I do not own Axis Powers Hetalia or any of its characters, I merely have fun with them at my own discretion :)
Important note for the story, please pay attention to the Date and Times in between point of views, I often backtrack because the story is so involved with POVs that characters need to go back to explain what they were doing while another character was doing something.
THIS IS NOT A SONGFIC however the song that inspired this story is: Secret by The Pierces (I don't own that either)
Got a secret
Can you keep it?
Swear this one you'll save
Better lock it, in your pocket
Taking this one to the grave
If I show you then I know you
Won't tell what I said
Cuz two can keep a secret
If one of them is
Dead
.:5:26 PM 6.28.12:.
Blond lashes fluttered in slight consternation. Bleary, leaf green eyes peered from sleep laden lids. Arthur made a muffled sound of displeasure and burrowed his head in the comforting warmth of his arms. His eyes slid closed again, only to snap wide open, his eyebrows hiked high in annoyance. He was sure he heard it this time, that which dared disturb his slumber. Irate eyes scanned the shadow blanketed room, sliding from pool to pool of LED light. A resounding melody of knocks drew his attention to the door, or rather to where he knew the door to be, his gaze burning smoldering gouges into it. Good god, but that one even knocked flirtatiously.
The snick of the turning handle was accompanied by the sharp click of the ancient light switch, one of those bulky things that required both thumb and forefinger rather than a single casual flick. Arthur's smoldering gaze transferred to his disturber's face.
"What the bloody hell do you want? Do you have any idea of the time?"
Francis stood, poised in the doorway oozing licentious charm from his every pore. Mirth sparkled in those sea blue eyes while his finger hung carelessly from the light switch. He waved a manila folder teasingly in the other's direction.
"Mais, mon petit mignon lapin, you must get hopping, you have a case~"
"The case can go bugger itself for all I care."
"Now, now, mon cher, that attitude won't look these files over for you~"
With an impossible extra flounce to his step, Francis slid the files directly in front of Arthur, while his hand ever so subtly found it's way to Arthur's cheek. The Brit swatted at the offending limb, cheeks burning in a mixture of anger and embarrassment normally kept at bay by a morning cuppa.
"You frog! Get out of my room and take your perverse, wandering hands with you!"
"Oh how you wound me!" The blond raised a distressed wrist to his forehead, adopting the classical pose of a theatrical diva.
Tears as fake as Pamela Anderson's breasts welled up in those oceanic depths. Arthur rolled his eyes and snatched up the file.
"Get out."
As quickly as they had appeared, the tears miraculously dried up, leaving Francis with the pouting expression of a petulant child. He huffed a sigh.
"Must you address me in that tone? People may forget who is dominant in this relationship, is that not so mon subordonné?"
The file slapped into the closing office door as Francis, head of the NYPD made his escape.
"Goddamn frog!"
His lips twisted into a darkly triumphant grin.
.:7:00 PM 6.28.12:.
Rich melodic humming drifted through apartment C, or perhaps it was G, the dingy letters hardly mattered in this particular building, the building on the corner of 4th and 8th NoHo, New York. It was perhaps the only audible human sound in the building. It was not at all loud, but never the less seemed to reverberate down the single hallway of apartment C and into the open kitchen/living/dining/sometimes bed...room. The multi-purpose area rather snugly housed a single lumpy couch, a tottering coffee table (which more often than not spilled the coffee), an equally unbalanced side table, a few typical kitchen appliances, a cluttered and chipped island, and finally, a television which took up the entire southeastern corner.
The tune carried on into this very room, accompanied by a young man. Cropped blond hair shone wetly in the dim stove light. Each droplet captured its rays, the only light source cutting into the room. The window was artfully covered by tattered curtains which in turn hid the boarded up glass. Piercing ice blue swept across the area, taking in the assorted clutter on the available surfaces, the stove clock that displayed a broken seven and two halves of zeros, and the other blond who sprawled ever so gracefully on the couch.
A single eyebrow rose at the sight. An assortment of computer paraphernalia littered every available surface within arm distance of the sleeping man. Two laptops sat open on the coffee table, placed in such a way that they balanced each other's weight to keep from sliding off the edge. The fan of one of the computers whirred to life under the keen eye of the first blond. It's screen woke, a pop up stating the progress of the program running. A moment later, and the other computer followed suite, a beat after that and their operator stirred. He ran his hands through already mussed hair, tangling his fingers in an Ethernet cable. He blinked the remnant of sleep from his eyes and sat up, a few flash drives rolling off of him in the process.
He recovered his glasses from their precarious position, placing them fully on his face. Tired electric blue met disapproving ice.
The half asleep blonde broke eye contact and instead focused blearily on the computer screens, mumbling under his breath, brows drawn down in thought. Eyes narrowed in annoyance, the other man swept his gaze over the various knick knacks scattered across the kitchen surfaces; a stack of (clean?) plates, a handful of tiny screws, a clip for a glock, a pile of condiment packets stacked into a pyramid, an open switchblade, and salt grains that glinted oddly enough into the arrangement of his own face. He shook his head and grabbed a roll of paper towels, throwing one at the blond who was once again passed out on the couch.
Brow crinkled in displeasure, he released a breath and sat up. He picked up the roll, lightly tossing it from palm to palm.
"You know, I wasn't really sleeping right?"
"Ja."
"Then why throw this at me, Luddy," he whined, baby blues pleading from behind wire frames.
"Luddy" snorted in mild irritation at the nickname and set to work cleaning and organizing the kitchen.
"Because Alfie, you will be helping me." The nickname dripped disdain, "Luddy's" mouth twisted in distaste as he spat the word out.
"But Ludd-Ludwig, it is clean!" Ice blue lightning flashed in Ludwig's eyes at the almost nickname.
"Nein, now stop acting stupid, Alfred, and get to work!"
Alfred stuck out his lower lip, but dragged himself off of the couch anyway. He slowly set to work on the kitchen, disheartened by the trail of citrus freshness that followed in Mr. Clean's wake. Why bring his incompetent, unwilling hands into a situation so masterly taken care of by his room mate? Tired lids frequently slipped down to half mast, little beads of sleep stuck in the corners. The muted familiar clattering noise of computer components on a hard surface caught his attention. Eyes snapping wide, Alfred whipped his head over in the direction of the couch.
"What the hell Ludwig! Don't lay another fascist finger on my stuff!"
Alfred's usually amicable attitude flipped upside down, inside out. Deep territorial growls rumbled in his chest, caught in his throat. Ludwig paused in his frenzied scrubbing to look up at the murderous American. Alfred had dropped any pretense of a care free demeanor, his jaw set in a hard line of determination. The German straightened, relentlessly matching the gaze.
"You had best keep your area clean then, and Alfred, that includes yourself." A less-than-pleased Ludwig grimaced at the whiff of body odor that seemed to express Alfred's anger just as potently as the man himself. His angry countenance melted faster than a Popsicle in Francis' mouth, his lips quirking upwards in an awkward grin. One hand scratched his head, aggravating his greasy cowlick more than ever.
"Eh...right, I'll just...go do that." Alfred shuffled down the hallway, sufficiently cowed by the German's logical ire, collecting stray laundry as he went.
Ludwig continued to tidy up the room, moving off to straighten the bathroom when his roommate sauntered down the hallway to rifle through their now immaculate kitchen drawers. He made quick work of Alfred's mess, the man seemed to not understand the concept of shower linings, and returned to the kitchen. He sighed and grabbed the clip for his glock off of the island. He folded the switchblade Alfred had left on the counter and placed it in the drawer with the other knives, choosing to extract something a little more appropriate for the evening ahead. He bent to slip it in the the sheath at his ankle and crossed the living area to the lone closet.
Ludwig slipped inside, brushing aside the few ragged coats that were the only remnants of the old tenet. He knelt and brushed his hands over the threadbare carpet, fingers hunting for the familiar, subtle hint of metal. He crooked an index finger over a latch embedded in the carpet and pulled up half of the little closet's floor to reveal an opening that housed clinical metal rungs spaced evenly apart. He turned and stepped down a few rungs, pausing only to reach out and silently close the closet door with the pads of his forefingers. The German swiftly climbed down to the bottom where bare feet whispering on quartz tile.
Thus Ludwig found himself in the renovated part of apartment B1. The walls had been repaired, repainted, and redecorated with rows of neat little niches bathed in warm recessed light that displayed enough weapons to outfit an army.
Such a cozy little place they had.
.:7:11 PM 6.28.12:.
Arthur pushed his way through the throngs of people that flocked to Starbucks, a scowl firmly set in place. He abhorred the American business and would have much rather stopped at a hole-in-the-wall tea house, but it was the only place available en route to his destination that he could get a decent cup of tea on the go. Or so he thought.
He eyed the moderately lengthy line, cursing the Frenchman's timing. He just had to wake Arthur up that late in the evening didn't he? The Englishman had needed that well deserved, though unintentional, nap after a long day undercover in a drug bust, never mind that he had been sleeping on the clock. Now he had murders to deal with off the clock.
Just bloody peachy.
"Good afternoon sir! What can we prepare for you today?" The chirpy barista flashed Arthur an eighty watt smile.
He grimaced.
"A medium earl grey if you would."
Eighty watts became an apologetic sixty.
"Oh, I'm sorry sir, but we don't carry that anymore."
"Green tea then."
"We don't have that either..."
A green eye ticked in annoyance.
"Well what tea products do you have?"
Arthur listened with growing impatience as the woman muttered to herself.
"Well...ah let's see...no we don't seem to carry that..."
"Never mind that, just get me a small...latte." He hissed venom laced words at the woman, hardly in the mood for such nonsense. He never thought he'd see the day where he would drink coffee of all things.
"Sir, we don't have that size."
"And pray tell, what sizes do you offer?"
The woman looked slightly miffed by his flippant tone. She pointed an indifferent finger at a line of three cups labeled tall, grande, and venti. He jerked a thumb at the tall.
"I'll take that one."
"Which one?"
"The smallest one, you impudent woman!"
Arthur thrust his payment at the sullen barista, mood only slightly improved by the remarkable lack of chirpiness in her manner. He huffed his way to the end of the counter to grab his coffee. Feeling rather churlish himself, he pointedly returned the glares of the customers waiting in line. He stalked his way to the subway, unhappy with the latte and currently unhappy with his job.
He squeezed into the car just as the doors slid shut, balancing his coffee in one hand and reaching for the pole with the other. Fortunately he found himself in the sparsely populated last car, unfortunately the couple in the seats across from him decided to take advantage of that. Mid eye-roll, the car took a sharp turn, effectively splattering much of the hot beverage all over the floor. Arthur curled his lip in disgust, abandoning that part of the car. The couple broke apart long enough to titter at his misfortune before gluing their mouths back together with saliva.
Ughh.
Arthur faltered, falling back against the wall while hissing his displeasure as the rest of the coffee jumped to scald his chest. The "wall" behind him opened and he stumbled out onto the platform, eyes wide with surprise. The dregs of the coffee tumbled to the dirty concrete; the cup disappeared into the crevice between the platform and the car. Arthur caught himself on the hem of a trench coat. Dark eyes, not void of sympathy, peered out beneath a crisp black fringe. A naturally caramel hand gripped Arthur's shoulder, helping him up with surprising strength for its fragile appearance.
"Are you alright?" Soft, accented words reached out to the Englishman in the midst of the boarding chaos. He quickly straightened, briskly brushing off his own coat.
"I suppose I will be, thank you sir."
A short nod of his head and the man stepped away. Green eyes tracked his figure as he swiftly yet calmly entered the car and took a seat, back impeccably straight. The man struck Arthur as oddly...efficient, not a single movement wasted. He supposed that to most, such mannerisms were less likely to be noticed, but to him it was as eye catching as a naked Francis.
Double Ughh.
He collected his thoughts and left the departing car to trek the four blocks to Park Avenue. He stood before one of the ritziest apartment buildings he could imagine setting foot inside. Arthur scowled at the doorman, or rather the large nose upturned at him as he entered. He wasted no time going up the elevator to the eleventh floor, taking no pleasure in the scent of damp coffee soaked clothes in the confined space. The concise rapping of his incensed fist on apartment thirty two's door echoed irritation in the plush carpeted hallway.
He waiting and drummed his fingers against the wall, idly wondering if he would be yelled at for dirtying the crisp paint. The sound of grinding teeth drifted through the hall, when suddenly the door was jerked open to emit a strange red eyed, alabaster skinned, silver haired, pant-less man. The door snapped shut behind him.
"Mattiieeee, don't do this to me! Its cold outside!"
The door opened so fast, it ruffled Arthur's hair.
Oh wait, there's his pants...and another pant-less man, a pant-less coworker in fact.
Inch thick eyebrows crawled up Arthur's forehead with each new surprise.
"Kir-Kirkland! I, ah, wasn't expecting company," Mattie Jones awkwardly pulled at the stray curly cue on top of his head.
"You were expecting me!" The albino man shook his fisted pants in the other's direction to emphasize his point. Adorable Mattie, scowled in a very un-adorable manner.
"Gil! Go away, before I call the police on you!"
"You are the police!"
"As am I," Arthur's chilled tone cut in. He hooked a finger in his belt, pushing aside his coat in the process, effectively revealing his holster. Though loud and obnoxious, traits Arthur usually associated with stupidity, this oh so subtle hint seemed to subdue the excited man. Mattie cleared his throat and held the door open in invitation for his coworker.
Arthur watched in amusement as Mattie scurried behind his kitchen counter to tidy up and put on the pants that hung from the spice rack. It wasn't his place to ask, and anyway this seemed like a scenario where it was precisely what it looked like. Mattie's burning cheeks proved to be further evidence for that.
"What..umm...what brings you to my place at this time of night?"
The smaller man had pulled some semblance of order together and inhabited the armchair facing the couch on which Arthur sat.
"Bonnefoy woke me up to give me this," he handed the case details to his coworker, "and insisted that we make an appearance to check it out this evening".
The small blond frowned down at the photos and report, nodding in distracted agreement, only his bobbing curl visible as he held a picture up for closer examination. Suddenly he flung the picture down, "Alfred!".
Arthur turned a quizzical eye upon the other.
"Who?"
"My brother! He's coming by to drop some stuff off for me. He just texted a few minutes ago. Can we wait till later to take a look at this?"
Arthur shrugged, smoothing any errant irritation from his face. Besides it was impossible to stay mad at Mattie's pleading face.
"Fine by me."
Obnoxious knocking pulled his face back into a frown.
.:7:20 PM 6.28.12:.
Alfred Jones hurriedly toweled off his hair and simultaneously brushed his teeth with intermittent pauses as his fingers wandered across a keyboard. The languorous rhythm of worn bristles broken by the staccato melody of confident keystrokes echoed off of mildewed walls. It meant that dressing took twice as long, but Alfred considered multi-tasking to be more productive than focusing all of his efforts on one objective.
That was boring.
God forbid that he ever be considered boring, perish the thought! No, Alfred F. Jones was full of...adventure and courage, and awesomeness in its purest form! He grinned to himself, bobbing his head to a beat his fingers tapped out on the keyboard. Audiophile though he was, the blond still preferred his illegal online...peeking and altering* to rocking out before his day err..night began. If he had his way he'd do both, but experience found that he had difficulties drying his hair with headphones in. Water gurgled down the drain as Alfred washed his spit and toothpaste cocktail out of the sink. Adept hands twisted the water off and gracefully moved from sink to head, patting away stray water droplets. With a refreshed sigh, he grinned a lopsided grin and waggled his eyebrows at himself before tossing the towel in the general direction of the laundry basket. He whistled a cheery tune down the hallway, donning a tatty baby blue sweatshirt. The kitchen counter glinted merrily in welcome, not in the least perturbed by the normally jarring sound of carelessly slammed drawers.
He was searching for something discreet and refined, something more suited to the company he would soon be keeping. Dancing fingers skipped from drawer to drawer, tracing over the cool metal of spoons, forks, sporks, guns and...ahh yes, knives. Obnoxious smile stretching wider, he plucked a bowie knife and bent to equip it in his ankle sheath. Rolling his pant leg back down and still whistling with vivacious joy, those sparkling blue eyes walked right out the door, a backpack carelessly slung over one shoulder. Ludwig grunted a response to the "see ya" his roommate threw over his shoulder at the last minute, his Spartan eye settling upon the vacated bathroom, armed with a magic eraser and a rag.
.:7:29 PM 6.28.12:.
Glancing around the blissful paradise of cleanliness and order, Ludwig's eyes alighted upon the bronze form of a human slumped over, asleep at the keyboard. Smothering an amused grin, Ludwig approached the snoozing man and shook his shoulder.
"Heracles, wake up."
"Huzat?" Bleary chocolate eyes peered about the room, coming to rest on the towering German who stood over him.
"Hello Ludwig."
"Good evening Heracles."
Blue eyes met brown and the seconds ticked by, Ludwig's brow drawing down.
...
"Did you need something?"
Consternation became apparent in the blond's expression.
"I received your note."
"You did? What did it say?"
Innocent eyes remained blank with a hint of genuine curiosity.
...
"You...err...wrote that you had information for a new task."
"Ah yes, I do. Here, sit," the Greek patted at a chair tucked out of the way beside the desk where Ludwig obediently sat. Heracles' fingers came to life skittering and clamoring away on the keyboard. Still looking a tad out of it, his fingers ceased their activity and he nodded with a decisive 'mmm' at the computer screen.
Heracles, and his laptop's screen, swiveled to face his roommate.
"I've received news from our informant. It would seem that Andrew Bramson is cooking up something deadly in the Russian's lab. Specifically, a terminating virus designed for only one target."
"Terminating virus?"
"It supposedly destroys itself after 48 hours."
Disbelief flashed over Ludwig's face.
"Yes, quite unbelievable, none the less the Russians seem assured that it will kill a target in law enforcement."
"Police? That makes no sense."
The Greek shrugged.
"That's your department not mine."
Ludwig scowled halfheartedly back at him.
"So. Andrew Bramson?"
A few clicks and taps on the keyboard and the laptop displayed a moderately handsome man with a full bio and blueprints of the building where Ludwig assumed he would find Mr. Bramson.
"Where's the rest of the building?"
Heracles pouted at his screen, fiddling with something in the lower right hand corner.
"Don't need it. The roof has skylights to make the shot."
Ludwig nodded amicably, hoping that one of Heracles' pop ups was for the printer.
I hope you enjoyed.
*this is a discreet reference to computer hacking if you didn't catch that