All Shall Be Well [Hetalia; America/England, 2/2]
I knew this was going to be long - that's why I split the story into two parts, but I didn't think that this part will be even longer than all four earlier parts combined! Yes, this is what I spent my New Year's Day doing.
Title: All Shall Be Well
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Character/Pairings: America/England (Alfred/Arthur)
Word Count: 3916
Warning/Spoilers: PG-13
Summary: It's April 23, Arthur's in the United States for a conference, and Alfred drags him off on an impromptu visit to a local high school. [Now with more Shakespeare!]
Alternate Summary: Arthur’s always the one doing the quoting with Shakespeare - now it’s Alfred’s turn.
Status: Completed
Author’s Note: Written for snappy8000 for usxuk’s Secret Santa exchange. I toyed with the idea of whether to write this sequel/section or not, and decided that it was time Alfred did something, as oppose to it always being Arthur in the first four sections XD. HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Original Prompt: Alfred and Arthur go to a Shakespeare play representation. Comedy, smut or angst, your pick.
Back to part one.
April 23, 2016
Anniversaries were both important and inconsequential to nations. Every nation celebrated their founding day, of course, and there were other celebrations slotted into the three hundred and sixty-five days of a year that came and went like the wheels on a clockwork, a constant to accompany the nations in their long lives. But beyond that, it seemed silly to commemorate every battle, every crowning of a king, and - the ones that tripped Arthur over the most - the deaths of some of his most talented citizens, especially the ones he knew personally.
Arthur preferred to remember them in his own quiet way, without the fanfare and pomp of ceremony, but every once in a while enough Britons respected one or two of these persons to merit a regional, sometimes nationwide, observance.
Which was why Arthur was staring out his window in a guest room into the early morning sunshine, and felt the tug, the longing to be back in London instead of catching an extra half-hour of sleep while curled around Alfred in a nest of blankets. He was in the United States for a conference, but nostalgia clung to him, and he couldn’t go to Alfred to forget about it. It had only taken one occasion early on in their relationship, of opening his door the next morning to a very red-faced Matthew and a smug, teasing Francis - who had the rooms beside Arthur’s - for Arthur to put his foot down and insist that he and Alfred stay in separate rooms, at least for the duration of any such meetings.
He turned firmly away from the window and was reaching for his tie when his room door open with a click. Alfred slipped into the room, dressed in a blue hoodie jacket and jeans.
“Thought you’d be awake. Good thing I got up early to catch you before you finished dressing.”
Alfred stepped further into the room. Arthur paused, surpri- taken bac- fine, he was pleased to see Alfred, felt his mood lightened just at the sight of Alfred’s bloody golden hair, and he had to turned away, because he was not a maudlin creature, oh no.
“Whatever happened to not visiting each other’s rooms during conferences?” Arthur slung his tie over his neck, only for Alfred to reach out and pull it off, the dark green material slipping off Arthur’s white collar and flicking past his nose. He grabbed for it instinctively, scowling, and Alfred laughed.
“You don’t need this today.” Alfred coiled the tie in one hand and leaned over to give Arthur a peck on the nose.
Arthur swiped at Alfred’s head. “Sod off. And what are you talking about - we’re in the middle of a conference, and you need to get dressed for a meeting that’s taking place in two hours.”
Alfred was reaching for his suit jacket now, and proceeded to stuff it back into the closet. “Nah, I told you, right? You don’t need any of these, because we’re not going to any meetings today.”
Arthur was across the room in a flash and wrapping one hand firmly around Alfred’s wrist, arresting his movements. “Alfred Jones, you are not walking out of a conference you’re hosting in your own country!” He wasn’t sure what was wrong with Alfred this morning, but he was obviously out of his mind, and Arthur would be damned before he let Alfred go loose on some scatterbrained scheme of his, which at this point no doubt included Arthur himself.
“Arthuuuuur,” Alfred said with a slight pout, and finished putting away Arthur’s suit jacket and tie, before slipping his hand free and tangling it with Arthur’s. “Trust me. Today’s meeting is for the nations that haven’t decided on their proposals. The voting’s tomorrow. You and I are free today.”
“I didn’t hear anything about this-” Arthur began, before his eyebrows furrowed and he shot Alfred an studying look. “Wait, was this why you insisted I turn in my proposal yesterday?”
“Mmhm,” Alfred hummed, raising their linked hands to his lips and nuzzling against Arthur’s knuckles. “I know we’re in the middle of this conference, but I haven’t seen you in weeks, and I just thought, you know-”
Arthur pulled their hands away, and kissed Alfred lightly. “Are you sure it’s fine to leave?” he asked, out of a nagging sense of responsibility. It would have been nice to be back in London, but just as good - if not better - was to spend time with Alfred, away from his fellow bickering nations and their numerous squabbles.
Alfred flashed him a bright smile, and Arthur felt himself relax. “Positive! Matt agreed to oversee those talks, just so they don’t go throttling each other or anything, and where Matt goes, you know Francis will follow, so he’ll be okay.”
“Why you trust the frog to help, I’ll never know. What are we doing?”
“There’s a place I want to take you,” Alfred said, raising his free hand and running it through the hair at the back of his head, mussing it every which way. “Matt and Francis can deal with things for today, you and I are going out, and it’ll be great. Trust me?”
Arthur wasn’t sure about it - when Alfred was vague on the details, it was either because he didn’t quite know what he was doing and planned on improvising as he went, or because he knew exactly what he was doing and knew it was something Arthur would balk at.
Still. Arthur looked up into Alfred’s eyes and that bright smile, and really, in face of that, what else could he say? “You know I do.”
Alfred gave his hand a tight squeeze, and tugged him out of the room.
-----
They traveled through the subway and walked the rest, Alfred holding doggedly onto Arthur’s hand when he tried to pull free - they were in public, after all - and taking turns and shortcuts down streets and alleyways until Arthur was lost, and couldn’t be sure that Alfred wasn’t. But Alfred always had an uncanny sense of direction, and it wasn’t long before they were in one of the upper-end neighbourhoods.
They stopped in front of a series of interconnected buildings, a secondary school - well, high school - from the looks of it, and Arthur paused, wondering if Alfred needed directions. But Alfred breezed right through the gates, still pulling Arthur along though their linked hands, and Arthur finally realized that this was where Alfred had meant to take him.
“Here?”
“Yep! Give me a minute, I know the people here.” He ducked into an office, and waved at a woman sitting at the desk. She frowned over a stack of paperwork, but her expression cleared into a smile when she looked up and caught sight of Alfred.
“Good morning, Alfred. You’re in early today.”
“Hey, Tracy. Is it okay if I head to the auditorium first?”
“That’s fine. The seniors should be in soon enough.” She fished through a basket for two tags, and quirked her head curiously at Arthur. “Ah, is that the friend you told us about?”
“Yup.” Alfred waved the guest tags. “Catch you later!”
“Enjoy yourselves!” Tracy gave Arthur a nod and a broad smile before Alfred jogged back up to his side.
Arthur had no idea what Alfred planned, except it seemed the staff was in on it too. Alfred snapped a guest tag on Arthur’s collared shirt, then poked at the tiny frown on Arthur’s face. “Stop overanalyzing things. Come on. It’s just in the auditorium.”
Alfred lead the way, moving as if he were a student at the school and intimately familiar with its layout. It didn’t seem too far out of place; Alfred was young, full of the vibrance and life that all teenagers seem to possess, and when he was laughing and smiling, it was hard to notice the solemnity deep in his eyes. When people looked at Alfred, in his hoodie jacket and jeans, they did not see the superpower nation he really was. Sometimes, Arthur thought that even Alfred himself forgot that fact, despite his constant “hero” proclamations.
They stopped in front of the auditorium, and Alfred paused just before the closed entrance doors. “Guess you won’t let me cover your eyes or anything, huh?”
“You’re right. I won’t.”
“That’s ‘kay.” Alfred gesture at the entrance with a flourish. “You should go in first, then.”
Arthur glanced at Alfred one last time, then pushed the door open in one swift movement, and found himself standing in an artificial forest. There were real potted plants interspersed between elaborately painted backdrops, with plastic creeper vines hanging across them to droop above their heads. Someone had threaded small twinkling lights into the plants, and fake butterflies with elaborate fairy wings peeked out from behind leaves and shadows in the backdrops.
“What is this?” Arthur asked, except he already knew the answer - it was hard to miss the quill, ink bottle and scroll props on the stage’s podium, and even harder to miss the long banner that hung from the auditorium’s ceiling.
Alfred came up behind Arthur, and rested his chin on Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s the fairy forest. You know, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You have to walk through it to get to the seats and stage.”
“I know that.” Arthur felt something squeezing around his heart, but it was a pleasant, warm sort of squeezing. He drew a deep breath. “But what is this?”
Arthur felt Alfred smile against his neck. “This is a Shakespeare Day celebration, and what this is is me bringing you here so you can celebrate with the kids.” He pressed a kiss to Arthur’s neck, and slung his arms loosely around Arthur’s waist. “I know you really hated missing all the stuff your people are doing back in Britain for it, especially since Shakespeare Day’s your new national holiday and all that.”
The breath Arthur breathed out came out ragged, and he turned, catching Alfred’s lips and pushing the both of them into one of the corners, pressing Alfred up against a backdrop. There were lights twinkling against Alfred’s hair now, and leaves hanging in their faces, but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to care, because there were days where he did feel maudlin, felt the weight of the ages in a knot between his shoulder blades. Will was a fine man, a talented, if temperamental, man of words, and Arthur had always waited in anticipation for whatever the playwright would come up next. But it was more than that - he missed an entire era now long gone, missed good old Bess, missed so many little things because despite his young looks, he held more than a millennium’s worth of history within him.
But Alfred’s hands, threaded through his hair, and his mouth, warm and open and inviting, grounded Arthur to the present, and Arthur thought it wasn’t too bad, missing his own nationwide celebrations back home because there were others celebrating Shakespeare too, even across the Atlantic.
Alfred pulled back, and muttered against Arthur’s lips. “So, you like it, huh?”
Arthur glared a little, but he suspected that the effect of it was completely foiled by the flush he could feel high on his cheeks, and buried his head in the curve of Alfred’s neck and shoulder. “Yes, I do bloody like it, you idiot.”
He could feel Alfred laughing against him. “Yeah, that’s great, then.”
The auditorium door swung open, accompanied with the sudden din of conversation. A voice rang out. “Al! I heard you’re somewhere in here!”
Alfred gave Arthur one last tight squeeze, then pushed a butterfly out of his way. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the thespians for the day.”
There were high school students running everywhere, some already dressed in costume, others carrying props and sheets of paper and covered foil containers of food. A Bottom scurried past him, complete with donkey head, and Arthur felt the familiar bubble of anticipation rise in him, the chaotic flurry of activity and high spirits before a performance the same whether it was back in the good old Globe theatre or a high school auditorium.
He felt an arm sling across his shoulders. “Found him,” Alfred said, his words directed to a dark-haired teenager. “Arthur, Mike. He’s managing this whole shebang. Mike, this is Arthur, my very own grumpy Brit. Make sure you guys do an awesome job, because this one here’s a real nitpicker for Shakespeare.”
Arthur swatted hard at Alfred’s arm, then reached out to shake Mike’s hand, ignoring Alfred’s kicked-puppy look. “You have a splendid setup here.”
“Now you’re just flattering us,” Mike grinned. “We have a theater program attached to this school, and though we focus on modern plays, it’s nice to go back to the good old stuff. ‘sides, the costumes are better for Shakespeare.”
Arthur watched several Athenians walk past, then two fairies, the girls’ long hair bound up with ringlets around their faces, wispy, airy material flowing around their knees. “Indeed.”
“Al!” Another voice - female - called out, and Arthur turned to see Alfred give a girl a fist bump. She had a measuring tape coiled over her neck, a pen stuck behind one ear, and a mischievous grin to match Alfred’s. Arthur could see why they got along.
“Helen, everything alright with costumes?” Mike asked. Helen simply flapped a hand at him.
“They’re fine - no one’s ripped anything yet, or lost anything, or suddenly decided their costume’s two sizes too small for them. More importantly, is that Arthur beside you?” Helen’s eyes narrowed knowingly and she elbowed Alfred in the arm. “Al, you never told me he was such a looker.”
“Yeah? Guess I missed that one.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow at Alfred. “Yeah?” he echoed. “Do tell, Alfred.”
“Hm, but I do see why he might forget. It’s the accent, you know. You have such a nice voice, all low and expressive, and the way you roll your words-”
“No, Helen, we are not making Arthur perform anything today,” Mike cut in quickly.
“No, you’re right, the performance schedule’s all lined up and all.” The twinkle in Helen’s eyes was making the hair at the back of Arthur’s neck stand, and Alfred was just standing there, thoroughly enjoying himself. “But, we need someone to pass out programs and greet people and whatnot at the start of the fairy forest, and everyone’s so busy.”
“We’ll help!” Alfred said, pumping his fist in the air. “I mean, you guys went ahead and took my suggestion about Midsummer and all that.”
“Great!” Helen grinned. “And I think you’ll make more of an impact if you’re in costume, too.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “No bloody way.”
“Helen-” Mike tried to divert her.
“I have costumes that will fit the both of you too. I was experimenting with styles, and Arthur’s good for the vest and blue coat, don’t you think, Al? He’s got that aristocratic look, just perfect.”
Alfred was giving Arthur one of those annoyingly bright and floppy grins behind Helen’s shoulder. “Arthur. It’s Shakespeare Day.”
Arthur knew that was going to come back to bite him at some point.
-----
It wasn’t as bad as Arthur feared, even though the first time he saw the costumes Helen had picked up for them, he had to swallow his protest of “but those are 18th century clothing, not 16th century!” But Helen was a talented designer - the coat fit him snuggly, over a white shirt and black vest trimmed in gold, and when Arthur tied off the maroon cravat around his neck and tried to comb his sandy blond hair into submission, the frilled ends of the white shirt flapping with every movement, he felt strangely out of time and space. Even the shoes were correct - for 18th century British wear, that is.
He had another jarring moment when he trailed after Helen to the little booth the students set up right before the fairy forest. Alfred was already there, dressed simply in a white shirt and cravat and a dark olive vest. Arthur knew Alfred would protest against wearing any of the fancier coats; he could hardly keep a suit jacket on for the duration of a meeting - but for one moment, Arthur was irrationally glad for the sight of Texas on Alfred’s face.
Then Alfred had turned to him, and his eyes widened, and he almost dropped the stack of programs in his hands, and Arthur couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk that flashed across his face.
They were swamped with visitors within a half hour, the Shakespeare festival opened to the entire community, and it being a Saturday. There were a few harried, bored faces in the crowd - people no doubt forced to be there by their teachers, or dragged there by a significant other or sibling - but for the most part everyone Arthur spoke to loved at least one or two of the Bard’s works, and Arthur couldn’t help the buoyant feeling in his chest, especially when he heard some of his own people, with their distinct accents, in the crowd.
It was discomfiting though, the number of people who kept asking if they could take his picture, including a smug-looking Helen.
Alfred came to find him during one of the lulls in the stream of visitors, bringing a warm pastry with him and two paper cups, one of cider, the other of grape juice. Arthur wondered about that, until he remembered that they were in a high school, and the school board couldn’t possibly serve mead or wine.
“Enjoying yourself?” Alfred asked, breaking the pastry into pieces. Steam rose from the chunks of meat and gravy.
“Immensely.” Arthur abandoned all pretense of formality, and used his hands the same way Alfred did. He licked some gravy from his fingers and smiled.
Alfred looked like he wanted to kiss him, so Arthur ducked away, hissing “there are people here with cameras.”
Alfred considered that for one moment, then pulled his watch from one pocket. Arthur had insisted he take it off, since digital watches did not go with period clothing. He stared at it, then snagged Arthur’s hand.
“The performance is going to start soon, and I think we’re cleared to take a break.” He dropped their paper plate and cups as they passed by a trash can, and the two of them ducked into the darkened fairy forest, with only the small lamp lights lighting the way.
“Sure you didn’t pull me into the fairy’s forest so you can have your way with me?” Arthur said coyly, reaching up to brush his fingers lightly across Alfred’s cheek, and watched Alfred flush.
“No! Heroes don’t take advantage of people like that.” He paused, then rubbed his head sheepishly. “Unless you want me to, that is.”
Arthur laughed, and picked his way through the forest to a corner where they could see the stage, but was still shrouded from the audience by the backdrop and greenery. “So, I heard it was your idea to make this a Midsummer themed celebration.”
“Yup.” Alfred was being all clingy now that they were somewhat safely hidden, slinging his hands around Arthur’s hips from behind and hugging close. “You know how sometime last decade, when I came to London and we watched Romeo and Juliet and you read out the lines for me during the lover’s scene?”
“I-I can’t believe your remember that. You ended up sleeping through the rest of it.” Arthur ducked his head, and stared hard at his hands atop Alfred’s, willing his blush away.
“Of course I remember.” Alfred’s voice went all low and warm. “It was sweet, Arthur.” And he gave Arthur a squeezing hug - Arthur felt like he was being squeezed a lot today. “But! That’s not how I want us to be!”
“Eh?”
“You know, with Romeo thinking Juliet died and killing himself, and Juliet waking up to find Romeo dead and, well, killing herself too. Any story that ends with the lovers dead is definitely not a proper love story.”
“That’s because it’s a tragedy. And you were the one who picked it that time.”
Alfred shrugged a little. “I was tired, and anything was okay if I was watching it with you, you know?”
“And A Midsummer Night’s Dream… what? Suits us better?” Arthur asked, a little bewildered. “I’m not sure that lovers whose feelings are so easily manipulated by some magical elixir serve as the best role models.”
“Well, no. I mean-yeah, so Lysander and Demetrius are kind of lame, fighting first for Hermia, then for Helena, but that’s not the point, I guess?”
“You guess?” Arthur glanced back at Alfred, just so he can see his less-than-convinced expression.
“Not I guess, then,” Alfred pushed on. “The point is, the four of them were in this chaotic mess, right? And you have Titania who falls in love with an ass - literally - and that’s pretty messed up. But at the end of it all, they’re back with who they really belong, at least for Lysander and Hermia. Uh.”
“Go on,” Arthur said, amused, because it was endearing to see Alfred trying to make head and tails out of Shakespeare’s plays.
Alfred slumped a little, his chin digging in slightly into Arthur’s shoulder. “Okay, so maybe the lovers aren’t the best analogy - you’re right, Demetrius had to be drugged, uh, elixired to love Helena, but it’s just... you know what Puck said?”
He pulled away and swung Arthur around so they were standing face to face. “Puck went around fixing Lysander so he goes back to loving Hermia, and he says this, right? ‘Jack shall have Jill, nought shall go ill; the man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.’”
Alfred’s hands are wrapped gently around Arthur’s now, even though he’s speaking as though he’s tripping over his tongue to get the words out. “I just thought it’s kind of like us. How we went through all that stuff, with me leaving, and us fighting, and fighting until the War, where everyone was fighting, and despite all of that and the economic crisis and natural disasters, well, we’re together now, and all is well.”
Arthur didn’t know what to say. His cravat felt tight around his throat, and the silence was stretching out between them despite the muffled sounds from the audience and the teens setting up the stage. “So. Am I Jack, or am I Jill?”
Alfred blinked, and Arthur moved closer, threading his fingers through Alfred’s and holding on tight. “’Jack shall have Jill, nought shall go ill,” he repeated, smiling. “So which am I?”
Alfred’s eyes darkened. “You’re mine,” he simply said, and Arthur nodded, closing the space between them and hugging Alfred close, breathing in the scent that reminded him of sunshine and broad blue skies and was uniquely Alfred’s.
“Sometimes, you surprise me,” he said, and his voice wasn’t raw, his throat was not tight and he was not crying. “Thank you, Alfred.”
Alfred was nosing into his hair. “Am I awesome, or am I awesome?”
Arthur groaned softly. “Neither.” Alfred opened his mouth to protest. “You’re brilliant,” Arthur said, and pulled Alfred down by his cravat for an opened-mouth kiss that was warm, a little rough, but just right.
Behind them, Puck flitted onto the stage with his magical elixir to work his mischief.
end
--
Notes!
[1] Shakespeare Day. It doesn’t exist yet. But the British Shakespeare Company is calling to make April 23, the day Shakespeare died (and possibly, when he was born) National Shakespeare Day. The proposal has backing from several Cabinet ministers, and if all goes well, it’ll be official. When? I have no idea. But I imagine that Shakespeare being as popular as he is that the celebration will be picked up around the world. My high school English teacher implemented a Shakespeare Week, even though I was no where near the States at that time.
[2] 2011 and 2016 are the next years where April 23 falls on a weekend. 2011 seemed a bit early.
[3] Alfred and Arthur’s 18th century costumes - I admit, my biases went in. cannedebonbon drew me a fabulous fanart of Alfred and Arthur in period clothing (don't get put off by Edgeworth and his violin - scroll down!), and it was too gorgeous for me not to mention it. According to her, they’re dressed in 18th century clothing, Alfred with Texas and all. Go look and comment!
[4] A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a comedy featuring three interconnected plots: the bickering fairy king Oberon and queen Titania, the runaway (and chasing) lovers, and an acting troupe. Puck, on Oberon’s demands, goes off with a magical elixir that makes the victim fall in love with whoever they first see when they wake up. Puck accidentally charms Lysander, creating a whole series of messy conflicts between the lovers. The lines Alfred quote are the ones Puck says at the end of Act III, when he goes and decharms Lysander, restoring the lovers back to their proper relationships.
♥ Thank you for sticking until the end of this!
.
Title: All Shall Be Well
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Character/Pairings: America/England (Alfred/Arthur)
Word Count: 3916
Warning/Spoilers: PG-13
Summary: It's April 23, Arthur's in the United States for a conference, and Alfred drags him off on an impromptu visit to a local high school. [Now with more Shakespeare!]
Alternate Summary: Arthur’s always the one doing the quoting with Shakespeare - now it’s Alfred’s turn.
Status: Completed
Author’s Note: Written for snappy8000 for usxuk’s Secret Santa exchange. I toyed with the idea of whether to write this sequel/section or not, and decided that it was time Alfred did something, as oppose to it always being Arthur in the first four sections XD. HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Original Prompt: Alfred and Arthur go to a Shakespeare play representation. Comedy, smut or angst, your pick.
Back to part one.
April 23, 2016
Anniversaries were both important and inconsequential to nations. Every nation celebrated their founding day, of course, and there were other celebrations slotted into the three hundred and sixty-five days of a year that came and went like the wheels on a clockwork, a constant to accompany the nations in their long lives. But beyond that, it seemed silly to commemorate every battle, every crowning of a king, and - the ones that tripped Arthur over the most - the deaths of some of his most talented citizens, especially the ones he knew personally.
Arthur preferred to remember them in his own quiet way, without the fanfare and pomp of ceremony, but every once in a while enough Britons respected one or two of these persons to merit a regional, sometimes nationwide, observance.
Which was why Arthur was staring out his window in a guest room into the early morning sunshine, and felt the tug, the longing to be back in London instead of catching an extra half-hour of sleep while curled around Alfred in a nest of blankets. He was in the United States for a conference, but nostalgia clung to him, and he couldn’t go to Alfred to forget about it. It had only taken one occasion early on in their relationship, of opening his door the next morning to a very red-faced Matthew and a smug, teasing Francis - who had the rooms beside Arthur’s - for Arthur to put his foot down and insist that he and Alfred stay in separate rooms, at least for the duration of any such meetings.
He turned firmly away from the window and was reaching for his tie when his room door open with a click. Alfred slipped into the room, dressed in a blue hoodie jacket and jeans.
“Thought you’d be awake. Good thing I got up early to catch you before you finished dressing.”
Alfred stepped further into the room. Arthur paused, surpri- taken bac- fine, he was pleased to see Alfred, felt his mood lightened just at the sight of Alfred’s bloody golden hair, and he had to turned away, because he was not a maudlin creature, oh no.
“Whatever happened to not visiting each other’s rooms during conferences?” Arthur slung his tie over his neck, only for Alfred to reach out and pull it off, the dark green material slipping off Arthur’s white collar and flicking past his nose. He grabbed for it instinctively, scowling, and Alfred laughed.
“You don’t need this today.” Alfred coiled the tie in one hand and leaned over to give Arthur a peck on the nose.
Arthur swiped at Alfred’s head. “Sod off. And what are you talking about - we’re in the middle of a conference, and you need to get dressed for a meeting that’s taking place in two hours.”
Alfred was reaching for his suit jacket now, and proceeded to stuff it back into the closet. “Nah, I told you, right? You don’t need any of these, because we’re not going to any meetings today.”
Arthur was across the room in a flash and wrapping one hand firmly around Alfred’s wrist, arresting his movements. “Alfred Jones, you are not walking out of a conference you’re hosting in your own country!” He wasn’t sure what was wrong with Alfred this morning, but he was obviously out of his mind, and Arthur would be damned before he let Alfred go loose on some scatterbrained scheme of his, which at this point no doubt included Arthur himself.
“Arthuuuuur,” Alfred said with a slight pout, and finished putting away Arthur’s suit jacket and tie, before slipping his hand free and tangling it with Arthur’s. “Trust me. Today’s meeting is for the nations that haven’t decided on their proposals. The voting’s tomorrow. You and I are free today.”
“I didn’t hear anything about this-” Arthur began, before his eyebrows furrowed and he shot Alfred an studying look. “Wait, was this why you insisted I turn in my proposal yesterday?”
“Mmhm,” Alfred hummed, raising their linked hands to his lips and nuzzling against Arthur’s knuckles. “I know we’re in the middle of this conference, but I haven’t seen you in weeks, and I just thought, you know-”
Arthur pulled their hands away, and kissed Alfred lightly. “Are you sure it’s fine to leave?” he asked, out of a nagging sense of responsibility. It would have been nice to be back in London, but just as good - if not better - was to spend time with Alfred, away from his fellow bickering nations and their numerous squabbles.
Alfred flashed him a bright smile, and Arthur felt himself relax. “Positive! Matt agreed to oversee those talks, just so they don’t go throttling each other or anything, and where Matt goes, you know Francis will follow, so he’ll be okay.”
“Why you trust the frog to help, I’ll never know. What are we doing?”
“There’s a place I want to take you,” Alfred said, raising his free hand and running it through the hair at the back of his head, mussing it every which way. “Matt and Francis can deal with things for today, you and I are going out, and it’ll be great. Trust me?”
Arthur wasn’t sure about it - when Alfred was vague on the details, it was either because he didn’t quite know what he was doing and planned on improvising as he went, or because he knew exactly what he was doing and knew it was something Arthur would balk at.
Still. Arthur looked up into Alfred’s eyes and that bright smile, and really, in face of that, what else could he say? “You know I do.”
Alfred gave his hand a tight squeeze, and tugged him out of the room.
-----
They traveled through the subway and walked the rest, Alfred holding doggedly onto Arthur’s hand when he tried to pull free - they were in public, after all - and taking turns and shortcuts down streets and alleyways until Arthur was lost, and couldn’t be sure that Alfred wasn’t. But Alfred always had an uncanny sense of direction, and it wasn’t long before they were in one of the upper-end neighbourhoods.
They stopped in front of a series of interconnected buildings, a secondary school - well, high school - from the looks of it, and Arthur paused, wondering if Alfred needed directions. But Alfred breezed right through the gates, still pulling Arthur along though their linked hands, and Arthur finally realized that this was where Alfred had meant to take him.
“Here?”
“Yep! Give me a minute, I know the people here.” He ducked into an office, and waved at a woman sitting at the desk. She frowned over a stack of paperwork, but her expression cleared into a smile when she looked up and caught sight of Alfred.
“Good morning, Alfred. You’re in early today.”
“Hey, Tracy. Is it okay if I head to the auditorium first?”
“That’s fine. The seniors should be in soon enough.” She fished through a basket for two tags, and quirked her head curiously at Arthur. “Ah, is that the friend you told us about?”
“Yup.” Alfred waved the guest tags. “Catch you later!”
“Enjoy yourselves!” Tracy gave Arthur a nod and a broad smile before Alfred jogged back up to his side.
Arthur had no idea what Alfred planned, except it seemed the staff was in on it too. Alfred snapped a guest tag on Arthur’s collared shirt, then poked at the tiny frown on Arthur’s face. “Stop overanalyzing things. Come on. It’s just in the auditorium.”
Alfred lead the way, moving as if he were a student at the school and intimately familiar with its layout. It didn’t seem too far out of place; Alfred was young, full of the vibrance and life that all teenagers seem to possess, and when he was laughing and smiling, it was hard to notice the solemnity deep in his eyes. When people looked at Alfred, in his hoodie jacket and jeans, they did not see the superpower nation he really was. Sometimes, Arthur thought that even Alfred himself forgot that fact, despite his constant “hero” proclamations.
They stopped in front of the auditorium, and Alfred paused just before the closed entrance doors. “Guess you won’t let me cover your eyes or anything, huh?”
“You’re right. I won’t.”
“That’s ‘kay.” Alfred gesture at the entrance with a flourish. “You should go in first, then.”
Arthur glanced at Alfred one last time, then pushed the door open in one swift movement, and found himself standing in an artificial forest. There were real potted plants interspersed between elaborately painted backdrops, with plastic creeper vines hanging across them to droop above their heads. Someone had threaded small twinkling lights into the plants, and fake butterflies with elaborate fairy wings peeked out from behind leaves and shadows in the backdrops.
“What is this?” Arthur asked, except he already knew the answer - it was hard to miss the quill, ink bottle and scroll props on the stage’s podium, and even harder to miss the long banner that hung from the auditorium’s ceiling.
Alfred came up behind Arthur, and rested his chin on Arthur’s shoulder. “It’s the fairy forest. You know, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. You have to walk through it to get to the seats and stage.”
“I know that.” Arthur felt something squeezing around his heart, but it was a pleasant, warm sort of squeezing. He drew a deep breath. “But what is this?”
Arthur felt Alfred smile against his neck. “This is a Shakespeare Day celebration, and what this is is me bringing you here so you can celebrate with the kids.” He pressed a kiss to Arthur’s neck, and slung his arms loosely around Arthur’s waist. “I know you really hated missing all the stuff your people are doing back in Britain for it, especially since Shakespeare Day’s your new national holiday and all that.”
The breath Arthur breathed out came out ragged, and he turned, catching Alfred’s lips and pushing the both of them into one of the corners, pressing Alfred up against a backdrop. There were lights twinkling against Alfred’s hair now, and leaves hanging in their faces, but Arthur couldn’t bring himself to care, because there were days where he did feel maudlin, felt the weight of the ages in a knot between his shoulder blades. Will was a fine man, a talented, if temperamental, man of words, and Arthur had always waited in anticipation for whatever the playwright would come up next. But it was more than that - he missed an entire era now long gone, missed good old Bess, missed so many little things because despite his young looks, he held more than a millennium’s worth of history within him.
But Alfred’s hands, threaded through his hair, and his mouth, warm and open and inviting, grounded Arthur to the present, and Arthur thought it wasn’t too bad, missing his own nationwide celebrations back home because there were others celebrating Shakespeare too, even across the Atlantic.
Alfred pulled back, and muttered against Arthur’s lips. “So, you like it, huh?”
Arthur glared a little, but he suspected that the effect of it was completely foiled by the flush he could feel high on his cheeks, and buried his head in the curve of Alfred’s neck and shoulder. “Yes, I do bloody like it, you idiot.”
He could feel Alfred laughing against him. “Yeah, that’s great, then.”
The auditorium door swung open, accompanied with the sudden din of conversation. A voice rang out. “Al! I heard you’re somewhere in here!”
Alfred gave Arthur one last tight squeeze, then pushed a butterfly out of his way. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the thespians for the day.”
There were high school students running everywhere, some already dressed in costume, others carrying props and sheets of paper and covered foil containers of food. A Bottom scurried past him, complete with donkey head, and Arthur felt the familiar bubble of anticipation rise in him, the chaotic flurry of activity and high spirits before a performance the same whether it was back in the good old Globe theatre or a high school auditorium.
He felt an arm sling across his shoulders. “Found him,” Alfred said, his words directed to a dark-haired teenager. “Arthur, Mike. He’s managing this whole shebang. Mike, this is Arthur, my very own grumpy Brit. Make sure you guys do an awesome job, because this one here’s a real nitpicker for Shakespeare.”
Arthur swatted hard at Alfred’s arm, then reached out to shake Mike’s hand, ignoring Alfred’s kicked-puppy look. “You have a splendid setup here.”
“Now you’re just flattering us,” Mike grinned. “We have a theater program attached to this school, and though we focus on modern plays, it’s nice to go back to the good old stuff. ‘sides, the costumes are better for Shakespeare.”
Arthur watched several Athenians walk past, then two fairies, the girls’ long hair bound up with ringlets around their faces, wispy, airy material flowing around their knees. “Indeed.”
“Al!” Another voice - female - called out, and Arthur turned to see Alfred give a girl a fist bump. She had a measuring tape coiled over her neck, a pen stuck behind one ear, and a mischievous grin to match Alfred’s. Arthur could see why they got along.
“Helen, everything alright with costumes?” Mike asked. Helen simply flapped a hand at him.
“They’re fine - no one’s ripped anything yet, or lost anything, or suddenly decided their costume’s two sizes too small for them. More importantly, is that Arthur beside you?” Helen’s eyes narrowed knowingly and she elbowed Alfred in the arm. “Al, you never told me he was such a looker.”
“Yeah? Guess I missed that one.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow at Alfred. “Yeah?” he echoed. “Do tell, Alfred.”
“Hm, but I do see why he might forget. It’s the accent, you know. You have such a nice voice, all low and expressive, and the way you roll your words-”
“No, Helen, we are not making Arthur perform anything today,” Mike cut in quickly.
“No, you’re right, the performance schedule’s all lined up and all.” The twinkle in Helen’s eyes was making the hair at the back of Arthur’s neck stand, and Alfred was just standing there, thoroughly enjoying himself. “But, we need someone to pass out programs and greet people and whatnot at the start of the fairy forest, and everyone’s so busy.”
“We’ll help!” Alfred said, pumping his fist in the air. “I mean, you guys went ahead and took my suggestion about Midsummer and all that.”
“Great!” Helen grinned. “And I think you’ll make more of an impact if you’re in costume, too.”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “No bloody way.”
“Helen-” Mike tried to divert her.
“I have costumes that will fit the both of you too. I was experimenting with styles, and Arthur’s good for the vest and blue coat, don’t you think, Al? He’s got that aristocratic look, just perfect.”
Alfred was giving Arthur one of those annoyingly bright and floppy grins behind Helen’s shoulder. “Arthur. It’s Shakespeare Day.”
Arthur knew that was going to come back to bite him at some point.
-----
It wasn’t as bad as Arthur feared, even though the first time he saw the costumes Helen had picked up for them, he had to swallow his protest of “but those are 18th century clothing, not 16th century!” But Helen was a talented designer - the coat fit him snuggly, over a white shirt and black vest trimmed in gold, and when Arthur tied off the maroon cravat around his neck and tried to comb his sandy blond hair into submission, the frilled ends of the white shirt flapping with every movement, he felt strangely out of time and space. Even the shoes were correct - for 18th century British wear, that is.
He had another jarring moment when he trailed after Helen to the little booth the students set up right before the fairy forest. Alfred was already there, dressed simply in a white shirt and cravat and a dark olive vest. Arthur knew Alfred would protest against wearing any of the fancier coats; he could hardly keep a suit jacket on for the duration of a meeting - but for one moment, Arthur was irrationally glad for the sight of Texas on Alfred’s face.
Then Alfred had turned to him, and his eyes widened, and he almost dropped the stack of programs in his hands, and Arthur couldn’t help the self-satisfied smirk that flashed across his face.
They were swamped with visitors within a half hour, the Shakespeare festival opened to the entire community, and it being a Saturday. There were a few harried, bored faces in the crowd - people no doubt forced to be there by their teachers, or dragged there by a significant other or sibling - but for the most part everyone Arthur spoke to loved at least one or two of the Bard’s works, and Arthur couldn’t help the buoyant feeling in his chest, especially when he heard some of his own people, with their distinct accents, in the crowd.
It was discomfiting though, the number of people who kept asking if they could take his picture, including a smug-looking Helen.
Alfred came to find him during one of the lulls in the stream of visitors, bringing a warm pastry with him and two paper cups, one of cider, the other of grape juice. Arthur wondered about that, until he remembered that they were in a high school, and the school board couldn’t possibly serve mead or wine.
“Enjoying yourself?” Alfred asked, breaking the pastry into pieces. Steam rose from the chunks of meat and gravy.
“Immensely.” Arthur abandoned all pretense of formality, and used his hands the same way Alfred did. He licked some gravy from his fingers and smiled.
Alfred looked like he wanted to kiss him, so Arthur ducked away, hissing “there are people here with cameras.”
Alfred considered that for one moment, then pulled his watch from one pocket. Arthur had insisted he take it off, since digital watches did not go with period clothing. He stared at it, then snagged Arthur’s hand.
“The performance is going to start soon, and I think we’re cleared to take a break.” He dropped their paper plate and cups as they passed by a trash can, and the two of them ducked into the darkened fairy forest, with only the small lamp lights lighting the way.
“Sure you didn’t pull me into the fairy’s forest so you can have your way with me?” Arthur said coyly, reaching up to brush his fingers lightly across Alfred’s cheek, and watched Alfred flush.
“No! Heroes don’t take advantage of people like that.” He paused, then rubbed his head sheepishly. “Unless you want me to, that is.”
Arthur laughed, and picked his way through the forest to a corner where they could see the stage, but was still shrouded from the audience by the backdrop and greenery. “So, I heard it was your idea to make this a Midsummer themed celebration.”
“Yup.” Alfred was being all clingy now that they were somewhat safely hidden, slinging his hands around Arthur’s hips from behind and hugging close. “You know how sometime last decade, when I came to London and we watched Romeo and Juliet and you read out the lines for me during the lover’s scene?”
“I-I can’t believe your remember that. You ended up sleeping through the rest of it.” Arthur ducked his head, and stared hard at his hands atop Alfred’s, willing his blush away.
“Of course I remember.” Alfred’s voice went all low and warm. “It was sweet, Arthur.” And he gave Arthur a squeezing hug - Arthur felt like he was being squeezed a lot today. “But! That’s not how I want us to be!”
“Eh?”
“You know, with Romeo thinking Juliet died and killing himself, and Juliet waking up to find Romeo dead and, well, killing herself too. Any story that ends with the lovers dead is definitely not a proper love story.”
“That’s because it’s a tragedy. And you were the one who picked it that time.”
Alfred shrugged a little. “I was tired, and anything was okay if I was watching it with you, you know?”
“And A Midsummer Night’s Dream… what? Suits us better?” Arthur asked, a little bewildered. “I’m not sure that lovers whose feelings are so easily manipulated by some magical elixir serve as the best role models.”
“Well, no. I mean-yeah, so Lysander and Demetrius are kind of lame, fighting first for Hermia, then for Helena, but that’s not the point, I guess?”
“You guess?” Arthur glanced back at Alfred, just so he can see his less-than-convinced expression.
“Not I guess, then,” Alfred pushed on. “The point is, the four of them were in this chaotic mess, right? And you have Titania who falls in love with an ass - literally - and that’s pretty messed up. But at the end of it all, they’re back with who they really belong, at least for Lysander and Hermia. Uh.”
“Go on,” Arthur said, amused, because it was endearing to see Alfred trying to make head and tails out of Shakespeare’s plays.
Alfred slumped a little, his chin digging in slightly into Arthur’s shoulder. “Okay, so maybe the lovers aren’t the best analogy - you’re right, Demetrius had to be drugged, uh, elixired to love Helena, but it’s just... you know what Puck said?”
He pulled away and swung Arthur around so they were standing face to face. “Puck went around fixing Lysander so he goes back to loving Hermia, and he says this, right? ‘Jack shall have Jill, nought shall go ill; the man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.’”
Alfred’s hands are wrapped gently around Arthur’s now, even though he’s speaking as though he’s tripping over his tongue to get the words out. “I just thought it’s kind of like us. How we went through all that stuff, with me leaving, and us fighting, and fighting until the War, where everyone was fighting, and despite all of that and the economic crisis and natural disasters, well, we’re together now, and all is well.”
Arthur didn’t know what to say. His cravat felt tight around his throat, and the silence was stretching out between them despite the muffled sounds from the audience and the teens setting up the stage. “So. Am I Jack, or am I Jill?”
Alfred blinked, and Arthur moved closer, threading his fingers through Alfred’s and holding on tight. “’Jack shall have Jill, nought shall go ill,” he repeated, smiling. “So which am I?”
Alfred’s eyes darkened. “You’re mine,” he simply said, and Arthur nodded, closing the space between them and hugging Alfred close, breathing in the scent that reminded him of sunshine and broad blue skies and was uniquely Alfred’s.
“Sometimes, you surprise me,” he said, and his voice wasn’t raw, his throat was not tight and he was not crying. “Thank you, Alfred.”
Alfred was nosing into his hair. “Am I awesome, or am I awesome?”
Arthur groaned softly. “Neither.” Alfred opened his mouth to protest. “You’re brilliant,” Arthur said, and pulled Alfred down by his cravat for an opened-mouth kiss that was warm, a little rough, but just right.
Behind them, Puck flitted onto the stage with his magical elixir to work his mischief.
end
--
Notes!
[1] Shakespeare Day. It doesn’t exist yet. But the British Shakespeare Company is calling to make April 23, the day Shakespeare died (and possibly, when he was born) National Shakespeare Day. The proposal has backing from several Cabinet ministers, and if all goes well, it’ll be official. When? I have no idea. But I imagine that Shakespeare being as popular as he is that the celebration will be picked up around the world. My high school English teacher implemented a Shakespeare Week, even though I was no where near the States at that time.
[2] 2011 and 2016 are the next years where April 23 falls on a weekend. 2011 seemed a bit early.
[3] Alfred and Arthur’s 18th century costumes - I admit, my biases went in. cannedebonbon drew me a fabulous fanart of Alfred and Arthur in period clothing (don't get put off by Edgeworth and his violin - scroll down!), and it was too gorgeous for me not to mention it. According to her, they’re dressed in 18th century clothing, Alfred with Texas and all. Go look and comment!
[4] A Midsummer Night’s Dream is a comedy featuring three interconnected plots: the bickering fairy king Oberon and queen Titania, the runaway (and chasing) lovers, and an acting troupe. Puck, on Oberon’s demands, goes off with a magical elixir that makes the victim fall in love with whoever they first see when they wake up. Puck accidentally charms Lysander, creating a whole series of messy conflicts between the lovers. The lines Alfred quote are the ones Puck says at the end of Act III, when he goes and decharms Lysander, restoring the lovers back to their proper relationships.
♥ Thank you for sticking until the end of this!
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