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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years ago

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George deValier (2015 profile)

since: 05-02-10, id: 2348750, Profile Updated: 06-02-13

country: 🇦🇺 Australia

Author has written 17 stories for Hetalia - Axis Powers.

If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light. If I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls. I will write always. I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you. – Henry Rollins

Hi! I’m George. One day, I will be a professor of history, who wears tweed suits and lives in a library. Right now, I am a graduate student, who wears jeans and t-shirts and… um… lives in a library.

Reviews and PMs.

I don’t demand or even expect reviews. They do, however, make me happy. So if you are kind enough to leave one after reading, please know that even though I may not reply, I read every single one, and I am incredibly grateful - your few words of praise have brightened a moment of my day. :-)

If you send me a Private Message and don’t receive a response immediately, please know that I am not deliberately ignoring you. I find it a little difficult to keep up with replying to PMs; if I haven’t responded to your message in at least three months, it’s usually because I’ve, er, lost it. Feel free to send me another one calling me a giant prat and demanding a response.

Fanart and Translations.

I am perfectly okay (quite ecstatically happy, actually) with people doing whatever they like with my fics – whether that be translations, fanart, cosplay, AMVs, whatever. You do not need to ask permission - I will always say yes. All I ask is three things. One: please credit me as the author (and a link to the original story would be fantastic). Two: please let me know so that I can check it out and thank you profusely! And three: something I hate to have to mention, but please never do anything to make money out of these works. Obviously, Hetalia does not belong to me – it belongs to the amazing Hidekaz Himaruya, who is incredibly awesome for giving us such fantastic characters to play with. :-D

MY STORIES

THE VERAVERSE

The Veraverse is a Hetalia World War Two AU, of fics involving different characters and pairings, all living within the same time period and all interconnected in some way. As each story in the series is named after and loosely based on the lyrics of a wartime song sung by Vera Lynn, I flippantly dubbed it the ‘Veraverse.’ The name has sort of stuck, however. I have posted a list of character's birth dates here: http://george-de-valier.deviantart.com/art/Hetalia-Veraverse-Birth-Dates-340315828

This series is, at its core, about the power of love over war. It's about the real reasons people fight, and the real reasons they survive. It's about finding something beautiful in the midst of something ugly and evil. But overall, although I hope there is more to these stories than just romance, they are essentially about love.

Don’t expect every fic to be updated quickly. These stories intertwine, and will be published simultaneously, and it may be a while between chapters for each specific story. Most can be read separately, however a few will require that you read at least one other story in the series to make sense of it (e.g. ‘My Echo’ does not make much sense unless you also read ‘Lily of the Lamplight.’) Rest assured, they will all be completed.

We'll Meet Again Alfred Jones/Arthur Kirkland (America/England)

Complete - Thirteen Chapters

‘We’ll Meet Again’ is about love arriving when you least expect it, and how it can transform loneliness.

Keep Smiling Through Alfred Jones/Arthur Kirkland (America/England)

Complete – One Shot

Just a little mini-sequel to ‘We’ll Meet Again’ about a brief moment in Alfred and Arthur’s lives.

Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart Ludwig Beilschmidt/Feliciano Vargas (Germany/Italy)

Complete - Eighteen chapters

‘Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart’ is about love being blind, proving stronger than hate, and lasting longer than war.

Bésame Mucho Antonio Fernandez Carriedo/Lovino Vargas (Spain/Romano)

In Progress – Fourteen chapters

‘Bésame Mucho’ is essentially about love overcoming fear.

Lily of the Lamplight Gilbert Beilschmidt/Roderich Edelstein (Prussia/Austria)

In Progress – Eighteen Chapters

‘Lily of the Lamplight’ is about selflessness, survival, and how love can change you for the better.

My Echo Unrequited Vash Zwingli/Roderich Edelstein (Switzerland/Austria)

In Progress – Six Chapters

‘My Echo’ is about how true love is selfless – even if it is unreturned.

Jealousy Ivan Braginski/Yao Wang (Russia/China)

In Progress – Six Chapters

‘Jealousy’ is a little different to the other stories in this series. It is about control, madness, and how love has the power to destroy as well as to save.

Something to Remember You By Sadik Adnan/Gupta Muhammad Hassan (Turkey/Egypt)

In Progress – Three Chapters

‘Something to Remember You By’ is about losing love, and yourself with it.

UPCOMING VERAVERSE FICS

Somewhere in France With You Francis Bonnefoy/Matthew Williams (France/Canada)

Darling, where better to meet again than the most beautiful city in the world?

It's a Lovely Day Tomorrow

Toris Laurinaitis/Feliks Łukasiewicz (Lithuania/Poland)

Art. Music. Passion. Destruction. Young, wild love, in the streets of Berlin, on the eve of war.

When I Grow Too Old to Dream Berwald Oxenstierna/Tino Väinämöinen (Sweden/Finland)

“What would you do if I just… took this tree? Claimed it for Finland?”

“I’d let ye take it.”

“This lake?”

“Ye can have it.”

“This entire forest?”

“’t’s yours.”

“Would you let me take your whole country, Berwald?”

“Yes. And you? What’f I just… took this rock?”

“You can’t have that rock. That’s a Finnish rock.”

You’ll Never Know

Elizaveta Héderváry/ Lili Zwingli (Hungary/Liechtenstein)

“But who knows? Maybe you'll meet a charming little Swiss girl with plaits and a basket who likes to yodel on mountaintops."

Elizaveta always hated it when Gilbert was right.

When the Lights go on Again

Eduard Von Bock/Raivis Galante (Estonia/Latvia)

"I will stay with him through this darkness. I will give my soul to keep it from him. And I swear, whatever I must do, that Raivis Galante will live to see the lights go on again.”

Room Five-Hundred-and-Four

Herakles Karpusi/Kiku Honda (Greece/Japan)

“Life's most important conversations take place in bars. Perhaps in places not too dissimilar from this - perhaps between people not so different from ourselves. Bars, after all, are where people meet, and where they rejoice; where they forget, and where they say goodbye. They are the crossroads of life."

"You sound like a philosopher. Though your name suggests a hero."

Faraway Places

Bad Friends Trio (France, Prussia, and Spain)

“Ah, those were the days, huh, Gil? Remember the time you tried to take on the entire Parisian police force?”

“Or the time you knocked yourself out running from that bull in Pamplona?”

“Or that time Francis tried to seduce your grandfather?!”

“Francis what?”

“Oh, look at that, I’ve finished my drink.”

Autumn Leaves

Augustus Roma Vargas (Ancient Rome)

But I miss you most of all, my darling, when autumn leaves start to fall.

OTHER FICS

THE MAPLEVERSE

This is a currently small modern AU, set in modern day Canada.

La Patisserie de la Rose Francis Bonnefoy/Matthew Williams (France/Canada)

Complete – Six Chapters

A birthday present for Claudia, aka ThisCouldTheoreticallyBeSparta

An essentially fluffy Franada with lots of cameos and cake and general silliness. I like to think this story is about friendship as much as it is about love. It's also about seeing something in someone that no one else can - not even themselves.

Libelle Hall Gilbert Beilschmidt/Roderich Edelstein (Prussia/Austria)

In Progress – Three Chapters

A Gift for Kay, aka Kay the Beta

‘Libelle Hall’ is about change, and about love growing from self-realisation. It’s also an examination of Gilbert and Roderich’s characters, and how they aren’t that different from each other, after all. And it’s a gift for my beta Kay, because she loves PruAus, and she’s awesome.

Of Ponies and Edelweiss Gilbert Beilschmidt/Roderich Edelstein (Prussia/Austria)

Complete – One Shot

A Valentines’ Day present for Claudia

Just a fluffy, romantic little fic for Valentines’ Day. Well, as romantic as Gilbert gets, anyway.

ONGOING MULTI-CHAPTERS

Catch Perfect Berwald Oxenstierna/Tino Väinämöinen (Sweden/Finland)

In Progress – Twelve Chapters

‘Catch Perfect’ is basically proof that I can’t even write crack without some semblance of plot and angst. I am still writing this, just ever so slowly.

The Tiger and the Dragon Ivan Braginski/Yao Wang (Russia/China)

In Progress – Seventeen Chapters

I first posted this story almost three years ago. Last year I started re-publishing it, mainly to fix up the writing quality and some plot points. Yes, it’s melodramatic; yes, it’s a bit cliché. Basically, if this were a published novel, it would be the type to have GAY EROTIC ROMANCE in tacky writing across the cover. But really, what the hell, it’s fun. :-D

COMPLETED ONE SHOTS

Stay With You Germany/Italy

A rare story with the characters as nations, and my very first posted fanfiction. I had just discovered Hetalia when I wrote this, and loved the random humour of it, but also wondered what it could be like if it was a more serious take on the Second World War. Also, it has always been blatantly obvious to me that Germany and Italy are in love with each other. Like, duh.

Gallipoli Australia and New Zealand

Another nation story from me, about a conflict embedded in the consciousness of every Australian. We haven’t been given much to go on with Australia’s characterisation, so I went with my gut instinct – he’s anti-authority, he’s an easily broken optimist, and he cares deeply about his men. Gallipoli shattered the romantic idea of war for this country. I think it would have shattered Australia, too.

Sleep, Little Bird Berwald Oxenstierna/Tino Väinämöinen (Sweden/Finland) and Peter (Sealand)

There is not much I can really say about this one, except sorry. Oh, and that it’s not in the same universe as ‘Catch Perfect.’ I wouldn’t do that. ;-)

LINKS!

http://george-de-valier.deviantart.com (deactivated account) - Where I fave and comment on the wonderful artwork that people have drawn for my stories. I adore fan art, so please tell me if you have drawn any! If I happen to come across art for my stories that I haven’t been told about, be warned, I WILL proceed to fave and comment on it anyway. :-)

www.youtube.com/user/ykwyh26 - My lovely and talented beta Kay’s YouTube site, where you can hear all the songs from my Veraverse stories.

VIDEOS

I am incredibly flattered that the amazingly talented Alyss Lane has written a gorgeous song based on ‘Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart.’ It is called ‘Auf Wiedersehen,’ performed by Willow, and you can hear this beautiful song here – www.youtube.com/watch?v=2N8T4oIppS0

The following are awesome AMVs for my fics, made by some very talented artists.

The Veraverse

Sanctuary, by Insomniac3Ltd

www.youtube.com/watch?v=dfvTV5b9Zwk (unavailable)

We'll Meet Again

We’ll Meet Again, by Shokora15

www.youtube.com/watch?v=M4COUwq9yzA

Wild Horses, by SirenShadow95

www.youtube.com/watch?v=DaiMnawL3hM

Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart

Stereo Love, by snobo52

www.youtube.com/watch?v=UH8-zY-3qiI

If I Die Young, by NightmareCCL

www.youtube.com/watch?v=BkoVnwzwLlU

Stay, by PastaWithWurst

www.youtube.com/watch?v=-i61AAOfNm4 (unavailable)

Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart, by Sydney Amber

www.youtube.com/watch?v=nM9anzT81tM

Home, by Sanity4Fire

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZjPTML1vjXA (unavailable)

Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart, by ShiroBaraLuv123

www.youtube.com/watch?v=qltINwf-ZkU (unavailable)

Bésame Mucho

Fear, by ykwyh26

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ua5Ak4O9P88

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, by Kayleigh Turgeon

www.youtube.com/watch?v=_pDaLTw5wIs (unavailable)

The Only Exception, by InuLoverNr1Hitomi

www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pt_sHtZfIw

Don’t Tell Me You Love Me If You Don’t Mean It, by AnnoyingGirl1234

www.youtube.com/watch?v=DkcTKOAN8Y8 (unavailable)

Lily of the Lamplight

Lili Marlene, by xxEmoxxChibixx

www.youtube.com/watch?v=otYq31Qnct8

Sleep, Little Bird

Sleep, by Hetaliagirl96

www.youtube.com/watch?v=6tOCsWjpNsk (unavailable)

La Patisserie de la Rose

Take Me Home, by Ahogemako

www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwsX1rJ2CDo

Something to Remember You By

Lullabies, by Lanie P

www.youtube.com/watch?v=WnRXhe2cdZw

STORIES WRITTEN FOR ME

These are all fantastic. Please check them out, you won’t be disappointed!

Mi Piachi perché Mi Piaci, by ThisCouldTheoreticallyBeSparta

(GerIta, Spamano, PruAus, BelgHun and teeny mentions of Franada, Netherlands/Australia, UsUk)

A wonderful birthday present of fluffy GerIta goodness from my wonderful friend Claudia.

www.fanfiction.net/s/7601790/1/Mi_Piaci_perche_Mi_Piaci

Maple Street, by fubibliophile

(Canada and America)

A really cool, atmospheric one shot from the very sweet fubibliophile.

www.fanfiction.net/s/7796628/1/Maple_Street

Chapter Four of Hetalia Fairy Tales, by Kitty-Kat Allie

(GiriPan)

An incredibly sweet GiriPan fairy tale from a wonderful author and a lovely person.

www.fanfiction.net/s/7730679/4/Hetalia_Fairy_Tales

1. Something To Remember You By » reviews

VV AU. 1914. Constantinople, Turkey. On the eve of war, street dweller Sadik Adnan's way of life and existence is called into question by the strange, beautiful Egyptian imam, Gupta Muhammad Hassan.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Tragedy - Chapters: 1 - Words: 4,732 - Reviews: 73 - Published: 5-30-13 - Turkey & Egypt

2. Lily of the Lamplight » reviews

WW2 AU. Austrian musician Roderich and German soldier Gilbert are forced into an army prison unit and a fight for survival on the Russian Front. But in the midst of blood and death and hell on earth, how long can they fight their desire for each other?

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 4 - Words: 27,329 - Reviews: 557 - Updated: 5-21-13 - Published: 11-20-11 - Prussia & Austria

3. Libelle Hall » reviews

Modern AU. When Roderich Edelstein – student, musician, and reluctant activist – attempts to save a local music hall from destruction, he is not prepared for the conflicting emotions evoked in him by arrogant demolition worker Gilbert Beilschmidt. Gift fic for Kay the Beta.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Romance/Friendship - Chapters: 2 - Words: 8,900 - Reviews: 174 - Updated: 5-6-13 - Published: 2-20-13 - Prussia & Austria

4. Jealousy » reviews

WW2 AU. Insane Russian Commander Ivan Braginski is the terror of his battalion and his enemies alike. He controls the lives of thousands - but it is the memory of one that controls his own. Tie-in to 'Lily of the Lamplight.'

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Tragedy - Chapters: 1 - Words: 3,077 - Reviews: 80 - Published: 11-29-12 - Russia & China

5. The Tiger and the Dragon » reviews

Human AU. Awkward, average chef Yao Wang is sick of being thought of as boring and predictable. When he meets the enigmatic and slightly unnerving Ivan Braginski, Yao is immediately captivated. As he falls deeper it becomes apparent just how dangerous Ivan really is… but Ivan is just as smitten, and Yao may be too in love to care about the consequences…

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Drama - Chapters: 4 - Words: 12,967 - Reviews: 155 - Updated: 11-15-12 - Published: 8-25-12 - Russia & China

6. My Echo » reviews

WW2 AU. Captain Vash Zwingli is a soldier in someone else's war; a man mad enough to lead where others will not. He treads a fine line between life and death, between sanity and madness, in a constant battle to forget. But when Vash's past confronts him in the worst place on earth, will it finally tip him over the edge – or give him a chance for redemption? Unrequited SwissAus.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Angst/Drama - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2,378 - Reviews: 73 - Published: 11-15-12 - Switzerland

7. La Patisserie de la Rose » reviews

AU. Accountant Matthew Williams is used to being unnoticed, ignored, and forgotten. That is until pastry chef Francis Bonnefoy appears like a burst of colour in his dull, grey life. Gift fic for TCTBS.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance - Chapters: 6 - Words: 35,111 - Reviews: 573 - Updated: 10-10-12 - Published: 12-9-11 - France & Canada - Complete

8. Catch Perfect » reviews

AU. When Berwald loses everything he is forced to move into a share house with an insane Dane, a sociopathic Norwegian, an unfathomable Icelander and a perfect Finn who makes it all worth putting up with.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Romance/Friendship - Chapters: 8 - Words: 36,538 - Reviews: 582 - Updated: 9-22-12 - Published: 10-10-10 - Sweden & Finland

9. Blue, White, Red » reviews

Human AU. 1777; The American Revolutionary War. Three times, American rebel Alfred Jones meets British soldier Arthur Kirkland. One blue; one white; one red.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Angst/Romance - Chapters: 3 - Words: 5,981 - Reviews: 369 - Updated: 9-20-12 - Published: 8-26-12 - America & England/Britain - Complete

10. Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart » reviews

WW2 AU. Feliciano Vargas is a passionate, if slightly scared, Italian resistance member. Falling in love with a German fighter pilot was the last thing he expected... and it will test his national loyalty, and his heart, to their limits.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 18 - Words: 104,322 - Reviews: 3246 - Updated: 8-11-12 - Published: 12-18-10 - Germany & N. Italy - Complete

11. Keep Smiling Through » reviews

'We'll Meet Again' mini-sequel. Keep smiling through, just like you always do; 'til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away! USUK

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: K - English - Romance - Chapters: 1 - Words: 2,376 - Reviews: 172 - Published: 6-28-12 - America & England/Britain - Complete

12. Bésame Mucho » reviews

WW2 AU. Lovino Vargas only ever wanted something exciting to happen in his boring, everyday Italian village existence. He never expected war, Resistance, love, passion, treason, or a cheerful, confusing, irritatingly attractive Spanish freedom fighter.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 5 - Words: 39,037 - Reviews: 817 - Updated: 5-30-12 - Published: 8-1-11 - Spain & S. Italy/Romano

13. Of Ponies and Edelweiss » reviews

Gilbert Beilschmidt is not, generally speaking, a romantic man. Which makes his behaviour this particular Valentine's Day a little odd for Roderich to understand… Gift fic for TCTBS; spin-off of 'La Patisserie de la Rose.'

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Romance - Chapters: 1 - Words: 4,143 - Reviews: 130 - Published: 2-14-12 - Prussia & Austria - Complete

14. Sleep, Little Bird » reviews

Human AU. Tino, Berwald and Peter are the perfect family. Things like this don't happen to people like them. But when they do, how are they supposed to accept it?

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Family/Tragedy - Chapters: 1 - Words: 4,169 - Reviews: 294 - Published: 9-26-11 - Finland & Sweden - Complete

15. Gallipoli » reviews

Gallipoli, April 25, 1915. Australia is a young nation with plenty to prove. And war is where nations prove themselves.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Drama/Angst - Chapters: 1 - Words: 4,966 - Reviews: 48 - Published: 4-28-11 - Australia - Complete

16. We'll Meet Again » reviews

WW2 AU. London pub owner Arthur Kirkland is driven to distraction by loud, brash American fighter pilot Alfred Jones. Unable to stop it, Arthur finds himself falling for Alfred's charms... just as the pilot is preparing to leave for war.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 13 - Words: 43,415 - Reviews: 1376 - Updated: 1-20-11 - Published: 7-18-10 - America & England/Britain - Complete

17. Stay With You » reviews

Germany lies defeated and alone in the aftermath of the Battle of Berlin... but not everyone has abandoned him.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Angst/Romance - Chapters: 1 - Words: 1,325 - Reviews: 66 - Published: 5-4-10 - Germany & N. Italy - Complete

THANK YOU MARVINHERE FOR FINDING THIS!

#George deValier #George devalier profile #George devalier profile transcript #George devalier summaries

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years ago

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George deValier (2012 profile)

since: 05-02-10, id: 2348750, Profile Updated: 01-27-12

country: 🇦🇺 Australia

Author has written 11 stories for Hetalia - Axis Powers.

“If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light. If I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls. I will write always. I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you.” – Henry Rollins

Hello! My name is George. *waves* I am a student of Classical History who loves anything to do with history and language. I currently speak English and French, but am studying Norwegian, Latin and Ancient Greek, German, Italian and Spanish. I’m not particularly good at any of them, but I can ask for a glass of red wine in seventeen languages. Gotta learn the vital things.

I only write Hetalia, and I pretty much only write AUs. My fave pairings are: Germany/Italy, America/England, Spain/Romano, Sweden/Finland, Russia/China, France/Canada, Denmark/Norway, Prussia/Austria, and Greece/Japan.

MY STORIES:

THE VERA-VERSE

A collection of World War Two AU’s intertwining with each other, using titles of Vera Lynn wartime songs.

COMPLETED:

‘We’ll Meet Again’. USUK. 13 chapters.

IN PROGRESS:

‘Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart.’ GerIta. 16 chapters.

‘Bésame Mucho.’ Spamano. 10 chapters.

‘Lily of the Lamplight.’ PruAus. 15 chapters.

IN THE WORKS:

Multi Chapters:

‘When I Grow too Old to Dream.’ SuFin. Around 6 chapters.

‘It’s a Lovely Day Tomorrow.’ LietPol. Around 6 chapters.

One Shots:

‘Somewhere in France with You.’ Franada

‘When the Lights go on Again.’ EstLat

‘You’ll Never Know.’ HungaryLiechtenstein

OTHER STORIES

Sorry for the slow updates on these. No, I have not abandoned them, and I promise not to. As I have said before, I will never abandon any of my stories. Even if it means I am sitting here updating Hetalia fanfiction when I am 65 years old and everyone has long forgotten me, I will finish every damn thing I start. (Though I think I can safely promise it won't take that long ;-D)

‘The Tiger and the Dragon.’ RoChu. 18 chapters.

‘Catch Perfect.’ SuFin. 15 chapters.

‘Meanwhile, Across Town.’ USUK, Various Others. Around 20 chapters.

I am so incredibly flattered that the amazingly talented Alyss Lane has written a song based on 'Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart!' It is called 'Auf Wiedersehen', performed by Willow. Please watch this beautiful song here

Please check out my DeviantArt account to see the wonderful fanart people have drawn for my stories! Thank you so, so much to these awesome artists. Honestly, I flip out over fanart. Do a crazy little happy dance and everything.

Thank you so much to the lovely Lachen for making this beautiful AMV for 'We'll Meet Again!'

Thank you very much to Triggerstorm for this amazing AMV for 'Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart!'

A million thanks to Infinity-Rainz for this heart-breakingly perfect AMV for 'Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart!'

And to my wonderful, talented beta ykwyh26 thank you for this perfect, adorable AMV for 'Bésame Mucho!’

1. La Patisserie de la Rose » reviews

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance - Chapters: 3 - Words: 13,746 - Reviews: 161 - Updated: 1-18-12 - Published: 12-9-11 - France & Canada

2. Bésame Mucho » reviews

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 4 - Words: 31,128 - Reviews: 387 - Updated: 12-19-11 - Published: 8-1-11 - Spain & S. Italy/Romano

3. Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart » reviews

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 14 - Words: 78,703 - Reviews: 1627 - Updated: 12-8-11 - Published: 12-18-10 - Germany & N. Italy

4. Lily of the Lamplight » reviews

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 1 - Words: 7,256 - Reviews: 139 - Published: 11-20-11 - Prussia & Austria

5. Meanwhile, Across Town » reviews

Superhero AU. The glory days of Hetalopolis, when war raged between Superhero and Supervillain, are gone. But when Arthur happens upon an aspiring Superhero, it looks like his days as the greatest reporter in the city are again just around the corner...

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Romance/Adventure - Chapters: 2 - Words: 8,030 - Reviews: 91 - Updated: 10-27-11 - Published: 9-24-11 - America & England/Britain

6. Sleep, Little Bird » reviews

Human AU. Tino, Berwald and Peter are the perfect family. Things like this don't happen to people like them. But when they do, how are they supposed to accept it?

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Family/Tragedy - Chapters: 1 - Words: 4,437 - Reviews: 122 - Published: 9-26-11 - Finland & Sweden - Complete

7. Catch Perfect » reviews

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Romance/Friendship - Chapters: 6 - Words: 21,062 - Reviews: 279 - Updated: 7-1-11 - Published: 10-10-10 - Sweden & Finland

8. The Tiger and the Dragon » reviews

AU. Awkward chef Yao Wang is immediately captivated when he meets enigmatic and slightly unnerving businessman Ivan Braginski. As he falls deeper it becomes apparent just how dangerous Ivan really is… but Yao may be too in love to care…

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Drama - Chapters: 12 - Words: 48,785 - Reviews: 228 - Updated: 7-1-11 - Published: 7-3-10 - Russia & China

9. Gallipoli » reviews

Gallipoli, April 25, 1915. Australia is a young nation with plenty to prove. And war is where nations prove themselves.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Drama/Angst - Chapters: 1 - Words: 5,177 - Reviews: 22 - Published: 4-28-11 - Australia - Complete

10. We'll Meet Again » reviews

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: M - English - Romance/Angst - Chapters: 13 - Words: 44,462 - Reviews: 812 - Updated: 1-20-11 - Published: 7-18-10 - America & England/Britain - Complete

11. Stay With You » reviews

Germany lies defeated and alone in the aftermath of the Battle of Berlin... but not everyone has abandoned him.

Hetalia - Axis Powers - Rated: T - English - Angst/Romance - Chapters: 1 - Words: 1,326 - Reviews: 24 - Published: 5-4-10 - Germany & N. Italy - Complete

THANK YOU MARVINHERE FOR FINDING THIS!

#George deValier #George devalier profile #George devalier profile transcript #George devalier summaries

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

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George deValier Fanfics posted to Wattpad!

Hello again!

All of George deValier’s fics have now been posted to Wattpad for those of you who have trouble using Tumblr.

The account name is devalier-fanfics, and here is the link:

https://www.wattpad.com/user/devalier-fanfics

Happy Holidays, everyone! Thank you so much for your patience ♡

-admin moonmoon

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

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deValier on Wattpad

Hello all!

A lot of the feedback that I have gotten about posting on other platforms has been very helpful, and I’ve decided to make a Wattpad account with all of George deValier’s fics uploaded to it! This way anyone who is having trouble with Tumblr can have access to George’s work.

The account name is devalier-fanfics on Wattpad for those of you who are interested! I have already posted three of deValier’s fics to start.

Once again, posting all of the chapters is going to take some time, so please be patient. I have never used Wattpad before so this platform is very new to me. Any helpful feedback you may have about how to use it would be greatly appreciated!

Thank you everyone for your all of your suggestions and kind words ♥

-admin moonmoon

#George deValier #veraverse #mapleverse

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

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Meanwhile, Across Town

By George deValier

SUMMARY: Superhero AU. The glory days of Hetalopolis, when war raged between Superhero and Supervillain, are gone. And with them has gone Arthur Kirkland's career as a star journalist. But when Arthur happens upon a, like, totally inept would-be villain and a heroically heroic aspiring superhero, it looks like his days as the greatest reporter in the city are once again just around the corner. Of course, he does have to deal with his actions bringing about a new wave of supervillainy, and that thoroughly irritating growing attraction with superhero 'America', and several awesome and pervy former heroes wanting in on the action, but it's all worth it if you're famous, right?

Featuring a full cast of heroes, villains, minions, and cats. USUK, LietPol, PruHunAus, GerIta, Franada, RoChu, Spamano, GiriPan; really just expect them all.

Number of Chapters: 2

Status: Never Finished

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Author’s Note:

AN: I have recently acquired a little of this rare, marvellous thing called 'Free Time' and am hopeful that it shall result in more and faster updates. Huzzah!

#George deValier #meanwhile across town

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

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Chapter 2

Meanwhile, Across Town by George deValier

Chapter saved by ocean-babyblues ♥

Francis threw open the door and glared at Arthur and Alfred standing in the dimly lit hall. Alfred waved cheerfully. "Hello!"

"I can think of no other reason for you two to be standing at my door at two am than that you want to have sex with me. Very well, I shall get the whipped cream."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and followed Francis into the richly decorated loft apartment. "Don't be ridiculous, you arrogant frog. We're here for fashion advice."

"Of course, why else would you turn up at my apartment at this time of night." Francis wore a fluffy red trimmed sleeping gown, red fluffy slippers, and his hair was held back by a red fluffy sleeping mask. He looked like a particularly furry raccoon. "Are you sure you don't want to have sex with me?"

"No!"

"No you don't want to have sex with me, or no you're not sure?" Francis led them into the kitchen and threw open the fridge.

Arthur thought for a moment. "The first one."

"Ah. So no whipped cream?" asked Francis, waving the can in the air.

"I'll have some whipped cream," said Alfred eagerly. Arthur blinked at him and he shrugged. "I'm hungry."

"Here," said Francis, throwing the can to Alfred.

"Ooh, vanilla flavoured." Alfred put the nozzle in his mouth and pressed it down. Arthur shook his head and looked away. Maybe this was not such a good plan after all. But then, what choice did he have? Another aspiring superhero was not likely to appear in front of him any time soon.

"So, Arthur," said Francis, "What fashion advice is so important that it can not wait until morning? I already told you, that tie is horrible."

Arthur pointedly ignored that. "Francis, meet, uh, America-man. The newest protector of liberty and justice in our fair city."

Francis looked around the room. "Huh? Where? Who?"

Alfred waved again. "Me," he said through a mouthful of cream.

Francis's mouth fell open. "The copy boy?"

"Of course," said Arthur. "Did you not notice the cape?"

"I thought that was for the sex!"

"There is no sex, Francis. There never has been sex, there never will be sex… no sex!"

Francis sighed dramatically. "Oh, my wounded heart." Arthur resisted the urge to kick him. "Very well, then, let us see what we have here." Francis slowly circled Alfred, looking him up and down, his eyebrow raised appraisingly. Alfred eyed him nervously. "Not bad, not bad… we have something to work with here. Cute butt." Francis wagged his eyebrows at Arthur, who gritted his teeth and widened his eyes warningly.

Alfred twisted his neck to look down at the aforementioned body part. "Do you think? You know, I've been wondering if maybe it's been getting a little flabby lately…"

"You, shush. Now, this." Francis gestured over Alfred's garish outfit. "This underwear over the tights business." Francis shook his head and wagged a finger before Alfred's wide eyes. "No, no, no, my dear. It's so tragically sixties. Nowadays we need something more… streamlined. Subtle. Classy." He tilted his head, took a step back and peered thoughtfully. "I do like the colour scheme, however. Maybe add a big letter 'A' on the chest. America-man, was it?" Alfred nodded eagerly and Francis folded his arms and tapped his chin. "Hmm. No. How about just…" Francis spread his fingers and waved his hand in an arc, whispering dramatically, "America!"

Alfred's eyes lit up and he gasped, staring at the wall with an awestruck expression. "I love it!"

"Of course you do. Now, I'm assuming you have some sort of superpower…" Francis left the sentence hanging.

"Alfred." Arthur jerked his head towards Francis' refrigerator. "Go pick up the fridge." Alfred did so. Francis looked impressed.

"Very nice. One moment, please." Francis took Arthur by the arm and led him into the living room, just out of Alfred's earshot. He spoke quietly. "So I am assuming this is your brilliant story, no?"

Arthur smiled grimly. "Of course. I have a villain. I have a hero. Add a dash of scandal, some unsubstantiated rumours, a few public battles, mix, and serve. Et voila… to borrow a phrase."

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Scandal? Unsubstantiated rumours?"

"I know Beilschmidt thinks The Perfume Villain is a non-story, but after quite a bit of research, I have to disagree. The nerve paralysing perfume he uses has been seen before. The places he is targeting have all been targeted in the past. And the fact that he is stealing jewellery, of all things. Everything points to one conclusion. Our villain used to work for the Sunflower Tsar."

Francis furrowed his brow, looked away as though thinking. "Yes. Of course…"

"And if he is breaking back into the business on his own, then the question must be asked… what of the other of the Tsar's minions? Hackzor, Lietuva, little Harlequin… they all went into hiding after the end of the Posse. And what of the Dragon Emperor? After the Tsar was imprisoned, the Emperor simply disappeared without a trace. Where is he now?"

"If you write of these rumours, you are only going to succeed in causing a panic."

Arthur smirked. "And selling a lot of newspapers. But first thing is first. You need to help me turn America into the public's new golden boy."

Francis' expression grew calculating, his eyes and jaw hardening. "I am guessing that none of this is actually about Alfred, is it? Nothing to do with just wanting to give a nice, friendly kid a leg up in this tough city."

Arthur felt a brief stab of guilt. Alfred was so good, so trusting. And Arthur had not even thanked him for rescuing him in the alley earlier… Arthur shook the feeling away. He only had one thing to worry about here – how to get his career back on track. "Look, Alfred wants to be a superhero. I'm helping him achieve his goal."

"For your own benefit."

Arthur burned with guilty rage. "Look, Francis, are you going to help me or not?"

Francis glared a moment more before finally waving a hand dramatically. "Of course I am going to help you. How can I resist creating couture for such a specimen. When do you want the outfit by?"

"As soon as possible. I'm getting America on the front cover of Sunday's paper."

"The outfit will be ready. Can the same be said for your superhero, however?"

Arthur was not sure how to respond to that, but was abruptly interrupted by Alfred calling from the kitchen. "Hey Arthur! What did you want me to do with this fridge?"

After asking a few more questions, letting Alfred eat the leftover pizza in his fridge, and taking Alfred's measurements (which was definitely the highlight of Francis' evening), Francis finally closed the door on Arthur and Alfred, turned slowly, and smiled into the seemingly empty living room. "You can show yourself now, mon chér."

Matthew gradually materialised in the corner of the room, colours slowly and waveringly taking shape, until he finally appeared full and complete, leaning leisurely against the wall beside the window. He smiled back softly, his blonde hair falling in his dark blue eyes, his lithe body oh so stylishly clad in a perfectly cut skintight red outfit. But of course – Francis had designed it himself. "So," said Matthew in his quiet, gentle voice. "We have a new superhero in town."

Francis walked into the room and fell onto the soft leather couch with a sigh. "Apparently."

Matthew's voice spoke just behind him and Francis sighed again when he felt strong fingers running through his hair. "And Arthur knows about the Perfume Villain. Does he know how serious the danger is?"

"Mon chér, he has no idea."

"Do you think this 'America' can do something about it?"

"I'm not sure. But from what I have seen keeping an eye on him these last few months, I think maybe he can. But first, however, it seems I must help Arthur to make a star of this 'America'."

"Hmm. It looks like things are going to get interesting again, soon." Matthew gave a tiny laugh. "Perhaps it is time for you to make a comeback."

Francis laughed at that. Not that the idea had not occurred to him… not a day went by he did not think of taking his old but fabulous outfit from his wardrobe and once again flying out into the night, on the prowl for a villain to battle or a damsel to rescue… Feeling Matthew's fingers still running through his hair, Francis abruptly cut off that pointless line of fantasy. He was practically a married man now. With a damned desk job. Oh, how things changed. "I am contributing far more at the paper right now than I could on the streets. The city must be convinced it is safe." But he could not resist adding, "For the future, who knows."

"It will be a dark day for the villains of Hetalopolis the day the Bad Friend Trio reforms."

Francis flinched at the mention of the name, then felt his jaw clench. "That day will never come, Matthew."

"We will see." Matthew removed his hand and Francis turned to look up at him. He was starting to fade.

"You are not staying?"

Matthew smiled as his countenance gradually diminished. "Unlike others, I have not retired, Francis. And evil still stalks the streets... if you know where to find it."

"Be careful, mon amour."

The Invisible Canadian disappeared. To defend the streets, to fight crime, to help maintain the perfect little illusion of the city's newfound safety and freedom. Francis fell back against the couch and stared up at a framed photograph on the opposite wall. A photograph of the Bad Friend Trio, laughing wildly at the camera, the fiercest crime fighting trio to ever fly the skies of Hetalopolis. Then Francis rubbed his eyes sleepily, got to his feet, and stumbled down the hall to bed. Those days were behind him. Though it seemed like others were taking up the call…

Meanwhile, across town…

Most superheroes had retired after the end of the sunflower posse and the worst of the supervillains. Not Lady Érzelem. She loved the action. She loved the knowledge that she was doing something right. She loved her face on the front pages of the newspapers the next day, smiling heroically in her elegant green outfit and mask, a caption underneath saying she was just doing her job, she required no thanks, though of course she was open for that Vogue photo shoot next week. Lately, though, all that had been in short supply. No supervillains meant no need for superheroes. No world threatening devices to destroy; no evil masterminded plots to thwart. Now she had to try and find other ways to be heroic.

But everything was just so boring these days. Tonight, with nothing else to do, Lady Érzelem - aka Elizaveta Héderváry, or Eliza to her frie… her acquain… well, uh, to people she had spoken to at a few times, anyway - ran across the skyline of Hetalopolis, jumping easily from building to building, keeping an eye, an ear, and her inner senses out for any sort of disturbance where she could swoop in and heroically save the day. The city below glittered with a billion steady and flashing lights, roared with the sound of horns and traffic and the occasional siren. But all was peaceful. Eliza found herself, not for the first time, wishing for the return of a real big bad supervillain to shake this city around a little. Someone like the Tsar, or the Emperor… sure, there was the crime and the corruption and the occasional random, mindless acts of violence, but hey – there was also no lack of photo opportunities.

As she dropped down from the high rise buildings and started to pass over the roofs of the rich, ritzy, residential part of town, Eliza noticed a pillar of smoke and orange light blazing not too far in the distance. Her heart soared in her chest and she made her way quickly towards it. Yes! An opportunity for a heroic rescue! The light blazed around her and she dropped through an open window of the burning house, racing immediately down the stairs and onto the ground floor. "Hello?" she shouted down the hall. "Citizens?" The place was enormous; practically a palace. There was no way she could check the entire house just by yelling. Eliza stopped, breathed and focused; stretched her mind into her surroundings and grasped for the feel of any emotion in the place. Only silence. There was nothing. She groaned in disappointment. Just her luck - no one was even home. She headed towards the front door, the air thick and choking, when someone suddenly rushed up the hall towards her. Only he was running into the fire, not away from it. Eliza stepped in front of him in shock. But she hadn't felt anyone in here… "Hey, what are you doing?"

The man tried to push her away. He did not even seem surprised to find a stranger in his house. "My violin," he cried, his eyes looking past her and down the hall. "I have to get my violin!"

Eliza grasped the man's arms to hold him back, her brows immediately furrowing in confusion. Even touching him, she could get no grasp on his emotions at all. Then she almost forgot to feel surprised when the bright light of the fire illuminated his panicked face - his handsome, noble features, his dark, elegant hair, his deep dark eyes behind his glasses. Oh, this was going to look great for the cameras. Eliza tried to pull the young man towards the front door. "Don't be stupid, we have to leave immediately."

"No, you don't understand, my..." The man was cut off by a beam smashing from the ceiling behind them. The fire surged, roaring out of control.

Eliza swore to herself. This situation was getting serious, fast. "Sorry, my friend, I am getting you out of here."

"No!" He tried again to push his way past, looking frantic and growing quickly hysterical. Such strong emotions… and Eliza could get no read on them whatsoever. But he was still trying to run into the fire, and Eliza had no choice but to worry about that later.

"Sorry about this." Eliza punched the man in the stomach, hard, immediately incapacitating him. She caught him before he fell, threw him over her shoulder, and began to make her way to the door, coughing and sweating and squinting to see through the smoke. And then, suddenly, someone appeared in the smoke before her - white cape draped over his shoulder, red eyes gleaming behind his white mask, his hands on his hips and his voice deep and booming.

"Never fear, fair citizens of Hetalopolis, for Sheer Awesome is here to save..." He broke off and his voice rose an octave. "Eliza, what the hell are you doing here?"

Eliza gritted her teeth and felt her stomach recoil. Gilbert… No wonder she could get no read on the frantic man. Eliza's power of reading and manipulating people's emotions was rendered completely useless around Gilbert's power to turn emotions off completely. Even when he wasn't using the ability, somehow their powers clashed, and both were left stripped of their most important skill. Eliza growled at him. "Fuck off ambulance chaser, I have this completely under control!"

"Oh yes, it looks like it." An enormous crash blasted immediately behind her, making Eliza flinch slightly. Gilbert reached for the man over her shoulder. "Here, hand him to me..."

Eliza spun away and tried to push past. "So you get all the glory? Screw you, I'm saving the day here, you're too late." If anyone loved the spotlight and the press more than Eliza, it was Sheer Awesome: former member of the Bad Friend Trio and perpetual thorn in Eliza's side. It was one of the things that had broken up the successful trio - Gilbert's incessant need for publicity, his constant hogging of the spotlight, his always taking other people's credit. And now he spent his days turning up at every minor disturbance in the city. Which meant that Eliza ran into him far more than was healthy for either's career or stress levels.

Gilbert grabbed the man's chin as Eliza walked past. "Ooh, he's a bit of a looker, isn't he."

"I saw him first!" cried Eliza, slapping Gilbert's hand away.

"I think he's passed out from the smoke."

"Oh shit, really?"

"Here, I'll give him mouth to mouth."

Eliza briefly considered it. That would actually be kind of hot… "What, no! We have to get out of here! There must be a stack of reporters outside waiting to interview me!"

The man moaned incoherently and Gilbert put his ear to the man's mouth. "What was that?"

"He keeps saying something about a damn violin, now get out of my way, I've got to be first out of here for the cameras." Eliza settled the man over her shoulder, pushed towards the door, flicked her hair, fixed her face into that brave, effortless, beautiful and oh so heroic expression, then stepped out of the burning inferno to find… a single fire truck. She looked around in confusion. Where were the cameras? Where were the reporters? Damn it all, where were the people to enquire admiringly how impossibly good her hair still looked after all that? "The hell? Where's the press?"

"What do you think you're doing, little miss?"

Eliza shot the firefighter a disdainful, furious, brutally warning glare. "What did you just call me?"

The man took a step backwards. "Uh... I just mean... Well, geez, we didn't think no one was in there."

Eliza shook her head, rolled her eyes. Was everyone in this town a complete idiot these days… "Oh for goodness... Look, just call an ambulance, will you?"

Eliza carried the man a safe distance from the fire and laid him gently on the ground. She smoothed back his hair and tapped his handsome face lightly. Wow. He really was stunning. "Come on, pretty boy. Open your eyes."

The man very slowly blinked as he started to wake, then looked up at her with deep, dark brown eyes. His face brightened as he stared in awe. "Oh," he said quietly. "An angel."

Eliza's breath caught a little and her heart started to beat faster. But then he looked past her and Eliza turned to follow his line of sight. Well, damn it all. Gilbert was walking out of the building of smoke and fire, holding a violin like some sort of holy grail, looking like a damn cheesy action hero. Eliza gritted her teeth and felt a growl rise in her throat. And now Pretty Boy was looking at Gilbert with those awestruck brown eyes.

Gilbert strode up to them, fell to one knee, and pressed the violin into the man's hands. He flashed a grin he probably thought was charming. "Ihre Violine."

The brunette stared up at him, wide eyed and astounded. "Danke."

Eliza clenched her fists. Sneaky, dirty, underhanded bastard, damn it all how was she supposed to know the gorgeous violinist spoke German? She could have pulled that trick, too. She used all her strength to try and get a read on the man's feelings. It was useless. With Gilbert here, she could get nothing.

Sirens split the night as an ambulance screamed up the street and pulled onto the curb beside them. An ambulance officer jumped out of the van and hurried over to the musician, throwing Eliza and Gilbert a derisive glare. "You superhero guys still hanging around?"

Gilbert glared back. "Well if it wasn't for me this guy would be pretty fried right now."

Eliza turned on Gilbert, about ready to scream. "You? You arrogant bloated wind bag bastard lying piece of..." Eliza got angrily to her feet and Gilbert quickly followed.

"You're just jealous because the pretty musician so obviously wants me."

"Wants you? The guy's practically catatonic! Where do you come up with these delusions?"

"Did you see the way he looked at me when I walked out of that house all smooth and awesome and totally badass?"

"I'm the one who saved his life! You just grabbed a piece of wood!"

"For all your ability to read people's emotions, Eliza, you can be pretty dense. That's why you'll always be alone."

"Says the guy who ruined the only friendships he ever had with the only two people in the world who could possibly stand you!"

"That was not my fault, that was NEVER my fault!"

"Oh, come on, Gilbert, EVERYONE knows that was your fault!"

"Bullshit, it was all because of little Yoko Italiano."

"Lovino. You broke the guy's arm, you'd think you could remember his name."

"That incident was completely justified and taken so far out of context after the fact!"

"Whatever, the point is, you will never again find anyone who can put up with you."

"All right, come on, let's see, shall we? Let's see which one of us can land the pretty musician here!"

"Do you forget that I can manipulate people's emotions?"

"Do you forget that I can turn people's off?"

"Is this a challenge?"

"Hell yes it's a challenge!"

"All right then, you are on, Beilschmidt. You are so on! Wait, hang on, where did he go?"

Eliza looked up from the haze of anger and furious shouting to see the ambulance driving off into the distance. She kicked the ground forcefully. "Damn it, I don't even know his name." She looked back up at the burning house, the blaze already under control. A firefighter sauntered past and shot the two superheroes an almost pitiful look.

"You know, the fire department really coulda handled this one."

"Oh yeah?" shouted Gilbert angrily. "Well, screw you too!"

Eliza sighed and placed her hands on her hips. They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before she finally said, "Is it bad that I liked it better when the supervillains ran this town? When we were important."

"When we were noticed."

"When we had an actual purpose. I'm really starting to wish something would happen to liven this place up a bit."

The fire before them finally burned out, the smoke hissing as it rose hazily into the sky. Gilbert tapped his foot edgily, then shot Eliza a sideways glance. "Feel like a drink?"

Eliza opened her mouth to retort angrily, but only managed to sigh resignedly, "Hell yes I feel like a goddamn drink."

"You're paying."

"We'll settle it with an arm wrestle."

"Ah, damn it."

The two superheroes walked into the night, white and green capes flying behind them, their tired, worn faces masked from the uncaring world. Unneeded, forgotten, and intent on getting completely, smashingly, rip-roaring drunk.

Meanwhile, across town…

"But look at it, Liet, isn't it just the prettiest, most sparkliest, most, like, totally awesome necklace you've ever seen?"

"Feliks, you're in the paper! Are you even listening to me?"

But of course Feliks wasn't listening. Feliks never listened. He just lay on the couch in the tiny second room of their tiny three room high rise apartment, surrounded by sparkling jewellery, playing gleefully with the enormous shining green diamond that rested around his neck. "This is going to look totally killer with that green off the shoulder top…"

"Feliks!" Toris tried to ignore how adorable Feliks looked in his little skirt, lounging on a bed of jewels, his green eyes lit up brightly and his blonde hair tousled on the armrest. It wasn't adorable, Toris shouted silently. It was stupid, irresponsible, it could ruin everything… Toris marched up to Feliks and waved the newspaper in his face. "Look! Look at you here! Plain for everyone to see - you're waving at the camera, for goodness sakes!"

Feliks snatched the paper from Toris' hand and scrutinised it closely. "Cuuuuute! I'm so totally relieved I got my hair done that morning."

"Pay attention, Feliks! This is serious! People are starting to notice!"

Feliks groaned loudly and tossed the paper onto the ground. "The way I see it, I'm, like, liberating this jewellery. I mean, what is the point of having this totally gorgeous stone locked away in a bank vault? It needs to be worn, to be shown to the world." He gasped, his face brightening. "Ooh, ooh, I tell you what, yeah… I'm totally gonna wear it to that big charity ball we're dropping in on next weekend!"

Toris bit his lip not to scream. "Right, yes. Brilliant idea. And you don't think that maybe people might go, 'Oh, hey, look, there's that billion dollar diamond that went missing from Hetalopolis Bank last week, I wonder what it's doing around the neck of that adorable blonde boy with the fabulous hair?'"

Feliks flicked his hair from his face. "My hair is fabulous, isn't it."

"Those highlights really work for you."

"I know, right, like how well do they go with my eyes and stuff."

"And the green diamond really sets it all off… No, damn it, stop! This is a serious problem!"

"Oh, relax. With the Emperor coming back, it's only a matter of weeks before we're running this town again anyway." Feliks stretched his arm above his head, his shirt sliding up his stomach to display a tanned, tempting curve of skin. He smiled slowly, lazily; lifted his leg just enough to allow his skirt to ride up and expose his thigh. Toris swallowed heavily. "Come on, Liet." Feliks fingered the green stone around his neck and blinked up at Toris with wide, innocent eyes. "Don't be mad. You know how totally hot I look in this necklace."

Toris raised his eyes to the ceiling. He sometimes wished he had stronger will power. But then…

"AHH, LIET! What are you… ohhh…"

To be continued...

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

THANK YOU OCEAN-BABYBLUES FOR SAVING THIS CHAPTER!

#meanwhile across town chapter 2

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

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Chapter 1

Meanwhile, Across Town by George deValier

Chapter saved by ocean-babyblues ♥

INTRODUCTION

Once, not all that long ago, the streets of Hetalopolis were ruled by greed and tyranny. Rival gangs roamed both alleyways and corporate boardrooms. Citizens huddled afraid in their homes, the night belonged to the darkness, and evil held the city in its iron fist.

Then rose up the superheroes. Humans born with inhuman powers, who chose to fight the dark with the powers of virtue and right. For a time war raged above and within our fair city, the supervillains and the superheroes locked in an age old struggle of right and wrong, good and evil, light and darkness.

Until finally there rose five. Five heroes from the north who vanquished the ruling villains of the east and drove the remainder into hiding. And the streets became safe once more. The villains faded into obscurity and the heroes found themselves unneeded, discarded, forgotten. Some moved on, took jobs, lived quiet, little lives. Others, unable to reside in normality, clung to their past dreams, their past glory. And for a while, all was well on the streets of Hetalopolis.

But for some, peace is uneasy, and of those born with power some will always use it for darkness and gain. Evil now lurks in the shadows once more. But where there is evil, good will always rise to fight it, and where there is despair, hope is never far...

"Are you nearly done?"

"...huh?"

"Well, it's just, I mean, I asked you if you'd heard any news lately and you've been droning on for about ten minutes now, it's getting a bit tiresome."

"Some people can't appreciate a good bit of dramatic history."

"Some people don't have three years to stand around chatting in alleyways."

"Fair enough. You want to know what news I've heard? Read your local newspaper. The articles by Arthur Kirkland. He's the only one who seems to have a clue."

"I travel all the way here to the scummiest side of town to speak with you and you tell me to read the newspaper? What happened to the informer, the AlleyCat, the guy who always knows what's going on?"

"You asked. I answered. Go pick up your local newspaper. And remember my words."

"What words, aru?"

The AlleyCat shrugged, threw another handful of crumbs to the dozens of cats that always congregated around his feet. "'... where there is evil, good will always rise to fight it.'"

CHAPTER ONE

"Just what do you expect me to do with this?" shouted Ludwig Beilschmidt, chief editor of the Hetalopolis Times, throwing the small pile of paper down on his desk. Arthur winced and prepared himself for an outburst. "This is pathetic. Your last story was just as pitiful, but do you really think I will stand for this twice? What is this even…" The editor in chief picked up the papers again and stared at them incredulously. "'The Perfume Villain Strikes Again.'. That's your headline? No one has even heard of this 'Perfume Villain!' How can he 'strike again' when we didn't even know about the first strike?"

"Sir, he's actually robbed a few bank vaults by now, and I really think…"

"No, you don't think, Kirkland, that is your problem. You used to be brilliant. Your articles about The Nordic Five versus the Sunflower Posse were some of the best I have ever seen. They won you the damn Journalist of the Year award. But no one cares about superheroes anymore. Ever since the demise of the Posse, they're old news. Frankly, your work is slipping. And this," the editor threw the papers back down on the desk again, "Is trash. So get out there, bring me a great story, or I am going to have to think quite seriously about letting you go. Now get out of here and do your job."

Arthur picked up the papers and stormed out of the office, almost feeling smoke coming from his ears. He was fuming. He was furious. He was... he was a god damn writer and he couldn't even think of another synonym that started with 'f'. No wonder he no longer wrote the front page articles. Foul! There's a word. He was in one hell of a foul mood. Arthur stomped past rows of identical desks and identical tapping at keyboards and ceiling length windows that looked down on the sprawling city below. He fell into his chair and threw the papers onto his desk even more violently than Ludwig had done. And Ludwig was a champion at throwing paper angrily onto desks. He could compete in the bloody angrily throwing paper on desks world championship. Arthur was just thinking that at least things probably couldn't get any worse when Francis Bonnefoy, fellow journalist, fashion editor, and fabulously irritating thorn in Arthur's side, spun around from his desk in front, smiled revoltingly, and practically sprawled across Arthur's desk. "Well?" Arthur snarled at him. Things could always get worse.

"Same old bleeding bloody buggery bullshit." Arthur realised he seemed to be a fan of alliteration when pissed off. Francis flinched and sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"Language, dear, sometimes you conjure up the most horrific mental images."

"What the hell does he expect me to do?" asked Arthur angrily, loudly ignoring Francis. "I can't create stories out of thin air! I'm a journalist, not Stephen bloody King! How can I be constantly expected to produce five star, gold material when the most interesting thing that has happened this week is that Miss Katyusha from channel five news busted her top open live on air Wednesday night?"

"And the gossip department is already all over that one," nodded Francis sympathetically.

"Do you know what I mean though?" Arthur was nearly shouting now. "No one else gets this sort of pressure put on them. Look at Feliciano." Arthur gestured to where the Italian food critic was currently sitting ON his desk, making paper planes and throwing them at the sports department. "What has he published, two articles in the last month? And he's not getting called into Ludwig's office every day."

"Well, he is, but for an entirely different reason I think."

Arthur groaned and dropped his head onto the desk. "This is so unfair! What am I supposed to do?"

"Come up with a brilliant story," said Francis brightly. Arthur resisted the urge to stab him in the eye with a pen.

"There are no stories, I've already told you." Arthur spoke through gritted teeth. "The town is running better than it has in years. The supervillains have pretty much disappeared and the only heroes left have nothing to do but get kittens down from trees and help little old ladies cross the street. So, pray tell, where am I supposed to find this brilliant story?"

But Arthur knew where the stories were. He was convinced that the only reason no one cared about superheroes anymore was because most of the popular ones had retired. If only there was someone new, someone fresh and interesting that people could get excited about. And if this new superhero had an adversary, well, there was Arthur's golden ticket to journalism popularity. The glittering awards shows, the lavish dinners with heads of state, the prestige that came with having the rich and famous under the power of his pen. It could all be his again. Arthur already had the villain of his story... true, a rather smalltime, unknown, pathetic villain, but what was good journalism without a little embellishment... so now he just needed the hero. But where the hell was he supposed to find...

"Here's your coffee, Mr K!" Arthur looked up to see Alfred Jones, resident copy boy and coffee maker, stumble towards him like an out of control steam train. Arthur pushed his chair back just in time to avoid the cup that smashed and spilled over his entire desk.

"Bloody blasted hell boy, watch what you're damn well doing! And I asked for tea!"

"Sorry about that, Mr K," said Alfred apologetically, leaning over the desk in an eager, dementedly happy attempt to clean up the mess.

"No," said Arthur, trying to salvage what he could of the soaking papers, "Just leave it."

"I am sorry, honest, I'll get you another one just as soon as I've cleaned this..." Alfred pulled a handful of crumpled tissues from his pocket and used them to wipe down the desk. "Oh man, I even spilled some in your lap, lucky it wasn't actually that hot, here let me..."

Arthur shot out of his chair like a rocket. "Hands, watch the hands!"

"Sorry sorry!" Alfred backed away, hands in the air. Arthur sighed in exasperation. How did they even hire people these days...

"Look, listen, Allan..."

"Alfred," corrected Alfred, sounding a little hurt.

"Yes yes of course. Just... look, just go away, will you? I'm incredibly busy right now."

Alfred's face fell and he nodded. "All right, Mr K, I really am sorry though." He walked away slowly and Arthur grumbled as he turned his attention back to saving what he could from his coffee soaked desk. Francis stared at him through narrowed eyes.

"You are too harsh on him."

"Well he's a walking train wreck with impeccably bad timing. Why did you even suggest Ludwig hire him?"

"Well, look at him. He's so... energetic. And cute. Just look. I mean really, look now, while he's walking away, he's got a really cute butt."

Arthur refused to admit that Francis was right on that last point. He forced himself not to look. "He's a bloody nuisance is what he is."

"He has a crush on you, you know." Francis waggled his eyebrows. Arthur felt himself turn red.

"Don't be ridiculous. And stop bothering me, I'm busy! Don't you have your own work to do? Just look at the time. Oh bugger off!" Francis just laughed as he turned back to his own desk.

Arthur stayed late at the office, trying to work on the dregs of this nonexistent story he had. A small time villain whose power appeared to be a nerve paralysing fume he used to render guards and law officers unconscious. Nothing special, but he had so far managed to make off with a few million dollars worth of diamonds and jewellery. But no deaths, no battles. Nothing much to draw the publics attention. Now if only there was a hero to set out, fight, and defeat the guy... now that would be interesting. That would make a story.

By the time Arthur finally left the office the building was empty, and the dark alley he exited onto was silent and unlit. He'd always hated that the staff exit led to this horribly narrow and smelly and sinister alleyway. It was bad enough in the middle of the day. But at this time of night… Barely paying attention to his surroundings, but walking a little faster than usual, Arthur only made it halfway to the main street before the lane was blocked by two huge men before him. Arthur froze and took a wary step backward.

"Little late to be leaving work alone, isn't it?" asked one of the men unpleasantly, stepping forward as Arthur stepped back.

"Well... uh... you know how it is, deadlines and such..." Arthur turned to look behind him but another man, even bigger than the first two, stepped out of the shadows to block the way. Arthur swallowed the rising fear in his throat.

"Now we don't want to make this any more unpleasant than it has to be," said the third man, cracking his knuckles and making Arthur shudder. The other men laughed as they advanced. "Oh wait... yes we do."

Arthur stood frozen for a moment before adrenaline pumped through his veins and he attempted a brash, futile escape. He was swiftly grabbed by the shoulder and slammed against the wall. One of the men pulled his laptop case from his arm and the other tore his briefcase from his grip before rifling through his jacket. "Wait, no..." Arthur couldn't believe this... it was like it wasn't real. His pulse thrummed hazily in his head. Wasn't this just his bloody luck... right when the damned city was getting safe, he gets mugged in the street. He tried for another escape but received a stunning blow to his cheek for the trouble. The men were laughing. Their hands were like iron. Arthur couldn't escape. He started to panic.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a red, white and blue tornado descended before Arthur's eyes. A few surprised shouts, a grunt, a flurry of fists and limbs and garish colour and before Arthur knew it the three men were lying unconscious on the ground. He blinked dazedly in surprise and looked up at his unexpected saviour. He wiped his eyes and shook his head, but the strange vision before him remained the same. The man was dressed in an awful blue Lycra unitard, enormous boots that looked like they had been spray painted red, and what looked suspiciously like an old bed sheet tied around his shoulders. He put his hands on his hips and stood before Arthur in an impossibly ridiculous stance.

"Are you all right, fair dams… uh… citizen?"

Arthur squinted. Sure it was dark, and he was a little shaken, but he was fairly sure that the guy standing right before him was… "Alfred?"

Alfred's eyes darted and he laughed nervously. "Who is this Alfred you speak of?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Alfred, I know it's you."

"I know nothing of this Alfred. For I, fair citizen, am…" Alfred took a deep breath, thrust out his chest, and tossed his bed sheet behind his shoulder. "America-man!"

Silence. Arthur swore he could hear crickets chirping. "No you're not, you're Alfred Jones, the copy boy who spills my tea every day."

Again Alfred looked around nervously. "I swear, fair citizen, I..."

"Alfred, you can't just take off your glasses and wrap a sheet around you and expect it to be a credible disguise."

"Oh." Alfred deflated somewhat. Arthur tilted his head as he studied him. He didn't know whether to laugh. Alfred almost looked like a little boy playing dress up. A rather tall, oversized, very muscular actually through that Lycra...

"Not thinking that! I mean, uh, so you're a superhero then?"

"Yep!" At Arthur's skeptical expression, Alfred's brave smile fell a little. "Okay, so I've only just started, and I don't have a copyright yet, or a proper uniform, really, or a, uh..."

"Clue?" supplied Arthur.

"I suppose, but hey." Alfred brightened and thrust out his chest again. "Did you SEE the ass kicking I gave those guys?"

Arthur looked down at the unconscious would-be muggers. There were a few superhero wannabes around... those who had a lot of enthusiasm but no actual powers... but Alfred had certainly done a number on the three men. Plus he had a certain something, indefinable, an attitude that made it seem like he really could take on the world. Maybe there was something there after all. Maybe Arthur could work this to his advantage. "All right. Alfred?"

"Yeah? Oh, damn it..."

"Listen here."

"Okay."

"You want to be a superhero?" Alfred nodded eagerly. "So, now I'm just guessing here, you can't fly."

"No."

"You can't turn invisible."

"No."

"You don't have super speed?"

"Uh… no."

"Forgive me for asking, but what exactly is your superpower then?"

"Well, I can do this. Follow me." Arthur picked up his laptop and suitcase and followed Alfred out of the alley, taking care to kick his unconscious attackers in the head as he went. Then he watched as Alfred walked over to a car parked on the side of the road, grabbed it by the bumper, and in one fluid movement lifted it over his head. Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Super strength. Well that's something. Very well, Alfred Jones..."

"America-man."

Arthur paused only briefly. "As I was saying, very well. I believe there may be some hope for you after all. But first thing is first. We are going to have to do something about that outfit of yours. Now you, follow me." Arthur turned and headed down the street. Alfred hurried to follow. "Alfred."

"Yeah?"

"Put the car down."

"Oh. Right."

Alfred wanted to be a superhero. Arthur needed a story. He smiled to himself. He may have just found the answer he was looking for.

Meanwhile, across town…

The third security guard fell to the ground, motionless. The masked villain smiled as he passed. No one could withstand the assault of his nerve paralysing perfume. Years of exposure had left him immune, but when others smelled it they dropped like little old ladies who got in his way in the after Christmas sales. With none left to obstruct him, he strutted calmly and purposefully to the locked room at the end of the hall. He held up the key, recently obtained from a helplessly unresisting bank manager, and placed it into the lock. The doorknob turned with a satisfying click and the masked man stepped into the undefended room.

The perfume villain walked over to a small safe on the back table, pressed in a simple five number code, and smiled when the little black door swung open. He pulled out a blue velvet box and held it up to the light, inspecting his nails as he did. He frowned. He'd already chipped one. And he'd only just had a manicure. He placed the box in his exquisitely tailored jacket and turned on his red varnished heel. The steadily approaching sound of sirens did not bother him. He would be gone well before they arrived. He giggled to himself and gave a tiny wave to a security camera as he passed.

"Totally killer. Seriously, that was, like, way too easy. Classic."

To be continued…

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

THANK YOU OCEAN-BABYBLUES FOR SAVING THIS CHAPTER!

#George deValier #meanwhile across town #meanwhile across town chapter 1

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 13

The Tiger and the Dragon by George deValier

Chapter saved by ocean-babyblues ♥

Yao woke up late, rolled over, and a sudden stab of pain brought with it a flood of memory. Caught between laughing and screaming, Yao hid his burning face in the pillow, a strange sort of happy, embarrassed giddiness floating through his head. The sheets still smelt of Ivan. Yao laughed wildly. He'd done it, he'd, he… couldn't even think the words, but he had, and he was so deeply in love it was painful and glorious and everything was beautiful and wonderful and right with the world. Yao practically leapt from the bed, ignoring the dull pain, and showered and dressed feeling lighter than he had in months. It was such a splendid day, and the simple idea of running downstairs to check the mail filled him with delight. He checked his neck in the mirror… still bruised and red and horrible, but even that couldn't ruin his mood… then threw Ivan's scarf around his neck, put his Buddha statue in his pocket, and took off out of the apartment and down the stairs.

Yao did not get halfway across the foyer before Alfred suddenly barrelled out of his front door and grabbed him by the arm. "Yao! Thank God you're here! I need your help!"

"You wha… oh fine, what now." Yao let himself be dragged into Alfred's kitchen, where Francis and Feliciano sat looking resigned at the kitchen bench. Francis smirked as Yao smiled awkwardly and laid his hands on the counter.

"Hello, Yao! Did you have a good night?" Yao's stomach fell. Surely Francis couldn't have heard… "Tell me all about it, chéri. Come." Francis grinned wickedly and nodded at the stool beside Yao. "Have a seat." He carefully enunciated the words and Yao glared at him. Apparently he had.

"Huh?" asked Feliciano, turning his head between the two. Yao wondered what the Italian was even doing here… wasn't he supposed to be at work? "What was last night?"

"Nothing," said Yao quickly. At least Alfred hadn't heard Yao and Ivan's nocturnal activities… he would definitely have said something if he had. That was something. Yao ducked his head to hide his blush. "What is this all about, Alfred?"

"It's me and Arthur's anniversary next week and you guys are going to cook for us!" said Alfred cheerfully.

"We are?" Yao glanced at Francis, who just shrugged and rested his chin in his hand.

"Apparently we are."

"Why?"

Alfred threw out his hands like it was obvious. "Because you are my friends, and I am asking you."

"I'm not your friend," said Feliciano. "I'm Francis and Yao's friend. I only came over to borrow Francis' blender and you grabbed me at the door and forced me into your kitchen because I'm a chef. You actually scare me a little."

"All right, Yao, because you and Francis are my friends and the little Italian here just happened to be handy. Yao, you can sit down you know."

"I prefer to stand."

"I bet you do!"

"Shut up, Francis."

Francis just giggled. "Oh, don't be like that, Yao. I'm proud of you! And jealous as all hell. And where did you get this fabulous scarf? It looks familiar…"

Yao froze. Damn, how the hell was he supposed to explain this? All he could say was, "Please don't say 'fabulous.'"

"But this material, it's gorgeous, chéri! Let me see…" Francis reached over the bench and took hold of the scarf. Yao panicked silently and pulled it from Francis' hands.

"Why the hell are you wearing a scarf anyway? It's not even cold." Alfred immediately took a hold of the centre loop.

"Will you both stop it, it's just a damn scarf…" Yao took a few frantic steps backwards, trying to escape, but felt the scarf pulled from his neck. His hand immediately flew to his throat, but it was too late. Alfred's eyes went wide, he flung the scarf to the ground, then grabbed Yao's hand and pulled it from his neck. Yao closed his eyes and swore inwardly.

Alfred spoke furiously. "What the hell happened to your neck?"

"It's not what you think…" Yao spoke quickly, but Alfred just spoke over him, his eyes hard and his face twisting in rage.

"I'll kill him."

Damn it, damn it, damn it… Yao shook his head. "No, listen…"

Alfred's hands clenched in fists. His eyes flashed as he suddenly headed for the door. "I'll fucking kill the bastard."

"Mon Dieu, Yao, what did that Russian do?" Francis sounded stunned.

Yao raced in front of Alfred and held up his hands. "Stop! It wasn't his fault!"

Alfred halted, his expression turning incredulous. Francis shook his head, disappointed and disbelieving. "Oh, Yao, no…"

"No, that's not what I mean, I mean it wasn't even Ivan, it was…"

"General Winter, wasn't it." Everyone's eyes turned to Feliciano.

Yao's heart dropped to his stomach. Why now… oh God, why NOW? "I… aru…"

"You went to Braginski's place again." It was not even a question. Feliciano breathed out in frustration, his normally cheerful face strangely disappointed. "Don't you know what's been going on with his people?"

This was the last thing Yao wanted to deal with today. Not today, when he was supposed to be happy. Not when he had finally decided he loved Ivan enough not to care about all this. "No. I don't know. I don't want to know."

"It's a complete mess!" cried Feliciano, ignoring Yao. "They're all fighting over leadership, and everyone is bitter and vicious and backstabbing each other, and Grandpa Rome says this is a very, very bad time to have anything to do with them."

Yao raised his eyes to the ceiling. "I don't have anything to do with 'them'," he said, ignoring the fact that his words weren't exactly true. "I only have anything to do with Ivan."

Feliciano ignored him. "Grandpa Rome says he won't have anything to do with the Russian mafia because they don't do things right. He says Ivan once killed a man with a kitchen tap. A kitchen tap! I mean, how do you even kill a man with a tap!"

Alfred looked completely confounded, his earlier rage turned to utter confusion. "The what? The huh? Mafia? Tap?"

Yao raised his hands again, placatingly. "It's nothing, Alfred, it's just a misunderstanding." The last thing Yao needed was Alfred freaking out about this. The American was just stupid enough to actually try and confront Ivan. Francis just sat silently, listening intently to Feliciano, his eyes soft and concerned.

"Yao." Now, Feliciano didn't seem terrified or hysterical. He just looked incredibly worried. Somehow it was worse. "You're working this afternoon, right?"

Yao closed his eyes briefly. How had he ever thought his calm, untroubled morning could last? He answered reluctantly. "Yes."

"Good. I think there's someone you should talk to."

Yao was at the point where he wasn't even that bothered anymore. Ivan had said that many people knew him. Yao knew what he was involved with, and he had decided he didn't care. So that feeling of uneasy apprehension he had grown so used to in the last weeks was conspicuously absent as he made his way through the quiet, almost empty restaurant. Feliciano had asked Yao to speak with his grandfather Rome before work that afternoon and Yao had agreed, knowing that there was nothing the man could say to change his mind. There was nothing anyone could say. There was nobody, absolutely nobody, who could…

"Good afternoon, Mr Wang."

Yao nearly choked, felt his blood turn cold, and practically stumbled as he spun around. He recognised the beautiful woman immediately. Long, straight platinum hair, piercing blue eyes that stared right through him. Ivan's sister, Natalia. She stood taller than Yao, dressed in a beautifully cut black dress that displayed her hard, straight, slender figure. Just like her brother, her very presence filled the entire room. Yao's nerves fired, instantly on edge. "Good… afternoon… aru…"

Natalia smiled in that predatory way Yao remembered. "Please, take a seat with me." Yao had no choice. He practically fell into the nearest chair as Natalia advanced on him.

"I… okay."

A waitress, a pretty blonde girl Yao barely knew yet, approached them immediately. Her movements were timid, her expression wary. Yao thought he remembered her name as Lili. Natalia took the seat opposite Yao, her icy blue eyes not moving from Yao. "Vodka. A bottle."

"And hurry," added Yao softly.

The second Lili hurried off, Natalia smiled again. Yao felt uncomfortably like a trapped sheep in the company of a wolf. "I'm so pleased to see you again, Mr Wang. So this is where you work, is it?" Natalia looked around the little modern restaurant, the stark black and white, her expression making her disdain for the place blatantly obvious. There were only a few other diners in the room, and three men in suits standing imposingly at the door.

Yao gripped onto the edge of his chair. What was this woman doing here? What were her men doing at the door? He swallowed heavily and tried to answer calmly. "Yes, that's right."

Natalia's accent was nowhere near as strong as Ivan's, yet still noticeable. "Not as many red lanterns and dragons as I expected. And where are those goldfish you people always keep in these places?"

Yao felt his teeth clench. You people… For a brief moment his anger overruled his alarm. "I cook modern cuisine. This is not a Chinese restaurant, if that is what you are implying."

Natalia lifted her chin, her perfectly shaped eyebrows slightly raised, her deep red lips twisted in the tiniest sneer. "It is charming. A little small, but…"

"What do you want?" Natalia's eyes flashed at Yao's jumpy interruption. Yao leant back in his chair, his heart clamouring uneasily to his throat. Natalia glared at Yao just long enough to make him fidget uncomfortably before she answered.

"How terribly rude of me. I'll get straight to the point then. I am here on… business, if you will. I understand that you are a friend of my brother."

Yao took a deep, steadying breath. His hand unconsciously sought the little statue in his pocket. "Define friend."

Natalia waved a perfectly manicured hand dismissively. "He cares for you, at least. And you care for him?"

Yao paused and wondered if it was a good idea to answer honestly. Natalia's sharp, empty blue eyes pierced right through him, and Yao realised it wasn't a good idea to make her wait for an answer. He nodded slightly.

Natalia sighed dramatically and tapped her nails upon the table. "And that is what makes this so hard to say." Natalia stopped speaking when Lili appeared again with the vodka. The poor girl looked terrified, her green eyes darting continuously towards the intimidating men at the door. She placed a glass on the table, fumbled with the lid of the vodka bottle, then started to pour it out. When her hand faltered and the vodka spilt, Natalia snapped viciously. "Just leave it, you stupid girl."

Yao nearly jumped at the words. Lili gave a small squeak of terror and almost knocked the bottle over in her haste to place it on the table. Yao forced down his alarm and tried to smile apologetically as the flustered waitress hurried away. However Toris' words about Natalia suddenly floated through his memory - She once broke four of my fingers…

Natalia drank the glass easily, reached for the bottle, and poured another. Yao could see the family resemblance. "You Russians know how to hold your vodka, don't you?" Yao felt the words tumble nervously out of his mouth before even thinking them. His skin burned with sudden panic, but Natalia just smirked.

"Russian? I was born in Belarus, Mr Wang. Just another bastard child of a whoring Russian mob boss. And I was drinking vodka before I killed my first man. To clarify, I killed my first man at twelve."

Yao opened his mouth, but it was a few moments before any sound came out. Unfortunately, the sound was, "Aru."

Natalia downed the second glass swiftly. Her icy blue gaze remained fixed, unblinking, on Yao's wide, wary eyes. "But I must apologise - what was I saying? Oh, of course. I am afraid, Mr Wang, that you must never see my brother again."

It took too long for the words to make sense in Yao's head. He blinked rapidly, his pulse thundering beneath his skin, his stomach sick and cold. For a brief moment the room spun around him. "Wait, what?"

Natalia held up a hand. Her harshly beautiful face was so blank, so cold. "Let me finish. There are certain people who do not look favourably upon this little… friendship of yours."

Yao could barely understand, barely comprehend. His hand flew to the scarf at his throat. The very thought of not seeing Ivan again left him breathless."I don't… aru..."

"You see, Mr Wang, I care for Ivan. Very, very much. What pains him, pains me. So you understand, I have no desire to see him hurt." Natalia breathed in through her nose, her lips a hard, cold line. "But he does not always know what is best for him."

"And you do." Again Yao spoke before thinking. This time Natalia's cruel, iron stare struck Yao still and terrified. The next words to rise to his memory were Ivan's – "Your sister stabbed you?" "Da. I believe was also an antique, however was a knife. And not an accident." Yao tried to suppress his panic. But all he wanted right now, more than anything in the world, was for Ivan to walk through that door.

The stare broke, and Natalia poured another glass of vodka. She took a small sip and twirled the glass between her fingers, regarding it thoughtfully. "You are not good for Ivan. So you are going to go away. I don't care where, as long as it is somewhere we will never hear from you again. You will give him an excuse, and you will leave. IF you do not, or if you choose to inform Ivan of our little chat, we will meet again." Natalia looked up and caught Yao's eyes in that predatory hold. She lifted one leg over the other, swept aside her skirt, and Yao caught an unmistakable glimpse of shining metal. His breath stopped in his throat. Natalia leant forward and hissed her next words through red, twisted lips. "And I assure you, Mr Wang, I will be nowhere near as friendly as you have found me on this occasion."

Yao had no idea what to say. Words simply became a jumble of nonsensical ideas in his head, of cold terror and feeble denial. "He… I… but…" Yao forced himself to stare back evenly, to straighten his shoulders and swallow his fear. "Ivan won't like that."

Natalia smirked again, then shook her head condescendingly. "You think my brother is so powerful, don't you, Mr Wang? So big and strong. You think he can protect you."

Yao suddenly felt very small. He forced himself to maintain eye contact and not shrink away. "Ivan nearly beat a man to death for hurting me. What I think, is that it's a very stupid idea to make him angry."

Natalia's dark blue eyes flashed again, this time with strong emotion behind them. Her blank, disdainful expression twisted in jealous fury. "You have spent a considerable amount of time with my brother. People have noticed. Have you not considered, Mr Wang, that it would be best for all concerned if you simply... disappeared?"

Another deep wave of terror raced through Yao's veins. His nerve-riddled stomach twisted with nausea. He could no longer maintain Natalia's ferocious stare, and dropped his gaze to the table. He could not even think to respond. When Natalia spoke again, her voice was calm, triumphant.

"I'm so glad we got to have this little talk. I admit I can see why Ivan is so taken with you." Natalia gave a short, high, cold laugh. "He always did like the little powerless ones." Yao felt the words like a stab to his gut. Natalia just rose to her feet. When Yao glared up at her she gave him a tiny smile and a shrug, as though challenging him to respond. Hatred and fear warred silently in Yao's chest. "Good day, Mr Wang."

"Miss Arlovskaya!"

The loud, bright, Italian-accented voice boomed through the small restaurant. Yao glanced up in surprise to see Rome Vargas standing in the centre of the room, Feliciano cowering nervously at his side. The elder Italian was dressed in his customary black suit, his carefully cheerful gaze fixed on Natalia. The entire room turned to look.

Natalia drew herself up challengingly. "Signor Vargas." The atmosphere changed abruptly, turning cold and tense and still.

"You are not leaving already?" asked Rome, striding to stand before Natalia, Feliciano following closely and fearfully behind him. Natalia just watched him approach with a contemptuous sneer.

"I am afraid my business here has concluded for the day. What brings you to this little restaurant?" She looked pointedly down at Yao. Rome did not appear to notice.

"Only the best pasta in the city, madam. You must try it next time."

There were daggers behind their words. Their men stood watching each other warily. The tension was palpable, the still air heavy and charged.

Natalia looked disgusted at the very idea. "While I appreciate the suggestion, Signore, I sincerely hope I will not have need to return."

Rome placed a hand to his chest. "That is a shame. I am amazed that you have any free time at all what with how busy you must all be."

A heavy silence fell. Natalia's shoulders stiffened. When she spoke, her words were like ice. "Excuse me?"

Rome just smiled cheerfully. 'Well, what with the problems you've been having in your ranks recently, I'd have thought your hands would be full. It's a terrible concern to be having problems like that. Petty quarrels over leadership, vital information being leaked."

Natalia's deep blue eyes widened. She simply glared, until after a few moments her cold gaze fell to Feliciano. She smiled cruelly. "This is your grandson, yes? Feliciano, I think it was."

Rome's smile fell and he moved to stand in front of Feliciano. "I don't believe this is the time, Miss Arlovskaya."

"Neither the place." Natalia lifted her murderous gaze from the quivering Feliciano.

Rome smiled again, though his eyes were filled with loathing. "Always a pleasure, however."

Natalia smirked back. "Always."

"Do give my regards to your brother."

Natalia grinned, her teeth bared behind blood red lips. "Oh, believe me, I will. Farewell, Signore."

Rome bowed slightly. "Madam."

Natalia gave Yao one last piercing stare before striding across the room and sweeping out the front door, her three black-suited men behind her. Yao could not hold back a sigh of relief. But then there was…

"Yao!"

Yao smiled nervously. He was not sure if he could take any more of this. Rome sat down opposite him and looked pointedly after Natalia. "Just having a friendly chat?

"Something like that."

Rome nodded pensively. "Feliciano, run and make me some of that delicious Fettuccine Alfredo of yours."

Feliciano nodded and quickly left. He was surprisingly quiet, and looked terrified. Yao noticed Francis standing concerned in the back doorway, then watched as he and Feliciano broke into earnest conversation, throwing a worried glance Yao's way before disappearing into the kitchen. Yao turned his attention back to Rome, who smiled kindly. Yao had known the man for years. As well as being Feliciano's grandfather, he was a regular customer, and a nice guy. He was never anything but kind and friendly; it was hard to believe he was probably deep into organised crime, but that was something that no one ever mentioned. Yao tried to prepare himself for his second difficult conversation of the day.

"I'll get straight to the point," said Rome. Yao almost winced at the same words Natalia had used earlier. "Feliciano tells me you have made friends with Ivan Braginski."

"Well…" Yao wondered how to respond. Why did people keep saying that? What was with these euphemisms? "Friends is not really the right word."

"You are seeing him," Rome clarified. He leant back in his chair, pulling his jacket sleeves straight, staring directly at Yao with intense brown eyes. Yao decided to simply answer, and try and get this nonsense over with.

"Yes."

"You are in love with him?"

Yao startled at the question. "That's not really any of your…" Get it over with, stay dignified… "Yes. Aru." Damn…

Rome took a deep breath. He looked disappointed. "The thing is, Yao, now is a very unstable time in Ivan's organisation. We know more than they think. One of their insiders is filtering information and selling it to outside bidders. They are trying to bring Ivan down."

Yao paused to take in the words. It was what he had been hearing since he first got involved with Ivan – someone was hacking their files. He still didn't know what it had to do with him, or why he should have to worry about it. All he wanted was to be with Ivan. Still, he had a suspicion of the culprit. "Winter."

Rome nodded, his expression hard and focused. "It is obvious that General Winter is looking to take over leadership. Ivan however, will not back down easily."

"Does he know?"

"Ivan is insane, but he is not stupid. He knows Winter is up to something. But he knows to keep him close enough to find out the truth. And Winter is not acting alone."

Yao immediately formed another suspicion. "Natalia."

"Possibly. We, however, prefer Ivan as the Russian's boss. He is much more pleasant to deal with than either Winter or Natalia."

Yao was not sure how much of this he wanted to know. "You don't... work together, though?"

"No, but we must work beside one another. Ivan understands this. Winter does not. And now we come to you."

Yao shifted uncomfortably and looked towards the door. He wanted this over with so badly… "Me?"

Rome nodded. "You are the perfect person for Winter to pin this on. Your timing, I am afraid to say, has been incredibly poor."

Yao shook his head. "Winter already tried to blame me. Ivan did not believe him. Ivan nearly killed him."

Rome laughed at that. "It is a shame he did not. Though lucky for him, in the end."

"So I really don't see what I…"

"You are in the way, Yao. You are caught in the middle of a dangerous cold war and if you don't get out now, you are going to get hurt."

"Ivan won't let that happen."

"Ivan can't control everything. In fact, he is being quite selfish letting you become involved in this."

"I'm not involved." Yao knew he was lying as he said it. Rome looked like he knew, also.

"Yao, if someone like Ivan cares about you, then like it or not, you are involved."

And Yao could not ignore it. What Rome said was true. No matter how much he just wanted to be with Ivan, no matter how much he wished to have nothing to do with Winter and Natalia and Ivan's horrifying bursts of rage, the fact remained. He was involved. Toris had made that perfectly clear several times; Natalia had made it perfectly clear only moments earlier. Yao wondered, however, if that was enough to keep him away. Rome seemed to read his thoughts.

"Please, Yao, just... consider my words." Rome smiled. "You're a nice kid, Yao. There's plenty of other guys out there who aren't dangerous like this. There is no need to get yourself caught up with… well, with people like us."

Yao only briefly pondered the words. Maybe Rome was right. But Yao had already decided. Decided that Ivan was worth the danger. Decided he was stupid enough to risk it.

"Ahh!" Rome cried out brightly when Feliciano appeared from the kitchen, carrying a bowl of steaming white pasta. Rome rubbed his hands together, grinning happily, his earlier serious expression completely gone. "Feli, it looks magnificent!" he said as Feliciano placed the plate on the table, smiling proudly. "My grandson is the greatest chef in the country!"

Yao smiled in response. "I'll get you some wine to go with that." Yao stood quickly and hurried into the kitchen, where Francis immediately grabbed his arm and spoke anxiously.

"Yao, what's going on? Is everything all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's fine."

And strangely, it was. This wasn't like before. Yes, there were too many thoughts spinning through his head and he was a little scared and rather confused and really quite pissed off, but something was different now. Yao finally realised that not a thing - not the fact that Ivan was a dangerous mafia boss, not the fact that his sister and head advisor wanted Yao dead, not the danger he was in or the unanswered questions or the warnings he received on all sides - not a single goddamn thing would stop Yao from being with the man he was completely and overwhelmingly in love with.

Yao pulled out his phone and dialled Ivan's number. He had never actually called it before and was not even sure Ivan would answer, but after only two rings Ivan's cheerful voice came over the line and Yao's heart skipped a beat.

"Hello Dragon!"

"Ivan. I want to go away."

"Go away, Yao?"

"Yes. Please, come pick me up and take me away somewhere, anywhere, just somewhere it can be you and me and no one else." Yao closed his eyes and rubbed them in frustration. This was ridiculous. There was absolutely no way...

"Very well Yao, I will see you soon!" The phone went dead. Yao wondered that he wasn't actually surprised.

Thirty minutes later, a familiar limousine pulled up outside the restaurant. Moments later Raivis appeared in the front doorway. Yao took off his apron and pushed it into Francis' hands. He looked at his friend warningly. If anyone would understand this, Francis would. "Not a word."

Francis still looked slightly doubtful. "I don't know what's going on, but please – be careful." But then he winked. "And have fun, chéri."

Yao raced outside to find Ivan standing beside the open car door, smiling and stunning and perfect. His violet eyes glinted in the sun, his pale hair tousled in the wind. Yao almost felt his knees weaken.

"Dragon! Do you prefer the sun or the snow?"

Yao grasped Ivan's large, firm arms, stared into Ivan's blazing violet eyes, and felt immediately calm. The scent and presence of him washed over Yao, washed away every fear and pain and concern. Once again, everything was right in the world. "Anywhere, Ivan. Take me anywhere."

To be continued...

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

THANK YOU OCEAN-BABYBLUES FOR SAVING THIS CHAPTER!

#the tiger and the dragon chapter 13 #George deValier #The Tiger and the Dragon

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

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George deValier Fanfiction

If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light.

If I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls.

I will write always.

I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you.

— Henry Rollins (quoted on George deValier’s profile)

Veraverse:

We’ll Meet Again

Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart

Bésame Mucho

Lily of the Lamplight

Something To Remember You By

Jealousy

My Echo

Keep Smiling Through

When I Grow Too Old to Dream (Excerpt)

Veraverse Birthdates

Mapleverse:

La Patisserie de la Rose

Libelle Hall

Of Ponies and Edelweiss

Others:

The Tiger and the Dragon

Catch Perfect

Blue, White, Red

Sleep, Little Bird

Meanwhile, Across Town

Gallipoli

Stay With You

Thank you all so much for your patience. Here is the masterpost of George deValier’s fics as promised!

Please do not repost them without crediting George deValier, Hidekaz Himaruya, and this account. This took a lot of time to pull together, and I would appreciate the gesture.

Special Thanks to fluffchemy for saving twelve of the original chapters of The Tiger and the Dragon! You are a true hero and I cannot thank you enough!

Another great big shoutout to ocean-babyblues for saving the thirteenth original chapter of The Tiger and the Dragon, as well as Meanwhile, Across Town! You are awesome and truly amazing - thank you, thank you, THANK YOU!

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

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We’ll Meet Again

By George deValier

Londoner Arthur Kirkland's pub, the Emerald Lion, is overrun by American servicemen on leave. One in particular is driving him to distraction - loud, brash fighter pilot Alfred Jones. Unable to stop it, Arthur finds himself falling for Alfred's charms - just as the pilot is preparing to leave for war.

Number of Chapters: 12 (and an epilogue, plus a one-shot sequel)

Status: Complete

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Keep Smiling Through

Author’s Notes:

'We'll Meet Again' lyrics by Hughie Charles.

* Lord Haw Haw was the pseudonym of William Joyce, an announcer on 'Germany Calling,' an English language propaganda programme broadcast by Nazi German radio to audiences in Great Britain. The purpose of such broadcasts was to discourage and demoralise Allied troops and the British population. They typically reported on the shooting down of Allied aircraft and the sinking of Allied ships, presenting reports of high losses and casualties amongst Allied troops. Although known to be Nazi propaganda and containing infuriating content as well as frequent inaccuracies and exaggerations, the broadcasts were still frequently listened to for information about the fate of Allied troops and air crews.

William Joyce was found guilty of treason in 1945 and hanged in 1946.

#veraverse #george devalier #we'll meet again

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

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Keep Smiling Through

By George deValier

One-shot sequel to We’ll Meet Again

Summer, 1948 Nebraska, USA

In the few months since the ocean liner RMS Queen Elizabeth steamed into New York City Harbour, carrying Mr. Arthur Kirkland and the recently promoted Captain Alfred Jones with it, Arthur could honestly say he had never been so confused, so surprised, or so completely and utterly bewildered in all his life.

If there was one word Arthur could use to describe America, it was big. It was also loud. And confusing. And oddly marvellous. In fact, it was very much like Alfred himself. The American seemed positively ecstatic to return to his country of birth. He had been back once before, just after the war, but that had been without Arthur, and neither had handled the separation very well. Being alone again in the Emerald Lion, with his fears and his worries and his memories, was almost more than Arthur could bear. When Alfred finally returned to London Arthur had been so overjoyed he'd jumped on him in the train station, causing quite a few raised eyebrows and stunned stares and outright cries of outrage. So this time, when Alfred had to return to America for military reasons, Arthur accepted immediately when asked if he wanted to accompany his lovely, charming, bloody frustrating Yank.

Of course the trip turned into more of a sightseeing adventure than anything else. They travelled through more states than Arthur could name in their shiny red Chevrolet, stopping at more diners and lookout points and roadside oddities than he ever wished to see again. Alfred simply bubbled with excitement at showing Arthur everything he possibly could of the great United States of America, all of which had been somewhat bearable so far – until Nebraska. More specifically, until this airfield in Nebraska. Even more specifically, until this tiny, metal, claustrophobic, inescapable plane cockpit sitting on this runway in the middle of this wide, flat, golden field in Nebraska.

It did not take long for Alfred to convince the airfield staff to let him take up one of their planes. Not once they realised who Alfred was; the young trainees gathering in awed respect, the pilots telling their own stories of service during the war, the older engineers shaking Alfred's hand and sharing their memories of Alfred's father when he was a delivery pilot in the twenties. Alfred seemed far more comfortable with these men than the decorated, uniformed, highly-ranked military personnel who usually clamoured to shake his hand.

And now, Arthur wondered how in the bloody hell he had allowed himself to be talked into this. He tried to breathe past the anxiety choking his throat, struggling to suppress the growing fear in his chest. He took another look out the small side window at the long shadow of the wing on the runway. The sound of the roaring engine was almost enough to drown out the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. "I can't…" Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep, shaking breath. "Alfred, I don't think I can do this…"

"Sure you can, Arthur!" Alfred spoke cheerfully over the clacking of the control keys. He slipped his free hand into Arthur's and gave it a soft squeeze. "Come on, look at me."

Arthur nodded, breathed out, and blinked open his eyes. He could really use a stiff drink right now - maybe he should have bought a few more of those jars of moonshine from that bloke in Ohio.

"You're okay." Alfred grinned at him from the pilot seat, his worn old bomber jacket slung over his shoulders, his bright blond hair poking through his flight cap and his radio speaker slung around his neck. "This baby's a breeze." Alfred patted the dashboard. "A good ol' Aeronca Chief - I used to fly one just like her before the war. Y'ain't got nothin' to worry about."

Arthur nodded again, tugged at his tight suit collar, and tried to remind himself that Alfred knew what he was doing. He'd been flying for years, of course he knew what he was doing. "I know, Alfred, I do, but…" But the rational part of Arthur's mind was completely overwhelmed by this instinctive, primal fear. How could he be sitting here in a plane, sitting here about to take off, about to fly into the air for the first time in his life… Arthur suddenly tugged on the belt strapping him into the seat. "I apologise for being a nuisance, but… but perhaps we could just wait…"

"Arthur, listen." Alfred spoke firmly this time, his blue, bespectacled eyes holding Arthur's gaze intently. "You're with the guy that once shot down seven planes, completely alone and with no radio contact, while running low on fuel and surrounded by an entire enemy squad. You're with the guy that's spent over three years training the best pilots the British military has to offer. And you're with the guy that loves you more than anything else in this whole damn world and would die before letting anything happen to you. Now, come on darlin.'" Alfred winked and Arthur's heart stuttered. "Let me take you to the clouds."

Arthur felt thrilled and giddy and frustrated and proud and bloody terrified all at once. He let out a low, groaning sigh. "That's utterly unfair."

Alfred beamed innocently as he pressed even more of the buttons and tapped the gauges and reached for the strange-looking little wheel. Arthur was rather amazed at how easily Alfred pressed and pushed and pulled what looked like a dozen controls at once with only his seven remaining fingers. "What's unfair?"

Those words, that wink, that blasted grin… "You know what, you bloody fool."

Alfred just laughed as the plane started moving along the runway. "All right, now, I'm getting her into takeoff position…"

Arthur's stomach twisted uncomfortably. "Don't tell me what you're doing, good God man, just do it!"

Alfred shrugged. "All-righty then, if you say so." The plane continued steadily for a few moments before Alfred shouted, "Here we go!" The roar of the engine filled the cockpit and Arthur very nearly dived for the door. Instead he forced himself to control his panic, to focus on Alfred's confident motions and his bright, cheerful smile. But as the plane reached impossible levels of speed and noise, the runway blurring beneath them, Arthur could not help but close his eyes. Alfred cheered as the plane tilted and lifted from the ground. "WOO HOO HOOO!"

An invisible force seemed to attack Arthur. His stomach sunk through his legs, his chest compressed, and his ears felt full as blood rushed to his head. He wanted to scream, but all he could do was grip onto the seat and grit his teeth and pray that this shaking, soaring plane would not fall from the sky. The aircraft seemed to drop slightly and Arthur almost choked as he gasped, his hand flying to his chest.

"That's normal, sweetheart. It's just the plane gaining height."

Arthur was too overwhelmed to even object to the nauseating term of endearment. He just kept his eyes squeezed shut, felt his knuckles turn white. This was the oddest feeling he had ever experienced: both heavy and weightless, his head tight with pressure and his stomach empty and unsettled. It felt wrong, it felt strange, it felt completely mad, and how could Alfred be laughing and cheering like he was having the time of his life? Didn't he realise Arthur couldn't breathe here?

"Isn't this amazing, Arthur?" Alfred shouted loudly.

Arthur tried to reply but all he could manage was, "Oh bugger oh bollocks oh Christ blast shit bloody hell STOP LAUGHING!"

"Aw come on now, takeoff's the best part! See how everything just falls away below… hey look, there's our Chevy! I tell ya, these old controls sure bring back memories. Sure is different from all those Spitfires and Hurricanes they've got me showing off these days. Hey, Arthur, in a few minutes, I'll be able to show you the farm I grew up on! Hang on a minute… Arthur, why are your eyes closed?"

"Because I'm bloody terrified! Please, just tell me when this is over!"

Alfred's laughter quieted and he sighed instead. "Oh. All right. I'll just get her level and do a quick fly-round."

The disappointment in Alfred's voice sent a painful stab of guilt through Arthur's chest. What was he saying – that he did not trust Alfred? Yes, this was new and different and scary – but this was important to Alfred. This was his home, his past, his life - and Arthur was letting fear get in the way of Alfred showing it to him. Alfred was not even able to fly for long these days, not with the strain it placed on his damaged eyes. Arthur breathed through the cloud of fear, and told himself he could do this. For Alfred. "No, I'm fine, I'm just... Blimey, this is very odd, isn't it?"

Once again, Arthur felt Alfred's hand slip into his. "It's also amazing. Just look at the view below us. Isn't it terrific?"

All right. Just look. Arthur could do this. He gripped Alfred's hand, forced himself to open his eyes, and immediately gasped in shock. "Blimey," he said again.

An infinite blue sky stretched out around them. Green and yellow striped fields spread out below, dotted with dark houses and streaked with criss-crossed dirt roads, like a labyrinthine maze. The high, brilliant sun blazed down and drenched the endless, flat, open expanse of land in unfiltered, golden light. Arthur shook his head as he took it all in; he couldn't imagine any place in the world more different from London. Alfred's home was sunny, bright, enormous; awe-inspiring. And it was beautiful. Arthur turned to see Alfred grinning wildly, ecstatically happy once again. That same grin that Arthur still loved, as always bringing the blue sky and driving away the dark clouds of Arthur's fear and doubt.

"It's beautiful."

Alfred laughed, overjoyed. "I knew you'd love it! I tell ya, Arthur, the times I've dreamed of soaring through the sky together - and here in my own home..." Alfred winked. "It's magic."

Arthur's heart sped up, and it wasn't from fear anymore. The three years since the war ended had been more than Arthur had ever dreamt of. Every day with Alfred was bright and new and fun, every moment an adventure, and Arthur didn't know how it was possible but it seemed he loved the mad American more with every passing hour. Loved him enough to cross the world; enough to fly into the bloody sky for him. Arthur gently nudged Alfred's arm. "It is, Alfred. Magic."

Alfred's eyes sparkled behind his glasses, bluer than the endless sky. "Now keep your eyes peeled for one of them flying saucers like what crashed in New Mexico last year!"

Arthur groaned in exasperation. "That was a weather balloon, Alfred."

"That's what they want you to think."

Arthur rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth. If he heard one more word about this blasted 'cover-up in Roswell...' "I am not having this conversation again."

"You'll see the truth one day, Arthur. Ooh, look, look!" The plane tilted slightly and Arthur gripped the seat as Alfred pointed past him. "Right down there - that wide dirt track, do you see it? That's the first runway I ever took off from! And I don't know if you can make it out, but there's my old house, on the edge of that little hill there, do you see?"

Arthur didn't, but he nodded anyway. "Yes, yes, it's lovely. Now put the plane back in that nice straight position, please."

Alfred giggled as he did so.

As the flight drew on, Arthur asked about the land they were flying over, and about the confusing plane controls, and he couldn't help but smile at Alfred's joyful enthusiasm as he answered. All anxiety was forgotten. Arthur was just sitting here with Alfred, a thousand miles in the sky, and it was as magical and strange as every other moment they had shared together; as all the beautiful madness these three years had brought.

"It's amazing you can remember it all," said Arthur when Alfred finished explaining the difference in turning speed between the Aeronca Chief and the Mustang.

"Nah, Arthur, it ain't that hard. I could teach you to do it easy, I reckon, what with how smart you are and all."

Arthur scoffed doubtfully. "You flatter me. Up here, you're the smart one, Alfred."

Alfred attempted a nonchalant shrug, but his expression was proudly delighted. He looked out again at the vast blue sky and the endless country below. "Let's take her higher. You trust me now, right?"

Of course Arthur trusted the blasted Yank. He always had; he always would. And that's why he was doing this. Why he was sitting in this winged metal box a thousand miles in the sky; why he was here in this strange, wild country a million miles from home. Because it made Alfred's face light up, made him laugh with joy. Because this was what Alfred loved, and who he was, and this was what had brought him to London and into Arthur's life almost five years earlier. Because it was still, and always would be, magic.

"Always, Alfred."

Alfred flashed Arthur a tiny, sideways grin. "Enough to let me put her into a spin?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes warningly. "Maybe next time. For now…" Arthur pushed himself up in his seat, leant towards Alfred, and followed his gaze into the sky. "Take me through the clouds."

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#veraverse #george devalier #we'll meet again #keep smiling through

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

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Epilogue

We’ll Meet Again by George deValier

50 Years Later… May, 1995

Arthur's back creaked in protest as he dragged himself up the stairs of the pub. It seemed like every day it got harder. One of these days, he told himself. One of these days he was going to install an elevator. He grumbled to himself as he finally reached the top and walked slowly into the living room. He fell heavily into his favourite armchair and looked across at Alfred, who sat watching the small television set absently. "One of these days I am going to install an elevator."

Alfred's lips twitched in a tiny smile. "You say that every day, Arthur."

"I mean it, too. Mail's here."

Alfred looked over, his eyes lighting up. "Ooh, what'd we get?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. He didn't know how Alfred managed to get so excited every day about something as simple as the mail arriving. He leafed through the pages and envelopes. "Just the newspaper and some catalogues. Oh, and a postcard from Matthew and Francis."

"Where are they now?"

"Cruising around the Spanish coast, can you believe it?" Arthur examined the postcard with a picture of a pristine beach on the front and Matthew's handwriting on the back. "When will they learn they're too old like the rest of us?"

"Hey, speak for yourself, old man."

Arthur ignored him with the practiced ease that only came after fifty years of living with a bloody irritating American. He leant back against the soft cushions and opened the newspaper. It was a special issue to celebrate the 50th VE Day, the 50th anniversary of the end of the war in Europe. Alfred had been invited to numerous ceremonies of course, but he never was one to make a big deal of these sorts of things. He had barely mentioned anything about the day and seemed quite content to simply watch the proceedings on television. Arthur focused on the newspaper. After flicking past a few articles on the end of the war and the current celebrations, he came to a page that made him pause in shock. "Well, blow me down."

"Hm?" asked Alfred vaguely, his eyes glued to the television set.

"You're in the paper!"

Alfred looked over, surprised. "What? Is it about the UFO sighting I reported last month?"

"No…"

"Is it about that cat I rescued from the tree out front last week?"

"No, Alfred…"

"It's not about that can of tomatoes I forgot to pay for at the supermarket is it, because I took them back and the girl was real nice and she swore she wouldn't get the police involved…"

"Alfred, shut up." Arthur held up the lift-out from the paper. Alfred leant forward and squinted.

"What's it say? Hold on, I need my stronger glasses…" Alfred rummaged around on the coffee table.

Arthur smiled slightly and shook his head. "It says, 'Fighter Aces of World War Two,'"

Alfred raised his eyebrows. "You don't say?"

"And look, there you are." Arthur gazed at the black and white photo of nineteen year old Alfred in the paper, grinning widely at the camera with his military cap at a skewed angle. He looked exactly the way Arthur remembered. Arthur sighed quietly. "You were so handsome."

"What's with this 'were' business?"

"Shush." Arthur read the article out loud. "Lieutenant Alfred F. Jones of the American Army Air Force only flew in combat for a few short months in 1944, but quickly distinguished himself as one of the best fighter pilots of the war. Known by the enemy as 'The Magician' for his unparalleled skills in evasion, his record of seven kills in a single flight has never been equalled by an American pilot, before or since. Lieutenant Jones' last flight, during which he was isolated by a squadron of German Messerschmitts in allied airspace, is still considered one of the most courageous moments in aviation history. Greatly outnumbered, Jones took down seven enemy planes while defending strategic airspace and drawing fire away from his squad into enemy territory. Here he was shot down, captured, and…" Arthur faltered over the next few words. It was amazing how, even fifty years later, any mention of that incident still affected him so strongly. He looked up at Alfred, who smiled gently back at him.

"Skip that bit."

Arthur took a deep breath, skipped ahead, and continued reading. "For this act of bravery Jones was awarded the prestigious Medal of Honor. He went on to become a greatly respected military flight instructor. He travelled extensively between England and the United States and has been formally recognised by the British government on several occasions for services to the Commonwealth. Alfred Jones currently resides in London with his…" Arthur trailed off once again.

"With his what?" Alfred prompted.

Arthur's mind spun in disbelief. His mouth went dry and he could barely manage to choke out the words. "With his long time partner Arthur Kirkland." Arthur shook his head in astonishment. "They put that in the paper… can you believe they actually wrote that in the national bloody newspaper!"

Alfred giggled cheerfully. "Ah, the times they are a-changing. Wait and see, we'll be walking down the aisle one of these days!"

Arthur just stared unbelieving at the words in print before him. After all these years of being the partner of a war hero, it was the first time he had been publicly acknowledged as such. He couldn't help the wave of pride he felt, knowing that the entire country would read that paper and those words. He also couldn't help the wide smile that spread across his face. Then he looked up, saw Alfred grinning at him, and felt slightly embarrassed. He folded the paper and tossed it down beside him. "Huh, well, there you are then. What is this rubbish you're watching anyway?"

Alfred turned the volume up. "Some concert celebration for the 50th anniversary."

Arthur shook his head in disgust. "I never did like these depressing wartime songs." Alfred just laughed. When the next song started, Arthur recognised the tune immediately. His stomach turned cold. "Oh no."

Alfred's face lit up and he looked over at Arthur excitedly. "Arthur! It's our song!"

Arthur just repeated, "Oh no."

But it was too late. Alfred had already pulled himself out of his chair and was attempting to drag Arthur to his feet. Arthur attempted a protest, but he already knew it was in vain. He finally let himself be dragged out of the chair and into Alfred's arms. Alfred held him in the familiar dance position and began waltzing across the floor. And, of course, he started singing. "We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when…"

The sun flooded through the curtains as memories of this song flooded Arthur's mind. Fifty years. Fifty years that had passed in a heartbeat. Fifty years of dancing and laughing and terrible singing and everything else that came with it. In decades past they had danced to this tune playing from a wireless radio, a gramophone, a record player, a black and white television, a tiny cassette player, a CD player Alfred had excitedly brought home one morning in 1983, and on one memorable occasion from a military band at a highly select function as several amused and confused international delegates looked on. And on this particular afternoon they danced to the tune playing from their small colour television set. Of course they danced a little slower, and Alfred didn't swing Arthur around and dip him like he used to. But some things, just like the song itself, never changed.

"Keep smiling through, just like you, always do…" Alfred's hair was thin and grey. His handsome face was lined with the years. But that grin still had the exact same effect as ever. "til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away!"

"Well, one thing certainly hasn't changed," said Arthur, smiling up into Alfred's blazing blue eyes.

"What's that?" asked Alfred, grinning down as he held Arthur tightly by the waist and ran his thumb over Arthur's palm.

"After all these years, my dear, you are still the most bloody awful singer I have ever heard."

Alfred just laughed as they danced slowly to the swelling music while the afternoon sunshine flooded the room. "I love you too," he replied, before bursting back into song.

"But I know we'll meet again, some sunny day!"

THE END

Keep Smiling Through

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#We’ll Meet Again epilogue

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

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Chapter 12

We’ll Meet Again by George deValier

The months passed like minutes, and life was fantastic, frustrating, different, beautiful, everything.

December.

Christmas 1944 was one of the most interesting of Arthur's life. Everything tended to be interesting when Alfred was involved. A gigantic Christmas tree loomed in the corner of the pub, the biggest tree Alfred could find in the entire city of London, which was so large it was squashed against the ceiling and had required the assistance of several servicemen to get through the front door. The rest of the room was covered with makeshift decorations Alfred had strewn around the place - snowflakes made of paper, brightly coloured tinsel, empty bottles with tiny lights inside. Arthur thought it all hideously tacky. Alfred thought it was festive. The regular customers found it all rather strange, but not as strange as the loud American who insisted on trying to help out behind the bar. He was hopeless, but somehow no one ever complained when he forgot to get them their drink or served them the wrong one or somehow managed to spill it all over them. Arthur wondered whether that had something to do with Alfred's missing fingers, or the fact that no one could stay mad at the happy, friendly American for long. Today Alfred was trying particularly hard, and being particularly irritatingly cheerful. It was Christmas Eve and the pub was full of Christmas revellers, including Francis, who had been more than happy to spend one of his last evenings in England with Alfred and Arthur.

Alfred grinned widely as he carried a tray of drinks to the bar and set a glass down before Francis with a flourish. "Your brandy, sir."

"Alfred, that's bourbon," said Arthur, watching him from behind the bar and hoping desperately he wouldn't drop the tray for the third time that week. His already limited patience was being stretched to the limit.

"I asked for wine," said Francis, staring disdainfully at the glass.

"Oh," said Alfred. He shrugged. "Try the bourbon, it's good."

"Alfred," said Arthur, a low exclamation of warning and exasperation.

"Or, ah, I could just get you that wine, shall I?"

Francis sighed. "Don't bother, I would not wish you to hurt yourself." He took a sip, made a face, and pushed the glass away. "Urgh, that is terrible. How do you drink this poison?"

"Here," said Arthur, glaring at Alfred and picking up a tray of rum balls from behind the bar. He offered them to Francis. They were Arthur's specialty dessert that he made every Christmas, and he was quite proud of them, even though they seemed to make even the most hardened drinker rather ill by the second one. Francis eyed them suspiciously. "To remove the taste," Arthur explained.

"What are they?" asked Francis, picking one up and turning it over in his hand.

"Rum balls," said Alfred cheerfully. He placed the tray down and leant on the bar. "Delicious. Really. Arthur is the best cook in England." Arthur's frustration lessened and he beamed happily at the praise. Sometimes, Alfred could be sweet.

"Somehow, that does not fill me with confidence," said Francis slowly, but he raised the sweet to his mouth regardless.

Alfred nudged Arthur with his elbow and whispered with suppressed laughter, "Look, he believed me!" Arthur's eyes narrowed. Sometimes, Alfred could be such a git. Francis chewed thoughtfully for a few moments. Then his eyes went wide, his cheeks turned red, and after swallowing he suffered quite a violent coughing fit.

"Well?" asked Arthur and Alfred in unison. Francis blinked rapidly then turned to Alfred, his eyes bleary and red.

"Alfred! Mon ami!" cried Francis, his words slurred. "Do you know, you really are the most… such a great... you mean so much to me, do you know? After everything we've been through… and only you can understand that…" Francis threw an arm around Alfred's shoulder and leant into him heavily. Alfred struggled to hold him up.

"Whoa there buddy, maybe you should…"

"What are you looking at?" shouted Francis suddenly, glaring blearily at Alfred, whose eyes went wide.

"Nothing."

"Imbecile! You want to fight me?" Francis swung an ineffectual punch which Alfred easily dodged. "Come on, flyboy, show me that American esprit you always speak of!" Another failed punch and Francis fell onto the bar stool, despondently throwing his arms across the bar. "It's not worth it! None of it! In the end, what is the point? I was in love once. He wore a polar bear on his lapel. Alors, that would make a great song!" Francis sobbed twice then fell off the bar. By the time he reached the floor he was out cold.

Alfred whistled. "How much rum did you put in those things, Arthur?"

"Actually," said Arthur, shaking his head in confusion, "That was one of the non alcoholic ones."

Later in the evening, after the pub had emptied, after Francis had been carried unconscious to the guest room, after Alfred had tried and failed to sing Christmas carols, after the local constabulary had issued a noise violation warning, and after the entire mad and glorious evening had come to an end, Arthur fell into bed with Alfred at his side. And he spent the first Christmas night of his life falling asleep full, happy, and loved instead of cold, empty, and sensing that something was missing. He could definitely get used to the feeling.

January.

Arthur had never been so ready to say goodbye to a year as he had to 1944. Awful memories of the dark months of the year often arose unbidden, and he would be left breathless and terrified of being left alone again. And it was not just Arthur. He knew the toll the year had taken on Alfred. He could see it in the pain and guilt in Alfred's eyes when he spoke to soldiers in the pub. He could hear it in Alfred's voice on the terrible nights when he woke up screaming, when it took several minutes to convince him where he was as he lay shaking in Arthur's arms, crying tears only Arthur would ever see. Yes, 1944 was a year Arthur would not be sad to see go.

It was New Year's Eve, and Alfred was singing. That wasn't new. Alfred often sang, or rather a vague variation of the activity. It usually wasn't apparent what he was actually singing until asked. This afternoon, for some reason, Alfred was singing, and doing it the way he always did: loudly, obnoxiously, and with no attention to tune or rhythm.

"What are you on about this time?" asked Arthur, peering at Alfred as the American leant over the bar and watched Arthur put away the last of the glasses for the afternoon. He had closed the pub early for New Year's Eve, the customers all headed home to spend the evening with their families.

"It's this song they were singing in the bar earlier. It's called 'Old Lang's Eye.' I don't know why you Brits sing about an old guy's eye to celebrate the new year, but hey, it ain't my place to judge." And Alfred burst into song again. "Let Old Aunt Quaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind…"

Arthur blinked a few times, pausing midway in replacing a bottle of whiskey. Just when he thought he'd heard the stupidest thing the Yank could possibly come out with. "You do realise, it's called 'Auld Lang Syne.' It has nothing to do with anyone's eye. And the word is 'acquaintance,' where on earth did you get 'Aunt Quaintance' from?"

Alfred shrugged. "I had an Aunt Quaintance once. I didn't really understand the words, I think they were in Chinese or something, so I just sort of made my own."

Arthur shook his head in exasperation. "You're hopeless." He replaced the whiskey, then turned to find Alfred gazing at him with a familiar glint in his eye. "What?" Alfred gazed at Arthur for a moment more before he suddenly jumped the bar, took Arthur by the waist, and spun him around until his back hit the bar. It all happened so fast Arthur's brain barely registered it. "Blimey, what the…"

"Do you know how many times I've stood behind that bar, watching you, and wanted to do that?" Alfred whispered against Arthur's ear.

Arthur gulped. "Is… is that so?" He was slowly getting used to these unexpected and impulsive displays of affection the Yank often gave. They were rather irritating, somewhat embarrassing, and yet strangely thrilling all at the same time.

"Mm hm." Alfred pressed his lips to Arthur's neck.

"And, er… what else did you want to do?" asked Arthur, heart thumping. They were usually worth going along with, as well.

Alfred grinned. "This." In minutes they lay spread across the bar, tangled in each other, Arthur's pants already unbuttoned and his mind spinning. Alfred's lips and hands were hot and frantic against him. He was just reaching that point where he always lost control when suddenly the front door slammed opened. Alfred shrieked and fell off the bar. Arthur shot up in surprise.

"Still not locking your door I see, Arthur."

Arthur and Alfred both sat stunned for a few seconds. Finally Alfred reacted, jumping up and breaking into laughter. "Matthew! What… how…" Alfred strode over and pulled Matthew into a hug. "What are you doing here? I thought you were stuck in France!"

"I had to fly back to wish you a happy new year, didn't I?" asked Matthew, patting Alfred's back. He was dressed in his combat uniform and looked as though he hadn't had proper sleep in weeks. He also looked happier than Arthur had ever seen him. "It's so good to see you, old friend. Alive."

Alfred pulled back and stared at Matthew, shaking his head in disbelief. "You rat, you could have let me known you were getting leave!"

"Where would the fun be in that?" Matthew looked even more like Alfred when he grinned like that. "Hi, Arthur."

Arthur stood and walked over to Matthew. It was a relief to see him. Arthur genuinely worried about Matthew over in France, almost as much as he knew Alfred did. He held out his hand and Matthew shook it firmly. "Jolly good to see you safe, old chap."

"You too, Arthur," said Matthew, his eyes almost piercing Arthur's. Arthur coughed and glanced nervously at Alfred. He hadn't yet told him of the awful state Matthew had found him in not long before they had been reunited. He rather hoped he would never have to. Matthew suddenly turned red, cleared his throat, and turned away. "I'm sorry, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Arthur shook his head innocently. "Not at all, whatever makes you think that?"

"Well, um… your pants are unbuttoned."

"Oh bloody hell," Arthur muttered, burning in embarrassment as he hurried off to fix himself up behind the bar. Alfred just laughed.

As the afternoon progressed, the three of them found themselves by the pub's fireplace, seated on the comfortable couches and drinking glasses of Arthur's finest brandy. Matthew told them all he knew of the war in France, about the awful landings of June, the glorious liberation of Paris, and his experiences in the south of the country. Alfred did not speak of his own experience, and Matthew did not ask. Eventually, the light outside long since faded, the conversation turned away from the war. Arthur knew they had all had quite enough of that topic. As Arthur leant over to refill his glass, the front door flew open once more. "That's it, I am going to install a padlock…"

"Mon Dieu it is freezing out there. Arthur, have you closed the pub? I came by to say…" Francis fell silent when he reached the fireplace, his eyes falling on Matthew. "My Canadian!" he whispered. Matthew froze, wide-eyed, his hand clutching his brandy glass in midair.

"Excuse me?" To Arthur's surprise, Alfred's amusement, and Matthew's utter horror, Francis dropped to his knees before the stunned Canadian. "My love! I thought I had lost you forever and here I find you in the very place of our romance's beginning! It is fate! It is destiny! It is… l'amour, non?"

"I... I... I'm sorry, monsieur, but I think you may have me confused with someone else." Matthew looked up at Alfred, silently pleading for help. Alfred just laughed helplessly, his face hidden in a cushion.

Francis shook his head insistently. "Never! I would know you anywhere, Lieutenant Matthew Williams."

"I'm sorry? How do you know my name?" Now Matthew looked at Arthur, who dropped his gaze into his brandy glass. He jolly well wasn't about to admit that he was the one who had told Francis Matthew's name.

The French captain sighed dramatically. "My heart breaks that you do not remember me. Did I not say that one day, if we were lucky, we should meet again?"

Matthew's eyes brightened in understanding. "Ohhh. Yes. The strange Frenchman who accosted me at the door a few months ago."

"Matthew, this is Captain Francis Bonnefoy," Alfred managed to choke out through his laughter.

Matthew nodded hesitantly and held out his hand. He still looked bewildered. "Pleasure to meet you, er, again, Captain Bonnefoy."

Francis took Matthew's hand and kissed it. "Enchanté."

"Francis, stop assaulting Matthew and have a brandy," said Arthur. Alfred threw the cushion at Francis' back.

Francis finally stood from the floor and fell onto the couch. "Please. Anything but one of those hideous rum balls."

When eventually the clock read one minute to twelve, Matthew raised his glass and the others quickly followed. "To friends, old and new," said Matthew, smiling at Arthur. "And to friends lost."

Alfred nodded, gazing unseeing at the ground before lifting his eyes to Arthur's. He smiled slightly. "To lives remade."

"To l'amour," said Francis, wagging his eyebrows at Matthew, who turned three shades of red and darted his eyes away from the overbearing Frenchmen.

"To England," said Arthur firmly, before adding softly, "And to the end of this bloody war."

The war was not over. Both Matthew and Francis would be heading back to France. Alfred would continue to train British pilots to carry on the conflict. London was not yet safe, and they knew there were many lives still to be lost. But when the clock struck twelve, they toasted goodbye to 1944 with hope and careful confidence that 1945 would be better. After all, it had to be. How could it possibly be any worse?

When Arthur awoke the next day and descended the stairs to the pub, he found Matthew and Francis lying asleep on the couch by the fireplace, their arms around each other. He smirked to himself. The new year was off to a promising start.

February.

Saint Valentine's Day had never meant anything to Arthur. In Februaries gone by he had passed the displays of chocolate and hearts in shop windows and rolled his eyes at the idea of something so absurd. It was all so meaningless, so trivial. So overblown and trumped up. It was so… American.

So Arthur was a little shocked when, on February the 14th, he walked down into the pub to find it covered in wildflowers. They lay across the bar, engulfed the tables, coated the floor. The pub practically shone in a bright burst of colourful flora. Arthur's mouth dropped open as he walked into the room in trepidation. "What the bloody hell?"

"I told you last year, remember…" Arthur turned to find Alfred almost struggling under the load of a huge bunch of red roses, a red box tied up with a ribbon, and most absurdly of all, an enormous pink card in the shape of a heart. Arthur's eyes widened. He didn't know whether to burst out laughing or cringe in embarrassment. "Remember," continued Alfred, "In my letter. I told you that I would give you a proper Valentine this year!"

Arthur finally settled on laughing as an appropriate response, and did so hysterically, unable to stop. Alfred looked so ridiculous standing there surrounded by wildflowers, his arms full of Valentine's Day mementos, peering through his glasses over a bouquet of roses. "Alfred," said Arthur as he laughed, "You look absolutely…" he slowly trailed off when Alfred's face fell. He fought to control his laughter. "…charming," he finally finished. Alfred's eyes lit back up and he grinned. Arthur walked over, kissed Alfred lightly on the cheek, and took the roses from his hand. "Stupid Yank," he muttered quietly.

"Here, open the box! It's chocolate, I had it sent from America because the British stuff is awful. Oh, and read the card I wrote you, I filled up the entire thing!"

Arthur let Alfred chatter on, thrusting the gifts into his hands and looking as eager as a puppy. Sometimes things were so difficult. Alfred's hours training pilots were long, he often travelled, and there never seemed to be enough time to spend with each other. And always that thought sat there... the knowledge that this was temporary, it would end, the war would be over soon and Alfred would have to leave for America. And Arthur would be left alone. The thought was never far away, even in the happiest moments. But it was moments like this, when Alfred was foolish and wonderful and Arthur could so easily see how he had fallen in love with him, that Arthur almost forgot that. That he realised he had never been so happy in his entire life. And that maybe Saint Valentine's Day wasn't so bad after all.

March.

Arthur was woken by a blinding flash and a deafening crash. His heart jumped a little, then he took a deep breath, sighed, and rolled over. A bombing raid was nothing new. Sure, it had been a few months since the last one, but Arthur was quite used to being awoken by a sudden German air strike. He was almost asleep when the sound of another loud crash filled the room and, quite unexpectedly, his hand was grasped and he was wrenched upright. Almost senseless in the dark, all he was aware of was Alfred's hand in his, dragging him insistently from the bed and out of the bedroom. His sleep-addled brain fought to keep up with what was happening. When his sight came back he realised he was in the living room, pressed against the wall, Alfred's body covering his as the building shook with the force of an earthquake. "What the bloody blazing hell are you doing?" he yelled, trying to be heard over the thunderous blasts and the wailing of the air raid sirens.

"It's a rocket strike. V2's," Alfred shouted back. "We have to get to the cellar."

"Excuse me? This is nothing, I've slept through far worse than this. I'm going back to bed." Arthur tried to push his way past, but Alfred just pressed him back against the wall, trying to cover his head with his hand. Arthur batted it away in irritation. "Let me past, Alfred."

"No! The Germans are attacking! We must take cover!"

Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. Stupid American. "Can I at least make a cup of tea first?" Alfred didn't answer, but when the shaking of the floor stilled for a moment he took off immediately, pulling Arthur along by the hand. Arthur had no chance of pulling away. They stumbled down two flights of stairs, finally making it to the cellar where Alfred pulled him into a corner, down to the floor, and encircled him with his arms. Arthur yawned as the noise and tremors surrounded them. "This is quite unnecessary," he said, his voice muffled by Alfred's shoulder.

"Ssh," said Alfred, his lips pressed close to Arthur's ear as he stroked Arthur's back. "Don't be scared."

Arthur clenched his fists in exasperation. "I'm not scared, I just want to go back to bed. I lived through the blitz, you know."

Alfred either could not hear or was willfully ignoring him. "Ssh," he said again. "This is a last desperate attack, the Germans know they're finished. The blitz is not going to happen again, I promise."

"Oh, you promise. Jolly good," said Arthur, willing the air strike to end so he could get up off the cold stone ground and Alfred could stop playing his little game of hero. "And just how can you promise that?"

"You're right, I can't. So I promise this… if another blitz-like attack happens, I'll go up myself and stop them." Alfred grinned.

Arthur just shook his head incredulously. "You'll stop them?"

"Single-handedly, baby." Alfred winked, and Arthur gave in and laughed. Then Alfred whispered breathily, "I'll protect you." Which made Arthur quite bloody irritated.

"What the bloody hell makes you think I need pro…" Arthur was cut off as a particularly loud and shattering blast tore through the building. He screamed, clutching onto Alfred's shoulders as Alfred's arms pressed him into the wall and covered his head. The room shook around them and bottles fell from the racks to smash and shatter on the stone floor. The dark room turned light with a glow brighter than daylight. Finally the panic started to rise. Arthur told himself to breathe. Keep breathing. As long as you're breathing, you know you're alive. The terror of those days of the blitz took hold once again. That sickening fear; that dreamlike horror. That terrible solitude.

But then he breathed in Alfred's scent, leant into his embrace, felt the thrill of those strong arms around him and those warm hands trying to protect him. This wasn't like the blitz after all. He wasn't alone this time.

Finally the room grew dark again. It stopped shaking. They waited, balanced on a knife edge, expecting at any moment another crashing strike. It didn't come. Eventually Arthur sighed in relief, then could have growled when he noticed Alfred was giggling. He immediately regretted the scream. He would never live this one down.

April.

Arthur stood at the base of the stairs, tapping his foot and checking his watch repeatedly. "Will you hurry up?" he called for the fifth time.

"I'm hurrying, I'm hurrying, hold your horses." Alfred's voice drifted down the stairs.

"Hold my what?" Arthur called back. Alfred's American sayings often threw him off guard.

"Horses."

"My… why would I… what the bleeding hell are you on about?" And they never made any sense.

"Calm down, darling." Alfred sounded like he was laughing.

"Me? You are the one talking some nonsense about horses. And don't call me darling."

"Sweetheart? Baby? Doll? What can I call you?"

Arthur shuddered in disgust. "You can call me Arthur. Now get down here and let's get going, Mr Churchill is not going to wait all afternoon for you, Alfred Jones."

When Alfred had been told he was receiving a medal, they hadn't mentioned he would also be receiving recognition from the British Government for services to the Commonwealth. So it came as a complete surprise when Alfred was invited to a special ceremony to accept the decoration. Alfred had once been so eager for praise, for recognition, to be called a hero. But that was a lifetime ago, and now he had to be persuaded into accepting the invitation for the ceremony. Though at this rate it looked like he was going to miss out on the honour regardless. Arthur was learning one thing about Alfred: it took him an inordinate amount of time to get ready for anything.

Arthur looked at the ceiling in exasperation as he turned to the stairs. "Some time this month would be…" he trailed off when he looked over to see Alfred walking down the stairs, his Air Force dress uniform pressed pristinely, wearing his military blazer instead of his bomber jacket, a grin on his face, and of course, his cap at an angle on his head. All in all, Alfred was almost unbearably handsome.

"How do I look?" Alfred asked cockily.

Perfect. "Tolerable, I suppose," said Arthur gruffly. "Now come on, we're going to be dreadfully late."

The ceremony was one of many held that year, the purpose of which was to honour the contribution of various servicemen to Britain. Upon arrival, Alfred was immediately ferried away by high ranking military officials, whose eyes glanced unseeing over Arthur. He shrugged, quite used to the treatment, and not expecting anything else. Military personnel occupied the first few rows of the auditorium, family members in the rows behind, while members of the press milled around further back. Arthur stood in the back row amongst various civilians who stretched to see the stage. His eyes drifted over to where the wives and girlfriends of the English servicemen sat in a special designated area to the side of the stage. He wondered if they had a better view.

Arthur watched as the British servicemen's names were read out, their citations given, their medals awarded. He watched as they walked off the stage to be embraced by their waiting wives. He watched as the press took their photographs, their partners smiling proudly and prettily at their sides. And he wondered briefly what it felt like to stand proudly like that beside the one you loved, the world acknowledging you, with nothing and no reason to hide.

Arthur was shaken from his reverie as the announcer began to speak of an American pilot who was injured, captured, and now using his considerable expertise to train young British pilots. Arthur's heart leapt. And when he saw Alfred stride onto the stage to receive his medal, his cap crooked and his customary swagger in place, Arthur realised he wanted everyone in that audience to know that the handsome American on the stage was his and his alone. But he just applauded politely along with everyone else. Then Alfred turned to the audience, nodded, and tipped his hat. It would be nice for it to be recognised that he was with Alfred. But it was enough for Arthur to know that to Alfred, he was the only person in that audience.

Later at the Emerald Lion, amidst the loud talking and laughing and cheering of congratulating American servicemen, Alfred leant over the bar, brushed his hand across Arthur's, and asked, "So, how did I go up there? I was looking for you in the audience, you know."

Arthur sighed and decided to let Alfred have his moment. "You looked so brave and handsome, I almost died of pride," he said in a monotone. He felt ridiculous saying it, but the blinding grin Alfred flashed him was worth it. Arthur would never admit to himself that he meant it.

May.

And then one fine afternoon it happened. The moment Arthur had hoped for but barely dared to dream of for the last six years. Arthur sat down to the table the same as he did every day. Alfred sat listening to the crackling wireless radio the same as he did every day. But today was different. They waited for the expected radio broadcast to begin, then sat on edge when it did. The bells struck three outside.

"The prime minister, the right honourable Winston Churchill..." came the voice of the announcer over the wireless.

"Shush, shush," said Arthur, waving his hand at Alfred.

"I didn't say anything!"

"Stop, be quiet."

"But I'm not..."

"Shut up Alfred!"

The speech that filtered through the speakers into the quiet, still living room held Arthur riveted to the radio. This was the moment they had waited for for days… the day they had waited for for years. Arthur held his breath, staring at his hands as they lay on the table, letting the words change the world around him. "...Hostilities will end at one minute past midnight tonight..." He would never remember all the words that were said before, or all the ones that came after. But those nine words would be forever etched into Arthur's memory.

Alfred's eyes bored into his as the speech continued. "...we will allow ourselves a brief period of rejoicing..." Arthur tried to focus but it seemed a massive roaring flooded his ears. As though he could not have heard correctly. As though this couldn't be real. "...this is your victory…" The roar of the people from the streets outside blasted in through the windows. "Advance Britannia. God bless you all." Then it was over.

Arthur just looked at Alfred, completely shocked. Alfred's face mirrored everything Arthur was thinking and feeling. They sat in silence for a few moments, the noise from outside invading the room, until eventually Alfred's eyes lit up and he let out a deafening whoop. Arthur just shook his head, slightly stunned. It was not that he had not expected it. But to hear it was something completely different. "Did you hear…"

"Yes!" cried Alfred.

Arthur shook his head again. "I can't believe it!"

"Arthur… it's over!"

As the words finally sank in, Arthur's chest felt it would almost burst, and he broke into joyful laughter. He stood, threw himself into Alfred's arms, and Alfred spun him around until he started to feel dizzy. It was overwhelming… it was unbelievable… it was like the biggest sigh of relief he could ever imagine. The war was over.

"Come on!" Alfred cried. He set Arthur on his feet, grasped his hand, then pulled him down the stairs and out the door. Arthur tried not to fall over, but he still couldn't stop laughing.

Arthur had never imagined his city could look like this. People filled the streets, swarming onto them in a joyful tide; hugging strangers, dancing, marching arm in arm. Ecstatic chaos surrounded them, and it all felt utterly surreal as the city came alive again after years of darkness. Arthur was struck by a wave of pride. They'd made it through. He pressed close to Alfred, hoping not to lose him in the surging crowd. Pretty young girls danced past in bright colours and brighter smiles, eyeing the handsome young pilot in the American military uniform who laughed and tipped his hat as people stopped him in the street, shook his hand, thanked him.

A sea of Union Jacks filled Arthur's sight, an ocean of red, white and blue. Alfred merrily grasped a British flag from the crowd, pressing it into Arthur's hand before taking an American flag from a car and throwing it over his own shoulders. He looked like he was having the time of his life. Arthur fought to keep up, nearly slipping on the pamphlets and papers that littered the streets and dodging a rain of streamers that revellers hung over balconies to throw down at the crowd. London had become a party, a fair, a country fête. The joy was palpable, the air heavy with emotion. Arthur looked around to see a soldier kissing a laughing girl on the cheek, an old man just shaking his head and smiling, a middle aged woman with tears flowing down her cheeks.

"I told you once your city was fantastic. I mean, this is incredible!" said Alfred cheerfully.

Arthur laughed loudly and waved his flag. "Advance Britannia!" Then the noise around them was almost drowned out by the roar of a group of planes that flew overhead. "Are they some of yours?" asked Arthur, watching the aircraft fly in formation.

"No, those are Spitfires. They're British. Tough, feisty and elegant. And very beautiful." Arthur lowered his eyes to find Alfred grinning back at him. He rolled his eyes and looked away, though as always was unable to stop his own grin stretching across his face.

They headed further down the street, taking in the atmosphere, staring wide-eyed around them. Everywhere they looked, among the throng of civilians, servicemen in uniform strolled the street, laughing and joking and accepting kisses and handshakes from the crowd. Arthur nearly ran into a group of them and tried to back up, then realised that Alfred seemed to recognise them. They all embraced Alfred, clapping him on the shoulder, talking and grinning and laughing loudly. "It's home for us now, Jones! Or down to the Pacific, depending. But we're finally finished in Europe!"

Alfred laughed, but Arthur's heart suddenly sunk. The war was finished in Europe. Amongst everything he hadn't even thought about what it meant. What use was there for Alfred to stay here now?

"Come have a drink with us, Jones!"

That reminded Arthur… he really shouldn't be out here. He should get back and open the pub for the people who wanted to celebrate. Back to work, back to trying to forget.

"Meet me in an hour at The Emerald Lion," smiled Alfred. The Americans all agreed and headed off merrily. Alfred turned back to Arthur and grinned happily. "You'll make a killing this afternoon, Arthur!"

"I guess this means you're going home," said Arthur bluntly, looking away from that blinding grin. Right now it hurt too much.

"Well, yes."

"Of course. I understand." Arthur felt like his chest was being crushed. This was the moment he'd been dreading, the one he knew was coming, the one he had so far managed to avoid but could ignore no longer. Alfred was finally leaving him, for good this time.

"And you're coming with me."

Arthur's breath stopped in his throat. He must have heard that wrong. "What?"

Alfred laughed. "I told you before, remember? I want to show you the streets of New York, and take you home to my farm, and go up and show you the whole country from the air. I want to show you everything. You will come with me, won't you?" Alfred's face was eager and pleading.

The pain in Arthur's chest was replaced by an unfamiliar soaring feeling of hope. But just as quickly it fell again. As he looked around at everyone celebrating on the streets that he loved, he realised… "Alfred, I can't live in America. I could never leave London."

Alfred shrugged. "Then we'll come back here. The military will always need flight instructors. And I practically saved England, they can't kick me out. I'm a goddamn war hero." Alfred grinned cockily. Arthur suppressed the urge to either scoff or kick Alfred, even as his wildly oscillating emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

"But… what about your home?"

"Of course I can't abandon America entirely. But we'll work it out." Alfred looked down at Arthur, pressed close against him in the swelling crowd. His grin faded slightly and his eyes grew intense. A tingling shudder ran through Arthur's spine. "Besides, Arthur, home is wherever you are. So, will you come with me? And take me with you? 'Cause I never want to leave home again."

Arthur's heart thumped wildly and he was suddenly overcome with delirious happiness. "Alfred, what… what are you asking?"

"Well I'd give you a ring, but I don't think you'd wear it. And I'd get down on one knee, but I'm pretty sure I'd be trampled in this crowd. But Arthur…" Alfred winked. "That's pretty much what I'm asking."

Arthur's pulse quickened and his neck flushed with heat. He wondered if that grin, that wink, would ever stop affecting him. He knew, somehow, that it never would. And in the middle of the street, with the streamers flying and the crowd cheering and the sun shining brightly in the blue sky, Alfred took Arthur's hand and kissed it, looking down with eyes full of love and promise. And Arthur didn't care that they were outside, that people could see them, that a loud and pushing crowd surrounded them. Arthur had always thought, somewhere deep inside, that Alfred would leave one day - like everyone always had before. But now he suddenly realised what had been right before him the entire time. That wherever Alfred went, he would always come back. They would always meet again. The noise and the colour faded into the distance until it was just Alfred and him, standing together, smiling and laughing and unable to believe that this war had led them to this conclusion. It was incredible. It was beautiful. It was magic.

And it was only the beginning.

Epilogue

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#We’ll Meet Again chapter 12

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 11

We’ll Meet Again by George deValier

It took far longer than it should have to reach the bedroom. First they tumbled over on the stairs, and Arthur absolutely could not move until Alfred finally stopped kissing the base of his throat. When they did manage to reach the top, Arthur was again delayed by Alfred pressing him against the wall and kissing him with such a burning hunger that he would have fallen to the floor were it not for Alfred's strong hands on his hips. And they almost made it through the living room, but Arthur's knees gave way when they knocked into the couch. They both fell onto it, Alfred's glasses falling to the floor, and they didn't manage to stand again until Arthur was practically panting with lust. By the time they finally reached the bedroom Arthur was missing a shirt, his shoes, and any sense of self control whatsoever. He was also quite aware that there was no way he would be opening the pub today.

They fell onto the bed and Alfred pulled Arthur to his chest, his arms surrounding him and roaming over his back. Arthur shuddered as their bodies met and he pushed his hips against Alfred's, too far gone for hesitation. Alfred responded with a moan and his thigh came up to part Arthur's legs and press between them. Arthur's mind spun, feeling this was happening too fast, feeling it was not happening fast enough. He couldn't think. He just needed to feel Alfred's skin against his. He pulled frantically on Alfred's shirt but suddenly Alfred caught his wrist and shook his head. "Wait, no." His startling look of panic made Arthur still immediately.

"What is it?" asked Arthur, confused, his fingers still clutching the buttons of Alfred's shirt. He slid his hand into Alfred's as his mind raced to calm down and catch up. Had he pressed too much, pushed too far?

"I should tell you…" Alfred looked down and paused for a few moments, looking utterly insecure. "I… my plane, when she crashed… everything was burning…" he trailed into silence. Arthur waited, trying to breathe evenly, but Alfred didn't continue.

"The plane was burning…" prompted Arthur, unsure why Alfred was bringing this up or where it was going.

Alfred nodded then looked up slowly, his eyes wide and full of uncertainty. "I was burned."

"Ohh," breathed Arthur, concern flooding him as he slowly sat up, his hand still caught in Alfred's. How could he be so careless… "I'm sorry, did I hurt you? I wasn't thinking, I keep forgetting you're still injured…"

"No, the wound has healed, as much as it can, I'm just…" Alfred looked down again. "…scarred. Badly," he finished in a whisper.

Arthur felt a tingling shock then a stab of pain in his chest. Alfred had kept his upper body completely hidden since Arthur had first found him in the hospital. This was obviously something that had been worrying him for a while. Arthur swallowed, nodded, then gently removed his hand from Alfred's before reaching again for the shirt. Something gnawed sickeningly at his stomach, but he ignored it. It was time for him to see what Alfred was hiding, and if he could handle it.

"Arthur…" Alfred's voice was low with apprehension.

"Shush." Arthur unbuttoned the shirt, slid it over Alfred's shoulders, then pushed it off altogether. Then he stilled. His heart raced swiftly but he just sat, immobile, staring silently. Red and white scar tissue covered the entire right side of Alfred's chest, raised and carved, a mass of scarred wounds which spread from his upper arm across his shoulder and chest to just below his stomach. Arthur blinked rapidly, his heart physically aching. He could not comprehend the agony something like that must have caused. Some part of him held the smallest suspicion that he should be revolted, and yet he wasn't at all. It was shocking, but it was a part of Alfred. Arthur could not possibly be revolted by any part of Alfred. As Arthur tried to think of something to say, Alfred reached up and tried to cover his chest with his hand.

"I'm sorry," said Alfred quietly. "I didn't want you to see. And I know if… I mean, I understand if…"

Arthur's aching heart felt like it could split in two. He again took Alfred's hand and shook his head. He tried to blink back the tears that pricked his eyes. This uncertainty was a side of Alfred he had never seen. "Alfred, you're perfect." And he was. He was human, and vulnerable, and he was perfect. Then Arthur pulled Alfred down with him as he lay back against the soft pillows. He slowly understood, there was no need to be fast and frantic. They had all the time in the world.

As their bodies met, as their lips touched, Arthur tried to show Alfred that a scar didn't mean anything; that Arthur wanted him just as much. That he really was, always had been, and always would be perfect. It didn't take long for Alfred to seem to understand, and to lose himself in the intensity and the passion once again.

Alfred finally divested Arthur of his last remaining item of clothing then paused, looking down at him while Arthur felt his spine flush with heat. "My God," Alfred breathed, almost devouring Arthur with his eyes. "But you're the most goddamn beautiful thing in the entire world."

Arthur felt his face turn red. "Don't be absurd," he muttered as he drew Alfred back into his arms. Alfred laughed and Arthur felt almost weak at the relief of hearing it.

"But I mean it…"

"Shut up."

It was hard to say how he had fallen in love like this. How that annoying, irritating, frustrating American had drawn him in, how Arthur had been somehow enchanted by him, how all common sense just flew out the window whenever Alfred was in the room. He didn't know. He didn't care.

Where earlier had been fast and frenzied and desperate, this was slow and gentle and soft and wonderful… Where the last time they had been in this bed was sad and bitter and heartbreaking, this time was fast becoming warm and happy and hopeful. And though Arthur grasped at Alfred's back with impatient hands, Alfred remained unhurried and thorough and gentle. It was all too breathtaking… to finally be back here, to finally be able to touch Alfred without fear and dread of the coming morning, just to feel and taste and take his time and lose himself in everything he had wanted for so long. Arthur still could not get used to this: to Alfred here in his arms, to this comforting feeling and the scent he loved and the grin that Alfred would occasionally break the kiss to flash at him, making his already pounding heart jump.

Alfred's hands were soft but steady as they lightly traced over Arthur's heated skin. Arthur could not tear his lips from Alfred's. And with their chests touching, the melding of their hips, Alfred's heated and rapid breath against him, things quickly escalated once again. The heat in Arthur's spine centered and shot to a single point. He tried to be gentle and careful of Alfred's injuries, but Alfred just pressed urgently against Arthur as his hands grew hot and shaky. Before Arthur even thought of it, Alfred reached over and grabbed the jar of cold cream from the bedside table. Arthur waited in anticipation, but Alfred just looked at it for a moment.

"Why do you keep this here?"

Arthur furrowed his brows. "It's good for the skin. Keeps it soft." Then he coughed, slightly embarrassed that he sounded like a 'Good Housekeeping' article.

"Oh, really?" Alfred did not sound convinced as he dipped his fingers into the jar.

"What the bleeding hell do you think I keep it here for?" asked Arthur, slightly annoyed at Alfred questioning him about his skincare routine at a time like this.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe this?" Alfred reached between Arthur's legs. Arthur let out a shuddering gasp at the incredible feeling of Alfred's cold, slick fingers grasping him. He tried ineffectually to push Alfred indignantly on the shoulder, though it was a half-hearted attempt. "Hey, I was gone for months, I don't blame you," said Alfred, grinning wickedly as he stroked Arthur slowly. "But I'm back now, so I know a better use for this…"

"You are completely crass do you know that Alfred Jones, you really ahhh!" Arthur threw his head back and cried out when he felt Alfred's hand move further down. Alfred leant down to kissed Arthur's cheek, then trailed his lips up to his ear where he whispered, low and urgently.

"I want to be inside you, Arthur."

Arthur's heart pounded and his stomach twisted as his indignation melted. He could only whisper back. "Yes." Their lips touched and their breath mingled, hot and rapid, as Arthur felt Alfred's fingers press inside him. Arthur felt nothing but bliss, his body throbbing with it, and all he wanted was to feel Alfred even closer.

Actually, it was easy to say how he had fallen in love like this. Because Alfred was cheerful and drew him out of his melancholy. Because he was dazzling and had brought the sun into Arthur's grey world. Because he really was Arthur's hero. He'd saved him. They'd saved each other.

Alfred took his time, and everything was breathtaking and intense. It was magic. Waves of pleasure almost overwhelmed Arthur. His body burned in the icy fire of his sweat, thrumming with desire and fulfillment. Arthur became lost in the look of need and ecstasy on Alfred's face as he thrust into him, both forcefully and gently, their bodies melded into one.

Their breath mingled, their skin slid perfectly together, their hearts beat rapidly in a similar rhythm as Alfred's warm hands and lips and skin drove Arthur to greater heights of pleasure than he thought possible. It felt like he remembered, and like nothing he had ever felt; comforting and new and everything all at once. Arthur pressed against Alfred's neck, breathing him in, feeling his pulse thrumming against his lips. He'd almost forgotten how it felt to be this close to Alfred, to feel his heart and body moving with his. But when he locked eyes with Alfred, he knew that he would never forget again.

The months of being without him, the pain and the loneliness, now made Arthur realise just how deep this really was. And yet that tiny fear remained, that small terror that it might happen again; so he suppressed it by whispering, barely conscious of what he was saying, things like "My Alfred" and "Finally here" and "I love you" and all that nonsense until he was simply saying Alfred's name over and over in a breathless litany. Alfred. Alfred, who was so beautiful and alluring and so perfect, and, as arrogant as he was, seemed somehow not to know it.

A sharp awareness cut through Arthur's mind. The midday sunlight that filtered through the curtains… the sound of the bed creaking so loud it might break… the eerie stillness of the world outside themselves. But when it came to a climax, Arthur was looking in Alfred's eyes, and he was the only thing in the entire world. Arthur clutched onto his shoulders, hoping he wasn't hurting him, but Alfred's grip on him was just as strong. As the tension built in his stomach he dropped his hands, grasped Alfred's hips and pulled him deeper.

It was Alfred's face, contorted with pleasure, that did it. The sight tipped Arthur over the edge and he shuddered, calling Alfred's name in ecstasy, releasing over them both. Alfred suddenly went rigid, let forth a shout, and Arthur felt the warmth surround him as Alfred clutched him tightly. Arthur's climax was pulled even further from him, and with the blissful pleasure he almost fell back into darkness, but was pulled back by Alfred's lips caressing his cheek.

Arthur tangled his hand through Alfred's sweat-soaked hair as he lay breathing rapidly on Arthur's shoulder. "Heavy," Arthur finally managed to choke out. Alfred quickly muttered an apology and rolled over, pulling Arthur with him and sighing happily. Arthur contentedly curled into Alfred's side and placed an arm over him as carefully as he could manage. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Arthur smiled. "No." He closed his eyes. He was not alone anymore. He'd never felt so content. It was all so natural, so comfortable. Here in Alfred's arms was the only place Arthur had ever felt like he really belonged. It was as though nothing had ever occurred to tear them apart, as though the awful months of the last year had never happened, and all the empty, lonely years before that no longer mattered. They had all led up to this. When Arthur opened his eyes they fell on a piece of red and white cloth lying on the bedside table. His stomach leapt, and he reached for it.

"What's that?" asked Alfred.

Arthur looked down at the handkerchief and found that, even now, his chest felt tight. He had thought this was all he had left of Alfred. "I believe this is yours," he said, holding it out. Alfred looked down at the cloth in Arthur's hand, his expression unreadable. "Matthew gave it to me. He said they found it in the wreckage."

Alfred took the handkerchief slowly, his eyes slightly unfocused. "I remember." He stopped and did not speak for a few moments. When he did his voice was soft. "I was holding this. When Lady Beth went down." He ran his fingers over it gingerly. "The flames were everywhere and I couldn't breathe. I couldn't escape. I remember, I looked down and this was the last thing I saw. And I thought…" Alfred looked up into Arthur's eyes. "I thought I was the luckiest guy in the entire world."

The stillness of the day settled around them, and Arthur felt like he would never be able to move again. Like he never wanted to.

"And you know," Alfred continued, "I really reckon I am."

Arthur smiled happily, sadly, and his gaze drifted down to Alfred's scars. "Alfred, I'm so terribly sorry about Lady Beth."

Alfred's eyes widened as they shot up. He stared at Arthur for a moment, shook his head, then broke the silence by bursting into laughter. "I love you, Arthur." Arthur blinked quizzically. "Do you know, not one other person has said that to me. You really do know me."

"And I'm going to find out a whole lot more." Arthur smiled as he said it, remembering a conversation they had once had, so similar to this, when Alfred had spoken those very words. This time however, Arthur knew that the next time he awoke, Alfred would be beside him.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#We’ll Meet Again chapter 11

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

Text

Chapter 10

We’ll Meet Again by George deValier

Arthur could not bring himself to visit Alfred the next day. He quickly reverted to old habits and spent the day losing himself in work: upset, distraught, and wondering what the hell he was doing deliberately staying away from Alfred. Arthur always hoped that the noise and commotion of the pub would take his mind off everything. It never did. While some part of him recognised that he was trying to avoid the same soul crushing hurt he had just gone through, he knew at the same time that all he was doing was hurting himself more. Arthur barely slept that night, stunned at how much he missed Alfred after one day, and feeling desperately guilty for breaking his promise to visit.

Arthur woke early the next day, determined to visit Alfred before opening the pub. He stood inside his front door, glaring at it, trying to work up the courage to walk out of it, when it suddenly slammed open and he jumped in surprise. Then he choked back a gasp when Alfred walked through it and stood right in front of him. Dressed once again in his uniform and bomber jacket, his cap at an angle on his head, Alfred was like a vision out of one of Arthur's all too frequent dreams. Only he was wearing glasses. Arthur stared at him, stunned. "What are you… but… I…" He had no idea what to say. "I thought I locked that door!"

"Why didn't you come back?"

Arthur almost took a step back from the fiery look in Alfred's eyes. "Alfred, it was only one day, I… I was just upset when that officer said they were…" Arthur blinked a few times. "…sending you home."

Alfred looked incredulous. "Arthur, I was always going to go back to America one day. You must have known that."

The sudden pain in Arthur's chest was overwhelming. But of course. It never meant anything to Alfred. He was always planning to go home and leave him. Arthur could almost feel his heart breaking. But he just narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to respond angrily, to shout and scream and yell at Alfred to leave then, go back to America and never come back. But Alfred continued before he had the chance.

"But didn't I promise that I would always come back to you?"

All the hurt and anger suddenly deflated and Arthur was left just feeling confused. "Pardon?"

"You're a damned sensitive guy at times, Arthur, for all you try to act so tough." Alfred sighed and his eyes softened. "Not that I don't understand it. Yesterday, I waited and waited and when you didn't turn up, I… I thought…" Alfred broke off and looked down at the floor, blinking rapidly. "I thought you must be done with me."

Arthur gasped. He'd never heard a more preposterous notion. "Done with you? How could you even…"

"You were always trying to leave. And you never wanted to touch me. And…"

"There were guards outside your room twenty-four hours a day - if I didn't touch you it was because I was afraid of arousing suspicion! Of course I wanted to touch you, I thought I made that perfectly clear in that bloody cupboard! I've been positively aching to touch you…"

Then it suddenly hit them both at the same time. What the hell were they talking about? Why did any of it matter? They were alone. No doctors, no nurses, no guards... After a second's pause that felt like an hour, Arthur fell desperately against Alfred, who grasped him so frantically he nearly lifted him off the ground. Their lips met almost violently, teeth clashing, and Arthur choked back a moan at the feeling of completion and relief. This wasn't a stolen kiss in a hallway cupboard. This was every ounce of longing and desire Arthur had held for so long pouring out at once. This was the culmination of all those months of waiting and fear and loneliness. This was what he had longed for for so long and so much that it felt like the only thing in the world he had ever wanted. Alfred in his arms, kissing him, wanting Arthur like Arthur wanted him; no one to stop them and nothing between them. This almost couldn't be real.

Alfred broke away just long enough to say, "I was so worried you wouldn't come back."

Arthur shook his head in disbelief and pulled Alfred back down into the kiss. After a few moments Alfred broke it again.

"Now that I'm not a fighter pilot…"

That got Arthur to pause. He stared up at Alfred incredulously. "You think I fell in love with you because you were a pilot?"

"Well, it's just… I was somebody important, and now I'm useless and, and…" Alfred seemed to search for something else to say. "…and I have to wear these stupid glasses," he finished. Arthur almost laughed, but Alfred just looked so lost. Arthur had forgotten how young he could seem at times.

"Alfred, you are quite the biggest fool I have ever met. I don't care about something so absurdly trivial as what you do for a living. How could you ever think that you're not important?"

Alfred shrugged and sighed. "I don't know, I guess I just worked myself up walking here from the hospital…"

Arthur's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. How the hell had he not realised it?! "Wait, wait…" he said frantically, "The hospital! They've let you out of the hospital!" Arthur paused and his stomach fell. Of course. This must be goodbye. He let his hands drop from Alfred's arms. When Alfred said he had to go home one day Arthur hadn't realised he meant so soon. "They're sending you home already."

"No." Alfred shook his head firmly. "I'm not going anywhere just yet."

Arthur was sure he had misheard. "I beg your pardon?"

"You think I'd let them send me away from you, now, when I only just got you back? I'd never let them. I'd never let anyone." Arthur felt a thrill of joy run through him at the words. Alfred laughed breathlessly. "They finally agreed to let me stay in England... not that I gave them much of a choice."

"But… what will you be doing?" asked Arthur, finally looking up into Alfred's eyes, his chest swelling with hope.

"Training. Apparently they're low on flight instructors. Can you believe it? The military is actually letting me train British pilots!"

Arthur shook his head, wide-eyed. "God help the English nation."

Alfred's eyes narrowed. "Huh, what do you mean by…"

"Shut up, Alfred." Arthur grasped the back of Alfred's head and pulled him into a forceful kiss. Alfred responded by crushing Arthur's chest to his and, slightly off balance, they fell back against the wall. Arthur didn't pause. He couldn't. Nothing could make him stop now. Hearing those words, knowing Alfred was staying with him, feeling him in his arms… Arthur had never imagined such happiness was possible. It was almost too much to take. Arthur pressed back and brought Alfred with him as they slid down the wall, entangled, their lips still joined. They landed heavily but Arthur barely noticed. Their lips finally parted when Arthur fell onto his back and Alfred fell over him, holding himself up with his arms.

"Wait," said Alfred breathlessly. "Are you…"

"Can't wait… can't stop…" Arthur reached up and brought Alfred's lips back to his. It had been too long, for both of them. Arthur pulled desperately at their clothes but only just managed to unbutton his trousers before Alfred's lips, his breath, his touch, this overwhelming reality overcame him. It had been too long, this was too close, it was too much. One brush of Alfred's hand and it was over in one intense, overpowering moment. Alfred followed immediately, clutching onto Arthur's hips with sweat-soaked hands before he shuddered and moaned into Arthur's ear. He hadn't even managed to unbutton his pants.

After taking a minute to catch his breath, Arthur burst into laughter, closely followed by Alfred. But Arthur quickly gasped and shot upright, concerned… Alfred had only just left hospital, what the hell was he doing dragging him onto the floor! "Oh bloody hell, are you all right?"

Alfred just kept laughing. "I've never been more all right in my entire life." He pulled Arthur back down and kissed him again. Arthur decided to believe him. After all, he felt the same way.

Eventually they lay getting their breath back. It should have been uncomfortable lying on the floor, but it wasn't. Arthur felt he could lay there forever.

"Do you know," said Alfred breathlessly, "This is the table where we first met."

Arthur looked up and realised that they had landed right beside the table by the second front window - the same table Alfred always chose to sit at. "It is?"

"Yeah, I remember it perfectly. And the first thing you ever said to me…" Alfred furrowed his brows and twisted his face into a furious expression before shouting, "'Get the bloody hell down from that bloody table you stupid bloody Yank!'"

Arthur thought for a moment. "Oh yes, I did say that, didn't I?"

"You always did swear too much. Terrible language, really," said Alfred, shaking his head, though he seemed to be trying not to laugh. Arthur just glared at him. Alfred didn't appear to notice. "Do you remember that, Arthur? The first night we met?"

Arthur couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. "Remember? How could I possibly forget? You barged through the door, introduced yourself as the man who was going to save England, then proceeded to drink an entire bottle of bourbon, attempt to start a fight with a chair, and end the night by passing out on top of the bar." How could Arthur ever forget the day that his life had turned upside down? "I can't believe it's been a year since then." It felt like yesterday... but at the same time it felt like a lifetime ago.

Alfred laughed and pulled himself into a sitting position against the wall. "I was in a good mood that night. I'd just fallen in love."

Arthur peered up at Alfred and tried to ignore the fluttering feeling in his chest. "That is embarrassingly sentimental."

"Why are you smiling like that then?"

"I'm laughing at you."

"No you're not."

"Shut up, Alfred." But Arthur was still smiling when Alfred pulled him against his chest and put an arm around him.

Arthur lost track of how long he just sat there, leaning against the wall with Alfred, their bodies pressed together and their breathing slowly returning to normal. The sun rose high in the sky through the window. The morning marched slowly on, time running past them, with nothing they could do to stop it. Arthur finally broke the tranquil silence with a question that had been bothering him for days. It came out more like a statement. "It wasn't the resistance who freed you, was it."

Alfred's breath hitched. Arthur didn't dare to look up at him. "Not really, no." At that, Arthur glanced up quizzically. "It was Ludwig."

"Ludwig?" Arthur's eyebrows furrowed for a moment before he remembered where he had heard that name. Of course, Alfred's letters, the ones he had read a hundred times. Ludwig was the German fighter pilot who had been captured, the one with the photo, the one who was loved by an Italian resistance fighter. "Ohh. Why? How?"

Alfred took a deep breath. His arm tightened around Arthur while his other hand grasped for Arthur's own. Arthur took it and squeezed reassuringly. Alfred sat in silence for a moment before he finally started speaking. "When I was captured, after a certain point, I don't remember a lot of it. I'm grateful for that. It all just sort of blurred into a haze of pain and nightmare." Arthur clutched even tighter to Alfred's hand. "I should have been sent to a P.O.W camp, but they seemed to think I had collaborated with the Italian resistance movement. I don't know what they thought I knew. I don't know what they wanted me to tell them. But I told them nothing and they eventually moved me to a new base. I remember being brought in, and that's when I saw the German pilot again. I will never forget that face."

Alfred broke off, his eyes unfocused. After a few moments he continued. "One afternoon, I was handed over to the Gestapo, and... and..." Alfred's voice was low and strained, like the words were painful for him to get out. They were painful for Arthur to hear. "...and I don't want to talk about that afternoon," Alfred finished in a whisper, his eyes almost blank as they gazed unseeing at the floor.

Again Alfred paused and Arthur waited patiently. He knew how difficult this must be for Alfred. He had barely spoken of his experience in captivity, and Arthur preferred it that way. The few allusions he had made to the matter just tore at Arthur's heart. He couldn't bear to hear about the hell Alfred had gone through just because the SS wanted information that he didn't even possess. But Arthur stayed silent, determined to listen to anything that Alfred had to say.

"But that night, when everyone had finally finished with me, Ludwig came into my room. I thought I was dreaming. But I wasn't, he was really there, and he took me out of the base. I don't know how long he walked with me on his back... I could barely move, you see. It turns out he spoke English, and he kept trying to keep me awake. He asked me about you. We spoke about soccer and baseball. And I remember at one point we had a conversation about frogs." Alfred suddenly looked at Arthur and spoke brightly. "Did you know that there is a species of frog in South America that has enough poison to kill two thousand people?"

Arthur shook his head, slightly startled by this random change in topic. "No. I did not know that."

"Neither did I. Huh. Well, apart from those things, it is mostly all a blur. But eventually there were other people, and I recognised some of them too... Even though we couldn't have been near their village, Rome was there, and Lovino. But I don't remember seeing Feliciano. Then Ludwig disappeared and the next thing I know I woke up in an American base." Alfred shrugged. "And there you have it. After that it was just months of recovery at the base before weeks stuck on a hospital ship." Alfred sighed. "I can't imagine what would happen to Ludwig if the German military found out what he did."

Arthur sat in silence, trying to process what he had just heard. "I can't believe it. A German rescued you! What on earth… why..."

"Arthur, I…" Alfred took a deep breath and looked down at his hands. Arthur waited silently. "The reason Ludwig was free in the first place was... Well, earlier, when Ludwig was our prisoner, I... I gave Feliciano classified information. Information about how and where Ludwig was being held. A few days later we heard he had been broken out. Feliciano must have done it. And as soon as I heard I knew it was my fault. If I hadn't given Feliciano that information he would never have managed it. I helped an enemy escape. Heck, I may as well have busted him out of there myself."

"Oh, Alfred." Alfred truly was the most good, kind, stupid man Arthur had ever met.

"I betrayed my country." Alfred spoke in a whisper, staring at his hands, lost and frightened and devastated.

"No!" Arthur met Alfred's eyes and shook his head. "You helped one man - a good man. A man who later helped you. You didn't betray anyone."

"I know it was wrong. He was our enemy, he was a prisoner. But Feliciano was so good and sweet and he loved Ludwig so much and… and I let all these stupid feelings get in the way of my duty." Alfred looked up, wide-eyed, into Arthur's eyes and whispered, "Arthur, if anyone ever knew…"

Arthur squeezed Alfred's hand reassuringly. "They never will," he said firmly. "It's all right. They never will." Arthur could not tell Alfred he had done nothing wrong. But neither could he blame him or judge him. "Listen, Alfred, if you had not done what you did, you would not have been rescued yourself. You'd have been..." Arthur did not need to finish that sentence. "Ludwig may be an enemy, but… I'm bloody grateful to him." Arthur tried to think through it all. Alfred had helped Ludwig escape, and Ludwig had done the same thing for Alfred. It was all so incredible. "What happened to Feliciano?"

Alfred shrugged sadly. "I don't know. But he's a resistance fighter. Ludwig is a German officer. I really do hope that he and Ludwig can be happy somehow. But I just don't see how that could ever happen."

Silence fell once again. Arthur held onto Alfred's hand and thought how incredibly bloody lucky he really was. Against all the odds, Alfred had come back to him. Although he may be heading back to the states, and though they may never be able to be open about their feelings, and though they would always have to hide in their love in secrecy, it was still possible - it was really possible for them to love each other and in some way to be together. But somewhere miles away, stuck in the middle of a war and a situation they could never control, there were two good men who could never do the same, even though they loved each other just as much. It was so unfair.

Arthur was not sure how long they simply sat quietly together. Though at first Arthur felt he could lie against the wall with Alfred forever, eventually he twisted awkwardly, and the hard wall behind him started to dig into his back. "Alfred, I'm afraid this is becoming rather uncomfortable."

"You're absolutely right. We need to move immediately."

"I completely agree."

Alfred winked, and Arthur's heart jumped. "I think your bed would be a heck of a lot more comfortable than this floor."

Arthur couldn't agree more.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#We’ll Meet Again chapter 10

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 6 years ago

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Chapter 9

We’ll Meet Again by George deValier

Tuesday 28 October, 1944

Alfred!

You… you… you! I should have known a little thing like being shot down and captured would not be enough to kill you. I can't tell you how damned happy I am to hear you're all right, old friend!

We all nearly fell over when we heard the news. The whole squadron send their best for your quick recovery, although knowing you I am sure you will be up and about in no time - if you aren't already. Don't give the doctors too hard a time, they're just trying to help.

I'm looking forward to seeing you once I get out of this mess over here. I'd say more, but you know what the censors are like.

Your friend, Matthew.

P.S. All the best to Arthur.

Arthur finished reading the letter and handed it back to Alfred, who sighed in frustration and practically threw it onto the small table beside his bed. "I should be over there. I feel so useless."

"You've done enough." Arthur's gaze fell involuntarily on Alfred's mutilated hands. "More than enough." Arthur quickly shook his head and looked back up. "Now, let us return to the rather pressing matter at hand." He picked up the two pairs of glasses Alfred had earlier tossed down on the bed. "Let me see you in these fetching red ones once again." He leant over the bed and placed the glasses on Alfred's face, even as Alfred laughed helplessly and tried to pull away.

"Stop it! They're all terrible. Glasses don't suit me."

"Oh I don't know, I think these ones suit you quite well."

Arthur had asked earlier exactly what had happened to Alfred's eyes, but he quickly wished he hadn't. Alfred got as far as mentioning something about chemicals and burning before Arthur felt sick and begged him to stop. Whatever the enemy had done to him, Alfred had lost a large percentage of his sight. As Air Force pilots had to have perfect vision, and along with missing three fingers, Alfred would never fly for the military again. Alfred hadn't spoken much of it… but it was obvious he was devastated.

Alfred peered up at Arthur over the top of the glasses. "I'll never get used to these."

Arthur couldn't help laughing. They actually did suit him. "But of course you will. Stop complaining."

Arthur's pub had been running practically without him for the last week as he went back and forth to the hospital. The whole thing still felt like a dream… but a wonderful, beautiful dream from which he never wanted to wake. He watched Alfred get better every day in the few hours he was allowed to spend with him in the hospital. It felt like minutes. In the short time they had they talked, remembering everything about each other and learning more. Arthur spoke to Alfred, silly things, things to cheer him and distract him, things that usually led to an argument because Alfred always was so bloody frustrating. Arthur listened to Alfred, on the very few occasions when he started to speak about his experience, usually just a few words muttered before his eyes clouded over and he trailed into silence. And sometimes Arthur just sat, watching Alfred sleep, trying to grasp the fact that the only thing he'd ever truly wanted was in his grasp, in his heart, and lying before him.

"Any word on when you'll be out of here?" It was all Arthur thought about. He was desperate for Alfred to leave, to be alone with him, to be somewhere there weren't doctors and nurses and bloody military guards keeping watch twenty-four hours a day. But Alfred was a virtual prisoner until he gave the military the information they wanted to know about his escape. Every day someone tried to convince Alfred to explain how he'd gotten free of the Germans. Every day they left without an answer. An answer that Arthur didn't know himself, and had no idea why was so important not to disclose.

Alfred tossed the glasses back onto the bed. "Well, hopefully they'll let me out for Christmas. They won't even let me have a tree in here, can you believe it?"

Arthur just shook his head incredulously. Christmas. How could it be nearly Christmas again already? Arthur could barely believe how much time had passed since Alfred had left for Italy. Somehow he had lost all sense of time since Alfred barrelled into his life. "Spend Christmas with me." He said it without even thinking.

Alfred smiled up at him. "I'd love to spend Christmas with you."

"So tell them what they want to hear and you can."

Alfred groaned. "I told you, I can't!"

"So lie!" said Arthur. "Make some nonsense up and be done with it!"

"Lie?" Alfred looked shocked by the notion. "I can't do that either!"

"Why do you have to be so bloody…" Arthur stopped himself. So bloody frustrating, good, honest, stupid. Arthur fell back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. "I just… I just…" he trailed off and dropped his gaze to the ground. "I just want to take you home. Out of here. Away from this bloody inquisition."

"You will. It'll all work out, you'll see." Arthur raised his eyes and Alfred winked. Arthur's heart flipped as he cursed inwardly. That bloody wink. "If I spend Christmas with you, can we put up a tree? And sing carols? And make those rum ball things you made last year that made everyone in the pub drunk? Those were fantastic."

Arthur thought for a second. "Yes, we can make the rum balls. No singing. But I will put up a tree for you."

"I'd like that," said Alfred, smiling as he reached out his hand. Arthur smiled back, took Alfred's hand, felt it's comforting exhilarating touch. Then he quickly dropped it when the guard at the door gave them a backwards glance.

Arthur glanced away. "I should be leaving."

Alfred pushed himself further up in the bed. "No!"

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You know I'm not supposed to be here. The guards don't like it."

Alfred threw a filthy look at the two men outside the door. "Huh, like I give a damn what they think."

"Regardless, I don't want to get you into more trouble." And Arthur especially did not want to arouse more suspicion about their relationship. He already felt their emotional reunion had given away too much, so he'd tried to be careful during the last week with how he acted and what he said. He carefully kept his distance, while the whole time he ached to just throw himself into Alfred's arms.

Alfred looked at Arthur pleadingly. "Stay another ten minutes."

Arthur sighed. Every time Alfred asked him that he could never refuse. And he usually ended up staying until the staff asked him to leave.

Arthur knew Alfred was finally recovering when he walked into the hospital hallway the next morning to find Alfred rounding the far corner and speeding down the corridor in a wheelchair.

"Hi, Arthur!" Alfred cried cheerfully as he sped towards him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" asked Arthur, part exasperated, part overjoyed to see how well Alfred looked. "You are ill! Get back to bed this instant!"

"Geez, you sound like a nurse." Alfred came to a screeching halt in front of Arthur and grinned up at him. Arthur scowled. The bloody Yank had certainly figured out how to use that grin on him.

"Feeling better then, are we?" Arthur tried to glare. He was fairly sure it wasn't working.

"I feel one hundred percent today," grinned Alfred. A loud shout came from behind them. Alfred tried clumsily to turn his chair. "Damn, he's catching up!"

Arthur turned to see another wheelchair turn the corner and speed down the hall. He raised his eyebrows. "Francis? So they caught you, did they?"

"Arthur, mon ami!" Francis smiled and came to a stop a few feet from where Alfred was trying unsuccessfully to manoeuvre his chair. "Caught? Never. They promised to send me back to France, so I returned willingly. Do excuse me one moment." Francis crashed his chair into the back of Alfred's, who groaned loudly. "I believe that is now two to me, Lieutenant."

"Best of five!" said Alfred, just as a stern looking nurse turned into the corridor and strode towards them. Arthur backed up against the wall and tried to look inconspicuous.

"What is going on now?" asked the nurse, standing over Francis and Alfred with her hands on her hips. "Captain Bonnefoy, I've told you to stop encouraging him!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Captain? Francis just shrugged. "Ah, you know what these kids are like." Francis cocked his head and looked up at the nurse inquisitively. "I'm sorry, but have you done something new with your hair? It looks…" he paused and waved his hand inexpressively. "… exquisite."

"Don't try that with me, Bonnefoy. I know you, and it won't work. Now, you." The nurse glared down at Alfred, who smiled charmingly.

"Me?"

"Any more of this and I will take away your visiting rights." She looked pointedly at Arthur.

"Try it," said Alfred, still smiling. "Because I know just how much you all enjoy dealing with me when I'm upset."

The nurse looked like she did know, and did not want to deal with it again any time soon. She folded her arms and tapped her foot. "Jones, get back to your room. And get out of that chair."

"I can't. I'm sick." Alfred coughed feebly, the smile not leaving his face. He winked at Arthur, who couldn't help laughing. Suddenly a loud voice shouted down the hall.

"Captain Bonnefoy! LIEUTENANT JONES!"

Francis and Alfred looked at each other, their eyes wide.

"Shit!"

"Merde!"

"Come, Arthur, we must make our escape!" Arthur choked back a shriek of surprise as Alfred grasped him by the waist, pulled him onto his lap, and took off in the wheelchair.

"What the HELL do you THINK…"

"Hold on, Arthur!" Alfred took off, narrowly avoiding the shocked nurse's feet, as the guards shouted at the end of the hall. Arthur clutched onto Alfred's shoulders to stop himself falling. Now this was ridiculous.

"Go, brave friends! I shall hold them off! Pour la France!" Arthur looked back to see Francis charging his wheelchair towards the military guards, but he didn't see the result as Alfred swiftly turned a corner, narrowly avoiding crashing into the wall.

Arthur wasn't sure whether to be terrified or just mildly irritated. Of course he was completely confused, and also strongly aware of how close his body was to Alfred's. Perhaps that was why he wasn't as angry as he maybe should have been. Alfred narrowly missed a wall again. "Why aren't you wearing your glasses?" cried Arthur.

"Don't need 'em," said Alfred. He finally slowed as he reached a door, then stood and hauled Arthur through it. Alfred slammed the door behind them and pulled Arthur into a bruising kiss. Arthur froze in shock, started to say something, then stopped thinking. In the dark room Arthur couldn't see a thing, but he could taste Alfred's lips strong and warm against his, could smell that scent which was so overwhelmingly Alfred, could feel the rapid rising of their chests pressed together; Alfred's hand firm and gentle against the back of his neck, his arm tight around his waist. Arthur's head spun and he pulled Alfred tighter against him, as tight as he dared. Finally. Seconds before Arthur lost all control, he managed to pull back, breathing heavily.

"Alfred, stop, what if they…"

"Ssh," said Alfred, pulling Arthur back and whispering against his lips. "Please, just… just let me kiss you…"

Arthur could not argue with that. After all, this was what he had been desperate for since the first moment he had laid eyes on Alfred in the hospital room. But there were no nurses or doctors or guards here. The kiss was everything he remembered and everything he had dreamt of. It was warmth and love and promise. It was Alfred. And it was over too quickly. After only a few seconds, the shouting voices outside drew closer. Arthur broke the kiss reluctantly and held his breath.

Alfred giggled softly and Arthur thumped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Non, non, monsieur, he went the other way, did you not see? Oh la la, these difficult Americans. Quickly, this way!" Arthur could hear Francis' voice just outside the door. The sound of footsteps slowly receded down the hall and Arthur breathed out, relieved. He squinted up at Alfred, but couldn't make him out in the darkness.

"I think you should get back to your room, Lieutenant Jones," said Arthur sternly, even as he clung to Alfred's arms.

"Arthur," whispered Alfred.

"Yes?"

"I think we're in a closet."

Arthur dissolved into laughter. Alfred managed to sneak another kiss before Arthur dragged him out of the cupboard, forced him into the wheelchair, and wheeled him back down the hallway.

Arthur wheeled Alfred into the hospital room to find no guards at the door. Arthur slowed to a stop when they walked through the door and found a tall, well-dressed officer standing in the centre of the room. Bloody marvellous. Someone else sent to interrogate Alfred. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the officer, who just nodded at Alfred. "Good morning Lieutenant."

The officer glanced at Arthur, furrowed his brows, then looked back at Alfred who gave a half-hearted, almost sarcastic salute.

"Hello."

"So, the Magician, is it?" asked the officer in a loud American accent.

"That's what they call me," said Alfred, grinning cockily. Arthur suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well Lieutenant, you certainly live up to your nickname, because I really don't know any other way to describe it but magic. You're free to go." The officer looked down at Alfred's chair. "Once you're well enough to move around, of course."

Arthur's heart stopped. He glanced quickly at Alfred, who just gazed up at the officer, slightly dazed. "I am?"

"We just received a call from our contacts in Italy," explained the officer, occasionally glancing warily at Arthur as he spoke. "They've been given some information from a local partisan movement. All this time we've been holding you because you've refused to tell us how you got free, and it's something as simple as this? Why the hell didn't you just tell us you were rescued by the Italian resistance?"

"Oh." Arthur blinked in surprise, but when he looked at Alfred he could tell that he was shocked but trying to hide it. "I must have… forgot."

The officer looked at Alfred suspiciously and shook his head. "You're a stupid man, Jones. A stupid, lucky man. Congratulations. Once you're fit and healthy, you're out of here. They're giving you a medal and shipping you home to the states."

Arthur's stomach sank and a sudden heavy wave crushed his chest.

"Oh," said Alfred again, flatly. "Hooray."

The officer saluted. "Good day, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, sure… and, thanks. I guess." Alfred half-heartedly saluted back.

The officer strode from the room after throwing another suspicious glare at Arthur.

Alfred breathed out heavily, turned, and gave Arthur a cheerless smile. "Well, there you go. Didn't I tell ya it would all sort out?"

Arthur could barely hear past the rushing in his ears. …shipping you home to the states… "They're sending you home." No. Not this. How could they make Alfred leave? Arthur had only just got him back!

Alfred looked at a loss for words. "Apparently. But…"

Arthur shook his head, swallowed heavily, and slowly backed away. This was too much. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want this again. Not again. "I have to leave."

Alfred stood up, pushing the chair away, and grasped pleadingly onto Arthur's hand. "Don't go, Arthur."

"It's late. I've stayed far too long." Arthur tried to pull away, but Alfred held insistently onto his hand.

"You just got here! What… when will you come back?" Alfred's eyes were wild and anxious.

"Soon." Arthur tried to smile and looked away from Alfred's distressed expression. He took a deep breath. "Very soon, I promise."

"Tomorrow," said Alfred firmly. He moved into Arthur's line of sight, fixed Arthur's eyes with his and repeated, almost frantically, "Tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes, Alfred. Tomorrow. I'll see you tomorrow." Arthur finally felt Alfred's hand slip from his. He turned and walked towards the door, the whole time screaming at himself... Turn around, turn around, turn around… Why was he doing this? Why didn't he turn back? But Arthur could not stop himself as he walked out the door, through the empty corridor, and out the front door of the hospital into the cold street.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#We’ll Meet Again chapter 9

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