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Collision of Worlds - 4/12
Title: Collision of Worlds
Author: Mar_Map
Summary: Arthur Kirkland finds himself in the care of Alfred F. Jones when the two meet under abnormal circumstances, are chased by the police, and find themselves at the top of the most wanted list.
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way.

Homely Matters

"I'll be staying here then, I suppose?" Arthur asked through the door. The fact that all his things had been laid in Alfred's small living room when they'd arrived at been a fairly good give-away for that. He was using the question - though it wasn't much of a question - to fill in the slight silence.

Alfred's flat was really quite small - not to mention that he kept calling it an apartment which to Arthur was just bloody annoying. There was a small kitchenette attached to the living room with no walls in between. The master bedroom - which was the only bedroom - was through the only door. It wasn't all that large in itself. Alfred's bed took up most of the space, there was a dresser in the corner and a small vanity was connected to the top of said dresser. The only lavatory was connected to the bedroom, but Arthur hadn't been inside there yet. He was sure it wasn't any larger than the rest of the house.

What instantly caught Arthur's eye upon entering the flat was the complete lack of cleanliness. Alfred had dishes stacked up on his counter top, there was clothes strewn about every room - Arthur was sure most of them were probably dirty - and the entire place needed a good dusting. Arthur wondered if the flat had ever seen dust-repellent.

The second thing Arthur noticed was disguised until Alfred showed him into the master bedroom where he had changed his clothing for the evening. The walls were papered in posters. Most of them were of some sort of superhero or another, but Arthur couldn't help but spot posters that he himself had. Adorning the American's walls were posters of The Who and The Beatles. However, those were few. Even the American's sheets had superheroes on them.

The third feature that Arthur recognized about the flat was the complete lack of books. There were a few magazines strewn in the living room along the floor and coffee table. In the bedroom there was a small stack of comic books, but no where to be seen was a real, tangible novel. Arthur was affronted at the very idea.

Finally, Arthur found the flat to be completely Alfred.

"Yeah!" Alfred called from inside the lavatory. The American had decided that he would prepare himself there while the Englishman was free to use the master bedroom for himself. "You'll take the bed, and I'll sleep on the couch. This will be great! It'll be like a sleep-over!"

Arthur wasn't exactly sure how he felt about the idea of spending the nights he was in America in the blond's home. The Queen had stated that his accommodations weren't exactly ideal, and he now understood why. It led him to wonder, however, what had stopped her from booking him a lodge in a hotel someplace. Where exactly would she be staying? Surely not with the President!

"I couldn't impose like that," Arthur stated back. He wasn't going to not only invade upon Alfred's personal space by staying in his home on such short notice but by staying in his bed as well. He would sleep on the couch; he was sure he would feel much more comfortable on Alfred's couch. "When did you hear that I was going to be staying in your flat?"

"You mean my apartment?" Arthur completely ignored that question in favor of not getting angry with the American for his, well, Americanisms. He really did want to get along with Alfred, quite a lot actually. "When you were on the phone earlier, the President called. He asked me if it would be okay then. I really didn't mind!" Alfred stuck his head out from behind the lavatory door. It hadn't been properly closed the entire time. "You don't mind either do you?"

"Of course not," Arthur answered. It wasn't completely honest, but it was just a small lie. Arthur could easily resolve the issues he was feeling - he hoped. It was more of a nervousness that stopped him from wanting to stay in the American's home. Of course, it wasn't the most ideal conditions with how clean the place was, but it wasn't terrible conditions either.

That seemed to take a great weight off of Alfred's shoulders. Only a small portion of the American was showing through the door - the Englishman was trying to keep his eyes off the American as well; he had a strong feeling that the other blond was currently shirtless - but Arthur saw him heave downward as if the weight had physically been lifted and not just mentally. "Awesome." The American's body withdrew into the lavatory, and Arthur felt his own shoulders slump forward with a released weight.

Now that there was a quiet in the flat, Arthur couldn't help but begin to pick away at the flaws in his appearance. The Englishman raked a hand through his shaggy hair. It was definitely the most notable part of his appearance. The Englishman couldn't help but scowl at himself unhappily. He ran his fingers over his eyebrows. He took back his previous thought. They were the most notable part of his appearance, not his hair.

Arthur thought of those he knew back in England. His hair and eyebrows had always been what he'd been teased about. Arthur had been a completely different person back then though. The minute someone decided to speak even relatively hostile toward him, he was quick to make due with them.

Now as Arthur looked in the mirror before him, however, he noted his flaws with the same hostility. "Ready to go, Arthur?" Alfred asked. He was very close, and when Arthur jumped and paid attention, he saw the American smiling at him from the reflection in the mirror.

A bit nervously Arthur turned around to the American. "You look good," he told the other honestly. It occurred to Arthur as he saw the other now, just how awkward the other looked in his suit. It had suited him much better when he'd loosened his tie and undone a few buttons. Out of the suit, he looked splendid. "Very good," he noted when his eyes slipped delicately over Alfred's muscled arms. The masculinity of the other was now obvious. It was no surprise that he was strong.

"Why, thank you, Arthur," Alfred answered cordially. He smiled happily and held out his arm for Arthur to take. The other blushed and smiled back but refused to take the other's arm. He simply batted Alfred's shoulder. The other blond appeared devastated for a moment, rejection written plainly in his eyes. Mirth was written clearly underneath however, and he was soon laughing playfully. "You look very handsome too, Arthur."

"Can't you fix your hair though? Really, Alfred, don't you own a comb?" Arthur used the bite in his words to distract the other from the embarrassment that was clearly written there. Arthur immediately went after Alfred's hair and the cowlick that disobediently defied gravity.

"Hey!" Alfred called indignantly. He swatted Arthur's arms away from his hair. "You have no room to talk! Do you even know what a comb is?" Suddenly, Arthur had no qualms about taking the master bedroom for the night. A pout formed on Alfred's lips, but Arthur was going to have none of that. How could have been so foolish as to think that he could last without getting angry with the American?

The Englishman pushed roughly at Alfred's chest. "Get out!" he demanded. He pushed the other in the direction of the door. "Forget the bloody date! I'm just going to sleep!" The blond ignored the fact that it was early in the night yet. The sun hadn't set all that long ago. It was hardly close to nine o'clock.

"It's my room!" was the American's first protest.

"You're the one who offered to let me sleep in it!" Arthur growled back. He had somehow managed to push Alfred from the room completely. He had a feeling the other was too shocked by the abrupt change in plans or wasn't attempting to keep himself in place. There was no conceivable explanation for Alfred's stronger demeanor not to remain motionless against Arthur's weaker one.

Arthur managed to successfully slam the door shut behind the American. To celebrate this momentous accomplishment, he let himself collapse down on the bed. It was only then that he realized all of his belongings currently in America were actually not in the room he was currently occupying but the one he'd just locked the American into. Well, he'd deal with that at a later time.

"Artie!" Alfred called through the door apologetically. He knocked on the door vigorously. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything! You weren't being very nice either though!" There was a bit of an accusing tone in his voice as he said the last part.

Arthur simply scowled angrily at the door as if it were Alfred himself. "What are you, git? Five? Honestly, someone's going to think you're a bloody child the way you act!" The Englishman heard Alfred make an annoyed sound from the other side of the door.


"It's Arthur! Arthur!"

"Fine then, Arthur," Alfred practically growled. "I was just trying to be nice. Just because you want to be a grumpy jerk all the time doesn't mean you have to treat everyone like crap. I'll be surprised if you have any friends at all!"

Arthur fumed furiously. He stormed from his previous seat on the bed to the door separating him from Alfred. "I'll have you know that I have loads of friends!" he shouted back. "I'm sure I have many more than a child like you has!"

It was a blatant lie that Alfred need never know the truth of. In actuality, Arthur had no friends. There was Francis Bonnefoy who made it his life's goal to annoy Arthur whenever he happened to be in Britain, but Arthur wouldn't exactly call him much of a friend. He was more of a stalker really. There was always the Queen as well, but Arthur wasn't sure exactly how he would label their friendship. A lot of the time it was more of an acquired partnership through work.

While Arthur shouted through the door at the American, he heard another door slam. It stopped him before he could gather more protests against the other blond. He paused before calling out quietly, "Alfred?" There was no answer from the other side of the door. If Arthur remembered correctly - and he was quite sure he was remembering correctly - the only other door was the one leading out of the house.

A split-second passed in which Arthur felt a bit guilty about his actions, and he felt just a tad lonely now that Alfred had so obviously stormed out of his flat. That part of him was quickly quelled however. No, it was definitely a good thing that Alfred had left. Arthur didn't want him around anyway. Not to mention, it gave him a golden opportunity to open the door and snatch his luggage into the bedroom.

Looking around, Alfred was no where to be found. He had left.


It was burnt, all of it. There was very little that was salvageable. The blackened mass almost seemed to move on its own accord as it found its way into the trash bin nearby. An agitated sigh emitted through the room, albeit it was softly done. There was a cracking sound as the process was repeated.

Arthur was determined to get it right this time. All he was doing was trying to make scrambled eggs, but the bloody things didn't want to prepare themselves correctly. Arthur was dead determined it was the eggs doing it. There must have been something wrong with American chickens. That was the only reason it wasn't working as it was supposed to.

This was the Englishman's third attempt at the simple thing. He had already prepared scones which he was sure wouldn't taste quite correct given that Alfred hadn't properly supplied his kitchen with all the things that Arthur normally would have used to make such a recipe.

The fact that Arthur had packed his favorite tea cup and a small box of his favorite teas seemed to have come as a blessing. He was almost certain that it would come in handy to pack them at some point in their travels. Alfred's entire flat was devoid of the drink, so Arthur was more than happy to have used the room in his suitcases to pack it.

When the fire alarm went off, Arthur didn't do so much as flinch. Instead he glowered angrily at the alarm as if it had personally offended him. His emerald eyes just dared it to keep blaring. It dared. The sound seemed to jolt Alfred from his sleep however, as it should.

"Wha? My apartment's on fire!" Alfred leapt to his feet in a flurry. He was wearing the same clothes as last night was the first thing that Arthur noted about him when he was up. The clothes he had decided to dress in last night was crinkled with sleep. "Artie! Get up! The apartment's on fire!"

The American ran to the door to the master bedroom only to find it open. He hesitated before deeming that the matter was more important than their spat last night, and he stormed into the room. He found it empty - which was no surprise to Arthur who had been watching him the whole time. The Englishman resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands in exasperation.

"I'm right here, Alfred."

When the words left his mouth, Alfred was out of the bedroom in a flash. He noticed the pan in Arthur's hands, the somewhat charred mess the last batch of eggs had left behind and seemed to find the situation thoroughly amusing. He began to laugh almost immediately.

"You're the one burning down my apartment!"

"I'm doing no such thing!" Arthur could already feel his face heating up. This morning was already starting to turn out like last night. His face was turning red with anger. He'd been doing this to apologize for last night too! He had just wanted to make the American a nice breakfast to make up for his foul mood the night before.

The Englishman hadn't been able to help himself. He'd tried for hours to fall asleep, but he hadn't managed to. Guilt had ran a muck in his mind until Alfred had returned back. It had been extremely late - or early - when the American had finally come back to the flat. Arthur had heard the door close, and the American had come into the bedroom - where Arthur had been determinedly pretending to be asleep - retrieved a spare blanket from the closet, and gone to sleep on the couch. Only then had Arthur been able to sleep, and even then, he hadn't slept comfortably.

Through his chuckles Alfred stepped into the other room to call his landlord. Arthur simply glared after him before turning to the eggs he had been previously preparing. The alarm clicked off soon enough, and the flat was left in silence.

"Let me help you," Alfred chuckled in his ear. Arthur jumped and nearly lost his grip on the pan when he found the American so close to him. Alfred pressed his chest against Arthur's back when he stepped in close. He laid his hands over Arthur's own. "Relax," he whispered quietly. The humour had left his voice now.


"Shh." Alfred leaned forward gently, and his cheek brushed gently against Arthur's own. The red in his cheeks now was due to something completely different than anger. Despite his embarrassment - for certainly that's all it was - the contact felt utterly familiar. It was comforting. It was normal.

"Alfred..." he tried again only to be shushed a second time. "I was making breakfast," he continued anyway. He nearly winced when he heard the whine in his own voice. Arthur Kirkland most certainly didn't whine. Whining was for a child like Alfred, not the distinguished Arthur Kirkland.

Another chuckle was produced near his ear. This time Arthur felt the slight vibration through Alfred's chest against his back. "And now I'm helping. Take it as an apology about what happened last night. I'm sorry."

"That's why I was making breakfast in the first place." Arthur's blush darkened, and he stared determinedly at the frying pan on the oven. Alfred reached out to turn the temperature down a bit. "Last night was a terrible display on my part. I apologize. I have sorely taken advantage of your hospitality. I won't let it happen again. I'll vacate your room soon enough."

"I don't care that you have the bedroom. The couch isn't that bad."

"No, no, I insist. I've invaded upon your hospitality for far too long."

"We'll talk about this over breakfast, okay?" Alfred asked quietly. The American was keeping his voice surprisingly soft this morning. Well, since the rather loud incident with the fire alarm. Arthur simply nodded. This quiet Alfred was really quite compelling. Normally Arthur would have pursued the issue until he received his way. "Go watch the t.v. or something. I'll handle everything in the kitchen."


"Don't worry about it." Alfred smiled gently at him and released one of his hands. The other one removed itself rather reluctantly, Arthur noted, but did the same. Arthur left the room rather reluctantly himself to turn on the television in the other room. It was a small set, but Arthur really didn't mind. It was easy enough for him to find the local news station, and that was all that really mattered to him.

That feeling was short lived.

"Alfred?" It was a questioning when the report started. Apparently they had been talking about the issue for quite some time now, but it was a hot topic that wasn't likely to disappear any time soon. It certainly was a top story. Arthur wasn't having any of it. Even Arthur heard the quiver in his voice, and he was sure that was the only reason that Alfred left the kitchenette to come to his side.

"Artie?" Apparently he was back to using the bloody nickname, but for the first time that wasn't Arthur's top priority. "Something wrong?" Alfred was focused on Arthur for a bit before switching his attention to the television which was surprisingly displaying a picture of the two of them.

"We-we're on wanted posters."

"I see that."


"Uh..." the American had no good response to the fearful question. "Let me phone the President."

"I'll talk to the Queen."

Arthur was surprised he hadn't thought of that solution earlier. Upon seeing the news report it should have been his first instinct to give her a call and make sure she was all right. What was wrong with him? Was it the American air? That had to be it, it was the only explanation for the odd behavior he'd been displaying since arriving.

A knock at the door caught both their attention. The two of them glanced at the door before turning to look at each other. Alfred already had his phone pressed against his ear; a worried expression was clear on his face. "Alfred Jones, Arthur Kirkland, this is Washington police."

Arthur wasn't able to hear any more of the exact nature of their crimes because Alfred was pulling him through the fire escape in the back of the flat. Alfred yanked Arthur's cellular phone viciously from his grasp to dispose of it in the flat before they left. Arthur tried to protest, but Alfred shushed him quietly and covered his mouth with his hand.

They'd been running ever since.


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