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.

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.