Of Fights and Muskets.

For someone with as poor of a taste in, well… Everything, Arthur was always amazed at how classy Alfred's rather large home was. And as messy as the American seemed, everything had its place tucked away either on a high cherry wood shelf or was carefully arranged on a matching cabinet. As the Englishman lifted his tea cup to his lips, he began to wonder how the same man who left his home in absolute disarray each time he visited could live in this neat of a space… And then he remembered that Alfred was scarcely at his own home; he was either screwing around at Arthur's house making his life miserable or wreaking havoc at a world meeting, spewing idiotic theories and ideas that had no realistic value what-so-ever. The china teacup clanked against its saucer quietly and Arthur cleared his throat, breaking the silence as the other emerged with a mug of coffee.

"I'm impressed, Alfred," Arthur began. "Your home, at least, is far neater than your appearance." He commented at the loudly laughing man who sat on the couch across from him. His long, blonde bangs bounced with the laughter and added a soft frame to the lightly tanned man's face. His lips curled into a gentle smile as he began to talk.

"C'mmon, Iggy, lighten up. We haven't hung out in a while!" Cringing at the nickname, Arthur merely sighed into the rim of his tea cup. Suddenly feeling awkward, Alfred shifted while sipping his coffee as more of a way of making himself look busy. Arthur made no eye-contact and sighed louder this time, so the younger nation could hear. "…You can't still be mad about what I said at the meeting."

"Your response to my request was hardly appropriate." Glaring at him, Arthur spat out his words.

"Everyone else thought it was funny…"

"Yes after I say to you, 'then stop giving it to me.' The logical response is most definitely, 'that's not what you said last night.'" His words were venomous as the American stifled a laugh, earning a well-deserved glare from the other. "I don't think you fully understand why I'm upset."

"Yeah, I do, you're angry because I made a joke!" The larger blonde said with an eye roll. Arthur put his tea cup down on the coffee table in defeat.

"No, Alfred! I'm angry because you constantly go against what I taught you to behave like and you just act on your own whims."

"Okay, okay, I get it. I won't do it again." Alfred saw that Arthur was getting at the point of total seriousness that he was getting borderline angry. He also knew that it wouldn't be a wise decision to poke a sharp stick at the sleeping beast in front of him. To silence himself, he took a large gulp of coffee, almost sighing in relief when the Englishman picked his tea back up. Alfred swallowed the liquid hard before another smile touched his lips. "Besides, if you keep flying off the handle at stupid things like this, you're going to give yourself a heart attack, old man."

"I'm not old, git!" Arthur yelled while standing up with his fists balled at his sides. Realizing what he had done, Alfred jumped up and backed away from the enraged English nation who was yelling more obscenities than Alfred had ever heard in one place.

"Arthur, chill! I was—"

"Yes, joking! Everything's always a bloody joke to you!"

"Not everythi—"

"Oh really now? You sure do use that excuse for everything!"

"Will you let me talk?" The blue-eyed nation hated to be silenced and battled for dominance of the situation.

"Fine, go ahead and speak." After the smaller spat his words out, Alfred stood quiet for a moment.

"Well… Now I have nothing to say."

"I'll alert the Queen that the impossible has occurred."

"Okay, until you calm down, I'm gonna go out for a bit." The American said more calmly then he intended, sending the other even farther over the edge.

"You're just going to leave." Arthur stated more than asked.

"Yeah, because you're pissed and all you're going to keep doing is yell at me." Alfred shrugged while walking to the door at the opposite end of the room and grabbed his bomber jacket.

"You're damn straight I'm going to keep yelling! You need to remember how I raised you because I know I didn't raise you to behave like this!" Alfred rolled his eyes dramatically and opened the door. It had begun to rain heavily in the time the Englishman had been in the home and Alfred frowned harder. He walked out the door, not saying anything further while Arthur huffed and continued to yell. "And don't drag your ass back here until you remember to appreciate me and what I've done for you, prat!" The door slammed as his heavily accented voice echoed through the house and back to him. Plopping back down on the couch, guilt immediately began to sink in. His green eyes traveled to Alfred's coffee mug where a few stray splashes had made puddles on the dark stained table, showing tiny reflections of the Englishman's guilty eyes. He pushed himself up from the couch, trying to reason with himself that he was correct in his actions that he took with Alfred. He couldn't find any comfort in his thought and began to walk towards the main hallway of the American's house, trying to clear his mind. Looking at the doors lining the corridor, he noticed the gold painted designs of leaves embellishing the outer corners. Arthur ran his fingers delicately over one of the designs feeling the brush's texture under the tips of his digits.

'Alfred must have painted each of these doors individually…' He thought while looking at how many doors there really were in this corridor alone. About half way down the hall, there was one door that didn't fit with the grandeur of the rest of the American's home. Its wood was faded and dull, with no decoration to make it easier on the eye. Almost curious as to what lay behind it, Arthur moved towards the door and gripped the door knob gingerly, as if it would snap off in his hand. 'This is none of your business,' a voice said in his mind. Shrugging to himself lightly, he opened the door to the dimly lit room, his eyes drawn quickly to an old suit that was hung lazily over a full body mirror. Walking over and touching the material lightly, he smiled. That was the first suit that he had ever given to Alfred.

'He despised this so much…' He thought with a small airy laugh. Looking at the stained and wrinkled material, Arthur wondered why Alfred hadn't thrown it away. Replacing the suit to the mirror, the English nation could see a glimpse of his reflection, his face still flushed with the anger he felt for the man he was now nearly forced to reminisce about.

In the mirror, his eye was caught by a brightly painted box that sat slightly behind his left foot. The man turned around and crouched down to hold the box in his delicate hands. Opening it, the faded soldiers stared back at Arthur with empty eyes as he reached down to curl his fingers around one of the figures. He remembered the hours that he spent carving their bodies and painting their faces; he remembered the pain his hand was in as it rested limply in its sling.

'His eyes sparkled so brightly when I gave this to him,' Another smile graced his lips as he thought about Alfred and the grueling amount of time he spent playing with the soldiers. 'I think he thanked me every time he played with them. Now, what happened to the sweet Alfred who cherished everything I did for him?'

Placing the figure back into the box, he was surprised at how worn the soldiers had become and once again found himself wondering why Alfred hadn't thrown them away. Realizing just how important the things were the he was finding, Arthur was about to leave the room when something caught his eye. Feeling his heart stop and then swiftly leap into his throat, his green orbs traveled the length of the musket that sat on top of a few stacked boxes. Slowly gathering the courage to pick the object up, Arthur looked at the misplaced dust along the gun barrel where large fingerprints had recently touched. The Englishman breathed in a shaky breath and touched the wound that he, himself, had inflicted upon the wooden butt of the weapon with his bayonet when striking the young American's in one of the most horrifying moments of his life in Yorktown.

It was then that his ears focused to listen in on the rain that fell outside and Arthur felt his chest clench with the guilt he felt for accusing Alfred of not caring about him and forcing him to leave. There was no way in heaven or hell that Alfred didn't care about him if he was here in this room looking at all these things that to an outside eye would mean nothing; he had kept everything, even the painful memories still attached to each item.

Feeling his eyes close tightly, warm tears poured down his cheeks as he hugged the cold musket to his body. His knees hit the floor with almost no pain as he continuously stroked the wound in the wood with his index.

The front door cracked open as Alfred poked his head in the front door, making sure the coast was clear before walking in. Two bags of McDonalds were tucked safely under his arms as he kicked the door shut behind him, dripping rain from his form collecting in a slight puddle on the hardwood floor.

"Iggy…?" The American called cautiously. "Iggy, you still here?" There was no vocal response which pushed the tall blonde man to walk forward and place the bags on the coffee table. His head turned to gaze down the hall where his cerulean eyes were drawn to the open door which stood out from the rest. Listening closely, over the rain, Alfred could fear the soft labored breaths coming from down the corridor and nearly leapt into action. Darting down the hall, he discovered Arthur on the floor, soft sobs shaking his very small frame. "Arthur?" There came no response from the older man who remained with his eyes shut tightly, hugging the musket to his chest as if it were a child. Alfred crossed the floor and crouched next to him, adjusting his glasses to make sure nothing was deathly wrong with Arthur. "Hey now, why're you all upset?"

"Al-Alfred," Dropping the weapon, Arthur threw his arms around the other's neck, feeling the wet droplets of rain that clung to Alfred soaking through his thin shirt. "I'm sorry." He cried into the other's neck, nearly hiccupping in the middle of his sentence. Arthur did his best to inhale through his nose and out of his mouth, smelling the leather of Alfred's jacket mixed with the food he brought in.

"Arthur, I'm not mad…" The taller encircled his arms around the English nation's small waist. He heard the other mumble something into his shoulder before seeing his arm point at the musket that now laid alone on the cement floor in front of them both. The American stared for a few moments and swallowed heavily. "Oh, that," He laughed nervously. "I mean, it's pretty important, right? I couldn't just throw it out." Arthur pulled back, his emerald eyes hazy with unshed tears, which nearly broke Alfred's heart on the spot.

"What I said before you left, about you not appreciating me or what I did, I'm sorry." The smaller man retreated to clinging to the larger, desperately holding onto his shoulders while his sobs started to quiet down, realizing that Alfred was not going to say anything further.

"Iggy, I'm not mad at you!" He said again with a light laugh. "Just calm down, you're freaking out on me." Sniffing slightly, Arthur pulled back again and rubbed his cheek dry with a hand.

"Of course I was 'freaking out,'" He smiled slightly while Alfred held out a hand to help pull the two up off the cold floor. "You slammed the door and left!"

"I only meant what I said, I just didn't want you to keep yelling at me and wanted to let you chill out." The blue-eyed man smiled warmly, the other's gaze forced away to the floor. He still had a question plaguing his mind.

"Alfred, may I ask you something?" Arthur asked quietly.

"Uh, sure?" The other stared dumbly, cocking his head to the side and allowing his hair to slide across his face.

"Why on Earth have you kept all these things in here for so long?" The simple question left the usually full-of-answers American silent. Truth be told, he never reasoned with himself as to why he couldn't bring himself to throw anything out, he just would say that it was of importance and left it at that. Arthur's eyes looked up, the green flashing brightly back at Alfred as they caught the light from the hall and damn it, they could distract him easily. "Is there a reason?"

"It's because they all remind me of you, and I can't throw anything away that reminds me of you." Smiling widely, Alfred managed to speak without a tone of uncertainty anywhere in his statement which warmed Arthur's heart to the point of him reaching up a light hand to his chest, almost to quiet his heart which beat slightly faster. A blush tinged his pale cheeks as he went to inhale breath to say something back but was stopped by the younger's lips upon his. A hand rested on his still damp cheek while the other gripped the wrist of the arm that covered his heart while Alfred moved his lips gently and cautiously over Arthur's in a delicate dance that the two were both afraid of ending. The taller pulled away, earning a light whimper from the other man, and kept his position. "I don't want to forget anything, that's why I kept all this junk."

Feeling a lump forming in his throat, Arthur pushed his lips to Alfred's again, moving them in a more passionate kiss than they had been engaged in before. The American's hands found their way around Arthur's waist, pulling him close while Arthur's hands tangled into his bright blonde hair, not releasing the tresses even when he pulled back for air. Alfred's glasses were crooked on his face, causing the Englishman to have to stifle a laugh as his fingers glided to straighten them. Alfred felt himself beginning to laugh as well, before knowing where the situation was going to lead to.

"Hey Iggy, now I have a question for you." He smiled brightly.

"Yes, of course, what is it?" Arthur held a passionate tone of voice and half expected to be plunged into another kiss.

"…Before we move it to the bedroom, I bought food. Can I eat it first?"

"…" Not allowing the shorter man to fully express his answer, Alfred pecked him on the lips again before scooting out of his arms and to the hallway with his head peaking around the door frame.

"Thanks, Arthur!" He sang while bounding down the hallway. Arthur merely shook his head with a smile before following the other's lead and walked out of the door. His hand rested on the door knob as he pulled the door shut, the objects in the room being painted in black shadows as the door clicked shut and Arthur moved on down the hall.

XxXxXxX

And with this fanfiction, I celebrate 100,000 archived words. Thank you all for making that possible!

--KB (Kyosbeads13)

I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.