fic: maybe, pg
Title: Maybe
Rating: PG
Summary: Two days after Christmas, Arthur brings a gift (for Francis) and a hope (for both of them).
Notes: For the FrUK comm's Christmas event. The prompt was 'you're timeless to me'. I'm not really sure how this fits but let's pretend it does.
Snowflakes float down under the pale light of the streetlamp as Arthur fumbles with the key. Francis had given it to him for 'official business only and don't you dare bother me with anything else' but Arthur figures that he has a good excuse. The building is creaky and old- it couldn't be the right place- yet it matches the address scrawled on the balled-up scrap of paper. Maybe Francis purposely gave me the wrong place, Arthur thinks. That'd be his idea of a joke, wouldn't it.
That's how it always is with them and it's frustrating. It's no longer war, just subtle jabs and undermining and teasing. Arthur almost wishes that they could move beyond it but he can never figure out how.
The small parcel under his arm is a damp and a bit misshapen, the twine fraying near the ends: the result of being run over by a bicycle. He wipes it off as best he can with the sleeve of his coat.
The door finally clicks open and Arthur wipes his shoes on the mat and glances apprehensively at the grimy, dimly lit stairwell. I'll try it, he decides, and if it's not the right address, then I'll...I'll go back to London. With a deep breath, he takes a step up the staircase. It creaks under his foot and he swears softly.
Rubbing his hands together (he wishes that he'd brought thicker gloves), he sets off for the third floor, doing his best to ignore the mouse he spies in the corner.
Arthur finally reaches the correct level and peers around the dark corner into the hallway. Four flats on this floor, and Francis' is- he clumsily unfolds the paper and peers at it, holding it close to the stairwell light- 3C. He walks up to the dusty door (it looks to be something of an antique) and knocks.
Nobody responds.
He waits for a minute, ticking off seconds in his head, before knocking again. Still no response. Just to make sure, he bangs his fist against the door twice more. He's about to turn and leave when a light shines under the door and a familiar voice says, "Oui?"
"Oi, Francis! Open up!"
The door creaks open and Francis pokes his head out. "Oh," he says. "It's you."
"Yes," Arthur says, suddenly going from irritated to rather bashful. "I brought you a present-"
Francis holds up a hand, cutting him off. "Arthur," he begins slowly, "you do know that Christmas was two days ago?"
"I know, but I had to spend it with my brothers, you know how they are, and I- I really wanted to deliver this to you in person." He holds out the small, muddy package. Francis lifts a skeptical eyebrow but takes it, holding it in one hand and shaking it lightly.
"What is it?" he asks.
"That's the whole point, frog, you're supposed to open it." Arthur sighs, his irritation returning. "Honestly, if you're just going to stand there with it I don't know why I bothered coming."
"Well, you're free to leave," Francis replies, "if you're so impatient."
"Maybe I will! And I'll take your present with me."
For a second, Francis almost looks dissapointed, but he covers it with a sneering sort of smile. "You needn't. I'll open it. Only to be polite, of course." A pause. "Speaking of gifts, have you been enjoying your brand new oven timer?"
"Sod off. And hurry up, I've got to catch the train at ten-thirty."
Francis sighs and makes a great show of undoing the twine. He makes a face when his finger touches the mud. "Dropped this in a pigsty?"
"In your streets, actually," Arthur retorts.
Francis rolls his eyes and opens the paper, only to find a plain box. He lifts the lid and bites back a laugh.
"This is what you had to deliver in person?" he asks incredulously, holding up a miniature porcelain frog.
Arthur takes a deep breath and wills himself to be steady. "Well," he begins, "that's only part of the gift." He leans up and kisses Francis lightly on the lips.
After only a second he moves away. "I," he says softly, "was thinking that maybe-" he pauses uncertain- "that maybe we could start again?"
The moment stretches out between them, long and nervous before Francis smiles and asks, "Come inside?" in a way that says yes.
Arthur slips inside and takes off his coat, hanging it by the door. It's tentative and shy but it's something and right now it's good enough. After all, they have all the time in the world.
Rating: PG
Summary: Two days after Christmas, Arthur brings a gift (for Francis) and a hope (for both of them).
Notes: For the FrUK comm's Christmas event. The prompt was 'you're timeless to me'. I'm not really sure how this fits but let's pretend it does.
Snowflakes float down under the pale light of the streetlamp as Arthur fumbles with the key. Francis had given it to him for 'official business only and don't you dare bother me with anything else' but Arthur figures that he has a good excuse. The building is creaky and old- it couldn't be the right place- yet it matches the address scrawled on the balled-up scrap of paper. Maybe Francis purposely gave me the wrong place, Arthur thinks. That'd be his idea of a joke, wouldn't it.
That's how it always is with them and it's frustrating. It's no longer war, just subtle jabs and undermining and teasing. Arthur almost wishes that they could move beyond it but he can never figure out how.
The small parcel under his arm is a damp and a bit misshapen, the twine fraying near the ends: the result of being run over by a bicycle. He wipes it off as best he can with the sleeve of his coat.
The door finally clicks open and Arthur wipes his shoes on the mat and glances apprehensively at the grimy, dimly lit stairwell. I'll try it, he decides, and if it's not the right address, then I'll...I'll go back to London. With a deep breath, he takes a step up the staircase. It creaks under his foot and he swears softly.
Rubbing his hands together (he wishes that he'd brought thicker gloves), he sets off for the third floor, doing his best to ignore the mouse he spies in the corner.
Arthur finally reaches the correct level and peers around the dark corner into the hallway. Four flats on this floor, and Francis' is- he clumsily unfolds the paper and peers at it, holding it close to the stairwell light- 3C. He walks up to the dusty door (it looks to be something of an antique) and knocks.
Nobody responds.
He waits for a minute, ticking off seconds in his head, before knocking again. Still no response. Just to make sure, he bangs his fist against the door twice more. He's about to turn and leave when a light shines under the door and a familiar voice says, "Oui?"
"Oi, Francis! Open up!"
The door creaks open and Francis pokes his head out. "Oh," he says. "It's you."
"Yes," Arthur says, suddenly going from irritated to rather bashful. "I brought you a present-"
Francis holds up a hand, cutting him off. "Arthur," he begins slowly, "you do know that Christmas was two days ago?"
"I know, but I had to spend it with my brothers, you know how they are, and I- I really wanted to deliver this to you in person." He holds out the small, muddy package. Francis lifts a skeptical eyebrow but takes it, holding it in one hand and shaking it lightly.
"What is it?" he asks.
"That's the whole point, frog, you're supposed to open it." Arthur sighs, his irritation returning. "Honestly, if you're just going to stand there with it I don't know why I bothered coming."
"Well, you're free to leave," Francis replies, "if you're so impatient."
"Maybe I will! And I'll take your present with me."
For a second, Francis almost looks dissapointed, but he covers it with a sneering sort of smile. "You needn't. I'll open it. Only to be polite, of course." A pause. "Speaking of gifts, have you been enjoying your brand new oven timer?"
"Sod off. And hurry up, I've got to catch the train at ten-thirty."
Francis sighs and makes a great show of undoing the twine. He makes a face when his finger touches the mud. "Dropped this in a pigsty?"
"In your streets, actually," Arthur retorts.
Francis rolls his eyes and opens the paper, only to find a plain box. He lifts the lid and bites back a laugh.
"This is what you had to deliver in person?" he asks incredulously, holding up a miniature porcelain frog.
Arthur takes a deep breath and wills himself to be steady. "Well," he begins, "that's only part of the gift." He leans up and kisses Francis lightly on the lips.
After only a second he moves away. "I," he says softly, "was thinking that maybe-" he pauses uncertain- "that maybe we could start again?"
The moment stretches out between them, long and nervous before Francis smiles and asks, "Come inside?" in a way that says yes.
Arthur slips inside and takes off his coat, hanging it by the door. It's tentative and shy but it's something and right now it's good enough. After all, they have all the time in the world.