Looking For Alaska

Chapter Three

Andrew clutched his bags tighter as he stood in the busy New York airport. He'd been there ten minutes, already, and was beginning to think he'd been forgotten about.

"Hey! And!" A familiar voice shouted, drawing his attention. Alfred was rushing towards him, waving excitedly.

"You're late," Andrew accused, once Alfred finally caught up with him.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Alfred rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly, "I got caught up in a bit of an incident with Tony back at my place before we left."

"Who is Tony?"

"He's my totally righteous alien friend."

"Ah."

Alfred began walking back the way he came, gesturing for Andrew to follow him. He whistled to himself as they walked, filling the silence that would have otherwise descended upon them. Andrew began to wonder if he ever was quiet.

"What are you whistling?" Andrew inquired, unable to name the tune.

"Star Spangle Banner," Alfred replied, smiling, "One of my favourites."

"Hmm," Andrew considered, falling silent, again. Alfred furrowed his brow.

"So... We're gonna go back to my place for a bit," he explained, sticking his hands into his pockets, "You can relax, get your land feet back, etc. How was you flight, by the way? I don't think I asked yet."

"It was alright," Andrew said.

"Have you been on a plane before?"

"No."

"Were you scared?"

"No."

"Don't talk much, do you?" Alfred chuckled, nervously.

"I find actions speak much louder than words," Andrew replied, "And money, of course, speaks the loudest."

"Well aren't you just so grown up?" Alfred stared at him out of the corner of his eye, "Did you have any childhood? Jeez."

"I just found out I'm a physical representation of a state," Andrew stated, "Excuse me if I'm less than eccentric while I try and reconfigure my entire life."

"Alright, I get it," Alfred held up his hands in mock surrender, "You can go ahead and be Mister Grumpy Pants for all I care. You and Rus'll get along great. Fine, whatever."

"Are you pouting?" Andrew demanded. Alfred crossed his arms, shoulders slumped.

"No!" he snapped. Andrew rolled his eyes.

"What do you have against Dad, anyways?" Andrew asked. Alfred froze mid-step, turning back to look at him.

"What'd you say?"

"I asked what you have against him."

"No, no, no," Alfred shook his head, "What did you call him?"

"What?" Andrew tilted his head in confusion.

"Just now. You called him Dad," Alfred pointed out, "Right?"

"Did I?" Andrew questioned, "Must have been an accident. I didn't even realise."

"Let's just... Go home," Alfred suggested, turning back towards the direction they were walking. Silence fell around them and Andrew began to wonder if perhaps the constant chatter was better after all.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"I'm going to bed," Andrew announced, scooting his chair back and picking up his plate. Ivan had stopped by for dinner to see how Andrew's trip had gone and, because Alfred was still being unnaturally silent, the little conversation there was happened between those two.

"But it's barely nine'o'clock," Ivan pointed out, "And we were just getting somewhere with this conversation."

"I am still pretty tired from the trip," Andrew admitted, "And I need to be well rested for the meeting, tomorrow, so I think it's about time I headed to bed."

"Alright. Sleep well," Ivan offered.

"Good night, sleep tight," Alfred added, quickly.

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," Andrew finished. His dish was tossed into the sink and he wandered off to his room.

"Yo, Rus," Alfred started collecting the other dishes, "Help me with the dishes, will ya?"

"...I suppose I could help," Ivan replied, hesitantly. Alfred tossed them into the sink as well and handed Ivan a hand towel.

"I'll wash," Alfred instructed, opening a cupboard above the counter, "You dry and put away."

"Fine."

A silence fell over them as Alfred began to run the water, letting the sink fill up as he slipped on his rubber gloves. Bubbles formed from the soapy water and Alfred turned it back off. His sponge was wielded in one hand and a dirty plate in the other.

"Alfred," Ivan sighed, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Alfred stated, grounding his sponge into the dish a little harder.

"You've never been this quiet in your life," Ivan pointed out, "So something is obviously wrong. What is it?"

"Wow. Rude," Alfred mumbled.

"Is this about my comment on your food?" Ivan demanded, "You usually have a lot tougher skin than that, America. I'm going to be rather disappointed if-"

"I was talking with Andrew on the way back from the airport," he interrupted.

"Alright... And?" Ivan prompted.

"And you came up in the conversation. He... He called you Dad," Alfred explained.

Ivan tensed, eyes widening a bit, "W-what?"

"He called you," Alfred took the opportunity to hand the first dish to the Russian, looking him dead in the eye, "Dad."

"I... Well... Are you sure?" Ivan furrowed his brow.

"Positive," Alfred turned to his dishes, sadly, "And I guess it's inevitable, now."

"What is?" Ivan asked.

"When I was little, Francis and Arthur used to fight about who would claim me," Alfred explain, "They eventually let me decide. I figure the same kind of thing is going to happen with Andrew. Even if it doesn't, I can't honestly keep a kid against his will. I just don't get why he likes you of all people."

"You're worried he hates you," Ivan smirked, "You know, I find it cute when you're all self-conscious like that."

"I am not self-conscious!" Alfred argued, "I am way too into myself for anything like that."

"Oh. And there goes that big mouth of yours ruining the moment," Ivan grumbled, "Besides, you're over reacting. If he calls me that to himself, then don't you think he has a similar name for you as well?"

"Like... What?" Alfred asked.

"If I had to guess, probably some variation of mother," Ivan stated.

"What? No!" Alfred objected, "I am not the mom in this relationship!"

"Well, you certainly aren't the father," Ivan grinned.

"Fuck you. I want a divorce," Alfred growled.

"Let's not be irrational," Ivan suggested, "We do have a child to think about as well."

"I'm not irrational - You're irrational!" Alfred spat.

"In what sense?"

"In all of then!"

"That's quite a proposition. Care to elaborate?"

"I don't need to prove myself to you!"