AN: I've been cheating on The Way Things Seem with this. I felt like I needed practice writing Arthur. The prompt is from the kink meme and I've been putting it up there, but have only gotten one review on it. So if you guys would letting me know how my Artie comes across I'd really, really appreciate it.

Prompt: When implanted in a person's wrist, a Timer counts down to the day the wearer finds true love. If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know? The interesting premise that people can get Timers telling them when they will meet their soul mate. Francis thinks he has lots of them and is secretly insecure and afraid of being lonely or left. Arthur thinks he's better alone and doesn't buy the Timer's crap even if inside he really wishes to find his soul mate. Make it happen somehow, good funny, tense and original EnglandxFrancis. Bonus: if sex Arthur tops! hell yes...

The Timer Articles

Arthur sat across from his boss while the other man loomed over his desk. Papers were stacked high and three half-empty mugs of coffee sat forgotten on the desk. Two different tablets were flashing in the corner and Arthur could hear the morning rush as people were trying to wrap up the latest edition of the paper. Of course all of his articles had all been handed in yesterday and submitted to editing. The day that he was caught running around the newsroom like a witless chicken was the day he pronounced his undying love for a Frenchmen.

Arthur focused back on Ludwig's unappealing offer, "We'd pay the expense of having it implanted and double your current commission on every Timer piece written until you meet your soul mate."

Arthur grit his teeth, "Why do you want me to write this so badly?" Arthur demanded.

"It's almost Valentine's Day and everyone loves a good soul mate search."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the answer and Ludwig continued on, "and Hourglass International is paying us top dollar for running the story."

Arthur threw his hands up in the air, "Absolutely not!"

Ludwig huffed in exasperation, "Arthur you're not really in a place where you can turn down a project like this."

No, he wasn't but even still. A Timer. How utterly tween. How insufferably sentimental. Arthur glowered at the other writers through the glass. He was content with his gardening columns and People's Court segments. When he asked for more work he hadn't thought he'd get offered this tripe.

Ludwig continued on, "If your not due to meet them for several years you'll only be responsible for one article every six months and one for major holidays. The commission price would be set on a scale to increase as the years do."

"I don't like it," Arthur grumbled.

"That's fine," the blonde growled, "You don't have to. Some of the more skeptical buyers might be relieved to hear that. Make it seem like it's not just a product for needy thirty-somethings desperate for a ring."

Arthur grit his teeth, trying to imagine what it would be like writing about his personal life for the foreseeable future and felt queasy. But Alfred was going to need new baseball equipment in the spring and Matthew had just been offered a place at the Summer Music Intensive he'd been desperate to get into. The Briton rolled his neck and sighed.

"Triple my going rate," Arthur demanded, "If everyone else is going to be a voyeuristic leech about my soul mate search then I want triple."

"Done," Ludwig agreed immediately.

The correction was made in red ink on the contract and Arthur signed the dotted line with a flourish.

"Your appointment is this afternoon," Ludwig said.

Arthur pushed down the growing feeling of unease by thinking of the bills he'd be able to pay off. At least he wasn't doing this project twenty years ago when the technology was still new. Now people were used to seeing the occasional person with a Timer ticking away on their wrist. It was still a novelty, it wouldn't be the side show that he'd witnessed several times as a child.

Timers weren't pre-set devices, that's why each one was so expensive. They all had to be custom made. When Arthur walked into the waiting room at Hourglass International he was prepared for luxury, but the opulence was overwhelming. He could pay for Al and Mattie's schooling for the next four years if he could get away with one of those jade statues. He scowled at the green elephants. There were so many better uses for that money.

A slim blonde greeted him from behind the counter. She was beautiful with an angular face that reminded him of a feline. Her hair was just a shade paler than honey that floated around her face in loose curls. She was the kind of woman that should have no problem finding a partner, but nestled under her skin were five lines of ruby numbers. Three years, eight months, four days, one hour and eleven minutes. Arthur's eyes flicked up to hers and she smiled at him. Her smile was straight and white like tiny little pearls.

Arthur set his face into a frown, "Arthur Kirkland from The New York Times."

"Yes Mr. Kirkland, we've been expecting you."

A thick packet of forms were slid across the counter to him. The blonde cheerfully explained, "If you could just fill these out for us while you wait."

Arthur's frown deepened, he'd never heard of paperwork before. Just show up have them insert the Timer and poof, you got a soul mate. Arthur stalked over to a chair and sat down primly. A blue pen was clipped to the top of the board. Arthur filled in his personal information before looking over the rest of the page.

The paper was cluttered with open ended questions and true or false. Arthur growled but settled in, if he was going to get a Timer then it was going to find him the best bloody soul mate possible because he wasn't sure how an average person would make his life any better. Question One: When alone in public, do you usually start conversations with strangers? Arthur raised his eyes heavenward. He might need a little divine intervention to make it through this process with his sanity intact.

Once he had worked his way through their questions with several, NO ABSOLUTELY NOTs, scratched into the paper Arthur was taken to the back. The implant room was rather like a doctors office only with better quality furniture. He took the time alone to scribble a few notes to himself, some of the more idiotic questions were recorded (really the audacity to ask if he would rather be caught masturbating by his mother or father!) and the obvious receptionist slash advertisement on legs.

In today's world it was still somewhat of a novelty to see someone with a Timer so it was no fuss to sneak a peak at someone's Timer. But to blatantly put a sleeveless, young receptionist with a short countdown at the front desk screamed of emotional manipulation. Arthur wasn't sure how many other people would catch that but he'd make it glaringly obvious so not even Alfred could miss it.

The door opened and a middle aged man stepped inside. Arthur flipped his notebook closed and stood to greet the man. From under the hem of his coat Arthur could see an ice blue numbers with twelve years on the top line. Arthur winced, another reason that he wasn't thrilled with this moronic idea. If he had to wait forty years to find his supposed soul mate he wasn't sure he wanted to be reminded of that every time he looked at his wrist.

"Hi Arthur, my name is Dr. Stanford. I'll be implanting your Timer," the man grinned as they shook hands. If he were any happier Arthur was sure his tongue would be lolling out of his mouth like puppy on his first car ride.

"Please, it's Mr. Kirkland, if you would Doctor," Arthur replied and returned to his seat.

The doctor's smile dimmed for a moment before coming back full blast, "Of course! Sorry about that Mr. Kirkland. I'm just so excited to be working with you. After all it's not often we have famous writers implanted."

"Understand Doctor," Arthur said the word with all the distaste that he could muster, "that were I not being paid to write about this little," he pursed his lips, "experience, I never would have stepped within a hundred meter radius of this office."

Dr. Stanford winced and nodded. When he continued his tone was decidedly less... bouncy.

"Well I just need to collect a few samples so the Timer won't be rejected after implantation. Then we'll..." he glumly prattled on as he completed the collection in precise movements. Arthur struggled not to lecture the man on pouting. He likewise restrained himself from asking why the man had felt it necessary to do a nurse's work. Overall he was ready for this deplorable experience to be at an end. With a final clipping from Arthur's nails, Dr. Stanford slipped off his gloves.

"The Timer will be ready in a week. You can schedule an appointment to pick it up on your way out."

Arthur nodded and slid down from the examination chair. His mind was already revising the grocery list now that he had a little extra money. Real maple syrup for Matthew and Häagen-Dazs ice cream for Alfred.

"Good afternoon then," he said as he strode from the door.

Arthur pushed open the door to their flat with his hip. Yellow bags of groceries hung from his arms. The walls vibrated from Matthew's music.

"Boys, I'm home!" He called up the stairs.

There was no response. Arthur rolled his eyes and continued on to the kitchen. With all the bags hanging from him he could almost pretend the aching in his wrist was from the weight rather than the thing in his arm. Arthur settled the bags on the counter and made his way upstairs. He passed by Alfred's room for the one pulsing with music.

He knocked on the door once before opening it. Twin blonde heads whipped up. Alfred was sprawled across Matthew's bed with textbooks scattered around him while Matthew was at his desk. Arthur smiled at the sight. Matthew lowered the music.

"I'm home," he announced and not even a second had gone by when Alfred was scrambling off the bed.

"Whoa Artie!" Alfred exclaimed, "You didn't tell us you were getting a Timer!"

Matthew nodded next to him, his gaze still fixed on Arthur's still sore wrist. Blast! He'd forgotten his sleeves wouldn't cover the damn thing.

"I'm making dinner," he said retreating from the room.

"Wait!"

He could hear both of his brothers following him so Arthur kept his pace quick. Hopefully if he got down to the kitchen he'd be able to distract them with junk food… or fend them off with a pan. He didn't run from them, a hasty retreat if that, but none the less, the boys cornered him in the living room.

"Come on! You can't just get a Timer and not tell us about it!"

"Yeah they're really expensive," Matthew joined in, "I didn't know you wanted one. We could've saved up and got it for your birthday."

Arthur huffed, "I didn't want it. It's for the Times."

"Can I see it?" Matthew asked with wide eyes.

With a groan Arthur settled himself into his chair and raised his arm up for the boys to look at. Best they do it now otherwise they'd try to sneak a look while he was sleeping tonight. Alfred whooped and raced over. His big hands yanked on Arthur's arm to get the Timer closer to his face.

"Gentle Alfred!" Arthur chastised.

"Sorry, sorry," he replied and Arthur could see the boy smiling even with his eyes closed.

Matthew's cold fingers replaced Alfred's and the manhandling became far more soothing then it had any reason to be. He could hear the boys whispering about dinner and Arthur made an effort to keep from sleep's embrace, but drowsily realized he had already crossed the boarder into dreamland.

That night Arthur stared at his wrist using the glow from his reading light. More specifically, the numbers on them. The pad of his pointer finger dragged around the navy blue zero. He was glad the color wasn't a garish orange or pink. He would have had to wrap his wrist in bandages everyday if that were the case. The numbers were cursive-like and reminded Arthur of mist on a London morning. The five lines read zero years, five months, twenty seven days, nine hours and fifteen minutes. The blonde peered over at the calendar hanging on the wall. He did the math, July, 3 at 8:13 am. Then he used his fingers and double checked. When the date and time remained the same Arthur rolled over and buried himself under the covers. Of course it'd be then. Maybe he'd get himself a new bracelet in the morning. A thick leather one. Yes, that sounded like a brilliant idea.

The next few weeks progressed as they normally would. After the entries on receiving the implant, his writing had thinned. Ludwig furiously instructed him to write about what his ideal soul mate was like or his fears about the search. After a month of less than satisfactory work Ludwig threatened to cut his work on the People's Court (which was really the most fun he had while writing) so he could spend more time on The Timer Articles. So Arthur buckled down. He was a professional.

One snowy night after the boys were in bed, Arthur cracked open a cold beer and pulled out his laptop. The cursor blinked innocently at him. Arthur set his fingers to the keys and stalled. He let his head drop on the back of the couch and closed his eyes, trying to imagine his perfect soul mate. When he drew a blank he decided to start with everyone else and hope some focus would come as he wrote.

12/02/14

Secretly we all wonder what our soul mates would be like. The thought keeps teenager girls up past their bed times and has businessmen daydream through afternoon meetings. My soul mate is not one I've waxed poetically on in the past. He (because if my Timer tries to give me a woman I'll swear off all romantic contact and become a monk) wouldn't be anything like me. He'd be sweet and charming with a ridiculous grin rather than a fierce glare. We'd argue over world literature and debate the virtues of socialism.

Arthur got stuck after that. He deleted several frivolous line and the timid line that, He'd love my cooking,' was relegated to the bottom of the page where he couldn't see it. Fantasies like, He'd be alright helping me raise my brothers, didn't get written period. His inner desperation wasn't fit to be aired to the world. The keys clicked away as Arthur continued on.

If we're going to be petty, I'd like him to be shorter than me. I detest looking up at people. Hopefully he'd be from Great Britain because I regularly need to purge myself of American culture by watching Dr. Who marathons and if my soul mate couldn't appreciate that then he'd bloody well better have a better method (read: be an incredible shag) so I can lie back and think of England.

Arthur stared at the litany of wishes scribbled across the page and slammed his laptop closed in disgust. The rest of his beer disappeared in one long gulp. With his closed his eyes Arthur massaged his forehead. He took several deep breaths and tried to reassure himself that a real soul mate wouldn't leave him over his brothers or cultural quirks. Calmer Arthur pulled his eyelids open. Navy numbers loomed in front of his eyes. He yelped and pulled his left hand from his face. Where had that damn bracelet disappeared to?

It was an ugly March afternoon. Grey clouds hung low in the sky. The last tendril's of winter hung in the air, keeping them from packing away the scarves and mittens. To perk the boys up, Arthur took Matthew and Alfred over to Modca. The trendy café was a favorite of theirs and the perfect place to enjoy something sweet while they all got some work done. The rich smell of coffee hung in the shop. Across from Arthur was a half finished worksheet which was being ignored by Alfred so he could slurp the whip cream off his frozen, blended caramel something or other. Next to him Matthew had some how managed to curl into a ball in his chair. A narrow copy of The Outsiders was perched on his knees.

Arthur glanced back to his own work and grimaced. His inbox was over flowing with comments and questions on the Timer Articles. Over the last ten years, books had been published about the soul mate search, but they were either fictional or dull as all hell. He remembered when he was a boy and David Beckham got his Timer, Arthur had read everything he could get his hands on about it. A loud slurp had Arthur looking up over his screen long enough to raise an eyebrow at Alfred. His brother gave a muttered sorry and Arthur disappeared behind his laptop again.

The list of questions he'd got over the last two months ranged from dull, What's it like having a Timer? to the ridiculous, Can you feel your soul mate through your Timer? Most of them would go unanswered, but others were the perfect fodder for new articles. The one he was set to write on asked, Do people treat you differently when they notice you have a Timer? The answer was easy, yes. Now he just had to go through the gritty bits like how and why.

09/03/14

Everyone is marked by society. Some are inherent marks like gender and race while others are voluntary like fitness, tattoos or piercings. Of course, Timer implants fall into that second category. Before my implant, I perceived people with Timers as rich, type A personalities. It wasn't a conscious distinction, but as a child the people I saw getting Timers were always such people. It may have been true back then, but that's not the case any more.

Yesterday morning I was at David's Tea for a cuppa when a tiny grey haired woman struck up a conversation with me. At first I thought she was just particularly friendly, but our conversation turned towards finding happiness. Only after her third glance down at my wrist did I realize she was interested in my Timer implant. I told her about the experience and asked if she would ever consider an implant. She replied that was that she was, "far too old for such excitement, but it thrilled her to see young people taking a chance on their happy endings." She ended up paying for my tea and continuing on her way without another word. She didn't assume that I had all the money in the world or that I was a control maniac who couldn't stand to be with someone other than their "true match." Rather she just figured that I wanted to find the person that would complete me.

So in short, yes, people do treat you differently when you have a Timer. My experiences have been largely positive, but I can assure you, just as I believed Timers were all rich type A personalities, there are still conservatives who find Timers to be an outrageous emotional-scientific manipulation that caters to the wealthy.

"Hey Artie?"

The older man hummed, still typing. Some of the lines were awkward and others lacked punctuation.

"Do you know Algebra at all?" Alfred asked.

Arthur's fingers paused over the keyboard. He looked up at his brother to see him playing with his straw staring at his math homework.

"A little," Arthur answered, "do you need help?"

Alfred scratched the back of his neck and nodded quickly. Now that Arthur was looking he could see dark smudges on Alfred's paper from where he'd erased his answers.

"Well slide over and let's see if two heads are still better than one," Arthur said.

Alfred pushed his homework across the table. He climbed up onto the chair and leaned into Arthur's shoulder with a sigh. Arthur rubbed the boy's back as he stared down at the paper, trying to remember the last time his math had letters in it.

AN: Again please let me know how you feel about Arthur! Especially his British-ness :D If anyone is interested in the rest of the fill I've got it almost completely written so I can upload asap!

Disclaimer: Someone just brought it to my attention that there is actually a "TiMER" movie. The first line in the summary was taken from the LJ prompt which was apparently taken from the imdb page (at least from what I can trace) and therefore belongs to who ever originally wrote it. Meaning not me.