"Seven months to the day today, huh?" Arthur said out loud. He sipped at a mug of tea that was going cold and crossed one leg over the other. "This has been dragging on for quite a while, hasn't it? It's all become a big mess if you ask me." He put the mug on the coffee table.

Arthur wasn't talking to anyone in particular. His apartment was empty, and nobody answered from the fire escape window where he directed his voice. Like on most nights these days, he was alone.

He knew that just because he was alone, however, didn't mean nobody was listening.

"I've been thinking a lot lately. About my occupation and yours. I've decided it's unnecessary." Arthur heard movement from the window and smiled. "Business has been slow. It's been that way for you, too, hasn't it? People have come to see assassination as a barbaric practice, and I suppose I agree." He uncrossed and crossed his legs again. It was a nervous motion, and the one listening in knew it. "I wouldn't choose the word barbaric, though. Childish fits it better. Contact has become little more than children fighting on a playground, hitting and punching other children they don't like or disagree with. I think we're both grown up enough to be past all that. We can discuss issues like civilized human beings, can't we?"

There was no answer from the window. Arthur sighed.

"I told you once that life isn't a comic book, but I explained it wrong before. There are no heroes or villains in real life. This stupid rivalry between Ivan's organization and mine—between you and me—it has to stop. And since it doesn't seem like Ivan will be giving up anytime soon, I'll be the one to do it." He paused, as if expecting a reaction from the space outside the window. He thought he heard someone's breath catch and then resume, but it was hard to tell when Independence Day fireworks crackled and popped loudly somewhere out of sight. This was a night for freedom and celebration. No feuding or killing or fake names would be going on tonight. "I'm giving up. Contact is dissolving. Ivan wins whatever he thinks he's won. There's little to fight for these days, anyway. There's nothing for you to fight for, either, Alfred."

"I still have Matthew," the spy said. His voice was deeper than Arthur remembered. Rougher. Grown up. He'd seen things people shouldn't see. He'd gotten a taste of what war and blood and killing did. "I fight for him."

Arthur shrugged, but inside he was shouting. "You can if you want. Nobody's stopping you. I just thought I'd let you know about everything. This is the end. I'm leaving New York tomorrow at midnight. I don't know where I'm going, but you know where I'll be until then."

He stood and slowly crossed the room toward the window, giving Alfred plenty of time to scale back down the fire escape, but the man didn't move. "Make your choice, Alfred. This is your last chance at freedom, and I'm willing to help you. Tomorrow night. Meet me here. All right?"

Please, he silently begged. I've lost too much and ruined too many lives for anything else to be worth it. I want to set at least one thing right.

Alfred responded by clambering down the metal ladder. Maybe he was gathering his things. Maybe he was going to tell Ivan about Ivan's dissolution. Arthur didn't know what he would do this time, but he could sure as hell hope that whatever he chose, he would be happy.

As Arthur closed the window, he saw a figure look back, sky blue eyes and the metal form of a gun glinting under street lamps, and then it sprinted away into the night.

A/N: Short chapter because things are wrapping up. Perhaps way too quickly, but I have neither the energy nor the inspiration to make this longer and more detailed. I'm sorry if I've disappointed anyone with this highly inadequate chapter.

Happy Independence Day, fellow Alfredians :)

~Jel