Ugh, done with this at long last. I'm pretty sick of it now, to be honest. XD

Thanks to: cax, octopus, Anon, Guest and Winter-Grown-Lily.

It's funny, this story really hasn't been that popular - which strikes me as unusual simply because it's fairly pedestrian, with a tried-and-tested formula, and easy to read, more so than a lot of other things I've written. Ah well, c'est la vie.

Time to go back to being (somewhat) highbrow, I suppose. XD

In The East My Pleasure Lies

III

Arthur didn't recall agreeing to be Alfred's "date", as it were; and he said as much, standing at the mirror and finishing up with his tie and cufflinks.

"And anyway," he went on testily, "you would have to be my date - since you don't have a formal invitation to the gala."

Alfred shrugged, sinking his teeth into the peach he'd snatched from the bowl on Arthur's coffee table.

"Whatever works," he said through a mouthful of wet flesh.

"I can't believe this is your plan," Arthur snapped, at last turning to him. "To just come in on my coat-tails-"

"You're too kind."

"And I suppose you'll be doing that pitiful journalist impression again?" Arthur snorted.

Again Alfred shrugged.

"Maybe. I'll see how I feel."

"You'll see how you feel? You'll have to stick to it, my lad, because Gupta and Mr Adnan are both going to recognise you-"

"Arty, jeez, calm down before you blow a damned gasket." Alfred pressed the peach to his lips again, leaning in the doorway to Arthur's bedroom. "...You look great, by the way."

Arthur gave an impatient sigh, glancing at him in the mirror as he turned back to it.

"You know flattery gets you nowhere with me," he said, straightening his grey silk tie; he was entirely in black besides, his shirt a pale shade of mint.

"It's not flattery," Alfred said easily. "Just a compliment. Take it."

"It's out of character for you," Arthur replied, "so you can understand my wariness. I've lost count of the amount of times you've insinuated that I'm unattractive; not that I care, you understand, but all the same, it's your most common crutch. I expect it's only because you can't call me stupid."

Alfred laughed, amused.

"I can't, at that, Doctor Kirkland," he admitted. "Though I actually don't really think you're ugly, you know."

"I don't give a damn what you think of me, looks or otherwise," Arthur said airily. "All I care about is that you do what's required of you tonight."

"I told you not to worry about it," Alfred replied, flapping his hand at him. "It's all under control."

Arthur glared at him.

"Yes, well, it had better be," he said crisply. "I'm going to cut the lights at exactly twenty minutes past eleven. You'll have about half a minute before the back-up generator kicks in. You have to get it done in that window or-"

"God damn, you're like a nagging wife," Alfred groaned, finishing his peach.

"I'll do more than nag you if you bugger this up!" Arthur snapped. He made one last attempt to tame his hair in the mirror before giving up, turning at last to Alfred. "Anyway, we'd better get a move on. You've definitely got the replica with you?"

"Sure have."

"Good." Arthur unhooked his coat and threw it on, passing Alfred as he headed for the door. "...Incidentally," he said tersely, "you look very respectable, too. I suppose you can clean up when you want to."

"Only when I want to," Alfred agreed; though he seemed pleased by the attention, smiling. He was in charcoal-grey with a blue necktie, a rarity about his throat. "Well, the night is young!" He offered Arthur his arm. "Can I escort you to the ball?"

"You most certainly can not," Arthur replied bitingly; he opened the front door and ushered Alfred out. "For god's sake, Mr Jones, please try not to show me up in front of my colleagues. Granted I've only two months left of my fellowship but I shan't want to spend them being laughed at in the halls."

"What, you mean they don't laugh at you and your hilarious eyebrows as it is?"

Arthur simply sighed as he shut the front door to his apartment; he pushed past Alfred, heading down the stairwell to the university grounds.

"I might have known it would take all of half a minute for you to fall back on insulting my appearance," he said. "At this point I'm quite certain your brain can cope with only one sentiment at a time." He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, looking back at Alfred. "Do come along."

They crossed the campus together, heading towards the splendid Great Hall, alight like a crystal chandelier in the night. Already sleek cars had begun to line up before it, with all manner of esteemed guests emerging from their shining shells, furs rustling and diamonds winking.

Joining the bustle at the grand tiled doorway, Arthur felt inside his jacket pocket for his PhD papers, in place of an invitation on this occasion; he shot an irritated look at Alfred, who smiled brightly at him in return.

"Dr Kirkland," the doorman greeted him with a nod; he looked briefly at the papers and then motioned them away. "And you, sir?"

Arthur realised that he was addressing Alfred and made to intervene:

"Ah, this is my guest, Alfr-"

"Dr Alfred Jones," Alfred interrupted smoothly, producing his own paperwork from within his jacket, "of the University of Houston, Texas. I'm sure you'll find everything to be in order."

The doorman looked over the paperwork quickly and then nodded them both through into the glorious entrance hall, already crowded with guests and waiters and trays of champagne.

Arthur was outraged.

"I'm all for your clever forgeries, as you know," he hissed angrily, "but to fake academic papers is really low, Alfred, even for you!"

"They're not fake," Alfred said candidly. "I completed my PhD in Engineering in 1931."

"Then why are you arseing about in Egypt running a bar?" Arthur snapped.

"Sabbatical." Alfred shrugged; he looked a bit irritated. "Look, I don't like being cooped up in an office writing papers. I don't see how it's any of your business what I do with my doctorate."

"I think it is my business considering I've been working with you for years and you neglected to tell me that you even had so much as a bloody bachelor's degree!"

"I've got two, actually," Alfred said cheerfully. "Engineering and Chemistry."

"W-well, I don't understand why you didn't say anything!"

"Aww, I dunno, I guess you're kind of smug about it," Alfred teased. "Being Dr Arthur Kirkland, I mean. I didn't want to rain on your parade. I've always figured you only put up with me because you think you're smarter than me."

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur was truly affronted, feeling his face beginning to burn in annoyance.

"Well, you have to admit you rub it in my face an awful lot," Alfred said. "Or try to, anyway. Is that your way of asserting yourself over me?"

"I don't... I'm not asserting myself over you-"

"Well, whatever, joke's on you," Alfred cut in breezily, "because I'm not as stupid as you think I am."

"I don't think you're stupid!" Arthur burst out. "I've never thought that!"

"Just uneducated," Alfred said carefully.

"They're not the same thing," Arthur replied hotly.

"You're right." Alfred nodded. "They're not."

"You should have told me," Arthur growled, glowering.

"You shouldn't have assumed I was an idiot," Alfred replied with a shrug.

"For the last time, I've never thought you were an idiot," Arthur snapped. "...Just a faker. You seem to get through life by pretending to be something you're not. Why would I have assumed any differently when you produced those papers? It's second nature to assume you're lying, Alfred. I'm sorry."

Alfred paused; then gave a thoughtful nod.

"I suppose that's the damage I've done to myself," he said coolly. "Would you excuse me? I'm going to go and get a drink."

"By all means." Arthur's reply was just as stiff, nodding as Alfred weaved into the thick of the glitzy crowd and vanished.

Well then. Arthur didn't know quite what to think. Of course, Alfred could be lying, having knocked up those papers last night, for all he knew; but admittedly there did seem to be a kind of quiet and fierce sincerity about him in this, bubbling beneath his calm words, as though Arthur had insulted him.

And, well, perhaps Arthur had insulted him-

But that couldn't be helped if Alfred was so stubbornly unforthcoming about his academic pedigree! What did he take Arthur for, a mind-reader? What on earth did he expect?!

I take it back, Arthur thought crossly as he went to procure himself something a little stronger than champagne. You're the biggest idiot I've ever had the misfortune to come across.

"I see the journalist has put in a reappearance," Gupta said.

"Mm." Arthur looked rather fixedly at his drink. "So it would seem." He tilted the glass, making the icecubes knock together like chess pieces beneath the amber film; before chancing to look at Gupta, who was watching him intently.

"Ugh." Arthur leaned back in his seat. "...Alright, he's not a journalist. He's... well, he's an academic, as it turns out. Doctorate of Engineering."

"...As it turns out?" Gupta raised his eyebrows. "You were unaware?"

"Until this evening, in fact," Arthur said; he looked across the room towards Alfred, who was engaged yet again with Sadiq Adnan, splendid in jewelled robes of midnight blue. "...Indeed, who knows what other surprises he might have in store."

"You would advise caution?"

"Perhaps a touch." Arthur frowned, observing Alfred intently; he and Sadiq were laughing - and they were close to the Heart of Ra in its glass prison. "He is a creature of many colours."

Gupta merely raised his dark eyebrows.

"Aren't we all?" came his reply.

At nine o' clock, Dr Gupta Hassan gave quite the rousing speech on The Heart of Ra, its history and its importance in the understanding of the rituals of the Lower Kingdom, to much appreciation and applause.

At half past nine precisely, the band started up, the lights fell in and the reception truly started, with ladies sliding out of their furs and showing off their knees to the swinging sound of the brass.

At thirty-seven minutes past nine, Sadiq Adnan caused something of a stir when he started trying to pry open the case of the Heart of Ra, declaring loudly that it was his and he wanted to wear it to dance the Charleston.

At thirteen minutes past ten, Alfred Jones came sauntering over to Arthur's table - where he was happily wallflowering - with a bottle of champagne pinched from another table, saying that he wanted to celebrate their latest heist; he was sent packing at fourteen minutes past with instructions not to count his bloody chickens, as it were.

At twenty-six minutes past ten, Arthur Kirkland was descended upon by much the greater of two evils, his arch-nemesis Francis Bonnefoy, who was a fashion designer and, in Arthur's opinion, a frivolous waste of space. They bantered in their usual manner and things were civil until ten to eleven, when Arthur finally lost his temper with Francis and hit him over the head with a champagne bottle (which sadly didn't break).

At five minutes past eleven, Arthur finished the last of his drink and felt that it was time to hold off on another, not so much because he'd been drinking all night but more so that he wouldn't have to knock it back without enjoying it. It was almost time to make his move - and he sought out Alfred across the hall, finding him beneath the soft light in close proximity to the encased treasure.

He was, to Arthur's surprise, talking to Gupta.

He wondered at what they might be discussing; Alfred was notoriously unsubtle, something of a blabbermouth, and if he gave them away to Gupta, Arthur grimly resolved there and then to skin him alive. He hovered, watching them intently, and after a moment Alfred seemed to sense his gaze and glanced briefly, furtively, in his direction.

He gave a tiny nod, that might be disguised as simply a moving of his neck; and if Gupta suspected anything amiss, he certainly didn't make it obvious. Satisfied, Arthur stole away.

He took the roundabout way through the adjacent Chemistry Department, more or less doubling back on himself, in order to avoid stragglers in the vicinity; the generator for the building was in a small utility room not far from the clock tower's entrance, and here was Arthur's destination. Reaching it in good time and with no witnesses, he slipped within and closed the door behind him, rolling up his sleeves. The room was lit by a bare bulb swinging in a cage overheard and the generator was so massive that there wasn't much room to work; although there was little to it, the current controlled by a single heavy lever on the wall. It was true that he didn't know enough about the system to actually cut the power, at least not without electrocuting himself in the process, and so he'd decided instead to simply turn the generator off, plunging the building into darkness. The back-up would kick in after thirty seconds or so, at which he'd turn the generator back on, overriding it; it wouldn't do to leave it off, that would be rookie evidence that it had been tampered with.

It really was simple enough, at least on his end; all Alfred had do to was not fuck up and they'd be home free with the Heart of Ra.

He checked his watch. Eighteen minutes past eleven. He'd promised Alfred precisely twenty past and intended to keep to it, lest he not be prepared.

So he waited, his heart pulsing beneath the thrum of the generator, his hair crackling with the buzz of electricity; and this was the very thick of it, the thrill, and by no means his favourite part but enjoyable all the same, he had to admit. A shot of adventure now and then never did anybody any harm; and frankly he felt that he was performing a sort of public service (at, at least, a service to the academic study of history) to rescuing these artefacts from brainless collectors that hadn't a whit about them. Arthur was different. He was a historian. He would look after the Heart of Ra properly-

The handle turned, rattled. Arthur started, whirling towards the door as it creaked open; and he had nowhere to hide, no weapon with which to stun the intruder-

"Arthur, don't!" Alfred leaned into the room, looking a little dishevelled.

He slithered into the utility room, shutting the door with a kick of his heel. Arthur stared and stared at him, speechless, clutching the lever in poise to plunge the gala into darkness. Alfred glanced at his hand and shook his head.

"Yeah, maybe don't do that," he said again. "I don't much fancy scraping you off the walls."

"I-I beg your pardon?" Arthur's muscles tensed on the lever. "This is the plan - and you're bloody... here, of all places! Why are you here, Alfred?! You're supposed to be out there, ready to swipe the Heart of Ra when the lights go out!"

"Yeah, about that..." Alfred unknotted his tie, popped the first few buttons and opened up his shirt; there, flat and gleaming against his chest, was the Heart of Ra. "Got you covered."

Arthur was, to be perfectly honest, gobsmacked.

"But... b-but I... How?" He flailed wildly at Alfred. "How could you possibly...?"

Realisation dawned on him, cold and unpleasant down the spine.

"...How long have you had it?" he asked coolly.

Alfred grinned.

"That's my Arty," he said. "I knew you'd figure it out."

"How long, Alfred?"

"A few days." Alfred shrugged. "I swapped it the day I was posing as a janitor. The opportunity was there so... why wait?"

"And you didn't think to tell me!" Arthur stormed. "We could have avoided... all of this, for god's sakes! You didn't have to come to this gala and I certainly didn't need to sneak off to turn off the power!"

"Yeah, again, I wouldn't do that. That's what I came to tell you."

"Well, I don't need to now, do I?!" Arthur blazed. "But that besides, why not?"

"Because you'll be killed," Alfred said candidly. "Obliterated, really. I was just talking to your pal Gupta, you know, and he was telling me that they were having a problem with random blackouts in this building, so the head of the Chemistry Department got some guys in to to take a look at it. They made changes for the back-up generator to kick in immediately, nulling the thirty-second blackouts - and you'll still have your hand on the lever. The override will go right through you and fry you alive." Alfred paused. "Oh, and the lights will stay on so... probably not worth it."

Arthur at last recoiled from the generator, snatching his hand away. To think how close he'd been to... to-

"God damn, lucky he told me, right?" Alfred whistled. "That was a close one."

"A close one?!" Arthur was now beginning to feel somewhat nauseous, reflecting on how closely he'd come to blitzing himself up the side of the generator. "I could have died!"

"Yeah," Alfred agreed gravely.

"This could all have been avoided if you'd told me that you had the damned thing two days ago!"

"Well, obviously if I'd known that you might almost kill yourself, of course I would have come clean," Alfred said reproachfully. "But you just seemed so set on your grand plan, I didn't want to spoil it for you - and I didn't want to spoil it for me, either. It seemed like fun, a night-time heist at a sparkling gala - it's like something outta one of the pictures! I guess I thought it didn't matter that I'd already made the swap."

"Oh, well, isn't that just like you to act like a spoilt child?!" Arthur seethed; he was shaking, clenching his fists to try and get a hold over it. "I'm just a damned mealticket to you, aren't I?!"

"Arty, don't shout," Alfred hissed, drawing closer to him. "Someone will hear and this... doesn't look very good-"

"Oh, what do you care what it looks like? You're the one who talks to me like I'm a cheap whore in a doorway just because I've been stupid and drunk enough to let you shag me a couple of times!"

"That's not..." Alfred exhaled, rubbing at his neck. "Okay, yeah, I admit I yank your chain a bit - but I don't think you're a cheap whore. I just... I don't know, you're never sober, and when you are drunk and willing you like me talking like that-"

"Oh, God, I am not going to stand in a utility room and discuss this with you!" Arthur shoved him out of the way. "Move. I'm going back to the gala."

"No." Alfred caught his arm. "Wait, Arthur, I-"

"This is over." Arthur looked coldly at him. "Kindly unhand me."

"No, listen, hear me out-"

"I don't want to hear another word-"

"Please. Arthur." Alfred looked at him intently. "Listen to me."

Arthur did still, quiet, seething; mostly because Alfred was still clutching at him grim-death.

"Look," Alfred said wearily, "remember what I said earlier? How you lord it up over me? I might have a doctorate too, you know, but you do make me feel beneath you sometimes. ...And I think, god, you'll never want me, not really, you just use me for your thefts and whatnot, I'll never really mean anything to you... But then sometimes when we're just alone together and there's nothing between us but the booze, you change, you seem to really want me-"

"That's just the alcohol talking," Arthur interrupted nastily.

"Is it?" Alfred gave a nod. "Well, yeah, I suppose it is. But you look past my hands then, Arthur. ...However fleeting, however much of a lie it is, you like me for me."

"And you get a fuck out of it," Arthur pointed out scathingly. "And then you sod off."

"Because I know exactly what you'll say in the morning!" Alfred looked at him desperately. "My point being... I don't know, maybe we could both stand to be a bit nicer."

Arthur paused; and then his eyebrows fell back into a scowl.

"I am being nice," he said frostily. "I'm leaving instead of putting my foot up your backside. Take grace in these small things, you stupid prick." He wrenched his arm free. "Good night."

"Wait!" Alfred's voice caught his hand on the handle. "What about The Heart of Ra, then? You want your share, right?"

Arthur paused. It was true that if he turned his back on Alfred, left him with the artefact clutched in his grubby little mitts, he might make off with it - as he had so many times before. ...But frankly his desire to get away from Alfred far outweighed his desire for the Egyptian treasure at this precise moment; and he had to go with his gut, he felt.

"We'll sort it out later," he said sharply, starting to turn the handle.

"No." Alfred voice was right behind him, his breath on the back of his neck. "We'll sort this out now."

Alfred seized him by the shoulders, forcibly making him face him; and, shoving him up against the door, he kissed him, hard and demanding and desperate.

At first Arthur didn't react, simply stunned as Alfred clutched madly at him. Then he resisted, somewhat half-heartedly, his fingertips feeling over the hard gloss of the Heart of Ra as Alfred devoured his mouth. And then, for unfathomable reasons - none of which could possibly be that he actually liked Alfred in any way, shape or form - he relented and opened his mouth and kissed back. The handle to the utility room door pressed itself into the small of his back, Alfred holding him against it like a butterfly pinned to a board - lest he fly away, perhaps.

"This...!" Parting, Arthur gasped for breath; he put his hands at Alfred's elbows as he sucked at his neck. "Alfred, we cannot...! Not here, not-"

"Sorry," Alfred murmured against his throat. "I just can't take it much longer, Arty..." He pressed his forehead to Arthur's shoulder, holding him tight, breathing him in.

"God," Arthur groaned, "have some bleeding restraint, man. Must you get all undone on me now?"

Alfred exhaled; it sounded like there was a laugh in there somewhere.

"I know, I know," he agreed. "Bad timing. But, you know... I'd give up everything I've ever taken if I could keep you instead."

Now Arthur was uncomfortable; he squirmed out of Alfred's arms.

"We should go back," he said. He straightened his clothes, a little rumpled, hot in the face. "Come on."

He scrambled from the room in quite the hurry, feeling that Alfred might seize upon him once more; but Alfred, it seemed, had finally pulled himself together and slunk out after him, furtive in his manner. The corridor was empty, Arthur noted with relief, and he quietly clicked the door to the utility room closed.

"God," he said again, pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead, "I need a bloody drink."

"Me too," Alfred replied; he sounded a little weary all of a sudden. "How does a scotch sound?"

"Divine." Arthur looked at him askance. "I suppose I can trust you not to drug it?"

Alfred looked wounded.

"Hey, babe, you know that's not my style!"

"Heh." Arthur nodded. "Yes, you're quite right. Francis Bonnefoy you are not."

Incidentally, speaking of the devil and all, Francis was at their table when they returned; and he made it his business to provide delightedly snide commentary on their coupled absence, at which Arthur attempted to bully him off the table until Alfred, pink-cheeked, punched him. Francis, who looked happier than he ought to have done, limped away, saying that it was about time - or words to that effect.

Arthur sulked while Alfred procured the drinks; and he accepted his gratefully, the bitter blitz bright on his tongue. The music had slowed, swelling and moody, and the lights had dropped, a single beam blazing down over The Heart of Ra.

"Poor fools," Arthur sighed over his ice, watching two silk-clad ladies pausing to coo through the glass at it.

"What they don't know can't hurt 'em," Alfred said, shrugging.

"Well, quite."

"Here's to a job well done." Alfred held out his glass; and, after a moment (and a pithy look), Arthur deigned to clink his against it.

"Oh, I suppose," he grumbled. "Even if I nearly killed myself."

Alfred grinned.

"Hey, I did pretty much the rest of the work," he teased. "I knew I could count on you to provide the excitement."

Alfred seemed to want to kiss him the moment they were inside the apartment; but Arthur stood his ground, pushing him off.

"Enough of that, Mr Jones," he said coolly, ducking under his arm. "Here isn't the place. I think you know that."

"Can't I even have a kiss?" Alfred pouted. "That's not asking for much."

"Heh." Arthur was at the gramophone; he picked out Mozart's Pastoral Symphony and set it spinning. "Perhaps later."

Alfred wilted; and slouched his way to the sofa, flopping onto it. He made short work of raiding Arthur's fruitbowl again, plucking up an apple. He bit into it with a florid crunch as the first strains of Mozart's masterful piece jollied their way around the room.

Arthur padded to his bedroom, hanging up his jacket and tie with practiced care; undoing his top two buttons, he sat at the dresser to take off his cufflinks and wristwatch, humming along to the trill of the music - one of his favourite pieces.

"What about this, then?"

Arthur looked up. Alfred was leaning in the doorway - as he had earlier - with his shirt open, The Heart of Ra glinting and bubbling against his skin. It suited him, blazing the same sun-gold as his hair.

"The Heart of Ra?" Arthur asked dryly. "Or your peacock impression?"

Alfred rolled his eyes, taking another bite of his apple.

"The Heart of Ra, of course. You wanna cut it in half?"

"Oh, now you're just being obtuse." Arthur looked back at his reflection, dropping his silver cufflinks into the glass dish. "...I suppose the only thing to do is to find a buyer and split the money."

"I thought you were gonna buy me out?"

"I'm not sure I want it, to be honest. I haven't anywhere to put it." Arthur looked at him. "How about you?"

Alfred shrugged.

"I said right off the bat that I didn't know what I'd do with it."

"Then we sell it," Arthur said easily. "I'm sure I can find a buyer back in London-"

Alfred was suddenly behind him; and Arthur cut himself off warily.

"...What?"

"Nothing."

Alfred slipped the breastplate off over his head, gentle in putting it around Arthur's neck instead. It flushed under his open shirt collar, flat against his buttons, every jewel winking in the lamplight. It was heavy against his ribcage, cold on his every breath.

"I just wanted to see it on you," Alfred went on softly. He reached for Arthur's hands, catching them up in his, and held them tightly before the mirror. "...It's not as bright as your eyes."

"Oh, goodness, what has gotten into you tonight?" Arthur sighed; he tipped his head back, looking up at Alfred. "You're being quite the-"

Alfred leaned down, sprite-quick, and pressed his mouth to his. Arthur huffed through his nose, impatient, but turned his head into the kiss. Alfred tasted sharp-sweet like apples, he smelt of dust and marketplace spices, and it was difficult not to lose himself in him, to give in utterly on the linen.

"I know you don't want to," Alfred breathed, pressing his forehead to Arthur's. "Not tonight. But I'll wait - if you'll give your word."

"We've had too much to drink." Arthur pulled away, rising. His face was warm. "We always get on like this when we're tipsy."

"Maybe," Alfred agreed, watching him go to the bed, "but does it matter if we're honest in the end?"

Arthur snorted, flopping onto the cool white sheets. He lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling fan, The Heart of Ra oppressive on his chest.

"You and I, honest with one another?" he teased. "Forgive me for not buying that."

"Fine." Alfred, too, came to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. "Then how about this? ...I know a buyer for The Heart of Ra. We can do it here, in Cairo, without the danger of having to smuggle it out of the country."

"Oh?" Arthur's interest was admittedly piqued. "A contact of yours?"

"A contact of yours, actually."

"Indeed?" Arthur frowned at the fan. "And just how, precisely, would you know any contact of mine?"

"Because I was talking to him, stupid."

"Talking to him? When...?" Arthur paused, realisation dawning over him in quite the spill of pink and gold light; he sat up, looking at Alfred. "For god's sake, you can't mean Gupta!"

Alfred only grinned.

"Pretty neat, huh? I got talking to him earlier and he was saying how little he'd really gotten a chance to study it and it just sort of... came up, you know?"

Arthur stared at him.

"Are you insane?!" he hissed. "You realise you're talking about the head of the History Department!"

"Sure do," Alfred drawled. He pressed his hands together. "So how about it?"

Arthur flopped back against the sheets; he suddenly felt exhausted.

"I don't know, it seems rather extraordinary to me..."

"I'll let you mull it over," Alfred teased; he squirreled up the length of the bed, chancing his arm by lying down next to Arthur.

Arthur side-eyed him.

"You can bugger off," he said flatly.

"Haha, I'm not going to do anything." Alfred smiled at him. "Not here, at least. I can wait until the next time we're in the Moulin Rouge."

"Oh, well ...perhaps it needn't be quite that long," Arthur sighed. "You should come to London."

"Or," Alfred said, raising his eyebrows, "maybe you should come to New York."

"You're not talking about that infernal painting again, are you?"

Alfred shrugged.

"Maybe, maybe not." He paused; then slid his hand over his side and down into his pocket, pulling out - with a moonish-cold gloss and the jealous blink of green - the Charles II-era court ring. "This is a nice ring, isn't it? Funny thing to just have lying around on your drinks cabinet."

Arthur flushed.

"Give that here!" He snatched for it; but Alfred was quick to hold it away, well out of his reach. "Alfred, I'm studying that! You stole it only because you knew I wanted it, you bastard! I'll let the book slide but the ring I cannot forgive!"

"Studying." Alfred snorted. "Studying how it looks on your finger, I expect."

"That's not your concern!"

"Sure it is." Alfred smirked at him. "You really think I didn't notice it was gone?"

Arthur snorted.

"I'm surprised you did," he bit out, "given that your apartment is such a pigsty."

"Ah, well, here's the thing." Alfred held the ring up to the light. "I like this ring. You wannna know why?"

"Oh, god, why?" Arthur groaned irritably.

"Because it reminds me of you."

Arthur looked at him, a little guarded; Alfred propped his cheek on his palm and smiled at him. It was sweet and sincere.

"You and your thing with history, you know? It's Tudor period, right?"

"Stuart."

"See, there you are!" Alfred turned the ring this way and that; it glittered like a star between his fingertips. "I bet you could give me a whole history lesson based around this one little ring. I like that about it, you know, when I look at it. But also..."

He dropped his arm, holding it close to Arthur's face, the green aglow on his pale cheek.

"...It looks like your eyes."

Arthur was quiet for a moment, taken aback; and Alfred truly smiling at him so very earnestly - and he was such a cinematic prick from time to time that Arthur was inclined to believe him.

So he snorted, batting Alfred's hand away.

"Oh, spare me, for heaven's sake." He sat up, swinging off the bed, and reached up to unclasp The Heart of Ra, setting it gently to the dresser. "I'm getting a drink of water. Can I get you one?"

"Sure." Alfred didn't seem terribly offended; he likely saw right through him. "Hey, I can stay here tonight, right?"

By "here", Arthur was fairly certain that he meant the bed, not the apartment in general; and under pretence of great sufferance, he grumblingly agreed.

"But you'd better stay on your bloody side of the bed!" he called, heading out of the room.

"No promises, babe!" came Alfred's obnoxious reply.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur pattered about the apartment for a bit, putting aside the needle on the gramophone, splashing a little water on his face in the bathroom, fetching the glasses. It was perhaps a good ten minutes before he returned to the bedroom, a glass of cold water in either hand, to find that Alfred had stripped down to his underwear and was under the covers, his glasses tossed onto Arthur's bedside cabinet. He looked as though he was already asleep.

Arthur plonked his glass down rather heavily, hoping that he might stir; but all he did was shift a little. Arthur had always envied people who could nod off as quickly as all that. He took a mouthful of water and shed his own clothes, clambering under the linen and reaching to turn off the lamp.

Alfred apparently wasn't as asleep as all that after all; and he snuggled up to Arthur's back in the dark, settling against his spine.

"Night," he sighed.

"Goodnight." Arthur settled; though he lay wide awake for a long moment, his eyes open, picking out the subtle buff of The Heart of Ra in the glow from the clear night. "... Oi, Alfred. I've been meaning to ask..."

"Mm?"

"Just how did you and Gupta get onto the topic of the override system? It seems like an odd turn in the conversation."

"Oh, that," Alfred replied sleepily. "I confess I thought it a bit risky, I mean, you're a historian, not an electrician... I thought I'd better double-check with Gupta that it was gonna work the way you were expecting it to." He paused, exhaling. "Good thing I did, huh?"

Arthur, who didn't know what to say to this, was silent for a long moment.

"You're welcome," Alfred added, somewhat reproachfully.

"I am grateful," Arthur said quietly. "Very." He found Alfred's hand and squeezed it. "...Did you run?"

"Yeah. Pretty heroic, huh?"

"A bit, yes." Arthur admitted this rather grudgingly.

"Well, next time, we'll plan everything out together, okay? Like a proper team."

"Can I trust you?"

Alfred snorted.

"Can I trust you, more like?" he groused.

Arthur smiled in the dark.

"Fair enough," he sighed. "Next time, then, love, we'll do it together."

Naturally, when Arthur awoke the next morning, Alfred was gone.

Arthur wasn't terribly surprised, though he conceded that it really was an awfully bad habit that he'd have to break Alfred of one of these days. He got out of bed, throwing on his robe, and went to the dresser-

And was stunned the find that The Heart of Ra was still there, blazing in the new sun.

Well then. Perhaps that was one bad habit down, one to go.

He went through to the living room, the tiles cool beneath his bare feet; he set the needle on the gramophone to resume Mozart, at this moment noticing that Alfred had apparently taken the liberty of making him breakfast. He moved cautiously to the table, wondering how long ago Alfred had set out the peace offering on the wooden tray. The toast was cold but the sliced mango was perfectly salvageable; and the tea was the sort of blend that actually wasn't half-bad lukewarm and taken without milk.

There was a letter on the tray.

Arthur sank into the chair, pouring himself a small cup of the tea Alfred had attempted to impress him with; and he used the knife to slit the envelope, taking out the folded sheet and opening it.

It was in Alfred's handwriting, clearly rushed, and read thus:

Good morning, Arthur!

Funny story: I've had to suddenly leave Egypt, would you believe! I'll tell you all the details the next time we see each other (soon, I hope!) but basically don't bother going to Lady Liberty, I sold it to Sadiq Adnan for a bargain price.

Oh, by the way, I guess I should come clean: The Heart of Ra on your dresser is one of the fakes. I have the real one. If you want it, come get it. (Though there's nothing stopping you from selling the fake to Gupta, you know? It's basically flawless, I don't think he'll notice.)

See you in New York!

Alfred F. Jones (PhD)

P.S: I hope you enjoy your breakfast!

Arthur read the letter two or three times. He wasn't even all that surprised - but nonetheless it took quite a few moments for the realisation that Alfred had ripped him off again sank in.

He put the letter down, pushing the envelope with it - and then he felt that threre was something else in there, upturning it. The Stuart ring clattered out onto the tray, with another folded sheet coming after it.

The ring was a surprise, and one that made his stomach flutter - he hadn't expected to ever see it again after Alfred had swiped it last night. He closed it up in his fist as he unfolded the other paper to inspect it.

It was a small flyer, in the late-Deco stylings of geometric black, white and red, advertising an exhibition at the New York Musuem of Art in three month's time. He was keen to pick out 'Leutze's Washington Crossing the Delaware'amongst the small selection of listed exhibits.

...Well, no-one could accuse Alfred of not picking the classiest of locations for a date. Even if he was still in the terribly impolite habit of cutting and running - but that could be fixed in one way or another, Arthur supposed. He looked at the ring again.

At least he left nice gifts. Sort of.

Arthur took a mouthful of tea, cool and refreshing in the rising Egyptian heat, and went to go and get dressed. He wanted to get over to the university good and early.

After all, he and Dr Gupta Hussan needed to have a little chat.

Huzzah. Done.

TIME FOR HALLOWEEN FIC. :D