A.N. So. Some AmeBel junk. It's my OTP, guys. So, naturally, it's my duty to give some fan service for this underappreciated, beautiful, pairing. Another song-fic.

Which, obviously, I don't own. Hey, it's The Man That Can't Be Moved by either The Script or Straight No Chaser. I love the original and the a capella, so it's all good. Okay. AmeBel time.

It was winter.

And though Alfred F. Jones detested the cold with all his will, there he was, swaddled up in a tattered blue sleeping back, cyan eyes sad, a gloomy aura around him. New York City was a bustling place, the people constantly moving, but there he remained, seated on the street corner, motionless.

His bomber jacket clung to his frame, glasses resting on his lightly freckled nose. And clutched in his right hand, a photograph. Scrawled on a cardboard square, a name. And he hoarsely chanted a question.

She had long platinum hair with chilling lavender eyes, the girl in the photo. Her name was foreign, most likely Russian, or something of the sort. "If you see this girl, can you tell her where I am?"

Some people only cast a single glance at him. Others paused to take in his depressing demeanor. Some wept, and offered their sincere hope, telling him they'd been through the like.

It had been five days now, his only company a bag of McDonald's burgers and the old, crotchety cat from the bookstore behind him, and Alfred F. Jones had not moved once. Had not said a word beyond his frequently asked question. A flake of snow landed on his nose, and he merely blinked, memories swarming and drowning him.

He made no noise, but sniffed rather loudly, removing his glasses to, just once, wipe the corner of his eye with the heel of his gloved hand.


"Whoops! Sorry, miss!" Alfred laughed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly before sinking to the ground to scoop of the books belonging to the girl he nearly trampled over.

"Rightly so. You should be." A silky voice, cold and dripping with ire, hummed. Alfred F. Jones threw his head up, entranced by this voice and eager to see whom it belonged to. And he almost dropped the books cradled in his grasp.

She was stunningly gorgeous.

Long, pale, tresses, swaying at her waist, were held in place, keeping stray bangs from falling in her eyes, by a raven bow. And her eyes, oh her eyes, they were a lovely and spellbinding deep indigo. Her facial features were sharp, and porcelain, like an aristocrat. She was pale, with pink plump lips that were set in a frown.

Alfred coughed when he realized he'd been staring too long. "Sorry." He chuckled once more and teetered to a standing position. "I'm Alfred. And you?"

She clenched her teeth and straightened the brown messenger bag resting on her shoulder. She sported a dark cerulean blouse with a loose-fitting gray jacket, ruffles lining the sides as it had no zipper, opened to showcase her intricately sowed shirt. Neatly pressed black skinnies and untarnished gray flats gave Alfred a clue that she was of a higher class than he, who only wore an old white tee, rugged jeans, a pair of classic black High-Tops, and his never-removed bomber jacket.

"Natalia." She frowned after a pause, and made gesture to reclaim her books, but Alfred took a step back, laughing once more.

"These are pretty heavy. Where are you taking them? Allow me to carry them for you." He beamed, flashing a toothy smile as Natalia simply glared.

"I've come to drop those books off at the bookstore behind you." she nodded past Alfred's shoulder to an old-styled shop, stained-glass windows and dusty books laying on display. "So you needn't carry those any longer." She outstretched her hands, but Alfred turned on the spot, hopping around to get a better look at the library.

"You know, I walk past this street corner every day, and I've never noticed this little store. It's unique." He mused, biting his cheek in thought. "Hey," he glanced over his shoulder to the glaring girl to smile once more at her. "Let's go inside. Together."


Alfred shook his head, teeth sinking into his bottom lips as another man offered him a crisp ten-dollar bill. "No thank you, sir."

"Are ya sure, son?"

"Absolutely. It's not money I need." Alfred smiled sadly, pushing his glasses up his nose. The old man smiled, as if he knew Alfred's pain, clapped him on the back, and started to walk off.

"You're a good one, son. Wish I could've been as persistent as you. Don't give up hope, boy. She'll come around. You're a good one." He hollered over his shoulder as he was swallowed up by the lively New York crowd.

Alfred's bottom lip began to tremble as he bit back tears. This was all too much for his heart to take, but she was worth it. She was worth it all.

There was a tentative tap on his shoulder, and Alfred slowly turned to find lavender eyes staring back into his. He only gave a sigh as the Canadian joined him, huffing as he sat down on the street corner.

"Alfred." His brother started, twiddling his thumbs as he watched all the shuffling feet of people. "This isn't healthy."

"I know, Matt. I know."

"And really, it doesn't make any sense whatsoever."

"I know, Matt. I know."

"You don't care, do you?

"I'm not moving."

"Right." Matthew sighed, shoulders sinking in defeat. He cast a glance at his half-brother, and frowned as he caught sight of the picture gripped by gloved and shaking hands. "Please, Al, reconsider this-"

"I'm not moving." His voice was devoid of all emotion, but it was there in his broken azure eyes, swimming in sorrow and despair.

And that was the end to the first conversation lasting more than a few seconds Alfred had shared in eight days.


"Hello there, Aniki." Alfred smiled at the old cat, scratching the calico under her chin, just as she liked it. He proceeded to the back of the old, quaint store, wondering through the maze of bookshelves. But he wasn't lost.

Right at the back, just as she always was, leaned over an open book with a pile of dusty collections beside her, Natalia sat with a soft smile. Alfred grinned at the endearing sight of the Belarusian girl, and joined her, nudging her shoulder as he did so.

She cast a murderous glare up at him, but it wasn't as shocking as it was the first time Alfred sat beside her. No, now he could see, laced in her indigo eyes, a peculiar warmth and amusement. She said nothing, but returned to her book. Aniki strolled up from the front desk, and plopped herself on Natalia's lap, giving a grateful mrrow as she began to stroke the cat's fur.

Alfred simply sat, enjoying the unusual silence in the Big Apple and Natalia's company. It was Sunday after all, and Sundays were special days. They were the days that Alfred would spend sitting in the back of a quirky old bookstore, resting with Natalia.

There was a light thump on Alfred's shoulder, and when he glanced down, he was shocked to find Natalia's head resting there. Her eyes were closed, her breathing paced slow. Alfred chuckled lightly, trying not to wake the sleeping girl. Giving a soft moan of discomfort, Natalia snuggled into the crook of his neck, sleepily placing a hand on his chest.

Alfred felt his face heat up as he continued to watch the snoozing girl.

"Mm. 'Bout time something interesting happened around here." A raspy voice croaked, chuckling. Alfred peeked upward to see the elderly store owner watching the two with a twinkle in her emerald aged eyes. "Hehehe. Don't let that one go, Jones. You don't find girls like her often. Just… be patient with her, boy. Be patient."

Alfred gave a delicate nod and glanced once more at Natalia, who tightened her grip on his shirt.


"Son, you can't stay here."

Alfred glanced up warily at the police officer hovering over him. He sighed and pulled his jacket tighter around him. "There's someone I'm waiting for."

"How long, son?"

"A day. A month. A year." Alfred shrugged lightly, taking a bite of his hamburger. "Hafta stand my ground, whether through rain or snow. I don't care how long it takes, sir. Because if she changes her mind, I know, I know, that this…" Alfred drifted off, casting a weary look at the bookstore behind him. "This is the first place she will go."

The police man said nothing more, nodding sadly. He only turned away just as everyone had done before him. He turned and walked away, joining the moving mass of bodies as he left Alfred motionless.

He absentmindedly munched on the remainder of his burger until there was nothing more but a wrapper. Solemnly, he stuffed it into the McDonald's bag and shuffled in closer to his sleeping bag. Ten days had gone by so fast, yet so slow, as if Alfred had lived them in a daze.

A few onlookers gathered around him, whispering things that Alfred could not hear. They cast looks of adoration towards him, looks of awe.

But Alfred did not feel as if he should be praised. He just felt lonely.


"Hey! Natalia!" Alfred smiled, running up to meet the girl who stood in front of the bookstore with her shoulders slumped, uncharacteristic for the posture-perfect girl. She did not turn to face him and as Alfred neared her, he could tell that something was out of the ordinary. "Nat?"

She said nothing; Alfred cautiously placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her around. He stifled a gasp as he was met with large doe eyes, indigo filled with tears. He only pressed her to his chest, enveloping her in his arms. She began to sob violently, and Alfred ran a hand down her back, cooing to her promises that everything was going to be fine. Everything was going to be okay.

"Care to go to lunch with me?" Alfred inquired, slightly loosening his grip on Natalia. She nodded against his chest and Alfred couldn't help but smile. He took her hand in his, and despite her wince, he didn't let go. And she didn't ask him to.

Around the corner, a few blocks down, Alfred held the door open to his favorite little café. Natalia nodded gratefully as she stepped through the door, her eyes trained on the ground all the while.

A few mugs of hot chocolate later and a shared tart, Natalia glanced up at Alfred. "Why do you always wear that bomber jacket, Alfred? I apologize if it's a bit rude, but I've never seen you without it."

"Was my father's. He was in the Air Force. The only things they sent back were a few unsent letters, his dog-tags, and his jacket." Alfred muttered, swallowing as he recounted the tales of his father.

"I-I didn't- I'm so sorry." Natalia bit her bottom lip, casting her eyes away from the American. "I can relate, though. My mother… I lost her at a young age. I never knew my father. My older sister and brother raised me. They… they're all I have."

"No." Alfred interrupted, taking a swig of his hot chocolate. Natalia sent him a curious look, slightly offended. "I'm here for you too, Nat." Her eyes widened and her lips almost pulled into a smile. And Alfred F. Jones could not take it anymore. He could not hold back any longer. He could not stand being so close to her without confessing how he really, truly felt for the strange, aloof girl from Belarus.

So he stroked her cheek softly and pulled her into a kiss.


"Hello, sir. Would you mind if we did an interview? You're pretty renowned for being the motionless man."

"Suppose it wouldn't hurt none." Alfred nodded, taking in the possibility that perhaps, she'd see whatever newscast or special he'd end up on.

"Okay. Thanks, so much! Camera, action! Roll! And… we're live!" The interviewer beamed down at Alfred, settling down to sit beside him. "Good evening, America. Penelope Thorton here with… well. What's your name, again?" She held out the mic to him, waiting for his reply with kind brown eyes.

"Alfred F. Jones."

"Alfred, are you aware of your legendary status as the 'man who can't be moved'?"

"Didn't know I was legendary. Or had a title." He chuckled lightly, pushing his glasses into place on his nose.

"Oh, but Alfred, you've left a big impact on the hearts of desperate lovers, not only here in New York, but all over the US. You're the symbol of unrequited love, the beacon for dedication. You're an example of pure, untainted love, Alfred." Penelope smiled, and edged the mic towards Alfred once more. "Please Alfred, won't you tell us who it is you're waiting for exactly?"

Alfred said nothing and let silence hang for just a moment. There was a nudge at his side and he met the vertical pupils of Aniki. He tried desperately to not sob, fighting back the tears that welled in the corners of his eyes.

He shook his head no.

And when Penelope asked why not, his answer was simple. She knew who she was. She knew that it was her, and only her that he waited here for. And the world didn't need to know, the world didn't need to see who had made such an impact on Alfred's life to put him here, motionless and immovable on a street corner.

She knew.


There were gray flats in front of him, but Alfred dared not look up past the person's feet, empty eyes trained on nothing.

"You used to smile. You used to smile so much." A sad voice whimpered, silky and oh so painstakingly familiar.

Unbelieving of what, or whom, it could possibly be, ever so slowly, Alfred lifted his head up and met deep indigo eyes. Platinum hair held back by a satin bow.

And for the first time is so many weeks, Alfred allowed himself to cry.

She lowered herself to ground, wrapping her dainty arms around him, shaking slightly as she did so. He choked on his tears, hyperventilating as he pulled her in tight, crushing her against his body. He just needed to feel her, to touch her, to take her in. To know that she was real. To know that she was here.

He balled into her hair, body racking with sobs.

"Alfred. Oh, Alfred." She started, lips quivering as she too began to cry. "I'm so-"

He silenced her with a kiss. It was quick, it was innocent, and it was everything Alfred had been waiting for.

"Why here?" was all she asked, cuddling into his grasp, arms locked tight around him.

"It's the corner where I first met you."

They said nothing more, wrapping themselves up in Alfred's tattered blue sleeping back, pressed together with silent tears streaming down their cheeks, and they did not move.

A.N.: Yay, happy ending because I said so. That, and the other AmeBels I want to work on are, well… not too many more happy endings for AmeBel. That, and my NetBelg fic ended on a sour note as well. Meh. Meh-heh.

Anywhoodles, man, any Script song could work for this pairing. Nothing, For the First Time, etc. etc. Hahah. I love AmeBel so much, guys. yay