Title: Black Ice
Pairing: Arguably US/UK, although it could be viewed as brotherly
Warnings: Arthur's internal monologue has a pirate's vocabulary and swears
Length: c. 5 chapters

Summary: Arthur takes a tumble, and gets a reminder that even if he tries to push people away, it doesn't mean they'll necessarily let him.

On a Cold Winter's Night

"Guess who's coming to pay stodgy old you a visit!" A gleeful voice pierced the peaceful silence he had been cultivating all afternoon. "I'll be there in half an -" he didn't get to finish the sentence. Arthur slammed the house phone back onto the receiver so violently that the earpiece cracked down the centre join, but he didn't care. A low growl escaped his throat, all previous happy thoughts vacating his mind and sheer rage overcoming him. He briefly contemplated simply locking up and making it appear that the house was empty, but for some inexplicable reason that never worked, and he simply ended up with a smashed window or shattered door. But that was beyond the point... who the hell did Alfred think he was? Like fuck was he going to entertain that bloody tosser! The imbecile could come and find an empty house if he thought he could drag the poor Brit along with him, or interrupt a quiet evening, every time an inane thought entered the buffoon's head!

Arthur stormed through the hallway without even thinking, forgetting about the embroidery that now lay half finished on the sofa (along with his sweater, which he'd shed in the warmth of the firelight), down the stairs and out of his front door, slamming it loudly along the way and causing the ancient oak frame to shake perilously. The wind was biting and the air frigid, compacted snow from the pitiful 'blizzard' that had been inflicted upon the country the prior day making the ground beneath his feet perilous to tread on, and the occasional patch of ice threatening to cause a short and sharp shock if one was careless. This was England - they didn't get proper snow very frequently and this was no exception, but winter often brought a lot of ice and freezing temperatures that were a lot more dangerous in the long run.

As he stalked along the footpath he scowled and swore under his breath, cursing the brat he'd had the misfortune to raise. And to think that he'd once cared for the idiot... (he still did, an unbidden voice whispered, but such a little voice was easy to dismiss in his fury).

It was getting rapidly colder, and he was soon regretting having not had the foresight to wrap up more warmly than his present lightweight shirt. Lacking a jumper or sweatshirt of any sort, his extremities soon began to become numb. However, his anger was so much that this was barely registered in his head. The roads were quiet; late in the evening on a cold winter's night was hardly the time to venture forth from one's home, and such an endeavour was a fool's errand. Anger fuelled his every thought and movement, and he muttered bitterly to himself about a certain American as he walked.

It wasn't long before Arthur was some distance from his town house, and the city soon dwindled away to suburbs as he continued to stumble angrily through the dusk. The area would be rather pleasant on any other day, but his mind was far too fogged to be aware of that fact today. Had his mind not been so preoccupied, he would have noticed the danger presented to him by the merciless cold. As it was, he felt nothing more than abject shock as his feet hit the ground after an ordinary step, only to shoot out of his control, jerking him violently towards the concrete pavement.

Spluttered curses escaped his chapped lips as he slipped on the slick ice, and he flailed his arms in a futile attempt to recapture his balance. Failing, he crashed to the cold ground loudly and forcefully, jarring his shoulder painfully and no doubt bruising his ribs if the pain was anything to go by. His elbow also made a violent impact with the ground, sending pain rocketing through his bone and grazing the exposed skin. After a few minutes of lying there stunned he forced himself upright.

Sitting pitifully on the bitingly cold concrete path with a throbbing shoulder and numb extremities and various other areas of shooting pain, he felt his anger rapidly drain into irritation and from there quickly into worry. In the time since he had left his house the sky had drained from a musky blue to inky black, relieved only by the occasional street lamp or house window. A slight throbbing in his leg also began vying for his attention as he realised with frustration that the fall had caused more damage than he'd initially picked up on. Stunned and immobilised, and with no one around, a niggling sensation of panic began to rear its head.

And in his rage he had failed to pick up his mobile; it was, he remembered morosely, in the pocket of his coat that was hanging in the hallway. He wasn't particularly fond of technology, and only used the phone when he was out and about. Scatterbrained as he was, he'd realised early on that leaving it in his coat was the only way he could guarantee he'd have it on him when he left the house.
Unless, of course, he stormed out of the house in the fit. Well, every plan has its flaws.

He would publicly execute anyone who implied he was too old to take care of himself on principle, but sitting as he was in a cold and damp patch somewhere on the outskirts of his beloved city with pain flaring from several bodily areas and no way of getting back home, despite his youthful physical appearance he was certainly feeling a bit beyond it. It was pitiful to think that only a century prior (before the wars that had caused everyone so much damage) he'd have been able to shrug off such a minor injury... hell, during the pirate years he'd once shrugged off a lost leg and eye. Power made them invincible. It was a shame he couldn't say the same for his current state.

Stars began to appear faintly through the haze of light pollution as he sat huddled on the side of the residential road. His anger had all but dissipated at this point as he tried to figure out a way out of his predicament. Whilst he was in a residential area there did not appear to be anyone around and he was without a means of contacting anyone. The drastically increasing level of pain in his leg (a few moments of focusing had him realising the pain he'd thought was a twisted ankle was more likely either a fracture or even a full on break). Walking anywhere was certainly out of the question.

A shiver shook his body as the ambient temperature took a sudden dip. Wishing fervently once again that he'd paused long enough in his rage to have picked up a sweater and scarf (a foresight he'd endeavour to not overlook the next time he lost his rag at Alfred's tactlessness), he resigned himself to the fact that he was stuck where he was for the time being, unfavourable though his current situation may be. Watching his short breaths fog the air before him and desperately trying to ignore the pain shooting up from various nerve endings, he huddled up as much as possible without jolting too many sore spots and inwardly cursed Americans, the weather and his overall bad luck.

Freezing and feeling more tired as every minute passed, his eyes became heavy and he felt consciousness slipping away. He knew that this should worry him, but to be honest he no longer cared. Internally he berated himself; a proud, ex-empire... resigned to freeze on a cold path on the outskirts of his own city because he was too careless to watch where he was walking. How embarrassing. He'd always hoped that he'd die in a glorious war, or having at least taken that bloody frog down with him. It was be a damned shame to have lasted as long as he had to die so pitifully. As consciousness finally escaped him, he failed to hear the frantic footsteps pounding behind him, accompanied by a loud and very much worried American voice...

AN: A re-write of an unfinished single chapter ('Black Ice') from exactly a year ago. I've actually got the next two chapters planned and partly written, so unlike the last one it won't be left to rot. I changed a few bits and pieces and it's going in a slightly different direction to where the original was planned. The main purpose of this is a fairly light hurt/comfort fic to help me get over my dire writer's block.

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