Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rights go to the respected owners. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.

A/N: Hey so I've read quite a few USUK cardverse stories with Alfred and Arthur as King and Queen of Spades, and I decided I wanted to try my hand at it. I've never written a fantasy story before so please bear with with me. Anyway, this is more of a prologue-ish chapter but I hope you enjoy. The story should enter the cardverse realm in the next chapter :)

"Come on, Artie. Pick up."

I smacked my old cell a few times before balancing it between my ear and shoulder. I struggled to sort through some of the papers I was holding as I waited, but really it was a lost cause.

"Hello?"

I smiled at the familiar voice on the other line.

"Arthur! Awesome, you answered."

"I do try to do that when people ring, love."

I chuckled a bit as I reorganized some of the files and documents in my hands. I was standing by the window, watching as a few raindrops trickled down the glass.

"Right. Anyway, I know it's kinda crappy out right now, but we're still up for dinner later, right? I told you I wouldn't forget our anniversary!"

Arthur was blushing on the other line, I was sure of it. He still got flustered over small sentimental things like this, even though we had been married a year, and dated for three years before that.

"Yes, that's fine. Are we meeting at the flat?"

"Yup! What time works for you?" I glanced at my watch momentarily. "I get off in an hour, then factor in another hour for the rush hour traffic-"

"What traffic? You take the Underground home."

I chuckled again, mindlessly.

"Always so perceptive. Well, then factor in an hour-long train ride; I'll probably be home around seven."

"Alright then. Lest there be any emergency I should be home around six. I'll freshen up and then we can go."

I smiled gently though I knew my husband couldn't see it.

"Great. I'll see you soon."

"See you soon, love," he answered me, and I suddenly had the urge to hear his voice again before he hung up.

"Wait, Arthur."

"Yes?"

"I love you."

I was sure he was shaking his head in his office on the other side of London.

"I love you too, Alfred."

I grinned at nothing in particular as the line went dead.

I'd lied about being home by seven. Though it was crowded, I got on the train just fine, but the conductor announced there was work being done and so I had to transfer lines twice and take a bus just to get home. I'd tried to call Arthur before I transferred to the Victoria Line, but he didn't answer; he must have been busy. By the time I arrived at our little apartment it was a quarter to eight, and I had this feeling Arthur would be furious. Good thing I picked up that bouquet of roses at the local florist before opening the door.

"Arthur! I'm home!" I chanted as I slipped off my shoes, else he get on my case about scuffing up the floors. My coat was a bit damp, since the rain had continued to pour. The meteorologist had been wrong about it clearing up, but I should have expected it by now.

"Arthur!" I called again when I didn't get a response. Maybe he was still doing himself up, though he should have finished quite some time ago.

Our flat was small: two bedrooms and a joined living room and kitchenette. Arthur complained sometimes, saying we could afford a bigger place, but I would always ask what it mattered if we shared a bed and never had any guests anyway. Arthur would frown and change the topic but I was never quite sure why. I didn't mind our cozy flat, but somewhere along the way I'd decided that if a bigger home would please Arthur, I'd get one. He still doesn't know I've got that secret savings account.

I pushed open our bedroom door without knocking. At worst, Arthur would be naked inside and yell at me, and at best, he'd be naked and sprawled across the bed. I took my chances and stepped inside, calling him again, but there was no one there. Our bed was still unmade, and a newspaper lay open on Arthur's bedside table. I smiled knowing what had happened: he'd gotten caught up in a story that morning and lost track of time. In a panic he rushed to get ready for work, tossing the paper aside and not bothering with the bed. But if the room was still in the same condition Arthur had left it in, that would mean he hadn't been home yet.

I frowned and made my way back to the living room, wondering where Arthur could be. I dropped the bouquet on the table, now a bit more preoccupied with something else, and pulled out my cell. There were no new messages. Arthur usually spared a few seconds to tell me if there had been an emergency and that he'd be home late. He was a veterinarian, and while usually all that entailed was kitty checkups and diagnosing minor doggy illnesses, Arthur was a practiced animal surgeon and sometimes he was needed. There were days where he would come home at three or four o'clock in the morning, red-eyed and somber, and I'd welcome him to bed where he'd chastise me for having waited for him. He would give in after awhile though, and on the worst days, the ones where he couldn't save the animal, he would pretend not to cry into my shirt. Arthur, even with his austere and hoighty-toighty attitude, really was a soft-hearted guy. He loved working with animals and I knew it pained him when luck was not in the cards. Eventually he would stop his sniffling and settle into a slow and rhythmic breathing pattern as he drifted off to sleep. Only when he was in dreamland would I be able to find sleep as well.

I speed dialed his number and held the phone to my ear.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

"Hello you've reached Arthur Kirkland. I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the ph-"

I cursed under my breath as I pocketed my cell and maneuvered to the window. It was unlikely, but maybe Arthur hadn't been able to find a spot in the car park and that was what was keeping him so late. I think I stood at the sill for ten or fifteen minutes in a reverie, waiting to see Arthur turn the corner in our Mini Cooper. I would have stared even longer had the home phone not started to chime, and broken me from my trance. I ran toward the telephone and answered frantically hoping to hear Arthur on the other line. Maybe he'd gone to the restaurant by himself? Maybe he'd meant to meet me at the office and I'd misheard him earlier?

"Arthur, I promise you I have a really good reason for being late, and I am really, really sorry," I tried in the sweetest tone I could muster and put on puppy dog eyes, though no one could see them.

"I'm sorry?" A female voice answered me and my eyes widened in shock and embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was expecting a call from someone else."

"Ah, I see," the woman replied lethargically. She sounded like she'd been working a double shift. "Are you Mr. Kirkland-Jones?"

My brows furrowed and I anxiously started to thrum my fingers along the small wooden table that balanced the phone.

"Yes, that's me. May I ask who's calling?"

The woman sighed slightly before answering the question.

"My name is Eleanor. I'm calling from the London Bridge Hospital. Your husband has been in an accident and if possible, we think it would be best if you could make your way here as fast as possible."

My blood ran cold and I didn't hear anything else. The woman started to give me directions but I was already bursting out the door and down the stairs of the Underground station. The train ride across the city was the absolute worst hour of my life.

I pushed my way past several people dawdling down the street and dashed into the bustling halls of the hospital. Everything was a deathly white, and I could already smell the bleach and other chemicals that felt so out of place. A middle aged man was talking to someone behind the counter, and I bounded up to them, all remnants of being polite and composed thrown to the wind.

"I need to see Arthur Kirkland-Jones," I tried to demand, though it came out as a desperate plea.

"Sir, there was someone ahead of you-"

"Please," I looked at the woman behind the counter sincerely. "They told me he was in an accident. I need to see him."

She exchanged a look with the man she'd been talking to earlier, and when he nodded, she started to hastily type away into the computer. After a few moments she looked back up at me.

"Who are you in relation to Mr. Kirkland-Jones?"

"His husband," I answered without a second thought. Usually Arthur and I tried to break our relationship to people in a bit more subtle fashion, but I was hardly in the right mind. She looked at me with wide brown eyes and then back at the computer.

"Oh... umm, well, your husband is still currently in the emergency room," she tried to remark softly. "He was in a car accident and received several concussions to the head."

I tried to hold myself together as I looked at her with glossy eyes. I lowered my head and wiped away some moistness.

"He, he's going to be fine... right?" I whispered, trying to assure myself more than question the young nurse. She frowned at me and got up from her desk, leading me to a chair in the waiting room.

"When I get any news, I will let you know, okay sir?"

I nodded as she walked away. For the next four and a half hours I fiddled with my wedding ring, as my mind worked on overdrive to replay every memory of Arthur I ever had. He was going to be fine. I was going to fine.

"Everything will be fine," I mumbled to myself as my eyelids started to become heavy. "Everything will be fine."

Someone shook me awake some hours later. It was the young girl who had led me to the waiting room. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, which were still rather puffy from tears, and glanced at her.

"Your husband has been moved from the ER. You can see him now if you like," she offered with a small smile.

"He's alive?" I asked incredulously. My brain had assured me he was dead. That phone call yesterday was surely the last time I would ever hear his voice.

"Yes," she answered me as kindly as she could considering the circumstances. "Though he has sustained some severe head trauma."

I frowned as I got up and started to follow her.

"Is he in a coma? Oh God, please tell me he'll come out of it."

She looked back at me and shook her head lightly.

"He's awake. However, suffering from several concussions may make it a bit hard for him to think. Don't pressure him too much."

"Thank you, God," I mumbled as she stopped outside a standard white door labeled with an assortment of letters and numbers.

"Be gentle with him, he's still recovering. The doctor will be with you shortly," she turned the knob and I entered. There I found Arthur, with bandages wrapped around his head and hands. He was glancing at me from where he lay on the white sheets. I would have cried out in happiness just at seeing him alive, but I didn't want to disturb him or anyone else. I made my way toward his bedside and he followed me with his eyes.

"Arthur," I whispered elated. "Arthur, you're okay."

He looked at me curiously for a moment as I took his hand.

"You're not the doctor."

I smiled and chuckled at his joke.

"Nope! You're the only one of us who's had any medical training."

I ran my thumb lightly along his wedding band, but as I tried to intertwine our fingers he retracted his hand. My smile disappeared as I matched his gaze.

"Arthur?"

"Who are you?" he looked at me with concerned eyes. I furrowed my brows and tried to grasp his hand again, but he moved away.

"Arthur?" I think I sounded distraught even as I tried to keep my cool.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met. Are you one of the nurses?"

My face paled, any color seeping from my cheeks to my toes. I never saw them coming, but those few words became my worst nightmare.