Tienimi Stretto (Hold Me Closely)

Hi everyone! So here I have a new story that I've been planning on writing for a while now. I'm aiming for it to be quite long, though I'm not sure how many words yet or when it will be done. I love the idea of a badass Lovino, so what better than to make him a detective? Well, nothing is ever THAT simple…

Anyway, this story will contain romance, drama, action, and comedy. Fun! So I hope you are looking forward to it as much as I am.

Rated M: for language, violence, death, sex, and mature themes.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of its characters, unfortunately… If I did, all my ships would be canon and Spamano would get more screen time… *sigh*…

Chapter 1

"You've got to be kidding me."

No—by the way Lovino casually crossed his arms and looked over his nails for any imperfections—he certainly wasn't kidding.

The Italian-born looked up from his fingers to the man fuming in front of him. The steam was practically coming out of his ears as he clenched his fists and glared at the disinterested expression on Lovino's face. Any on-looker would have found the scene comical. Even Lovino wanted to smirk at the laughable image, but he controlled himself. The last thing he needed was the man throwing a chair out the office window like last time.

Yeah...his boss hadn't been too happy about that.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" he asked, sitting on the edge of his desk, placing his leg neatly on top of the other. This only made the man growl more.

Lovino made a mental note: those blinded by anger or discontent become more enraged when their opponent is composed. This was very true.

A shaking finger pointed angrily at Lovino.

"That was a collaborative effort. You can't just take all the credit!"

Running a hand through his auburn locks—careful to avoid his stray curl—Lovino let out a long, weary sigh. Just like the chair, this wasn't the first instance he had been accused of "taking all the credit." He had heard it several times before, just like everyone else in this office.

Hence, why no one was really paying attention to their argument: it was old news. Seriously—if the workers had paid a dollar for every fight they witnessed in their building, they'd make well above their pay rate.

It wasn't as if he tried to be unfair to his partners. If there was one word to describe Lovino, it was honest. Brutally and painfully honest. And—as so many times before—he was truly just being frank in his reports. Every partner that was assigned to him turned out to be exactly the same every time: naive and in-over-their-head. These fuckers wanted the lavish perks of being a detective without even taking into account the actual work you needed to put in.

No one won in this job. They were bound to witness death, tragedy, and agony—and not be able to do a damn thing about it. The faster these idiots realized it, the better.

The Italian lifted himself off his desk and stood in front of his infuriated partner.

"The only things you were good for on this operation were being bait and distracting the enemy. I suggest the next time you decide to hide like a fucking coward instead of fight, you stay out of the way and be thankful I saved your sorry ass. Got it, dipshit?"

With a smirk, Lovino turned away from the shocked man and walked back to his desk.

Ah, like the calm before the storm, he knew it was coming. In 3…2…1…

"Y-you…you ASSHOLE! That's it! I can't do this anymore! I QUIT!"

And, there it was. Those words were like sweet music to his ears every time he heard his "partner" say them. He looked back along with the rest of the office at his now ex-partner, who spun around and headed towards the exit to leave.

But not before, of course, grabbing the new sleek stapler they had just bought and throwing it as hard as he could at the polished, marble floor. The machine broke into a few large pieces, the un-used staples springing out in all directions like fresh popcorn.

Damn it. Lovino had really like that stapler too. Well, at least it was better than paying for a new window. They were pricey son-of-a-bitches.

No one moved for a few moments, silently honoring the man who had lasted two weeks working with Lovino Vargas. If anyone had the reputation for being difficult, it was Lovino. Ever since the day he had waltzed into the office four years ago and demanded a job fresh out of school, the man seemed to have a permanent chip on his shoulder directed at anyone who tried to interact with him. He never tolerated ineptitude or any mistakes. Never cut any of his colleagues or co-workers a break. Never made any close friends. But—most of all—never failed a job.

And that was the reason he was one of the most feared and respected detectives in the office.

Acting as if he hadn't just been involved in the commotion five minutes ago, Lovino sat down at his computer and started typing. He wasn't stupid—he knew that they were still staring at him. Well, he wasn't surprised—these were the same co-workers that chatted and gossiped with each other more than they worked.

"You know, you didn't have to be so harsh on him. He was at least better than the last guy."

His hands stalled on the keyboard. A groan escaped his lips as he looked up at his blonde assistant—a college graduate named Matthew who just so happened to be the younger brother of his boss's boyfriend. Well, it was great to know that nepotism was still in play in America…at least some form of it. He supposed he liked this one. Lovino rolled his eyes and went back to typing.

"Yeah, trying to get in my way. The idiot couldn't even shoot straight. I think they're lowering their standards at the academy now-a-days," he muttered, squinting his eyes to stare at something on the computer screen.

Mathew nodded, his eyes looking towards the path that the disgruntled employee had gone.

"I mean, this is the fifth time a partner has quit on you. You know how Arthur gets when you don't have someone to work with."

Stopping again, Lovino grimaced, "Shit."

Matthew had a point. As soon as he lost a partner, his boss didn't let him work on any cases until he had one again. It was a policy he carried over from his job in England, which aggravated the life out of the Italian. No matter how good he was at his job, it didn't matter. A detective could not go on a case alone. The last time his partner blew up on him, it took three weeks to find a new one. He had not only been bored out of his mind, but it had been an undeserved hell.

Lovino swallowed. How long would it be this time?

As if the universe was giving him the answer to his question, a British voice spoke from behind them.

"Vargas, come with me." When Lovino scowled and turned around to face his displeased boss, the man added a strict "Now."

Standing up and sharing a quick, knowing glance with his assistant, he followed his boss into his large office. Arthur Kirkland was a Briton to the core—with shelves filled with hundreds of different books, and framed maps of the world on his walls (Lovino wouldn't have been surprised if he had been a traveler or pirate in a past life). The carpet on the floor was velvety and intricate, while the elegantly carved desk on top of it was neatly organized. The office was a stark contrast to the rest of the buildings and offices, which held a modern look. Such were the perks of being the Chief of the Chicago Police Department.

Annoyed by the direct sunlight coming into his office, Arthur moved to close his silk curtains before settling down at his desk. He signaled for Lovino to sit across from him, which had become routine after the many times he had been called into his office. Lovino easily complied, lounging in the comfy chair and waiting for his boss to start.

"Lovino, it has recently come to my attention that Detective Roberts just quit after having a fight with you. Is this true?"

The Italian reluctantly nodded, not liking the tone his boss was using, as a parent would use with a child. Arthur just sighed and massaged his forehead.

The man's eyes fluttered closed, "What was broken this time?"

"The damn stapler." Lovino replied quietly, crossing his arms and looking off to the side.

"The one we just bought? Bullocks. That was a good one, too," Arthur looked at Lovino, "All right, care to explain what happened?"

A groan rumbled in Lovino's throat as he sat up and leaned his elbows on his knees.

"Pretty much the same thing as always. We went on a drug bust. We tried to sneak in, but the idiot just had to slip up and knocked over a pipe. The enemy heard it and swarmed us, and you know what the coward did?—Well, I'll tell you—He ran and hid outside. Can you believe it? I was forced to deal with them all by myself! By the time back-up got there, I had exhausted most of my strength and barely had enough energy to grab the evidence. That bastard didn't do a damn thing. That was why he got pissed when I filled out the case report, since I didn't sugarcoat his contribution."

Arthur nodded throughout his story, only moving to sip the tea that had magically appeared on his desk. It was a mystery Lovino never understood nor wanted to know about.

Brushing a hand through his hair, Lovino looked at his boss, "Look, chief. I know I've been telling you this forever, but the partner thing really isn't working. Five so-called partners have failed to keep up with me—and maybe it's meant to be that way. Come on, you know I'm damn good at my job, and a lot of people don't like that. Just let me work alone."

The Briton stared at the detective for a while. With a sigh, Arthur placed down his cup.

"I applaud your success on the mission. This was a dangerous case that I knew you wouldn't have trouble handling. I agree, Detective Roberts' actions were unacceptable by any terms. However, this situation could have gone more smoothly if you had actually tried to work with him—and don't lie to me, I know you didn't." Lovino closed his mouth, slowly lowering his finger. Arthur continued.

"You are supposed to work together with your partner. It's not just for you to help them—it's for them to help you, too. You'd be surprised by the results a good partnership can achieve, more so than any individual working alone. Lovino, you're a brilliant detective—more so than most of the people in this office. But you must understand, a boy can only go so far on his own. It is only through—"

"—working with others that he becomes a man. I know, I know. How many times have you told me this?" Lovino shot him a glare, crossing his arms and scowling.

Arthur only smiled. "And I hope one day you'll actually understand it. Now, before you even ask, I know you're curious about when you'll get your next partner. To be honest, I saw this coming, so it won't be as long as usual."

Lovino let out a sigh of relief before standing up and stretching. How long had he been in there? It always seemed like hours. A quick glance at the wooden clock hanging on the wall behind Arthur told him the day was over. Thank god. He could go home now.

Opening up the door with every intention to leave, Lovino stopped to voice one last request.

"Just make sure the bastard can at least properly shoot a gun. I'm not wasting any more of my precious time looking after any more idiots."

Without looking back or waving goodbye, the Italian left the room.

Arthur sat back in his chair, sipping his now lukewarm tea and making no indication of moving. Finally picking up his old, yellow telephone, Arthur dialed a number and held the phone up to his ear. He watched absentmindedly as the cord vibrated at the sudden movement. He didn't snap out of his trance until he heard a deep French voice on other line.

"Well, well, well. It is quite a wonderful surprise to hear from someone as busy and as lovely as you. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Arthur sighed, already tired and used to the immature antics of the man. "Save the pleasantries, Francis. I have a something to ask of you."

A rich laugh rang out in Arthur's ear. "Anything for a dear old friend. What shall it be? Sex techniques? Ménage a trois? A personal visit from the sex king himself?"

The Briton just scoffed. "Bloody hell, I can't deal with you. I want—oh god, I can't believe he even went by this—Spain." This piqued the Frenchman's interests.

"Oh? You want my sexy Spanish friend? Unlike myself, I don't know if he's available for—"

"Blimey! Just stop—right now. I have a job to offer him," Thinking over his choice of words, Arthur quickly added, "A professional one."

Hearing a significant amount of rustling followed by silence, Arthur was unsure of what to think. He was about to ask him if he was still there when the man finally spoke, now in a serious tone.

"All right, Arthur. Explain to me what this is about."

Another sigh escaped the British man's lips. He never had it easy, did he?

Arthur placed the telephone back on the hook an hour later. By the time he had finished negotiations, it was well past closing time. The man groaned, massaging his forehead and thinking about how good dinner was going to taste once he got home. Even if his lover was American, the man still knew how to cook. Thank god.

Arthur glanced over at his shut office door—the one that Lovino had exited out of. He thought back to the boy's request, a small smirk playing on his face.

Pulling out a file from his left drawer and placing it on his desk, the man lifted a photograph of a smiling man with bright green eyes for him to peruse.

"I assure you, Lovino—that will be the least of your problems."

~x~

Lovino pushed the door open to his small apartment at exactly 5:54 PM that night. It was always dark when he entered the living room, with a small overhead light that came on once night fell over the city of Chicago. His large furry cat would greet him with a "Meow!" and a leg rub at the door, which would then prompt him to go into the kitchen and feed him.

Why he decided to take note of these things, he had no idea. It probably reinforced his feelings of security, as long as all these factors lined up. Satisfied with that answer, Lovino opened a can of cat food, and watched as his fat cat launched itself onto the counter and ravaged the plate he had just finished preparing. The Italian scoffed. Needy bastard.

Lovino pulled off his beige pea coat and placed his black messenger bag on his dinner table, forgetting them momentarily as he walked over to the table next to his flat screen TV. There, on its wooden surface, was a simple picture frame that the Italian had had for years. It had gathered a little bit of dust no matter how often Lovino cleaned, yet it still held the same vibrancy and life as when it had first been taken.

He picked up the object, a small, painful smile taking over the Italian's face as he stared down at the two young boys on the monkey bars in the picture. One he could identify as himself and the other a boy who looked very similar to him. The only main difference between them was their expressions: Lovino wore his signature scowl, while the other boy wore the largest smile you had ever seen.

"Hold on, Feli. I'm so close." He whispered, tapping his fingernail gently on the glass. Lovino placed the picture down a second later and pressed the on-button on the side of the TV.

Sounds of fighting from an action movie filled the living room as the man left to the kitchen to get dinner started. His hands already going to work, it seemed he didn't really have a choice in the matter as he pulled out the long packets of noodle and began boiling water.

So, pasta it was.

~x~

The office was bustling with work as Lovino made his way through the front doors with a donut in one hand and a coffee in another. He had been late getting out of the apartment due to his alarm, which just had to run out of batteries the night before. He barely had time to feed his demanding bastard of a cat and grab breakfast before speeding through traffic and arriving at work a minute before punch-in time.

Taking a bite of his glazed donut and a long sip of black coffee, Lovino walked down the hall towards his cubicle. He was about to turn the corner when his assistant appeared in front of him. He wore a face of nervousness, which meant that he was going to tell Lovino something he didn't want to hear.

Just fucking peachy.

Abruptly stopping, the Italian gave him a sharp glare.

"What the hell, Matthew? I understand that we're busy but I just got here so save whatever you're going to tell me until I finish my damn breakfast, capiche?"

Lovino tried to move around him, but the assistant wouldn't budge. He held a look of uncertainty and fear that made the Italian more annoyed.

"Ah, but Lovino, it's not—" Shaking his hands, Lovino cut him off.

"Don't care. Save it for later." He pushed past the tongue-tied boy and rounded the corner, making his way towards his desk.

That was, until he saw that it wasn't empty. A tan man with chocolate curls sat behind his desk, leaning over and inspecting the area's shelves and drawers.

Lovino froze in his tracks, anger bubbling up inside him as the bastard sat in his chair, touched his things, and didn't seem to show any hesitancy on his stupid face. Regaining his senses, Lovino marched right up to the man and (gently placing his coffee and donut off to the side) slammed his hands onto his desk, making the man jump.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

The man looked up at him with startled emerald eyes, which framed his attractive face nicely. Not that Lovino cared. The more The green-eyed bastard just looked up at him with innocent eyes and a bright smile.

"Buenas dias! I am getting to know ah—Lovino Vargas. Apparently he likes the Spice Girls!" the man held up a CD with the five female singers on the cover, "How fantastico!"

Lovino's eye twitched, quickly grabbing the CD and shoving it in a random drawer. Fuck, he liked the Spice Girls, ok? They're a damn good band!

Shooting the man a death glare, the Italian clenched the sides of his desk hard enough to leave dents in the wood. He didn't know who this bastard was nor why he was looking through his things. The only thing he knew was that someone was probably going to end up tossed off the side of the Chicago River, mafia style. And that someone was the idiot currently grinning in front of him.

"You didn't consider to—oh, I don't know—ask him instead of rummaging through his belongings? Huh, bastard?"

The man just blinked at Lovino, about to say something before closing his mouth again. Eyes widening and looking around at the misplaced items on the desk as if finally understanding the situation, the bastard landed his eyes on Lovino.

"You don't think…uh…he's going to be mad about this, do you?"

Wow, he was more stupid than he thought. Lovino scowled at the man and leaned forward, putting on his best intimidating glare.

"What do you think, idiot?"

The bastard just chuckled, not at all fazed by the angry man. That pissed the Italian off. Who did this guy think he was?

"Oops. Well, I'll just put everything back and everything will be good, right?" Said idiot put on his brightest, slightly apologetic smile, which only aggravated Lovino even more.

"Fuck this." Lovino turned away from the man and opened his mouth, "CHIEF!"

Pushing himself off the surface and heading for his boss' office, Lovino slammed open his door. Arthur sat at the desk, casually reading the morning issue of the Chicago Tribune.

"You know, the sign outside of my office specifically requests for you to knock. It is not an invitation to barge in whenever you see fit." Placing down the newspaper, Arthur at his employee, "However, I do need to mention—"

Lovino waved his hands, receiving a questioning look from his boss. "Whatever you are going to say, hold it. We have bigger issues on our hands. Has the mental institution down the street called?"

"What? No, they haven't. Why—" Lovino cut him off to continue.

"BECAUSE...because there is one of their patients in our office, going through my fucking stuff!"

Arthur arched an eyebrow at him, following the direction of Lovino's pointed finger. Leaning over his desk to get a better view, the old man saw the brunette man chatting animatedly with an employee at Lovino's desk. Arthur only chuckled.

"Lovino, that's not an escaped mental patient. Why on earth would you think that?"

The Italian just growled. Was no one going to take him seriously?

"Because he's fucking stupid, that's why! Who does he think he is, saying he was "getting to know" me by looking through my things. How does he even know who I am anyway?"

"That's because he's you new partner."

"Exactly! I should march right up to—wait, what?" A shocked look came over his face when he realized what his boss had said. Arthur just looked unamused.

"The man at your desk is you new partner. Detective Carriedo. He just came in today."

Lovino suddenly felt weaker the longer he continued to stand. He fell back against the cushion of the chair, running a hand messily through his hair.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Thank you for reading. R & R! :) Stay tuned!