Chapter 10

It was early in the morning and only the emergency room was open. Arthur was quickly moved onto a gurney and wheeled away, and Alfred, Francis, and Feliciano were left to wait. Alfred was pale, and he was given some tissues to keep his nose from bleeding any more. As soon as it was clear that Arthur was not going to be wheeled back out any time soon, he disappeared outside to make a phone call. When he came back inside, he sat down stiffly next to Francis and Feliciano and stared grimly ahead.

They were eventually told that Arthur had stabilized (amazingly quickly, the nurse added) and that he was fine, but that they wouldn't be able to see him until visiting hours the next day. They were told to go home and get some rest.

A black car with a government license plate picked them up outside the hospital and drove them to a hotel. Alfred was silent, but according to the driver, Alfred's phone call had sent a squadron of FBI agents to Gilbert's mansion. Gilbert, his top men (including Elizabeta), and the Mafia were already gone, but a lot of personnel and information had been left behind. It was unlikely that anyone would try to track Arthur, Alfred and company down now, but it was better to be safe than sorry. A guard had been put on Arthur on the hospital, and he would remain under guard for as long as was necessary.

At this last piece of information, Francis glanced at Alfred. Alfred was staring moodily out the window. Whether the guard was only the keep Arthur safe from harm was doubtful; the FBI had gone through far too much trouble to secure him to let him escape from their control now.

At least Arthur was safe.

Alfred and Francis left early the next morning to get Alfred's broken nose tended to. Feliciano was exhausted, and he had had enough of white buildings to last him for a lifetime, he explained; he would stay at the hotel and rest before his debriefing that afternoon. So after Alfred's nose had been set and taped in place, Alfred and Francis went to visit Arthur.

Arthur was sleeping. He was pale and there were bags under his eyes. As they watched, he frowned slightly in his sleep. Otherwise, there was no sign that he had been injured; the sheets covered him neatly up to his chest. Still, he was very different than the grumpy, energetic Arthur that Alfred was used to.

Alfred hesitated by his bedside, unsure what to do. He had gone a little pale himself. "He doesn't look so good."

"It might help if you held his hand," Francis suggested gently. "If you think of something calming, it will relax him."

Alfred looked at Francis with a slight frown. "Even though he's asleep?"

"Yes. It's something to keep in mind if you have nightmares."

Alfred blinked. "Oh. So, are you really . . . okay with this?"

Francis smiled. "Alfred, I encouraged it. Arthur and I are long, long over. It is high time he had someone like you in his life."

Alfred stared at him, trying to think of what to say. "Thank you," he said finally, and his sincerity was clear. He tentatively sat down by Arthur's side and slipped his hand in Arthur's.

It was hard to think of something happy when Arthur looked so fragile and unhappy. He thought about the first time he'd met Arthur, when he had still thought that Arthur was a grumpy, untrustworthy person. Then he remembered looking deep into Arthur's eyes and trusting him, just a little bit – and another time, when Arthur had been so focused on healing him, and Alfred hadn't minded in the least. Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. Dancing with Arthur, the way his hand felt on Arthur's the waist, the way Arthur looked at him in amusement. Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky –

"Dear God," Arthur groaned. "What a horrible way to wake someone up."

"Arthur!" exclaimed Alfred, and Arthur opened his eyes.

Arthur had been dreaming very happily about the first time he had met Alfred when someone had started singing very loudly in his mind. He glared at Alfred and tried to communicate how displeased he was, but it was very difficult when Alfred was leaning over him, relief and joy in his blue eyes, and talking excitedly.

"How are you feeling? Are your healing abilities back?"

"I feel okay," Arthur said distractedly. Why was there a plaster over Alfred's nose? Had he broken it? "How are you feeling?" Arthur asked, and he closed his eyes to do a diagnostic check on Alfred.

"Oh, I'm fine," said Alfred. "Sorry about waking you up. I didn't mean to do that."

Breathing and heartbeat, normal though elevated. Nose – definitely broken, but would heal nicely. Some pain in one hand – a burn, probably from gripping the wrong end of his handgun for some reason. He had some bruises, which was weird unless he'd gotten in a fistfight, but no matter. Soreness in his legs from running, normal –

It's so good to see you.

Arthur opened his eyes to see Alfred looking intently at him. The amount of relief that came from that statement washed over Arthur and drowned out his other thoughts. Arthur frowned. Why was Alfred so relieved? And then Arthur realized that his hands were shaking slightly and he was feeling the exact same thing because Alfred had come back in one piece. Oh, he thought, and was very grateful when Francis started talking.

"As you can see, I brought him back in one piece," Francis was saying dryly.

"Yes, thank you," Arthur replied in an identical tone. He sat up and eyed the water glass on his bedside table. Before he could ask, Alfred picked it up and handed to him. Once Arthur had drank a little water and handed the glass back to Alfred, he reached out and pressed a finger gently to Alfred's nose. Yes, definitely broken. "You're very careless, you know that? How did you break your nose in a gun fight?"

Alfred grinned and squeezed Arthur's hand: That's the Artie I know. "It wasn't a gun fight."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Really, now?" he said, even though he could see clearly what had happened in Alfred's mind. "And what did take you so long?"

Alfred's smile disappeared. "Some guys came out of nowhere. It wouldn't have taken so long if I didn't have to take them down by hand."

Arthur removed his finger from Alfred's nose and placed it under his chin instead. He pushed it up and frowned at the bruises and scratches he saw there. "How many men were there?"

"Ten, I think. It was a little hard to count."

Francis snorted. "You're joking."

Alfred set his jaw in a childlike way. "No, I'm not. There were at least seven."

Francis crossed his arms and smiled. "Mon ami, I am sure that if they had wanted to kill you, they would have done so."

"Mm-hmm," Arthur agreed, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "I'm telling you, I think I know what happened."

"Shock," Arthur stated.

"Over-sized ego," Francis offered.

Alfred opened his mouth to protest, and Arthur laughed. He patted their joined hands with his free one. "I'm just teasing, love. I believe you."

"You guys are awful," Alfred pouted.

"Oh, we're not that bad," Arthur said, not looking away from Alfred's eyes. "Francis, if you wouldn't mind . . . ?"

"No need for an excuse," Francis said, already walking out of the room with a wave of his hand. "If I wanted to see the way you two look at each other, I'd watch a soap opera."

"Like you can talk!" Arthur shouted after him. Alfred's ears turned red. Arthur turned back to Alfred and smiled softly. His hand was still covering Alfred's. "Now, love, where were we?"

Alfred smiled and leaned in. He pressed their foreheads together, and Arthur raised an eyebrow. So impatient, Alfred thought, and Arthur huffed out a laugh; as if he was the impatient one. Alfred kissed him, then, and the frames of his glasses dug into Arthur's nose, but that was alright. They pulled apart just slightly, and their noses rubbed together. They were both smiling.

"Your breath smells awful," Alfred told him, and just for that, Arthur pulled him closer and kissed him again. And again, and again, until a nurse nearly walked in on them. "You should go," Arthur told Alfred, though he didn't let go of his hand. "I'll see you later."

"Right," said Alfred, and he didn't show any sign of leaving. They stared at each other for a long moment. "Well, bye."

"Bye." The nurse left. Alfred darted in, pecked Arthur on the lips, and left grinning. Arthur smiled to himself.

"Oh, hey," Alfred said to the guard outside Arthur's room, and Arthur's smile disappeared from his face. He lay back on his pillows and looked blankly at the ceiling. Still a prisoner in this country, then. Now it was just a little more literal.

Alfred got a call that afternoon telling him that Arthur was going to be discharged. Alfred asked Francis if he wanted to come with him to pick Arthur up, but Francis shrugged, smiled, and said he didn't think he was needed.

It was a relief to see Arthur on his feet. Alfred grinned when he saw Arthur, and Arthur smiled back, but it was obvious that he was still in pain. His steps were slow and measured. Alfred offered his arm for support and Arthur gladly took it. Alfred was tempted to just pick him up and carry him out of there, but at the thought Arthur gave him a disapproving look. Arthur was still worn out, so they talked little during the drive home.

When Alfred helped Arthur into the house, Francis appeared from the back of the house, where he had apparently been cleaning. "Oh, good," he said when he saw them. "Now that you're home, rosbif, you can help with the packing. I expect you out in a week."

"What?" demanded Arthur, and he was immediately back to his old self. "You think I'm going to let you have the house? You're the one who's always complaining about the wallpaper!"

"We are both leaving," Francis clarified. "But I want my half when we sell this place, and if you don't move out soon you'll never leave. We can't sell it if you're still living here."

"You idiot," said Arthur. "We don't bloody well own it!"

"Details, details," said Francis with a smirk, and he disappeared back into the bedroom.

"Uhhh," said Alfred worriedly.

Arthur looked up at Alfred with a coy smile. "Do you know of anywhere I can stay?"

A week later, Arthur was completely healed. He had only a small scar to show that he had ever been injured, and his healing abilities had come back more each day, so Alfred's nose was as good as new. Traveling to Washington, D.C. hadn't been any trouble. When they straightened their ties in the hotel that morning, they both thought that they made quite the pair. "Ready?" asked Alfred.

Arthur took a deep breath. All he had for protection were Alfred and a letter tucked in his pocket – but they were enough. "Yes," he said.

They were quiet on the ride to the FBI headquarters. They hadn't talked very much about what was going to happen. There were two options, as Arthur saw it: Arthur would have to leave the country, or he would have to work for the government. He wasn't sure which was worse.

When they got inside, a fair number of people seemed to recognize Alfred and said hello. They just looked at Arthur curiously; that was good, at least. Arthur didn't like being recognized. When they got to a quieter hall, Alfred brushed against Arthur's arm as if by accident. "Are you alright?" he asked aloud.

"Yes," said Arthur. He looked at Alfred out of the corner of his eye. He was wearing his glasses. "Still in disguise, I see."

Alfred blinked at him. "What?"

Arthur tapped his own temple. He was trying not to smile. "I thought you said your glasses were part of your disguise."

"Ohhhh. Right." Alfred took off his glasses and tucked them in his pocket. He grinned at Arthur. "I forgot."

Arthur looked away and rolled his eyes. Alfred was a dork.

"Hey, this is the meeting room," Alfred said, and he veered to the right.

"Alfred, I believe that is the door to the toilet."

"Really? I mean, yeah, that's where I'm going."

"The ladies' toilet."

Alfred paused. He stepped back from the door, cleared his throat awkwardly, and put his glasses back on. "Maybe I'll stay in disguise for a bit longer."

"You do that," Arthur said, smiling. They looked at each other. Alfred started laughing first. He pushed open the door to the meeting room, and they both walked in, chuckling.

"Agent Jones."

They stopped laughing. Alfred cleared his throat clasped his hands behind his back. "Sir," he said to the man sitting at the head of the conference table. He was the only other person in the room.

"And Agent Kirkland, I presume?"

"Just Arthur, please," Arthur said tightly.

"Have a seat." Arthur and Alfred exchanged a glance. Arthur sat on one side of the table and Alfred sat down across from him.

The head of the FBI folded his hands in front of him and looked at Arthur. "I hear you were very helpful in recovering one of our agents. We are very grateful."

Arthur raised his chin and met his eyes evenly. "It was no trouble," he said politely. Understatement of the century.

"I am sorry to hear you were injured. It was good to hear you recovered fully."

"Thank you."

The man smiled slightly. "I imagine you want to get down to business, so I won't waste any more time." He slid a sheet of paper over to Arthur. "We are willing to offer you a job as an interrogator. Here is the starting salary–"

"No thank you," Arthur said abruptly. "I apologize for interrupting, but I am not interested."

He chuckled. "Yeah, thought so. Field work?"

"You did save my life," Alfred pointed out. "And Feliciano's."

"No," said Arthur firmly.

"Even if it's the best we can offer you?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He unfolded it and slid it across the table. "With all due respect, sir, it's not."

Before the head of the FBI picked up the document, he paused. "If you agree to work for us on our terms, we can get you back home," he said. "To England."

A brief expression of sorrow crossed Arthur's face. He clasped his hands tightly in his lap. "No," he said quietly. "I will always miss England, but this is my home now."

The man searched his eyes for a moment, and then he nodded. He picked up the document and scanned it. He looked at Arthur of the top of it. "These are some hefty terms."

Alfred was nearly squirming in his seat with impatience – Arthur had never mentioned this to him – but Arthur did his best to ignore him. This agreement was between him and the government. "I believe I deserve them."

He looked back at the document. "Make you a dual American-British citizen, never call you into field work again, never ask you to interrogate anyone who has been submitted to any other type of questioning . . . and all so that you can work with our medical, counseling, or recruitment services." He set down the document. "Arthur, you would be invaluable as a member of our interrogation team. What makes you think we will agree to this?"

"Because," Arthur said with a slight smile, "I can read your mind."

"It's a little frightening," Alfred said conversationally as they walked out of the FBI building.

"What is?" asked Arthur.

He scratched his head. "You're probably one of the most wanted people on the planet, they completely thought they had you under your thumb, and then it turns out that all you want is to help people. If you'd left the country, they would have hunted you down, but if you're an employee, they have to keep your best interests in mind." He shook his head and smiled at Arthur. "Congrats; you just managed to keep one step ahead of the American government."

"I told you it wouldn't be too hard," Arthur said with a smug smile.

Alfred held out his hand. "Lunch?"

Arthur took it with a sigh of contentment. "Yes please."

Author's note: The end! :)