24 April, 2014

A silver convertible raced down Interstate 10, weaving in and out of traffic. Horns honked at the reckless driver, who looked a little too relaxed at the wheel. His two passengers gripped the edges of their seats, wind tossing their hair back and forth.

"For God's sake, Arthur! You'll kill us all!"

"Calm down. I'm a spectacular driver."

"If you were such a spectacular driv- SHIT! There's the exit!"

The tires screeched as Arthur jerked the convertible through two lanes, cutting people off and barely grazing the median as he swerved into the exit lane. Alfred wasn't sure if he wanted to open his eyes. Arthur laughed. "It's the first time you've let me drive your new car. Let me enjoy it."

"Never again, you sadist," Alfred grumbled. "I will never let you drive again."

"Was that an innuendo?" Alfred swatted him, and Arthur grinned, sparing a quick, affectionate glance at the American. "I'm in the mood for music."

"Fleetwood Mac?"

Alfred connected his phone to the stereo as Arthur commented, "You read my mind."

"So, you adjusting to the Los Angeles heat yet?"

"I'll never get used to American heat. Never."

Alfred laughed, trying to sooth back his hair as the wind destroyed it. "What about you-" Alfred turned, looking at the old man who looked flustered in the back seat. "-Gideon?"

He glanced at Alfred, wrinkled face belying his once handsome youth. "I live in Florida, bastard. I know what heat is."

Alfred grinned and turned back around in his seat. "Miami, right?"

"That's the one."

"Me and Iggs live in Florida during the winter. Then we go back to England in the summer."

Gideon mumbled, "I know, Alfred. You've told me that thousands of times. I'm 91, not deaf."

"I still find it uncanny," Arthur called back to Gideon over the wind, "That you live only an hour away from us."

"Where are you two young whippersnappers taking me, anyway? I'm too old for this."

Alfred and Arthur glanced at each other through their sunglasses. Arthur tried to suppress an excited grin.

"You'll see."

—

They arrived at the house on the outskirts of Los Angeles. Alfred practically jumped out of the car, helping Gideon out, which was quite a feat. "I can walk," he snapped. "I'm not an invalid."

"Just old," Arthur called back, walking up to the door. Gideon rolled his eyes as Alfred stuck close to him and helped him up the steps of the porch, and rang the doorbell. The door was already open, and the only thing that separated the three from inside was the flimsy screen door. Gideon curiously peered through the screen.

"Coming!" A loud, almost rusty voice called. Alfred felt chills crawl down his spine at the familiar voice, and glanced at Gideon, who looked antsy and unsure of what to think.

An old (and yet, somehow still sprightly) figure walked to the door, humming some familiar 80's song, and the screen opened.

Lou's gaze caught Gideon's, and they stared at each other, eyes wide.

"Happy Birthday, Lou," Arthur announced, grinning at the old man.

He laughed- that wonderful, stupid, loud laugh- and it brought tears to everyone's eyes, including his own. He grabbed Gideon's shoulders and jostled him, crying out, "Look at you! You still look wonderful!"

Gideon swatted at his hands, but was enveloped in a hug anyway. Even though he hated outward displays of affection, he had never been able to resist Lou, and embraced him back, sighing contentedly.

—

Alfred leaned forward on the couch, watching Lou as he told stories of what had happened to him after he was transferred, how he had gotten back into America, how he grew old, alone, wondering what had ever happened to his friends. Gideon and Arthur washed dishes in the kitchen- the two had become close after the war, anyway, because Alfred always planned trips to visit Gideon every month they lived in Florida.

"I never got to say goodbye," Lou was murmuring, watching the two in the kitchen. "What happened afterwards?"

"Modi and Stan were killed. Modi in a freak accident. Stan was shot down. Coleman left... and Maury did, too. Ezer became head of the IAF sometime after the war. Gideon and Arthur and I stayed around until it was over."

"Ah, Modi Alon. I thought I'd never hear that name again. How is Arthur?" He asked, hand on his chin.

Alfred glanced at the blonde, laughing about something in the kitchen with Gideon. "He has nightmares every now and then," Alfred murmured. "The night he finally remembered, he woke up screaming, and eventually passed out from over-exertion. It was..." he trailed off, searching for the right words. "It was frightening."

"That happens to me, every once in awhile. I wake up from a nightmare." Lou smiled. "But, he's blessed, Alfred. To have someone like you to come home to." There was a sense of longing in Lou's voice, his tone, and Alfred shook his head.

"I don't know about that," Alfred huffed, running a hand through his hair. "I think it's the other way around."

Lou leaned back in his seat, looking out the window. "It's funny. We were all just stupid, foolish men who found what we were looking for... by taking the risk of losing everything."

The truth in that statement was unequaled. Alfred looked out the window, too, as Lou continued, "What ever happened to Sefi?"

Alfred grinned. "I see him every now and then. He still looks the same as you remember him."

"I'm jealous. You get to look young 70- somthin' years later and I age horribly." Lou glanced into the kitchen, where Gideon's eyes caught his. Lou winked, and Gideon presented him with the finger, turning to continue putting dishes away.

"You know something? You two might say you changed, but you never really did," Alfred commented.

"Perhaps you're right," Lou chuckled. "Ah, I almost forgot! You're gonna love this. They wanna make a movie."

"Who? What movie?"

Lou relaxed, pulling a blanket off the couch and resting it over his legs, a grim reminder of how long he truly did have left on earth, flamboyant personality aside. "Some Spielberg person. Wants to make a documentary about the IAF pilots. She asked if she could interview me."

"What did you say?!"

"I said yes, of course," Lou affirmed, a pleased expression on his face. "And now that Gid the Yid's here, maybe he'll help-"

"Not on your life," Gideon called back from the kitchen.

Lou and Alfred laughed as Arthur shouted, "He's old, not deaf!"

Turning to Alfred, Lou murmured, "You and Arthur could be in it, too."

It was tempting. No one really knew about the sacrifice they had all made, because it had been illegal to help Israel anyway. No one talked about it. No one praised them for founding the Israeli Air Force. Now, maybe they would get the recognition they deserved.

"Nah," Alfred answered. "I'll leave you and Giddy to it."

"Are you sure?" Lou asked again, eyes pleading. "You deserve just as much as we do."

Alfred felt someone watching him, and turned, catching Arthur's eyes with his own. He looked content, hands pressed against his cheeks, and he nodded at Alfred, as if supporting his decision. Alfred replied without breaking their gaze, "We'll be fine. And we'll watch the documentary when it comes out. What's it called?"

Lou nodded, accepting the denied request, and looked up, humming, "Mm... Above and Beyond, I think?"

Arthur sat down beside Alfred on the couch, their thighs brushing as Arthur commented, "That's quite fitting."

Things hadn't ended the way Alfred had wanted them to end. People whom he had grown close to had died, had been torn apart from others, had suffered too much for one to suffer. He'd realized his own flaws too late, and had suffered the consequences of his actions.

His relationship with Arthur wasn't perfect by the world's standards. Arthur, behind closed doors, woke up screaming from nightmares, was as hormonal and emotional as a teenage girl, and snapped at Alfred when he was upset. But, when he wasn't haunted by his past, Arthur was thoughtful and kind, charming and good-hearted, able to read Alfred like a book and comfort him. He was still the same Arthur that Alfred had fallen in love with. If it wasn't perfect by the world's standards, Alfred would be damned if it wasn't perfect by his standards.

Chuckling, Alfred glanced down at the Brit by his side, who self-consciously looked away while still scooting closer to the American, searching for his hand and twining their fingers together. "It really is, isn't it?"

Thanks for reading!

I can never stress my love for my reviewers. You all make me happy, especially those who have commented multiple times. (You know who you are!)

Seriously, though. First completed fic ever. And I want to know how to improve, so feel free to P.M. me or leave a review.