His Hero

Alfred F. Jones sits on his couch, staring at a small figure on his coffee table, a small soldier with his musket tucked into the crook of his left elbow. It had been a gift from the man he had once called guardian, mentor, friend, and savior. Arthur Kirkland had found him alone in a field, hungry, filthy, and tired. He had taken him in, fed him clothed him, educated, and raised him. He owed everything to that man.
Alfred continues with his memories before he shakes his head quickly to draw himself from thoughts of the Revolution. He stands, pulls on his bomber jacket, and exits his house to walk to Arthur's, determined to put the past to rest. He knocks on Arthur's door and prays to any and all Gods or gods that may be listening that Arthur won't slam the door in his face again, like the last time he had tried to visit. 
Arthur opens the door, sees Alfred, and starts to close it, only to find a strong hand keeping it open. “What do you want, America,” he asks in a clipped tone, deliberately addressing the man as the country he represents.
“I just want to get a couple things off my chest, Arthur, and they both involve you,” he replies, noting the use of the name of his country. “May I come in?” 
Arthur sighs softly and steps aside, allowing the younger man into his house. “Please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable.” Arthur sits in his normal chair and folds his hands in his lap. “What do you need to talk about?”
Alfred sits in the chair opposite Arthur's and sits forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He takes a deep breath, knowing that this conversation would be painful, and the most difficult either of them had ever had. “I need to talk about the... The Revolution, and why it happened. I've kept it bottled up for long enough, and I'm tired of it being a burden on my heart and mind.” 
Arthur closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths to stop the memories of the pain and anger screaming through his head. He takes another deep breath a moment later and lets it out, opening his eyes. “I've been wondering when we would leave the past behind. Continue, please.” 
Alfred nods. “Just... Promise that you'll hear the whole thing before you start getting defensive?”
“I promise.”
“Thank you.” Alfred tries to put up a stone wall around his heart to shield himself from the memories, but fails. He takes a deep breath to prepare for what he was about to recall to the forefront of his mind. “You know that I wanted to be an equal, a peer, in your eyes, but you just couldn't agree. I tried to be as mature, but you just weren't having any of it. I tried to show you that I had grown up, that I was strong enough to be on my own, but you just wouldn't accept it. And that made me angry. I had thought you trusted me enough to let me at least try to be independent, but it turned out that I was wrong. It made me think you were treating me like a child just because you thought I couldn't handle being away from you. So I threatened war, hoping to show you I was serious. But I didn't expect the taxes and the soldiers. Those just added to the fire. Do you know what your soldiers did to my women and children? Rape, torture, abuse, and worse to the men that tried to oppose them and stand up for their wives and families. No matter what I did, you just kept sending troops that you knew I couldn't feed or shelter, no matter what I did to show you I wasn't joking. So I did the only thing I could do. I backed up my words with actions. I revolted. I almost died of heart break, knowing what I was doing to the one who had taken me in and cared for me. Until I remembered how you always left me alone for one reason or another. How you would drink until you passed out, and I had to carry you to bed and take care of you when you woke up with a hangover. How you would treat me like a child, even though I was more mature than you were, most of the time. How you were treating my people, the people who had come from your own country. And suddenly, I hated you, and, I hated myself because I had trusted you, looked up to you, tried to be like you. For a long time I wanted you to suffer. I wanted to hurt you, just like you hurt me. But then, in about 1802, I realized that I still wanted you to be proud of me. I still wanted you to take care of me when I was hurt or sick or scared, just like when I was young. I still wanted you to come home from one of your adventures with some small present and a story to tell me. I still craved your attention, craved you. It was then that I realized that I didn't hate you anymore. I realized that I loved you, and I still do. I love you Arthur Kirkland.” Alfred bites his lip, and he feels the burning behind his eyes, the pressure of tears building up. 
Arthur sits silently through Alfred's explanation, tears threatening to fall from his own eyes. At the last words and the sound of his name flowing from Alfred's lips, the tears finally fall, sliding silently down his pale cheeks. He looks down at his folded hands, trying to stop the tears. “I did it to keep you from leaving me alone. To keep you dependent on me because it gave me something, someone to live for. You were what I looked forward to coming home to at the end of my adventures. The one I held dear, and I couldn't bear the thought of you leaving me like everyone else did.” He takes a ragged breath. “I should have trusted you, believed that you cared about me, instead of trying to force you to stay. And if I had the chance to do it over, I would change it in a heart beat. I'm so sorry Alfred. So sorry that I hurt you, drove you away by trying to keep you close. I should have listened to you, to the mature young man you were, and not the child I was so desperate to save and protect. Can you forgive me?” 
Alfred stands and walks over to Arthur's chair, then holds out his hands to pull him into a tight hug. “If you can forgive yourself.” He closes his eyes and lets his tears fall. “God, Arthur... I love you so much. Please, for my sake if not for your own, please forgive yourself.” 
Arthur nods and wraps his arms around the taller man's waist. “I love you too, Alfred. I want to save you still. I want to erase your pain, and shield you from any new pain and sorrow. Will you let me try? Will you be mine to protect?”
A small smile graces Alfred's lips. “For as long as you're my shield, I'll be your armor,” he whispers. 
Arthur smiles and kisses Alfred's cheek. “That sounds perfect. As long as you're mine, I'll be yours.” 
Alfred opens his eyes and meets Arthur's before leaning down slightly to kiss him, trying to force all of the pent up love and silent adoration through it to Arthur, trying to tell him without words how deeply he cares for him. 
Though it only lasts for a few seconds, the kiss released emotions in Arthur that he had kept lock away for centuries. Arthur pulls away first and reaches up to brush his fingertips across the young man's cheek, wiping away his tears. “Please don't cry, love. I don't ever want to see tears fall from your beautiful eyes again.” 
Alfred takes Arthur's face in one hand and wipes his tears with his thumb. “If I can't, then neither can you, k?”
Arthur smiles warmly, then buries his slightly pink face in his former charge's chest. “Alright. Alfred?”
“Yeah Arty?”
“I really do love you. Please don't leave me behind...” Arthur closes his eyes and holds on a little tighter. 
Alfred moves one hand from Arthur's back to the back of his neck and kisses the top of his head. “I promise. I won't leave you, ever. And a hero never breaks his promise.”
Arthur laughs quietly at the nickname Alfred had given himself. “Thank you... My hero.”
Category:Fanfiction
Category:Romance
Category:DeviantArt