It happened so gradually that Arthur barely noticed it. It seemed that one day his pub fairly swarmed with American soldiers, and the next, the place was almost empty. Of course it had not been that sudden, but when Arthur looked around one sunny afternoon and noticed how few men in uniform were in the pub, he was shocked. Somewhere along the way he had become used to the Americans. And now that there were so few, he couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of sadness... and along with it the awareness of what this sudden emptiness implied. But that was too painful to think of.

Not a day had passed in the last week without Lieutenant Alfred Jones turning up at the bar, grinning cockily and proposing some new and exasperating way to waste Arthur's time. And of course he spent every night in the pub with Arthur, talking and laughing and grinning and winking and even bloody singing. But Arthur had done everything in his power to resist the blinding, magnetic, undeniable attraction the American held. There was no point being drawn in by Alfred's charms. Any way this mess ended, it was going to be bad. But that didn't mean that Arthur could stop himself from spending every moment he possibly could with the handsome, cheerful, bloody frustrating pilot.

And now Arthur stood behind the bar, mindlessly polishing the same glass he had held for the last twenty minutes, trying to convince himself that he was not waiting for a certain American fighter pilot to walk through the door this bright, sunny, endless afternoon. He risked a moment to turn away and place the glass in the case. Almost immediately he heard Alfred's voice behind him.

"Howdy sugar, are you rationed?"

Arthur spun around, smiled widely, then immediately tried to suppress his delight. "I beg your pardon? I've no idea what you're talking about." The smile quickly fell from his face at the look on Alfred's. It made Arthur feel suddenly ill. "Whatever's the matter?"

"Busy this afternoon, is it?" Alfred made an attempt at a grin, but his eyes weren't sparkling, and he didn't lean easily on the bar like he always did. He did not even ask for a bourbon. Arthur poured one anyway.

"Rather steady, I suppose... what's wrong?" Arthur refused to be driven off the subject.

Alfred hesitated. "Come have a drink with me." His eyes, his voice, his fidgeting hands - they all told Arthur that something was different. This was not a regular visit. Arthur nodded slowly, even as his stomach turned slowly cold.

"Very well. Take a seat and I shall be with you in a moment." Arthur turned and put away a few bottles, grabbed a cloth to wipe down the bar top, and tried unsuccessfully to quell the growing dread in his gut. Eventually when the bar top was sparkling clean and nothing remained to delay him, he headed over to the table by the second front window with a glass and a full bottle of rum to sustain him.

They sat in complete silence for a few minutes, tension building, until finally Alfred spoke. "Well, we're... we'll be heading out tomorrow." Alfred placed his glass down and looked into Arthur's eyes. Arthur looked away. Another silence.

"Where?" asked Arthur finally. He tried not to think. Tried not to feel.

"We're stationed somewhere in Italy. There's a landing planned at Anzi... Anza..." Alfred laughed humourlessly. "I can never remember those Italian names."

"Anzio," said Arthur, his body going numb. He tried to swallow. He had known this day was coming, but somehow he had thought they would have a little longer. He shook his head, trying to make sense of it. "That's sudden."

Alfred shrugged. He looked apologetic, his normally cheerful face disturbingly grave. "They don't give us much warning. We knew we were leaving soon though. It's not unexpected."

"I suppose not." Arthur looked past Alfred at the wall. He willed himself to focus on it. There were a few cracks. It would need to be repainted. The noise of the pub washed over him and turned to static in his head. When Alfred spoke it seemed to come from far away.

"I'll write to you."

"Thank you, but I expect you will be so busy. Please don't waste your time on me." And why would he... after all, what was Arthur to Alfred?

"But I..."

Arthur stood hurriedly. "I... I must go. There is so much to do for tomorrow... I mean, this evening, I..." Arthur hastily grasped for his glass of rum, only to knock it over. He ignored it and picked up the bottle instead. "Please, stay safe, and I expect to see you after this great bloody mess is all over, yes? Goodbye, Alfred."

"Arthur..."

Finally Arthur looked back at Alfred. For a long moment their eyes remained locked. Alfred's were wide, pleading. It took all Arthur's strength to tear his away. He turned, almost knocking the chair over in his haste, and rushed from the room. He tried desperately to hold himself together as he passed groups of patrons drinking and talking and laughing. His hands clenched into fists and his eyes stung. Finally he pushed open the back door, hurried up the stairs and through his living area into his bedroom, and slammed the door behind him. Leaning back against it, he covered his face with his hands and promptly burst into tears.

This was absurd, he told himself. He should be relieved to be rid of that annoying American, to get his life back, to not have to deal with this uncertainty and confusion. But all he could feel was a cold, empty hole where his heart used to be. The idea that he would never see Alfred again left him breathless. The thought that he... but no, he couldn't think that. Arthur tore off his apron and tie, threw them angrily to the ground before unscrewing the bottle of rum. He took a deep gulp, unheeding of the burning in his throat. All he wanted was oblivion. He swallowed, breathed deeply, and drank again as the hot tears streamed over his cheeks. He wiped them away impatiently. Alfred was going. Alfred was gone. And Arthur had known all along that he would, but the reality of it knocked him nearly senseless.

After gulping down a few more mouthfuls of rum, Arthur gasped for breath and headed for his bed, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers and never come up. But he stopped in his tracks as the door opened behind him. Arthur froze mid-step, feeling his stomach twist and his neck burn. He had forgotten to lock both doors. The door behind him clicked shut and he felt a warm presence at his back. He couldn't turn around.

Alfred's voice was rough and uncertain. "Arthur. I don't want that to be the way we say goodbye."

"Is there a better way?" asked Arthur bitterly. He tried to wipe his tears without making it obvious, but felt Alfred grasp his arm gently but firmly. Arthur forced himself to turn and look at Alfred. "Why did you follow me?"

"Why are you crying?" Alfred asked in a soft voice, ignoring Arthur' question as he gently touched Arthur's damp cheek.

"I... I... I'm not." Arthur tried again to wipe his tears, but Alfred took his hand. The touch sent a shuddering strike across Arthur's skin.

"Because of me?" Alfred took the bottle from Arthur's hand and placed it on a nearby table.

Arthur shook his head, paused, then nodded.

"Did I do something wrong?" Again Alfred sounded uncertain, and Arthur hastened to reassure him.

"No, Alfred. No, I just... I..." Arthur took a deep breath, wiped his eyes, and helplessly let it all come out. "I just want you to know that I never cry and I know I must look completely ridiculous but I don't understand how you do this to me... Oh why did you have to come into my life and make everything wonderful and awful and oh so bloody confusing!" Arthur shut his eyes tight against the tears that refused to stop falling. "And I knew all along that you would leave, so I tried so hard not to feel this, but in the end I couldn't stop falling..." Arthur caught himself before the words slipped out. What if he had this all wrong... what if Alfred was disgusted with him... "Oh bloody hell, this is so absurd!"

"Ssh." Alfred put his arms around Arthur and slowly pulled him close. He leant down and kissed Arthur's eyelids gently. Arthur shivered at the touch, his skin tingling at Alfred's warm breath against him. "I'm sorry. But I couldn't help it. From the second I saw you, all I wanted was to make you smile."

"Don't say that!" said Arthur, half-heartedly trying to push Alfred away. Alfred didn't move. "Don't say it, because you're leaving and I won't ever see you again and I can't bear it, I can't bear that you won't..."

"I'll come back to you," interrupted Alfred.

When Arthur looked up into those smiling blue eyes, he suddenly realized how terrified he was that Alfred wouldn't. "Please Alfred, I..." But unable to give voice to the emotions which flowed through him, Arthur simply grasped Alfred's collar, pulled him down, and kissed him. He abruptly stopped, panicked, and tried to push Alfred away, but was stunned when Alfred reacted strongly, devouring Arthur's mouth as he enclosed his waist with strong arms. Arthur felt such a strong jolt of desire that he was shocked, but when he realized Alfred was responding, everything he had denied feeling came flooding out. He was terrified of Alfred leaving. He was terrified of Alfred forgetting him. He was terrified that maybe he had not meant to Alfred what Alfred had meant to him. He was simply terrified.

Arthur tried to forget the terrifying thoughts by losing himself in Alfred, and he cried out in surprise when Alfred frantically lifted him with strong arms. Arthur's head started spinning. He wrapped his legs around Alfred and, their lips still joined, Alfred carried him to the bed, where they fell down together. And Arthur finally accepted that this was what he had wanted all along. Like this. Alfred...

"Alfred... Alfred..." Arthur gasped, clutching onto Alfred's shoulders; placing kisses on his lips, his cheek, his neck, his ears. Arthur's breath caught from the amazement of touching Alfred like this: the way he wanted, the way he had wanted since he first laid eyes on him.

"Arthur, I..." Alfred began, then paused to thoroughly kiss Arthur again. Arthur's defences melted away completely. "Do you want..."

"Yes!" Arthur almost screamed as he thrust towards Alfred uncontrollably. It struck Arthur that they were both very, very aroused. "Ohh yes... I want..." This felt sudden, but it felt right, and it was like everything had been leading to this. Alfred was kissing him. Alfred was touching him. All this time, Arthur hadn't dared dream it. Alfred wanted him. "I want this."

Alfred's eyes darkened at the words. He practically ripped Arthur's shirt over his head before doing the same to his own. "I want you," he whispered, and Arthur gasped for air when their bare skin pressed together. It felt electric, unbelievable, perfect... like nothing he had ever felt, or even dared to imagine. Arthur tangled his fingers in Alfred's sweat-dampened hair and desperately sought out his lips again. They tasted of bourbon and sunshine and a slight hint of chocolate. Of Alfred.

Arthur could feel Alfred's heartbeat racing beneath his warm, smooth skin; could feel it thrumming in his hands as they roamed, rough and impatient, across Arthur's trembling body. It was intoxicating. Arthur wanted more. He wanted everything. Breaking the kiss, he reached over to his bedside table, grasped a jar of cold cream, and pressed it into Alfred's shaking hand. Alfred stilled and Arthur silently panicked, afraid he had jumped quickly to the wrong conclusion. But then Alfred's breathing became erratic against Arthur's neck. "Arthur, I've... never..."

Arthur smiled in relief, resting his head in the warm crook of Alfred's shoulder. "Neither have I. But... do you want..."

"Yes!" Alfred pulled Arthur into another heated kiss, reached down and fumbled clumsily at Arthur's trousers. Half amused and painfully aroused, Arthur kicked them off. Alfred quickly opened the jar and Arthur gasped when he felt Alfred's hand suddenly right there, cold and wet. Arthur wasn't sure if it really happened that fast or if it was the rum and the sudden exhilaration turning everything into a wild blur. But Alfred was against him, was entering him, and the initial pain didn't matter because everything was wonderful and intense and Arthur had never felt so much in his life. He could hardly make sense of it with the spinning in his head and his frenzy to touch as much of Alfred as he could; to be as close to him as possible; to never let him go.

Arthur lost track of the time they moved together, his head caught in a perfect place where only he and Alfred existed. "Are... are you all right?" Alfred asked with a shaky voice.

"Yes..." Arthur spoke in a tiny whisper, eyes tightly shut, barely able to answer through the waves of pleasure overwhelming him.

"Do you remember... when I told you about my first flight, and I... I couldn't quite explain it?" Alfred spoke with warm, gentle breaths against Arthur's lips.

Arthur's eyes flew open and he gazed into Alfred's. "Yes..." He remembered. Something about intense, breathtaking, being nervous but never wanting it to end...

"It felt like this."

At those words, heat shot through his spine like shards of glass. Arthur fought to maintain control even as he clung tightly to Alfred and they moved in a forceful rhythm. Tingling pleasure permeated every part of him; his body thrummed with tension everywhere Alfred touched. Everything seemed to fade and this was all that existed now – their bodies melding together, their tongues sparring, lips and limbs and sweat and breath. It was all too much. The pleasure narrowed, sharpened, focused, and Alfred's face blurred above him as Arthur released with a soft cry. "I love you," he whispered, his voice broken and muffled by Alfred's shoulder. Half sobbing, half laughing. "Blast it all, I love you."

Alfred gasped, and shuddered, and trembled for a long moment before falling forward onto Arthur. Arthur held him close while they brought their breathing under control. Their bare skin pressed together, slick with sweat. Then Alfred lifted his head, looked into Arthur's eyes, and said, "I love you too."

Arthur buried his face in Alfred's hair, suddenly embarrassed that he had let such words slip. "You don't even know me," he mumbled. Even now it seemed too incredible, too wonderful that Alfred could mean it.

Alfred laughed shakily. "Sure I do." He rolled onto his back and pulled Arthur into his arms. Arthur rested his head on Alfred's chest, enjoying the feel of the hard muscle beneath him. "And I'm gonna find out even more. I wanna read every page there is to read in the book of Arthur."

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know, it just sorta occurred to me."

Arthur smiled against Alfred's chest. "You're hopeless."

"You're perfect."

"Shut up."

Arthur listened to Alfred's heart beating steady and slightly fast beneath him. Their hands entwined while Alfred twirled his thumb gently over Arthur's palm. A warm glow filled Arthur's chest. Alfred - lovely, annoying, incredible Alfred - loved him too. And he was leaving. The late afternoon sunshine flooded through the curtains, illuminating parts of the room while throwing others into shadow. Arthur's quiet contentment turned slowly back to gloom. Alfred seemed to sense it.

"I meant it before, Arthur. I'll make sure I come back to you."

Arthur's breath hitched. He wished he could make himself believe it. "How?" he asked, desperate for Alfred to prove it was true. "How will you do that?"

Alfred winked. "Magic."

Arthur laughed and rolled his eyes. "You've said that a few times. Are you some sort of magician, Lieutenant Jones?"

"I must be. I've made it this far."

"Oh... that reminds me." Arthur turned away from Alfred's blinding grin and reached for his shirt. He retrieved a white embroidered handkerchief from the front pocket and pressed it into Alfred's hand. Arthur hadn't even been certain whether to give the handkerchief to Alfred, unsure if it was inappropriate or too forward. Now was the perfect time, however. "You mentioned you didn't have a lucky charm, so... I embroidered this." Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell anyone," added Arthur gruffly.

"Our little secret," said Alfred, winking. He held the handkerchief up before him. It was pure white, with a red and blue pattern embroidered around the edge. In the corner two crimson letter A's interlaced. Alfred smiled and Arthur focused intently on his hands. "I'm honoured. It ain't no polar bear, but I think it makes one mighty fine lucky charm."

Slightly embarrassed, Arthur grunted and turned his head. He had finished the handkerchief only a few days after that first night they had drunk together, unable to stop thinking of Alfred, unable to stop wondering if his words and actions meant that maybe... just maybe... "How did you know that I was... well..." Arthur didn't know how to phrase the question, but he also knew that Alfred was too dense to understand if he didn't spell it out. "Well, that I was... like you, that I..." Arthur took a deep breath. " ... preferred gentlemen?" Alfred broke into a huge grin and Arthur felt himself turn bright red.

"Well Arthur, I don't know about you Brits, but where I come from if a guy holds your hand and dances with you and gets all red and flustered being shown how to hold a baseball bat, then it's a pretty clear indication he's interested in being a bit more than drinking buddies."

Now Arthur turned white. "You mean you knew... all along that I..."

"The first five times you poured me a bourbon you spilled half of it over the bar. Your hands never shook serving anyone else."

Arthur covered his face. "Oh bloody hell."

Alfred laughed joyfully. "That's why I knew I could say those things to you, about Beth being the only lady in my heart, about liking older men. I knew you'd understand." Alfred took Arthur's hands and kissed him warmly, gently. "You looked like you'd been hiding it a long time, though."

Arthur laughed shakily against Alfred's lips. "You have no idea." He blocked out the painful thoughts that threatened to break through - that yes he had hidden it for too long, only to find someone who understood too late - and watched the shadow growing stronger than the light through the curtain. "It's getting dark."

"Well, you know what you have to do when it gets dark," said Alfred, reaching over and tucking the handkerchief into the pocket of his trousers.

"Hey? What's that?" asked Arthur, confused.

"Keep smiling through," Alfred broke into song, "just like you always do..."

"Oh God!" Arthur covered his ears. "Do not start that nonsense again!"

"'til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away!"

In his haste to silence the terrible singing, Arthur reached for the nearest weapon he could find. He came up with a pillow and attacked Alfred with it. "You truly are the most awful singer I have ever heard!"

"You lie!" cried Alfred, flailing wildly beneath the pillow.

"Gentlemen never lie!"

"Well that's all well and good, but I was talking about you," grinned Alfred.

Arthur gasped indignantly and renewed his assault with the pillow. This time Alfred fought back. By the time they both fell laughing, exhausted onto the soft bed, the light outside was almost gone.

As the sun faded, Arthur and Alfred lay in silence, hands still clasped, their chests rising and falling in a similar rhythm. At some level Arthur realised he should be getting back to work, but he ignored the thought. These may well be the last moments he ever spent with Alfred. He tried to ignore that thought, also. As they lay touching, breathing together, it painfully occurred to Arthur that he had never been so happy in his entire life than he was when with Alfred. And he had spent weeks trying to ignore it and push him away.

Beside him, Alfred hummed the rest of the song he had begun earlier. Arthur felt regret surge through him as he clung to these last precious moments; feeling Alfred's skin against his, breathing Alfred's scent, listening to his gentle humming mixed with uneven breath. Arthur fell asleep to the soft tune of 'We'll Meet Again,' lying against Alfred's chest, their hands clasped firmly together.

When Arthur woke, the room was dark, and Alfred was gone.