care of so much.
He turned to America -to try and yell at him what the flipping hell had been that, that if he had had the guts to do what he had done, he should man up and…
But, Alfred that had left himself fall spread-eagled, over the grass and from his spot England believed he sow, the American had his face covered with his left arm -he could have just been as mistaken though, the shine of the sun was good blinding cloth.
Or perhaps he may have closed his eyes to avoid unpleasant realities since he had finally understood. The sky was so endless…
i/.
Anne would have given her soul to keep what she had fought so much for to obtain, what she had always wanted… would you blame her?
Ambition, dark creature you are. Poor little siren, filled poison and sweet illusion she was.
She did give it all, absolutely all…
-This morning she sent for me and to the intent I should hear her speak. 'I heard say the executioner was very good, and I have a little neck,' she said and then put her hands about it, laughing heartily. I have seen many men and also women executed, and that they have been in great sorrow, and to my knowledge this lady has much joy in death
[…]-
What she had always wanted got her beheaded, Arthur realized. He was partial at his own kings and queens stories, he wouldn´t judge but he did remember all of their lives. A favorite tale of theirs and the name Excalibur would come to first line, in Arthur's heart, he had to admit, beginnings were the best, always. That had been two centuries ago, though.
Still this book he had read of one of his queen´s actions and life was lacking but very accurate in some kind. Its moral of fable had been the best, that much he would give credit for. What you more wanted charged a high price to belong to you even if it never really did, and he had learned that the hard way.
The bittersweet way.
It had been a long trip, not like the ones to the colonies -his stomach still hadn´t got over the issue his first trip to the space had brought- albeit, but tiring nonetheless.
The sound of a woman advising they were about land, startled him.
And it seemed he had finally reached Alfred´s house, not home, he hadn´t one of those anymore.
This days weren´t so different from the old, to stay fair, humans hadn´t advanced that much. The third world war and the building of the spatial colonies their mayor error and improvement. There were still cars, trains, airplanes (right now he was traveling in one.) -with a special energy given the solar power collector worked as their fuel and only that had changed about it, their form was still pretty much the same.
His people were the ones to find a way to make the first power solar collector and he was proud, Antonio had given him money back then to manage the experiment and all had started from that -knowing eyes on him, brief touches to say hello to say goodbye…
He had shagged the Spanish man and the rest was history.
Folks began to move, they were in solid ground and already getting off the plain. He picked his book and followed the crowd.
He had shagged his reasonable share of countries before, if he thought about it. All of them had never complained with his quirks and had kindly admitted his was amazing, Antonio hadn´t been the exception, he hadn´t been that bad himself -and amid turtles and tomatoes that at some point, Arthur believed he was falling in love. He hadn´t, though- but he definitely wasn´t…
The idiot who was waiting for him at the airport station, sitting in one of the available benches, devouring a big ration of French-fries and with Arthur´s child doing the same no less.
"I hate you just so bloody much" Arthur stated, and it could have been an ironic joke, a harmless one -the shining green in his eyes illegible, as he dropped his luggage and crossed his arms, in front of where Alfred and Elizabeth were sitting.
Alfred looked up, unfinished fries still in hand. "I know." He said shrugging, and it could have been non-serious response as well - blue eyes shining just with as much knowing intensity.
The past -the third world-war- and Alfred´s lies, were bad for him to remember. He shook his head and nodded towards his daughter and her own bunch of fast food. "I appreciate it." He acknowledged stiffly.
"No problem, old man" Alfred smiled awkwardly, standing and making little Elizabeth realize who he had been talking with.
"Daddy" She said running at him and England felt his chest warm -she had been practicing her idiom but what she most liked to say was that word. He smiled at her and regarded Alfred sideways -carrying Elizabeth close-
The American wasn´t putting attention to them anymore, he had turned and was staring at the arriving planes -hands in his pockets and heart away, so far away…
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He hadn´t been able to decline and yeah… he just felt like, not good at all.
Alfred just couldn´t believe this was so fucking familiar and yet so foreign at the same time. The thing here being, Arthur was sewing and he was searching for a good action movie trough the TV in a Saturday night.
In the same room, in the same couch.
And they used to do that before, a lot…
Alfred frowned at his thoughts and gave up on his search -still he wouldn't leave, not after Elizabeth had almost cried after he had intended to go back at his room once earlier.
She was playing with her toys right there, on the carpet. And well, Arthur had fussed over it but the hero had come to the rescue and she had been allowed to stay in the floor - so just how awesome was that, huh?-
"I guess I will stick at the fighter-panda" Alfred said resignedly at no one but with intent -eying Elizabeth from distance.
The reaction was immediate, she turned at the TV and Alfred saw a potential action-movie-lover in her tiny shoulders. Too bad Arthur wouldn´t agree.
She stayed very still, toys around her and with her whole attention on the screen.
And Alfred smiled, leaving the remote at his side. He wasn´t about to change the channel, not that he was in fighter-pandas, though it could have been kick-ass…
He liked cartoons, really liked them but today he felt more inclined to watch one of his old -yes way too old- dramas. Leo and Kate made a good option. Still if Elizabeth liked the Panda, she would have the panda…
He sprawled himself more in the sofa, yawning and getting distracted.
The Panda fell from a cliff…
She jumped in response and Arthur looked from his needlework at her in reflex -making also Alfred too look at him, in succession.
And he couldn´t help it…
"So how was her father" Alfred started scratching his neck, feeling rather strange. He didn´t know yet, who this father was, so.
Arthur returned his attention at him immediately, dumbfounded.
"Um-" Was all, the usually eloquent gentleman managed to utter. And right, Alfred admitted it had been the incorrect question to do at the bad of the times but he wanted to identify…
Elizabeth was so -he liked her, like he had liked almost any other kid he had known but there was a difference, she was Arthur´s child and somehow that hadn´t settled that much in him until this days he spend with her alone, like waking from a dream and seeing reality.
She was Arthur´s child and someone´s else too. He just was interested for the sake of being interested and talking in near good natured curiosity. True, he hadn´t been before but he was now.
"I mean, is he doing alright?" Alfred continued, shifting uncomfortably in the settee, what more was there to ask, either way.
"Ah- yes, yes" Arthur swallowed. "Thank you." He replied uneasily.
"Although, I am afraid he may as fine just lay still all the day" Arthur added thoughtfully.
"And he is not coming for her?" Alfred probed; gazing at his shoes and playing to rub one foot at another. Because hell, if he had a daughter or son, he wouldn´t leave her/him with an over sea's UFO- sympathizer dude. Not for the UFO part, not for him at least -still common sense people would think otherwise- but rather because it was his own child…
"No." Arthur retorted simply.
And, well shit. "So, who is he?" Alfred went for the big fish, in the end.
Arthur resumed his attention at the mass of wool he had in his lap, and didn´t succeed in his indifference. He just needed help, Alfred noted. "Francis?" He tried with the more obvious option first, Elizabeth didn´t resemble him much, though.
Arthur glared at him and so, no, it wasn´t the French, then.
"Antonio." Arthur spoke quietly.
Alfred beheld him, cautiously at this and nodded. "Sure" he granted, not voicing his opinion on the stuff. Antonio was Arthur´s new love, he contemplated. And he had always hoped that, that day would come - the day Arthur would forget about him, the day the third-world war history would forget about them.
And only the cherished ring in his neck would stay as proof -dense with his guilt but pretty with what once was Arthur´s affection.
Arthur went back to his embroidery, once more. And the TV kept playing in the background.
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"You will drown." Arthur listed dryly.
"Mmf-n-o-i-chom-p." Alfred offered full-mouthed, milk and donuts stuffed in his tongue and teeth.
The British just shook his head and pulled a chair to sit on. They were in the dining-room, Alfred was having a snack at two in the bleeding down and he just stared -not nagging and not complaining.
"She asleep?" Alfred queried after swallowing the food, weeping his mouth with the reverse of his hand.
Arthur narrowed his eyes at the gesture and threw a napkin at the American, snorting.
Alfred cached it, mid-air.
"You bet." Arthur countered.
It was a good to pretend that nothing so bad had happened between them before, the birth mused. Even if it was there.
"Wanna some tea?" Alfred tested, reaching for his half-full chocolate milk.
Arthur smiled, small and new and perhaps not as he had smiled at Alfred formerly -when he was a child or when he had become a man or his lover way afterwards- but it was something "If you will." He answered.
And it was good.
Tomorrow however would be another day.
o
[Nothing compares. No worries, or cares, regrets and mistakes... They're memories made. Who would have known how, bittersweet this would taste ~Adelle]
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Final notes:
In this part "Anne would have given her soul to keep what she had fought so much for to obtain…" I refer to:
Anne Boleyn (c.1501/1507 - 19 May 1536) was Queen of England from 1533 to 1536 as the second wife of Henry VIII of England and the 1st Marquess of Pembroke in her own right for herself and her descendants. Henry's marriage to Anne, and her subsequent execution, made her a key figure in the political and religious upheaval that was the start of the English Reformation.
Also
I need advice, will you guys lend me a hand? So I like Russia/Prussia and Russia/Canada and Prussia/Canada… Which one would you prefer? Since Adrik needs another daddy...
-Alfred/Arthur is love-
Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine.
Paring:Alfred/Arthur, Elizabeth´s father/Arthur (kind of), Feliks/Toris and Ivan/?
Warnings: Male/Male and the rating is for something just not yet though.
Genre: Romance.
Author notes: Dunno what to say… (Ahm yeah, I´m that eloquent)
i/. It marks beginning of flashback and end of flashback.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 2: Down where the sea and skyline meet.
o
"You should at least have told me…" Antonio looked at the ceiling -sprawled unceremoniously in the floor- eyes blank and unfocused. "Not that we were trying that hard but," The Spanish man trailed off. "Me hubiera gustado cambiar." He finished in his natal language, accepting fully the blame for somewhat, he shouldn't be condemned entirely -not alone at least.
"What about Elizabeth?" Arthur asked kneeling quietly at the other's side in rare occurrence of mutual understanding -Antonio wasn't really here and wherever he was Arthur didn't meant to intrude either-
"Isabel?" The previous country known as España asked after a while.
"I would like to visit sometimes…" He said and turned to face Arthur for the first time in what they had been holding as a conversation. "But what good would that bring us?" He smiled tiredly at the other and Arthur shuddered cold.
Antonio knew -a mirror in which their luck had reflected, it seemed.
"Have you ever played in a swing set?" Arthur inquired rather miserably then, avoiding his gaze.
Antonio closed his eyes and stayed silent, breathing softly.
At the silence, Arthur elaborated "When you start it is a bit scarier, I shall admit but then you come to trust it and it takes you so high…"
"Even if you fall afterwards... It feels like you are almost reaching the sky. " The British finished softly.
"And you have always wanted to cage it, don't you?" Antonio replayed not really withholding ill intentions; it was most out of… '¿Como expresarlo?' "The sky…" The Spanish wondered briefly, how much time, Arthur would keep feeding his own foolish longing towards the empyrean.
"You should go." Antonio encouraged, shrugging it off… he wished good things for his old pal -rival- and now -what was Arthur to him now?-
He didn't love England -whatever they were nowadays, AEU or UNION, something of what they had been still remained, for him, England would always be England -
Things happened. Hot breaths, flesh against flesh, slick heat engulfed in tight muscle, intertwined limbs melted and all. Things happened, Isabel happened, the allure of something so similar yet so distant as well -Arthur was a walking contradiction- happened. Just that, he was fine with things happening in the end.
For the time being, he was going to lay off and watch it play…
The rustle of Arthur moving from his spot on the floor, was like a forgotten echo in a very noisy room. Antonio streched. Such a repetitive painting, this was…
He knew.
"I will be departing, then?" Arthur inquired from new his position, still standing close to him.
"¿A menos que quieras quedarte?" He said knowing the other had no idea of what Spanish language meant.
The British titled his head. "Pardon me?"
Antonio only shook his head, smiling faintly -lazily- "You should get going" repeating himself.
Arthur only waved his hand in good-bye form and then Antonio watched him go.
He didn't love England.
The door slammed shut cautiously -leaving him own his own. He had a child named Isabel, even though he had wanted to call her, Catalina or Eliza… and yet this wasn't about love, just as Arthur wanting to cage the sky wasn't either.
The sea.
It was about wanting it complete -whole and one- he knew England ached to hold the sky but was settled in deep fragmented waters way before even Alfred came to the picture. He had been there, keeping the other segments, after all.
The sea and the sky wouldn't merge, ever.
He didn´t love England but he did love the sea -had loved it for a while now. Still, he will wait and see… for now.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i./
The slap, he thought, wasn´t meant to cause damage -not a war, certainly- just a raw hit, he hoped Alfred would not forget in a very long time. He wanted blood; he wanted to wound him so deep. He wanted revenge.
"You hate me that much?" Alfred asked - blue eyes shining dull and chap red.
And here he had thought way before that, the American couldn´t feel something so trivial. He had never watched him cry -get scared of silly things perhaps…
But never grieve -you were always smiling-
He had told him many times, I hate you, so why now would it matter at all…
"Don´t please" America said fisting his hands and looking away. "´S not like that, old man… please."
"Don´t cry." He ended dejectedly in a mumble, giving up just a bit.
England looked at him, incredulously -he wasn´t crying. Just who this git thought he was? He would not cry for him... again, never again. "You, foolish arrogant little brat" Arthur started, surprise quickly whirling at wrath. "I know, what I sow"
"Don´t you come here and try to make it better" He continued enraged -and still his bloody cheeks were wet.
And it could have been worse than England believing this was a dream his fairies had arranged, since there was just no way…
He was wrong however. Alfred kneeled -and he realized they were face to face now, which meant he was also in the floor. How had he arrived there, he didn´t even know-
The United States of America kneeled, his lover once a child he had took in. And he wanted to scream right then because it was just as awful as knowing, she had been telling the truth or else Alfred wouldn´t have anything to apologize for.
"You really did it."
"I am sorry" Alfred said carefully -this serious and regretful tone that didn´t belonged at his voice, standing out-
"I am sorry, old man" He repeated bringing him close in a thigh hug. "I am sorry" Alfred reiterated once more at his ear.
England refused to break his heart anymore, than it already was. He didn´t want to know the details -he was about to push him away but...
"Ya don´t know how much…" Alfred sustained. "I will do my best tough…" And England widened his -damp emerald green, hard shining steel green- eyes at the force of the hug that was almost crushing his bones by the time.
"So, it won´t come to this anymore." He heard the promise and yet didn´t manage to understand.
And then Alfred let go…
The hug banishing -alongside with other things Arthur hoped he would hold forever.
The sun was high, yellower than any other noon he had ever seen and the sky, it was blue… oh so damn glorious blue. And Arthur remembered they were outside of their house. In their garden… the one he had took care of so much.
He turned to America -to try and yell at him what the flipping hell had been that, that if he had had the guts to do what he had done, he should man up and…
But, Alfred that had left himself fall spread-eagled, over the grass and from his spot England believed he sow, the American had his face covered with his left arm -he could have just been as mistaken though, the shine of the sun was good blinding cloth.
Or perhaps he may have closed his eyes to avoid unpleasant realities since he had finally understood. The sky was so endless…
i/.
Anne would have given her soul to keep what she had fought so much for to obtain, what she had always wanted… would you blame her?
Ambition, dark creature you are. Poor little siren, filled poison and sweet illusion she was.
She did give it all, absolutely all…
-This morning she sent for me and to the intent I should hear her speak. 'I heard say the executioner was very good, and I have a little neck,' she said and then put her hands about it, laughing heartily. I have seen many men and also women executed, and that they have been in great sorrow, and to my knowledge this lady has much joy in death
[…]-
What she had always wanted got her beheaded, Arthur realized. He was partial at his own kings and queens stories, he wouldn´t judge but he did remember all of their lives. A favorite tale of theirs and the name Excalibur would come to first line, in Arthur's heart, he had to admit, beginnings were the best, always. That had been two centuries ago, though.
Still this book he had read of one of his queen´s actions and life was lacking but very accurate in some kind. Its moral of fable had been the best, that much he would give credit for. What you more wanted charged a high price to belong to you even if it never really did, and he had learned that the hard way.
The bittersweet way.
It had been a long trip, not like the ones to the colonies -his stomach still hadn´t got over the issue his first trip to the space had brought- albeit, but tiring nonetheless.
The sound of a woman advising they were about land, startled him.
And it seemed he had finally reached Alfred´s house, not home, he hadn´t one of those anymore.
This days weren´t so different from the old, to stay fair, humans hadn´t advanced that much. The third world war and the building of the spatial colonies their mayor error and improvement. There were still cars, trains, airplanes (right now he was traveling in one.) -with a special energy given the solar power collector worked as their fuel and only that had changed about it, their form was still pretty much the same.
His people were the ones to find a way to make the first power solar collector and he was proud, Antonio had given him money back then to manage the experiment and all had started from that -knowing eyes on him, brief touches to say hello to say goodbye…
He had shagged the Spanish man and the rest was history.
Folks began to move, they were in solid ground and already getting off the plain. He picked his book and followed the crowd.
He had shagged his reasonable share of countries before, if he thought about it. All of them had never complained with his quirks and had kindly admitted his was amazing, Antonio hadn´t been the exception, he hadn´t been that bad himself -and amid turtles and tomatoes that at some point, Arthur believed he was falling in love. He hadn´t, though- but he definitely wasn´t…
The idiot who was waiting for him at the airport station, sitting in one of the available benches, devouring a big ration of French-fries and with Arthur´s child doing the same no less.
"I hate you just so bloody much" Arthur stated, and it could have been an ironic joke, a harmless one -the shining green in his eyes illegible, as he dropped his luggage and crossed his arms, in front of where Alfred and Elizabeth were sitting.
Alfred looked up, unfinished fries still in hand. "I know." He said shrugging, and it could have been non-serious response as well - blue eyes shining just with as much knowing intensity.
The past -the third world-war- and Alfred´s lies, were bad for him to remember. He shook his head and nodded towards his daughter and her own bunch of fast food. "I appreciate it." He acknowledged stiffly.
"No problem, old man" Alfred smiled awkwardly, standing and making little Elizabeth realize who he had been talking with.
"Daddy" She said running at him and England felt his chest warm -she had been practicing her idiom but what she most liked to say was that word. He smiled at her and regarded Alfred sideways -carrying Elizabeth close-
The American wasn´t putting attention to them anymore, he had turned and was staring at the arriving planes -hands in his pockets and heart away, so far away…
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He hadn´t been able to decline and yeah… he just felt like, not good at all.
Alfred just couldn´t believe this was so fucking familiar and yet so foreign at the same time. The thing here being, Arthur was sewing and he was searching for a good action movie trough the TV in a Saturday night.
In the same room, in the same couch.
And they used to do that before, a lot…
Alfred frowned at his thoughts and gave up on his search -still he wouldn't leave, not after Elizabeth had almost cried after he had intended to go back at his room once earlier.
She was playing with her toys right there, on the carpet. And well, Arthur had fussed over it but the hero had come to the rescue and she had been allowed to stay in the floor - so just how awesome was that, huh?-
"I guess I will stick at the fighter-panda" Alfred said resignedly at no one but with intent -eying Elizabeth from distance.
The reaction was immediate, she turned at the TV and Alfred saw a potential action-movie-lover in her tiny shoulders. Too bad Arthur wouldn´t agree.
She stayed very still, toys around her and with her whole attention on the screen.
And Alfred smiled, leaving the remote at his side. He wasn´t about to change the channel, not that he was in fighter-pandas, though it could have been kick-ass…
He liked cartoons, really liked them but today he felt more inclined to watch one of his old -yes way too old- dramas. Leo and Kate made a good option. Still if Elizabeth liked the Panda, she would have the panda…
He sprawled himself more in the sofa, yawning and getting distracted.
The Panda fell from a cliff…
She jumped in response and Arthur looked from his needlework at her in reflex -making also Alfred too look at him, in succession.
And he couldn´t help it…
"So how was her father" Alfred started scratching his neck, feeling rather strange. He didn´t know yet, who this father was, so.
Arthur returned his attention at him immediately, dumbfounded.
"Um-" Was all, the usually eloquent gentleman managed to utter. And right, Alfred admitted it had been the incorrect question to do at the bad of the times but he wanted to identify…
Elizabeth was so -he liked her, like he had liked almost any other kid he had known but there was a difference, she was Arthur´s child and somehow that hadn´t settled that much in him until this days he spend with her alone, like waking from a dream and seeing reality.
She was Arthur´s child and someone´s else too. He just was interested for the sake of being interested and talking in near good natured curiosity. True, he hadn´t been before but he was now.
"I mean, is he doing alright?" Alfred continued, shifting uncomfortably in the settee, what more was there to ask, either way.
"Ah- yes, yes" Arthur swallowed. "Thank you." He replied uneasily.
"Although, I am afraid he may as fine just lay still all the day" Arthur added thoughtfully.
"And he is not coming for her?" Alfred probed; gazing at his shoes and playing to rub one foot at another. Because hell, if he had a daughter or son, he wouldn´t leave her/him with an over sea's UFO- sympathizer dude. Not for the UFO part, not for him at least -still common sense people would think otherwise- but rather because it was his own child…
"No." Arthur retorted simply.
And, well shit. "So, who is he?" Alfred went for the big fish, in the end.
Arthur resumed his attention at the mass of wool he had in his lap, and didn´t succeed in his indifference. He just needed help, Alfred noted. "Francis?" He tried with the more obvious option first, Elizabeth didn´t resemble him much, though.
Arthur glared at him and so, no, it wasn´t the French, then.
"Antonio." Arthur spoke quietly.
Alfred beheld him, cautiously at this and nodded. "Sure" he granted, not voicing his opinion on the stuff. Antonio was Arthur´s new love, he contemplated. And he had always hoped that, that day would come - the day Arthur would forget about him, the day the third-world war history would forget about them.
And only the cherished ring in his neck would stay as proof -dense with his guilt but pretty with what once was Arthur´s affection.
Arthur went back to his embroidery, once more. And the TV kept playing in the background.
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"You will drown." Arthur listed dryly.
"Mmf-n-o-i-chom-p." Alfred offered full-mouthed, milk and donuts stuffed in his tongue and teeth.
The British just shook his head and pulled a chair to sit on. They were in the dining-room, Alfred was having a snack at two in the bleeding down and he just stared -not nagging and not complaining.
"She asleep?" Alfred queried after swallowing the food, weeping his mouth with the reverse of his hand.
Arthur narrowed his eyes at the gesture and threw a napkin at the American, snorting.
Alfred cached it, mid-air.
"You bet." Arthur countered.
It was a good to pretend that nothing so bad had happened between them before, the birth mused. Even if it was there.
"Wanna some tea?" Alfred tested, reaching for his half-full chocolate milk.
Arthur smiled, small and new and perhaps not as he had smiled at Alfred formerly -when he was a child or when he had become a man or his lover way afterwards- but it was something "If you will." He answered.
And it was good.
Tomorrow however would be another day.
o
[Nothing compares. No worries, or cares, regrets and mistakes... They're memories made. Who would have known how, bittersweet this would taste ~Adelle]
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Final notes:
In this part "Anne would have given her soul to keep what she had fought so much for to obtain…" I refer to:
Anne Boleyn (c.1501/1507 - 19 May 1536) was Queen of England from 1533 to 1536 as the second wife of Henry VIII of England and the 1st Marquess of Pembroke in her own right for herself and her descendants. Henry's marriage to Anne, and her subsequent execution, made her a key figure in the political and religious upheaval that was the start of the English Reformation.
Also
I need advice, will you guys lend me a hand? So I like Russia/Prussia and Russia/Canada and Prussia/Canada… Which one would you prefer? Since Adrik needs another daddy...
-Alfred/Arthur is love-