“Here you go,” he handed Arthur the water, holding the clean basin underneath him. Arthur took three gulps, swishing the water around his mouth before spitting it out into the basin. He drank the rest.

A wave of relief flooded him. Alfred sighed, almost collapsing onto his seat. After that brief panic attack, everything seemed to be okay. Arthur looked weary and thin but there no longer seemed to be any immediate danger.

“How are you feeling? Do you want anything?” he asked, laying aside the basin.

At first, Arthur did not respond. His mouth opened to speak but no sound came out. His lips moved, testing his voice until he could finally produce a word. “I...”

“What’s wrong?” Alfred leaned forward, worried.

“I...” he struggled, swallowed, holding a hand close to his throat. “I’m...okay,” he rasped.

Had this been any other time, any other day, Alfred would have snorted; ‘You’re obviously not, idiot,’ but one glance down at Arthur’s open shirt, at the bandages wrapped around his chest and arms and the bruises far below made him a little more tactful.

“Ah...that’s a relief! You gave us a real scare back there and you’ve been asleep for three days! For a second I thought that - ” Alfred laughed so that he would not have to complete his sentence. “A – Anyway, how about some food? You think you can handle soup or something?” he asked, mentally kicking himself when he heard his voice tremble. He was too honest. He was terrible at feigning cheerfulness.

Arthur bowed his head, mumbling something almost inaudible.

“What was that?” Alfred leaned down.

“N...no. No soup,” he muttered wearily.

Alfred straightened, unsure of what to say next. A frown creased his lips. It was not like Arthur to be so subdued but, as he told himself, he had only just woken up. He was still injured and probably drowsy too. He would be okay after he had recovered a bit and, hopefully, gotten something into his stomach.

“You’re still tired. Get some rest. I’ll stay here if you want,” he whispered, placing a hand over Arthur’s he could not help but notice that he flinched as their skin came into contact, just a little bit, before relaxing.

Alfred was not sure if he should make a joke about it. He reached his other hand up to ruffle that sandy hair, hesitated, withdrew his hand, but then bit his lip and decided to take the plunge. Thankfully, when his fingers touched the first strands of hair, Arthur did not protest.

Yet, even so, Alfred could not help suppress the misgivings he felt inside of him.

XX

“You’re not doing it right, aru! Let me have him. Let’s see how long he lasts under Chinese water torture!”

“By all means. I’m getting tired of dealing with such a stubborn customer.”

Alfred paused to listen to voices echoing down the hall. Ever since Yao had flown in from China, it felt as if the pace of things had stepped up a little. They were still trying to trace the source of the possible information leak and the interrogation had spread to the lower ranks of pirates, although it soon became clear that they did not know much. Despite this though, their main suspect was remaining as stubbornly tight-lipped as usual.

Maybe it would be better if he just...

“Master Jones!”

Alfred turned around to see the maid rushing towards him, bearing a heavy tray laden with steaming soup and thick bread. “Marianne? Is something wrong?”

She stopped before him, gasping for breath. “I’m worried about our patient, sir. He hasn’t eaten anything since he woke up and he still refuses food. It’s like he’s trying to starve himself to death!”

Something inside of him wrapped its fingers around his hurt and squeezed.

“Give me that. I’ll deal with it,” he said softly, taking the tray from Marianne’s arms.

“Master Jones!” she halted him as he made his steady way towards Arthur’s room.“I’m worried that...well I suppose you’ll see for yourself.”

Though he did not like the way she shook her head, Alfred simply nodded sombrely, and continued his way towards the white room.