I started writing this and realised that this is kind of like a fan fiction I've already read and Rosen Maiden. However, it's got a lot of differences (I started listing them to myself and my minor heart attack at possibly accidentally copying someone's work was eased.) So... Yay.

Also, this was influenced by listening to Her Clockwork Heart by Vernian Process. The story in that song is completely different but I just listened to a few words in the song and this idea popped into my head. I think the song, from what I remember, is someone making a clockwork heart for a woman so they live as long as they do. But, like I said, this is different.

Everything else will be explained at the end.

"Happy birthday, son," said his father with a gentle smile. Beside him, his wife also smiled, nodding her head in encouragement.

Alfred stared at the gigantic box, wondering what was in it. Apparently, they felt bad about dragging him on a long journey across the ocean to settle in England, of all places. He didn't understand it. Just over a hundred years beforehand, his ancestors had shucked the oppressive hand of imperialism but his parents wanted to live in it to 'improve their trade'.

So now there was an enormous box in their London house and he was supposed to be happy. Trying not to roll his eyes, he lifted the latch and opened it to stop his parents' pestering.

Inside, lay what appeared to be a young man, his eyes closed and his hands folded on his chest. "Argh!" cried Alfred, throwing himself backwards and letting the lid drop with a bang. "What on Earth?!"

His father chuckled. "Do not be alarmed, son. It's a clockwork doll."

Eyeing the length of the box, Alfred shook his head. "But... it's about the same size as me."

"Yeah, I thought it would be an interesting and unique birthday present." Downstairs, a clock chimed, indicating that it was five o'clock. "Ah. That's the signal for your mother and I to leave. We'll be back soon, so enjoy your present. The servants will make you a large dinner, just for you, too."

Frowning, Alfred looked back up at them. "But-"

He was cut off by his mother leaning over to give him a kiss on the forehead. "Behave, please," she said, smiling gently.

And so he had to watch his parents go off to a dinner some important merchants were holding especially for them. Apparently, his parents were popular over here and they had decided to arrange a party on the 4th of July. Of course, neither his parents nor the merchants were at fault, considering his birthday wasn't publicised. However, this was the loneliest and the worst birthday he had ever had.

Sighing as he heard the front door snap close, the sound echoing throughout the house, Alfred opened the box once again. Gazing down at the life-like doll, he noted the messy, blonde hair and the rather large eyebrows. Its hands were slender and delicate. The clothes were old but not faded, as though they were well kept. In fact, the style seemed to be something from a few years ago. Lying within the box was a top hat and cane.

Wondering what colour the maker had made its eyes, he reached out to touch an eyelid. It was soft, like skin. He shivered but took a breath to calm himself and slowly pried its eye open. Inside was what appeared to be an emerald, it glowed so brightly. The eye stared straight up which unnerved Alfred so he closed it again.

Carefully, Alfred lifted it in his arms till it was in a sitting position. Surely there was some way to work it? But there was no key sticking out of its back. Letting his eyes rove over the interior of the box, he finally spotted a smaller one, nestled at the doll's feet. Laying the doll back down, he picked it up and opened it. Inside was the key, an intricate pattern of flowers decorating it. He pulled the doll back up and, after searching for the keyhole, he inserted the key and began to turn it, listening to the cogs turning and clicking. Finally, he let go and sat back, leaning the doll against the wall and waiting.

Nothing happened and Alfred sighed. Well, that was a let-down, he thought.

Standing up, he turned to go. He was stopped in his tracks as a sudden breeze swept across the room. It was so strong, he staggered back a little before regaining his balance. Confused, he glanced at the window – it was closed.

That was when he heard the whirring from behind him. Eyes wide, he slowly turned back to the doll. Its legs had already bent and it began its jerky process of standing upright. Once it was, it stepped over the box and swung its arms and legs. It shook its head from side to side.

And then it rolled its neck like a normal human.

Alfred shook his head in disbelief. There was no way a doll could move so smoothly. He watched in awe as the thing stretched and yawned. Eventually, it turned to him, acknowledging his presence. It bowed and, when it straightened up, it opened its mouth.

"Hello. I expect this will be quite a shock for you. My name is Arthur. And you are?"

Not knowing whether to flee or attack, Alfred found himself answering. "I... I'm... Alfred Jones."

"Well, Mr. Jones, it is a pleasure to meet you." said the doll and held out its hand. The American shook it, still rather dazed. "Are we still in London? You do not sound as if you are from England. I do not recognise your accent."

"I'm American."

"Ah. Interesting. Am I in one of the states, then?"

"No, London."

"That's a relief. Although... It makes me wonder why you are here..." Arthur stopped and looked Alfred up and down. "You know, you are taking this considerably better than the last person. Granted, that one was a girl. But it's not every day a doll comes to life."

And that was when Alfred passed out.

Alfred woke up on his bed and tried to recall how he had gotten there. He was still fully clothed and was on top of the thick covers. Something heavy and cool had been laid on his forehead. Reaching up, he realised it was a cloth. Was he ill?

"Ah, you are awake. Good evening," said a familiar voice and everything came rushing back.

With a cry, he sat up and stared at the doll who was calmly sitting on the chair he had pulled up. "W-What are you-?! How-?!"

"Please," said Arthur, raising a hand to stem the flow of questions. "Let me explain."

Frowning, Alfred picked up the damp cloth and threw it onto his bedside table. "Okay..." he said, warily.

"I am not a doll."

"Could've fooled me," muttered Alfred. The glare he received from those glowing eyes silenced him.

"When I was younger- Well, I suppose that I am the same age as that time... I apologise, let me try that again. A long time ago, I came across a beggar woman. She demanded that I take her home or she would die. And she was rather rude about it. If she had asked nicely, I would have acquiesced her request. However, with the haughty way she was acting, I refused.

"This did not sit well with her and... she cursed me. From now on, I will be a doll, only able to move when I am wound, for a finite period of time. I did not believe her but... I went to bed and woke in a stranger's room, a poor young lady who got quite the fright. She kindly explained that she had bought me as a doll from a shopkeeper who had acquired me. Most likely, he stole me from my estate. I have changed hands quite a few times.

"May I ask what year it is?"

"Uh..." said Alfred, still trying to take in his explanation. "It's 1910."

"Ah? And how does the British Empire fare?"

Alfred shrugged. "I dunno. Don't care, either."

For a few minutes, they stared at each other. Arthur appeared to be irritated by the response. Alfred wondered if he would hurt him. Suddenly, though, he sighed, startling Alfred who flinched.

"Then, may I ask where you found me?"

"I didn't. You're a birthday present. Ah, uh... That sounds bad. Sorry." Alfred stared down as his good trousers, smoothing the creases just for something to do.

"No need to apologise, young man," Arthur replied, waving his hand. It was amazing how fluidly his hand moved. "I expect you would like me to hide somewhere during the day?"

"What?"

Arthur looked at him as if he was slow. "I doubt you want your servants or family finding me. Yet, I have nowhere else to go at the moment."

"Oh." Alfred blinked, thinking. "Well, nah. You don't need to hide. I'll just tell everyone I made a friend."

"Just like that?" Arthur looked surprised and Alfred grinned.

"Yup."

The next morning, Alfred dragged Arthur into the dining room where his parents were eating breakfast. Oddly enough, Arthur seemed a bit skittish but Alfred ignored him to focus on his words. He waited until the couple blinked up at him in bewilderment, still looking a tad tired from their late night.

"Hey, mother, father. This is a friend of mind. He needs somewhere to stay – he can, right?"

They looked at each other before his father shrugged. "It's fine with me. I'm sure... I'm sorry, what is your name, sir?"

"Ah, I am Arthur," said the doll, hurriedly.

"Well, I'm sure Arthur here will be able to keep you out of trouble, son." And with that, his parents went back to eating.

Arthur looked startled and glanced at Alfred who shrugged. Now that it had all been sorted, Alfred pulled Arthur to the table and they sat. Instantly, servants appeared and placed plates and bowls in front of them. In the middle of the table were the plates of food: haddock, bacon, omelettes, crumpets, apples. There was also a large urn filled with porridge which Alfred dove for. Beside him, Arthur stared in wonder at the food.

"What's wrong?" Alfred asked in a whisper, glancing worriedly at his parents. Could Arthur eat or was he cursed to never taste all this good food?

"It is... I have never seen so much food for breakfast," breathed Arthur, obviously awed.

Alfred grinned. "Yeah. We have it good." And, with that, he took a bite of his toast. As he ate in his wayward way, he watched Arthur take some eggs and toast and hesitantly nibble at it. When the doll smiled, Alfred grinned. It seemed Arthur enjoyed the food and, for that, he was glad.

"Thank you for this, Alfred," said Arthur, smiling at him from atop the tailor's stool.

"It's not a problem, Arthur," Alfred replied, returning his smile. "Can't have you wearing those old-fashioned things." He gestured at the pile of outer clothes beside him. Apparently, his last mistress had insisted on proper clothing for a 'young British gentleman' and Arthur had happily obliged since his previous clothing had become slightly outdated. Once again, he had been left behind in the fashion world and Alfred had felt it wise to use his parents' money to get some tailored for him. It was the least he could for Arthur brightening up his life with actual conversation instead of passing remarks.

"Though, I must say, this new fashion is rather more informal in appearance. What has the world been doing?" Arthur raised his arms for the tailor as he said this, raising his eyebrow in unison. Alfred found it an amusing act but stopped himself from laughing.

"I hear the Prince of Wales is to blame – but, then, whatever good came out of there?"

Arthur chuckled, something Alfred found he rarely did. This caused Alfred to grin as he watched the tailor measure the inside of Arthur's leg.

With his measurements done, the tailor stepped back. "What exactly were you hoping for, sir?" he asked Alfred.

"A few morning dress and evening attire. And, I suppose, just in case, some sportswear, if you could," answered Alfred with a smile.

"Sportswear?" asked Arthur, blinking.

"Yeah, we can go find out what the British do for sport, right? Shooting, I think. And horse-riding. Do you know how to ride a horse, Arthur?"

"Of course," replied the doll with a sniff. "I am not a simpleton."

"I never said you were," said Alfred, smiling again.

It was a couple of days before the tailor brought back beautifully made clothes. And Alfred noticed that he must have found Arthur's eyes as striking as the American did, for he provided cravats and tweed coats with brilliant greens in them. When Arthur wore them, Alfred couldn't stop himself from staring at the handsome, confident man in front of him.

Alfred sighed again. It was a muggy night in London and, once again, he couldn't get to sleep. But he needed to – tomorrow, he and his parents were to go to luncheon with an important family. A young lady would be there and he needed to look his best.

Rolling over, he sighed and suddenly sat up, throwing the thin covers from him. There was nothing to be done. He would have to find something to tire himself.

He slipped from his room and started down the corridor. Outside of Arthur's room, he paused. Was the doll asleep or awake? Perhaps they could have a game of billiards. So, quietly, he knocked and entered the room.

Crossing the room in the dark, he could already tell that the doll was sleeping, his soft breathing reaching Alfred's ears in the silence. Another sound reached him: the mechanical noise of gears turning with a soft ticking. He had noticed it coming from Arthur's chest on occasion and he knew that that was the only thing which indicated that he was still the doll he had awoken two weeks ago.

When he reached the bed, he turned on the lamp, the glow illuminating the peaceful face turned towards him. Blinking, he crouched down, staring at the smooth face. Arthur looked just as he did the first night he had seen him. Of course, now, he looked less stiff and more like he belonged in this world.

Not knowing why, he found himself lifting an arm and brushing his fingers along his skin. Still soft. Then he sighed and poked his cheek. "Arthur!" he whined. "Wake up!" The doll groaned and his eyelids fluttered. Alfred poked him once more. "Wakey, wakey! I'm bored. Come on!"

Finally, those eyes opened and Alfred found himself staring into vibrant, green orbs. "Wha' is i'?" he asked, groggily. "Wha' time i' it?"

"I don't know. It's the middle of the night. But I can't sleep. Come play billiards with me."

Slowly, Arthur pushed himself up on an elbow, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. He cleared his throat before he spoke. "Alfred... No. I doubt I would be able to concentrate well enough for that," he mumbled.

"Aw, but-!"

"Why not listen to a story?" Arthur shuffled over and patted the space beside him. "A bedtime story, hm? It might help."

Alfred hadn't needed a bedtime story for some time. However, he shrugged and sat down beside Arthur. They both rested against the headboard and Arthur began, Alfred watching him.

"Once upon a time-"

"Stories always start like that," Alfred interrupted. "Why is that?"

Arthur stared at him, unimpressed. "Because all stories start at some point in time, though people can never know when exactly. May I continue?"

Under his glare, Alfred flushed. "Um, sure."

"Then... Once upon a time, a young fairy-"

He couldn't help it – Alfred snorted. "F-Fairy?" he asked, giggling.

"Yes, a fairy," snapped Arthur. "If you do not want to listen, you can leave."

"No, no!" gasped Alfred, struggling to contain his laughter. "Don't mind me."

Grumbling, Arthur shifted into a more comfortable position. "Well, there was a young fairy. He was one of the few male fairies in the world and he had golden hair and eyes like the sky. For as long as he could remember, flying when the sun was up was forbidden, yet he wished to fly when he could feel the warmth on his face and see all the humans and animals. His parents forbade him, though, and, when he petitioned the king and queen, they explained why.

"'If humans discover that we truly exist, they will try to exploit us. You must never, never fly in the sun. It is law.'

"But the fairy-"

"What's his name?" asked Alfred.

"Eh?"

"Well, it'll be easier for you to tell it if you know the name, right?" reasoned Alfred.

Arthur sighed. "I do not know his name. What name would you give him?"

"Hm. How about... Joseph. You can call him 'Joe' for short."

"That is a horrible name for a fairy," protested Arthur and Alfred chuckled at his indignant expression. His pouting was rather adorable. No wonder he was such a hit with his former mistresses, if his stories were to be believed.

"Then, what about Peter. 'Pete' for short."

Arthur nodded his assent. "Right, then. Peter was told not to fly in the sun-"

"You already said that part."

Sending a glare his way, Arthur pushed on. "However, he didn't understand what was so wrong in having the humans know about them. He believed that humans wouldn't exploit them, that they were nice people, just like the other fairies. And so he went flying in the sunlight one day, desperate to see the world in the warm light.

"It was more beautiful than he could have imagined. The golden fields dancing in the breeze. Seeing that his eyes were as blue as the sky above, such a beautiful colour compared to the bruising colours of the night, he was overjoyed. Animals frolicked and the world seemed more alive."

Alfred could almost see the story unfolding. If this was their world that he was describing, it must have been the most dazzling and wondrous thing from Arthur's eyes. No longer with the gumption to interrupt, he watched Arthur's animated face as he continued his tale.

"And he could see humans. For the first time in his life, he understood what the mythological creatures were. They merely seemed to be larger versions of his people but without wings. Surely they couldn't be too bad...

"So he flew down to a farmer boy with hair like a raven and eyes as dark as mud. Understandably, the young man was startled and frightened. For these humans had been told awful tales of fairies stealing children into the night. Surprised at this, the fai-" Arthur paused.

"Peter," provided Alfred with a yawn.

"Ah, yes. Peter taught the human how to communicate with the fae and how to recognise their homes. The human was awed and promised never to forget them. And, when Peter had left, he didn't. In fact, he tried to teach the rest of the people in his village.

"Unfortunately, the villagers believed him to be possessed by demons or controlled by the fae and quickly killed him. However, they had listened to him enough to know how to find the fairies and the proceeded to hunt them down.

"The humans didn't want to exploit the magic of the fairies. Their time apart from the magical creatures native to their land had caused them to fear magic. It had caused them to persecute them and kill any who dared practice it."

Now, Alfred's eyes were wide. He was leaning forward, gaping at Arthur's face. How could this happen to his amazing world? Why was Arthur so calm?

"Meanwhile, Peter had decided that he could never go back to the moonlight. He yearned for the sun and would not be oppressed. It was as he flew over his old home that he saw the massacre taking place.

"How could this be? Why would humans do something so vile? He didn't understand and so he rushed down, trying to help.

"However, he was hit by a human, batted away, and he landed unconscious in the grass several feet away. When he came to, it was over. The humans had surprised the sleeping fairies and had the upper hand in numbers. None survived. Peter was the only one, all alone."

"That's awful," breathed Alfred.

"It's not over, love. Don't worry just yet," Arthur assured him. "Peter did not know what to do but now he had his freedom – at a horrible cost. So he began to fly around the world, hiding from humans, avoiding them. He made sure to keep up with the news, keep up with human affairs. Perhaps there would come a time when people accepted magic into their hearts again. Perhaps he could talk to humans when that happened and he would no longer be lonely."

After a brief pause, Alfred found himself twisted round, staring intently at Arthur. "Is... Is that it?"

"The story has never been finished," explained Arthur. "For he still travels the world to this day, only venturing to speak to gifted children now and then. So, please, make sure to watch out for him."

"Hey!" cried Alfred. "That's a horrible end! You have to tell me! Please, Arthur. I'll never get to sleep if you don't." He pouted for added effect but Arthur only chuckled.

"Alfred, my dear, the story is a metaphor. If you can figure it out, you can give the story a happy ending yourself. Now, off with you – I am tired and I wish to sleep."

"Don't want to," said Alfred stubbornly. Quickly, he wriggled under the covers before pulling Arthur down beside him. "Let's go to sleep like this. You can tell me better stories till I fall asleep."

Arthur sighed but obediently settled down. However, he didn't speak. The only sound that Alfred could hear was the ticking of Arthur's clockwork heart and, eventually, he drifted off.

"I'm going to make sure the people hiring us the boat are still fine with it."

"We only just arrived here, Alfred. Are you not tired?"

"Nope."

"Look, we can check on that tomorrow. Let us just get to our room."

Pouting, Alfred sighed and hurried over to help with the bags – only to be beaten to it by a porter. Grumbling to himself, he followed Arthur and the porter into the hotel.

They had decided on their trip a few days previously and had even taken one of his father's new cars to drive to the Lake District. Upon asking around in London, Arthur had learned that the Lodore Falls Hotel was a good place to stay. It was close to the falls themselves and faced Derwentwater Lake. The view was outstanding and the house was a beautiful old thing with ivy creeping up the walls and around the windows. Huge, it towered above them as they drove up the driveway and Alfred had almost crashed the car because he had been staring up at it. Luckily, the valet had shouted at him and he had managed to hit the brakes in time. He had sheepishly handed it over to the man who was thankful to be on the other side of the wheel.

Once they had been settled into their room with much pomp and circumstance, Arthur disappeared to talk to the people running the hotel. Alfred sat on the bed, pouting, until the doll returned with a piece of paper in hand. Waving it at the American, he grinned.

"I have discovered many places we can visit by car whilst we are here. And I contacted the man hiring us the boat by telephone. It will be ready for us to use at any time."

"Really?" asked Alfred, lighting up. "Then let's go now!"

"Now?" asked Arthur, eyeing one of the two beds present.

"Yeah, come on. We can waste away in here later." With that, Alfred grabbed Arthur's hand and dragged him from the room.

The man's boat was situated on the shore of the lake so the two of them made their way to it on foot. It was a lovely walk wherein they made raucous conversation and watched the trees dancing in the breeze. Birds sang overhead and the clean air was heaven to breathe after being in London.

When they finally got the boat onto the water and had gotten into it, Alfred insisted on rowing to release some of his energy. Arthur agreed – but only because he 'knew Alfred would end up rocking the boat otherwise'. Alfred laughed at that. The few months they had spent with each other had taught them much about their companion.

For instance, whilst Alfred could eat much of what was served for their meals, it seemed that Arthur was used to smaller pickings. Apparently, the portion sizes Alfred was used to did not match what Arthur had been used to before he had been a doll.

Arthur loved to read and had gotten his hands on many history books within the first week of his stay. Soon he had known much more about the world's recent history than even Alfred had been aware of. Apparently, he wanted to see the huge cruise ships that Britain was building. In fact, next year, if it was possible, he hoped to sail on the RMS Olympic.

Conversely, Alfred wanted to fly. He had heard about the amazing feat of the Wright brothers when he was younger and, now, he wished he could have a flying machine of his own. Most people laughed at him when he said this and his mother told him that he was forbidden from ever stepping inside such a death trap. Arthur, however, had been amazed by the development and, although he seemed filled by trepidation at the thought, looked forward to when it would be available for the public, too. They had spent an afternoon in which Alfred ran around with his arms spread, making noises, as Arthur giggled uncontrollably on the floor.

Of course, Arthur was, first and foremost, a gentleman. Even though he would happily rough house with Alfred, he would put a stop to their activities if someone was present or if he had felt they had gone on long enough to be no longer dignified. He had been terribly embarrassed by losing his composure at Alfred's antics that afternoon – once he had finished, he had apologised profusely. Alfred, of course, did not care and told him that he preferred him acting like that than the snob he obviously was. The American had laughed at Arthur's outrage and they had begun another round of helpless guffaws.

Now, Arthur was gazing at the landscape, smiling softly. Eventually, Alfred stilled the boat and drew in the oars. Arthur lay down on his half with a sigh. "This is perfect," he sighed as he stared up at the sky.

Alfred watched him. "Hm?"

"I never got much of a chance to see things like this with my past mistresses. They seemed to be situated in London and never travelled much with me. It would be awkward and undignified to travel with someone who was not a member of the family. Now, though, it seems you are going to insist on me coming on such adventures."

Grinning back at the smile on Arthur's face, Alfred nodded. "Of course! I'm not going to leave you behind."

"Because I'm your doll?" Arthur looked hesitant, now, and was biting his lip.

"What? No, don't be silly," said Alfred, his smile softening. "Because you're my friend."

The smile returned to Arthur's face and he turned his head to look out over the water. "Your friend, hm?" he murmured, staring at the shoreline.

They hadn't lived in England for half a year when he was told of their plans to move back. Alfred would be back amongst his own people and in the land that he loved. Ecstatic, he rushed to his room where Arthur was likely to be.

When he couldn't find him, he asked one of the maids before heading out to the garden. It was small yet there was plenty of plant life: herbs and vegetables for the kitchens, beautiful flowers for the ladies and majestic trees to cover the occupants from the sun whenever it appeared. In one corner was a rose bush which Arthur seemed to be drawn to and always insisted on tending himself. Alfred watched him for a moment, touching the petals and sniffing at the scent, before he approached him.

"Arthur! Guess where I'll be by Christmas!"

Blinking, the doll turned to look at him. "Oh? You are going somewhere?" he asked, tilting his head in question.

"Yeah! We're going home!"

"Home...?" Arthur knew how Alfred felt about being uprooted so Alfred knew he would understand what he meant. "So you will be back in America?"

"Exactly! I can't wait! I get to see all my friends again! And my horse! I never thought I'd miss her so much but-"

"What... What will happen to me?"

Alfred paused and surveyed his companion. He was unnaturally tense, his slim, delicate fingers clenched around a rose stem. The American's eyes widened as he saw something red dripping from them.

"Arthur!" he cried, grabbing the doll's hand and wrenching it away. "What are you do-?!"

"What will happen to me?!" Arthur repeated at a shout. He was staring at the ground, breathing fast. "You... You won't put me in that box while I'm still wound will you? Even if you don't, what will I do? I have no papers or money or-"

"Don't be so silly," said Alfred, smiling. "You'll come with us, I'll make sure of it."

This caught the doll's attention and he looked up. "But... I am just 'a friend' to your parents. They would not take kindly to my accompanying you, would they? Besides that... I do not know how this magic works." He shook his arms for emphasis. "What would happen if the magic stops working when I leave England? I do not want to die as a doll."

"It'll be fine," Alfred assured him, gripping the doll's arms. "I'll protect you, okay? I know those girls made you protect them, but I will not let you get hurt again. Come, we had better get you a bandage for this."

He wondered when it had happened. How could he not have noticed the way his heart beat faster, the way he kept glancing across, the way his breath caught at a touch? Why was it such a sudden realisation?

"Hey, Arthur...?" said Alfred, trying not to look up from his school work.

"Hm?" came the reply from the other side of the room. Arthur was back to reading now that everyone had settled into their home in Charlottesville.

"How... Well, when... Have you ever been in love?"

There was a silence and, after a while, Alfred glanced up to find Arthur staring at him over the top of his heavy book. His grip on it was tight which was unusual – Arthur usually handled books with the utmost care.

Finally, he spoke. "Um... No. I... I was betrothed once – arranged, you see – but I never loved the woman. She was French and always tried to put me down. I hated it and I disliked her, even if she was sometimes kind to me. She ran off with a Spanish man, a prince, she claimed. When she did, I was so embarrassed – as was my family, I suppose – that I took to the sea." He chuckled suddenly. "I suppose my only real mistress will be the ocean."

"Oh," was Alfred's pitiful reply. Should he comfort him? It ached to see him rather down heartened. Alfred knew he had now lived longer than him and had seen more than he had but it worried him sometimes to see the man lost in his memories.

They returned to their tasks for quite some time. The only sounds in the room were the scribbling of Alfred's pen, the rustle of the pages in Arthur's book and the ticking of the clock. Or was that ticking coming from Arthur's heart?

"Do you... Do you know when you know... you know?"

"Excuse me?" asked Arthur, furrowing his brows at the embarrassed boy.

"Well, do you know how to know when you're in love?"

Green eyes slowly blinked. Alfred thought that no reply was forthcoming so he was surprised when Arthur eventually opened his mouth. "When you feel as you do."

"H-H-How do you know how I feel?" cried Alfred, alarmed. Had he been too obvious? What should he do now?

"Hm, I have no doubt that you are asking this question for a reason. I can only imagine that you feel attracted to someone and are unsure as to what to do next. Am I correct?"

Alfred nodded. "I don't... Am I truly in love or is it just a passing fancy?"

"That, I do not know. However, perhaps you can find out."

"How?"

"If your feelings only grow, then it is love, I believe. However, if they fade with time or you find yourself attracted to another woman, then it was probably just a fancy. Now, concentrate on your work or the governess will chase me out next time."

With that, Arthur returned to his book. Alfred, though, stared at him. Arthur had answered his question marvellously.

For Alfred had realised that he was attracted to the doll for some time. He had been horrified, of course, but his feelings had grown. Now he found himself craving his smile, his laugh, his touch. There were plenty of pretty women in Charlottesville, yet none held his attention as Arthur did.

He was in love.

The months passed and, soon, it was Alfred's seventeenth birthday. It was also the anniversary of Alfred meeting Arthur and he decided to give him a present. After several weeks of searching, he had finally found the perfect present. He had actually been giving Arthur a lot of presents lately and the doll seemed to be rather confused by it. However, he accepted them in good cheer.

He found Arthur in the rather bare garden and was glad no-one else was around. If anyone saw him giving presents to another man on his own birthday...

"Hey, Arthur! It's Independence Day!"

"Indeed it is," said Arthur without turning around.

"And it's my birthday!"

"Indeed it is."

"And it's the one year anniversary of the day we met."

"Indeed it is."

"So I got you a present."

Slowly, almost jerkily, Arthur turned around. Alfred immediately grew worried: Arthur was graceful and light on his feet. This did not seem like him at all. He also appeared saddened. Before Alfred could question it, though, Arthur's eyes lit up at the thing in his hands.

"Is that... a sapling?"

"Yeah, a rose. We can plant it right now, if you'd like."

"Yes, please," agreed Arthur. "Go and get a trowel," he added as he hesitantly took the pot.

Alfred nodded and hurried off, returning with the tool. He found Arthur in a corner, beside the wall. Handing the tool over, he crouched down and watched Arthur work. Several times, Arthur's arms seemed to jerk but Alfred only bit his lip as he oversaw Arthur digging a hole in the earth and gently placing the plant in. After he had secured it by patting down the loose earth, Arthur rose to his feet. It was such a jolting movement that Alfred leapt up and steadied the doll.

"Arthur, what's going on? Are you ill?"

Turning to him, the doll gave him a sad smile. "I am sorry... for this to... happen... on your birthday," he said, his breathing laboured. It seemed to Alfred that he was struggling to stay standing on his own and to speak at the same time.

"What? What is it?"

"I am winding down."

Staring, Alfred shook his head. "B-But... That's not a problem!" he declared. "I'll just wind you up again."

The doll's head turned to the side with a jerk before turning to the other. Alfred realised that Arthur was trying to shake his head. "I cannot... find the key. The box was not... in my trunk."

"What?!" exclaimed Alfred. "But... We lost it? I lost it? How could I lose it?!"

"It would not... have mattered."

"Why not?"

"Because... a person can only... wind me... once."

Suddenly, Arthur's knees buckled and he fell to the ground. Alfred dropped with him, catching him before his whole body went crashing to the path. "N-No! There must be something I can do! How do I break this curse?"

"I... know not." Arthur's eyes found Alfred's. "No-one has... broken it before. I did not... expect you... to."

"No! I have to do something! I-" For some reason, Alfred could not bring himself to declare his love for the doll. It was something unwarranted and severely frowned upon. After all, love between two men was not something natural in this world.

"There is... nothing..."

But Alfred had suddenly remembered the fairy tales that Arthur had told him over the months. True love's first kiss. So, instead of trying to voice his feelings, Alfred hurriedly leaned over and kissed Arthur.

At first, Arthur's soft lips did not budge. Then, slowly, they began to move with Alfred's. The American was ecstatic. Not only was he kissing his love, but he was responding! And, surely, the fact that he could respond, was encouraging.

Unfortunately, all of a sudden, the lips pressed against his felt as hard as porcelain instead of the softness of skin. Arthur's arm dropped. And the gentle ticking Alfred had become accustomed to hearing ceased, bringing an absence of noise so heavy that Alfred sat up. In his arms was his doll, his Arthur. His glassy eyes stared upwards at the sky. There was no expression on his face but he looked peaceful.

Alfred was found a few hours later by his father, weeping over the doll his parents had given him a year ago. It was the loneliest and worst birthday he had ever had.

And this is where I was originally going to leave it. Hurrah for a two-shot instead.

I'm sorry they jumped through time a lot. I only wanted to give snippets of their time together before... well. And, of course, point out that Alfred falls in love with him. Unlike most of Arthur's past owners who were young girls and only saw him as a plaything which they could hide from their parents when he was alive.

That brings me onto the whole Toy Story-esque feel of Arthur not wanting to go in the box. It's not that he doesn't like the dark, etc, but that box pretty much feels like a coffin and he has had to spend long periods of time alive and ticking (heh) hidden from view in it. Let me tell you, he was very surprised he got his own house in Alfred's place.

Alfred's parents are, like, upper-middle class merchants. Well, his dad is. And they found him in an old curiosity shop they discovered in London. Whether it was still there after the doll had been bought is a matter for you to debate yourself because, really, I don't know.

Alfred fainted because: doll moving and talking by self = (Chucky) possessed doll = ghost = ARGHAFAGREIOFNVJK* ##1! Or something along those lines.

Arthur's bedtime story started off as just a really sad story and then transformed into a metaphor. If you know what the metaphor is, you win a cookie or something. Oh! And, the funny thing is, the end of the story was the only part of the metaphor to begin with. Then, suddenly, I added some piece of Arthur's back story in and, suddenly, the whole thing is a metaphor. (That just gives you a clue to the metaphor. So you get a scone instead. My scones never rise, though...)

I was originally going to have Arthur doing some sport which is why sportswear came up at all. The sportswear - and I think the rest of the clothes - were all the fashion because that's what the Prince of Wales was wearing. It's slightly shorter in the jacket than the Victorian stuff Arthur was wearing and they didn't wear top hats and stuff. Edwardian times, yay. (Still prefer the Victorian era.)

I looked up the differences in breakfasts between Victorian and Edwardian - there were a couple more things listed in Edwardian times than in Victorian times. Also, I read a historical fan fiction where Edwardian times seemed to be concentrated on eating more. (In case you're wondering, that was 1912 by Robin Rocks.) So I just presumed the portion sizes and the meals would be slightly bigger.

It's 1910 only because I wanted to have them be able to go back to America without being caught up in the Titanic. (Which is what that 1912 story is about.) As such, the RMS Olympic was mentioned because I was going to mention the fact Arthur wanted to sail on the Titanic - only to realise that the Olympic hadn't been finished yet and it would make more sense to mention her than her sister ship.

It's also 1910 because I wanted Alfred to be 16 here and to also be able to serve in both World Wars. Aren't I nice to Alfred in this story? First, Arthur goes back to being a lifeless doll with no key and no way for Alfred to wind him back up, then he gets to witness both World Wars first hand.

Lodore Falls Hotel is a real place which the website stated had been there for 400 years. So I'm presuming it was there when Arthur and Alfred was there. Drentwater- That lake is the place it's beside and the Lodore Falls is also real. (People get their wedding pictures done in front of them, apparently.)

I picked Charlottesville for where they live like this: Google Maps - zoom out - drag over to America - zoom in a bit - pick the first place I saw (Charlotte) - decide North Carolina is a bit too far south for my liking (for some reason - I don't know why) - go north - pick Charlottesville. You know what's weird, though - my British spellcheck was fine with "Charlottesville" - but the American one on this site hates it.

Oh, yeah. The spell on Arthur means that only the person who winds him remembers he is a doll. The rest of the household have never seen him before and never question where the gigantic doll is. (And this is not only because I realised halfway through they should be wondering where the doll went...)

Onto the next chapter! It'll be up soon. Hopefully. ^^"