This is written for my most wonderful and delightful beta, anglophilic. It's for her exam results and she did great in her exams. I had actually written it two months ago, waiting till now before I gave it to her. Of course, she read it already and naturally, wanted to beta all my mistakes in grammar, punctuation and whatnot.

But I thought it would be better to leave them in. I hope the language isn't too bad. It ends vaguely but it hints to you as to which path Alfred might have taken. Enjoy! (This fic is not based by a song... Not one of my Song!Verse)

Alfred looked at the clock. It was ticking itself closer to half past three. That was when his class started at the college, where he taught a bunch of post-adolescent brats the textbook-approved meaning to life. But as the years gone by, Alfred found himself losing grasp of the subject himself.

What is life exactly anyway?

The students addressed him as Professor Fitzgerald. He had changed his name when he moved from his previous life, trying to hide from whoever who was trying to track his background. He was a new man; he wasn't that boy back in Texas anymore. He didn't want any stigma to follow him here. He didn't want to people to go 'Where's the other half to that fag pair?' or 'There goes the no-good delinquent.

Stay away from Alfred F. Jones. '

This was his fresh start. And Alfred didn't want his past plaguing him here in Chicago; he had enough of the taunts, mocks and heckling for a lifetime. He had laid low and tried to be a model civilian, walking to the college for his classes and marked all the crap essays that was handed up, and even tried to help the more diligent pupils be more than just average passers.

But then there was the itch under his skin that wanted him to slip up.

Dared him to be free.

He had sat through three seasons of autumn in this small apartment and this was his fourth. It was small and predictably in a bad part of town. But Alfred had kept it nice and tidy, sparing one hour every week to maintain it. Financially, Alfred knew that he could at the very least buy another place closer to the college and not six bloody blocks away, it would be safer to live on the upper side, in the suburbs and not in this ratty building surrounded by dingy Irish pubs.

But mentally, he was not so sure. This was his element, this was how he survived, skirting safety. And it reminded him of whom he truly was, and that he had to make an ultimatum soon. He couldn't hide forever.

It was now a quarter to three-thirty and Alfred waited patiently. He would walk to class in a minute. He wouldn't, couldn't break his routine. He sought comfort in expertise, found consolation in experience. This day would be like the hundreds before it.

Then, the doorbell rang. Alfred frowned, even if only for a second. It must be Francis from next door asking for salt to cook another one of his 'most delicious meals, Mon cher' for Matthew, his boyfriend who actually was a sweet little thing, if not a little bit too shy.

Alfred walked to the kitchen to get his box of salt before going over to open the door…

The container slipped from Alfred's grip and clattered to the floor, spraying its contents about his feet. The feeble door had open with a twist of Alfred's hand, lock popping out almost instantaneously. Alfred knew that this wasn't really safe in this part of the city but he hadn't got the time to mend the door just yet.

But that wasn't his problem at this point right now.

"I'm just going to assume you'd let me in then," the man said snippily, bypassing Alfred's shell-shocked figure at the doorway and slid himself into the accommodation.

His gut was twisting uneasily as Alfred gathered himself to close the door behind his back; eyes watching the familiar man sit daintily at the edge of the sofa, eyeing him with a badly-hid expression of disgust and revulsion. Alfred didn't have time for this; he was supposed to be walking already, to the college, to the class.

Alfred cleared his throat uncomfortable, unable to meet the man's eyes, "So wha—what are you doing here, Ar—Ar…"

"Are you afraid to say my name?" The man interrupted, eyes now murky, face schooled into an ugly expression, "Who would've thought? Alfred. F. Jones, afraid to say his own boyfriend's name..."

It had been years. And yet, he was still able to push every single one of Alfred's buttons to infuriate him and simply make him react.

"Arthur. Arthur Kirkland, what are you doing here?" Alfred questioned, praying that his hard voice wouldn't crack.

He wasn't supposed to be here! He wasn't supposed to find him. Guilt settled into Alfred's lower stomach, bile was collecting in his throat and he felt like retching. Breathing deeply, he looked up at the man.

Arthur had a coat on, it was too big for him and it covered nearly two thirds of his entire body. Light blonde hair was cut choppily, mouth twisted into a thin line. His thick eyebrows were furrowed and he turned loathing bottle green eyes on Alfred; scorn displayed openly on his features.

"Don't worry, love," Arthur sneered, crossing his legs and digging for something on the inside of his coat pocket, "I'm not here to ruin your saccharine sweet life."

"I'm here to return something that you left with me."

There were millions of things that Alfred could have left with Arthur. He hadn't had much time to pack when he uprooted, took his car and drove to whatever place that he wanted. He just had to get out of the state, he had to escape, had to run away, had to leave, had to abandon.

Arthur leaned in close, "I torched the rest of your junk, but I decided to save you this. For memories sake, aye?" he whispered bitingly, shoving something against Alfred's chest hard, like a subtle punch, knocking the wind out of him.

Gripping the object that Arthur delivered to him, Alfred cracked a grin. It was his gun. His old gun, the Colt .45 with which he committed all the felonies with. The trigger felt smooth under his fingers and it fit his hand beautifully, like how it was all those years before. It pleased Alfred to think that he could still kill… if he wanted to, if he hadn't lost that edge, if he wasn't a coward.

If he stayed by Arthur.

"Is that all?" Alfred asked, lifting his gaze back onto Arthur, knowing that the Briton couldn't have made such an effort to find him just to return a mere keepsake.

Arthur stared at Alfred underneath his lashes and cleared his throat.

"I'm flying back to the ol' bitch tonight for business."

Alfred nodded and motioned for Arthur to go on, wondering where exactly this conversation was headed.

"I haven't seen her since I was a babe. They're leaving me in charge of my own little 'group' in England and I won't be back," Arthur explained, his tone getting darker and more weary, "I am to hold that position until they promote me up to Headquarters, I think. I'm not expected back in America, and trust me when I say I wouldn't want to be in this shit of a country either…"

"They want me to appoint a deputy."

"W—What?" Alfred stuttered his heart beating faster against his chest and blood rushed through his ears as he considered the minuscule possibility that Arthur was… Alfred's mind came up with a blank and he blanched while Arthur continued to explain, ignoring the younger man's gaping stupidity.

"Understand me when I say that I don't want you back," Arthur mumbled reluctantly, glaring holes at the carpet, "I didn't want to see your fucking face again if I can help it. But they ordered me to have a back-up, to have someone to fall back on."

"I have no one that I can trust around me. My first and last apprentice had run away," Arthur continued, now looking at Alfred with a meaningful look of accusation and expectation, "I said I could manage on my own, but upon insistence, I was made to seek you out to offer you at the very least… a choice."

"I need a yes or no answer from you. I have an extra plane ticket to Britain that I will be holding at the airport at eight sharp. I will be there until the gate closes half an hour later, then, I will have to go."

Silent but nodding, Alfred's mind was racing and he glanced back at the clock, straining to hear it's comforting ticking against the excitement and fear that had overtook his current body and at last he managed to choke out a shaky, "Why?"

"Didn't I tell you that they made me—

"No, Arthur," Alfred interrupted, voice cutting, "Tell me truthfully. Why?"

Arthur looked pained when he replied as if Alfred was tearing the answer from him, like he wanted to keep the words in, to prevent them from trickling out of his mouth.

"I just did it because I wanted to, I guess," the reply was soft and breathy, nearly lost in the air, "No reasons, no logic, no motives or rationale… That used to be enough for you once, remember? When the 'F' in your name stood for something more.

When it stood for Freedom."

The response was a compliment and insult rolled into one. A skill Alfred remembered that Arthur could do effortlessly; he hadn't changed much, him. A snarky and sharp-tongued felon to the end, Alfred speculated whether he would like him any other way but this.

Was he really going back to the life that he worked so hard to get away from? In one afternoon, he had went through more shocks and stimulation than he did in his years seeking sanctuary here. But, the security, Alfred wasn't sure if he was willing to trade his safety for exhilaration.

"I don't—I can't…"

Face falling, Arthur bit his lip and scolded harshly, "Fine, go back then. Go back to your pristine and model lifestyle. Be a perfect citizen when you know that you're an outcast like the rest of us all along. You don't belong and you never will.

I have taught you far better, but unfortunately, I guess I didn't teach you well enough…"

Straightening up, Arthur pulled his coat tighter around himself and like a snap, his defensive mechanism was back on, expressionless and bored with a slight dash of snobbish arrogance.

Not bothering to show the man to the door, Alfred sank back against his couch, heart settling heavier.

He had to say something, something that would change nothing but if he remembered correctly, 'someone' had always said that if it changed nothing, that was still something.

The something may have the potential to then change everything.

It was never too late, now or never. It's time to take the plunge, Jones.

"I'm sorry."

Alfred could feel the stillness of the air as Arthur froze, could hear his quickened breaths and his quiet squeak of hurt. He sensed the man's temper fading and knew that he was beginning to falter.

"I'm sorry for leaving you behind. I'm sorry that I never said goodbye, and that I never got the chance to explain why I needed to go."

"… I don't want an answer now, Alfred." Arthur said in a strained voice behind him.

"I'm not sorry for loving you."

There was an intake of breath and then silence. The emotions in the room were adding up, colliding and charging until the atmosphere was unbearable. He could feel Arthur's stare clawing into his neck but he warned himself not to turn. He didn't know what to expect on Arthur's face.

He didn't know what to expect from himself.

"Remember that night?" Arthur whispered as if to the walls ahead of him, "You promised me something. I hope you'll keep it."

Alfred heard the door slam as the love of his life walked away.

He ran to the window and watched as Arthur vanished from sight. Alfred should feel glad that he was back to his routine, he looked at the clock. He could still make it if he ran. He could still go back to his 'life'. It would still be a routine, going through a day instinctively.

Alfred locked the door.

He was sitting there. Ridiculously close to the edge of the building, a trip would send him falling to his death yet he didn't show the slightest sign of concern.

The night was lit in fireworks and for a long moment, night was day. Alfred sat down beside the man and turned back to look at the display of power and dominance in the skies. Neither person felt anything remotely close to patriotic as the sparks continued to show the muck in the city in the national colours of red, white and blue.

"Trust me, boy," Arthur said, leaning his head on Alfred's shoulder as he stared out at the night cityscape, "One day, this whole world would burn in purgatory. And all those bastards who cast the both of us out will be grovelling for mercy at our feet.

The universe would descend into chaos… but me and you. The both of us will take back everything that they've snatched from us and more. Wash this greedy earth clean with blood and start the slate anew…

Then, we'll truly ignite the skies like the 4th of July."

Alfred smiled softly, looking side-ways at the man who was lost in his dreams, "Aren't we gonna leave anything untouched?"

Those green eyes lifted to the glittering sky now marred by hazy smoke.

"We'll leave the stars."

End

I'm currently still working on another fic based on a song (yet again) that attacked my brain only last night. Haven't finished writing it yet but expect it soon. Unless, anglophilic deems it below par and boring, then I'll just have to write another one when inspiration strikes.

Congratulations, darling! And I look forward to seeing you next year in my school!