"Enemies"

Chapter 8 - A Missed Call

When Francis finally made it home to his apartment, he changed into a comfortable pair of yellow tracksuit pants and a royal-blue long-sleeved shirt before flinging himself onto his bed. Laying on his bed, he turned his head toward his bedside-table and saw Arthur's toy soldier figurine which he had taken from Arthur's coat the previous day. He picked it up and sat up slightly to examine it.

The soldier was handmade, dressed in a basic British army soldier's uniform from World War II. Francis chuckled softly as held the handmade figure to his chest. He remembered those guys, remembered watching them and his own men assist each other in war for five long, difficult years. Rushing each other to hospitals, covering for each other, trying to find food together, singing together, laughing together, he remembered it all.

At that moment he put the soldier back on his bedside-table and grabbed his phone instead. Unlocking his phone, he went into his contacts app and hovered his finger hesitantly above the phone icon under Arthur's name. It was as if his body didn't want him to call Arthur, every time he tried, his finger refused to move as his brain convinced him of the worst outcomes. "No, I cannot. What if he is just mad at me for what I said? What if he hates me and I'm just bothering him? No, I am being silly, of course I should call him." He felt a feeling of anxiety in him, it only got stronger and stronger until the phone stopped dialling and went to voicemail. Francis hung up and buried his face into his knees.

Words could not describe his emotions, he felt a certain guilt, as if he had done something wrong; he just wanted comfort. His entire life he was constantly warring with Arthur, but he didn't want that anymore! He just craved happiness.

A knock on his door managed to halt Francis' depressing train of thought as he went to answer the door. To his surprise, when he opened the door Alfred J Jones was on the other side of it.

"Alfred, what are you doing here?" Francis was genuinely confused as to why the American was at his door.

"Well, you've been kinda totally bummed out lately, so I thought that a super awesome hero like me could lend a helping hand with my epic advice!" Albeit slightly scared by the idea of Alfred's advice, Francis wanted someone to talk to, and Alfred wasn't the worst.

Francis invited Alfred into his apartment and the two men sat in the living room. Alfred began to speak.

"So, what's up? Like, why are you so gloomy lately? It seems super unlike you."

"Well, it is just Arthur that is bothering me." Francis answered.

Francis told Alfred about everything that was bothering him, at this point he was desperate for any advice.

After Francis finished speaking, Alfred looked shocked. "Wait, so... you're saying that you're in love with the dude you've had over one hundred years of war with? You do realise that he's still mad at you for everything that's happened. And now he's embarrassed in front of everyone else. Like, he hasn't talked to any of us for three days!" Francis felt horrible, sick even. How hadn't he seen this? He was the problem; there was nothing he could do to make up one thousand years of mistakes. A tear formed in his eye as he thought, perhaps it would be better to just cut Arthur off.

"Ok, merci, Amerique..." Francis was trying desperately to hold back his tears.

"You're very welcome, buddy! Anyways, I gotta go, I've got places to be and people to see, y'know?" Alfred wasn't the smartest.

"Au revoir."

Alfred left and Francis headed back to his bed, he needed to lay down. However, Francis hadn't even made it to his bed when he suddenly collapsed onto his floor. He was so tired, he couldn't move.