“Will I see you again?” The native human asked, and Arthur opened his mouth to tell him, no, but found that he simply could not.
“Perhaps.” England said tentatively. “It’ll be hard, today is the day that our whole ship is unloading. In all reality, it’ll be hard for you to find me other again.”
“B-But, you could find me again, right?” the man said, grasping at the thin hope Arthur had given him.
In the background, Arthur could hear Doris Day singing, “You won’t admit you love me, and so, how am I ever, to know, you only answer: perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.”
Arthur looked to him sadly. “Perhaps.”
In which nearly everyone has forgotten Alfred, including himself.
Overall Rating: +++
Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3357548