A Shot In The Dark (A Sequel to If The World Was Us)(UsUk Fanfic)

Chapter 3

*Alfred Jones's POV*

My son has snuck into his house tonight. Again.

I don't know when exactly, but whenever I went to go look for him I heard his laughs from the second-floor window of the house. I suppose he did get his loudness from his father. Also, his knack for sneaking into other's houses is solely my trait. Amelia, where did we go wrong with this one? Did he get any of your caring traits?

I knocked three times on the door. My knocks were quiet since my hands were tired from writing reports at work all day. Honestly, working from dawn until dusk is enough to make any man tired. I haven't slept well in days. Too many reports. Too many people who needed me. Too many cases. The most sleep I have gotten this week in one night is three hours. I wonder how I haven't collapsed from exhaustion.

Somehow, the author heard me and he slowly opened the door. He wasn't surprised to see me, but I was surprised to see him. At least, I was surprised by his change in attire.

Last time I saw him he was wearing a loose pink sweater and a pair of faded jeans with comfy sneakers. He looked like the perfect housewife when he brewed the tea. Now, he looks... Like me. He has on black gloves that grip onto his elbows as he crosses his arms over his chest. He is wearing black leather boots and has on a black choker necklace. His jeans are dark and rough. His shirt is also black and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His shirt, much like mine, is dipped in a low "V" to show the top of his chest. His collar is pulled up so that I can not see his neck. Somehow, his hair seems darker, but that is probably because of the dark sky.

He opens the door completely and walks inside the house. "I figured you'd come here."

I walk inside without protest, or comment. I really didn't know what to say. I close the door behind me. "I believe my son is upstairs. May I go retrieve him?"

He gives me a glare, and shrugs. "Do what you please."

I am about to climb the stairs but stop to look him over again. He looked like a total bad boy now. "Why the sudden change?"

He looks at himself as if he just realized what he was wearing. "Oh, this. Well, I wanted to prove that I am not about to be pushed around by you, and this seemed like the best attire to do it in. And I have to go somewhere in a few minutes, so it's not all for you."

I smile at him as I lean against the closest wall. "I am definitely intimidated." I resist the urge to chuckle.

He is enraged by this and turns to face me. "Shut it! Don't patronize me!" He yells as he points his finger at me.

"For someone who lives in isolation, you really do like to draw attention to yourself, Mr. Kirkland." I expect him to yell and depart to make tea, but he gives me a silent glare and walks forward.

Each of his steps show an enraged confidence that resonates throughout my being by each click of his boots against the wood. I open my mouth to speak, but it is instantly closed as he grips tightly to my collar and makes me face him. Our faces lie inches apart, though my thoughts probably stretch out for miles. "Don't you dare think you even begin to understand me!"

Normally, if I was interrogating a prisoner, I would laugh to show that his threats do not, in the least, intimidate me. But now I can't even bring myself to smile. I look into his eyes to find that my own were quite watery. Somehow, his words had hit a soft spot in my heart. I understood what it was like to be misunderstood. "You're right. I don't get you." I can only look sadly into his eyes as I attempt to keep my composure. "To be honest, I don't even understand myself, but I want to understand you."

The look of surprise in his eyes was priceless. He still held a grip, but his hands began to shake. "Why? Why the hell do you care?"

I placed a firm hand over his. "I guess because you've inspired me."

He demands an answer at me with his confused eyes. "We've only known each other for two days!!!"

I found the strength within me to smile the faintest of smiles. "Maybe, but reading your book made me think about a lot of things."

I pause, expecting a response, but Arthur is deadly quiet. So, I take a breath and continue. "I haven't been the same since my wife's death, and something inside me feels empty. I don't know if you've felt it, but I don't want to feel this loneliness anymore." He lets go of his grip as the words seem to take effect. "I want a love like in your novel. I want to experience that. It inspires me to know that someone else feels the same, and that I'll find them if I keep searching." I pick up a copy of the book and hold it out so that Arthur can see his work. "Your novel touched me in a way that nothing ever has."

He lets out a shaky breath and he holds a hand over his mouth. He looks away from me, his cheeks ablaze. "That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me..."

He is so moved, in fact, that I can see tears form in his eyes. So much for being mister tough guy. I gently ruffle his hair with my left hand as I smile. "You're worthy of praising. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Before I can hear his excuses, or his yelling as he realizes how I've flipped the situation, I begin to walk up the stairs. I turn back only to see that he has wiped his eyes and he is now glaring at me.

When I get to the top of the stairs, I turn my attention toward the second door on the right of the hallway. The door is wide open, and I can see Arthur's son and mine hugging. I can't help but smile at the beautiful scene. A great friendship was already evolving from only two day's time. I know on the open door with the back of my hand. "You ready to leave, Arthur?"

My son grins at the other little boy and then nods at me. It's hard not to notice how much Arthur looks like me, and how much Alfred looks like his father. I kneel down next to little Alfred and hold out a hand. "I'm Alfred Jones. I'm Arthur's father. It's very nice to met you."

The little boy acts just like his dad. He looked at me with surprised eyes and points at my glasses. "A-A-Alfred Jones!?"

I chuckle as I extend my hand again. Like father, like son. "That's right."

He shakes his little hand in mine. "My name's Alfred too. Alfred Kirkland."

I pull back my hand and smile. "A good name."

He looks at me with wondrous eyes. It's almost as if I'm some kind of idol. "Are you the one my dad named me after? The one in his story?"

I could only shrug. "I don't know about all that, but I would like to think so."

He smiles brightly and he winks at me. "You're pretty cool, Mr. Alfred."

I hold out my fist and he bumps it with his own. "You're not so bad yourself, kid."

Alfred looks as if he's about to respond back, but we are interuppted by a knock on the open door, and another British voice. Arthur. "Everything alright, Alfred?"

I did not know if he was referring to me or his son, or both. Apparently, neither did his son. At the same time, we both stood and smiled while saying, "Everything's fine."

Both of us look at one another and chuckle as Arthur stands at the door, dumbfounded. This is too much fun.

Both of us Alfreds look at both Arthurs. "What about you, Arthur?"

Both Arthur's answer with sighs and crossed arms. "Just fine."

I grin at the moment. In those last few seconds, before I walk away, I can only think that this is what true family must be like.